"Is something wrong, my Master?"

The look of concern on the boy’s face was genuine. He cared very deeply about the old sorcerer known to the rest of the Realm as the DungeonMaster. Orphaned at an early age, the boy had grown up with the wizard, and regarded him as a second father.

"No, Eldrid, nothing is wrong with me. But I am troubled."

"Is it something I did?"

"No," DungeonMaster smiled. "You have done nothing." Nothing yet, his thoughts continued.

When Eldrid first met the DungeonMaster, the old wizard looked then as he looked now. Only the oldest beings in the Realm could remember a time when the little man was of a (slightly) larger stature, when the hair was brown instead of silvery white and actually covered the top of his head.

Eldrid, in contrast, seemed to change overnight into another order of being. The toddling child had given way to a lean, energetic, inquisitive young man. Both possessed sand-colored hair and bright questioning eyes, and that may have been the only way a stranger, not having seen Eldrid over the ten-year interval, could have linked the two.

They sat at their favorite spot for lessons: on a small rise among the foothills of the Mountains of Parna. The mountain range ran unbroken from the northernmost ice of the Realm to the southernmost ice, and served as a backbone for the magic of the Realm.

It was far from where they lived. Actually, though, nothing was far from where they lived, since they could transport to anyplace in the Realm as fast as thought—though it took a lot of concentration. Since it was relatively easy to go everyplace, there had to be a special reason for them to go anyplace. For Eldrid and the DungeonMaster, their past in these foothills was special enough. It was here that Eldrid first learned to walk among the clouds, to summon the rain as naturally as he summoned breath, to reach out to the many kinds of magic that made up the Realm, to welcome them into himself and to feel welcomed by them.

The boy took to magic as naturally as the oldest, most experienced wizards. He was far ahead of any other pupil DungeonMaster had ever undertaken to teach. Which meant that this boy would have to be trusted with knowledge only a handful of beings--on this world and other worlds--possessed. For ten years Eldrid had been carefully taught the arts of magic, for DungeonMaster knew that, as skilled as he himself was, no magician could cheat nature and death. One day, some other must wear the robes of the DungeonMaster, and he had thought that Eldrid would be a fine choice to succeed him.

The problem was, Eldrid knew it, too. He began his studies properly enough; curious, enthusiastic, but deferential to his teacher. As the lessons progressed, and Eldrid appreciated the magnitude of what he was learning, a kind of vanity crept into his bearing. He was still polite enough to DungeonMaster’s face, of course, but this made the rest of his behavior all the more disturbing—behavior which he thought that DungeonMaster didn’t see.

About a year ago, as best as time can be reckoned in the Realm, DungeonMaster heard Eldrid’s voice coming from the woods behind their dwelling. "Bow down!" Eldrid commanded in a voice that was still a bit high and childish. "Bow down to me!"

At the edge of the woods Eldrid had found a ring of birch trees, a site cultivated by wizards and witches for its potential for power. The thirteen birches had been planted to form a perfect circle. Within that circle, Eldrid lay stretched out on the ground, using his powers to bring the tops of the birches toward each other to shade himself from the noonday heat of the four suns.

As DungeonMaster watched, Eldrid lifted his head from the earth. He looked at one of the trees. "Not enough, I say. Bow deeper before me!" The top of the tree inched down even further. "More!" the child commanded; the tree complied.

"Too slow!" Eldrid stated, and casually waved one hand. At once the tree burst into flame. Birds that had stayed in the tree even while it was bending now took off flying for their lives. Eldrid simply returned to his nap.

This wasn’t a childish game any longer; it was callous and cold. It never occurred to Eldrid to make sure no animal would be innocently hurt by his power. And that had been one of DungeonMaster’s first lessons.

Over the next year matters got worse. There was no single blatant act that made DungeonMaster decide to abandon Eldrid as a pupil, but there were small signs that warned of the path Eldrid was taking. On this day, then, even though it might already be too late, DungeonMaster decided to take the measure of Eldrid’s heart.

"Eldrid, you know I have hoped that someday you would wear these robes."

"It is all I live for, Master. I wish only to improve my abilities, to serve this Realm as well and as worthily as you have."

"And to do so, I have taught you a great deal of magic--which you have mastered almost effortlessly."

Eldrid nodded in agreement. "A great deal of magic--but not all, I think. Am I correct, Master?"

There it was--the question that DungeonMaster had dreaded. Like a chess-player thinking ahead from the first move to the endgame, DungeonMaster now swiftly weighed his choices.

He could lie--but that was impossible. Not only because Eldrid deserved better, but also because he who would be DungeonMaster, Lord of Magic in the entire Realm, could never lie, for any reason. Offer elliptical hints, and appear and vanish at will, but never lie. On some worlds magic was only an illusion; in the Realm it was absolute truth.

He could abandon Eldrid—and whatever powers the lad might now possess—and seek out another pupil. But there had been no other pupil. There was none so adept as Eldrid at learning the magic of the Realm. Perhaps DungeonMaster had let himself be swayed in his judgment by the circumstances of Eldrid’s loss: his parents killed during a hurricane, his twin sister taken away to the hills of Nebur to be raised by a distant cousin who refused to raise both children. But no, even though the boy had been lonely at times, there was no denying his talent. It was real; so real that it could not be ignored.

He could give in and tell Eldrid--giving this lad the last, strongest magic, even if he could not control it. But that would mean, sooner or later, competition for power rather than an orderly succession from one DungeonMaster to another. At worst, it would lead to a battle of wizards, almost certainly a duel to the death, the master against his favorite pupil. There could be no winning such a match: defeat would mean leaving the Realm at the mercy of Eldrid’s ambition, and victory would mean destroying his beloved pupil.

There was a fourth possibility. Yet, even though this fourth path might take years to come to fruition, would lead to the Realm being invaded by evil, lives being torn asunder, and a quest for "six young ones who are pure of heart" to be ripped from their own world to become DungeonMaster’s catspaws, this road--in spite of its risks and pains--was now the only road open to him.

"Did you hear me, Master?"

"I am sorry. You are correct, Eldrid; there is one last magic of which I have never spoken. Do you expect me to speak of it now?"

"Why not? If I am to be your successor, how can there be secrets between us?"

"This is not about secrecy. It is about a power so fierce that, as talented as you are, I fear that you are not yet ready."

Eldrid smiled. "We’ll never find out until we try."

"Forgive me--I cannot speak of it."

"Cannot, or will not?"

"As you prefer."

"But why?" Eldrid smiled. This was a mood he had successfully played before; wheedling, like a coquette seeking an extra gift from an old suitor. But it was not to work on the DungeonMaster this time.

"Your repeated requests to know this power are only proof to me that you cannot yet control it. I may speak of it later; I ask that you be patient with me until then."

"But what if something were to happen to you in the meantime? How could I wear your robes without knowing all that I need to know?"

A reasonable-sounding request; this too was expected. "You know enough now to do all that needs be done here. Be content with that; do not ask me for more."

"Why do you not trust me, Master?"

"It is the power that I mistrust. In the past it has destroyed worlds greater than the Realm, and enslaved men of greater power than either of us. Please respect my wishes, and speak no more of this."

"No. With respect, Master, I know too much and have come too far to settle for less than everything you know."

"For the last time, Eldrid, do not ask me."

"And for the last time, you must tell me, Master." Eldrid now spoke the last word with derision, almost with anger.

"No, Eldrid. I am sorry."

"So you shall be." Eldrid’s eyes began to glow with an inner fire born of his frustrated ambition. He created a glowing ball of energy in his hand and threw it at the DungeonMaster. The old wizard deflected it easily.

"Stop this," the old wizard shook his head sadly. "You cannot hope to beat me. There is nothing you know that I have not taught you."

"Then find yourself another pupil, old man; one more pliable to your will. When next we meet, beware." The young man stalked off.

So upset was Eldrid that he walked for two hours before even allowing himself to think about what he would do next. He kept his heart focused on DungeonMaster, the rejection of his request and the unfairness of it all. After that, he walked for two more hours. This time, however, his thoughts sometimes took the side of his mentor and second father. Maybe DungeonMaster was right in this case. Eldrid had no idea what kind of power would make DungeonMaster wary of using it, or of letting another use it. It had to be a fearsome magic indeed.

But was that a fair reason to keep me from it? Eldrid wondered. Cannot even the simplest, humblest magic become fearsome if used with the wrong thoughts? If he cannot trust me with this one piece of magic, however powerful, it’s as if he cannot trust me at all! Eldrid’s ambition had disguised itself as pain and shame. He stopped, turned and—with tears starting to fill his eyes—called back to the direction he had come: "All these years I loved you, and this is your answer to me?!"

"Then repay him in kind," came the ghost of a voice. It slithered like a snake from a shadow between two outcroppings of rock.

Eldrid was surprised, but not afraid. The teachings of the DungeonMaster enabled him to see into hidden places, and he saw, for the first time in his life, the formless spirit that spoke to him. He called up a summoning spell: "Come forward, ShadowDemon."

The spirit, called against its will, rose from between the rocks, taking a vaguely human, batwinged form. "DungeonMaster has taught you well, but there is one page missing from the book, is there not? Shall I tell you of it?"

Eldrid knew of such shadow creatures, of course; they had a limited free will, but usually used it to serve some larger, more powerful being—always with an eye toward finding a better attachment. They were the Realm’s parasites of magic, and Eldrid had little reason to trust this one. "Why should my affairs matter to you?"

"They do not matter to me, but I represent One who knows of the power you seek. It is called "wild magick", and for many years DungeonMaster has held knowledge of it all to himself. Yours should be the next hands to hold it."

"How can that be, when DungeonMaster does not trust me enough to speak of it?"

"My Master will tell you of the wild magick, and asks a simple favor in return."

"What favor is that?"

"Merely that, in order to gain the wild magick, you destroy that which you already hate."

"Your lord wants me to destroy DungeonMaster? Find another fool to listen to you." Eldrid broke the summoning spell, turned and started to leave.

"Wait! You do not want the wild magick after all?"

This was unusual; a shade that stayed without being compelled. It surely had a strong reason. Eldrid did not let himself think of that.

"Your master’s offer of the wild magick only after I destroy DungeonMaster is foolishness. Everything I know now, DungeonMaster has taught me. As long as his powers are greater than mine, I cannot defeat him."

"Then you shall be given new powers, stronger than your present state many times over. Once you have destroyed DungeonMaster, my Master shall see to it that the wild magick is yours, along with mastery of the entire Realm."

"What must I do to get these new powers?"

"First we must travel to a certain set of ruins. They are not far; the ruins lie just beyond these hills."

So Eldrid walked, and ShadowDemon floated, over the foothills, arriving at the ruins in the late afternoon. It was a bleak location by anyone’s description. The columned ruins had once belonged to a city of scholars and artisans not unlike the ancient Greek civilization of Earth at its peak—yet its residents had long since departed, leaving every building in the area to ruin. All except one: the last building left standing, a tower whose walls were thicker than most buildings were wide, and higher than any other building in the Realm.

Eldrid looked the area over, trying to use the eyes he had been trained to see with, searching for traces of magic, for ghosts to the past. "Something happened here," he stated to ShadowDemon; "something unwholesome. Some powerful fear made the people build that tower. They built it to be strong, but they built in haste; they wanted to leave."

"They were superstitious peasants, not deserving of the secrets which you already possess. They did not want to understand the treasure they held in their hands."

"So they built the tower to imprison it. What was it?"

"Merely a message, from my Master."

"Was the message so fearful?"

"Sometimes my Master may seem frightening. Not to you, of course."

Eldrid hesitated. ShadowDemon’s flattery was too obvious, but those long-ago people had to be afraid of something: something that would inspire them to build such a massive prison. He decided to see what was in the prison.

He opened the doors to the tower, which was almost completely dark inside. It was a simple matter to cast illumination on his hand, making it glow like a lantern. There in the center of the tower’s single room he saw a chest. It was fairly large—as big as his whole torso—but fairly lightweight. It was an easy matter to bring it out to ShadowDemon and the rapidly growing dusk.

"The message from your master is inside, I suppose?" Eldrid asked.

"You have but to open the box," the shade replied. It may have been the darkness of the tower, but ShadowDemon seemed even thinner, more ethereal here. As if it didn’t want to be near the tower when the box was opened, and was ready to fly at a moment’s notice.

Eldrid’s hand hesitated on the latch of the box. He had no reason to trust ShadowDemon; in fact, he already had several reasons not to trust this spirit. However, the spirit seemed to know more about the "wild magick" than did Eldrid, and he found that vexing. DungeonMaster refuses to tell me what this benighted thing already knows, he said to himself. I will have that knowledge for myself, whatever the cost. He undid the simple pin-lock, raised the latch and opened the box.

Miles away, DungeonMaster looked toward the foothills, and saw the shaft of light, hotter than the Realm’s four suns, cutting like a sword into space. Part of him had still hoped that Eldrid would resist the temptation he knew was waiting in the ruins. Now, his eyes started to fill with tears. "So it begins," he muttered.

"Prologue--The Birth of Venger, part 2"