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and now being . . . whatever
I am, I know something of mental conflicts."
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"So you do," nodded the magician.
"But you have told nothing of what you said needs to be done," the swordsman
reminded him.
"I was getting to that. The age of The New Art will have to surmount its
unbalanced development, or destroy itself. To win through the crisis, man will
need nothing less than a favoring destiny."
"Favoring destiny?" Basdon asked, puzzled.
"That's good luck in layman's terms," explained the magician. "It was the last
great development of The
Art, before the decline began a century ago when universal necromancy began to
shadow the earth and negate our work. A potent talisman of destinic adjustment
still exists amid the ruins of Oliber-by-
Midsea. It is powerless now, and defenseless."
"What power did it ever have?" Basdon asked sharply. "I would say the people
of earth have seen little good luck during the past century!"
"In answer, I can only say that, bad though our condition is, it could have
been worse by far," replied the magician. "The fate we were able to compromise
ourselves out of, because of the strength of our favoring destiny, was . . .
well, it's best left unhinted at. Even a spirit such as yours, swordsman, with
the strength to struggle as you are doing against the geas of the necromancy,
might fail if faced, unprepared, by such knowledge."
Basdon nodded acceptance of that, having little curiosity for horrible
might-have-beens. "Then you hope to forward this favoring destiny to the next
age of magic," he surmised.
"Yes, I wish to recover the talisman of Oliber-by-Midsea and conceal it where
it will keep safely. Then, when the universal geas loses its potency, the
talisman will begin functioning once more."
"May you fare well in this undertaking," said Basdon. "For myself, I care
little for what happens twenty thousand years from now."
This remark appeared to depress the magician. "It is doubtless true that the
geas occludes from you all knowledge of the human spirit's infinite survival,"
he mumbled. "The concept that you will live many lifetimes in many bodies,
both during and after the age of religion, has no real meaning for you. Thus,
you are not too concerned about future conditions. I regret that. Your help
would have been useful in my quest."
Basdon blinked. He should have guessed that all this talk was leading up to
something. "You want me to go with you to Oliber?"
The magician nodded. "I will need two with me. First, a guide to the ruined
city and to the proper place in it. And second, a man of arms who is familiar
with the ways of the god-warriors, as the worshippers of Vishan are now
sovereign in the Midsea region. She who will guide is not far away, waiting,
as I have been, for the proper third member of our party."
Basdon considered in silence. Finally he spoke. "You said it matters not if
bodies be buried or burned.
Why is that?"
"Because in either case the universal geas seizes the spirit immediately upon
the body's death. Unlike our own piddling black-spellers, those from beyond
earth do not need unburnt remains from which to trace and capture the departed
soul. They seize all spirits, degrade them into worshippers, and return them
to earth to seek new-conceived bodies for new lives as god-warriors and
god-women. It saddens me to think the child near birthing by Jarno's wife
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will, as a near certainty, prove afflicted by the geas."
"Then there is little point in my pilgrimage along the legion's route, if that
is true," said Basdon.
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"It is true," Jonker assured him. "Although it is not a truth to be told to
such good and simple men as
Jarno. It is better to let them find comfort in freeing bodies from the
earth and freeing earth from bodies."
Basdon made his decision. "Very well, magician, we will seek Oliber-by-Midsea
together. I have little concern for your purpose, but . . . but I have nothing
better to do."
Jonker rose and extended his hand to touch Basdon's forehead, the swordsman
returning the gesture to seal the pact.
"You will be welcome on those terms," said the magician, "and may the journey
be more rewarding than you expect."
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2
It was ten days later, after Jonker had settled a substitute keeper in his inn
and had dealt with various other matters, when they set out.
Jonker took the lead on his big spotted mare along a trail that led northeast
over the fertile rolling countryside of Nenkunal. The packhorse, reined to the
magician's saddle, followed, and Basdon rode in the rear.
"The highwitch Haslil," Jonker said over his shoulder, "lives some nine
leagues away. She will know we are coming, as she sees minds at a distance,
and will probably be ready to join the journey with no delay.
Unless, that is, she has had difficulty finding suitable fosters for her small
granddaughter."
"She is a woman of some age, then," said Basdon, who had hoped the sorceress
who was to be their guide would be youthful, and as like as possible to Suni.
"Haslil is a crone," Jonker replied. "So much so that she's becoming frail. If
protected from harm she will endure for the journey to the ruined city; but I
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don't think she will see Nenkunal afterward."
"Does The Art tell you as much?" asked the swordsman.
"The Art tells me almost nothing of matters in which I am immediately
concerned. Only in the distance do events take on clarity. And that is to the
good. No man should know of his own death, or, more important, whether an
undertaking such as ours will succeed or fail."
"How much does our success depend upon the sorceress?" asked Basdon.
"Heavily. She attended the last Great Assembly, nigh fifty years ago, in
Oliber, and knows the location of things. You and I alone would be hard
pressed even to find the city, so complete has been the destruction
thereabouts by the worshippers. And it would be dangerous indeed to ask
directions of the locals."
Basdon nodded. "Oliber-by-Midsea is called a city of evil by the god-warriors.
Evil is supposed to still linger about the ruins, and infect the countryside
for miles around."
"The place has been cursed, all right," agreed Jonker, "but not by my kind of
magic, as the worshippers believe."
The day's ride was pleasant, for men and horses alike. Nenkunal had been
fortunate in that the inroads of the coming age had been slower here than in
most regions Basdon had traversed. The abundant crops in the fields they rode
past were ample evidence that the farmers of this land still had the Green
Hand. And those tending fields near the trail waved and shouted merrily as the
swordsman and magician rode by.
How different they were, Basdon mused, from worshipper farmers, who struggled
to the point of exhaustion and surliness for meager and withered harvests. The
new age was going to know much of hunger, he told himself glumly.
That night they were put up in the home of a merchant, in a village too small
to boast an inn. The next day they rode on toward the cottage of the sorceress
Haslil.
The land over which they passed was steepening, with field crops giving way to
orchards and the distance between dwellings growing. By midafternoon the hills
were small mountains, tangled with
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timber.
Jonker suddenly reined his mare to a halt and dismounted, waving Basdon to do
the same.
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