Dragonquest - Donita K. Paul [38]
Fenworth harrumphed and glared at the librarian. “My lecture, I believe, Wit.” He patted his beard and a slew of dots shot out from the grizzly curls to join the picture above the table.
“When a wizard,” Fenworth cocked an eyebrow at Librettowit and continued, “places these zoics in close proximity with each other, they assume the positions that Wulder has ordained and become the substance they are meant to be.”
Dar slurped his tea and ignored Leetu’s frown at his manners. “Only Wulder can create the primary ingredients.”
“Of course!” The wizard nodded. “And they can only be combined in a mode prescribed by Wulder. A wizard is only as great as his understanding of the complexity of Wulder’s established order. Within those parameters, a wizard can do almost anything.”
He heaved a melancholy sigh and shook his head. His shoulders drooped. His gaze lowered from the busy image hanging over the table to the empty plates and scattered crumbs.
“Where Risto and his comrades have gone astray,” Fenworth said, “is in the belief that they can create primary ingredients. And that they have no need of following Wulder’s dictums.”
Kale forgot the swirling dots above the table and eyed the wizard. He looks old—and tired—and so very sad. Is he sorry for Risto? No, that couldn’t be. He’s mourning for all those who have lost loved ones at Risto’s hand. He’s sorry for the pain Risto has inflicted on others. He can’t be sorry for Risto.
Fenworth shrugged. As he looked back at his picture hanging above the table, his expression brightened, and he clapped his hands.
“It’s gone,” said Toopka.
“No, little one. I’ve replaced the illusion with reality. Now, in its natural size, only the eye of Wulder can behold it. But wait, I am adding to it.”
Over the table a gleam of light reflected off a narrow strip of metal that had not been there seconds before. The metal expanded and took shape.
Toopka clapped her hands and bounced in her chair. “A blade!”
“Yes,” said Fenworth. “All made from the same configuration of zoics you observed before. Then you couldn’t see them because they were small. Now there are so many of them you can see the form I have created. I will add other configurations to make the hilt.”
No sooner had he spoken his intention than a dark mass began to form at the blunt end of the shining sword. A hilt took shape with gold swirls embedded in a leather grip and a large ruby at the pommel. A gold emblem of Paladin’s army shone on the crossguard.
Fenworth reached up and plucked the sword from the air. He presented the sword to Bardon, but Bardon did not raise his hands to take it.
With his eyes fixed firmly on the magnificent sword, the lehman said, “I cannot, sir. It is a knight’s sword, and I have not earned the right to carry it.”
“You will need it on the quest.”
Kale held her breath. Fenworth’s giving Bardon permission to take the sword. Should he take it? Will he?
Bardon squared his shoulders and stood from the table. “It would not serve me if I carried it under false pretenses.”
“Aye,” concurred Lee Ark. “Paladin will provide him with the appropriate weapon should the need arise. The boy does well not to take the offering.”
Kale saw the approval in the general’s face and hoped Bardon saw it too. But when she reached with her mind to tell him, Good job, she was met by a swirling mass of dark emotions. She backed off, and her glance swept around the table. Tension visibly stiffened the postures of her comrades. Everyone waited. All eyes watched the wizard and the young lehman.
Fenworth ignored Lee Ark’s interruption and continued to watch Bardon’s stonelike expression. Only the lehman’s eyes hungered for the sword.
“You desire the sword just as you desire knighthood.”
“Yes,” said Bardon.
The sword shrank until it fit in the palm of the wizard’s hand. He tucked it in a pocket of his voluminous robes. “I shall keep it for you.”
“I’ll not be a knight, Wizard Fenworth. Grand Ebeck said as much at our last meeting.”
“Really?” The wizard turned to stare at Librettowit. “Oh dear, tut-tut.