JEMIDON'S thoughts exploded in tatters. All parts of his mind shrieked at once. The cube rumbled and shook, pushing against his back and thrusting him into the others. The cube, the cube! There was so little time before it would crush everything together. Nothing would be left, only a pulpy ooze that drained away in the end.
Think, he told himself. Reverse the spell. Escape.
Yes, escape from the box, but escape to what? Outside, victory was within Melizar's grasp. The archmage had been right. Merely having the power of a metamagician did not ensure success. He had failed again. Despite the boasts, he was not a serious threat at all. Melizar had brushed him aside as an unimportant perturbation to his plan.
The walls vibrated and contracted another step. Jemidon's forehead beaded with sweat. He bumped into one of the alchemists and smelled his fear. Jemidon had to get free of the cube and confront Melizar once again. And this time he would show him, this time would be different, this time he would-
Even in his panic, Jemidon's thoughts lumbered to a halt. He remembered what the archmage had said about how he would be tested. He recalled Delia's sharp words about rushing forward without any real idea of what he was to do.
Jemidon gritted his teeth and forced himself to draw a long, deep breath. Delia, he thought. She still had to be saved. And what did she care about struggling metamagicians in a stylistic battle that would be a tale for the sagas? By whatever means the rescue, she would not care.
Confronting Melizar on his own terms was not the way to do it. Jemidon did not have the aptitude, let alone the experience. He would have to use his strengths, rather than continue to flog away in a manner not really attuned to his innermost self. He must somehow pose the problem in a way that he could puzzle it out.
Puzzle! That was it! He must view the whole thing as just another puzzle. That was his strength, the solving of puzzles; that was his skill, the essence of his true interests and desires. He had the ability to deduce the underlying principle from observation, to jump to the answer from fragments of clues. He must use his natural capabilties to find the total solution, a solution beyond an escape from the cube, a solution that stretched all the way to the end. Savagely he pulled his arms around his chest and squeezed against the panic, forcing the chaos of his thoughts into a smaller volume.
The rumble of the cube bubbled and exploded against the barrier he began constructing in his mind. Methodically, one by one, he slowed his thoughts, just as they were about to break away, and brought them under control. Gradually, with steel bands of will, he caught and confined them all, pushing the terrors together and squeezing them out of existence.
He breathed again only when he was done. With a cold deliberateness, he examined the events that had led to his capture-all the images that surrounded Melizar in his camp upon the crest and each previous encounter that might give a clue how to proceed. He recalled all the detail of his last images before the lid slammed shut-Melizar walking down the hill, the manipulants, and the portal touching Ponzar's lithon. As he had done for so many puzzles before, he pondered them one by one.
The minutes passed, but still Jemidon willed himself to remain in his passive state. He felt an elbow push painfully into his side and heard the incoherent babble of the magician rise to a deafening wail. One alchemist repeatedly pounded the walls, and the other had retreated into a terrified silence. Despite the growing panic about him, Jemidon examined all the alternatives that his imagination pumped into his awareness and made his decision. The chance of success was small. He did not know if it would really work, but at least it was calculated to the very end.
He shook himself out of his introspection and groped in the darkness for the crying magician. He slapped the master's face sharply and grabbed his cheeks.
"Listen closely," he said. "Your only hope now is to follow as I command. Remember the words of the archmage. To do otherwise is certain doom."
The magician stopped his babble and did not resist as Jemidon stood him up and placed him in line next to the silent alchemist. He boxed the remaining master in the ears to attract his attention, then laid a hand on the master's fist to stop the pounding.
"Now imitate me exactly," Jemidon said, "while the cube is the proper size for what we must do."
He crouched with his back against the wall. With a yell, he sprang across the volume and crashed into the metal plate near the lid. The cube shuddered from his impact and tipped slightly on the small platform that supported its base.
"All of us together! We can do it," Jemidon shouted. "If we can topple the cube, then we will have a chance."
The silent alchemist grunted, and then the other two masters nodded as well. With direction and hope, their own panic evidently began to dissolve away. As one, the four slammed into the side of the cube and felt it tumble forward onto the ground.
"And again," Jemidon yelled. "Before Melizar returns. Before his manipulants deduce what we are trying to do."
The masters squirmed and pressed together, shoulder to shoulder with Jemidon against the wall. Again they leaped to collide with the cube, rolling it forward another quarter turn.
"To what purpose?" the magician gasped. "We only make more unbearable the conditions at the end."
"Just follow my commands," Jemidon snapped back. "No, not that side. Now we have to change direction. There is need for explanation only if we succeed."
The box shrank again, leaving barely enough room for the masters to maneuver according to Jemidon's orders. They collided into the wall with a jolt that spun them over three times more.
As they struggled, the cube continued its contractions. They managed two additional rotations before it pinned their limbs in a tangle, so that they could no longer spring. One of the alchemists gasped with pain as the other tried to pull free a leg twisted to the side.
"Once more," Jemidon said. "Rock back and forth where you are. I think I can hear the whine."
Jemidon moved one foot from where it pushed against the magician's stomach until it rested high on the rear wall. Twisting his torso so that both hands were more or less angled forward, he oscillated his hips back and forth above the masters. He felt the box rock in response to his motions, as if balanced precariously over a slight irregularity in the slope. With a savage lurch that sent stabs of pain into contorted wrists, he tipped the cube over for a final time. He hoped his memory had been accurate. There would be no chance to maneuver again if he had misjudged the distance or orientation.
As the cube tumbled, Jemidon heard the walls vibrate with an ear-piercing grate. With a shudder, the box groaned and contracted. Like children wrapped in a blanket, none of the occupants could any longer move. With a bone-jolting crash, they came to rest against hard and solid ground.
The magician again began his incoherent babble. One of the alchemists added a mournful cry. Jemidon slowly twisted his head, gasping for air between sandaled feet that raked across his cheek. There was no time left. Either his assumptions indeed were correct, or the next contraction would be one of bone-crushing pain. Almost afraid to find out, he held his breath and began to extend his foot past a fleshy resistance, searching for the smoothness of a metal wall. Finally he made contact and pushed with what little leverage he could muster. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a pop, the structure fell away, allowing everyone to tumble out. Jemidon collapsed onto unyielding rock, barely able to see a hand span in front of his face because of the toxic brown vapor that swirled everywhere.
"Where are we? What has happened?" one of the masters managed to cough. "By what glorious accident are we set free?"
"We are in Melizar's universe, on Ponzar's lithon," Jemidon said. "And it is no accident that the box no longer works. See the red arch in the brown? There is the demon. We moved the cube through the opening. But more importantly, we moved it to where the law that contracts it does not have power. I could not be sure, but it was our only chance. Here it is a mere box of metal, unable to respond to the commands of Melizar's manipulant."
"Melizar's universe," the master gasped. "Then back through the arch and let us flee, before he returns and confines us again."
For a moment, Jemidon hesitated. He peered through the haze, trying lo spot the opening to where Delia must be lying beneath the surface of the lithon. But then he clenched his fist and looked back toward the djinn. "No," he said, more to himself than to the others. "First it will be the tent," he commanded. "That is the pathway to the solution."
Jemidon did not waste any thought on how close had been his escape. He tugged at an alchemist's sleeve and whipped him through the portal. Like dazed sheep, the two other masters followed as he ran toward the flopping canvas.
When he drew close, Jemidon grabbed the faded panels in both hands. With a burst of strength, he ripped them away from the poles and rigging. Running around the structure, he exposed the contents to the air, kicking the tatters of cloth aside.
"Unpack all the crates and examine what they contain," he yelled. "Make ready to use whatever you find the most familiar."
Jemidon glanced at a realgar boulder and saw Melizar's three manipulants lounging sluggishly, awaiting the pilot's return: He looked down the slope over the bodies of the fallen masters and men-at-arms. He saw the metamagician and the remains of his retinue, about a dozen men-at-arms, all walking with majestic slowness to confront the Arcadian king.
"Duel!" Jemidon cupped his hands and shouted. "Duel of the metamagicians! Flee only if you are fearful of the outcome. Let us see the extent of your power, Melizar, when it is evenly contested."
Melizar stopped and slowly turned. He looked up the slope and waved his arms in annoyance. The warriors reversed their march. At a trot, they started back up the hill.
"Tambourines and knotted ropes," the magician called out from a nearby trunk. "Not like those for any ritual I know, but somehow similar, nonetheless."
"And potions and powders," an alchemist shouted. "Condensing columns, grimoires with arcane symbols, none like any I have ever seen."
"Get them all out and look for more," Jemidon called over his shoulder. "But do not manipulate any until I have given the command. Wait until Melizar begins his decoupling and I appear to resist. I am betting that he will try to handle things quickly with the realgar. He cannot ignore us while we are here. The threat is too great that I might attempt the same."
Jemidon nodded as he saw the metamagician reach for his decoupling cube and wave his arms to signal his manipulants. The pilot's followers stirred from their rest and began to move some of the smaller pieces of the rock in helical trajectories. Jemidon looked for the pile of keys that Melizar had collected from the other metamagicians when they passed through the portal to surrender. He saw the twisted remains of his changer lying on top. He ran over to where it lay and hefted the hunk of flattened metal that could hold coins no more.
And as he did, he felt the snapping jolt of a decoupling. While Melizar's men-at-arms rushed forward with swords drawn, the metamagician's laughter carried over their heads on the stirring of a breeze. Jemidon grabbed the battered changer and concentrated on resisting the unlocking, but he never had a chance to start. He felt the fury of Melizar's power knocking his own feeble strength aside as if it were a leaf in the wind. The metamagician's rage, caused by his continual annoyance, bubbled in Jemidon's mind. The laws decoupled with a burst, not gradually drifting, but vibrating with the energy of the pilot's frustration.
"Now," Jemidon shouted to the magician. "As many elements of ritual as you can. Better and faster than you have ever enacted them before."
The magician reacted swiftly to Jemidon's words. He grabbed a tambourine and flung three cuttings of rope onto its flat surface, dancing them about with a tap of his hand. Immediately Jemidon felt the laws pause in mid-shudder and a gentle acceleration away from the node of the lattice.
"And now the alchemy," Jemidon shouted. "It does not matter what, as long as there is enough."
The alchemists responded by dumping a sackful of sparkling powder into an uncorked bottle of some fuming liquid. Sparks flew from the mixture, rising into the sky.
Jemidon looked at the manipulants struggling with the realgar. They still moved sluggishly, and their precise motions were not enough. The laws were drifting in a direction different from the one Melizar had intended. But the metamagician sensed what was happening as well. He waved his arms and his attendants quickened their pace, hurling showers of rocks simultaneously over the crest and down the slope in ragged sprays.
The laws kept drifting in the direction of the new magic and alchemy. Jemidon saw Melizar stop in his climb and huddle into a tight knot, the imp light above his head suddenly alive. For a moment, the drift continued uncontested, but then Melizar suddenly stood erect.
Jemidon felt the metamagician reassert his strength, this time attempting to relock the laws where they had just been anchored. The metamagician had decided that working with the magic and alchemy he had was better than giving them up, even in the hopes of activating the realgar. Again Jemidon offered resistance, grasping the changer and straining to force the fabric of existence farther from its mooring and increase the rate of drift.
But Melizar was far stronger. Jemidon felt the current begin to slow and then finally reverse direction, heading back to the node of the lattice from which it had sprung. He sensed the laws gaining momentum, tugged by Melizar's desire to complete the locking, overwhelming any tendency to wander away.
"Now, stop the ritual and the formula," Jemidon commanded. "Start others that are completely different. Use more exotic wares. Quickly, before Melizar completes the relocking!"
The magician dropped the tambourine and reached deep into another crate. He brought forth a collection of silken handkerchiefs and an empty tube into which he proceeded to stuff the squares, one by one. The alchemists broke the bottle of brewing chemicals, letting its purple stain soak into the ground. They began picking apart delicately preserved spider webs and pressing each of the strands onto some sticky paper that unwound from a bulky roll nearby.
The laws lurched again, heading in a new direction unlike the one before. Jemidon saw Melizar fidget with his cube, apparently puzzled by what his adversary was trying to do.
"Now again, the knots and mixing chemicals," Jemidon said. "Only this time, twice the activity of before."
The magician grabbed two tambourines, maneuvering one deftly in each hand. The alchemists scooped powder from the sack into a waiting row of vials. The laws spun, heading back in the direction they had been traveling, but with a speed twice what it was before.
"And again the silks and spider webs," Jemidon said. "More intensity. You must make it more."
The masters responded with precision. Like puppets with two sets of strings, they alternated between the rituals and formulas, sending the laws first one way and then the other, soaring past the original node with ever-increasing speed. And with each pass, the tug of Melizar's attempt to relock fed more energy into the system. The amplitudes of the oscillations became greater and greater.
Upward rushed Melizar's soldiers. Wider became the undulations. Jemidon felt the fabric of existence overshoot the next node of the lattice in one direction and then roar past two more as it came tearing back. He sensed Melizar exerting his maximum power to grab at the laws as they swung past, but the effort was not enough. The momentum could not be checked. With one final filling of the vials, the laws plowed through the lattice, past all the nodes that were recorded, into a region that Melizar had not explored before.
Jemidon saw the imp lights wink out, one by one, from around Melizar's hood. He turned to see that the arching djinn stood on the hillcrest no more.
"What have you done?" Melizar strained his voice above the trample of the onrushing men-at-arms. "The laws, the laws, they are new and strange. No one knows what their manipulations might be."
"It is as I planned," Jemidon shouted back. "Now the three who serve you will have no advantage over mine. We are equal in the crafts that we can comand."
For a moment Melizar was silent. With twitching spasms, he ran a hand over his cube. Impulsively he knelt, but then immediately stood again when there was no buzz of imps. He looked at his men-at-arms closing the distance to the crest and laughed.
"Yes, equal," he said, "equal for the moment. Soon the balance of manipulants will be three to none."
Jemidon did not reply. He turned back to look at the puzzled masters. "Vinegar and oil of vitrol, whatever you can find. Do not bother about the alchemy. Toss everything you can."
The masters hesitated and frowned. Jemidon ran into their midst and pointed to two flasks at random. One of the alchemists nodded. He mixed the contents and then hurled the containers at the men-at-arms. The first shattered harmlessly off an upraised shield, but the second hit the ground and brewed a minute longer before exploding into knifelets of glass. Two men yelled in surprise and tumbled to their knees with dozens of tiny cuts oozing bfood.
The alchemists waved for the magician to join them. With inspired abandon, they concocted the remaining ingredients of the tent. Some became simple missiles that clattered off blade and mail; others, deadly grenades that cut into flesh. A bottle of oil, splattered against the middle of the advancing men, with a flaming torch thrown after, sent an explosion of fire along the line. One by one, the remaining soldiers went down, until only two were left.
Jemidon looped behind the masters. He tightened his grip on the changer. The outcome had to be exactly right for his plan to succeed. He looked among the tumbled crates for some more of the ingredients that had produced the smokiest reaction. Just as the warriors rushed upon the masters, he threw the chemicals into their midst.
One alchemist went down from the slash of a blade, but the other circled behind and felled the man-at-arms with a blow to the head. The smoke billowed from the mixing brew, dimming what anyone could see. Jemidon rushed into the opaqueness and aimed a swift kick where the soldier's groin should be. He heard a gasp of pain and then a dull thud as another of the alchemist's blows struck home.
Jemidon backed out of the smolder and saw the masters staggering after. He grabbed one by the collar of his robe and banged his head into the forehead of the other. Like sleeping Skyskirr, they slumped to the ground.
Jemidon took another step backward and held his breath, waiting for the reaction to run its course and the fumes to clear. When they had dissipated enough for him to see Melizar down the slope, he stepped slowly forward, shoulders slumped and with a dragging step.
For a moment, the metamagician did not react. He stood frozen, looking at Jemidon up the length of the slope. Then the pilot threw back his head and his laugh rang across the hillside, the loudest that Jemidon had ever heard.
"You did give me pause," the metamagician shouted. "A closer contest than I would have thought. But in the end, the result is the same. Your manipulants fail and you have no more resources, while I still have three in this universe and three more guiding the storms in the 'hedron beyond. It will take some time to probe and find where you have spun the laws, but you are powerless to stop my search. Eventually I will restore things to the way they were. You may as well come forward now and hand me your key as token of surrender. All you can do is wait and watch the enveloping of your fate."
Jemidon continued his cautious motion forward. He scanned down the hillside at the remains of the battle still in progress, but saw that Melizar took no notice. The metamagician had not moved. He waited with arms crossed, chuckling with his soft laughter.
Slowly Jemidon walked down the slope, moving with the gait of a man going to the gallows. With each step, he tightened his grip on the changer, holding it close to his chest, not wanting to give Melizar any reason to do other than stand and wait.
"Finally you caused a significant perturbation," Melizar said when Jemidon halted about ten feet away. "But it is a perturbation nonetheless. It still ends according to my plan."
"And perhaps according to mine as well," Jemidon said softly. "You are the keystone about which all else hangs. If you are felled, I can free the other pilots from the cubes that have now stopped contracting. Together, we can navigate to laws that will aid both our causes, coerce your manipulants to our bidding, reestablish the portal, and rescue Ponzar and the others on his lithon. And with no demons to oppose him, the archmage can summon enough devils of his own to escape from the battlefield. Without a leader, the passion of the rebels will dissipate into brawls for plunder. There will be no message across the sea to fan other rebellions. It will take some time, but order can be restored."
"You speak like a villain from one of your sagas," Melizar said, "telling all of his plan before he is thwarted. But as I have noted, there is a difference between your design and mine, I am the one who has succeeded, the one who has brought his to full fruition. I still possess manipulants. I still have a basis of power, where you have none."
"There is more to my plan," Jemidon said. "It hinges on differences just as you speak. Differences indeed between you and me. Differences besides your greater experience, your well-thought-out plot, your strength that gives you the title of first pilot.
"Your whole existence has been one of metamagic," Jemidon continued, "one of living each day with the three metalaws, steeped with the reality of the Postulate of Invariance, the Axiom of Least Contradiction, and the Verity of Exclusion. But for me, it was different. I did not know of their existence. I struggled instead to master the manipulations, to work the crafts for myself, to mold my destiny with my own hands, rather than command the use of others."
"This prattle is of no consequence. Give me the key."
"I fully intend to," Jemidon said. "But first think of the meaning of the difference. To you, a metamagician without his manipulants is powerless. There is nothing he can do. You would let one approach within a few feet, confident that he must meekly wait until your base of power returns."
Jemidon lifted the changer in his hand. "But for me, the possibilities are not the same. You are without any crafts to command. For the next few moments, there are no rebels close enough to come to your aid. Think of it, Melizar. Our duel has just begun."
For a long moment, there was silence. Melizar eyed Jemidon's changer and then glanced over his shoulder. He took a cautious step backward. But Jemidon did not hesitate. With one swift motion, he flung the heavy mass of metal at the pilot, crashing it against the Skyskirr's skull with a bone-cracking snap. He watched the pilot crumple to the ground and grunted with satisfaction. As simply as that, it was over.
"And as a group, the other metamagicians were able to force a decoupling, using Melizar's cube," Jemidon said, "even though it was not as familiar as their own keys." Automatically, he touched his coinchanger, now restored through the efforts of the magicians and metalsmiths.
He looked around the assembled court and saw a mixture of expressions. The old king sat stone-faced, and the other nobles, clustered behind the makeshift throne, registered neither gratitude nor relief. Prince Wilmad's empty seat on the monarch's right was draped in black. The newer barons on the other side of the barn squirmed uncomfortably in their fine silks and linens, Canthor more than most. Jemilor, his equally new seneschal, had to keep reminding him not to slouch. Augusta smiled as Jemidon spoke, and even Farnel's stern visage was without some of its customary tightness.
Jemidon squeezed Delia's hand where she lay on the cot at his side. He smiled as she grasped his arm closer to her cheek. Her rescue had barely been in time, but the vapors which had spilled through the portal had lessened in density around Ponzar's lithon. The sweet air which drifted back in exchange was of benefit as well. With all the Skyskirr helping to rediscover wizardry and reopen the passage, they had been able to scoop her and the others away from the vapors before it was too late.
"And it is well they took the first pilot to the 'hedron before the opening was closed a second time," the archmage interrupted before Jemidon could continue. "For our universe, one metamagician is quite enough."
"If Melizar was so easily defeated, why did we waste precious arms and place our very presence in peril?" the old king rumbled. "This Jemidon struck him down unassisted, aided by neither sword nor master."
"With Melizar in control of the laws, there was no way you could reach him by the arts," Jemidon said. "And the rebel army kept away the men-at-arms. Indeed, when I rushed upon him in Trocolar's dungeon and he thought me a thief, he instinctively commanded the guards to effect my seizure. In the tent, after the battle of Plowblade Pass, he directed torporsand my way as he would to any errant manipulant. But when he saw me as another metamagician, one who worked his will through the direction of others, it did not cross his mind that I could carry any threat without attendants. He let me approach unhindered, calling no one to give him aid."
"Perhaps it is best we end all the threats while we are about it." The king looked at Jemidon through rheumy eyes. "We have seen ample evidence of what havoc can be wreaked by one with powers such as Melizar's." He turned his head stiffly in Alodar's direction. "And I think, archmage, that you will agree. Prudence dictates putting this one immediately to the sword."
Several of the nobles grunted agreement. Jemidon scowled, but Alodar waved the comment away.
"And then who will protect us from the next?" the archmage asked. "What if another comes from some other universe by stealth and attempts to move the laws away from where they have been restored? Who do you suggest to detect the unlocking, to struggle to keep the anchoring where it is?"
The old king frowned. He stroked his chin and stared at the archmage.
"I propose to add him to my retinue," Alodar continued. "His major task will be to keep the laws securely bound. If he does nothing else, it will be bargain enough." He paused and returned the king's stare. "Let me worry about what is best for those with talent in the arts. You will be busy enough rebuilding a kingdom from what is left."
"Selection of the new barons from those who fought against him was a wise first step," Canthor said. "Men who have sweated in the cages will much less likely subject others to them."
"And the vaultholders of Pluton are willing to make the loans that lubricate the reestablishment of order," Augusta said. "It is in peace that we prosper, not the anarchy of war."
"The masters of Morgana need the tranquility of their thoughts," Farnel added. "Without inner peace, no glamours of greatness can be cast. The possibility of losing our crafts again is not one we wish to consider."
The king turned his eyes back to Jemidon. "I am told that Melizar had a taste for exploration," he said. "If this one has the same talents, how would he be any different? Why should he be content with waiting to hold the laws firm against some future attack when he could send everything drifting instead?"
Jemidon cut off Alodar's reply. "I can speak in my own defense," he said. "No one here knows the drives of the metamagician more than I."
He paused and ran his tongue over his lips, frowning as he tried to put his feelings into words. "For me, the pursuit of the metalaws was like untangling the interlocking rings or removing the beads from a knotted rope."
"And now-" He waved his hands palms upward. Now it is solved. The mystery, the enticement, the allure, all are gone. Moving through the lattice only means boring repetition. The desires that pushed Melizar are not mine.
"And perhaps I have learned something more important than even the metalaws." Jemidon paused and looked at Alodar. "Raw talent alone does not guarantee success. My skills were puny besides those of Melizar, and yet I emerged the victor because of how I used them. For all of my quest, the lesson has been the same. Even without the Verity of Exclusion, I see now that it is doubtful that I would have won the robe with the effort I was willing to extend. I wanted it given because of superficial understanding, or a single dazzling insight, rather than in exchange for hard work and attention to detail."
"Then what is your desire?" the king asked. "How many brandels a year to bribe you from decoupling the laws?"
"My basic need has been satisfied," Jemidon smiled. "For all of my life, I have labored under the burden of trying to fit myself into the image that others would have of me. But the burden came entirely from within. The guilt, the quest for power and respect, tugged at me only because I let them." Jemidon took a deep breath. "They tug no longer. I am free. I quested for what I cannot have, but I gained that for which even the archmage cannot quest."
"Before the battle, I spoke of mastery of yourself," Alodar said. "And even in that, you have proved your mettle."
"Finally you came to your senses and planned before you acted," Delia joined in. "In the end, that made all the difference."
"I grant you, Delia, that there is merit in the way you approach problems." Jemidon's smile broadened. "But even in that, I am my own man. Yes, before I acted, I reasoned what it would take to open the cube and the manner in which Melizar finally must be confronted. But what if I had been properly cautious and calculating about all the risks and alternatives before I took the chance? If I had questioned whether the cube would roll though the demon arch onto Ponzar's lithon or merely to empty air? If I had debated whether the random fling of the laws would indeed send them where Melizar was unfamiliar and powerless? If I had needed to know for sure that the three remaining masters would exactly counterbalance a dozen men-at-arms, so that only Melizar and I would be left? Had I pondered all of that, I would still be calculating the outcome while pouring from the cube as a bloody ooze.
"I am what I am, Delia, strengths and flaws. I need apologize to no one for them. Others may mock me or throw gold brandels as they choose. I am satisfied with myself, and the rest does not matter."
"It is a wonder what saving the universe will do for one's self-esteem," Alodar said wryly. "But I do not plan to let you stay idle while you walk the garden paths of my retreat. You have the insight to construct the general from the particular. Even though you cannot work any of the crafts, I expect you to aid the masters in formulating extensions of their powers. You are unique among all the practitioners of the arts, Jemidon. As such, you of course become a master, entitled to the black robe. And even though you profess no longer to have a desire for fame, I suspect that it will come, nevertheless."
"And it was not one universe but two," Delia said. "The Skyskirr are as grateful as I am for Jemidon's gifts."
Gifts. The word resonated in Jemidon's mind. He remembered what Delia had done on the lithon. Without her, despite all his bold words, no success would have been possible. And she had done it not for the benefit of two universes, but for him alone. In the end, saving her had meant more than the robe.
Jemidon turned from Delia and looked at Augusta, just to make sure. Yes, even in that he had selected the right alternative. The vaultholder of Phuton would not lack for suitors, and there was only one with whom he wanted to share his destiny.
"And I expect you to teach Delia in those crafts as well," Jemidon said to the archmage. "She has shown talent in more than one and, close to me, her skills will prosper." He looked back down at Delia. "Perhaps I presume too much, but our pasts have been too intertwined for our futures to be far apart."
Delia rubbed the pale band of skin on her wrist where the braclet had been. "You show some promise." She nodded. "I think I will keep you around."