Lyndon Hardy - Secret Of The Sixth Magic

Without thinking, Jemidon reached back to the table-stone and fiddled with the small rocks so that the laws would reengage. One of the manipulants scrambled forward and, with a slight bow, pushed aside his hand.

Jemidon frowned in puzzlement for a moment and then laughed. "Of course, I cannot perform the craft. It will take some getting used to. Um, black sphalerite, moving in a single line. Bring them to touching with increasing speed."

The manipulant looked back at Ponzar and heard the translation. Soon the laws were reestablished and Jemidon sagged to the table, the intense wash of emotion robbing the strength in his legs.

"The manipulants?" he asked Ponzar. "You said before that they must be attuned to the metamagician's power as well."

"As it is to be," Ponzar said. "The one who rushed forward has felt the urge more so than the rest. Perhaps because of our differences, he may be unique." Ponzar looked at Utothaz, still wheezing on the table, and up to the speck now more apparent in the sky. "But how many you have does not really matter. The transition has been accomplished. Utothaz may give his last in peace. I have done my duty as a captain. The great right hand will be pleased."

Ponzar turned to go, but Jemidon grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back. "Wait, I feel that there is still more. How does one select the manipulants? How do I know when we are well met?"

"Their dexterity is enhanced by a pilot's nearness. Like you, they have inherent skill. But close to your side, they are able to act far better than they could alone. You saw how well the one manipulated the flask and then the stones. The stronger the pilot, the more powerful are those who serve with him as well."

Jemidon's face brightened. "Not only the pushing of the stones, but any craft."

"Any of the laws," Ponzar said. "Why do you ask?"

Jemidon did not reply. Quickly he turned and scampered as fast as he could along the safety rope toward the entrance to the caverns,

"Delia," he called. "Delia! I know why you were able to receive so much aid from the rockbubbler and to say the glamours for Farnel with such little drill. At the very least, you are a sorcerer and a wizard. It is you who will find the pathway home."

Jemidon held his hands to his sides. He willed himself to take short swallows of air through his nose, but it did not help. The metallic smell was pervasive. The sulfur made him want to gag. Any deep draw only burned his lungs, His eyes watered, and he felt a tingling in his hands and feet. He looked at Delia, faithfully nurturing the flame to life for the dozenth time, and knew that she would not last much longer. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut. Her hands trembled as she manipulated the spark. Jemidon wanted to grab the flint from her grasp, but restrained himself, because he knew it would do no good. Delia had to summon whatever devil she could. At best, he could only be near and watch.

He looked up the stairway leading outside to the reddish sky, now visibly dirty and gray. A fine ash swirled in the air, leaving a dark powder everywhere. Jemidon could hear the deep-throated hacks of a dozen of the Skyskirr, even though they were less affected than Delia and he. Two more had already submitted themselves for the feasting of the others. Jemidon had noticed a ruddy glow in the cheeks of those that remained, despite the foul air; their stomachs were distended from the offerings of their comrades. Occasionally they would look into Delia's chamber and smile encouragement, evidently assuming that, even near the end, their new pilot was trying to save them.

Delia coughed again, and her outrushing breath blew out the beginnings of a flame. She looked up at Jemidon with helpless eyes, but he managed a smile to encourage her to try again.

"Even if I start a blaze, it will be the smallest of imps," she rasped. "Without any powders, there is no way to summon a djinn."

"Relax and let whatever augmentation I bring mix efficiently with your own power," Jemidon said. "And if you are truly enhanced, a small devil might be enough to carry at least you back. And in benign air, you can conjure what is necessary to come after me. Besides, you are doing the best you can. The way you laid out the sticks in a row and had the flints ground to uniform size are things I would not have thought of. You are indeed a worthy manipulant."

A small smile tugged at the edges of Delia's mouth. She pulled her stringy hair out of the way and bent low to try again with the flame. Jemidon moved to cut out what flow of wind he could, but then tensed as he felt something begin to stir inside.

"Another unlocking," he muttered. "And somehow I feel that I must withstand this one." He grasped the changer with both hands and jammed his fingers under the levers to prevent their accidental release. But the strain built faster than he could resist. The laws uncoupled, and almost immediately he saw a distant flash of light.

Jemidon stood and peered outside. To the left, perpendicularto their direction of travel, he saw another flash that darkened the red to crimson and then a third. A sudden increase in pressure stabbed at his ears. The lithosoar shook and bobbed like a pebble churned by a wave.

A second pulse followed and then the last, each one more violent than the one before. And with the final wave of pressure, although it made no sense, the wind seemed to shift direction. Jemidon scrambled outside, looking around to reestablish his bearings. He saw the lithon to which they were rushing still directly ahead. They were close enough now that it was more than a mere dot in the sky. On a visible disk of blacks and browns, he could see dense clouds of smoke spewing forth to form a dirty halo around the sphere.

For a moment, he watched until he was sure. They were still flying to their fatal encounter. Nothing had changed their momentum, and yet the wind came from another direction, A swirl of debris caught his eye where he was sure there had been none before. It slammed into the lithosoar a little above his head, ricocheting off and then continuing on in the breeze. A circular eddy whipped past, and then another that tossed their boulder back and forth in a gut-wrenching jolt.

Ponzar appeared over the horizon, pulling quickly on the safety rope and motioning Jemidon to come to the table stone.

"The laws have been changed again. I have felt it," Jemidon said as they met. He had to shout as the wind tore at his clothing and whistled around the rock,

"It is Melizar returning," Ponzar said. "The signal mirrors tell of it. Control of one 'hedron is not enough. His manipulants work some new art that whips the air into swirls. He plans to let none of the lithons soar as they choose until they have submitted to his will-until every pilot has broken his key and can manipulate the laws no more."

Ponzar started to say more, but gagged on the flux of foul air. He sank to one knee and let his shovel clatter on the hard ground. The stifling breeze pushed against the blade; in an instant, it was sailing away.

Another flash and shock wave shook the boulder. Jemidon felt his feet leave the ground. He reached out and snagged the safety rope in the crook of his elbow, just as he flew past. He twisted around to grip the line with his other hand and gradually hauled himself back onto the surface, Ponzar wrapped his legs around one of the stanchions and closed his eyes. He made the sign of the right hand and slumped to the surface of the rock.

"Follow the other metamagicians," he croaked. "As you gather strength, you will feel their presence more. Acting together, you might have a chance to stop Melizar as he tries to twist things farther away from the proper laws."

Jemidon looked up into the air and saw the turbulent winds rip at the bubbling brown gases from the other lithon. In great gouts of dirty cotton, the fumes exploded across the intervening distance, filling the sky.