He went on throwing it, varying the speed and direction of its flight and making a game for both of them out of avoiding its whirring returns. In a short time a group of palace servants and minor officials, initially attracted by Nirrineen’s laughter, had gathered to watch the spectacle. Dardash continued tirelessly, apparently oblivious to the onlookers, but in fact paying careful attention to every detail of his surroundings, and he knew—simply by detecting a change in the general noise level—the exact moment at which his plan had succeeded. He turned and saw the knot of spectators part to make way for the approach of a handsome, slightly-built young man, whose bearing somehow managed to be both relaxed and imperious.
This is a new kind of arrogance, Dardash thought. Here is a man who feels that he doesn’t even have to try to impress…
The remainder of the thought was lost as he got his first direct look at the young King Marcurades and felt the ruler’s sheer psychic power wash over him. Dardash, as a dedicated magician, understood very well that there was more to his calling than the willingness and ability to memorise spells. On a number of occasions he had encountered men—often in ordinary walks of life—who had a strong potential for magic, but never before had he been confronted by a human being whose charisma was so overwhelming. Dardash suddenly found himself taken aback, humbled and confused, by the realisation that he was in the company of a man who, had he been so inclined, could have effortlessly eclipsed him in his chosen profession.
“You must be Urtarra’s new assistant,” Marcurades said in light and pleasant tones. “I trust that you are enjoying your stay in Bhitsala.”
Dardash bowed. “I’m enjoying it very much, sire—it is my privilege to serve your highness.” To himself he said: Can it, despite Urtarra’s visions, be right to kill such a man?
“I am sorry we could not meet sooner, but the demands on my time are myriad.” Marcurades paused and glanced at Nirrineen. “However, I suspect you are in little need of consolation.”
Nirrineen smiled and lowered her gaze in a way which, to Dardash’s heightened sensibilities, had nothing to do with modesty. The bitch, he thought, appalled at the strength of his emotion. The bitch is ready to give herself to him, right here and now.
“I couldn’t help observing that you cast more than horoscopes,” Marcurades said, nodding at the cross which lay on the grass nearby. “That scrap of wood appears to have magical power, but—as I am no believer in hocus-pocus—I surmise it has qualities of form which are not immediately apparent.”
“Indeed, sire.” Dardash retrieved the cross and, with murder in his heart, began to explain what he knew of the aerodynamic principles which made the circular flights possible. Now that his attitude towards Marcurades had crystallised, the facts that the king addressed him as an equal and chose to wear unadorned linen garments were further evidence of an incredible arrogance, of an overweening pride. It was not difficult to understand how such attributes could decay into a terrible and dangerous insanity, gradually corrupting the young king until he had become a monster the world could well do without.
“As soon as the cross ceases to spin it falls to the ground,” Dardash said. “That shows that it is the fleet movement of these arms through the air which somehow makes the cross as light as thistledown. I have often thought that if a man could build a large cross, perhaps a score of paces from end to end, with arms shaped just so—and if he could devise some means for making it spin rapidly—why then he could fly like an eagle, soar above all the lands and peoples of this earth.”
Dardash paused and eyed the king, choosing his exact moment. “Of course, such a contrivance is impossible.”
Marcurades’ face was rapt, glowing. “I disagree, Dardash—I think one could be constructed.”
“But the weight of the arms …”
“It would be folly to use solid wood for that purpose,” Marcurades cut in, his voice growing more fervent. “No, I see light frameworks covered with wooden veneers, or skins, or—better still—silk. Yes, silk!”
Dardash shook his head. “No man, not even the mightiest wrestler, could spin the arms fast enough.”
“Like all stargazers, you are lacking in knowledge of what can be done with earthly substances like copper and water…and fire,” Marcurades replied, beginning to pace in circles. “I can produce the power of ten men, of a horse, within a small compass. The main problem is to make that power subservient to my wishes. It has to be channelled, and…and …” Marcurades raised one finger, traced an invisible line vertically and then, his eyes abstracted disks of white light, began to move his hand in horizontal circles.
“From this—to this,” he murmured, communing with himself. “There must be a way.”
“I don’t understand, sire,” Dardash said, disguising the exultation that pounded within him. “What are you…?”
“You’ll see, stargazer.” Marcurades turned back to the palace. “I think I’m going to surprise you.”
“And I think I’m going to surprise you,” Dardash said under his breath as he watched Marcurades stride away. Well satisfied with his morning’s work, Dardash glanced at Nirrineen and felt a flicker of cold displeasure as he saw she was gazing at the figure of the departing king with a peculiar intensity.
The sooner my task here is complete, he thought irritably, the better I’ll like it.
Urtarra’s private apartment was a lavishly appointed room, the walls of which were hung with deep blue tapestries embroidered with astrological emblems. He had apologised to Dardash for the ostentation of its furnishings and trappings, explaining that as he was not truly an astrologer it was necessary for him to put on a bold and convincing show for the benefit of all other residents at the palace. Now he was squatting comfortably on his bed, looking much as he had done the first time Dardash had seen him—plump, oily, deceptively soft.
“I suppose I must congratulate you,” he said reflectively. “Going aloft in a flying machine is one of the most dangerous things imaginable, and if you bring about the king’s death without the use of magic your triumph has to be considered all the greater. I won’t withhold your reward.”
“Don’t even think of trying,” Dardash advised. “Besides, you have missed the whole point of my discourse—I will have to use magic. A great deal of magic.”
“But if it is simply a matter of waiting until Marcurades and his machine fall from the sky, I don’t see …”
“What you don’t see is that the machine will not be capable of leaving the ground,” Dardash interrupted, amazed that a man of Urtarra’s experience could display such naivety about the natural world. “Not without my assistance, anyway. Man, like all other animals, belongs to the ground, and there is no contrivance—no ingenious combination of levers and springs and feathers—which can raise him out of his natural element.
“Note that I said natural element, because it is the essence of magic that it defies nature. I intend to cast a spell over whatever machine Marcurades builds, and with the power of my magic that machine will bear him upwards, higher and higher into the realm of the gods, and then—when I judge the moment aright—the gods will become angry at the invasion of their domain by a mere mortal, and …”
“And you’ll cancel your spell!” Urtarra clapped his hands to his temples. “It’s perfect!”