Roger Zelazny - Wizard World 2 - Madwand

"Everything that exists has some weakness." Ibal said, lowering his goblet. "We will have to explore carefully."

"It's in here," Pol said. "Far back, and scattered, but our father did leave some clues. I've already come across a few new ones. I am going to have to read through the entire thing now and put them all together. It will take a while ..."

"It must be done," Larick said.

"Yes."

"I cannot help but admire their vision," Ibal said. "You know, if I were Madwand rather than a traditionally trained man of the Art, I don't believe that I would be sitting here with you."

Ryle looked at him sharply.

Ibal chuckled.

"Don't give me that look," he said. "You were in on it at the beginning, till you learned that one important fact. And if you had been Madwand, what then, Ryle?"

Ryle looked away.

"I can't deny it," he said. "It's wrong, but I hate them as much for shattering that vision as for anything else."

"I did not say it just to irritate you," Ibal continued, "but as a caution: Trust no more Madwands than those here present--unless they be well-proven."

"You think Spier may now seek allies?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"I believe I am onto something," Pol said, turning a page. "I don't think this is going to be easy ..."

A feeling of tension came into the room, as if the air pressure had suddenly been raised. It built for several seconds and then subsided.

"What was that?" Mouseglove asked.

The Keys attempted to shatter their confines, Belphanior announced. But they failed, four spells proved more than adequate.

"Very promising." Larick said. "Keep reading, brother. And mark that passage."

Later, invisible and drifting, I was the only audience save for a drowsing dragon, when Pol sat upon the ramparts of Avinconet and played his guitar, slowly, with bandaged hands. I counted myself fortunate to have gained my name and found my calling in life that day. As I listened to his song, I decided that he must not be too bad, as accursed masters go. I rather liked his music.

Then a strange thing happened, for my perceptions are not as their perceptions and I like to feel that they are far less readily tricked. The moon broke forth from behind a cloud, infusing the land with its pale light; and falling upon him there, it made it seem for a moment that Pol's hair was white with a dark streak down the middle, rather than the other way around. In that moment, I recalled an infant perception of my creator, and it seemed that I looked again upon the face of Det overlaying Pol's own, masklike. The image had a more than natural strength in the impression it made upon me, and the memory it created was somehow an uncomfortable thing.

But it was gone in an instant, and the music continued. Is life a quick illusion or a long song? I asked myself, as I was in need of new philosophical pursuits.