Lyndon Hardy's Blog, page 4

The Archimage’s Fourth Daughter – Chapter 5

Planetfall

The door closed silently behind her as Briana entered the portal. A soft light illuminated a narrow white corridor perhaps ten paces long and ending in another door like the one now behind her. The wall on her left was featureless as a perfectly calm sea. On the right, near each door was a vertical array of text and a long sequence of counting wheels next to each of the rows. Halfway between the two entrances, an array of small ornate drawer pulls, no two alike, budded forth from the wall. There were no loose artifacts to be seen: no papers, quills, charts, or discarded shrouding. The whole effect was one of sterile efficiency.

Briana retrieved from her backpack the instructions left by the shrouded stranger. Inside were translations into her own tongue what the writing and symbols meant. The top-most inscription in the panel at her side said ‘location’ and immediately below that, two more, ’Erthe’ and ‘nowhere.’ All the counting wheels showed zeros.

She hesitated a moment. This portal is magic, she thought. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing can fail. Get on with it. With a last bit of reluctance, she pressed her index finger against ‘nowhere’. Almost instantly, a sharp click of a bolt sliding into place came from the door. The entire structure began to shimmer. A wave of nausea washed over her, sending her to her knees. Her eyes watered, and she could not keep them in focus.

After a few dozen heartbeats, the vibrations stopped. The nausea went away. A warning disk of angry red shown in the middle of the door. She rose and tried the handle but it did not move. Evidently, the portal had moved to ‘nowhere’, and it was not safe to see what lay outside.

Next, she dialed the right most counting wheels adjacent to ‘Erthe’ to one hundred and then touched the inscription. As she expected, the vibrations did not start immediately. Instead, the numbers in the wheels began to decrease — ninety-nine, ninety-eight, …

When the count returned to zero, she braced herself and the shimmering began again. Better prepared, the upset stomach did not feel quite so bad, and when the vibrations finished, the latch clicked a second time. Now, the handle turned easily. She opened the door and glanced out into the dimly lit council chamber. She was back to where she had started.

Briana shut the door and selected ‘nowhere’ a second time. After there was no vibration again, she smiled. Things were working as she had expected. It would do no good to use the portal and then have some minion of her father immediately follow. She would keep this door parked at nowhere until she was ready to return.

And the second door, Briana thought. It must open to the shrouded stranger’s world. How else could he have gotten home? A peek there before she returned would be an added bonus to report about to her father. When she did, he would maintain a gruff exterior of course, but inside, he would be proud. Thinking about it gave her a warm glow.

She moved to the other end of the portal. The only choices on the wall there were ‘nowhere’ and ‘the vanquished’ — nothing that would indicate Randor’s home. He must have wanted to keep his location secret, but, if so, how did he manage to get there after he had visited Erthe?

Briana pushed the thought away. That was something to figure out later. There was no time for that now. She shouldered her pack, selected ‘the vanquished’, waited for the vibration and nausea to go away and opened the door.

It was completely dark. She snapped one of her glow sticks and cautiously looked out. Directly in front of her were what looked like the bars of a cage! She whirled about. The bars gently curved off into the gloom on either side, hinting at a giant circle of confinement.

The shrouded one had said that the natives did not practice any of the crafts. So she had naturally assumed that they were primitive as well — living in simple huts, plowed fields with the smell of animals nearby. But metal bars…

Perhaps when the shrouded visitor’s people last visited here, there was no cage. It would make sense to put the portal in an uninhabited location. But its presence changed things. The first thing she would have to do is escape.

Holding the glow stick in front, Briana started walking the perimeter of the confining wall. After a few dozen steps, she gasped aloud at what she saw — a narrow opening through which she easily could walk!

She started to step through the opening and then stopped. The reality of what she was getting into started to rumble in her head. Her confidence began to falter. Things were not going to be simple; already there was a complication. The enclosing cage was here for a reason. Come the dawn perhaps natives would arrive to inspect its contents. Even if she were not here, they would see the portal door. She would not be able to leave it unguarded and wander about.

For a few heartbeats, she thought about what to do. The ‘setter,’ she finally remembered from the instructions. Yes, that was what was needed. She returned into the portal, found the correct drawer in the wall now on the left, and extracted a small slender device that she could hold easily in her hand.

She ran her free hand over the bottom of the drawer but felt only smooth metal. There should have been two setters, she remembered from the instructions, but she had found only one. On it, the selection choices near the two doors were reproduced as well as their nearby counters. She exited the portal, and back outside, she read carefully the instructions for the setter’s use. She studied them a second time to be sure. Even the smallest mistake here could maroon her forever.

When Briana was satisfied that she understood thoroughly, she began pressing tiny button-like objects that protruded from the setter. She set the counters for ‘nowhere’ near the door she had exited to one hundred. But before selecting that choice, she also set the counters for ‘the vanquished’ to two hundred. Next, she started the countdown to move the portal door to nowhere, but before it completed, she selected ‘the vanquished’ as well. The counters for both choices began spinning down.

After about fifty heartbeats, the portal vanished. Briana sucked in her breath. Waiting for another fifty was agonizing, but finally the portal again reappeared. It had gone to ‘nowhere’ and then traveled back.

The instructions said that a day on this, the exile’s planet, was forty-three thousand, three hundred and twenty heartbeats. Using that number for the length of time before returning the portal from nowhere meant that she could hide it for an entire day. And she could set things so that she was present when it appeared and none of the natives were about.

Briana quickly browsed through more of the instructions. How to add and delete location choices was complicated. More complex still were explanations of how the portal worked. It was not a simple matter to have a door stay in one place. Planets spun on an axis and also possibly hurled through the cosmos. While on the outside it might to look that a door was standing still, it was in fact continually moving.

In fact, the setters had a button to turn on a homing beacon, and Briana did so. If for some reason, the portal did not return to precisely where she had last seen it, she would be able to track it down. She reset the counters as she wanted them and the portal vanished again. She shouldered her backpack and returned to the opening in the high fence.

She took a deep breath and felt her confidence return, although not quite as high as it had been at first. But no matter. Now for the adventure to begin.

Briana scrambled through the opening. Onn the other side, she looked up at a wooden placard attached to the wall written in the script of the natives. With the help of the language guide, she spoke aloud what she read.

“Wattles Mansion and Garden. City of Los Angeles.”

The Archimage’s Fourth Daughter – Chapter 4

Preparation for Adventure

Briana placed the small disk over the keyhole. Its magic gently tingled her fingertips. With a satisfying click, the bolt in the door retracted. She grabbed the handle, thrust her backpack into the opening, and then buried the disk into the potted plant standing beside the doorway. The page would retrieve it later, and the only mystery would be how the council room had somehow been left unlocked.

Briana entered the chamber and let the door slowly swing shut. The heavy drapes had been pulled back earlier, but because it was a moonless night, the blackness was deep. Perhaps the two rows of chairs had been removed and the council table returned as well. She reached into her pack in order to snap a glowstick, but then halted. Now, she only had five left, and to waste one here would not be wise. She had to start thinking like an adventurer, not some pampered doxy wondering what would be served at dinner the next day.

Feeling along the wall, she felt a sconce and found the indentation nearby containing matches. The flickering glow of a single candle was enough. Yes, the chairs were gone and the large round table had returned to its usual place. The door into the portal still stood on the other side of the room, beckoning to be opened.

Briana set her equipment on the ground for one last check before proceeding. She would have to hurry. Dawn was not that far away, and she needed to be gone before anyone else would come — before anyone would stop her from what she was going to do.

She smiled in satisfaction. The bedroll filled with down would serve for back comfort when she camped in a field; her cloak would be cover if the climate turned out to be cold. A goatsack of water was filled to almost bursting and its surface was completely dry; there were no leaks. A dagger for the left side of her belt and a stout baton of ironwood for the right. Two loaves of hard bread and a change in underwear completed all of her essentials. She would wear her tunic, leggings and boots for the entire journey. There was no need for anything more.

Briana looked over the provisions a final time. She replaced one loaf of bread with a sack of sweetmeats. She was only to be gone for a few days after all.

The instructions for the portal, native dictionary, and the language guide left by the visitor joined a slim journal, some quills, and a small bottle of ink. How her father had managed to keep everything in his head on his own saga, she could hardly imagine.

Her father, Briana thought. What would he do if she were caught? He was widely regarded as just and level headed, but when it came to his own family…

She turned her attention to her small trove of precious objects — toys from her childhood, things long since put away. None were powerful of course — those were too rare, too expensive. But what she did have might come in handy in dealing with the primitives. She had one each of the five crafts: Thaumaturgy, Alchemy, Magic, Sorcery, and Wizardry.

From a thaumaturge, a short metal cylinder, shorter than the width of a hand, cut into two pieces lengthwise — one piece named the ‘king’ and the other the ‘queen’. It was a teaching tool for youngsters for ‘once together, always together’ and ‘like produces like’. Briana remembered hiding one-half under something like a handkerchief and then manipulated its twin so the first would soar and scare her older sisters.

Next, her collection of glowsticks from an alchemist. She had bought a batch of two dozen when she was twelve, and she had wasted most of them over the years until she realized that those that remained should be saved until there was a real need rather than an imagined one. Snap one apart and there would be a soft glowing light that lasted for hours.

She grasped the dark crystal of columbite, its color an unusual deep brown-black. It was a source of niobium, the magician had explained at the bazaar. Used in rituals that produced strange forces that never faded. Useless unless the iron was stripped away first, but it was all a child needed in order to pretend.

The sorcerer’s telescope came next. Yes, a telescope, but somehow rendered the size of her hand, sights for both of her eyes rather than only one. The light was bent back and forth inside, the sorcerer had said so that the telescope need not be long and cumbersome. The best part was that the chant that one had to say in order to make one work was short and simple. Despite what everyone knew — how difficult it was to recite correctly three times through and the headache that would occur when there was a miscasting — each time she had used the strange device, she had not faltered. Each time she saw clearly images from many paces away — a charm of far-seeing, as potent as any that were alluded to in the sagas.

Finally, five mitematches bound in string, their tips coated in alchemical preparation that caused the shafts of ironwood to burst into flame when rubbed against a coarse surface. The imps that were contacted in the demon realm on the other side of the fire were almost the smallest of all. Although they had surprising strength, they were as tiny as mosquitos and their wills feeble and easy to dominate. Briana remembered how her sister had swatted helplessly as one whined around her head as it had been commanded.

Briana brushed the direction of her thoughts away. Yes, these were juvenile things, most likely cheap gimcracks to keep children occupied while parents bargained for items of true craft at the bazaar. That did not matter. The important thing would be the reaction of the natives to them if the situation arose.

She reassembled her pack, attached the bedroll, and shouldered its straps. The sky outside was growing lighter. Soon, someone would come to the chamber. There was still the workings of the portal to be mastered. She started tp drop a note that said she was going, but then thought better of it and crumpled the parchment into her pack. She took a deep breath and slowly walked over to the waiting door. Its handle tingled to the touch — yes, true magic.

The Archimage’s Fourth Daughter – Chapter 3

Please comment. I want to know what you think.

Father and Daughter

Briana took a seat next to her father, and the page ushered in Slammert. He was a short man, shorter even than Briana, but as wide as a pill bug that had curled into its shell. Long black hair glistened with an odorous pomade. Not one but two daggers hung from his waist in jeweled encrusted scabbards.

“May I approach my betrothed to bestow a kiss of greeting, mighty Archimage?” Slammert said.

“No, you may not,” Alodar answered through gritted teeth. “She is not yet yours to do with what you will.”

“Ah, perhaps my new perfumed essence is not to your daughter’s liking. My apologies, venerated one. It will take some time for experimentation, but — ”

“Your appearance is of no concern of mine,” Alodar said. “The inner fiber is what makes a man a man.”

“But you hardly know me, my lord.”

“I am not your lord. And had I known more before the agreement was made, I would never had consented.”

“But consent you did, Archimage. The hand of your fourth and youngest daughter in exchange for loyalty to the Queen of Procolon and vigilance along the western border.” Slammert twirled the tip of his moustache. “Are you perhaps having, shall we say, second thoughts?”

“Of course I do, dammit! After the story about your first wife became public, I wanted nothing more than to abrogate the agree  mdash.”

“But you did not.” Slammert smiled. “Because you cannot. The Archimage is not a despot holding sway over all of the Erthe. Your decisions are accepted by those who rule because of the respect given to you to select the best choices. You cannot reverse yourself. Once you have spoken, then the matter is concluded. It is done. Time to move on to the next crisis.”

“Decisions are altered all the time,” Briana burst out. “New information is not ignored.”

“We have been over this before, Briana,” Alodar sighed. “I have many enemies because of decisions that I have made. Holding one of my daughters hostage for retribution is a threat that concerns me greatly. I want each of you to be under the protection of a powerful lord.

“It was a mistake, hastily made. I have admitted it. Slammert commands many men-at-arms in a strong fortress. All of the reports about his nature were not yet received when the queen asked me to do something to secure the western border again.” The Archimage shook his head slowly. “It seemed like I could finish both a formula and a ritual with but a single step.”

“But now, father, you know otherwise,” Briana persisted.

“Yes, but in the case of our betrothal,” Slammert said, “behavior within my own household has no bearing on my ability to defend Procolon on the west.”

There was a moment of silence, then Alodar said “Slammert, why are you here?”

The lord glowered at Alodar. “Perhaps to remind everyone why the wedding must go forward as planned.” He smiled at Briana. “And to inform you, my beloved, that in your honor, I will be replacing one of the posts from our wedding bed with a new one. The old lumber is almost already notched from top to bottom. Yours will be the first on the new. Then every time we spend the evening together, you can count for yourself how many other notches have been added for those days that we are apart.”

Slammert’s tone hardened. “Make no doubt about it, wench. I always get whatever woman I want. Always!”

“Get out!” Alodar commanded. “Somehow, I will find a way.”

“That we shall see. But for now, as you wish, mighty Archimage.” Slammert bowed. “I have other kings and lords to visit and extend invitation to the wedding — and remind them as well about the agreement you have made.”

###

After Slammert had left, the silence hung like a dark raincloud over the two that remained.

“Am I not worth something more to you than a mere pawn in the world of politics, Father?” Briana asked.

“Of course you are,” Alodar said. “But in that world, you are only a beloved daughter, not a wielder of power.”

“You do not command armies either.”

“Yes, but it is my knowledge and my experience that serves instead.”

The decision rushed into Briana’s thoughts and solidified. She took a deep breath. “Let me be the one who ascertains the situation with the exiles, Father. And after that, there are other tasks that you could give me as well. Then the royalty and all their lieges could understand why you broke the betrothal, why I have value more important than securing a single border, value of importance to all of the Erthe.”

“What? The exiles? No, that is impossible. No one knows if what this cloaked visitor says is even true. A proven champion is needed.” Alodar brow folded in a fatherly frown and then he managed a weak smile. “Someone who has a very good chance of returning unscathed.”

“But wouldn’t that be the proof you needed? An example of what my worth to all of the Erthe would be? Reason enough to nullify the agreement that was made with Slammert? Everyone would understand.”

Briana took a deep breath and continued without thinking what the words were that tumbled out of her mouth, words that she did not even know were there. “I want to go on an adventure, Father, as you did before becoming the Archimage, before checking off all the steps in the same boring ritual: courtship, marriage, children, and then old age. I want my name to be added to those in the sagas, triumphing over adversity, righting great wrongs, saving the world — or at least a little part of it.”

She took another breath and smiled, “Tales like those recorded of the deeds of my famous father. You were scarcely older then than I am now.”

Alodar startled at the words. “Aeriel warned me that it might come to this — that is, if we had had sons as well as daughters.”

“How can you say that!” Briana exploded. “What difference does the gender make? Was not your final victory as much because of what mother did as you?”

Alodar was silent for a while and then answered softly. “No, you are right. Of course, I would not be here today. The world would not be as it is today if not for her. And to this day she completes me still.”

“And so, I want to be the one who goes through the portal and visits this other world. The natives look almost the same as ourselves. It could be the task of a woman as well as a man’s.”

Alodar started to answer, but then paused. “Wait a moment,” he said. “’One traveler at a time.’ ‘The natives look the same as we do.’ How do you even know those things?”

“From the writings given to us by the visitor on his first visit last year,” Briana shrugged, trying to make light of it. “A library page has been kind enough to gain me access.

“I have studied the tome well,” she continued. “There is a dictionary, a tutorial on one of the dominant languages, what the alphabetical symbols look like, and a pronunciation guide.”

“Yes, yes, you are an apt student, able to discover secrets from even the most ancient of texts. Few of your age are your equal. But  — ”

“And most important of all, the natives are primitive.” Briana rushed on. “They have no knowledge of the five crafts. Even if they did, the laws would be the same as they are here. I would not be going to another realm. It will be easy to explore this world. I will be back in a few days.

“Unlike other magical items, this portal has controls, settings for where and when to go and such, she continued at a slower pace. “ I have studied that as well. After all, we have had these parchments for a year.”

“As I have said,” the Archimage shook his head, “we have only the shrouded stranger’s word that the natives do not use the crafts. I do not trust him — at least not yet. Not until whomever makes the journey reports back what he has learned. Trust me. I will somehow find another way to correct the error I have made.”

He placed his hands on Briana’s shoulders, paused for a heartbeat more and then said softly, “The answer is no.”

“You can’t do that!” Briana yelled back. “Even the Archimage has limits to his power. You cannot order me around like some serf of an Arcadian lord.”

“I do not order you to stay because I am the Archimage,” Alodar said. “I do so because I am your Father.”

Briana felt the anger well within her like a brush fire suddenly out of control. She breathed deeply so as not to say more. The library page had a key to this council chamber, she thought fiercely. It might take more than a single kiss to get it, but that is what she would have to do.

The Archimage’s Fourth Daughter – Chapter 2

Here is chapter two. Constructive comments are greatly appreiated.

The Magic Portal

Briana grasped the chairback of the wizard seated in front of her. The massive round table in the center of the council chamber had been removed to make more room for spectators. Alodar sat in the very center of the row of chairs, leaning forward as eager as all the rest. On either side like pieces in a board game were arrayed the most senior practitioners throughout all of the Erthe: thaumaturges, alchemists, magicians, sorcerers, and wizards from Procolon, the southern kingdoms, and even Arcadia from across the great ocean. All those seated wore their robes of office: scarlet red, brown, white, deepest blue, grey, and black. At the far left she even recognized one of her childhood tutors, Bramdal, the Master Sorcerer.

The finery denoted in which of the five distinct crafts each master was proficient, but even without them once could tell. The eyes of the sorcerers were deep and piercing, able to enchant others with their charms and see far in space in time. Haughty and unyielding as steel, the faces of the wizards seemed almost to dare demons from another realm to challenge them for dominance.

Although they wore pristine and unblemished garb reserved for ceremony, the alchemists’ hands were soiled and blotched with stains from the exotic substances they manipulated to produce sweetbalms and potions of love. The magicians had a faraway look, always contemplating the rituals from which came swords, mirrors, and rings of true magic.

The lowly thaumaturges were the friendly ones, eager artisans hoping for a few coins in exchange for raising heavy beams to the top of new tower or cause trees to drop their fruit all on the same day. Five distinct skills, each with its on disciplines. Only one had mastered them all.

The chamber was as somber as a tomb. Wall frescos had long since faded centuries ago. Heavy curtains blocked any incoming daylight. On the other side of the room, tall sconces with multiple arms upraised with flickering candles illuminated a small, hastily constructed platform.

No one spoke.

Standing at the chairback on Briana’ left was a young man still in his teens. He flexed his grip and looked nervously about. Obviously, this was his first time.

“It will be all right,” she whispered to him and smiled. “All we have to do is stand erect and look serious, no matter what is said.”

She returned her attention to her own thoughts. No idea of merit on how to proceed with the problem of the encaged demon had come. Perhaps the thin slip of stone did not have to be removed from the cage. Perhaps it could be dissolved instead. But universal solvent was too dangerous to try. Even though the struts defining the cage were of magic infused metal, perhaps they would also slag into the liquid before it had reached the limit of what it could carry. The demon would be released.

Or perhaps her mind had figured out what to do, and she was unaware of it. A light sorcerer’s enchantment might expose the thoughts that dwelt deep within her. On the other hand, a powerful wizard — not her father certainly —  could be enlisted to help…

As a muffled chime from a clock in an adjacent room marked the hour, the air above the stage started to shimmer, at first barely perceptible, but then with increasing violence like smooth water encountering rapids, it distorted more and more until the blank wall behind was no longer visible.

A door took shape within the swirl, solidified, and, after a few heartbeats more, swung open. Briana gasped, as did more than one master, even some nearing a hundred years of experience. Wrapped from head to toe as if for burial, a figure stepped forward onto the stage and with effort raised one arm in a sign of greeting. He was shaped like a human in every respect: head, neck, torso, arms and legs, hands and feet, but the coverings hid every feature. Not thin sheets of linen but bulky strips from what looked like brilliant white woolen blankets swirled around the entire body. No eyes or mouth could be seen. In their place were opaque goggles and below them a circle of thin parchment where there would have been a mouth. Bulky gloves covered his hands. So this was the purpose of the formal council meeting, a parlay with the one that had brought the tome.

“You may call me Randor, Randor of the Faithful.” A tinny voice in a strange accent vibrated from the paper beneath the glasses. “Do you understand everything in the volume left for you? Are you confident that you can work the controls?”

“Yes, the high council has studied the contents,” Alodar answered. “And if your doorway had not appeared so suddenly and unannounced a year ago, they would have no credibility.”

Briana watched the visitor intently as did all the others. The being that stood before them must be of such grossness that he dare not appear in his natural form, she thought. In the writings that had been left, there were illustrations of what looked like men — beings that could easily pass without notice here on Erthe. But there were no pictures at all of any other type of creature, no hint of what unwinding the swathing would reveal.

She should not even have been allowed to see the book after it was deposited in the great library for study by the masters, but the page had told her how to bypass the safeguards for a single kiss. Before she had stumbled upon the first clue leading to the encaged demon that started to consume all of her time, she had spent many late evenings reading and rereading what the tome contained.

“I have asked you a direct question,” the visitor said. “I expect a direct answer.”

“We have questions as well,” Alodar’s tone hardened. “Why did you leave this book with us that speaks of another world in the cosmos? Is that where you are from?”

“Two questions rather than a single answer,” Randor said. “Your race is an impertinent one.” One of the enveloped hands slowly waved the concern away. “But no matter. It is one of the reasons why you were chosen.

“Our entire race is not exiled on the orb of which I speak. We, the Faithful remain pure. Only the Vanquished of my kind, the ones who call themselves the Heretics Who Proclaim the Truth, have been imprisoned on the hellish world described in the text. The descriptions in the tome concern only the primitive natives, not ourselves. We judged that such information would make your own journeys more efficient. You would not have to spend the time relearning what we had gleaned from so many trips ourselves.”

“The Vanquished?” Alodar asked. “Our own journeys?”

“The heretical crimes committed by those now banished is a matter of no concern to you. And yes, we, the Faithful, have made the journey many times, once every hundred or so of your years for some ten times or more. Now, we grow, let us say —  less able to guard against the possibility of the return of contamination.”

“Over a millennium!” the magicians with the neatly trimmed goatee exclaimed. “You live that long?”

“No, as individuals, we normally do not. Only the exiles wear rings of eternal youth — and only if they so elect.”

“A ring of eternal youth!” the magician grabbed at his beard. “Then the suspicion in our guilds is correct. One can be made! Your magicians have done so. What is the ritual? How is it performed?”

“Some say that we should have killed them.” Randor ignored the outburst. “But that would be only a passing satisfaction. Instead, as of our last visit, the Vanquished remain imprisoned as we planned. Originally eleven hundred were entombed; now only some seven hundred remain alive.

“Death is swift and is but a shadow of the agony of an eternity of captivity. Death is too gentle a fate for what they continue to experience. The only way they could escape from their confinement is by the use of the one of the crafts. And for that, our sorcerers enchanted them all, forced them to forget everything they knew about any of the arts when they were defeated. By now, the despair of their situation should have caused them all to end their existences by their own hands. It is so exquisite for us to contemplate. Ones so proud reduced to ending defiance by the exercise of their own crumbling will.”

“If they have remained in captivity for so long, then why not accept the situation for what it is?” asked the wizard seating in front of Briana. “Not bother to check on how they fare anymore?”

Randor hesitated a second time. “Because,” he said at last. “Because there is a possibility, however slight, that the sorcery might slowly wear off. All of the skill in the arts by the Vanquished might eventually return gradually, and then, using magic they might escape.

“The natives of the orb are quite backward,” he continued. “As far as we have detected, they employ none of the arts at all. So, evidence of a large enough use of the crafts by the Vanquished before they had regained their full power would be a trigger — a trigger to take more drastic action against them. The chances are small, but all of us that remain are too concerned with other things to continue with the task.

“And so, here is our proposition. Moving among the natives will be no problem for your kind. That is why you have been selected.

“All we ask you to do is to check periodically for evidence of any incantations, charms, or other crafts, and then do what is necessary to snuff out the practices. Catch the banished as they emerge. It will be easy enough using the mature proficiency of your own crafts. In exchange, this magic portal is for yours to use according to your own desires. In an instant, you will be able to travel across your great ocean for a meeting such as this. Send crops or even men-at-arms to wherever they are needed with but a few steps.”

“But the writings say that only a single person can use the portal at one time,” Briana burst out. “To transport an army would take days.”

All the masters in the room turned to stare at Briana, now very well aware of her presence. “Oops! Sorry, Dad!” She blushed.

Alodar frowned, but chose for the moment to ignore the interruption. He returned his gaze to the bundled visitor.

“This portal has great power,” he said. “Great disruptive power for any society that uses it —  perhaps a curse rather than a boon.”

“It is most ingenious magic,” a magician said. “One end of the portal connects to the realm of demons without the need for flame. The other does likewise. By placing the two entrances properly, we can connect two places anywhere throughout our realm.”

“Yes, the opportunity to explore,” an alchemist said. “A chance to visit other worlds, exchange formulas and harvest exotic ingredients that here are rare.”

“Trade and exchange,” a thaumaturge chimed in. “Erthe could become the commercial center for our entire universe. We all would prosper.”

“Progress cannot be stopped, Archimage Alodar,” Bramdal said. “One way or another, each step forward has to be addressed, and undesirable consequences dealt with when they occur — as you and this high council have done many times before.”

Alodar was silent for a hundred heartbeats. He lowered his chin onto his chest to think.

What decisions her father had to make all the time, Briana thought. No wonder he has become so tired and overworked&thinnsp;— so irrational in some of his decisions. He needed help. Why couldn’t he see that she was the one who could be his aide?

“It is decided,” the Archimage said finally, raising back up his head. “We accept the offer.”

The masters around Alodar began burbling like brooks breaking the surface for the very first time. No voice raised in objection.

Briana’s thoughts raced. This was an easy task! She remembered the instructions about controlling the portal. They were quite simple. Snoop around a few places to see if there was any craft being performed and report. A two or three day job at the most. Perhaps this could be the task that would open her father’s eyes to how useful she could be. And then with the wedding no longer looming, she could figure out about the demon and even further enhance her standing.

“When will you make the first journey?” the visitor asked.

“The traveler has not yet been chosen,” Alodar said, a hint of irritation entering his voice. “But he will be soon enough to satisfy your desire.”

“Then I return now to my peers. Their purity will refresh. The parchments that have been given to you contain the coordinates of the world that imprisons the exiles.”

Without anything further, Randor returned the portal and shut the door. It shimmered again for a moment and then was still.

Alodar stood and faced the masters. “We will meet again in seven days. Bring with you candidates for who is to be the journey taker. We will discuss and then decide.”

A page entered the chamber and gave a note to the Archimage. He read it and scowled.

He looked in the direction of the wizard on the far right. “All are dismissed — all except one, that is. Briana, please remain. Your fiancé is here on an unannounced visit.

The Archimage’s Fourth Daughter – Chapter 1

After far too long a time, I have started work on a fourth novel in my Magic by the Numbers series. Here’s the first chapter.

I really would like to receive constructive comments on this. My goal is to post a new chapter roughly once a week.

The Caged Demon

“If I don’t do something soon, my life is as good as over,” Briana growled aloud with the effort as she pushed down against the tree branch she was using as a lever. The sun would soon set over the desolate plain, and there would not be sufficient light to continue unless she used one of her remaining glowsticks.

She was a sylph of a girl barely twenty, slender like a reed and with flaming red hair like her mother. In the fashion of all proper young ladies, she wore brown leggings, tunic, and cloak. Her eyes danced with alertness, and her smile was like that of lion cub about to pounce on its first prey.

She had not thought her father would go through with it. It had to have been a bluff. But she had been wrong. One hundred days to pick her betrothed or he would do it for her. And when she demurred, the choice was the loutish lording, Slammert, on the western border.

Briana shook her head. Slammert. How could anyone be so coarse? Everyone could talk about nothing else when it was finally disclosed what he had done to his first wife. At the harvest festival, sitting with his bride up on the dais in the feasting hall, he had ripped her bodice away and fondled her bare breasts while his minions watched and roared with laughter. The next morning, they discovered the unfortunate girl had hanged herself, one of her belts tight around her neck and her body stiff like that of a slaughtered lamb.

Briana broke away from the direction her thoughts were taking. Dwelling upon impending shame and possibly even death served no useful purpose. She leaned harder against the tree branch. The end on the other side of the small boulder that served as a fulcrum pushed against the flat slab on the ground, and with a low grating sound, it slid a palm’s width to the side. She had spotted the small hint granite peeking out of the limestone rubble the first thing in the morning, but it had taken her all day to clear away the entire surface and a place to the side for the stone to slide.

Her hunch had been right. There along the edge, was an absence of rubble — a darkness that hinted at an opening below. She moved the fulcrum closer, repositioned the tree branch and pushed it earthward with all of her strength. Again, the slab moved revealing more of the opening.

After a hundred heartbeats, Briana peered into the inky blackness. The sun was too low to help. She would have to use a glow stick after all. She ran to her backpack laying nearby, extracted one of the six remaining, and snapped it in two. A feeble yellow glow sprang from each of the halves as she clasped them together and held them over the opening.

Steps! There were steps leading downward!

For a moment, a wave of discomfort billowed up from her gut, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside. She fumbled in a small pocket in her cape and popped a small sweetmeat in her mouth. That seemed to help.

This place upon which once soared an ancient palace of magicians had another secret to reveal she marveled. This was an exciting discovery. Her father would be pleased! It was the argument that she needed. It was her first adventure! And if she set out now, she could return in time before the gates shut for the night and not have another lecture about the danger of unsupervised absences after sundown.

But not pleased enough, she concluded an instant later. The excitement vanished. Her father, Alodar, Alodar, the Master of the Five Magics, Alodar, the Archimage of all of the Erthe, would dismiss the entire discovery as random chance rather than the result of careful deduction from months of study of fragile scrolls in the great library. The potential of what she was capable of doing would not be proven. Her value as a trusted aide would not be enhanced. It was not reason enough to reverse his decision and call off the wedding. She would remain an item on a checklist of things to do. She needed more information — what was hidden here for so many years; what exactly was it for?

Putting aside a strengthening hesitation, Briana squeezed into the opening she had made and descended the steps. The flight was straight and long like a cascade of shallow water over steep rapids, easily three times the height of a full-grown man. They ended in a small chamber, the air thick and fetid and the cobbled floor deeply covered with the dust of ages.

Briana held her glowsticks aloft while her eyes adjusted to their dimness. In the very center of the room stood a cage of glass, its edges defined by shining struts of metal, totally untarnished by the passage of time. She approached the structure slowly and stuck out her hand to feel the surface. When she did, she gasped in surprise as a subtle tingle coursed up her arm.

Magic! The cage was magic. There could be no doubt about it.

Peering inside, she gasped again. There, huddled in the far corner like a sleeping child was a demon of uncommon size. It was larger than an imp but much smaller than a djinn of power. Coarse skin covered with boils and weeping ulcers wrapped the torso and thin limbs. Small bat-like wings drooped from the back like a short cloak that served no purpose. The eyes were closed, one encrusted with dried pus and the other sprouting coarse lashes like pikes along a battlement. The hands curled into a ball and clasped together as if protecting something too precious to be seen.

Yes, a magic cage, Briana realized. Far larger than an imp bottle, but serving the same purpose nevertheless. The demon was a captive, unable to roam in this world of men or to return to his own realm. He must be holding the treasure hinted at in the ancient scrolls she had studied in the great library.

From another pocket in her cape she withdrew the paper-thin piece of stone that had been tucked away with the scroll. It was thin as mica and yet somehow inscribed with arcane text that had taken her a month to decipher. Perhaps this close to the cage, the words will have changed, she thought. In the dim light, she read again the script, but the characters were the same as they had always been — only warnings and cautions. There was no hint as to the importance of the cage and imprisoned demon.

She had taken the stone to a trusted thaumaturge when she had found it, and despite its thinness, he could neither fold nor break it with any of his machines. An alchemist had agreed that it was the product of his craft, but he did not know the formula used to create it. Some universal solvent might be able to affect it, the alchemist had said, but he doubted than a simple acid or base would react at all.

With the stone in one hand and the glowsticks in the other, Briana cautiously began to circumnavigate the enclosure to see if she could tell what was in the devil’s hands. When half way around, she stumbled slightly on a loose cobble and thrust out her forearm against the cage. The structure rocked ever so slightly, and when it did, the demon opened his eyes. He looked out at Briana, and his lips curved in a grotesque smile.

‘The handle. Pull on the handle.’ The words suddenly took shape somehow in Briana’s head. She looked to the right and saw on the upright metal strut a long thin appendage with a handgrip at the bottom. She dropped the glow sticks to the floor, reached out the beckoning lever and pulled.

The glass plate in front of where she stood hinged slowly open. Without understanding why she was doing it, she began to insert the stone into the interior towards the demon.

“No,” she shouted aloud suddenly before completing the action. “’Dominance or submission’. It is the law.” She took a deep breath and focused on the demon as her father had taught her.

She was no wizard to be sure, but the basic elements of all five of the crafts had been a natural part of her upbringing. “It is I who is the stronger. I am the one who will dominate. You are the one who will submit.”

Concentrating on the demon’s words in her head, she tried to make them softer, less strident, less able to command her limbs. For a dozen heartbeats nothing happened, the strength of the command neither grew nor shrank. “You are the one will submit,” she repeated. “Back to sleep, until I tell you otherwise.”

Summoning the will that she knew she must have inherited from her father, her resolved hardened. The demon’s words quivered and began to lose focus in her mind.

With a savage heave, she slammed the door to shut it and staggered back to fall on the dusty floor. Pushing her cape aside, she found the glowsticks and thrust them before her.

The door was again shut and the demon eyes had returned to being closed. Everything was again the way it was. Now so long as she proceeded with more care…

Briana blinked. The thin stone was caught in the jamb of the glass door; it hung suspended directly in front of her eyes. She pulled on the edge protruding on the outside, but it did not budge. Like an ironsmith’s armor plate set in a vice, it remained firmly in place.

But the seal was not completely tight. Briana heard a gentle hiss and then noticed dust flung airborne by her stumble drifted towards the small sit between door and wall and then with increasing speed coursed inside and plunged towards the demon’s cupped hands.

Briana placed her palm along the slit and felt a gentle pull. The pressure of the air must be lower inside, she reasoned. Perhaps the awakened demon had sucked some of it into his lungs. Before doing anything more, she decided to wait a moment for it to equilibrate with the outside chamber. But after a hundred heartbeats, the inrush of air and dust did not abate. She counted another hundred beats more, but the inrush continued.

Briana did not understand what was happening. The air rushing in seemed harmless enough, but the cage had been buried so long ago for a reason. How were the heroes of the sagas all able to so quickly deduce hidden meanings and then act with decision? Like her father did. She probably should ask for his help to get the door firmly…

No, she decided. Asking for help was the worst possible thing she could do. It would be the keystone in the arch, the capstone on the tower. Revealing a bumbling misstep would only make the case to marry her off all the more compelling. Somehow, she would have to figure out a way to reseal the door properly without letting the demon escape, figure out the significance of his presence and only then report to her father her discovery and accomplishment.

How she was to do this was not immediately apparent. Today was finished. Tomorrow, she would have to return and cover up the cavern and remove all trace of what she had found. And the day after that, she was to be part of a state retinue in the council chamber. She had pleaded with her father to let her serve as a substitute when needed, and if she did not appear, that would be the last of that. Today, tomorrow, and the day after; three days closer to when she would have to wed.

Paying the card game Hearts – a cautionary tale

I am mildly protan colorblind. I have trouble distinguishing some reds from greens. I cannot successfully pick out all of the numbers hidden in those funny figures with the many little dots. Here is an example of one of them from the EnChroma Color Blindness Test.

EnChroma Color Blindness Tests © 2015

You can take the test yourself at http://enchroma.com/test/instructions/

I have known about this for years, and it does not bother me very much. I can tell a red light from a green one on the street, and my driver license tests are no problem. But in the past, I did encounter one situation…

###

Many years ago, when I was working at the aerospace company, TRW, various games would become lunchtime fads for a while. I am not talking about serious ones like bridge or chess, games that require heavy mental lifting, but simplier ones like hearts or kriegspiel. Enough of a challenge to play well, but not brain exhausting. There was enough of that in the rest of the day.

As most of you probably know, hearts is a trick taking game for which the object is not to take points. Each heart counted one point against you and the queen of spades thirteen. During the course of play, for every hand, usually everyone was pegged with a few hearts. But the card certainly to avoid was the evil queen.

I remember one lunch hour in particular in which I was really getting hammered. I ate the queen many more times than was my share. I could not understand what was happening. Was I having an extremely bad day for luck, had my game suddenly gone to pot, or what?

After the game concluded – I reached a score of over 100 and end of game – in rapid fashion, the other players explained what was going on.

As is the custom with many card games, two decks are used. While the cards were being dealt out from one for a new hand, the other one is being shuffled. No time is wasted at the end of the hand. The next could start immediately.

The two decks we were playing with both had the same abstract design on the back. The only difference between them was that one back was green and the other one brown. There is a lot of red in brown. I could not tell the difference.

Before we began for the day, my erstwhile friends merely swapped the queen of spades between the two decks. Then everyone could see where the queen of spades was at all times in either deck. Everyone could except for one person—me.

This turned out to be a tremendous advantage. Talk about ‘marked’ cards. This was ridiculous! If I held the queen, it would be ‘smoked out’ of me. Low spades were led until I was forced to play it, winning the trick, and eating the big points. If someone else held the queen, then his buddies held off, not leading spades at all.

So the moral of the story is to take the color blindness test. And if you have a deficiency, stay away from cards games with two decks being used – two decks that you cannot tell apart.

Happyness as a card game

Three middle managers are instructed to take a special test. The first arrives at the testing room and sees that it is empty except for a wastebasket in the middle of the floor.

“Your task, the proctor says, “is to sail playing cards into the basket. Your score is the number of times you succeed.”

The first manager squints at the basket. “You got to be kidding. That thing is way out there.”

“Nevertheless, that is the task.”

The manager grumbles, grabs the deck of cards handed to him, and, with a scowl, flips them one after another towards the center of the room. The cards flitter every which way, but three end up in the basket.

“So, my score is 3 out of 52, right?” the manager asks.

“Yes, that is correct,” the proctor answers as he adds the score to a tally sheet on a clipboard.

“Stupid game,” the manager mutters as he leaves. He is an unhappy man.

###

The second manager arrives and listens to the same instructions. Then with a sly grin, he asks the proctor, “You did not tell me where I have to stand, did you?”

“No, your are right. Where to stand is not in the instructions.”

“OK, then,” the manager says as he grabs the deck of cards from the proctor’s hand. “How about this?”

He strides purposefully in the room until he is hovering directly over the basket. Raising his hand high in the air, he hurls the deck forcefully downward. It hits the bottom of the basket with a crash.

“Put me down for 52,” he says as he brushes off one palm against the other.

“Yes, your score is 52,” the proctor says.

“Stupid game,” the manager mutters as he leaves. He is an unhappy man.

###

The third man arrives and listens to the same instructions. Without saying a word, he walks into the room about half the distance from the door to the basket.

Carefully holding a card as horizontal as he can, he flicks it towards the target. The card flutters around a bit but lands nowhere near the goal.

Undaunted, the manager walks a dozen steps closer and tries again. This time, the card goes in with a satisfying ping as it ricochets off of one of the basket’s walls. He tries another card, and it too scores! Then ping, ping, ping! Five cards are successes.

But now, the manager backs up two steps before his next attempt. This time he misses, and then he misses again. Still undaunted, he moves a step closer and tries again. Moving back and forth to make adjustments, he finally finds a range from which he can get most of the cards into the basket — but not all.

He walks out of the room, whistling.

###

A somewhat sappy story to be sure, but the moral is clear.

Happiness is striving for a goal that you have a good chance of achieving but that is not absolutely certain. You have to pay attention and do your best, each step along the way.

Hide and Seek, 21st Century Style

We all know how the Internet and advances in computer technology has changed all of our lives – even children’s. The impact for youngsters go beyond just the availability of games like Minecraft. New avenues for creativity have come about as well. An example:

On a visit to see my grandchildren living on the West Coast, I saw the two of them seated in front of an iPad and talking to my other two grandchildren who live in the East.

How nice, I thought. The four cousins all get together physically only briefly during the winter holidays. Facetime gives them the opportunity to stay connected during the year.

But as I watched, I saw that they were not just bringing each other up to speed on the latest news. They were playing ‘Transcontinental Hide and Seek’, a game they had invented themselves with no parent involvement at all.

One person from, say, the East goes and hides somewhere in their house. The one who is the finder lives in the West. The remaining grandchild in the East, the holder’, turns the iPad facing away from him or her and aimed into the interior of the house.

After the hider has hid and is ready, the finder directs the holder where to walk and where to point the iPad’s camera. For example, “Go into the dining room. Look under the big table.” These instructions continue until the hider is found. Then the roles are reversed. Someone from the West hides, and his sibling follows the instructions of the finder in the East.

Amazing! Thousands of miles apart and playing Hide and Seek!

Not all of them work as planned

Successful pranks are heard about. Unsuccessful ones are buried in the sands of time. Here is one from more than a half-century ago.

 ###

I entered Dave and Larry’s dorm room and saw Dave was alone, reading from a book of plays into a tape recorder. (Remember, I said over fifty years ago). He and Larry were both trying out for the annual school play and were recording their voices so that they could tune up their auditions.

 

I asked Dave if he knew a mutual acquaintance’s phone number. He stopped the recorder.

 

“No, I don’t, but Larry might,” Dave said. He started thumbing through Larry’s little black book.

 

“Hey, here is an interesting entry, ‘Diane – met on the bus from Bakersfield’. Hmmm. I don’t remember Larry every mentioning anyone named Diane.”

 

“Me neither,” I said.

 

And so, the germ of the prank was planted.

###

Dave was in his dorm room alone and reading from a book of plays into a tape recorder. The phone rang. Without turning off the recorder, Dave answered.

 

“Hello. No Larry is not here right now. Can I take a message?”

 

A moment of silence, then . . .

 

“Tell him that Diane, the girl he met on the bus from Bakersfield called and that it is urgent that he call back as soon as he can. Right, got it.”

 

Another pause.

 

“You sound upset. What’s the matter?”

 

A longer moment of silence.

 

“Oh, my gosh! That’s horrible. You need help right away. No, I don’t know when Larry will be back. But, I can help. Tell me where you are, and I will get there as soon as I can.”

 

After a few more moments, Dave hangs up the phone, and dashes out of the room, still leaving the recorder running.

 

Then another friend and I walk by the open doorway.

 

“I never saw Dave move so fast,” I said. “And look, he even left the recorder on. I enter the room, rewind the tape, and turn the recorder off.

###

Several hours later, Larry returns and turns in for the night. At around 3 AM, Dave, reeking of liquor, slams open the door, turns on the light, mumbles something incoherent, staggers across the room and falls into Larry’s bed on top of him.

 

“Dave, what are you doing?” Larry exclaims. “Turn off the light and get in your own bed!”

 

Dave stands, mumbled something more, clomps over to his own bed, falls into it, and apparently passes out.

 

Larry calls out for Dave to turn off the light, but gets no answer. Grumbling, the roommate turns it off himself and gets back to sleep.

###

So now, the bait has been set.

 

In the morning, Larry will confront Dave about what happened to him the previous night. He was such a mild manner guy, after all. The behavior was totally out of character.

 

Dave would deny everything.

 

Then some time later, when Larry was doing his play practice, he would turn on the recorder and hear about the phone call.

 

He would confront Dave a second time, but Dave would stick to his story. He had never stayed up pass midnight, and that was only when he was cramming for an exam the next morning.

 

Larry would then call Diane, but of course, she would deny everything as well. She never placed a call at all.

 

And then . . .

 

Well, that was enough preparation. What happened next would just naturally evolve from Larry’s reactions.

###

So, the next morning, Larry went off to breakfast while Dave apparently was sleeping in. Dave waited in the room for Larry’s return so that things could get rolling.

 

But Larry did not return. Evidently, after breakfast he went directly to his next class.

 

A day passed, and then another.

 

Finally, Dave (and I) could stand it no longer.

 

“Say, Larry,” Dave said. “Are you still using the recorder in preparation for the auditions?”

 

“Yes, I am,” Larry said. “And oh, about that. When I turned it on. I heard some of yours but rather than moving down the tape, I just started recording over it. Sorry.”

 

And that was the end of that.

 

Well, even so, an evening of prank planning was still better than doing homework.

After nearly thirty years, the Magic by the Numbers trilogy is again available

Master of the Five Magics

Order from:

Amazon

Barnes and Nobel

Kobo

iTunes

 

Secret of the Sixth Magic

Order from:

Amazon

Barnes and Nobel

Kobo

iTunes

Riddle of the Seven Realms

Order from:

Amazon

Barnes and Nobel

Kobo

iTunes