More Magic

  Books in the “Magic” Series

  edited by Larry Niven

  THE MAGIC GOES AWAY

  THE MAGIC MAY RETURN

  MORE MAGIC

  MORE MAGIC

  A Berkley Book/published by arrangement with

  the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley trade paperback edition/June 1984

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1984 by Larry Niven.

  Illustrations copyright © 1984 by Alicia Austin.

  “The Lion in His Attic” copyright © 1984 by Larry Niven.

  “Shadow of Wings” copyright © 1984 by Bob Shaw.

  “Talisman” copyright © 1984 by Larry Niven and Dian Girard.

  “Mana from Heaven” copyright © 1984 by Roger Zelazny.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

  by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

  For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

  ISBN: 0-425-07059-X

  A BERKLEY BOOK ® TM 757,375

  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

  The name “BERKLEY” and the stylized “B” with design are

  trademarks belonging to Berkley Publishing Corporation.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Contents

  The Lion in His Attic

  by Larry Niven

  Shadow of Wings

  by Bob Shaw

  Talisman

  by Larry Niven and Dian Girard

  Mana from Heaven

  by Roger Zelazny

  “The Lion in His Attic”

  A TALE OF THE WARLOCK’S ERA

  ♦

  by Larry Niven

  Before the quake it had been called Castle Minterl, but almost nobody outside Minterl remembered that. Small events drown in large ones. Atlantis itself, an entire continent, had drowned in the tectonic event that sank this small peninsula.

  For seventy years the seat of government had been at Beesh, and that place was called Castle Minterl. Outsiders called this drowned place Nihilil’s Castle, for its last lord, if they remembered at all. Three and a fraction stories of what had been the south tower still stood above the waves. They bore a third name now: Lion’s Attic.

  The sea was choppy today. Durily squinted against bright sunlight glinting off waves. Nothing of Nihilil’s Castle showed beneath the froth.

  The lovely golden-haired woman ceased peering over the side of the boat. She lifted her eyes to watch the south tower come toward them. She murmured into Karskon’s ear, “And that’s all that’s left.”

  Thone was out of earshot, busy lowering the sails; but he might glance back. The boy was not likely to have seen a lovelier woman in his life, and as far as Thone was concerned, his passengers were seeing this place for the first time. Karskon turned to look at Durily and was relieved. She looked interested, eager, even charmed.

  But she sounded shaken. “It’s all gone! Tapestries and banquet hall and bedrooms and the big ballroom…the gardens…all down there with the fishes, and not even mer-people to enjoy them…that little knob of rock must have been Crown Hill…Oh, Karskon, I wish you could have seen it.” She shuddered, though her face still wore the mask of eager interest. “Maybe the riding-birds survived. Nihilil kept them on the roof.”

  “You couldn’t have been more than…ten? How can you remember so much?”

  A shrug. “After the Torovan invasion, after we had to get out…Mother talked incessantly about palace life. I think she got lost in the past. I don’t blame her much, considering what the present was like. What she told me and what I saw myself, it’s all a little mixed up after so long. I saw the traveling eye, though.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “Mother was there when a messenger passed it to the king. She snatched it out of his hand, playfully, you know, and admired it and showed it to me. Maybe she thought he’d give it to her. He got very angry, and he was trying not to show it, and that was even more frightening. We left the palace the next day. Twelve days before the quake.”

  Karskon asked, “What about the other—?” But warning pressure from her hand cut him off.

  Thone had finished rolling up the sail. As the boat thumped against the stone wall he sprang upward, onto what had been a balcony, and moored the bowline fast. A girl in her teens came from within the tower to fasten the stern line for him. She was big as Thone was big: not yet fat, but hefty, rounded of feature. Thone’s sister, Karskon thought, a year or two older.

  Durily, seeing no easier way out of the boat, reached hands up to them. They heaved as she jumped. Karskon passed their luggage up and joined them, leaving the cargo for others to move.

  Thone made introductions. “Sir Karskon, Lady Durily, this is Estrayle, my sister. Estrayle, they’ll be our guests for a month. I’ll have to tell Father. We bring red meat in trade.”

  The girl said, “Oh, very good! Father will love that. How was the trip?”

  “Well enough. Sometimes the spells for wind just don’t do anything. Then there’s no telling where you wind up.” To Karskon and Durily he said, “We live on this floor. These outside stairs take you right up past us. You’ll be staying on the floor above. The top floor is the restaurant.”

  Durily asked, “And the roof?”

  “It’s flat. Very convenient. We raise rabbits and poultry there.” Thone didn’t see the look that passed across Durily’s face. “Shall I show you to your rooms? And then I’ll have to speak to Father.”

  Nihilil’s Castle dated from the last days of real magic. The South Tower was a wide cylindrical structure twelve stories tall, with several rooms on each floor. In this age nobody would have tried to build anything so ambitious.

  When Lion petitioned for the right to occupy these ruins, he had already done so. Perhaps the idea amused Minterl’s new rulers. A restaurant in Nihilil’s Castle! Reached only by boats! At any rate, nobody else wanted the probably haunted tower.

  The restaurant was on the top floor. The floor below would serve as an inn, but as custom decreed that the main meal was served at noon, it was rare for guests to stay over. Lion and his wife and eight children lived on the third floor down.

  Though “Lion’s Attic” was gaining some reputation on the mainland, the majority of Lion’s guests were fishermen. They often paid their score in fish or in smuggled wines. So it was that Thone found Lion and Merle hauling in lines through the big kitchen window.

  Even Lion looked small next to Merle. Merle was two and a half yards tall, and rounded everywhere, with no corners and no indentations: His chin curved in one graceful sweep down to his wishbone; his torso expanded around him like a tethered balloon. There was just enough solidity, enough muscle in the fat, so that none of it sagged at all.

  And that was considerable muscle. The flat-topped fish they were wrestling through the window was as big as a normal man, but Merle and Lion handled it easily. They settled the corpse on its side on the center table, and Merle asked, “Don’t you wish you had an oven that size?”

  “I do,” said Lion. “What is it?”

  “Dwarf island-fish. See the frilly spines all over the top of the thing? Meant to be trees. Moor at an island, go ashore. When you’re all settled the island dives under you, then snaps the crew up one by one while you’re trying to swim. But they’re magical, these fish, and with the magic dying away—”

  “I’m wondering how to cook the beast.”

  That really wasn’t Merle’s department, but he was willing to advise. “Low heat in an oven, for a long time, maybe an eighth of an arc,” meaning an eigh
th of the sun’s path from horizon to horizon.

  Lion nodded. “Low heat, covered. I’ll filet it first. I can fiddle up a sauce, but I’ll have to see how fatty the meat is…All right. Merle. Six meals in trade. Anyone else could have a dozen, but you…”

  Merle nodded placidly. He never argued price. “I’ll start now.” He went through into the restaurant section, scraping the door on both sides, and Lion turned to greet his son.

  “We have guests,” said Thone, “and we have red meat, and we have a bigger boat. I thought it proper to bargain for you.”

  “Guests, good. Red meat, good. What have you committed me to?”

  “Let me tell you the way of it.” Thone was not used to making business judgments in his father’s name. He looked down at his hands and said, “Most of the gold you gave me, I had spent. I had spices and dried meat and vegetables and pickle and the rest. Then a boat pulled in with sides of ox for sale. I was wondering what I could sell, to buy some of that beef, when these two found me at the dock.”

  “Was it you they were looking for?”

  “I think so. The lady Durily is of the old Minterl nobility, judging by her accent. Karskon speaks Minterl but he may be of the new nobility, the invaders from Torov. Odd to find them together…”

  “You didn’t trust them. Why did you deal with them?”

  Thone smiled. “Their offer. The fame of Lion’s Attic has spread throughout Minterl, so they say. They want a place to honeymoon; they had married that same day. For two weeks’ stay they offered…well, enough to buy four sides of ox and enough left over to trade Strandhugger in on a larger boat, large enough for the beef and two extra passengers.”

  “Where are they now? And where’s the beef?”

  “I told…Eep. It’s still aboard.”

  The Lion roared. “Arilta!”

  “I meant to tell Estrayle to do something about that, but it—”

  “Never mind, you’ve done well.”

  Arilta came hurrying from the restaurant area. Lion’s wife resembled her husband to some extent: big-boned, heavy, placid of disposition, carrying her weight well. “What is it?”

  “Set the boys to unloading the new boat. Four sides of beef. Get those into the meat box fast; they can take their time with the other goods.”

  She left, calling loudly for the boys. Lion said, “The guests?”

  “I gave them the two leeward rooms as a suite.”

  “Good. Why don’t you tell them dinner is being served? And then you can have your own meal.”

  The dining hall was a roar of voices, but when Lion’s guests appeared the noise dropped markedly. Both were wearing court dress of a style that had not yet reached the provinces. The man was imposing in black and silver, with a figured silver patch over his right eye. The lady was eerily beautiful, dressed in flowing sea green and a centimeter taller than her escort. They were conversation-stoppers, and they knew it.

  And then a man came hurrying to greet them, clapping his hands in delight. “Lady Durily, Lord Karskon? I am Lion. Are your quarters comfortable? Most of the middle floor is empty; we can offer a variety of choices—”

  “Quite comfortable, thank you,” Karskon said. Lion had taken him by surprise. Rumor said that he was what his name implied, a were-lion. He was large, and his short reddish-blond hair might be the color of a lion’s mane; but Lion was balding on top, and smooth-shaven, and well-fed, with a round and happy face. He looked far from ferocious…

  “Lion! Bring ’em here!”

  Lion looked around, disconcerted. “I have an empty table in the corner, but if you would prefer Merle’s company…”

  The man who had called was tremendous. The huge platter before him bore an entire swordfish fillet. Durily stared in what might have been awe or admiration. “Merle, by all means! And can you be persuaded to join us. Lion?”

  “I would be delighted.” Lion escorted them to the huge man’s table and seated them. “The swordfish is good—”

  “The swordfish is wonderful!” Merle boomed. He’d made amazing progress with the half-swordfish while they were approaching. “It’s baked with apricots and slivered nuts and…something else, I can’t tell. Lion?”

  “The nuts are soaked in a liqueur called brosa, from Rynildissen, and dried in the oven.”

  “I’ll try it,” Karskon said, and Durily nodded. Lion disappeared into the kitchen.

  The noise level was rising toward its previous pitch. Durily raised her voice just high enough. “Most of you seem to be fishers. It must have been hard for you after the mer-people went away.”

  “It was. Lady. They had to learn to catch their own fish instead of trading. All the techniques had to be invented from scratch. They tell me they tried magic at first. To breathe water, you know. Some of them drowned. Then came fishing spears, and special boats, and nets…”

  “You said they?”

  “I’m a whale,” said Merle. “I came later.”

  “Oh. There aren’t many were-folk around these days. Anywhere.”

  “We aren’t all gone,” Merle said, while Karskon smiled at how easily they had broached the subject. “The mer-people went away, all right, but it wasn’t just because they’re magical creatures. Their life-styles include a lot of magic. Whales don’t practice much magic.”

  “Even so,” Karskon wondered, “what are you doing on land? Aren’t you afraid you might, ah, change? Magic isn’t dependable anymore…”

  “But Lion is. Lion would get me out in time. Anyway, I spend most of my time aboard Shrimp. See, if the change comes over me there, it’s no problem. A whale’s weight would swamp my little boat and leave me floating.”

  “I still don’t see—”

  “Sharks.”

  “Ah.”

  “Damn brainless toothy wandering weapons! The more you kill, the more the blood draws more till…” Merle shifted restlessly. “Anyway, there are no sharks ashore. And there are books, and people to talk to. Out on the sea there’s only the singing. Now, I like the singing; who wouldn’t? But it’s only family gossip, and weather patterns, and shoreline changes, and where are the fish.”

  “That sounds useful.”

  “Sure it is. Fisherfolk learn the whale songs to find out where the fish are. But for any kind of intelligent conversation you have to come ashore. Ah, here’s Lion.”

  Lion set three plates in place, bearing generous slabs of swordfish and vegetables cooked in elaborate fashions. “What’s under discussion?”

  “Were-creatures,” Karskon said. “They’re having a terrible time of it almost everywhere.”

  Lion sat down. “Even in Rynildissen? The wolf people sector?”

  “Well,” Durily said uncomfortably, “they’re changing. You know, there are people who can change into animals, but that’s because there are were-folk among their ancestors. Most were-folk are animals who learned how to take human form. The human shape has magic in it, you know.” Lion nodded, and she continued. “In places where the magic’s gone, it’s terrible. The animals lose their minds. Even human folk with some animal ancestry, they can’t make the change, but their minds aren’t quite human either. Wolf ancestry makes for good soldiers, but it’s hard for them to stop. A touch of hyena or raccoon makes for thieves. A man with a touch of lion makes a good general, but—”

  Merle shifted restlessly, as if the subject were painful to him. His platter was quite clean now. “Oh, to hell with the problems of were-folk. Tell me how you lost your eye.”

  Karskon jumped, but he answered. “Happened in the baths when I was thirteen. We were having a fight with wet towels and one of my half-brothers flicked my eye out with the corner of a towel. Dull story.”

  “You should make up a better one. Want some help?” Karskon shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Where are you from?”

  “Inland. It’s been years since I tasted fresh fish. You were right, it’s wonderful.” He paused, but the silence forced him to continue. “I’m half Torovan, half Minte
rl. Duke Chamil of Konth made me his librarian, and I teach his legitimate children. Lady Durily descends from the old Minterl nobility. She’s one of Duchess Chamil’s ladies-in-waiting. That’s how we met.”

  “I never understood shoreside politics,” Merle said. “There was a war, wasn’t there, long ago?”

  Karskon answered for fear that Durily would. “Torov invaded after the quake. It was an obvious power vacuum. I gather the armies never got this far south. What was left of the dukes surrendered first. You’ll find a good many of the old Minterls hereabouts. The Torovans have to go in packs.”

  Merle was looking disgusted. “Whales don’t play at war.”

  “It’s not a game,” Karskon said.

  Lion added, “Or at least the stakes are too high for ordinary people.”

  There was murky darkness, black with a hint of green. Blocky shapes. Motion flicked past, drifted back more slowly. Too dark to see, but Karskon sensed something looking back at him. A fish? A ghost?

  Karskon opened his good eye.

  Durily was at the window, looking out to sea. Leftward, waves washed the spike of island that had been Crown Hill. “There was grass almost to the top,” Durily said, “but the peak was always a bare knob. We picnicked there once, the whole family…”

  “What else do you remember? Anything we can use?”

  “Two flights of stairs,” Durily said. “You’ve seen the one that winds up the outside of the tower, like a snake. Snake-headed, it used to be, but the quake must have knocked off the head.”

  “Animated?”

  “No, just a big carving…um. It could have been animated once. The magic was going out of everything. The mer-people were all gone; the mainlanders were trying to learn to catch their own fish, and we had trouble getting food. Nihilil was thinking of moving the whole court to Beesh. Am I rambling too much, darling?”

  “No telling what we can use. Keep it up.”

  “The inside stairs lead down from the kitchen, through the laundry room on this floor and through Thone’s room on the lower floor.”

  “Thone.” Karskon’s hand strayed to his belt buckle, which was silver and massive—which was in fact the hilt of a concealed dagger. “He’s not as big as Lion, but I’d hate to have him angry with me. They’re all too big. We’d best not be caught…unless we, or you, can find a legitimate reason for being in Thone’s room?”