'You will feel much better in the morning,' Jemidon said. 'And I do not think that the strange one will accept kindly one who sent magic swords swinging through his plans in the grotto.'
'Promise me,' Jemilor insisted. 'After all that has passed, do not deny me one last kernel of hope.'
Jemidon looked again into his father's pale face. He sighed and placed his hand on the older man's shoulder. 'It is not that I have not tried. Father. Believe me, I want the robe as much as you.'
'We could have served him both together today,' Jemilor said. 'Setting up the lantern and stretching the sheets you would have found easy enough to do. And your arms are yet strong and your reactions quick. Who could say what the difference might have been as we raced for the protection of the tent?'
'I am a man, full-grown,' Jemidon said. 'The quest I pursue is now my own.'
'Your own?' Jemilor turned his head away. 'Was it for that that your sister gave you the coin?'
Jemidon rose and stretched. His father had long since fallen into a fitful sleep. And he had made up his mind. Whatever caution his instincts threw in the way could not stand against the logic of everyone else's counsel. Slowly he climbed the distance to the crestline. Puffs of air skittered around his ankles as he approached the tent. The flicker of candlelight escaped from the hem of the canvas as it danced over the uneven ground.
At the tentflap, Jemidon reviewed what he planned to say. Perhaps stressing what he already knew would be best. He believed in the Postulate of Invariance, even if no one else seemed to give it great weight. Besides, ferreting out the secrets was no longer to be his intent. Despite his reservations, he would ask to be taught. He would find out by direct explanation, rather than by deduction, what he needed to know. He would learn the means to become a master and to cast off at last the burdens that pushed him on.
Nervously, Jemidon fingered the brandel about his neck. He felt the uneasiness in his stomach begin to grow. He could sense how the discomfort would increase as he drew closer to the cold one inside the tent. He did not want to enter, or to offer assistance, when deep inside he felt a distrust that no argument would chip away. Somehow in the end, their objectives could never be the same. But he thought of his father sleeping restlessly down the slope and of Canthor's advice given with no hidden bias. Against their words, he had only vague feelings to argue himself away. Cautiously he pushed aside the flap.
Melizar slowly turned as Jemidon looked inside. 'Yes, what more does Ocanar want? I have given him the explanation. It must have been a great attempt at sorcery on the island. Probably far more powerful than this world has ever seen. So great that even here, the intensity was strong enough to force the animation to be the least contradiction. The effect varies as the cube of the distance. It is not my concern if he refuses to understand.'
Jemidon tightened his arms around his stomach to quiet the rising discomfort. He saw that the interior of the tent looked much as it had on Morgana. Two small candles provided most of the light. The flap leading to the rear chamber was closed. The now-familiar lattice leaned against one of the supporting poles. Delia's counter was gone. On the bare ground, Melizar had been studying his drums and weights. Except for the buzz of the imps about the cold one's head, there was no other motion.
'You have worked with others before,' Jemidon said. 'Drandor the trader and Holgon the magician. Do you have available the position for yet another apprentice?' Melizar glided forward until he stood directly facing Jemidon. A slender hand jutted from the flowing robe and poked Jemidon in the shoulder. A wave of intense cold that numbed his arm sent a shiver down his back. He looked from the darkly painted nails, up the draped arm, to the cowl that hid everything but reflections of the candlelight in deep-set eyes.
'But more important than that,' Jemidon blurted, 'who are you? From where do you come?'
'Inquisitiveness is not the mark of a good follower,' Melizar replied as the cowl moved closer in the dimness. 'Obedience is the virtue that will garner the greater reward.'
'Even if the reward is knowledge?' Jemidon asked.
'Even if the reward-' Melizar stopped and studied Jemidon's face. 'I have seen you before,' he said at last. 'You were the one who tried to imitate the magician in the grotto.'
'That is in the past and does not matter,' Jemidon said quickly. 'We now work for a common cause. Teach me more of the Postulate of Invariance. I wish to learn.'
'The Postulate of Invariance! Who told you of that?' Melizar asked softly. 'The demon swore on his eggclutch that it was only me and my manipulants. None of the rest were able to follow.'
'I deduced it from what I have seen,' Jemidon answered. 'Sorcery deactivated and another craft in its place.' He paused and wrinkled his forehead. 'Only now it seems the pendulum has swung back the other way. The Rule of Three possesses vigor. Even Canthor was able to use it to delude the royal troops. No doubt that was why they were able to march through the animations on your side of the pass. They saw only a clever lantern show with no power to enchant.'
'Of course,' Melizar said slowly. He grabbed the cube at his waist and fondled it with his fingertips. 'The sorcerer with the deceit that his powers were still whole. I had dismissed him entirely. He must have tried a glamour in the battle, just before the animation was to begin. Not many leagues, but only yards away. I was close enough for the shift to take place.'
Melizar paused, head bowed for a moment, and then turned his attention back to Jemidon. 'But the words would not be enough. Merely mouthing the charm without producing the effect does not give any contradiction.'
Jemidon frowned, trying to follow the train of Melizar's thoughts. 'It was the Song of the Shifting Sands,' he said, 'and Canthor threw a handful of dirt into the face of an assailant as he spoke.'
'As simple as that.' Melizar's voice took on a soft tinkle, like that of a delighted child. 'I need not embellish my original plan. There is not some great sorcerer against whom I must pit the excuses for masters that I have. A simple animation will be more than enough to make the charms down the slope the smaller contradiction.'
Melizar waved his arms at the drums. 'The surface is merely dimpled. Two weak glamours, at most three or four. I will awaken Drandor to perform the animation and another to witness the effect. It will be enough within the confines of the tent.'
'My apprenticeship,' Jemidon said as Melizar started for the rear chamber. 'You have not yet answered to the reason why I have come.'
'The Postulate of Invariance is not the concern of any manipulant,' Melizar said. 'To him, such information is utterly of no use. And the fact that a metalaw holds interest for you harms, rather than abets, your suit. Wait patiently. I will decide your fate when the more important task is done.'
Jemidon frowned as Melizar disappeared behind the flap. For a moment, he debated whether or not he should follow. But before he could decide, the strange one returned, stroking the cube at his side.
'They will be fully awakened in a moment,' Melizar said. 'Time enough for the part that I must perform.' He unlatched the cube from his waist and began to twist it as he had done the day before.
Jemidon started to reply, but suddenly he felt the queasiness in his stomach grow and he sagged to the ground. Once again, his thoughts began to take off on their own, running through chains of discordant logic that he could not control. Events and random facts danced in his head. Pieces of the puzzle, all perceived at once, somehow fitted into a coherent whole. Morgana, the center of sorcery, on the night of celebration before the awarding of the prize…Pluton and the vault in the grotto-taking away tokens and then adding to them with more…Stopping the pumps before Holgon worked his transformation with the dove…The rebellion in the wheatlands-Melizar's being delighted that thaumaturgy was so strong, after he had told Ocanar that his goal was for it to stop…
The mental brew frothed and bubbled, growing in intensity and carrying Jemidon farther and farther away from where he willed. He imagined a box of secrets with the lid cracking open and the scent of its delights swirling out, to mix with the other experiences he had witnessed along the way.
Through glazed eyes, he watched Melizar finish his ritual with the cube. Dimly and uncertainly, he perceived someone-Drandor, perhaps-manipulating what might have been animated projections. But as before, the scenes blurred in streaks of light and dark. He felt as if he were on some great beast, charging across a featureless plain, or like the shot of a catapult arcing across the sky, a monolith of energy that crushed whatever was in its way. He cried out, trying by sheer will to force the plummet to stop. The last of his senses whirled into incohesion.
Then, after an indefinite time, and with a lurch that shook his body in a giant convulsion, Jemidon darted his eyes open. The feeling that had built so intensely was just as suddenly gone. Everything was clear and in focus. All senses were restored. From outside the tent, he heard a cry of pain and, following that, another louder than the
