"Mana," the Warlock mumbled. He spat out a complete set of blackened teeth. "Mana. What I discovered was that the power behind magic is a natural resource, like the fertility of the soil. When you use it up, it's gone."
"But-"
"Can you see why I kept it a secret? One day all the wide world's mana will be used up. No more mana, no more magic. Do you know that Atlantis is tec-tonically unstable? Succeeding sorcerer-kings renew the spells each generation to keep the whole continent from sliding into the sea. What happens when the spells don't work any more? They couldn't possibly evacuate the whole continent in time. Kinder not to let them know."
"But...that disc."
The Warlock grinned with his empty mouth and ran his hands through snowy hair. All the hair came off in his fingers, leaving his scalp bare and mottled. "Senility is like being drunk. The disc? I told you. A kinetic sorcery with no upper limit. The disc keeps accelerating until all the mana in the locality has been used up."
Hap moved a step forward. Shock had drained half his strength. His foot came down jarringly, as if all the spring were out of his muscles.
"You tried to kill me."
The Warlock nodded. "I figured if the disc didn't explode and kill you while you were trying to go around it, Glirendree would strangle you when the constraint wore off. What are you complaining about? It cost you a hand, but you're free of Glirendree."
Hap took another step, and another. His hand was beginning to hurt, and the pain gave him strength. "Old man," he said thickly. "Two hundred years old. I can break your neck with the hand you left me. And I will."
The Warlock raised the inscribed knife.
"That won't work. No more magic." Hap slapped the Warlock's hand away and took the Warlock by his bony throat.
The Warlock's hand brushed easily aside, and came back, and up. Hap wrapped his arms around his belly and backed away with his eyes and mouth wide open. He sat down hard.
"A knife always works," said the Warlock.
"Oh," said Hap.
"I worked the metal myself, with ordinary blacksmith's tools, so the knife wouldn't crumble when the magic was gone. The runes aren't magic.
They only say-"
"Oh," said Hap. "Oh." He toppled sideways.
The Warlock lowered himself onto his back. He held the knife up and read the markings, in a language only the Brotherhood remembered.
AND THIS, TOO, SHALL PASS AWAY. It was a very old platitude, even then.
He dropped his arm back and lay looking at the sky.
Presently the blue was blotted by a shadow.
"I told you to get out of here," he whispered.
"You should have known better. What's happened to you?"
"No more youth spells. I knew I'd have to do it when the prognostics spell showed blank." He drew a ragged breath. "It was worth it. I killed Glirendree."
"Playing hero, at your age! What can I do? How can I help?"
"Get me down the hill before my heart stops. I never told you my true age-"
"I knew. The whole village knows." She pulled him to sitting position, pulled one of his arms around her neck. It felt dead. She shuddered, but she wrapped her own arm around his waist and gathered herself for the effort. "You're so thin! Come on, love. We're going to stand up." She took most of his weight onto her, and they stood up.
"Go slow'. I can hear my heart trying to take off."
"How far do we have to go?"
"Just to the foot of the hill, I think. Then the spells will work again, and we can rest." He stumbled. "I'm going blind," he said.
"It's a smooth path, and all downhill."
"That's why I picked this place. I knew I'd have to use the disc someday. You can't throw away knowledge. Always the time comes when you use it, because you have to, because it's there."
"You've changed so. So-so ugly. And you smell."
The pulse fluttered in his neck, like a hummingbird's wings, "Maybe you won't want me, after seeing me like this."
"You can change back, can't you?"
"Sure. I can change to anything you like. What color eyes do you want?"
"Ill be like this myself someday," she said. Her voice held cool horror. And it was fading; he was going deaf.
"I'll teach you the proper spells, when you're ready. They're dangerous. Blackly dangerous."
She was silent for a time. Then: "What color were his eyes? You know, Belhap Sattlestone whatever."
"Forget it," said the Warlock, with a touch of pique.
And suddenly his sight was back.
But not forever, thought the Warlock as they stumbled through the sudden daylight. When the mana runs out, I'll go like a blown candle flame, and civilization will follow. No more magic, no more magic-based industries. Then the whole world will be barbarian until men learn a new way to coerce nature, and the swordsmen, the damned stupid swordsmen, will win after all.
UNFINISHED STORY # 1
As he left the blazing summer heat outside the Warlock's cave, the visiting sorcerer sighed with pleasure. "Warlock, how can you keep the place so cool? The manna in this region has decreased to the point where magic is nearly impossible."
The Warlock smiled-and so did the unnoticeable young man who was sorting the Warlock's parchments in a corner of the cave. The Warlock said, "I used a very small demon, Harlaz. He was generated by a simple, trivial spell. His intelligence is low-fortunately, for his task is a dull one. He sits at the entrance to this cave and prevents the fast-moving molecules of air from entering and the slow-moving molecules from leaving. The rest he lets pass. Thus the cave remains cool."
"That's marvelous, Warlock! I suppose the process can be reversed in winter?"
"Of course."
"Ingenious."
"Oh, I didn't think of it," the Warlock said hastily. "Have you met my clerk? It was his idea." The Warlock raised his voice. "Oh, Maxwell
UNFINISHED STORY # 2
There are some things Man was not meant to know.
Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex
He's faster than a speeding bullet. He's more powerful than a locomotive. He's able to leap tall buildings at a single bound. Why can't he get a girl?
At the ripe old age of thirty-one (*Superman first appeared in Action Comics, June 1938*), Kal-El (alias Superman, alias Clark Kent) is still unmarried. Almost certainly he is still a virgin. This is a serious matter. The species itself is in danger!
An unwed Superman is a mobile Superman. Thus it has been alleged that those who chronicle the Man of Steel's adventures are responsible for his condition. But the cartoonists are not to blame. Nor is Superman handicapped by psychological problems.
Granted that the poor oaf is not entirely sane. How could he be? He is an orphan, a refugee, and an alien. His homeland no longer exists in any form, save for gigatons upon gigatons of dangerous, prettily colored rocks.
As a child and young adult, Kal-El must have been hard put to find an adequate father figure. What human could control his antisocial behavior? What human would dare try to punish him? His actual, highly social behavior during this period indicates an inhuman self-restraint.
What wonder if Superman drifted gradually into schizophrenia? Torn between his human and kryptonian identities, he chose to be both, keeping his split personalities rigidly separate. A psychotic desperation is evident in his defense of his "secret identity."