"And I say Opiode should give way!"

The speaker. Asmouelle the tamandua, stood be-

fore the narrow wooden oval that was the Quorum

table and glared at his colleagues. His nose was

damp and glistening, and so was the table. Most

everything stayed damp in Quasequa, a city built on

numerous islands in the middle of the Lake of

Sorrowful Pearls. Causeways joined the islands together,

and each isle sent its duly chosen representative to

^ argue for it in the Quorum.

This afternoon the arguments raged hotter than

the air outside the Quorumate. The members were

debating the selection of an advisor in matters ar-

cane and magical.

The unexpected challenger for this mystic position

sat and brooded in a chair at the far end of the

Quorum chamber. Reluctant attendants saw to his

needs. They were afraid of the newcomer. So were

several members of the Quorum, though none

confessed such unseemly fears openly.

Two members openly supported the challenger,

but not out of fear. Kindore and Vazvek saw a

chance to better themselves by striking a bargain

with the newcomer for their aid. The rest of the

2 Alan Dean Poster

Quorum regarded this naked display of sycophancy

with disgust.

And now Asmouelle appeared to have joined

them.

The tamandua sat down. Domurmur the lynx rose

and spoke dispassionately. "And / say this wanderer

has yet to prove himself capable of anything stronger

than bad breath." His paws rested on the ancient

table, which was as black and shiny as a bottle of

oil.

Kindore responded with an insult of some subtlety,

and once again the debate dissolved into chaos. It

ceased only when Trendavi raised a hand for silence.

He did not stand. Long experience had taught him

that it was not necessary for a legislator to jump up

and down like a toy in a box to make a point.

The aged pangolin squinted down the length of

the table, studying the challenger silently for a moment.

Then he nodded to his left.

"Opiode the Sly has been principal advisor in

arcane matters to the Quorum of Quasequa for

nearly thirty years. Skillfully and well has he served.

The city and its citizens have profited much from his

advice." Trendavi showed scaly palms. "As have we

all."

Words of agreement rose from the members while

Kindore and Vazvek were conspicuous by their silence.

The newcomer said nothing.

"It is true that this Markus person"—and Trendavi

gestured toward the individual in the solitary chair,

who sat smiling to himself as if at some secret joke—

"has demonstrated to the Quorum nothing more

than a facile tongue."

Now the newcomer stood and approached the

black table. "Since you credit me with it, let me use

it, friends." The towering form of his personal body-

guard moved to stand close to the door. "Can I come

TSOS MOMENT Of THB MACMCiAflr          3

nearer?" He smiled pleasantly and even Domurlnur

had to admit that this Markus the Ineluctable, as he

styled himself, could be downright ingratiating in

manner when he so desired. Especially for a human,

a species not noted for its social graces.

Trendavi nodded. All eyes focused on the newcom-

er as he moved close.

For his part, Markus the Ineluctable sensed antag-

onism, fear, curiosity, and some open support among

the members of the Quorum. He would concentrate

his efforts on persuading those who seemed to be

wavering. Of the ten, he could count on three. The

two who openly feared him he could ignore. He had

to persuade at least two others.

And he had to move carefully lest he panic them

all. It was too early to press his demands. His posi-

tion was uncertain in Quasequa, and despite his

powers, he had no wish to raise a formal alliance

against him. Far better to make friends of them than

enemies. Of a majority, anyway.

"I've come here from a faraway land, a land far-

ther off and stranger than any of you can imagine."

"So you've claimed." Domurmur had become some-

thing of an unofficial spokesman for Markus's

opposition. "All that you claim is difficult to be-

lieve."

"Yet much of it is proven by my presence, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," said Newmadeen, preening her

whiskers casually. One of her long ears was bent

forward in the middle, a sign of beauty among the

hares.

Markus turned away momentarily and coughed.

He did not need to cough, but he didn't want them

to see the expression on his face. He didn't like being

called a liar- Calming himself, he turned to face

them again. Newmadeen he didn't reply to, but he

4             Alan Dean Foster

would remember her. Oh, yes, he would remember

her. Markus the Ineluctable never forgot an enemy.

"Why not?"

Cascuyom the howler shrugged. "There is nothing

unique or remarkable about your person. There are

many humans living in Quasequa. All species mix

freely here. Or you could have come from any one

of several neighboring lands with denser human

populations. Your humanness is proof of nothing."

Markus stepped up to the table, enjoying the way

several of the members shied away from him. "But

I'm no mere human! I'm not your usual mortal. I

am a magician—the magician. Markus the Ineluctable!

I have powers you cannot comprehend, abilities you

cannot conceive of, talents you cannot imagine!"

"A mouth big beyond belief," Domurmur whispered

to the beauteous Newmadeen.

Trendavi cleared his throat, spoke thoughtfully

and, he hoped, with some degree of neutrality- "You

must think quite highly of your skills to come straight

to the Quorum to challenge the faithful and talented

Opiode without first passing time as an apprentice.

For the nonce I will credit you with boldness instead

of ignorance. Whether Opiode will be as forgiving

remains to be seen." He nodded toward the salaman-

der seated in the advisor's chair off to his right.

Red-orange blotches decorated what was visible of

Opiode's back. He wore a single garment that resem-

bled a raincoat. It was not close-fitting. No salaman-

der could wear anything close to its skin because its

natural bodily secretions would cause the material to

stick.

Opiode's long tail flicked nervously back and forth.

What he'd heard of this Markus the Ineluctable

hadn't pleased him. Now that he saw him in the

flesh, he liked the man even less.

Still, he'd held his peace because protocol demanded

THE MOMENT OF TISK MAOTCMUT           5

it. Not that his personal opinion would be accepted

as evidence. The selection of chief advisor to the

Quorum was purely a matter of business. He would

have his turn in due course. So he continued to sit

quietly, ignoring the debate as best he could while

trying to still the twitching of his tail.

Markus was talking on. "I can do things you won't

believe by means of a magic you've never encountered

before"

"More talk," said Domurmur, slapping the table

with a paw- Markus grinned at him.

**I suspected it would come to this. You want more

than talk from me."

"That'd be nice," said Domurmur sarcastically.

"We've had to contend with applicants whose loquadou&-

ness far exceeded their abilities before"

For an instant, it seemed as if Markus the Inelucta-

ble was about to lose his temper. His barely concealed

rage didn't faze Domurmur. He was made of sterner

stuff than some of his colleagues.

"Yes." said Opiode suddenly, unable to contain

himself any longer. "Let's have an end to this talkl"

All eyes turned to the chief advisor as he rose

from his seat. The glow bulbs hanging by their single

Strands from the curved stone ceiling pulsed a little

brighter as the salamander stood. It was his spelling

which provided their soft, steady light. The servitors

flanking the doorways whispered expectantly among

themselves. Attendants and Quorum members alike

could feel the power flowing from the old wizard,

could sense that he was completely involved in what

was taking place.

About the challenger there was no such percepti-

ble aura of strength. There was only the air of

mystery and feeling of alienness he had brought with

him from the moment he'd stepped into the chamber.

6 Alan Dean Poster

That, and the regal bearing he affected, which some-

how seemed not to fit.

Nor was his actual appearance particularly impres-

sive. He was tall for a human but not spectacularly

so, round of countenance, and crowned with less fur

than most. In hand-to-hand combat it was unlikely

he could have defeated any of the Quorum with the

exception of old Trendavi, for he displayed a consid-

erable paunch above his belt line.

The forthcoming batde would not be physical,

however. Opiode approached the Quorum. "I see no

reason to oppose a challenge. Indeed, I could not

turn it down if 1 wished to. Nor is there any way you

can choose between us without a contest of wills. The

people of Quasequa deserve to have an advisor who

has proven his abilities" He sighed deeply, looked

resigned as he smoothed the slime on the back oT his

hands with a fold of his voluminous robe.

"I have demonstrated my fitness many times be-

fore and expect to have to do so many times again."

He cocked an amphibian eye Coward the newcomer.

"Have you any objection to a public contest?"

"Here and now suits me fine." Markus fairly oozed

confidence. "I'm a little new at this kind of duel. Do

we need seconds?"

"1 think not. In any event, my assistant Flute is

quite young and I would not want him subjected to

mystic influences that could injure him at a delicate

Stage of his development."

"Aw, I wouldn't do that." Markus turned. "Prugg,

no matter what happens you stay there and keep out

of the way. Understand?" The huge bodyguard nod-

ded once and backed away from the table. He was

not completely impassive, however. Like everyone

else in the chamber, he was curious to see how his

master would fare. He was even a little worried.

After all, Opiode was the most noted wizard in the

THB MOMENT OF TSB SSAWCSAM          7

land. It was simple for his master to overawe the

peasant folk with his magic, but outwitting Opiode

would be another matter entirely.

Markus the Ineluctable seemed anything but

intimidated, though. He grinned and gestured

expansively toward the salamander. "You first."

Opiode did not smile. "Food is vital to the health

of all. No food is more important to the people of

Quasequa than the fish that swim in the lakes around

us." He slid back his sleeves, cleared his throat, and

his words rolled through the chamber.

"The bounty of the lake

I bid you aH to share

Your hungers may you slake

With meat beyond compare

For while I advise Quasequa there will be

No nutritional dystopia

But always instead if you look you will see

An ichthyological cornucopia."

Quorum members and servitors alike watched with

the fascination of children as a small, glowing blue-

green whirlpool formed in the air above the floor.

You could smell the lake water as the vortex hummed.

Then the fish poured forth, falling head upon tail,

until there was a heaping mound of flopping, bounc-

ing weewaw lying in the middle of the floor. Weewaw,

the hardest to catch and tastiest of all. And Opiode

had brought forth this expensive and improbable

feast with a wave of his hands and a few words.

The wizard spoke only when the last fish had

• tumbled to the stones and the whirlpool had vanished.

"Can you so readily insure the supply of food to the

citizens of the city?"

Markus frowned a moment. Then his grin returned.

He raised his hands above his head, the fingers

8 Alan Dean Poster

pointing outward. His black cape fluttered behind

him. The Quorum members strained to listen, but

those with good hearing could make no sense of the

newcomer's words. Even Opiode, who could hear the

incantation clearly, did not understand. The words

were strange and sharp.

Sense they might not have made, but there was no

denying their effect. A bright green glow appeared

before the table. A few of the members shifted

nervously in their chairs, and Markus casually as;

sured them they had nothing to worry about.

The glow expanded and thinned. Markus looked

smug as the glow formed a floating rectangle above

the floor.

It was an aquarium without sides- Magic alone

held the water in place. Swimming to and fro within

the drifting section of lake was a whole school of

weewaw. suspended before the Quorum.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I hate

waste. Wouldn't it be better to get your fish one at a

time and keep the others fresh for the taking?"

Opiode muttered something and his pile of dead

weewaw vanished. Markus did likewise and the float-

ing aquarium also disappeared, save for a few mis-

placed drops which stained the floor-

"Well brought!" said Kindore, only to have his

colleagues shush him. Opiode glared at the flying

squirrel, then turned his attention back to the smil-

ing Markus. They had determined one thing already.

His challenger was for real.

"It is not enough to feed a population in times of

difficulty, stranger. One must be able to defend

them as well" Again he lifted an arm, made sinuous

motions in the air.

"Let those who threaten

beware, beware

THE MOMEMT OF THE MAGICIAN          9

We will not fight

with air, with air

We mold our weapons

with care, so there

Be metallurgical might!"

Fire this time, bright and hot. The Quorum mem-

bers shielded their faces as the set of armor co-

alesced before them, melting out of the flames. Sword,

shield, and long spear accompanied it. The fire

cooled and flickered out.

Notorian moved from his seat to inspect the newly

forged weapons. He hefted the sword, tapped the

armor with it.

"Fine instruments for fighting."

"For one fighter, yes," Markus agreed readily. "For

a trained warrior. But what of the ordinary citizen?

How does he, or she, defend the community?"

Once more he raised his hands, once again he

intoned an invocation none could comprehend. This

he concluded by swinging his cape around in front

of him, to form a funnel in the air.

There was a tinkling sound as something fell from

the base of the funnel. Then another, and another.

It became a metallic clashing as the flow increased,

until the flow of knives was a shining waterfall pouring

from the bottom of the cape.

Notorian the wolf picked one up and tested the

edge. "Finest steel I've ever seen," he declared to the

stunned Quorum. The rush of metal continued until

Trendavi finally raised a hand himself.

"Enough!" Markus nodded, let the cape swirl back

around his neck. As he did so, the clanging waterfall

ceased. The floor of the Quorum chamber was awash

in knives of every shape and size- Markus kicked a

few of them aside and bowed.

"As my employers wish." He swept a hand out to

Alan Dean Fofltcr

10

encompass the armory. "A gift to the Quorum and to

the citizens of Quasequa, my adopted home."

"They're only knives," Cascuyom muttered.

"You'd prefer swords?" Markus asked him, over-

hearing. "Or maybe something more lethal still? Like

this." He threw his left hand toward the ceiling- A

burst of lightning flew from his fingers to shatter the

pole holding a banner across the table. Splinters and

fabric tumbled onto the Quorum. Markus grinned as

they fought to extricate themselves while maintaining

their dignity.

"Something more impressive?" he inquired.

"No, no, that will be quite satisfactory," harrumphed

Trendavi, trying to untangle himself from the fallen

banner.

"You can feed and you can destroy," snapped

Opiode, "but can you create?"

Again the salamander's hands moved in time to his

mouth.

"Jewels of the earth

Scarce and profound

Gems of great worth

Come forth from the ground

Rise here to please us

To tempt and to tease us!"

Crystals of blue and yellow, of rose and lavender

began to take shape in the center of the table. They

seemed to grow out of the wood, catching the light

as they developed, throwing back delightful colors at

the enraptured members. By the time Opiode con-

cluded the incantation, the entire table was encrusted

with crystals. A smattering of applause came from

the servitors gathered along the walls-

But Markus the Ineluctable only smiled wider as

THS MOMEHT OF THE MAQtCIAM         11

he moved his fingers against one another. The ap-

plause for Opiode turned to awed whispers.

Flowers began to appear, growing out of the na-

ked stone of the walls and ceiling. Exotic, alien

blossoms that put forth the most exquisite smells. A

blaze of color and fragrance filled the Quorum cham-

ber to overflowing.

You could see the opinions of several members of

the Quorum begin to shift in/Markus's favor.

"Satisfied yet?" Markus asked them. "You tell me

which of us is the more powerful magician."

"A magician is a trickster, not a wizard," said

Opiode.

Markus shrugged. "I prefer magician. I'm comfort-

able with it. I've always called myself a magician. As

for my 'tricks,' they seem just as effective as your

wizardry. Had enough?"

"There is one more thing," said Opiode slowly.

"You have shown what you can do for others, but can

you do for yourself?" So saying he pointed a red-and-

black arm at Markus's face and uttered an incanta-

tion so powerful the words cannot stand repeating.

A slight but steady breeze sprang up, rippling the

fur of the onlookers, and the glow bulbs grew dim. No

one in the chamber dared to breathe, lest a fraction

of that energy latch onto them and turn them to

dust.

As they stared, Markus the Ineluctable began to

rise from the floor. He put his hands on his hips and

considered his levitation thoughtfully, then nodded

appreciatively in Opiode's direction.

"Hey. not bad. Not bad at all." Then he raised one

hand and murmured something almost indifferently.

Opiode the Siy, Opiode the clever, Opiode the

principal advisor in matters arcane and magical to

the Quorum of Quasequa, vanished.

Shouts and cries from the servitors, mild panic

Aim Dean roster

12

among the more impressionable members of the.

Quorum as Markus settled gently back to the ground.

"What have you done with him?" Domunnur's

teeth were clenched, but he knew when he was

overmatched. There was little more he could do than

ask. "Where is he?"

"Where is he? Well now, let me think." Markus

rubbed his chin. "He might be over... there!" He

pointed sharply toward a far doorway. Servitors

stationed there scattered, dropping a platter of fruit

behind them. Markus turned, inspecting the chamber.

"Or he might be... under there." A couple of the

members of the Quorum inadvertently peered un-

der the table, hastily sat up straight in their chairs

when they realized how easily the newcomer had

manipulated them.

"But he's actually probably right... here." Markus

the Ineluctable removed his black hat, turned it

upside down, and tapped it once, twice, a third time.

Out plopped a dazed and very disoriented Opiode

the Sly. Disdaining Markus's proffered hand, the

salamander struggled to his feet and backed away,

shaking his head and trying to regain his bearings.

From the Quorum came a rising cry in support of

Markus.

Opiode ignored it, stared narrowly at his opponent.

"I don't know how you did that, but of one thing I

am certain: it was no clean wizardry."

"Oh, it was clean enough," said Markus smugly.

"Just a mite different from what you're used to,

that's all. Are you afraid of something different,

something new?" He turned to face the Quorum.

"Are you all afraid of something different, even if it's

better than what you've been used to?"

"No," said Trendavi quickly. "We are not afraid of

what is different, or of what is new. We of Quasequa

pride ourselves on accepting new things, on promot-

TBS MOMENT OP TSOE MAGICIAN

13

ing innovation." He gazed sorrowfully in Opiode's

direction. "It is my recommendation and I hereby

move that the Quorum officially nominate Markus

the Ineluctable to the position of chief advisor to the

Quorum on matters arcane and magical, and I fur-

thermore move that Opiode the Sly, who has served

us so well lo these many years, be retired from the

post with a vote of thanks and an official commenda-

tion to be decided upon later."

"Seconded!" said a pair of voices simultaneously.

And that was that. It was done, over, and Markus

stood smiling, arms crossed before him as his sup-

porters gathered around to congratulate him on his

victory and those who had opposed him moved to

offer grudging words of acceptance. A few would

have offered their condolences to the defeated Opiode,

but the salamander did not linger. Instead, he left

quickly and with dignity, still a bit shaken from the

manner in which Markus had handled him, but in

no way cowed or t>eaten.

It was dark in the wizard's study. But then, Opiode

preferred the dim light and the dampness. His rooms

were situated at the edge of the Quorumate Com-

plex and below the water line. Ancient stones held

back the warm water of the Lake of Sorrowful Pearls

while allowing a pleasant dampness to seep through.

Thick moss, red as well as green, grew on the stones

and ceiling. The furniture was fashioned of stone or

boram root, which resists rot.

Glow bulbs dangled overhead, their magic lights

dimmer than usual, the weak illumination a reflec-

tion of the wizard's uncomfortable state of mind.

Opiode stared steadily at one flickering bulb as he

lay in his thinktank. The stone basin was filled with

freshly drawn lake water rich with lichens, mosses,

tight blue hot pads, and minute aquatic insects.

14 Alan Dean Foster

Altogether, the rooms constituted a benign and

thoroughly salamandrine environment.

But as Opiode lay on his back, his arms crossed

over his chest, his tail gently agitating the water, it

was plain to see he was disturbed. Tending the

crackling fire nearby was a much smaller and younger

salamander, well aware of his master's unease. Flute

wore the cloak of an apprentice. He was stouter than

Opiode, marked with black spots instead of red, and

his expression was anxious- His feathery pink gills

lay flat against his neck as he waited patiently for

Opiode to arise. A sad day. He knew what had

happened in the Quorum chamber far above. Every-

one in the city would know by tonight.

Finally Opiode rose from the basin, shifting easily

to inhaling air instead of water, and declared

portentously, "This thing must not be allowed to

happen!"

"Your pardon. Master," said Flute sofdy. "What

must not be allowed to happen?"

"I have lost. There is nothing that can be done

about that. Nor do I deny the strength of this

newcomer's magic. He is a valid wizard, or magician,

or whatever he chooses to call himself. A manipula-

tor of the unknown. But it is not his abilities I fear; it

is his intentions. Those I comprehend even less than

his magic."

He walked over to stand before the fire. Flute

moved to the table and checked the settings for

supper, then to the stove on which a big pot of

caddisfly stew sat boiling. He stirred it carefully. One

had to have a delicate touch with the dish or the

nests within would become soft and stringy and

would lose the delicate crunch so beloved of gourmets.

"Nor do I like the attitude of his original support-

ers on the Quorum," Opiode went on, staring into

the fire. "Kindore and Vazvek. Those two opportun-

THK MOMKVT OF THE MAOICIAM

15

ists would throw in their lot with anyone they thought

might help them turn a profit. And Asmouelle and

some of the others have the spines of worms. With so

much support, there is nothing to stop this Markus."

"Stop him from doing what. Master?"

"From doing whatever he wishes to do. He is chief

advisor to the Quorum. A prestigious position and

one which would satisfy most. But not him, 1 think. I

saw that much in his eyes. That is not sorcery. That is

thirty years of experience. Flute. No, he wants more.

I fear, much more."

"Evil designs. Master?"

"Flute, I have lived long enough and dealt with

those in power often enough to recognize the hun-

ger for power when it manifests itself on the face of

another. I saw it in the face of Markus the Inelucta-

ble as I left the Quorum chamber. He conceals it

from the others, but he cannot hide it from me,

"Did you know. Flute, that the great joy of living in

Quasequa is that we have never had a single ruler?

No kings here, no presidents or emperors. Only the

Quorum, which functions in a kind of constrained

anarchy. It suits us, we Quasequans.

"This Markus will think otherwise. He will see

weakness where we see strength. And it does have its

vulnerabilities, our system, particularly when some

are ready to grovel at the feet of the first would-be

dictator who comes along and declares himself."

"You think he means to announce himself absolute

ruler?"

"I wish I could be certain, but I can't." Opiode

absently cleaned his left eye with his tongue. "In any

event, I am no longer in a position to stop him."

"Is his magic so much stronger than yours, Master?"

"It was today. On another day"—he shrugged slick

shoulders—"who can say? But there is no denying

his power. If 1 only knew the source he draws

Alan Dean Foster

16

upon..." He broke off and moved to the table, the

frustration sharp on his face.

Flute reached for the potholders. "Supper, Master?"

"No, not yet." Opiode waved him off, his mind

working intensely. "If I could only be certain of his

intentions, of his motivations—but where humans

are concerned, nothing is obvious, nothing is certain."

"What if he truly is more powerful than you,

Master?" It was not a disrespectful question.

"Then we will need the assistance of one who can

deal not only with strong magic but with strange

magic."

"There is one more talented than you. Master?"

For the First time that day, Opiode smiled slighdy.

"You have seen but little of the wide world, my

young student. It is unimaginably vast and rich with

wonders and surprises. Yes, there are wizards more

powerful than I. I am thinking of one in particular.

One who is wise beyond all others, knowledgeable

beyond comprehending, stronger even, I think, than

this Markus the Ineluctable... 1 hope. One who is

brave, courageous, and bold, an inspiration to all

other wizards. It is he whose help we must have:

Clothahump of the Tree."

Flute frowned, turned away so that Opiode could

not see the skepticism on his face. "I have heard of

him. Master. Truly it is said that he is wise and full of

learning, long-lived and powerful. However, I have

yet to hear it said of him that he is brave, courageous,

and bold."

"Well," Opiode retreated somewhat, "I confess some

of it may be rumor. But his ability is proven fact. You

know that he was largely responsible for the recent

defeat of the Plated Folk at the batde for the Jo-

Troom Gale."

"I have heard many versions of that battle. Master,

some of which were less flattering to Clothahump of

THE MoMKprr OF THK MAGICIAN.

17

the Tree than others. It is told that he was there at

the critical moment, yes, but to what degree he was

involved depends on which storyteller you are listen-

ing to."

"Nevertheless, he is the only one powerful enough

to help us. We must seek his aid. He cannot refuse

us."

"How will you inform him. Master?" Flute gazed

sadly at the supper that was on the verge of

overcooking. "Shall I prepare the pentagram for a

traveling conjuration?"

"No." Opiode rose from the table. "This Markus

might be strong enough to detect it. And there is no

guarantee of its working, given the distance the

conjuration would have to travel. Clothahump's home

lies a long way from Quasequa—and I am getting

old. It has been a long time since I attempted a

traveling conjuration over such a distance."

Flute was shocked by this admission of weakness

but fought not to show it. Truly the loss of today's

contest had weakened not only his Master's stature

but his confidence as well.

Or perhaps Opiode the Sly was merely being prop-

eriy cautious. Flute preferred to think that that was

the case.

"We must have a messenger," the wizard muttered.

"A reliable messenger. One who is used to traveling

far and fast and who will not be afraid to leave the

familiar country that surrounds the Lake of Sorrow-

ful Pearls." He thought a moment longer before

nodding to himself and looking up at his apprentice-

"Khi the Isle of Kunatweh, the furthermost of the

four high islands that form the eastern part of the

.city, hi the place where the fliers congregate, lives a

raven named Pandro. Bring him here to "me- Make

certain that none see you. I will explain what he

must do. Although 1 have never had reason to use

18 Alan Dean Foster

one such as him before, by reputation he is brave

and trustworthy. Again 1 tell you to take care in your

going and returning. It is said that this Markus

already has spies roaming the city and reporting

back only to him.

"Although he defeated me today, he strikes me as

no fool. I am sure he still regards me as his most

dangerous rival. In that he is right," Opiode muttered

grimly. "I sense and see what kind of individual he is

and so am unalterably opposed to having him in a

position of power in the city 1 love so dearly. I believe

he must know my feelings toward him, and in any

case, such as he will leave nothing to chance. So he

will have this place watched. At least you can slip out

without being seen. I do not believe anyone eke

knows of my private entryway."

"When do I leave. Master?"

"Now." The wizard hesitated. "Have you eaten?"

"It does not matter. Master. I can eat anytime.**

"No," Opiode said firmly." "You may need all your

strength. First we eat."

They did so, the meal passing largely in contempla-

tive silence. Then Flute secured his waterproof cloak

snugly around him and moved to the arched alcove

on the far side of the room. The arch was an

inverted bell fashioned of tightly chinked tile. A

pressure spell invoked by Opiode kept the lake water

out.

Flute climbed the stone steps until he could look

out onto the black water that lapped against the wall

of the bell. He readied his gills, fluffing them out

with his hands, and dove into the water.

A couple of fast kicks carried him well out into the

open lake. He did not surface but swam hard and

unerringly for the four high islands of the east. Like

the other isles that combined to form the sprawling

city of Quasequa, they were connected to one an-

THE MOMENT or TBB MAOICUJT

19

other by causeways, but this was not the time to walk

openly on city streets.

It was time for stealth and for clinging to the dark

bottom of the lake.

II

Opiode sat in his robes of office, a thin, narrow

upswept cap balanced on the middle of his slick

head, and regarded his visitor. Flute stood quietly by

the front door.

The raven wore the kilt of his clan, colorful material

striped with green, purple, and red. His vest was light-

ly spun lavender. A single gold chain hung round

his neck to rest against his chest feathers. He rubbed

the underside of his beak with a flexible wingtip.

"Let me get this straight, now, sorcerer." He was

studying the papers Opiode had handed him. "You

want me to fly north along this route, turning slighdy

west here, to deliver this message." He shuffled the

papers, held up one filled with writing instead of

diagrams. "It goes to an old turtle named Clothahump

who lives in"—he checked the map briefly—"this ma-

jor tree here. For one hundred coins." Opiode nodded.

"That's a helluva long flight," Pandro said.

"I had heard that you were not afraid of long flights."

"I ain't. 1 ain't afraid of anything, least of all a little

long-distance traveling. But considering how quiet

you're being about this, and the amount you're paying

me, well, no disrespect. Master Opiode, but—what's

the catch?"

20

TBK MQMKNT OF THE KAOICIAN         21

Opiode glanced at Flute, then sighed and smiled,

down at Pandro. "It would not be right for me to

keep it from you. You must know what you are

about, as well as its importance.

"You must have heard that another has assumed

my position as chief advisor to the Quorum."

"Sure. It's all over town. This Markus fella... what's

it to me?"

"Good Pandro, I have reason to believe that this

newcomer intends ill toward our great city. But 1

cannot convince the members of the Quorum of

that. They would think I was making accusations out

of bitterness at my loss- And I cannot move against

this Markus by myself. I need help. This Clothahump

that you will seek out is the only one who can help us.

"The 'catch' is that this Markus the Ineluctable is

crafty as well as skilled in the arcane arts. You are

sure none saw you arrive here?"

"As sure as we can be, Master," said Flute. "I took

every precaution."

"Then, good Pandro, there may be no catch. But

be ever alert as you wing northward, for this Markus

is not stupid. If he believes you are aiding me, it

could be dangerous for you. If he did see you arrive

here, or sees you depart, he may try to stop you

from completing your journey."

"Is that all?" The raven rested his wingtips on his

hips for a moment, then rolled up the message and

the map and slipped them into his backpack. "Then

Acre's nothing to concern yourself with. Master

Optode. There isn't another flier in Quasequa who

Can stay in the air for as long as I can on as little food

as I can. Anybody he sends after me, if he sends

anyone. I can outfly." He flicked his beak with a

;Kringtip.

^ "See here? Been broken twice in fights. I can take

,^care of myself and I'm not worried about anything

Alan Dean Foster

22

this Markus fella might send up after me. If it flies, I

can outrun or outfight it."

"It is good to be confident. Overconfidence is

dangerous."

"Don't worry. I'll use my good judgment, sir. I've a

mate and three fledglings to take care of, and you

can bet I'm coming back to them. That's stronger

motivation than your hundred coins. Relax. I'll get

your message through."

"Can you fly at night?" Opiode asked him.

"Night, day, the air's all the same to me whether

it's light or dark out. But if you'd feel better about it,

I'll leave tonight."

Opiode smiled. "Feel better, I would. The night

must be a friend to us all, now." Flute nodded

solemnly.

"As you wish, sir."

"Caution above all," Opiode counseled him. "This

Markus has spies everywhere. Even among the fliers."

"I'll keep it in mind, sir. Once I'm clear of the lake

district I should have free flying all the way north.

Besides, I know all the'good fliers and fighters in the

high islands. I don't think any are in this fella's

pay."

"I was not worried about your cousins," Opiode

said darkly, "so much as I was concerned about what

this Markus might call forth from another, more

sinister sky to challenge you."

"Can't spend all our time worrying about the

unforeseeable, can we, sir? At least I can't. I sup-

pose that's your job." He tapped his head. "Anyway,

anything I can't outfly or outfight I can sure as hell

outsmart."

"Then be off with you, owner of an unseen cloud,

and hasten back to us safely."

Pandro started for the doorway. "You can bet on

that, sir."

THE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN

23

"A raven, you say?" Markus the Ineluctable was

listening with only half his mind to what the mouse

was telling him. He was too busy enjoying the splen-

dor of his new tower quarters, the finest that the

Quorumate Complex could offer.

"Yes, wise one," said the mouse. It had a tendency

to stutter, a condition made worse by its proximity to

the powerful and much-feared new chief advisor to

the Quorum. "It flew s-s-straight away from the

H-Ianding where Mossamay Street and the wizard's

c-c-close join."

"Which direction did it take?"

"It f-f-flew north, wise one. Few city fliers live to

the n-n-north."

Markus turned from contemplation of an exqui-

site wood carving to stare at his bodyguard. The

mouse barely came up to his hip. "Prugg, what's

your opinion of this?"

Prugg was very big, very strong, and not very

bright. Despite his size and strength, people had a

tendency to laugh at him. At least, they used to.

Since he'd become Markus the Ineluctable's personal

servant they'd stopped laughing. Prugg was just intelli-

gent enough to realize this. He was very grateful to

' the magician. Markus made him feel comfortable,

feven though he understood very little of what his

new master had to say.

But he didn't have to think anymore. Markus did

all his thinking for him, Prugg found thinking

uncomfortable. And nobody laughed at him anymore.

• He was respected and feared. It was a new sensation

<and Prugg found that he liked it. Markus under-

'•Steod him, understood his needs. Prugg responded

^with devoted, unquestioning service.

^' So he considered the question carefully before

)lying. "It is true that the lands to the north of the

24 Alan Dean Foster

city are not as thickly inhabited as those in other

directions. Master."

"What's the land to the north of here like?"

"Open forest where live peoples who do not pledge

their allegiance to the city or to any other government,

Master. North of that is the Wrounipai, the first of

many swamps all connected together that run from

west to east. They cut us off from any lands that lie

still farther north."

"And what about those lands?"

"I do not know. Master. I have never been there. I

do not know anyone from the city who has ever been

there."

"And that's the way this bird was heading when he

left Opiode's place." Markus turned his full attention

on his spy. "You're certain of that?"

"Y-y-y-y-for sure, wise one! I am certain of it. He

f-f-f-flew straight away from the wizard's neighborhood.

I followed him with my eyes from the rooftops

nearby."

"Okay, but how can we be sure he was on a mission

for Opiode?"

The visitor moved nearer, anxious to ingratiate

himself with the magician- His whiskers trembled as

he whispered.

"The wizard Opiode has a young assistant named

Flute. I s-s-saw him conversing with the raven before

he took off for the north." Markus was nodding

absently, admiring the polished hardwood inlay of

the table behind him- A single chair rested against

the table.

It needs something, he thought. A gargoyle or

demon or some such carved atop the chair. Some-

thing to draw the visitors' eyes upward. For that

matter, if the table was going to serve as a desk, it

had to be up on a dais. He'd have to get some

TBE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN      25

carpenters in here and get them started on the

alterations he wanted.

He was aware of his spy standing hopeful and

silent by his legs. "That's it?"

"That is all, w-w-wise one "

Markus nodded, glanced toward Prugg. "Give him

a gold piece."

"Thank you, wise one!" The spy was unaccus-

tomed to such largess, but Markus had always be-

lieved in paying his help as much as possible. Other-

wise you ended up with garbage working for you,

ready to sell you out to the first high bidder. Even if

he was overpaying for this particular bit of information,

in so doing he was buying himself a valuable servant

forever.

The mouse took the coin; skittered quickly away

from the ominous, silent shape of Prugg; and did

some admirable bowing and scraping as he retreated

from the magician's room.

When the door was closed once more, Prugg turned

to his benefactor. "What will you do now, Master?"

"What would you suggest?"

Prugg strained. Thinking hurt his head. "There

are faster fliers than ravens, Master. I would send

them after this one. Better not to take chances. Kill

it."

"He has nearly a full day's head start," Markus

murmured, "but I agree with your suggestion." Prugg

smiled proudly. "I will send fliers out after him, yes,

faut 1 will not hire them. I will conjure them forth to

do our bidding."

""Yes. Master," said Prugg admiringly, waiting to

see what the magician would do next.

What Markus did was to assume a wide stance in

the middle of the room. The floor there had been

deared of all furniture and decoration. Prugg moved

to one side for a better view. He found it astonishing

Alan Dean Foster

26

that Markus required no special chamber in which to

perform his wizardry. Nothing but a clear floor and

plenty of arm room.

As always, Markus mumbled the incantation. Not

that Prugg would have understood the words any

better than Opiode, but Markus the Ineluctable took

no chances with his secrets.

The room darkened perceptibly and the air grew

very still. Prugg would have been able to see better

with glow bulbs, but Markus would have nothing of

Opiode's around him and insisted instead on using

simple torches for illumination.

Then a faint whine became audible, alien and

harsh, rising slowly in volume. Prugg strained to see.

In the center of the room, in front of Markus,

shapes took form. If was as the magician had said:

fliers, but fliers akin to none Prugg had ever heard

tell of. He found himself backing away. They were

far smaller than he was, but ugly and threatening to

behold.

Markus, on the other hand, seemed delighted by

their appearance. They danced and whirled over his

head as he guided them with words and hands.

"Beautiful, beautiful! Better than I dared hope

for. If only I could've called them up as a child. Ah,

well, Prugg, it takes time to master the art. See,

they're just as I described theml"

The demons continued to pivot and spin over

their master's head, roaring exultantly and gnashing

their long teeth. In the enclosed space the din was

deafening.

They had no faces, Prugg noted.

No eyes, nostrils, external ears, or visible mouths.

Only those mindless, clashing teeth. Fangs without

jaws. Prugg found he was shaking. There were worse

things in the world than one's own nightmares^

"To the north!" Markus cried, pointing with one

Tsss Moanswr or THE WAQSCSAS        2,7

If v!

ft^

^

m

hand. "There flies the raven named Pandro. Where

he's going 1 don't know, but see that he doesn't get

there. Go!"

One by one, in single file, the faceless demons tore

through the open window. Only when the last of the

growling chorus had faded into the light of mideve

did Markus drop his hands and return to stand

behind his desk.

"About this chair, Prugg. What I want you to do

is—" He stopped and stared at his bodyguard. "Are

you paying attention?"

The huge servant forced his gaze away from the

window where the demons had taken their leave and

back to his master. Markus was speaking as though

die conjuration had never taken place. It was all so

matter-of-fact, so ordinary to him, this calling up of

otherworldly powers.

Truly Prugg was fortunate to have him for a master.

It was a lovely warm day, the air thick with humidi-

ty but not oppressively so. Below Pandro the trees

had closed in, shutting off sight of the ground. He

was already well north not only of Quasequa but of

its outlying villages and satellite communities as well.

Rising thermals allowed him to glide effortlessly

over the dense tropical forest. Since departing

Quasequa he'd stopped only once, and that briefly,

the previous night to catch a bit of sleep. Then up

before dawn for a fast breakfast of fruit, nuts, and

dried fish and on to the north.

In his mind he reviewed the landmarks he would

pass on his way to the distant Bellwoods, a forested

region that was little more than rumor in Quasequa.

Opiode assured him such a place existed, just as he

assured him the great wizard he was to deliver his

message to existed.

If he was real, Pandro would find him. He'd never

28 Alan Dean Foster

failed to make a detivery yet, and this morning he

was feeling particularly confident. He felt so good he

skipped his usual midday snack, preferring to cover

as much territory as possible. Thus far the journey

had proved anything but dangerous. He'd assured

his mate before leaving that it would be more in the

nature of an extended vacation than a difficult

assignment. So far it had developed exacdy as he'd

told her.

Then he heard the noise.

It was behind and slightly above him and growing

steadily louder as he listened. At first he couldn't

place it. More than anything, it sounded like the

droning he imagined the fliers of the Plated Folk

might make. But those historic enemies were likewise

little more than rumor in Quasequa. Pandro had

only seen drawings of them, the fevered sketches of

far-ranging artists with more imagination than fact

at their disposal.

Hard-shelled, gray-eyed relatives of the common

bugs and crawly things that inhabited the woods and

lakes, they were. None had penetrated as far south

as Quasequa. He certainly never expected to see

them in person. Yet when at last he was able to look

back and make out the shapes pursuing him, he was

startled, for they certainly looked like the representa-

tions he'd seen of the Plated Folk.

The reality as they drew nearer still was worse.

They were not minions of the Plated Folk but some-

thing far more sinister. Similarities in shape and

appearance there were, but even the Plated Folk had

faces. The demons overtaking him had none. They

were hard-shelled but utterly different from any-

thing he'd ever seen before- Nor were they fliers like

his cousins, for where there should have been beaks

he saw only hungry, razor-sharp, strangely curved

fangs.

THE MOMENT OF THB MAOICIAW

29

No matter how he strained he couldn't outdistance

them, and they closed the space between with terrify-

ing ease. Hoping to lose them in the trees, he dove

for the crowns of the forest. They followed easily,

closing ground still more when he reemerged from

the branches. He dipped and rolled and dodged,

employing every maneuver he could remember, some-

times vanishing among the foliage, sometimes dou-

bling sharply back on his route before rising again to

check the sky. And the demons stayed with him,

inexorable in their pursuit, malign in their purpose.

For Pandro they meant only death.

One veered just a little too near the mass of a giant

tocoro tree and smashed into the bark. Glancing

backward, Pandro was relieved to see it fall, spinning

and tumbling and broken, to smash into the ground

below. There was still hope, then. Demonic visitors

his tormentors might be, but they were neither invul-

nerable nor immortal. They could be killed.

Six of them had fallen on him. Now there were

five left. But he couldn't continue the battle at this

speed. All the diving and dodging among the trees

was wasting his strength at a much faster rate than

mere flying. Yet having tried to outrun them and

failed, he didn't have much choice. He had to keep

to the woods-

One of his pursuers swooped around the bole of a

forest giant, only to find itself caught in the grasp of

a huge, carnivorous flying lizard. Blood spurted as

the two combatants tumbled groundward, unable to

disengage. The lizard was stunned by the ferocity of

the much smaller creature it had caught, while for its

part the demon was unable to break free from sharp

talons. They struck the earth together.

Four left, Pandro thought wildly. His heart was

pounding against his chest feathers and his wing

muscles ached. One of the demons was right on top

Aim Dean Foster

30

of him, and he had to fold his wings and drop like a

stone, plummeting desperately toward the ground

only to roll out at the last second. Even so, curved

fangs slashed at his left wing in passing, sending

black feathers flying.

He checked the injury as he climbed cloudward.

The wound was superficial, but it had been a near

thing. Too near. And his assailants seemed as fresh

and untired as when they'd First attacked. He had to

do something drastic, and soon. He couldn't keep

dodging them forever.

Once more he drew his wings in close to his body

and fell earthward. As though of the same mind, the

four demons followed in unison, screaming at him.

Again he rolled up and over before crashing, but

this time he landed behind a chosen tree. His pursu-

ers split and came at him from two sides. The first

one went over his head, the second missed him on

the right. The third went straight for his throat and

crumpled itself against the tree, teeth flying in all

directions as the head shattered. The fourth turned

away to reconsider -

Pandro pushed air as he flew back toward Quasequa,

hoping they wouldn't see him and intending to make

a wide curve back northward once he'd lost them.

Looking back over his shoulder he spotted two of

them skimming low over the treetops, hunting him

in the opposite direction.

But where was the third surviving demon?

He turned just in time to duck, but the teeth bit

deeply into his neck and back, barely missing his

face. Blood flew with his feathers. The clouds began

to swim in front of his eyes, blotting out all the blue

sky. He felt himself falling toward a green grave.

Good-bye, Asenva of the saucy tail, he thought.

Good-bye fledglings. Good-bye worried wizard, may

THE MOMENT OF TBE MAGICIAN         31

your skin never be dry. I tried my best. But you

didn't tell me I would have to fight demons.

The first tree reached up to catch him. He hit

hard.

Prugg enjoyed the expressions that came over the

faces of Kindore and Vazvek when the demons

returned. The two members of the Quorum made

protective signs in front of their faces and all but hid

beneath the master's cape. Markus let them quake in

terror for a few minutes before assuring them they

were in no danger and that the faceless fliers were

his servants. Even so, Vazvek did not emerge from

behind the magician until the demons had settled

one at a time into waiting wall alcoves.

As soon as he was sure they had fallen asleep,

Prugg approached them. He did not want to show

fear in front of the Quorumen, but he feared the

master's magic nonetheless.

"Go on, Prugg," said Markus helpfully. "They won't

hurt you. They won't move unless I command them."

Prugg studied the trio. True to the master's word,

they ignored him. They were not very big, especially

for demons, but those curved fangs were very

impressive. Prugg ran a finger over one and still its

owner did not stir.

"Only three of them," Markus murmured- "I won-

der what happened to the other three." He shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. I can always call up more." He

tteraed to face his supporters.

"What do you think, Kindore? Should I bring

dievq back to life and have them dance in the air for

you?"

"No, oo, no, advisor," said a badly shaken Kindore.

He pulled at his thin coat, working to refasten the

buttons which had come loose as he'd scrambled to

32 Alan Dean Foster

avoid the demons. "I have never seen demons like

that"

"How many demons have you seen?" Markus

grinned at the squirrel. "They're harmless now. We

can resume our discussion."

This was done. When Markus's questions had all

been answered, he gave the pair his orders. Not

advice, orders. Markus the Ineluctable had already

moved beyond making suggestions, and Kindore and

Vazvek hastened to carry out his bidding. Things

were moving rapidly now, and the master was pleased.

He dismissed them, watched with amusement as

they retreated quickly, and then walked over to in-

spect his now-silent aerial servants.

"Only three." He rubbed a forefinger across his

lower lip, then gestured at the last demon in line.

"See, there's blood on this one's teeth."

"I saw. Master."

"But whose blood? Could it be demon blood?"

Prugg strained but could not come up with a quick

reply.

Markus looked pained. "You're slow, Prugg, you

know that? Real slow."

"Forgive me, Master. 1 know that I am stupid. But

I try."

"That's okay- I don't keep you around for your wit.

You may as well know that it can't be demon blood

because there is no blood in any of these creatures,

Just as there is no life in them. They only live at my

command. They're not sleeping, Prugg. They're dead.

Until I choose to give them life again. Therefore it

stands to reason, doesn't it, that this is the blood of

the black messenger?"

"Yes, that must be so," agreed Prugg. "Yes, the

black flier must be down, along with whatever mes-

sages he carried from that slimy bad loser, Opiode."

THE MOMENT or THE MAOICIAN       33

prugg looked pleased. "Can I tell the old wizard his

^'Servant has been killed?"

^ "No, Prugg, you cannot. Nor will I tell him. Let

faun squat in his bath believing his messages are

going to be received. Let him think his trusted

messenger ran out on him. Let him stew those possi-

bilities over for a while. It will keep him out of our

hair for now." He smited thinly. "I have a lot to do

^and I don't want to have to waste time worrying

^about the salamander."

•^•~r

f-

^ "What's wrong with him?"

Pandro heard the words faintly through the black

^haze that was the inside of his head. There was a

Hflaoment during which he thought the words might've

^fceen part of a dream, a bad dream he'd been having.

1'Then more words, different, a little more intelligible

^Cthis time.

"How the hell should I know? Do I look like a

^ohysician?"

H • "You always did look like something escaped from

||a hospital," countered the first voice. "One where

j|they treat mental problems."

j- "Shut up, you two. I think he's coming around,"

^commanded still a third voice.

^ The voices went away again- It occurred to Pandro

$fhat perhaps they might be waiting for some kind of

^response from him-

^- "I... can hear you okay, but I can't see you. I'm

||»lmd"

^l' "He's blind," said one voice, not in the least

f Sympathetic.

^ "Have you tried," said the third voice, a little more

rntly, "opening your eyes?"

Pandro mulled this over. "Why, no. I haven't."

|»"Try," the voice urged him.

H Pandro blinked, discovered he was lying on a crude

34 Alan Dean Foster

platform built between two branches high above the

forest floor. The foliage around him was swarming

with the graceful, swift shapes of fellow fliers. They

had one thing in common: every one of them was

considerably smaller than he was. None stood more

than a foot high.

Two of the three who were staring down at him

wore blue-and-black kilts with bright chartreuse vests,

while the third was clad in a kilt of white and yellow

with a pink vest. This attire was subdued compared

to their natural coloration, which was brilliant and

metallic.

At first he had a hard time telling them apart.

They hardly ever stopped moving, darting in front

of him, behind, making erratic loops around the

branches, arguing constantly with each other, and

occasionally flitting overhead to sip from one of the

huge tropical blossoms that burst forth from the

tree.

Shoving backward with his wingtips, Pandro sat

up, winced in pain- His wing came away from the

back of his neck unbloodied, however. If he hadn*t

turned at the last instant, the demon would have bit

him in the face. The image that produced in his

mind made him queasy all over again.

"Where are you from?... What are you doing

here?... Who are you?... Why the neck chain... ?"

The trio threw one question after another at him

and didn't wait for replies- One of them was tapping

him on the shoulder as it spoke.

"Take it easy," Pandro pleaded. A quick inspection

revealed that the surrounding trees were filled with

tiny homes and traditional covered nests. "My turn

first- Where did you find me?"

One of the querulous hummingbirds drifted in

front of Pandro, fanning his face with wings that

were sensed rather than seen- It nodded to its right.

THE MOMENT or TAB MAOJCUW      35

*You came down over there." Crimson flashed

^beneath its bill. "Busting branches all the way down.

^.Wonder is that you didn't bust your skull."

"Some others tried to,"

"Oh ho!" said another, whose throat was blue as

an alpine tarn. "A fight! If it's a fight they're looking

-for..." He curled the tips of both wings into fists and

glared belligerently at the sky, looking for someone

^Co sock.

" "Watch your blood pressure. Spin," said the third

? bird. He was slightly less hyperkinetic than his