Lyndon Hardy - Secret Of The Sixth Magic

"I do not fear this tradesman," Gerilac snapped. "His spinning mirrors or whatever would bore us all in a moment. It is an idle exercise not worthy of any of our time."

"Not even worth an additional five hundred tokens?" Farnel asked. He looked around the council room. "It is true that my reaction is one of principle. But additional tokens brought to the island from the outside are eventually of benefit to us all, no matter who is the first recipient."

Jemidon saw a few of the masters nod and then the one nearest Canthor turn his palm upward in agreement with the trader's offer. "Five hundred tokens more," he said. "As if the high prince visited not once this year but twice instead."

Like a rippling wave, the others around the table agreed, one after another, until only Gerilac remained. All eyes turned to the master, and for a moment there was silence. Gerilac looked quickly around the chamber and finally stared at Farnel.

"You do this just for spite," he spat. "But very well. It appears we choose to defend the accolade against this preposterous challenge. Let it be tomorrow morning in the hall. There is no need to wait any longer."

Jemidon struggled to think through his weariness. Dimly he recognized another presentation in the hall, and open to an outsider at that, as a chance to bind Farnel to his bargain. Impulsively he spoke again, not waiting to reason the consequences all the way through. "If there is to be another competition, then it need not be limited to two," he said. "The other masters should have their chance as well."

"What is the point?" Gerilac asked. "The competition among the masters has already been held. Only the best need perform again."

"You have not seen the work of master Farnel," Jemidon said. "This gives him the chance to compete when he is not ill-disposed."

"Enough!" Farnel rose and pushed Jemidon back, his eyes wide at what his tyro had said. "One day is insufficient time. My cause cannot be aided by another hasty preparation."

Gerilac watched Farnel's reaction for a moment, and then the deep furrows in his forehead relaxed. "Insufficient preparation, did I hear you say, Farnel? How could that be if your theories are correct?" He shrugged slightly and beamed a broad smile, his discomfort of a moment before totally gone. "I am a fair man, even though you perpetrate these petty spites. If you wish to present an example of what you define as an with only a day of thought, then let it be so. It is not my intent to bar any glamour so vigorously extolled by its creator. And it is not secret that my production will be the other one the masters will be seeing. Perhaps the contrast will be amusing."

"I do not wish to present." Farnel slammed his fist on the table. "For no such permission did I ask."

"Permission!" Gerilac shot back. "Permission! I do not think this any longer is a matter of pampering your idle whims. You have forced me to recite again. Very well, if I am to dance to your manipulations, then so should you to mine. Present your art in the hall tomorrow. Present it so the rest can compare and then judge the relative merit for themselves. Perhaps when it is all over, you will be silent at last."

Gerilac did not wait for Farnel's reply, but turned to the other masters for their agreement. Farnel started to say more, then clamped shut his mouth as the first few indicated assent. The master watched silently as, one by one, they nodded. With a deep scowl, he slumped back in his chair.

"Wait, there is no need for any other," Drandor said. "We already have agreed on the elements of the wager."

Gerilac frowned at the trader. He looked again at Jemidon and his eyes narrowed. For a moment, he studied the imp bottle and lattice and then shook his head. Finally he ran his eyes over Delia's gown. "Make her part of the prize," he said finally. "As long as you inconvenience the masters of Morgana, you must offer more as your share. And as to what Farnel has to submit, it can only be this outspoken tyro. But then he will be enough. Erid and the others have the need for an experimental subject, and this one already has some practice."

"It is not a contest of equal risks," Drandor blurted; he paused and snapped shut his mouth. For a moment he was silent and then he smiled. "But neither is it one of equal chance. Very well, the girl is part of the final award." He looked at Jemidon. "Melizar will replace my pets with others. They, too, will need amusements."

Jemidon ignored the threat and slumped back against the wall. Now that Farnel was back in the competition, he had somehow to figure a way for them to win. Indeed, his very freedom now depended upon it. But the events of the last day were taking their toll. Jemidon's thoughts were fuzzy and dissolving in a muddle. Fatigue pressed down on him like a great stone. He needed sleep before he could be of much use to anyone.

"Then it is settled." Canthor slapped the table for attention. "These two properties to the trader at once, for which he agrees to mention the incident no further. And all the rest to be decided after a meal or two to repair yesterday's excesses." He waited a moment and looked at each master, but no one protested. With a nod to his men, he left; one by one, the others silently followed. In a moment, only Farnel, Jemidon, and Delia remained in the chamber.

"And what is the rest of your plan, quick-witted one?" Farnel growled, "We have done nothing on the battle scene since we abandoned it. There is hardly time to pull it together now."

Jemidon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. It was probably best if he said no more. In a groggy haze, he followed Farnel and Delia back to the hut.

Jemidon blinked open his eyes. It was evening. He had struggled to keep alert and be of some help when they reached the sorcerer's lair, but finally had succumbed to a deep sleep that had lasted for hours.

He stretched tentatively and then with greater force. He still felt somewhat groggy, but better than before. Slowly he rose to sitting and readjusted the tatters of his tunic over his shoulder. He centered the brandel on his chest and pushed aside his torn cape, which had been balled into a pillow in the corner of the littered floor. Delia saw him stir and stepped between the helmets and maces to his side. She touched his shoulder, radiating concern.

"The swelling is much less," she called out to Farnel, who sat atop a stool on the other side of the hut. "The sweetbalm, despite its age, has done well."

Jemidon reached for Delia's softness, but she gently pushed him away. "There is little time. Even if master Farnel instructs me through the night, we may not be ready." She smiled and slid away. "But he says that I am an attentive pupil, and I think even his spirits rise as we progress."

"Attentiveness is only a part of it," Farnel said. "She has a natural aptitude-an ability for recall as well as enunciation. I have heard of other instances, but never met such a talent before."

"I am the tyro." Jemidon struggled to his feet and tried to shake the iast bit of fuzziness out of his head. "Just a few moments more and I will be able to assist."

"No, it is to be Delia." Farnel's voice was firm. "With her, we just might have a chance after all. Oh, to be ten years younger, lass, with a tyro such as you." He beamed as Delia positioned herself back in the middle of the room. "Gerilac and his followers never would have a chance. Now quickly; the next phrase is but a copy of the previous one with the middle syllables borrowed from the very beginning. Can you feel how it goes?"

Jemidon frowned and tried to figure out what had happened during his sleep. While he pondered, Delia began to rattle off a long string of melody, her voice crisp and pure, like the notes of a harp. Jemidon listened only half attentively at first; then, as she continued, he sagged back to the ground, surprised by what he heard. Most of the charm fragment was familiar, but other parts were new, totally new, phrases that he had never learned in all the months he had studied. Wide-eyed, he looked with respect at the slender form in the center of the room.