Apparently Malingo was forgetting that Matt was new in town. Or did he even know?
"I congratulate you on your prudence," the sorcerer said. "Such restraint and wisdom are rare in one new to the Power. You are wise to be sure which side can best advance you before you choose."
He strode back toward Matt and stopped, arms akimbo. "Well! You've seen it. The king cannot stand against me-but I can dispense with him, should I think it worth the trouble. League with me, and Astaulf cannot hurt you. My power still is rising, as yours will with it, if you swear fealty to me."
Matt just sat, staring up at the man, unbelieving. From football to ally in less than two minutes ... ? No. From football to pawn!
Malingo frowned. "You hesitate? Perhaps I should not offer. What stays your mind?"
"Uh ... well, I'm just naturally the cautious type, as I said."
Matt's mind raced. He had to make it sound good - but what would this trickster buy? "I'm really new in town, you see. I'd like a fuller idea of the lay of the land before I decide anything."
"But what more need you know? Astaulf is a fool, and I the power behind him. No other power in this land can stand against us, as we've proved within these last six months. What else?"
"Well, for starters - who's the power behind you?"
It was a dumb thing to say, and Matt knew it after three words, but it was a little late to stop. The sorcerer turned pale. Then, after a few seconds, he smiled slowly, and Matt dared breathe again. "You do not know? You truly do not know?"
"Well, I could guess."
"Do so." Malingo cocked his head to the side, interested, waiting..
Matt swallowed. "Well ... Astaulf called you a sorcerer..."
Malingo nodded.
Matt took a deep breath. He didn't dare show the slightest sign of squeamishness. "Which means your power comes from Hell."
"There! You see?" Malingo spread his hands. "You knew it all along." He quirked one' eyebrow. "You are a sorcerer, of course?"
Matt swallowed. "Well ... that's a matter of definition."
"How?"
"High definition," Matt explained, "in which case it's a hot medium, and I gather a sorcerer is supposed to be a very hot medium indeed. Of course, at the other end of the scale, there's low definition, which makes a cool medium, and I like to think I keep my cool. Then, too, I'm pretty low on being definite."
He ran out of steam, and the sorcerer just stood, staring.
Then Malingo lifted his head. "Indeed. You seem to be somewhat confused. Are you truly ignorant of the distinction between a medium and a sorcerer? For if you are, you can't begin to know yourself."
"Yeah, that's it!" Matt leaped at the idea as though it were a life preserver. "The identity search, who-what-where am I. I'm very much in the middle of it! And never more than now..."
Malingo shook his head sadly. "You'll be no use to me until that's resolved, and you know what you are. Oh, I've heard of such cases before-young men discovering they've the Power, but not knowing what they would do with it, uncertain whether to work for Darkness or Light. Yes, I know your case - some of my best junior sorcerers were poised in such precarious state not long agone. They're greatly to be valued, I assure you-as you yourself may be, once you've resolved your doubts. No, we'll keep you yet awhile." He turned to the door and yanked it open. "Guards! Step now within!"
Two armored guards came in, pikes at the ready.
"Escort him to the dungeons." Malingo motioned toward Matt. "We'll give you, then, a while. I can afford it. You seem to have a spell or two I've not encountered. I must study this native power of yours more closely - when I have the time. For now, I have a cell to hold you, so think at length, deeply and carefully, on what you are and what you seek to be. Then, when you know you do seek sorcery, you'll swear allegiance to me." He flipped a hand to the guards. "Take him away."
They hauled Matt to his feet, but he turned back to the sorcerer. "Uh ... I hate to ask foolish questions, but - what happens if I decide I'm, say, a wizard?"
The sorcerer bared his teeth in a sort of grin. "Why, then I've some particularly vile spells I've read about, but never tried. I'm quite curious as to how they'll work, actually. If you wish to side with Light, by all means, do-you'll still contribute to my power."
CHAPTER 3
For all the darkness and the ominous scurryings, the dungeon felt safe, though it was as chill and dank as any dungeon should be. How they could store food down here, Matt couldn't see; but he'd definitely noticed the smell of salt pork in the cell next door. And why else would those small, clawed paws be running around in the darkness? Actually, he had a notion he'd been filed between the salt meats and the extra arrows. If that was an indication of his importance here, Matt was willing to accept it. He felt as if he belonged.
It was really a relief to have a place of peaceful solitude where he could think things over. There was a lot that needed thinking! He let his head loll back against the slickness of the wall, closing his eyes and deliberately emptying his mind for a few minutes.
When he finally lifted his head, he felt better, though he still had to deal with the realities of the moment, if he could only find them.
Well, he wasn't in his own world any more; matter of fact, he probably wasn't even in his own universe. The parchment had done it, of course, with its line about "Cross the void of time and space." He had a momentary vision of thousands of universes, stretching away in a serried rank, each leaving its own bright streak of elapsed time across the lightless, primordial void, each with its own history, its own natural laws. He'd read once that it was entirely possible that an alternate universe could have a completely different set of laws, and that what was superstition in his own universe could be science there.
Well, magic did seem to work. But how about science? Thoughtfully, Matt pulled out a matchbook, tore out a paper match, and struck it by feel. It made a satisfactory rasp, but shed no light on the subject. So... science didn't work.
But wait-the soldiers' swords had looked like steel, not plain forged iron. So science did have to work here, after a fashion, the way the medieval smiths had fashioned iron-or maybe the pagan smiths; Matt seemed to remember that they'd been regarded as specialized wizards who sang spells to the iron as they worked it.
Matt fumbled out another match and struck it, intoning:
A twelve-inch flame roared up from the match-head with the fury of William Blake. Matt dropped it in stark terror. Then he saw the heap of damp straw it had fallen into and leaped to his feet, stamping furiously. The light ebbed, faded-and was gone.
Matt breathed a sigh of relief and slumped down against the wall again in the blessed darkness. So science would work, but only by magic.
And there was something else.
He'd felt it before, been aware of it, in the street just before the beggars appeared. Now that he looked back, it had been there every time he'd worked a spell - that feeling of great forces gathering around him, modulating and fitting themselves to his words. But it couldn't be very important, if he had barely noticed it when he was under pressure.
What was important was figuring out some quick rules for the maintenance and operation of magic. In spite of Malingo's poise, Matt had sensed a definite undercurrent of anxiety; the sorcerer wasn't quite as much in control of the situation as he wished to appear. Which meant, since he was easily Astaulf's master, that there were forces in the land opposing him. Malingo claimed to be an agent of Darkness, so his opposition would be agents of Light.