Quicksilver Rising

‘I try not to take unnecessary risks.’

‘You were out there hunting paladins, right?’ It was said conspiratorially, lacking only a wink.

Caldason ignored that and lithely got to his feet. ‘Time’s passing. How about showing me your magic?’

Kutch rose too, feeling as though he’d been blocked again. ‘Upstairs,’ he explained, taking a lead candleholder to light their way.

The narrow staircase was creaky and winding, and low enough that Caldason had to stoop. It was lined with recessed shelves holding more books. The upper floor revealed another spacious chamber, the twin of the one below, and unmistakably an enchanter’s workroom. All the paraphernalia of the sorcerer’s trade was on display, along with yet more books and parchment scrolls. The smell of potions, unguents, solvents and incense was even stronger than downstairs.

One of the benches held four objects, each about the size of a lobster pot, covered by black felt cloths. Kutch went to them, and allowed himself a sense of the theatrical.

‘For your delectation,’ he proclaimed, ‘a wonder of the arcane arts.’ With a flourish he whipped away the first cloth.

What he unveiled was a large, bell-shaped glass jar with an immense cork in its neck. Caldason leaned forward to examine its contents. He saw scaled-down trees, bushes and rocks, and small slabs of granite piled up to make a little cave. Something had been slumbering inside. Now it woke, slanted yellow-green eyes snapping open.

A miniature dragon swaggered into the light. It arched its back and extended its wings. Head up, jaws wide, the creature’s roar was smothered by the thick glass. Then it exhaled a spume of orange flame and black smoke.

Judging the time right to move the show on, Kutch pulled off the next cloth.

The second jar held a prairie scene, its sward running to the lip of a cunningly constructed timberland. In the foreground a pure white unicorn pawed the grass before rearing, its twisted horn jabbing skyward.

A harpy occupied the third jar, its habitat a jagged, dimly lit cavern. Hanging upside down like a bat, leathery wings flapping, angry red eyes ablaze, it couldn’t have been longer than Caldason’s thumb. The fourth jar was filled with water. It housed a pink coral palace. A fetching mermaid swam slowly around its turrets, silvery tail swishing, hair flowing free. Streams of tiny bubbles issued from the corners of her voluptuous lips.

Kutch beamed proudly. ‘Admit it, you’re impressed. Do you know how much homunculi of this quality would cost on the open market?’

‘You made them?’

‘Well … no. But I helped.’

‘I grant they’re well constructed. But, don’t take this the wrong way, they’re hardly original.’

‘No,’ Kutch allowed, smile freezing, ‘I never said they were.’ There was an air of slight annoyance in his response. ‘It’s not the homunculi themselves, it’s what I’m going to do to …’ He considered, then pointed at the dragon. ‘… that one.’

From a cluttered shelf he selected two flat, polished stones, reddish brown in colour and of a size to fit comfortably into his palms. The stones were decorated with runic patterns. ‘You’re going to witness a transformation. Using the Craft, I’ll change this dragon into another form. It needs quite a bit of concentration, so please be quiet.’

Caldason raised an eyebrow. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

Kutch held the stones to the jar on opposite sides, facing each other. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he began droning an incantation in what Caldason supposed was the elder tongue. The dragon watched.

Pinpricks of light appeared in the centres of the stones. They expanded, joined, spread and began pulsing. The dragon homunculus bared its fangs and lashed its forked tail. Kutch rambled on, mouthing incomprehensibly, face screwed with effort. A faint sheen of perspiration dampened his forehead.

The glowing stones emitted a stronger radiance.

There was a kind of eruption then. Both stones sent out miniature incandescent, slow-moving energy bolts that melded midway, forming a horizontal fiery tightrope. It flickered and crackled. The dragon snapped and postured.

A second later the fluctuating flow sent out a pair of tendrils. They probed the bottom of the bottle, searching out the scuttling dragon and finding it immediately. Twin sparkling currents latched on to the reluctant glamour. In turn they drew down the greater flux passing between the stones above. It bowed, U-shaped, and joined the dragon too. All the energy generated by the stones ran through the creature and bathed it.

‘Here it comes!’ Kutch cried out, lips trembling. ‘The transformation!’

There was a muffled explosion. The jar shuddered violently. Its inner surface was instantly coated with a viscous green lather. There were bits of scale and bone mixed in.

‘Oow!’ Kutch yelped, dropping the stones. ‘Hot!’ Hopping, he blew furiously on his hands and flapped them about.

‘You need to work on your craft,’ Caldason suggested tactfully.

‘I don’t understand it.’ He was still puffing on his hands and grimacing. ‘I’ll try another.’

‘Don’t bother. I’m not very enamoured of magic anyway.’

Kutch found that vaguely shocking. ‘You aren’t?’ he said, discomfort forgotten. ‘What about all its benefits?’

‘Let’s just say there were never many for me.’

‘You mean you can’t afford it,’ Kutch concluded knowingly.

‘You could put it that way.’

The youth’s manner moved to serious. ‘I really don’t know what went wrong.’ He glanced at the jars and appealed, ‘Let me have another go.’

‘Not on my account.’

‘If you only give me the chance, I’m sure I could –’

‘No. It’s past my time to leave. I must get out of here.’

It seemed to Kutch that suddenly there was an almost desperate edge to Caldason’s words, and he looked tenser and furtive. Kutch made to speak, but his guest was already deserting the study. He pounded the stairs after him.

‘Look, I’m sorry it didn’t work out quite the way I expected,’ he apologised once they reached ground level. ‘But there’s no need –’

‘It’s nothing to do with that. I have to …’ He swayed, as if about to fall.

Kutch was alarmed, but something about Caldason stopped him stretching out a hand. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ Caldason collected himself and straightened. ‘I’m all right.’

‘Let me mix you a healing draught.’

‘No.’ His breathing was becoming laboured. He cradled his head in his hands.

‘What ails you?’

‘Just a dose of … reality.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Caldason didn’t elaborate. All but staggering, he made his way to the swords he’d left on the floor. Looking close to passing out, he scooped them up. ‘Do you have a secure place here?’ he asked.

‘Secure?’