Bradley, Marion Zimmer - SSC 03 (5 page)

 
          
Within
the hood Lythande's head moved in a negative shake, side to side. The face
could not be seen, and Rastafyre wondered if he would, after all, be the first
to see the mysterious Lythande weep. None had ever seen Lythande show the
slightest emotion; never had Lythande been known to eat or to drink wine in
company
—
perhaps, it was believed,
the mage
could
not, though most people guessed that it was simply one of
the strange vows which bound a Pilgrim Adept.

 
          
But
from within the hood, Lythande said slowly, "And you offer me this lute,
in return for my services in the recovery of your wand?"

 
          
"I
do, O noble Lythande. For I can see that the enchanted la-la-lady of the lute
is known to you from old, and that you would have her as slave, concubine
—
what have
you.
And it is this,
not the mu-mu-music of the lute alone, that I offer you
—
when my wa-wa-wand is my own again."

 
          
The
blaze of the blue star brightened for a moment, then dimmed to a passive glow,
and Lythande's voice was flat and neutral again.

 
          
"Be
it so. For this lute I would undertake to recover the scattered pearls of the
necklace of the Fish-goddess should she lose them in the sea; but are you
certain that your wand is in the hands of Roygan the Proud, O Rastafyre?"

 
          
"I
ha-ha-have no other en-en-enem
—
there is no one else who
hates me," said Rastafyre, and again the restrained mirth gleamed for a
moment.

 
          
"Fortunate
are you, O Incom
—
" the hesitation, and
the faint smile, "Incomparable. Well, I shall recover your wand
—
and the lute shall be mine."

 
          
"The
lute
—
and the woman," said
Rastafyre, "but only wh-wh-when my wand is again in my own
ha-ha-hands."

 
          
"If
Roygan has it," Lythande said, "it should present no very great
difficulties for any
competent
magician."

 
          
Rastafyre
wrapped the lute into the thick protective covering and fumbled it again into
Ca-Ca-Carrier's capacious folds. Rastafyre gestured fussily with another
spell.

 
          
"In
the name of
—
" He mumbled something,
then
frowned.  "It will not obey me so well
without my wa-wa-wand," he mumbled. Again his hands twisted in the simple
spell. "G-g-go, confound you, in the name of Indo-do-do
—
in the name of Indo-do
—
"

 
          
The
bag flopped just a little and a corner of it disappeared, but the rest
remained, hovering uneasily in the air. Lythande managed somehow not to shriek
with laughter, but remarked:

 
          
"Allow
me, O Incomp
—
O Incomparable," and
made the spell with swift narrow fingers. "In the name of Indovici the
Silent, I command you, Carrier
—
"

 
          
"Ca-Ca-Carrier,"
corrected Rastafyre, and Lythande, lips twitching, repeated the spell.

 
          
"In
the name of Indovici the Silent, Ca-Ca-Carrier, I command you, go!"

 
          
The
bag began slowly to fade, winked in and out for a moment, rose heavily into the
air, and by the time it reached eye level, was gone.

 
          
"Indeed,
bargain or no," Lythande said, "I must recover your wand, O
Incompetent, lest the profession of magician become a jest for small boys from
the
Salt
Desert
to the Cold Hills!"

 
          
Rastafyre
glared, but thought better of answering; he turned and fussed away, trailed by
a small, lumpy brown shadow where Ca-Ca-Carrier stubbornly refused to stay
either visible or invisible. Lythande watched him out of sight, then drew from
the mage-robe a small pouch, shook out a small quantity of herbs and thoughtfully
rolled them into a narrow tube; snapped narrow fingers to make a light, and
slowly inhaled the fragrant smoke, letting it trickle out narrow nostrils into
the heavy air of the hallway.

 
          
Roygan
the Proud should present no very great challenge. Lythande knew Roygan of old;
when that thief among magicians had first appeared in Lythande's life, Lythande
had been young in sorcery and not yet tried in vigilance, and several precious
items had vanished without trace from the house where Lythande then dwelt.
Rastafyre would have been so easy a target that Lythande marveled that Roygan
had not stolen Ca-Ca-Carrier, the hood and mage-robe Rastafyre
wore,
and perhaps his back teeth as well; there was an old
saying in Gandrin,
if Roygan the Proud shakes your hand, count your fingers
before he is out of sight.

 
          
But
Lythande had pursued Roygan through three cities and across the Great Salt
Desert; and when Roygan had been trailed to his lair, Lythande had recovered
wand, rings and magical dagger; and then had affixed one of the rings to
Roygan's nose with a permanent binding-spell.

 
          
Wear
this,
Lythande had said,
in memory of your treachery, and that honest
folk may know you and avoid you.
Now Lythande wondered idly if Roygan had
ever found anyone to take the ring off his nose.

 
          
Roygan
bears me a grudge, thought Lythande, and wondered if Rastafyre the Incompetent,
lute and
all,
were a trap set for Lythande, to
surprise the secret of the Pilgrim Adept's magic. For the strength of any Adept
of the Blue Star lies in a certain concealed secret which must never be known;
and the one who surprises the secret of a Pilgrim Adept can master all the
magic of the Blue Star. And Roygan, with his grudge. . . .

 
          
Roygan
was not worth worrying about.
But,
Lythande thought, /
have enemies
among the Pilgrim Adepts themselves. Roygan might well be a tool of one of
these. And so might Rastafyre.

 
          
No,
Roygan had not the strength for that; he was a thief, not a true magician or an
adept. As for Rastafyre
—
soundlessly, Lythande
laughed. If anyone sought to use that incompetent, the very incompetence of the
fat, fussy little magician would recoil upon the accomplice.
I wish no worse
for my enemies than Rastafyrefor their friend.

 
          
And
when I have succeeded
—
it never occurred to
Lythande to say
if
—
I shall have Koira; and the
lute.

           
She would not love me; but now,
whether or no, she shall be mine, to sing for me whenever I will.

 
          
If
it should become known to Lythande's enemies
—
and the magician knew that there were many of them, even here in Gandrin
—
that Roygan had somehow incurred the wrath of a Pilgrim
Adept, they would be quick to sell the story to any other Pilgrim Adept they
could find. Lythande, too, knew how to use that tactic; the knowledge of
another Pilgrim Adept's Secret was the greatest protection known under the Twin
Suns.

 
          
Speaking
of Suns
—
Lythande cast a glance into
the sky
—
it was near to First-sunset;
Keth, red and somber, glowed on the horizon, with Reth like a bloody burning
eye, an hour or two behind. Curse
it,
it was one of
those nights where there would be long darkness. Lythande frowned, considering;
but the darkness, too, could serve.

 
          
First
Lythande must determine where in Old Gandrin, what comer or alley of that city
of rogues and impos-ters, Roygan might be hiding.

 
          
Was
there any Adept of the Blue Star who knew of the quarrel with Roygan? Lythande
thought not. They had been alone when the deed was done; and Roygan would
hardly boast of it; no doubt, that wretch had declared the ring in his nose to
be a new fashion in jewelry! Therefore, by the Great Law of Magic, the law of
Resonance, Lythande still possessed a tie to Roygan; the ring which once had
been Lythande's own, if it was still on Roygan's nose, would lead to Roygan
just as inescapably as a homing pigeon flies to its own croft.

 
          
There
was no time to lose; Lythande would rather not brave the hiding place of Roygan
the thief in full darkness, and already red Keth had slipped below the edge of
the world. Two measures, perhaps, on a time-candle; no more time than that, or
darkness would help to hide Roygan beneath its cloak, in the somber moonless
streets of Old Gandrin.

           
Kic.

 
          
The
Pilgrim Adept needs no wand to make magic. Lythande raised one narrow, fine
hand, drew it down in a curious, covering movement. Darkness flowed down from
the slender fingers behind that movement, covering the magician with its veil;
but inside the spelled circle, Lythande sat cross-legged on the stones, flooded
with a neutral shadowless light.

 
          
Holding
one hand toward the circle, Lythande whispered: "Ring of Lythande, ring
which once caressed my finger,
be
joined to your
sister."

 
          
Slowly
the ring remaining on Lythande's finger began to gleam with an inner radiance.
Beside it in the curious light, a second ring appeared, hanging formless and
weightless in midair. And around this second ghost-ring, a pallid face took
outline, first the beaky and aquiline nose, then the mouthful of broken teeth
which had been tipped like fangs with shining metal, then the close-set
dark-lashed eyes of Roygan the Proud.

 
          
He
was not here within the spelled light-circle. Lythande knew that. Rather, the
circle, like a mirror, reflected Roygan's face, and at a commanding gesture,
the focus of the vision moved out, to encompass a room piled high with
treasure, where Roygan had come to hide the fruits of his theft. Magpie Roygan!
He did not use his treasure to enrich himself-
—
like
Lythande, he could have manufactured jewels at will
—
but to gain power over other magicians! And so, the links
retaining their hold on their owners, Roygan was vulnerable to Lythande's magic
as well.

 
          
If
Rastafyre had been even a halfway competent magician
—
even the thought of that tubby little bungler curved
Lythande's thin lips in a mocking smile
—
Rastafyre
would have known of that bond, and tracked Roygan the proud himself. For the
wand of a magician is a curious thing; in a very real sense it
is
the
magician,
for he must put into it one of his very real
powers and senses. As the Blue Star, in a way, was Lythande's emotion
—
for it glowed with blue flame when Lythande was angry or
excited
—
so a wand, in those
magicians who must use them, often reflects the most cherished power of a male
magician. Again Lythande smiled mockingly; no bedroom athletics, no seduction
of magicians' wives or daughters, till Rastafyre's wand was in his hand again!

 
          
Perhaps
I should become a public benefactor, and never restore what Rastafyre considers
so important, that the women of my fellow mages may be safe from his wiles!
Yet
Lythande knew, even as the image lingered, and the amusement, that Rastafyre
must have back his wand and with it his power to do good or evil. For Law
strives ever against Chaos, and every human soul must be free to take the part
of one or another; this was the basic law that the Gods of Gandrin had established,
and that all Gods everywhere stood as representative; that life itself, on the
world of the Twin Suns as everywhere till the last star of Eternity is burnt
out, is forever embodying that one Great Strife. And Lythande was sworn,
through the Blue Star, servant to the Law. To deprive Rastafyre of one jot of
his power to choose good or evil, was to set that basic truth at naught,
setting Lythande's oath to Law in the place of Rastafyre's own choices, and
that in itself was to let in Chaos.