Sorcerer's Son (46 page)

“Fight like with like? No, I think that would be a mistake.”

“You’ll not snuff Rezhyk’s fire demons with your water demons, nor freeze them either.”

“Perhaps not, but I will be flexible, and Lord Rezhyk will not. That may turn out to be my one advantage. Can you persuade some ice and water folk to visit me?”

“I don’t think they’ll require my persuasion. They’ll come to see the human at last. You have only to be patient and to continue your studies.”

Cray grinned, fingering his book, “You are an unrelenting taskmaster, Elrelet, and a true friend to Gildrum.”

The cloud sighed, like a soft breeze rustling leaves. “I try to be.”

Ť ^ ť

They did come in their own good time—spheres of liquid large as bears, milky, opalescent; and giant snowflakes like stars made of glittering openwork lace, with needle-sharp spicules sprouting in every direction. And not only ice and water demons came, but fire as well, blobs of flame from candlelights to roaring conflagrations passed by the house with invisible walls. Cray could hardly look up from his books without seeing some unhuman being floating in the blue, glowing by its own light or reflecting the luminosity of Air from a pearl-smooth or crystalline surface. Elrelet told him that all these visitors were Free, not a slave among them. And the Free of Air continued to pay their visits, more frequently than ever, skittering about the other demons, bumping into them sometimes, and starting what Elrelet referred to as “differences of opinion.” These arguments were silent, to Cray’s ears, but they involved considerable wild motion.

“They’re an unruly company, our Free,” Elrelet admitted. “Perhaps that is one of the reasons why we see so few travelers from the other domains.”

Cray tried to keep to his studies, but sometimes, watching the cloudlike Free, he yearned to go out and join them. They still called to him, laughing, caroming their cube off the invisible walls. They seemed more curious now than dangerous, like playful puppies tumbling and yipping in the summer grass. Cray smiled at them as they puffed in and out of visibility, chasing the cube, each other, and any other demons that happened to be near. And when one of them executed a particularly intricate maneuver in his full sight, Cray understood that it was flaunting itself especially for him.

“Do they never tire of me?” Cray said to Elrelet. “I know it’s the same group over and over again. I recognize their voices.”

“It is the same group. Don’t you realize that they’re trying to distract you? They don’t want you to have a chance to capture any of them.”

“I would not keep them long, if I did capture any of them.”

“You might possibly convince me of that,” said Elrelet. “But not them. They would never trust a human’s word.”

“Haven’t I convinced you already, Elrelet?”

The demon hesitated and then very softly said, “I’m not sure. Truly, Cray, I understand that you mean well now, or you think you mean well, but who can say how you will feel when your hands are covered with rings?”

“I have convinced Gildrum!”

“Gildrum does not care about anything but Gildrum right now. If freedom meant the enslavement of a thousand demons, Gildrum would accept that gladly. And what demon, with the opportunity for freedom, would think differently? Not one of the players of the game, certainly.”

“But you. You feel differently.”

“And so did Gildrum once. We thought that helping to enslave our fellow demons was the most terrible part of our own slavery. Yet now I help Gildrum to help you enslave.” A gust of air was Elrelet’s sigh. “I can’t say what is right and what is wrong, Cray. Only that my friend asked for aid, and I am able to give it.”

“I swear to you, Elrelet—”

“Don’t swear. You will do what you will do. I only hope that you are able to accomplish what Gildrum wishes.”

“I shall try,” said Cray. He smiled ruefully. “After all

my life depends on it.”

Yet, though his life did depend on it, he grew restless with the study of sorcery, with the seemingly endless supply of information that Gildrum provided him. He saw Rezhyk’s fire demon rarely now, only long enough to receive a few scant words of encouragement and fresh volumes of lore. Often even these were transmitted through Elrelet. Rezhyk, Cray was told, was keeping his servant busy.

One day—as Cray had come to think of those periods of time in which he was awake—he threw the books aside and summoned Yra, who had been given Elrelet’s permission to enter the house at its master’s command. The Free were at play outside, Elrelet was away on some errand, and Cray felt a great need for activity.

“Come, Yra,” he said, “I have been too long lazing with these books. My muscles grow flabby and weak with disuse. Bring me some clay and I shall give you another form to suit my need for a sporting companion. And borrow me a kiln, too, from some potter of my world, big enough to house a man. And mark you it has never been used for sorcery before.”

“A kiln, my lord? Where will I find such a thing? I am not traveled in the human world, my lord. You must instruct me.”

Cray frowned at his servant. “Well, I must confess that I cannot. I know only Lord Rezhyk’s kiln, and of course that is not available to us. We shall have to wait for Elrelet’s return, I suppose, and ask for one then, but I can tell you of the clay. Do you know what clay is, Yra?”

“No, my lord.”

“Well, the kind I am thinking of is reddish in color, a sort of soil that has a sticky quality, of which pottery is made. There is a considerable amount of it exposed in the east bank of a river that runs near Spinweb. I saw it often as a child. Do you know where Spinweb lies?”

“No, my lord.”

“What landmarks do you know in the human world?”

“Ringforge, my lord, where you summoned me.”

Cray’s brow knit lighter. “Even I would be hard pressed to find Spinweb from there. You would be flying, though

if you went eastward you would strike the river, surely, and then need only follow it south till you sighted the towers of Spinweb.” He nodded, more to himself than to Yra. “Yes, do that. Go east from Ringforge to the river and then follow it south. But don’t be fooled by smaller streams; you will know the river from its width—twenty humans with joined hands would scarcely span it. When you see Spinweb near, begin searching the east bank of the river for reddish soil, and bring me back enough of that to make a person of my own size.”

“My lord

what is ‘east’?”

“Why

east, toward the rising sun.”

“And what is the rising sun?”

“The sun, Yra, the sun at dawn.”

“What is the sun, my lord?”

Cray stared open-mouthed at the blob of light, so like a sun itself in miniature. “Have you never seen the sun?”

“No, my lord.”

“But how can that be?”

Very softly, Yra replied, “I am very young, my lord.”

Cray crossed his arms, tapping with one index finger on the large muscle of his left shoulder. “Yra,” he said, “how often have you been to the human world?”

“As often as you summoned me, my lord.”

“And

inside the walls of Ringforge only?”

“Yes, my lord, only there.”

“Do you know what a tree is?”

“No, my lord.”

Cray sighed. “You have never seen a tree, or a rock, or a river, or any other human beyond me?”

“I have seen rivers, my lord, in Fire.”

“Not rivers of water?”

“No, my lord. Are there such things in the human world?”

“Oh, yes. But they flow upon the ground, not through the sky.” He shook his head. “Never mind, Yra. Never mind about the clay. We shall both wait for Elrelet’s return. Perhaps some other time

perhaps when I am back in my own world, I will teach you about it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

While they waited, Cray pulled his sword and shield from the saddlebags where they had nestled since his arrival in Air and began very carefully to practice his swordsmanship. He discovered that while he was adept at moving his own body about in a world without weight, the use of the sword and shield was not as simple as he had expected. Still, he learned to compensate for their bulk, for the way they changed his balance and set him tumbling. And he learned that the shield made an excellent oar.

The Free crowded about Elrelet’s house while Cray slashed at nothingness, their cloud forms small as cabbages, looking like so many children peeping from behind curtains at their elders business. The game had halted, as well as the noise that usually marked their presence. Cray ignored them.

When Elrelet returned, the demon was perplexed at Cray’s activities. “In what way will the sword and shield help you make rings and conjure demons?”

“In no way at all,” Cray said, his breath coming fast from much exercise. “But they will keep me from going mad with study. Even at Ringforge I took them up when I needed a change from the exercises of the mind.”

“Gildrum, I think, would not be pleased seeing you thus.”

Cray grinned. “Very well, my host. I have some sorcerous work planned and was only waiting for your help before beginning.”

“How may I assist you? Fetch ore, the oven, the tools for casting already?”

“No, no, not yet. I would create a new form for my servant here, and for that I need clay and a kiln never used for sorcery.”

“Ah,” said Elrelet “And your little demon is too innocent to find them.”

“Precisely.”

“Very well. This is a skill you will need to practice, and if you wish a change from study, I can think of no more useful one. I shall return shortly.” The miniature thunderhead dwindled before Cray’s eyes, to the size of his fist, to the size of his thumb, to nothing. It was gone scarcely a score of heartbeats. Reappearing as a mere speck, it grew quickly, surpassed its usual dimensions, pushing Cray aside with gentle bumps, until it was a sphere with volume eight or ten times that of Cray’s body. A hole appeared in the surface of the cloud sphere closest to Cray, tiny enough to admit a finger at first but growing steadily till he saw that the cloud was a mere shell encompassing something else: a brick kiln. Elrelet withdrew completely, compact now in the thunderhead shape, and with one slim tentacle of cloud, the demon pulled the kiln door open to expose a mass of red clay—more than enough for the sculpting of a full-size human figure—and a number of sculptor’s implements..

“I presumed you might want some tools as well,” Elrelet said. “They are my master’s, but I think he won’t miss them. He hardly ever does any modeling these days, and I left him a few things in case he should change his mind.”

“I thank you,” said Cray, pulling at the clay, which floated from its container in one large, irregularly shaped mass. It was cold and stiff between his hands.

“Have you ever worked with clay before?” asked Elrelet.

“Only as a child—small things, bowls, toy figures, a fish or two. I recall that my mother praised the fish.”

“And do you intend to make a fish form for Yra?”

“No, a human form. Or at least a human semblance.”

Elrelet laughed softly. “You would be wise to start with something simpler.”

“I don’t want something simpler.”

“Then this should be most interesting.”

Cray broke a small piece off the mass of clay and rolled it between his hands until it warmed and became malleable. Then bit by bit, following the instructions that Gildrum had left in one of his notebooks, he added to the piece, building up a core of clay, roughing out the form of a human body—trunk, head, limbs. The figure grew quickly at first, then more gradually as he began to tire of kneading and pressing the form between his hands. He paused to eat, to sleep, to glance again at his studies, but only till his arms were rested, and then he resumed work on the clay. He had used up most of it by the time he judged the figure large enough

“One of the arms is longer than the other,” said Elrelet.

Cray nipped the offending extra length away. “That is the least of my worries,” he muttered. He had begun to realize how difficult a task he had set himself. The shape was approximately human, but though he had used his own body for reference, he was not skilled enough to copy the contours properly. Nor could he make the face anything but a mockery of humanity, with a blob for a nose, eyes like pits, and hair a squared-off block. The more he worked, the more he had to admire Rezhyk’s abilities; he would never have guessed that any of the bodies that Gildrum had worn in his sight could have been sculpture come to life. At last Cray ceased his molding, his carving, his additions and subtractions, knowing that a better likeness did not now lie within his power. He took up the big square wooden frame strung with the single fine wire, the wire that Elrelet’s master had probably used a hundred times, and he sliced the body into pieces—the head, the limbs, the torso, all separate. Then he sliced each section vertically into halves and hollowed them out, rejoining them carefully, smoothing the seams out, until he had a whole statue once more. He had left two holes in the figure, one in the right foot and one in the upper back, as vents.

“Now we are ready,” he said to Yra, carefully clasping the larger of his rings on the upper arm of the statue. Gently, he pushed it into the kiln. He swam away then, to the farthest wall. “I command you to enter this body.”

Yra expanded a trifle, its glow turning to more evident, licking flame, and it swooped into the kiln. The figure began to glow as soon as the demon touched it, red first, then yellow, then white, illuminating the surrounding bricks with a harsh glare. The color faded gradually after that peak, back to red and even dimmer, until the light pouring into the kiln from the luminosity of Air was greater than any radiated by the figure. Yra’s new body twitched slightly, as the demon flexed its new muscles, and terra-cotta powder burst from it, bouncing from the walls like so much flour caught in a gust of wind. Some of it floated from the open door, and more followed, trailing after Yra as the demon stepped out of the kiln.

Cray tried to wave the powder away from himself with one hand, but the turbulence caused by his gesture merely brought more powder to him. He sneezed several times, then covered his mouth and nose with the slack of his sleeve. “Get rid of it, Yra!” he shouted.