Demons of the Dancing Gods (17 page)

"I'll talk to her. Hmmm... No, that wouldn't do it. I know—

I'll set her up."

"Huh?"

"I'll have a couple of old friends get to know her. Either

one will become as nasty or obnoxious as the situation permits,

and she'll find herself powerless to defend herself. Maybe we'll

stick a harmless spell on her, like compulsive singing and

dancing or something like that. It will take her down a peg,

make her more cautious."

"Well, I'll leave that to you. But if she's powerless against

the Baron—and I know he could turn me into a toad before I

got close—then what are we going to do?"

"During the convention, I, along with Poquah, Macore, and

several others not obviously with me, will pursue various lines

of investigation. With any luck, we're going to be able to

narrow down the Baron's probable identity."

"Good trick. How many real high-class magicians are here?

Two thousand?"

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"Closer to ten thousand, but that doesn't matter. The Baron

cannot conceal the fact that he is one of the top masters of

the art in the world. I took him on, you remember, and I know.

He fought me to a draw, and you get where I am today by

going head to head in some very serious contests of wills and

magical talent. More importantly, all the talent in the world

won't help you achieve true command unless you have these

contests with the masters. Why, here I'll probably take on a

dozen challengers for rny Council seat. It's the only way they

learn and, eventually, the only way they get on the Council.

The Baron got his skills through such sorcerers' battles, since

there is no other way io get them. Consider—he became that

good, good enough to tie me, without ever having taken me

on before. I'd know if he had, believe me. A battle technique's

like a fingerprint. And since the only truly powerful wizards

I've never taken on are those on the Council who have made

the Council after me, I deduce that our Baron is not only a

councillor but one of the newer ones."

"All right, that makes sense, I guess. So it's one of thir—

ah, tv/elve people."

"Uh-huh. And it's easier than that, since six of the twelve

do not live in Husaquahr, and I'm certain that the Baron must.

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We have pretty good records of where the others were, considering

the distances involved and magical transportation means,

while the Baron was active here. He simply must be on top of

things through his expanding empire, and that means a Husaquahrian.

So now it is one of six, and we shall try to narrow

that down further as we go here."

"Uh-huh. And if you do?"

"Then it's your turn. I need proof, Joe. I need absolute,

incontrovertible proof that the Baron is a tool of a demon prince.

Only with that proof will the Council act against one of its

own, and only the Council can do the job."

"Are you sure even of that? I mean, there are several of the

Council working with him, aren't there? Don't a bunch live in

lands he controls?"

"Quite true, but you misunderstand the seriousness of the

affair. The more truly evil and corrupt a sorcerer is, the more

stake he has in making certain that the covenant between Heaven

and Hell remains unbroken. If Hell breaks the covenant, then

the Creator's forces are free to do the same, and that means

total war to the finish between the two sides. Armageddon.

The end of all the universes. And on whose side will those

evil and corrupt ones find themselves?"

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Joe's Sunday school was a little weak, but he thought he

had the idea. "Uh-huh. So they've got their cushy evilness

here, kinda like the Wicked Witch in Oz. They have their own

crazy idea of Heaven now, and they won't be anxious to pay

the bill."

"You have it. I'm convinced Hell, too, doesn't really know

about this. I don't think they're ready for the final battle, which,

of course, they intend to win by picking their own time and

place. Last I checked, old Lucifer's still got his heart set on

nuclear war over on your side. But since he started his whole

career on disloyalty and treachery, it's little wonder that his

underlings echo that, even to him. He's so busy spreading his

little bombs all over Earth, he's not paying any attention to

our side, and that's his mistake. So you see, Joe, the odds

aren't totally stacked against you. It's few people who have

both God and the devil on their side. Maybe you can also now

appreciate the real stakes. You have a son, I recall?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah. In Philadelphia. I think about him a

lot. That's why I named my sword after him."

"So don't let your emotions get the better of you. A lot

hangs on you and Marge getting along and working together.

I'll have a little chat with her later on in the convention, perhaps

after she's learned her lesson."

Joe knew it was a dismissal and he was glad for it. Besides,

the coffee was all gone here, but there was more in the parlor,

he was sure. Still, one thing bothered him. As he got up and

turned to go, he suddenly turned back to the big sorcerer.

"Uh—you say you're gonna have to fight a bunch of up-andcoming

sorcerers here?"

Ruddygore nodded. "That's the way it is."

"Any chance you'll lose?"

"There's always a chance, but I've already looked over this

group and it looks like a pretty lean crop this season. Not that

some of 'em don't have potential—maybe in twenty or thirty

years they'll be up to it, but not now."

"Now, don't you get cocky, either."

"Point taken, swordsman to magician." Ruddygore snapped

his fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot. Has Tiana arrived yet?"

Joe shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't know her if I

bumped into her."

"Oh, if you bump into her, you'll know, Joe, I promise

you. You two should get along very well, actually. Ask Poquah

for her background when you get a moment."

"Okay, I'll do that. See you later?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not for some time. Relax and enjoy yourself

here. Consider it a vacation with pay and relax. In another

week you're going back to work."

"I'm going to do just that," Joe assured him and left.

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"This your first one of these things?" Joe asked Macore over

coffee and pastry in the parlor.

The little thief nodded. "You better believe it. Man, I

wouldn't try to hustle any of these babies. Their rooms and

belongings have magical guardians. You run a con on 'em,

even if it works, and they send out the spirit world to get you

wherever you are. Uh-uh. This is one convention that's safe

as a holy temple."

"So how come you're here?"

Macore grinned. "I was asked. Well, more than asked.

Better you don't know any more, for your own sake as well

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93

as mine. If the old boy wants to tell you, then we'll talk."

"I think I get the idea." Ruddygore was at least the equal

of any of the top sorcerers here, so he could offer major protection

to a thief—and a master thief, able to tap magical

powers through his boss, would be quite an asset here. Looking

for—what? Joe wondered. A suit of ghostly armor? Certainly

something, anything, that would lead to the identity of the Dark

Baron, probably through the adepts. They wouldn't have as

good protection, and they'd be overconfident here. Any adepts

working directly for the Baron had to know, and, if they did,

there might be something telltale somewhere. Joe didn't envy

the little thief his job, but he appreciated the risks involved.

For some of these more-than-human sorcerers, death wasn't

the worst thing to fear.

They had begun talking about old times when there was a

sudden, sharp pounding on tlie door, and all conversation ceased.

Poquah emerged from his own room and went to the door,

opening it. After a glance, he admitted the newcomer.

At first sight of her, aii other topics were forgotten by Joe.

As Ruddygore had said, if he ever bumped into Tiana, he'd

know.

She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman Joe had

ever seen; from the expressions on the faces of the others, he

wasn't alone in that assessment. It was hard to go beyond that.

Everything about her was absolutely perfect—perfect figure,

perfect proportions, and a beautiful, sensuous face. Her skin

was tanned a deep and very dark brown, matching her eyes,

but her lips were curiousiy light and very enticing. Her jetblack

hair hung down almost to her narrow, perfect waist, while

her skin was as smooth and blemish-free as polished ebony.

She looked, Joe thought, like some stunning Italian movie star;

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there was a Mediterranean cast to her features, as if she belonged

somewhere romping on the beaches of the Riviera,

and that thought was enhanced by the fact that she was wearing

only a breechclout made of the hide of some furry brown animal

and a halter of the same material that did nothing to hide her

obvious attributes, as well as a necklace of what looked like

gold chain to which small, carved pieces of bone had been

attached. From a sword belt, a broadsword neariy the size of

Joe's hung in a leather scabbard. The belt was worn loosely,

emphasizing the curve of her hips.

Probably the most outstanding thing about her was that she

was barefoot, yet stood well over six feet tall. In fact, when

Joe stood up, transfixed, he found her to be perhaps a half inch

shorter than his own six-six—and he was wearing new sandals.

For a moment, nobody said anything, so she walked briskly

into the room and looked around. "Well? Is everyone struck

dumb?" she said irritably, her voice deep and rich. She spoke

with a trace of what sounded like a German accent to Joe; but,

considering the fact that this was a world with languages different

from his, it might only seem that way.

Poquah was quick to recover. "Tiana, I presume. I am

Poquah, the Master's chief associate. These gentlemen here

are Macore, Joseph, and Durin, respectively."

She looked them all over, then settled on Joe and frowned.

"That is an unusual name here, Joseph. Where are you from?"

"Philadelphia," he told her.

"Oh, that is in the United States of America, I believe,"

she responded, literally shocking the hell out of him.

"Uh, yeah, it is, but how... ?"

"I was never there, but for seven years I was in hiding in

Basel, Switzerland."

This was too much at one time. "Switzerland! How?" But

instantly he knew the answer. Only one person he knew could

hide a Husaquahrian in Europe, and that person was in the next

room.

"I was the oldest daughter of Hapandur of Morikay. When

I was but nine years old, he was defeated at a gathering just

like this one by that pig Kaladon, whom my father had befriended

and treated as a son." She went over, looked at the

pastries, took one, then sat down on the couch and sprawled

out.

Joe sank back into his chair. Suddenly the coffee didn't

seem a strong enough drink right about then. He'd once described

Marge's moves as catlike; Tiana was a tigress.

"So you had to make a run for it, huh?" Macore prompted.

Barely five foot five and perhaps a hundred and twenty pounds,

he couldn't help feeling like a little child who'd just come

across a ten-thousand-gallon chocolate sundae.

She nodded. "Yes. Kaladon had dreams that he would marry

me as soon as I was old enough, thus legitimizing his rule,

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since everyone knew the bastard won only by cheating. He

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actually made advances to me, an innocent of nine!"

Joe just followed along, but couldn't help wondering how

Tiana could ever have been an innocent nine-year-old.

"Well, with the help of some fairies loyal to my poor father,

I escaped, but Kaladon pursued. Fortunately, the faerie network

got me to Ruddygore, one of my father's few very close friends

who could be trusted, and he took me out of reach for a while."

"But you came back," Joe noted. "Why?"

"I was discovered. Kaladon is in league with Hell itself; in

exchange for certain favors here, ones which involved aiding

the Dark Baron, the demons of Earth sought me out and attacked.

It seemed pointless to remain there when this was my

native land, so I was returned. I have been in hiding since,

these past eight years, moving with the wild tribes and studying

and training when I could in both the magical and the combat

arts. I have grown quite good." That last was said without any

trace of boasting, and they believed it.