He felt the air pressing him upward, felt the currents of power beneath this place, power that led to Shadow, he knew, but power that he could turn to his own ends, at least for now. He drew upon it to conjure the wind that roared about him.
He grew lighter and lighter, until at last the air, and the magical power behind it, lifted him off his feet.
A moment later the others watched as the wizard literally blew away, up into the sky, bound for his distant home.
Chapter Fifteen
“You’re sure there’s no magic ring, or mystic gem, or something?” Pel asked Raven as they walked down the western slope, away from the thorn-covered ruins of Castle Regisvert, and down into a broad green valley. Grey clouds hung on the horizon before them, but where they walked the sun shone warmly. A bird sang somewhere in the distance, and the rich scents of late spring filled the air. “Maybe Shadow keeps its heart in a bowl somewhere, or something like that?” he suggested.
Raven shook his head. “I’ve heard naught, in all my days, of any such device. Shadow draws its power from the magic that flows through earth and sky, and weaves that into its web; it needs no rings nor jewelry, any more than does our own Valadrakul.”
“Does Valadrakul weave these same currents, then?” Pel inquired, looking back at the wizard.
“Indeed, he draws ’pon them,” Raven agreed, “though not as Shadow does; Valadrakul and the other free wizards, as they tell me, make their magic but from the crumbs that fall from Shadow’s table, as it were. They weave no webs outside their own bodies, hold no elaborate traceries at the ready, own no patterns save those in their own minds, but instead pluck away what they can when chance allows, and shape the magicks within themselves.” He hesitated, then added, “Ah, in truth, I’ve most probably made nonsense of it, for ’tis none of mine that we speak of here, friend Pel. If you’d have it right, you’d best speak with Valadrakul, and not myself.”
Pel nodded, and dropped back a pace to where the wizard walked.
Valadrakul turned and stared silently at the Earthman as they marched a dozen steps farther down the highway.
Pel realized that this was the first time he had deliberately and directly addressed Valadrakul in normal conversation, and he wasn’t sure just how to begin. At last, though, he said, “You’re a wizard, right?”
Wilkins, a few feet away, snickered.
“Have you not seen for yourself, Pellinore Brown?” Valadrakul replied.
“I suppose, yeah,” Pel admitted. Wilkins snorted, but Pel ignored him. “So tell me about wizards.”
Valadrakul blinked, then smiled crookedly. “You’d have me open to you all the secrets of my kind, the mysteries we hold dear, the teachings I struggled for a dozen years to absorb, here as we walk? Think you, perhaps, that what you ask might not be so simple as that?”
“Yeah, well,” Pel said, annoyed, “I didn’t mean that. I mean, tell me why, if you’re a wizard and Shadow’s a wizard, why Shadow’s so much more powerful than you are.”
“And who told you, I pray, that Shadow is a wizard?”
“Didn’t you…” Pel hesitated. “Or maybe it was Raven-I don’t know, but somebody told me.”
Valadrakul didn’t reply, and angrily, Pel demanded, “All right, if Shadow isn’t a wizard, what is it?”
“’Tis Shadow,” Valadrakul said with a shrug. “It needs no other name, for there’s no other like it, nor has ever been. What in truth it is, no one knows.”
“Didn’t one of you tell me that it started out as an ordinary wizard?”
“Perhaps,” Valadrakul admitted.
“Then did it start out as an ordinary wizard?”
“So ’tis said. And perhaps ’tis true. ’Tis no wizard now, though-not as we use the word.”
“So what happened, then?” Pel asked. “How come Shadow’s so incredibly powerful, and the rest of you wizards aren’t?”
“Good question,” Wilkins said. “Took you long enough to get it straight, though.”
Pel glared at him for an instant, then turned back to Valadrakul.
The wizard looked thoughtfully at the ground for a moment, and the entire party moved onward a few yards before he spoke again.
“Raven spoke to you of the flow of magic through the world,” Valadrakul said at last.
Pel nodded.
“’Tis not exactly a flow, you understand-nor is it precisely in this world. The exact nature…well, you’ve not the understanding.” The wizard glanced up at Pel.
“All right,” Pel said. “Explain it however you can, don’t worry about getting all the details right.”
Valadrakul nodded. “As you wish.” He gazed about at the surrounding greenery. “If you think of the sources of nature’s magic as springs, from which flow not water but the invisible energies that we wizards wield, you will have but a poor understanding, for the flow is not as water, nor as light, nor as any other thing in the commonplace world. It permeates all the world, yet varies throughout, from the faintest of traces in one spot to a bursting torrent in another. And when a wizard draws upon it, it is not consumed-the well cannot be emptied. There are flows, but they are not streams-more oft, they’re loops, spinning endlessly. And there are points, and lines, and patterns.”
“All right,” Pel said. “I think I have the idea.”
Valadrakul nodded. “Well,” he said, “a wizard such as myself, such as all modern wizards, can draw upon whatever energy might be found in the place where that wizard stands, and no more. I can sense these energies, but only dimly; they are not as light to me, but as, perhaps, faint sounds-I can perhaps tell you, that way there is a great power source, but I cannot tell you how far, nor its exact nature, nor can I in any way draw it nearer. At most, if I find a locus I remember, I can perhaps use its peculiar nature to my advantage-as when I used what might be described as a line of magical energy to send a message to Taillefer.”
“Okay,” Pel acknowledged. “I think I get it.”
“Of old, though,” Valadrakul continued, “there were wizards who had a greater understanding of these forces, who could perhaps see them, and map them, and distinguish the patterns in them. This higher art, these pattern wizards, these are now thought to be lost-though I’d not swear that none might still lurk in the odd corners, hiding from Shadow. ’Twas pattern wizards who provided much of the art that we lesser wizards use; they were more powerful than we, and for that reason Shadow has made every effort to obliterate them, lest they be a threat to its dominion.”
“So Shadow was a pattern wizard?” Pel asked.
Valadrakul shook his head. “Nay,” he said, “listen further. ’Tis said that long ago, there was yet a third tier among those who wield magic-those who could not only perceive the patterns, but could alter them, could alter the flow of energy, could divert one stream into another, could weave the threads of magic as if they were merest wool, could form matrices of magic that they carried about with them-not the mere patterns of spells trapped within their minds, as we yet do in our small ways, but great intricate webs of the raw stuff of magic itself, that might be formed into whatever spells they needed. They had no need to make do with what powers were at hand, but could draw to themselves whatsoever powers they needed, through these matrices they held. Matrix wizards, these magic-weavers were called.”
“And Shadow was a matrix wizard?” Pel asked, remembering what Raven had said about Shadow’s webs and networks.
Valadrakul nodded. “Aye,” he said. “The greatest of them. And Shadow built about itself a structure that stretches out to embrace all the magic in this world-it gathered in all the lines to itself, drew down the wells, absorbed the matrices of all other matrix wizards, and left nowhere untouched If another somehow learned the lost art of the matrix wizards, and sought to draw into himself even the slightest part of the world’s magic, Shadow would sense it, would feel the tug upon its web as a spider feels a fly’s struggles. Should that happen, Shadow would reach out and strike down whoever had dared to tamper with its networks.” He sighed. “Indeed, ’twould seem that that’s why Taillefer would send you nowhere-the portal spell impinges upon Shadow’s matrix, tugs at its web, as it were.”