Elizabeth Willey - A Sorcerer And A Gentleman

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this

book is stolen property. 11 was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the

publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for

this "stripped book."

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in Ihis

novel are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely

coincidental.

A SORCERER AND A GENTLEMAN Copyright ® 1995 by Elizabeth WiHey

thereof, in any form.

Edited by Teresa Nielsen Hayden Cover art by Charles Vess

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates. Inc.

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

Tor Books on the World Wide Web: http://www.tor.com

Tor« is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

ISBN: 0-812-55047-1

Library of Congress Card Catalog Number: 95-14725

f.

First edition: August 1995 First mass market edition: July 1996

Printed in the United States of America

0987654321

To (he Reader

"For herein may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, humanity, friendliness,

hardiness, iove, friendship, cowardice, murder, hate, virtue, and sin. Do

after the good and leave the evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and

renown."

ùCaxton

1

IT is A PROVERB OFTEN QUOTED but seldom applied, that all a gentleman needs to

travel is a good cloak, a good horse, and a good sword. Indeed, given the

style and comfort in which those on whom society bestows the appellation

"gentlemen" usually travel, the picture of a well-dressed, handsome youhg man

on a fine horse, armed with a blade housed in a long silver-chased scabbard,

the end of which protrudes from his full-cut sea-green cloak with its shoulder

cape flaring in the haste of his travel, would inspire a beholder to identify

the gallant as anything but a gentleman. "A highwayman," one might say; or, on

a closer look, "a special messenger for the Emperor, who dwells in this great

city here in the distance"; or more cynically, "a rake fleeing the city on

account of his debts and his mistress's husband"; or any of a hatful of titles

might one append to this picture, before "a gentleman" be suggested. And that

one would be instantly derided as inaccurate.

For, look! This man has no baggage but the saddlebags on his horse; he is

alone, without a single servant to attend him; moreover he is on horseback

rather than in a carriage with the fine horse ridden by his lackey; and

furthermore, he is plainly galloping, as may be seen from the billowing of his

cape and the elevation of his horse's hooves, and his hair is blown about and

his clothing disordered by the exercise. Lastly and most tellingly, it is

night-time in the picture, as the swollen moon breasting the horizon and a few

stars show, long after sundown, a time when any true gentleman wouid long

since have been snugly established in his chosen inn for the night with a good

dinner and a bottle of wine.

Thus do many antiquated proverbs suffer derision when they venture into the

harsh environment of the modern world. Can he truly be a gentleman, though he

ride swiftly, at night, away from the security of the city, alone and armed?

Only the rider knows. He is quite secure about his own estate, and perhaps is

now observing to himself that he is the very picture of that proverb mainly

quoted nowadays by gouty earls at the fireside deriding the softness of the

younger generation, who travel with everything but a wine-cellar and purchase

and consume one as they go. (The earls suffer amnesia regarding their own

pasts and curse the present gout whilst recalling fondly wines of bygone

days.)

He has no question in his own mind as to what he is, and if you were to ask

him, he might tell you without hesitation.

You could not ask him. He was already gone by the time it occurred to you; his

horse swift and his purpose clear, he went left at the crossroads on the hill

where the moon cut a black shadow beside a kingstone. His first goal was to

pass that crossroads at that time, exactly as the moon was clearing the

horizon and casting the kingstone's shadow as a pointer down the road he took.

When he turned, he faded from sight, as if he rode into a fog bank when there

was no fog there at all.

2

"ARIEL!"

"Here, Master!"

"The full moon's rays are requisite for work I plan tonight. Dispel these

scudding clouds without harsh wind or undue storm, that the rising lunar light

may fall unfiltered on the world."

"All of it, Master Prospero?" Ariel asked, dubious.

"This part where I am," Prospero clarified, not unkindly. "Let us say, the

eastern region of this Continent, including this island. All night."

"The breath of your order shall be gale, good Master," Ariel said, and left

with a gust of wind, racing east.

Prospero's black-lined blue cloak flared and rippled with the Sylph's passage;

his dark hair stirred; the island's trees soughed and whispered among

themselves, then calmed. From his place by the mighty tree that crowned the

island's hill, he gazed over the river to the east and saw Ariel's rippling

wake pass over the landscape, out of sight, purling and streaking the fat

gilt-shouldered clouds. Now he took his silver-wound staff and struck its

bright heel on the ground three times.

"Caliban!" he called.

"Aye," grunted a voice beneath his feet. The stone roiled and rose: a torso; a

rough head coarse-featured; a square slab-body and hard arms textured like

fine-grained unpolished granite. Caliban squinted in the beating midsummer

sun.

"Here at this living tower's roots I'll have a basin sculpted in the stone

whereof it grips," Prospero said, lifting his staff and then setting it down,

"a hollow which is spherical, circularly exact, such that the diameter be

measured from hereù" he struck the stone with the heel of the staff and

pacedù"to here at its broadest point below the surface of

4 ù=+ 'Etizaftetfi VlXttey

the ground, and such that its opening be from hereù" and he paced againù "to

here."

There was a perplexed silence, and then, "Ah. Like an orange with the top cut

off to suck at it."

"Even so."

"That will fill with the waters of the Spring that rises here in its middle,

Masterù"

"Even so."

"Ah." The black stone over which the tree's roots ran and into which they had

forced their way rippled as Caliban moved. "If it's a well you'd have me

delve, Masterù"

"No well, but a bowl, which shall cup the Spring's unstinting flow for my

night's work."

"The basin shall be scoured as you command, Master."

"Be finished ere the sun sets," Prospero said, "ere the sun's disk is a fist's

width above the long horizon, for it must fill, and I've preparations to

complete."

"Aye, Master." Caliban sank into the stone, which hissed and heated with his

hasty passage.

Prospero watched as the stone began to move. The rest of his preparations were

made; the stage was being set; there remained but one vital piece of business

before the hour of his sorcery came. He left the hilltop and its great tree

and went down a footpath, winding through the straight trunks of high-crowned

trees and along a rocky outcrop, until he came to an end of the cool-shaded

wood. A garden lay before him in casual beds and terraces, clumps of fruiting

trees and clusters of exuberant blossoms, and at its farthest end he descried

a bent back and a miH-wheel of a yellow straw hat radiant in the sun.

A neat gravelled path led him to the gardener.

"What cheer, daughter?"

She sat back on her heels, grubby and smiling, dark curling tendrils falling

from under the hat to nourish themselves on her damp neck. "I suppose you want

strawberries," she said.

"Were they less sweet and thy care of them less fruitful, I'd have none," he

replied, smiling, "so 'tis a tribute to thy own hand that I have devour'd so

many; they are the very

Sorcerer and a Qentteman

5

heart of summer and their goodness nourished of thine, therefore must I love

them as I love thee. But nay, 'tis thee I'll have. The heat's great, the day

wears long; thy labor's never done, and as well ceased now as ever. I bid thee

lunch with me."

"It's early," she said.

"Not untimely so," Prospero disagreed mildly. "Go thou, bathe and dress; I'll

look to the meal, and we'll meet on the green where the table is. Take our

ease as the wise beasts o' the wood do when the sun is fiercest on the flesh."

"It is hot. Yes. We must have strawberries, thoughù they'll rot if we don't

eat them, and the idea of cooking even more jam ..." Her voice trailed away.

"Well enough. Hast thy basket?"

Prospero picked the strawberries with her, though they both ate any number of

the winey-ripe ones as well, and carried them off while she ran ahead to fetch

clean clothes and a towel. He had already made some preparation of the meal,

and now he finished and laid a cold roast pheasant, poached fish, a salad of

peas and tiny vegetables dressed with vinegar and mint, a dish of hot-spiced

grain with raisins, and a pyramid of fruits out invitingly on his huge dark

table, its single-slab top upheld by the wings of two carven birds of prey

which clutched lesser earthbound creatures in their brass claws. The table, as

was their summer custom, stood outside beneath a spreading tree on the little

lawn before the small scarp wherein lay his cave, its thick door open to the

soft air.

He was just opening a cool bottle of sweet white wine when his daughter came

up the path that led to the river, bathed and fresh-gowned in gauzy green.

Prospero set the bottle down and watched her approach, approving and

appreciative. Her tailoring skills were simple, thus all her dresses were

little more than smocks, ribboned and laced to fit: indecent in civilized

society, but charming here in the wilderness.

"In such heat," she said, "the forest is a better place to be. Tomorrow, will

you hunt with me?"

"What of thy garden?"

"Oh, well, as you say, 'tis never done."

"No ground to shirk," he chided her gently, and poured wine for her.

She curtseyed slightly, as he had taught her, and took the cup. "Thank you,

Papa. It was you who tempted me from work with swimming and a lovely luncheon;

you can hardly blame me for wanting a holiday."

"I blame thee not at all. Come, all's ready, and my appetite as well."

"This breeze is good," said she. "It is nearly cool here, in the shade."

They ate side-by-side, looking down the slope below their tree and table,

which she had planted with flowers and small trees. When the cold fish and

meat were gone and the fruits being picked at leisurely, Prospero turned the

conversation abruptly from the flowers.

"I have in mind to make some alterations in our life," he said.

She set down her wineglass and tilted her head to one side, puzzled.

"Alterations?"

Prospero leaned back. "Long ago I told thee, Freia," he began, "that I am a

Prince in my own realm, far-distant Landucùa Prince, and should be King, but

that my brothers conspired against me and denied me my rightful place."

"1 remember," she said.

"Dost remember? 'Twas many winters past, and we've not spoken oft since. For

it displeaseth me to chew it over."

"I do remember,1" she said, "for you told me of your friends there, and of

beautiful Lady Miranda, and of the great city and the Palace gardens."

"Thou rememb'rest, then, that my pompous brother inflated himself from King to

Emperor 'pon his accession to the stolen throne."

She nodded.

"Thou rememb'rest that I told thee 'twas not finished." His eyes were like

high grey clouds with the sun behind them.

She nodded again, wary of his intensity.

"Time's come," Prospero said, "for me to make my move

A Sorcerer and a Qentkman <=ù- 7

'gainst that false popinjay and knock him down, I've labored long here and

elsewhere, setting my plans in slow motion, and now the hour is nigh for

swifter action."

"What are you going to do?"

He seemed not to hear her. "To move that action shall require changes here. I

warn thee now; I've spoken of some to thee ere this, and I saw them little

please thee. Yet change cannot be denied."

Freia tensed, straightened. "Why not? Why shouldn't we live as we have, here,

you and me and your sorcery and my garden and things? I like this. Don't you?"

"I like it well, wench, but a man cannot sup on strawberries all the days of

his life," Prospero said. " Twill change, I tell thee, and we'll change too.

My idleness ill-fits my nature, and it must end and this idyll withal."

She shook her head, contrary. "This is perfect, just as it is, and there's

plenty to do and I'm not idle. What are you going to change? What is lacking?

Why shouldn't we stay the same?"

"Freia, Freia. Think'st thou that I was always as I am today? Wert thou? Nay;

I've bettered thee, hast said it thyself. What thou art today, is what I've

made of thee; my daughter, a lady, and soon a princess: bettered again." He

had taken her hands in his and held them as he held her gaze.

"I don't want to be a Lady or a Princess! Why do you want to be a Prince, or a

King? Aren't you happy here?"

"Freia, 'tis more than a thing I wish to be. Tis what I am. This place is

comfortable enough, were I but a sorcerer, but I am not. I did not choose this

place to be comfortable in, but to labor, and my labor here draws near

completion; the fruits of my patience come ripe, e'en as thy garden be-ginneth

with hard work and small shoots, then groweth to savorous maturity. And thou,

thou didst not choose this place; 'tis all thy world, I know, and though

thou'rt content enough here solitary 'mongst thy fruits and flowers, I know

the little discontents that shall fret thee to aversion in morrow-days. Better

to remember thy garden-isle fondly later than to hate it."

8

'E&zaBetA

"I love this place, I always shall, I love it as it is," she said,

heart-wringingly. "Please don't change it. Please. What are you going to do,

Papa?"

"We must have a city, Freia, walled and strongù"

"No!"

"ùand bridges o'er the river, therefore great numbers of hardy men to buildù"

"No!"

They stared at one another. Freia's expression of stubborn determination

mirrored Prospero's, and Prospero's hands tightened around hers balled into

stone-hard fists. "Darest thou contradict me?" he snapped. "I'll not

countenance it; the world moveth forward, be thou retrograde as thou wilt. It

must happen, Freia, and it shall, and thou'lt see: Twill like thee better than

thou think'st."

The Prince of Madana, Heir of Landuc, lay on his bed fully clothed and stared

at the white-and-blue scrolled ceiling.

Something had happened to him last night. It was something unpleasant. He was

dressed, and that was wrong; he never slept in his clothesùhe would sooner go

naked to dinner. His head ached. Shreds of dreams still clung to his thoughts:

suffocating dreams, drowning dreams, entangled dreams of nets and sticky webs.

"Sir?" someone said.

The Prince turned his head and saw the concerned faces of five people who

stood at his bedside. They were all leaning toward him, eyes wide, and the

same expression of relief and rejoicing washed over all five.

"Doctor Hem," said the Prince, wondering what was wrong with him.

"Tell the Emperor and Empress," said Doctor Hem to the footman beside him, who

hurried out. "Yes, Your Highness," he added to the Prince, smiling, bowing.

"What's that stink?" The Prince frowned, swallowing and beginning to sit up.

"No, no! Do not rise, Your Highness, the crisis is only just past; do not

rise, lest the balance of humors be dis-

%. Sorcerer and a QentCeman <=ù 9

rupted again," cried the Doctor, and made him lie down again.

"What the blazes is going on? What's the matter?" demanded the Prince,

grabbing the Doctor's arm.

The door banged and the footman cried hurriedly, "His Majesty Emperor Avrilù"

"Silence," said the Emperor impatiently, entering, and glared at the others as

he did. "You. What are you doing here? Nothing? Out! We know you, you're Hem's

boy. Out."

They got out, all but the Doctor and the Emperor. The Emperor glowered at his

son from the side of the bed.

The Prince thought he'd much preferred the gratifying audience now departed.

He played a filial note, cautiously. "Father, am I ill?"

"Perhaps you can tell us. You've been asleep like this since we don't know

when."

"What?"

"What have you been smoking? Drinking, perhaps?" demanded the Emperor

furiously. "With whom? Some bastard you dragged in off the streetù"

"Your Majesty," said Doctor Hem hurriedly, "still the balance of humors is

very delicate and it would be best not toù"

"Silence. Well? What have you to say for yourself?"

The Prince stared at his father, confused, and shook his head a little, and

sat up again. Hem started forward to stop him and retreated at the Emperor's

look.

"Tell us," said the Emperor, arms folded, glowering at his son, his eyes like

coal.

"I don't remember," the Prince said, shaking his head again.

"Don't remember?"

The Prince rubbed his temples.

The Emperor hissed through his teeth with impatience. "You came in at the

tenth hour yesterday with someone your chamberboy identified as Harrel

Brightwaterù"

"Brightwater," the Prince said. "Yes. That was. . . . We met at the armorer's.

Bellamy's."

10

'Elizabeth

"Not for the first time, in all likelihood," his father said sarcastically,

and noticed the Doctor again. "Get out. We'll call you if you're needed."

Doctor Hem left, bowing. He had served the Palace for long enough to know how

his service might best be extended.

When the door had closed on him, the Emperor went on with the beginnings of a

fine rage in his voice. "Josquin, we have had enough ofù"

"We dined here," the Prince said, ignoring him, rubbing his temples. "I

remember that. Chess first, dinner. Talked about fencing. Horses. We had one

bottle, didn't even finish it, the new stuff."

"It is surprising that you remember that much. What else did you have?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Just... We sat after dinner with the chess-board again....

Let me think. Nothing. Didn't smoke anything. Hm," he muttered, still rubbing

his head. "It'sù he threw something."

The Emperor, who had listened with mounting anger, said, "Threw something!"

"I didn't see what it was."

"Threw you, more likelyù"

"Father. He ... Where is he?"

"He left, in your coach. Your standard treatment for your catamites after

youù"

"Father." Josquin's headache was worse than ever. He ground his teeth and

pressed his palms to his temples. "Throwing," he said, "I was standing ... He

followed me in. I set the candles down. Heù I turned around and he threw

something."

"Threw what?" asked a new voice. They both glanced at the door, where the

Empress stood; a pair of attendants hovered behind her straight, slender back

at a discreet distance, listening for all they were worth.

" 'Cora, don'tù" began the Emperor.

"Jos, what happened?" She joined them, quick but graceful, and sat on the edge

of the bed.

"I don't know. Heùhe threw something. I remember

Sorcerer and a gentleman

11

... I felt dizzy," whispered Josquin hoarsely.

"What did he throw?" the Empress asked softly.

"Nothing. He had nothing in his hands. Nothing. But he threw something. It..."

Josquin put his hand over his face. "Like that."

"How could he throw nothing?" she wondered, frowning.

"How . . . ?" the Emperor began, and stopped. "Nothing," he repeated.

"Yes."

"He shall be arrested and questioned," decided the Emperor, and opened the

door. A few words to his ever-handy secretary Cremmin, and he returned.

"My head is splitting," Josquin said to his mother.

"Poor dear. Doctor Hem will have a powder for it."

"It may unbalance me further," Josquin muttered. He disliked Doctor Hem

intensely.

"If he has none, my maid Mellicent will," said the Empress, stroking his

forehead. "Who was this man who threw something at you, Jos?"

"Glencora, leave it for now."

"No. I am very puzzled as to how throwing nothing could make Josquin sick."

"Having nothing thrown at him."

"Exactly. How could it make him sick?"

"Was I sick?"

"You wouldn't wake up," she said gravely, and pressed his hand.

"Oh," said Josquin.

"Who was he?" the Empress asked.

"A ... friend."

"One of his good-for-nothing prancing pickupsù"

"Father, heù"

"What is his name?" the Empress interrupted.

"Brightwater. Harrel Brightwater."

"One of the Anburggan Brightwaters? I don't remember any Harrel among them,"

she said doubtfully.

"Doubtless some bastard," growled the Emperor. "What do you know of his

family?"

Josquin thought and shrugged. "Don't know, really. He

12

'EttzatJetfi

seemed a gentleman. We never discussed it. That's women's business," he added

in a tone tinged with contempt.

"What did you discuss?" the Emperor asked through clenched teeth.

"Cards. Horses. Swords. He has an eye for good weapons. Ask Bellamy. He bought

a sword from Bellamy yesterday; I fenced with him in Bellamy's yard and he

beat me. As good as the best of Uncle Gaston's students."

"If he has studied with Gastonù"

Josquin shook his head. "No, I asked him about that. I don't think he has. He

would have admitted it, I think."

"Hm. So you know nothing of his origin."

Josquin began to contradict him and stopped. "No. Come to think . . . No."

"Were you ever in his rooms?"

"No."

"Hm. We shall have to investigate further into his movements and associates.

In the meantime you are confined to the Palace and grounds,"

"What! Why?"

"Because you display abominably bad judgement in your activities outside

them." The Emperor left; his absence made the stifling room seem cooler.

"I suppose it could be worse," Josquin said. "He could have confined me to ray

apartment. What is that stink?"

"Hem was burning incense, I expect," the Empress Glen-cora said, wrinkling her

nose, and rose and went to the windows, opening them, waving her hands in the

air, which was warm and still today. The incense hung in the room like a veil.

It smelled, Josquin thought, like burning bananas flambeed with cheap cologne

and quenched with piss.

THE BASIN WAS COMPLETED IN GOOD time. Prospero stood over it as it filled with

splashing water from the Spring, which arose at the foot of the great tree and

which soaked

Sorcerer and a Qentieman

13

again into the hilltop after running over the stone.

The first battle of his war he'd won with guile. Freia slept, her senses

fogged by his gentle postprandial sorcery; he had borne her heavy with dreams

to her bed and laid her there, and she'd not wake until morning came. He

looked up. The dusky sky was still fringed with clouds to the west; the

massive, swift-rising wind driven by Ariel had torn them to shreds and swept

them away.

In the south above the tree-canopy Prospero saw the first blue-white star of

the evening. He stared to the east and discerned, in the deepening line of

darkness, the first orange-gold sliver of the moon beyond the sea. The wind

that had ruffled his hair and snapped his cloak died. The world was still.

"Master, it's done," whispered Ariel.

"Bide," Prospero said.

He bent and dipped his hand in the water, brought it to his lips and tasted

the jolting freshness. Invigorated, he smiled and, as the moon with gravid

dignity rose from her bed, lifted his staff and began to Summon the powers at

his command. A light swelled from the water in the basin and from the Spring

as he stirred and shaped the force that slept there. It grew into a spindle,

four threads of which wove and knotted around him and four others of which

began curling, turning with the spindle, reaching out and away through the

trees and silver moonlight.

The best of his sorcery always seemed like a dream to him afterward. This had

that stamp, the inevitability and perfection of every act, every word, every

event at once foreseen and occurring. Prospero's staff hummed and trilled in

his hand, and around him the stillness of the world, into which his voice

rolled like the very music of the night sphere that turned overhead,

brightened with the light of the moon and rustled with life. He knew, as he

worked, that this was going to go very well.

"By this hallowed Spring I stand and by it I command all of its nurturing; all

that row in the limpid air, all that are borne in the soft water, all that

earth and stone engender, all that spawn in the constant flame; here to the

heart of the

14 ù=+ "EfizaBetfi Itftiey

world I Summon ye, here to the Source of your existence, here to me above the

Source, gather ye air and water and earth and fire, gather ye within the

Bounds I draw by this hallowed Spring . . ."

The arms of power swept outward, stirring like the wind but moving nothing,

reaching and gathering. The darkness around Prospero began to fill with

rustlings, movements, warm bodies and cool, tense and quick breathing.

The Air Summoning brought birds large and small, tone and mated, who crowded

into the branches of the tree behind Prospero, to the north of the Spring. One

brilliant dovelike bird with butter-colored feathers and a bright golden crest

boldly settled on his shoulder and nestled against his cheek a moment before

joining the others. Prospero did not leave off his Summoning, but he smiled.

The Water Summoning included a few great white-winged birds who settled

awkwardly on the ground before the Spring; there were splashing and swishing

sounds from the night-dark river that ran around the island, just to the

south.

The Fire Summoning netted nothing; within the reach of Prospero's spell there

were no Elemental or Essential creatures of fire, for the Spring was

antithetical to Fire. So east of the Spring was darkness.

But the Earth Summoning drew as many of its kind as that of the Air. West of

the Spring, first on a rocky bare patch exposed in the light of the moon and

then filling the wood that stretched down over the island to the water that

surrounded it, assembled creatures unnamed with horns and claws and hard feet

and soft, with long teeth and flat, with bodies of every description adapted

for every use, From the forests that overspread the round-shouldered hills

came the animals, hopping or sliding some, bounding and leaping some, pacing

with aloof dignity or, sun-eyed, stalking through the undergrowth, plunging

fearlessly into the river and swimming to reach Prospero. The forest itself

shivered and woke, altered by the tendril forged of the Spring and Prospero's

sorcery that curled through it and then held steady, encircling and Binding

the Summoned.

Sorcerer and a QentUman

15

Arms upraised, Prospero paused, lit by the light of the moon filling the water

and shining out more brightly than the moon herself, who hung just at her

fullest as Prospero completed his initial Summoning.

He lowered his arms slowly, barely breathing, wholly sustained by the Spring.

His eye fell on the foremost of the animals who crouched, unafraid but

overawed and worshipful, to the west. It was one he knew weli, a furry,

broad-shouldered, blunt-eared creature of long and lumbering body and thick

black claws who had dug his burrow by the very Spring. The animal's nose

twitched. It rose on its haunches to look at Prospero from bright black eyes,

its coarse black-and-brown ticked fur still dusted with the earth of its run.

Prospero bent and cupped water from the shining basin, which overflowed now;

the Spring was tentatively exploring a little water-course down the hillside.

The water gleamed golden in his hand. The sorcerer poured it onto the

unflinching animal's head, starlet drops falling.

The moon, imperceptible to any but the sorcerer, was turning from full.

"Born of earth, be born again a child of Spring and moon and man," Prospero

said in a low, deep voice, and the water plashed into the coarse fur; the

animal dropped to its fours, shook dust away, and its body flowed and took on

bulk below the serene, benignant countenance of the moon; and where the animal

had fallen, now a man knelt, sitting back slowly on his heels.

Prospero and the man gazed at one another. The man's expression was bemused.

He blinked, then smiled, then shook his head again. He was naked. His dark

skin held hard muscles and drops of water glistened on his hair. His merry

face was bearded and his square hands lay on his legs.

"I am yours to command," he said, in a rippling language that had but once

before been heard in the world.

"Bide," Prospero said, and returned his smile.

The man inclined his head and settled back on his shins. He watched as

Prospero repeated the transformation with a dun-furred, lean, sharp-clawed,

stump-tailed animal who

=> <Eúiza6etfi

came to drink at the Spring from time to time, and this one tossed his head

and shouted from a mouth losing fangs and acquiring lips and a joyous, fierce

smile as he became a man. "Master!"

"Bide," Prospero said again, and as the moon proceeded above in her pirouette

with grace and precision, he worked his sorcery on the earth-creatures. When

the moon was a good ways down the sky, he turned to the birds, and with the

invocation, "Born of air, be born again a child of Spring and moon and man,"

he touched them with the ever-replenished water of the basin and they became

men and women, dazed, smiling, wide-eyed with wonder, looking at their hands

and feet and abiding Prospero's command.

The eastern sky took on tints of rose and the moon hovered in the west.

Prospero worked over the children of the waters, and he stirred his staff in

the basin to make a cloud of light and water which rained down on those who

had assembled in their element. In their odd new form they splashed and waded,

stumbling, onto the island and crowded it with their number.

The sky brightened. The moon lingered over the horizon. Prospero looked around

himself at the quiet, waiting people he had created and nodded. It had gone

well.

With a stir of air, the cream-gold bird came to his shoulder again. Soft

feathers brushed his cheek. Prospero lifted his hand and brought the bird

down, admiring. There had been none other like it among the rest; he had

forgotten to make sureù

"There's an instant left yet, and I'd not leave thee, pretty friend, behind,"

he said, and stooped to the water. He cupped his hand and reached, but a dark

streak sliced through the surface before he touched it.

It was a snake, a black, thick-bodied, long reptile which had its hole among

the roots of the tree; ofttimes he'd seen it basking on the rock, and once it

had frightened Freia badly. Dwelling near the Spring, even swimming there, it

had become more than mere serpent, intelligent and sorcery-sensitive. Now it

reared up on the bank and sought to fix him with dawn-yellow eyes.

Sorcerer and a Qentfeman

17

He was not such a simpleton as that: to invite the serpent to his company.

Even his daughter, innocent fool, had wit to shun it. "Nay," he said, and

swiftly scooped water up to plash the golden bird and speak the words of

change.

Under his hand, which lay on her shoulder, just as the moon's rim touched the

horizon, the bird became a woman with long, fine, straight hair the color of

the first mellow moonlight of the previous evening and eyes warm and

honey-brown. Prospero's breath caught in his throat; he stood, forgetting

time, regarding her.

"Thank you," she said, gravely.

"Be welcome," he whispered, and bowed.

The snake hissed and rose higher, a vanelike flap of skin to each side of its

body undulating.

"Nay, insidious Tython, I know you," Prospero said to it; "you have tarried

too long, waiting in your hole; that low form shall be your house for

eternity, and in earth your dwelling, for you did not come forward with the

rest. The time is past. I shall have the last be the best." And he smiled at

the woman again.

The snake glared and twisted, rippled into the water.

Prospero took his hand from his last creation and with the proper words

released the force which had poured through him for his labor of

transformation. As it drained away he shivered, weary now and hollow. The

sorcerer, without sorcery, was a hull without meat. He swayed.

A hard grip closed on his elbow. Prospero opened his eyes and looked to his

left. The first of his new-made men supported him. On his right, the second

stood poised, watchful.

"I must rest," Prospero said.

"We will wait for you," his man said. "You have done much. You have made the

world."

"Nay . . . nay. Only changed it. Where . . ." Prospero looked around him. The

fair woman was gone.

"She would not wait," said the second.

"She is free to go where she list." Prospero smiled a little. The second man

lifted the sorcerer's cloak from the ground and hung it around his shoulders.

"We will wait for you," said the first again.

18

<Efiza6etfi

Prospero nodded and sat down at the tree's foot. He closed his eyes and leaned

back, then looked around him again and lay down to one side. The Spring

splashed and jingled softly. There was a soft susurrus of breathing and

heartbeat, of quiet waiting, all over the world, waiting for him, but

Prospero, exhausted, hunched in his cloak and slept.

Prince Josquin, mallet on shoulder, selected his next shot. His aunt Princess

Viola had had the croquet lawn and an impeccable formal garden emplaced many,

many years before, wheedling them out of her father when she was in particular

favor for some forgotten reason, and she made use of them erratically for

garden-party amusements. The Princess was sympathetic to her nephew and had

arranged today's entertainment specially for him, and also to spit in her

brother the Emperor's eye, because she had invited a considerable number of

people who would not usually have received invitations to Palace functions.

"It's almost as good as billiards," said Earl Morel's son, who was not among

these this year.

Josquin stared at him, astonished. "I'll take billiards any

day."

"More people at croquet."

"As I said."

"When did Your Highness weary of society?"

Josquin chuckled. "Not exactly that. For mixing and meeting, croquet serves

very well, but for a game ù ** He bowed to the Countess of Roude, who had

taken her turn at the other side of the lawn, and made his own shot.

"Oh, I'd have to agree with you there; no comparison possible. ù I understand

Brightwater is either fled or dead."

Josquin kept from starting or showing particular interest. "I'd heard

something of the sort. Dead? How dead?"

Morel's turn was up; he aimed and overshot his wicket. "Dash. Well, there was

a devilish fire in rooms he kept at the Broad Shield ù I'd no idea he had

quarters there, but evidently he did, besides living at the Greenhead. Double

life, eh? Anyway the fire ù it's quite something to see the build-

Sorcerer and a Qenttenum.

19

ingùit burnt everything but the nails and there's not an eyegleam of him now."

Balls clicked together, jostling at the center wicket.

"Great shame if it's so. Smoking in bed, perhaps," Josquin said. "He had an

eye for horses." He strolled toward his green-blue ball for his turn.

Morel laughed ruefully. "Yes, you won quite a lot on his pick."

"I was pleasantly surprised by that. I'd never have chosen Bezel's nag myself,

but it was worth the flutter. Has he run her lately?"

Morel's first love was cards and his second was the track. Josquin had

channelled the discussion away from Brightwater, a subject on which he knew

Morel could have no further intelligence than the Emperor.

Elizabeth Willey - A Sorcerer And A Gentleman

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