Lyndon Hardy - Secret Of The Sixth Magic

"Perhaps it is to be sorcery, after all." Jemidon smiled. "It all came easy, both the recall and the casting."

"A bit too dramatic, but well spoken nonetheless."

Farnel said. "It is a pity that you could not have done as well for the other masters."

"But at least it is a better promise of what is to come from your instruction." Jemidon started to wave the thought of his previous failure aside, but winced at a sharpness in his shoulder. "How soon until the pain is totally blocked? It feels no better than before."

"You should be numbed upon completion of the last syllable," Farnel said. "There is no delay in sorcery."

"But my arm-"

Farnel frowned. He studied Jemidon's puzzled expression and shook his head. "Then it is another miscasting," the sorcerer said. "Somehow, with your dramatic flourishes, you garbled the charm."

"I feel no other ill effect," Jemidon said, "and you heard it all the way through without pointing out any error."

"Probably it occurred in the leading phrase of the first recital," Farnel said, "just as the charm was beginning. An error there would render the rest a mumble of nonsense without power or meaning. Yes, that must be the reason. It was indeed too much to expect for you to get through it all so easily."

Jemidon opened his mouth to frame some sort of a reply; but before he could, a heavy pounding shook the door. With a crash, it flew open and banged against the wall. Canthor and four men-at-arms entered the hut. One pointed to Delia and the bottle beside her. Canthor nodded and looked back to Farnel, shaking his head.

"To the keep, old friend," he commanded. "The trader Drandor has charged that you have possession of three of his properties and demands their restitution."

"This is not a matter of harmless bickering, to be forgotten after a night in the keep." Canthor tried to scowl at Farnel, who sat at the other end of the table. "Morgana must show to everyone that its justice applies to master and bondsman alike."

Jemidon and Delia stood between two men-at-arms behind Farnel's chair. Up and down the length of the table sat the other sorcerers of the island, all puffy-eyed and slack-jawed from the night before. When a charge was brought against one, then they all had to be present to hear the evidence and decide what must be done. Drandor paced behind Canthor's high chair, and his footfalls echoed off the round walls. A faded banner hung behind the trader, splotches of mildew mingling with tattered threads. Spiders nervously scampered across the fitted stone and into niches in the crumbling mortar. Recently broken webs hung in the doorway. The council room of the keep was seldom used in Canthor's administration of the island. From two small slit windows, the morning light stabbed into the shadows.

Even though it was a bracingly cool morning, Jemidon felt increasingly tired and disheartened. He had been up all night and dosed with sweetbalm besides. Again he had miscast a spell in front of Farnel, and now there were additional complications, additional obstacles between him and the robe of the master. He gripped the back of the chair tightly to stand erect and grimly forced his sluggish thoughts to follow what was happening.

"Justice I expect," Drandor said. "Of the evidence there can be no denial. The imp bottle, the lattice, the girl, all belong to me and my partner Melizar. I have the bills of possession here for you to examine."

"But it is so unlike a master to bother with material objects," the tall sorcerer on Canthor's right said. "Our work is what we can shape with the mind. And to summon the full council for what surely must be a private matter is most unwarranted. Did you not deal directly with master Farnel? Despite his antiquated techniques, he is most honest and reasonable."

"I did try my own negotiations." Drandor shot Jemidon a glance. "But they met with mishap at the base of the granite cliff. Prudence directed that I appeal to a higher authority, rather than attempt more on my own."

"Trader, justice you shall have." Gerilac rubbed his forehead irritably. "And the quicker you are quiet, the quicker it will be meted." He looked around the table through bloodshot eyes. "After last night, I am sure we all wish to move quickly to settle this matter. And since we are all here, we can also cast the final vote and present the supreme accolade. Let us be done with everything so that we can return to much needed rest."

"You need not show such haste," Farnel growled. "We all filled our cups as many times as you. And the tokens from previous years are keeping you in a pampered style. The five hundred from this season probably will add little difference."

"Five hundred tokens?" Drandor asked. "This sculpting of phantoms brings so much to the one who performs it best?"

"That concerns only the masters," Canthor replied. "We are here at your behest, trader. And when the complaint has been settled, you will be dismissed before we proceed to the other."

"But five hundred!" Drandor persisted. "It is indeed a very large sum."

"Much more than the objects you are making such a clamor about," Canthor said. "You have disturbed my sleep and that of a good many others. Is it not sufficient to return them to you and let the matter drop?"

"The lattice and bottle are the trader's," Jemidon blurted. "Take them and begone." He stepped around Farnel's chair and looked at the assembled masters through heavy eyes. "But surely someone here can meet the price for the girl. Pay what is required so that Delia need not accompany the trader as well."

Jemidon frowned and slowly puzzled out how he felt. He was as much surprised at his outburst as the rest. Delia was an appealing beauty and in need of help. He should have done no less than he did. And yet she was the one responsible for Farnel's present predicament, as well as the cause of the additional complications that could only delay his quest for the robe. In the hut, he had chafed when the master instructed her in sorcery. Certainly he did not want competition. How could she be more than a passing distraction?

"Five hundred tokens." Drandor ignored Jemidon's interruption. "And I infer that the selection of the winner has not yet been made." His eyes narrowed, and he showed his teeth in a crooked smile. "I, too, deal in trinkets for the mind. And if I may be so bold, I wager that what I can create has greater merit than the best you have to offer."

"You are no sorcerer," Gerilac said. "You can do no more than the imitations of the bazaar."

"That is not so." Drandor's smite broadened. "My charms are far more powerful than any you can muster."

"Tradesmen's banter," Gerilac massaged his furrowed brow and slumped his elbow to the table. "Anyone truly trained in the arts can tell the difference."

"Then put it to the test," Drandor said. "I am willing to make a wager. Perform your best sorcery before the masters as judges, and I will invoke mine. Let the better win not only the accolade but five hundred tokens more that I will secure from my partner Melizar."

"Why this sudden interest in our art?" Canthor asked. "You have camped in the harbor bazaar for many days, but never ventured forth before."

"Before, I did not know this recognition carried with it such tangible worth," Drandor said. "A large cache of tokens I must assemble. Melizar wishes it so." He turned and smiled at Canthor. "Besides, I cannot pass an opportunity that is now such a sure proposition."

"All of this is irrelevant." Gerilac deepened his frown. "We are not here to ponder the empty words of someone who is not even a member of our council. Let us be done with his business and proceed with our traditions."

"Our tradition is one of openness to all forms of expression and judgment on merit alone." Farnel rose suddenly to his feet. "Something we masters seem to have a hard time remembering. Yes, that is it. This offer presents an opportunity." He pointed across the table to Gerilac. "Is that the mold in which we shape the thoughts of our tyros who will someday follow? Are they to emulate a sorcerer who fears the challenge of one who is not even a master?"