Larick turned and stared for several moments, then, "Oh," he said. "That is for our benefit--and it reminds me again just how late things are getting. Where the devil are the rest of them?" He turned, looking in several directions, and then a certain tension seemed to go out of him. "Here they come," he said, noting three figures on a distant walkway.

He turned back to Pol.

"That cone you see is the force being raised by an entire circle of sorcerers," he explained. "By the time we enter Belken, it will have reached the mountain and filled it, attuning all ten stations within to greater cosmic forces. As you move from one to the other, each a symbolic representation of one of your own lights, the energies will flow through you and you will thereby be shaped, reshaped and attuned yourself."

"I see."

"I am not certain that you do, Dan. The other nine candidates, serving proper apprenticeships, should have developed their lights properly, in the natural order. For them, tonight's experience should only be an intensification with some minor balancing. With you, though--a Madwand may take any path. It could prove painful, distressing, even maddening or fatal. I do not say this to discourage or frighten, merely to prepare you. Try not to allow anything that occurs to cause you undue distress."

Here Larick bit his lip and looked away.

"Where--where are you from?" he asked.

"A very distant land. I'm sure you would never have heard of it."

"What did you do there?"

"Many things. I suppose I was best at being a musician."

"What about magic?"

"It was not known in that place."

Larick shook his head.

"How could that be?"

"It is just the way that things were."

"Then yourself? How did you come to this land? And how did you become a Madwand?"

For a moment, Pol found himself wanting to tell Larick his story. But prudence put a limit to his desire.

"It is a very long tale," he said, looking back over his shoulder, "and the other three are almost here."

Larick glanced in that direction.

"I suppose that you had some interesting experiences once you discovered your abilities?" he said hurriedly.

"Yes, many," Pol replied. "They might fill a book."

"Do any stand out in your memory as particularly significant?"

"No."

"I get the impression that you do not like to talk about these things. All right. There is no requirement that you do so. But if you would tell me, I would like to know one thing."

"What is that?"

"A white magician may on occasion use what is known as black magic, and vice-versa. We know that it is all much the same and that it is intent that makes the difference--and that it is from intent alone that the magician's path might be described. Have you yet chosen one path or the other?"

"I have used what I had to use as I had to use it," Pol said. "I like to think that my intentions were relatively pure, but then most people so justify themselves in their own eyes. I mean well, most of the time."

Larick smiled and shook his head.

"I wish that I had more time to talk with you, for I feel something very peculiar behind your words. Have you ever used magic with great force against another human being?"

"Yes."

"What became of that person?"

"He is dead."

"Was he also a sorcerer?"

"Not exactly."

" 'Not exactly'? How can that be? A person either is or is not."

"This was a very special case."

Larick sighed and then smiled again.

"Then you are a black magician."

"You said it. I didn't."

The three final candidates now approached the group and were introduced. Larick looked them all over and then addressed them:

"We are late getting started. We will head along this way immediately and then proceed until we have departed the city. The trail will commence shortly thereafter and we will begin our climb. I do not know yet how many--if any--rest stops we may make along the way. It depends on our progress and the time." He gestured toward a heap of folded white garments. "Each of you pick up a robe on the way by. We'll don them right before we enter."

He turned and passed under the arch, moving away.

Mouseglove approached Pol.

"I'll be at the exit point in the morning," he said. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Pol hurried after the others, moving toward the head of the group. When he glanced back, Mouseglove was gone. He continued his pace until he caught up with Larick, felling into step beside him.

"I am curious," he said, "why you are trying so hard to make me out a black magician."

"It is nothing to me," the other replied. "Those of all persuasions meet and mix freely in this place."

"But I am not. At least, I don't think I am."

"It is of no importance."

Pol shrugged.

"Have it your way, then."

He slowed his pace and fell back among the group of apprentices. Nupf came up next to him.

"Bit of a surprise here, eh?" the apprentice said.

"What do you mean?"

"The suddenness of it all. Ibal doesn't even know I'm on my way. He's still--" he paused and grinned "--occupied."

"At least he got my name onto the list before he turned his attention to other matters."

"It was not entirely altruistic of him," Nupf replied. "I envy you considerably, should you come through this intact."

"How so?"

"You don't know?"

Pol shook his head.

"Madwands--particularly those who make it through initiation," Nupf explained, "are, almost without exception, the most powerful sorcerers of all. Of course, there aren't that many around. Still, that is why Ibal would like to have you remember him with a certain fondness and gratitude."

"I'll be damned," Pol said.

"You really didn't know?"

"Not in the least. Could that have anything to do, I wonder, with Larick's efforts to find out whether I'm black or white?"

Nupf laughed.

"I suppose he hates to see the opposite side get a good recruit."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't really know that much about him, but the rumor going around among the other candidates has it that Larick is so lily white he spends all of his free time hating the other side. He is also supposed to be very good--in a purely technical sense."

"I'm getting tired of being misjudged," Pol said. "It's been going on all my life."

"It would be best to put up with a little more of it, for now."

"I wasn't thinking of disturbing the initiation."

"I'm sure he'll run it perfectly. Whites are very conscientious."

Pol laughed. He adjusted his vision and looked back at the cone of power. It had grown noticeably. He turned away and moved on toward the mounting clouds. Belken had already acquired something of radiance beneath them.

Seated upon the wide ledge outside the cavemouth, three-quarters of the way up the mountain's western face, Pol finished his bread and drank the rest of his water while watching the sun sink beneath the weight of starless night. There had been only one brief break on the way up and his feet throbbed slightly. He imagined the others were also somewhat footsore.

There came a flash of lightning in the southwest. A cold wind which had followed them more than halfway up made a little whistling noise among rocky prominences overhead. The mountain had a faint glow to it, which it seemed to acquire every night, only tonight it continued to brighten even as he watched. And when he shifted over to second seeing it seemed as if all of Belken were afire with a slowly undulating blue flame. He was about to comment upon it to Nupf when Larick rose to his feet and cleared his throat.

"All right. Put the robes on over your clothes and line up before the entrance," he said. "It will be a bit of a walk to the first station. I will lead the way. There is to be no talking unless you are called upon for responses."