Chapter the Sixth of Part the Third

In which the narrative recounts acts from the life of Malcoomb Nordrench in World Drakkenfleiss.

Malcoomb was eating the omelette he created for himself with the help of the honorary flare on his left sleeve. The honorary flare flaming off his sleeve was enough to make Malcoomb feel like a real sorcerer and not a mere student magus. It was a proud moment for Malcoomb when Premiere Magus Donanskorall and Combat Master Magus Mossritch combined to cast the spell that flamed out the honorary flare from his sleeve in recognition of Malcoomb’s outstanding work in magical combat. That occasion would have been perfect if Dunsland Dilworth had not been awarded an honorary flare for singing by Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner. Malcoomb’s consolation was that Dunsland’s honorary flare quickly fizzled down to little more than a glow on his sleeve as the incompetent student magus could not sustain the magic of the flare on his own.

As he ate, he read a letter from his mother. In the letter, his mother listed thirteen reasons why Dunsland Dilworth’s attempt to dominate Drakkenfleiss through his singing must be stopped if total disgrace to the Nordrench family was to be avoided. A knock on the door echoing in his room interrupted his reading. It was the singing schemer Dunsland Dilworth himself at the door. Malcoomb decided to answer it and teleported himself to the corridor outside his room where Dunsland was standing.

 “And what would you like, this morning,” Malcoomb asked him, waving his honorary flare so that it left a trail of sparks, “some breakfast maybe?”

Although Dunsland’s honorary flare was down to little more than a trace of coloring on his left sleeve, Dunsland stood before Malcoomb as if he were a master magus judging a wayward student.

“Where is Tel Arman?” Dunsland asked.

“What is it to you, where Tel Arman is?” Malcoomb asked in return, annoyed with the question and the attitude behind it.

“I want to see him.”

“He does not want to see you. He does not want to hear your kind of singing. He does not want to talk to you. He does not want to know what you have to say to him.”

“I want to know where Tel Arman is,” Dunsland insisted.

“Then you are just going to have to keep on wanting to know where he is,” said Malcoomb.

“If you do not take me to Tel Arman, I will not take you back to Merithwell,” said Dunsland.

That was the one chink in Malcoomb’s power over Dunsland. The only thing he wanted to do but couldn’t was create a spell that could take him into Merithwell, unencumbered by Dunsland.

“I will create all the meals you need and conjure for you a fine reading lamp,” Malcoomb offered.

“I create good meals for myself when I am at Merithwell,” Dunsland replied, “and I have a good lamp in my room that I brought from there. If you want to return to Merithwell, you will have to show me where Tel Arman is and keep me current on where he is.”

Malcoomb sighed. At least he would be on hand himself, ready to counteract anything Dunsland said to Tel Arman.

“All right,” said Malcoomb. “Come with me.”

Although the secret room Malcoomb had created for Tel Arman was close to his own room, Malcoomb led Dunsland through a tangle of corridors before heading back so as to throw off any sense of direction Dunsland might have. Throughout the journey, Malcoomb searched his mind for a way to shake off his dependence on Dunsland. If it were any other student at the academy Malcoomb could have born it, but it was intolerable that the highly incompetent boy, who his mother nonetheless thought potentially dangerous, should have any leverage over him at all. Malcoomb had not recovered from the anger and mortification he suffered before the other boys in Merithwell when he failed to release Pir Min and Tel Arman from the wreckage of their planet, a mortification compounded when he tried to create stretchers for the two boys and his spell fizzled, leaving two tiny piles of twigs. Dunsland then sang a spell of his own and two sturdy stretchers appeared, allowing the boys to carry Tel Arman and Pir Min to Danzigger’s tent where he could work on them with the help of the spirit speaker of his tribe.

Malcoomb circled back to the spot where he had created the entry to Tel Arman’s room and unlocked the room. Tel Arman was sitting comfortably on the padded bed-couch that duplicated the furnishings he once had as a privileged cadet in his own world. Tel Arman was wearing a new, clean cadet uniform, also created for him by Malcoomb, and he was watching videos that were reruns of what the cadet remembered well enough for Malcoomb to pick out of Tel Arman’s mind and project into the device.

“I have your morning eating,” said Malcoomb, as he dramatically waved his arms, produced a puff of smoke, and then held out an imperial food packet.

“Thank you.”

Tel Arman tore open the packet and stuffed all of it in his mouth.

“Are you feeling better?” Dunsland asked Tel Arman.

Tel Arman did not disguise his annoyance at seeing Dunsland. That was a good start.

“Slightly,” said Tel Arman, his mouth full of imperial food. “The Empire had the best medicine in the world. The rebels destroyed it. They destroyed everything.”

“I think that the world of Brendan and Luke has medicine that is something like yours,” Dunsland offered. “We could take you there if you need more help.”

“I don’t think Brendan and Luke can help me,” said Tel Arman. “They don’t like me.”

Dunsland hesitated in giving a response. He knew as well as Malcoomb that Tel Arman had made a bad impression on most of the other boys.

“I think that if you let Brendan and Luke help you, you will like them and they will like you,” said Dunsland.

“I know that Malcoomb likes me,” said Tel Arman. “So why should I take a chance on two boys who don’t?”

Dunsland shrugged, apparently giving up on Tel Arman.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Malcoomb asked Tel Arman.

“All of the rebel music I’ve been forced to listen to keeps running through my head,” Tel Arman complained. “Is there any way you can stop that?”

Malcoomb shook his head. He had anticipated the need and done what he could. The only way Malcoomb could think of for taking the undesirable music out of Tel Arman’s head was to destroy Tel Arman’s musical sense altogether and Malcoomb was not willing to do that, as he might have use for Tel Arman’s ability to sing after he took over Merithwell.

“If you don’t fight the music,” said Dunsland, “you will find it healing.”

“I will not listen to the words of a friend of rebels,” said Tel Arman in reply.

Dunsland wilted a little more.

“The only thing I can do, poor student that I am,” said Malcoomb, “is strengthen the imperial songs inside your head. I wish I could do more. Some of the experienced magi might be able to do more, but I can’t trust them with you at this time.”

“Do what you can,” said Tel Arman.

Malcoomb entered into Tel Arman’s mind and heard for himself what the cadet called “rebel music.” Malcoomb faced the fact right then that he simply did not want to banish the music, even if he could. There was no telling when there might be a use for it. He found the memories of the imperial songs easily enough. They didn’t seem likely to be useful for Malcoomb, but he whispered a spell to strengthen them. Keeping Tel Arman happy was useful. He then added the song memories to the video box he had created so that the imperial songs could accompany the videos Tel Arman watched to pass his time.

“Does that help a little?” Malcoomb asked Tel Arman.

“A little.”

“I will come and see you again soon. Be patient with your healing and you will be healed before too long.”

“Thanks for coming,” said Tel Arman.

But he did not look grateful and he did not appear willing to be patient about his healing. That was Tel Arman’s problem as far as Malcoomb was concerned. Tel Arman should still be healed when the time came for him to take over the magical world fragment for himself. The two boys left Tel Arman’s room and Malcoomb turned on Dunsland.

“You have a lot of nerve, using your entry to try and talk him into leaving here,” said Malcoomb.

“He has a right to know of other things he can do and other places he can go to,” said Dunsland, “and I can say anything I want to him whether you like it or not.”

Malcoomb shot a zinging spell into Dunsland’s stomach. The boy doubled over and Malcoomb quickly healed Dunsland of its effect. Dunsland straightened up, his eyes flashing with much more energy than an incompetent student ought to have.

“Do that one more time,” said Dunsland in a quiet, tense voice, “and I will never let you back into Merithwell.”

Malcoomb wanted to fry Dunsland on the spot, but he knew he had to bide his time. He was certain to get the better of Dunsland, sooner rather than later and then there would be no end to the suffering he would subject Dunsland to.

“All right, I won’t fry you like a piece of bacon,” said Malcoomb. “Just take me to Merithwell. Now.”

But before the two student magi could go to the entry to Merithwell, a racoon appeared and banged on a gong.

“Assemble in Assembly Hall faster than teleport,” announced the racoon.

Then it disappeared. Malcoomb swirled his honorary flare and said the words that would obliterate the last few instants. He immediately skidded into the gray and black shadows of the assembly hall of the Drakkenfleiss Academy. The obliterated instants attacked Malcoomb as Theory Master Magus Raspoortek said they would and drove Malcoomb’s head in circles. The honorary flares of other students dotted the assembly hall like stars in a night sky as the other students appeared. The Master Magi Hilfersdorner, Daylanna, Mossritch, Mandora, and Raspoortek shone more like planets among the stars with the multiple honorary flares on their robes.

“I have called you here for a most important announcement,” Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall began, materializing out of the shadows as he spoke. “It is well that you have all graduated to the first level of responsibility as practicing magi, students that you are, for we have dire need of the strength and the skills that you, young and inexperienced as you are, happen to possess.”

There was a stirring in the cloud of dark gray shadow as Dunsland appeared, tripped over himself, and bounced off the floor in front of the Premiere Master Magus. A piercing look from Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall twisted the boy about and then yanked him to his feet. Amused smiles rose on the faces of just about everybody present.

“I was just telling everybody else, who had the competence to respond promptly and efficiently to my summons, that I have called you here for a most important announcement,” said Arch Magus Donanskorall to Dunsland. “When you hear the announcement, you will understand that we find ourselves in a position in which we cannot tolerate the incompetence at which you excel. Do you understand my meaning?”

“Yes, Premiere Master Magus,” Dunsland replied. “I understand your words fully and completely.”

The Premiere Master Magus swept the Drakkenfleiss assembly hall with a look that knifed in and out of each student magus. For Malcoomb, it made the dizziness from his faster-than-teleporting journey slightly worse and he heard the announcement that followed through the kind of haze that several magic potions could have caused.

“The most important announcement that circumstances compel me to make,” Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall began, “is to inform you that I have made a most alarming discovery. After conveying this discovery to my fellow magi, they, too, have confirmed this most alarming discovery. I am sure that you appreciate the importance of regulating all magic through the office and power of the Premiere Master Magus for the safety and common good, not only of Drakkenfleiss, but for the safety and common good of all worlds. For that reason, a concentration of magic outside of the office and power and the Premiere Master Magus simply may not be tolerated under any conditions whatsoever. It is with great regret and apprehension, then that I inform you that a errant magus, or possibly a group of errant magi, are building a fortress of great power as the locus for their operations that can only intend the destruction of Drakkenfleiss and all other worlds. There is no telling what wizard weaponry they are devising to the potential destruction of us all. We will have to perform and all-out attack on this fortress and for that, we will need the skill and power of every single magus, including every student magus here at the Academy. From this instant on, every effort must be made to sharpen and empower combat skills for the purpose of this all-important attack. I hope I do not need to explain further why we cannot tolerate any deficiency in basic skills required of a Student Magus, music or no music. In the interests of your safety, we have put up a protective shield over and through the Drakkenfleiss Academy so that nothing can get through without our permission and knowledge. We will begin now with a learning session with Combat Master Magus Mossritch. Teleport to the combat courtyard.”

Malcoomb still felt giddy even after he landed in the combat courtyard. All of the other Master Magi were also there with Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall towering over everybody with a fierce look that dared anybody to fail at anything. Conjuring Master Magus Daylanna explained how to conjure a knife that would destabilize the victim and unravel his or her body. Combat Master Magus Mossritch explained what to do with the knife to make it do its work in unraveling the body. Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall then threatened immediate expulsion for any student magus who failed to create a satisfactory knife thrust.

In the combat practice that followed, Malcoomb had no problem with turning Gwendarin’s body into corn meal mush with his magical knife thrust. Neither had he a problem with curing her of all ill effects of the attack. A similar attack on Malcoomb happened so quickly that it was almost as if it had not happened, except that he felt slightly groggier than he did before. Then it was Dunsland’s turn to attack Raissa. Malcoomb would have relished Dunsland’s immediate expulsion except for one thing. He still needed Dunsland to give him access to Merithwell. Dunsland’s first attempt to conjure a knife only resulted in a small plastic toy knife.

“Come on, conjure a knife worth throwing into me,” Raissa urged Dunsland. “You can do it.”

But Dunsland’s look made it clear that he couldn’t do it and so Malcoomb decided he had to intervene. He conjured the knife himself, and made it appear in Dunsland’s hand. Dunsland seemed even more surprised than Combat Master Magus Mossritch and the other student magi. When Dunsland half-heartedly threw the knife at Raissa, Malcoomb guided it straight into her heart and knocked her over. Dunsland was on his knees beside the girl faster than a teleport, and he burst out into song. Malcoomb tried to send a healing spell to Raissa but Dunsland’s singing, or something, blocked it.

“This is not the time for sing-song,” said Combat Master Mossritch through clenched teeth. “If you want to unscramble her body, you will have to sing magic.”

“Something that student magus Dunsland Dilworth cannot do,” said Healing Master Magus Mandora. “I had best heal Raissa myself.”

Dunsland persisted in singing his spell and Raissa’s wound started to heal until the Healing Master Magus created a soft light-blue film and let it float down to Raissa’s body. Dunsland’s voice choked and the wound on Raissa’s chest opened up again.

“Dunsland Dilworth, you are expelled!” cried Premiere Master Magus Donanskoral.

 “Morass! Gwendarin! Carry Raissa to the healing chamber!” Healing Master Magus Mandora ordered.

The two student magi bent over to pick up Raissa. Dunsland looked at Raissa ruefully and started to shuffle off.

“WAIT!” cried Master Music Magus Hilfersdorner. “Before the disgraced student magus conjures his travel dragon and leaves this place, we must first use his help in creating attack musical spells. Leave Raissa here as her wounded presence may be helpful to us.”

“Musical spells are for healing, not for attacking,” Healing Master Magus Mandora insisted. “And how can you leave Raissa here when she needs to be in the healing chamber?”

“Have you an explanation?” Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall asked the Music Master Magus.

“Of course I have an explanation,” Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner replied. “First of all, the healing chamber is of no more healing value than the combat pit where we find ourselves. Second of all, Theory Master Magus Raspoortek and I have studied the matter and concluded that, under the circumstances of our current emergency, a music spell that reverses a healing spell will unravel the body of an errant sorcerer. Student magus Dunsland is best suited to help us with this experiment. Dunsland, will you please sing the first five notes of the root healing spell? And as he sings, watch the effect on Raissa.”

Dunsland sang the notes in his pleasant voice. Once again, the wound on Raissa’s chest began to heal.

“And now,” said Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner, “sing the notes backwards.”

Malcoomb thought Dunsland might refuse outright, but instead, he sang the last note of the spell and tried to sing the fourth note, while showing signs of struggle. For a few tense seconds, no sound came out of Dunsland’s mouth. Meanwhile, Raissa’s wound opened again. Finally Dunsland shifted to the melody the boys sang in Merithwell. Master Magus Hilfersdorner frowned severely even though Raissa started to look better once more.

“Student Dunsland! We will never misplace as much as one drop of an enemy’s blood with singing such as that!”

“I know, “ said Dunsland miserably. “I think I cannot do what you ask.”

“And why not?”

“The music does not let me.”

“What kind of answer is THAT? Do you not realize that a magus can make anything do whatever the magus wants it to do?”

“Music will not do the bidding of a magus in some things,” said Dunsland with surprising firmness.

“It seems to me that you allow the music to destroy what little talent you have for the practice of magic,” Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner growled.

“I will not let magic destroy my talent for music.”

The stone of fire in Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner’s eyes froze everybody in the room.

“Student Dunsland,” said the Music Master Magus, “you must know that I am the only teaching Magus who stands between you and expulsion.”

“It is for you to decide if I stay or if I depart,” Dunsland replied.

“I suggest you think on this,” said the Music Master Magus. “Student Malcoomb! Will you please sing the five notes backwards!”

Suddenly, the chance to demolish Dunsland and his family once and for all landed in Malcoomb’s lap. If he could sing the spell that Dunsland could not or would not sing, then it would not matter if he found Merithwell again, as he would be able to sing its destruction from a distance. But Malcoomb’s surge of triumph faded after he sang the last note and tried to find his way back to the fourth. He had a strange sensation of trying to swim upstream against a powerful current. He finally managed to sing the fourth note but knew he had no chance to sing the third. Somehow, all of the music, not least the music he had sung to help add stones to Merithwell, drove him away from the note. His head filled with dizziness and Raissa began to look more like a pool of soup than a girl. Malcoomb’s his last thought before falling to the ground was that he would be joining Raissa in the healing chamber.

Proceed to Chapter the Seventh of Part the Third

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