Lyndon Hardy - Master of the five Magics

"Sweetbalm, we are gathered here to plan our military strategy, not listen to an apprentice's first lecture," interrupted Festil.

"Let him speak, Festil," Aeriel cut him short. "Perhaps he is unaffected with the blindness that a feat of arms will somehow yet save us."

"Two principles," Periac continued, stroking his goatee. "Sympathy and contagion. The first simply stated is: like produces like. By manipulating objects in a simulation we can cause corresponding effects to occur on a different scale in time and distance. My gondola soars in the air in response to the movement of a small sliver."

"So then," challenged Festil again, "why not build a small model of Bandor's camp and smash it with your fist and save us the wounds and sorrow of tomorrow?"

"Because there is another important ingredient of any spell and that is a supply of energy, a force or power to do the work. It does no good to smash a model, unless I control the forces necessary to level the tents as well. Without a spinning flywheel to draw upon, the gondola would not lift in response to the rising splinter. Without the heat of the fire in Bandor's camp, the missiles launched at our catapult could not have been diverted to the mark. Practitioners of my craft seek ways to channel energy, but alas, we cannot create it.

"Not only is energy needed but, in most cases, much more than common sense might dictate. The coupling between the simulation and the actual is not perfect and there are always some losses. The more closely the two resemble one another, the better the connection and the less the energy waste. The best coupling is provided by things which were indeed once part of a single whole. Or as the principle of contagion states it- once together, always together. In principle, we could use any object for control of the gondola, but a small piece of it works better than any foreign substance. And in like manner, a wound is most effectively sealed if a drop of blood is mixed with the gelling starch, and a bit of flesh with the molding wax.

"So, lord Festil, with the wave of my hand I cannot topple the belfries that will thunder towards us, for it would take too much energy. Nor can I, say, render any man invisible or pass through solid walls, for I cannot simulate these things. Nor yet can I strike at an enemy far away without something of him to bind in the spell. But I can apply my craft in the fair lady's service with as much imagination as I am able."

"And if thaumarurgy is so straightforward then, master Periac," Festil continued, his tone still hard and unconvinced, "what need have we of any of your services at all? Why cannot one here at the table perform the craft for the queen as well?"

"There is that little matter of the spells which bind the simulation and energy source together and then subsequently release them," Periac said. "To safeguard the means of our livelihood, we must naturally protect their nature, passing them on from master to journeyman but to no one outside of our craft.

"And as I have already said," Periac persisted before Festil could stop him again, "success is not merely a matter of rote application of the well proven. Rather it depends upon the skill of the master to see through surface distractions to the deeper similarities around him. To recognize subtle and time-worn connections that form the true basis of our art."

"You state so well the limitations of your craft, master Periac," Festil persisted, "that now I wonder if perhaps one of the other four might not serve us better in our plight."

"They have their shortcomings as well," Periac said. "For example, the formulas of alchemy have no guarantee of coming to the same result with each use. Only one time in hundreds does one end with a solvent that can dissolve more than the glass in which it was formed. The massive factories on Honeysuckle Street produce mostly waste, repeating and repeating the same steps in order to form some modest quantity of healing balm or sense-enhancing philtre."

"There is truth in what you speak," Aeriel said. "We are here because Kelric, the court sorcerer, entranced himself to find what great wealth might lie undiscovered in the kingdom. In his vision he saw Iron Fist and a formula of alchemy of great merit, one with high yield and hence potential for large profit. With it, the queen can hope to replace the wealth which used to come from the royal mines, now thrust as deeply into the mountains as men can go."

"But what details did he see?" Alodar blurted. "What did he say of the passageways and chambers underground?"

The fat man on Periac's left rose to protest the interruption, but Aeriel shot him a hard glance that settled him back in his seat. Alodar looked about the table and marveled at her control. Except for Festil, she clearly had the respect of the group and all deferred to her lead.

"No detail could he see," she said, "and the only words that came from his trance were that the Iron Fist must loosen its grip before the formula could be found. It may be that the castle will have to fall because we have yet discovered no grimoire in these mute walls."

"And as for sorcerers," Periac continued as if no interruption had occurred. "With one at court you know well the difficulty of dealing with them. Reclusive and obstinate their art must intrinsically pervert them from a decent relationship with their fellowmen. Why else do they deliberately play upon our fears of enchantment when we plead for some small illusion or prophecy?

"And magic is no better. The rituals performed in seclusion sometimes take several lifetimes. Except for such useless trinkets as the ceremonial dagger I see on lady Aeriel's side, it would take many a castle's treasure to afford what magicians have to offer. Their swords that never dull and mail that does not break are far better, true, than the alchemical salves which rot away, but who among you has ever seen the like?

"Finally, there is wizardry," Periac said, raising his hand and counting his fingers into his palm one by one.

"Yes, what of that?" the fat man said. "The talk of the bailey floor is that Bandor is possessed by a devil and pushes this attack for no mortal cause."

"I cannot accept such groundless whisperings," Festil cut in. "Revolt against the crown has happened before. But traffic with demons, like a baseborn craftsman? No noble of Procolon would think of it."

"Judge not all of wizardry by the few poor examples we have seen among us," Periac replied. "The wizards we judge as wise know that their wills are of insufficient strength to dominate any but the simplest of imps. They travel with carnivals and the like, content with pushing their sprites through idle tricks as one would a trained mouse. Their lot is far better, however, than that of the foolish who have dared to struggle with true power and ended as the hoop-jumper for the demon instead. It is fortunate that their cruel masters soon tire of the bizarre acts they force upon them. The crumpled and abandoned shells whimpering for bread are better off as beggars than when they were the submissive slaves to powerful djinns.

"But it was not always thus," Periac said, sweeping his upraised index finger in Festil's direction. "The sagas of our past tell of men of great will and courage who struggled with the strongest demons and bent them to their bidding. The power they could thereby command made them much respected throughout many lands. No, my lord, you would not judge a wizard of long ago as a mere craftsman."

Festil scowled, but Periac turned his attention to the queen and continued. "But as to lord Bandor, I must say in truth that possession would be most unlikely. He conducts the siege with coherence and precision, not with the mad acts of contradiction that a fiend would force upon him."

"For a master of a single art," Vendora said, "you seem well versed in the rest as well."