Demons of the Dancing Gods (22 page)

"Oh, I know she's probably a wonderful person and everything,

but it's deeper than that. I mean—oh, I don't know

what I mean!"

"You mean you'd rather be her than you. The Chronicles

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of Joe and Marge, right?"

She said nothing, but he knew he'd pretty much hit it on

the head.

"Well, you're not—and you never were," he went on.

"You're you, that's all. Hell, I'm still not sure I like this crazy

world much and I'm really not sure I like this barbarian business

at all, but I'm stuck with it."

She looked at him curiously. "What would you rather be,

assuming you'd still be in Husaquahr and not back home?"

"No thinking there. One of these wizards. Somebody with

magic at his fingertips. Swordplay skills are handy here, but

all that fighting's like being in the infantry. Cannon fodder for

the magic boys—and no match for magic, but a hell of a lot

of work, all the same, not only to get the skills but to keep

She slowly shook her head. "You don't want any magic,

Joe. It's not power—it's a curse. For anybody under the master

sorcerer rank, it is, anyway—it controls you, really, and it

costs too much. And even the masters—well, every one I've

met has been more than slightly nuts."

"Ruddygore?" He paused a moment. "Hmmm... Yeah, I

see what you mean. And your witch, Huspeth, has sealed

herself off from the world. The more I hear about the others

here, the more I think we've met the nicest and sanest of 'em

all, too."

"It's the power, Joe. It corrupts most of them, makes them

evil beyond redemption, even if they don't think of themselves

that way. I can feel it, just walking these halls. Those very

few who were so strong it didn't corrupt them, like Ruddygore

and Huspeth, it drove into tremendous loneliness. The responsibility's

so huge, Joe! And as for the fairies—I know now

that we are imprisoned by our powers, not free. Like bees and

ants, deer and wolves, we're programmed like robots to do

one job each and we have to do that job just like the animals.

The only difference is, we can think, so we know we're not

free. I always used to wonder why those European elves of

legend always drank so much. Now maybe I understand."

"Well, maybe. But a little magic might be nice, anyway.

It doesn't matter—I'm not magical, that's all, except through

Irving. Tiana's an adept. Daughter of a big-shot sorcerer who

got killed by another one."

"Yes, Kaladon. Ruddygore told me the background. You

know he's the prime suspect for the Dark Baron."

Joe nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm not sure if I'm hoping he

is or he isn't, though, for Tiana's sake."

"What do you mean?"

"If he is, and we manage to polish him off, then she's bound

and determined to take over Zhimbombe. That may be her

birthright, but it's not her style. On the other hand, if he isn't

the Baron, he's just a superpowerful, evil black magician she

can never hope to get rid of, so it will eat at her until she tries

it, anyway."

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"You really like her, don't you?"

He nodded. "A lot. And I think it's mutual, at least so far.

Hell, we've just met. We'll see how it goes."

"I'll try and be nicer to her then, Joe, I promise, if you'll

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be a little understanding with me." She paused a moment. "Still

partners?"

He grinned and stood up. "Still partners—and still friends.

Uh—I'd give you a hug if I didn't think I'd crush your pretty

wings."

"You won't. They're kind of funny, but they have no bones

in 'em. I can lie right on them face up if I want to."

So he did hug her and kissed her, too; then he winked.

"Three adventures—remember?"

She thought of Ruddygore's gloomy assessment and forced

a smile. "Yes, Joe. At least three."

Macore sat in Ruddygore's room, still wearing the one-piece

black cloth outfit he'd used in his work, his face and hands

black as pitch from the material he'd smeared on them.

Ruddygore studied the various papers and objects before

him and frowned. "This is pretty tough, I'm afraid. Two are

definite servants of Hell and the third must be, to keep his own

holdings. Hmph! I always thought of Boquillas as a hothead,

but an idealist. I wonder what his price was?"

"Well, we know for sure that this Kaladon is a head man

with the whole Barony movement," the thief noted. "I'm positive

the units in that report were all involved in the battle at

the Valley of Decision."

Ruddygore nodded. "They were. There's no question he's

a leading figure in this, but he makes little secret of it. Still,

I find it hard to believe."

"He's incredibly young, or so he says. Much too young to

have won a Council seat on his own and just the sort to fall

into this kind of campaign."

"That's true, but it makes him so bloody obvious. I don't

see him as a leader, somehow, with the skills to keep an alliance

like this together. He's also pretty weak, really—there are any

number of adepts here who could challenge him for position.

The only reason they don't this time is that they fear the Baron's

wrath, and that bastard can marshal three others of Council

rank to back him up in this. The one I fought over the plains

of the Valley was as strong as I am, and that's strong indeed.

I'm pretty sure Kaladon cheated to win his spot, and he's

dependent on the Dark Baron to keep his position. If the Baron

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loses, he's done in. He has no choice."

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"Unless he's diabolically clever," the thief responded. "He's

a smart one, I think, and real ambitious. Hell, you know you

can become a hawk or a wolf or anything else you want to be.

Maybe this Kaladon's not any spring chicken but really an old

pro."

The sorcerer considered it. "You mean he created Kaladon

as a persona, lived as Kaladon those years in Morikay, then

made it seem as if he beat the old man, huh? What a fascinating

idea! Diabolical! Why didn't it occur to me before?"

Macore grinned. "Because you're a square, that's why. Oh,

you can be pretty devious, but only in response to evil. Who

do you listen to? A puffed-up, straight-arrow Imir who thinks

the only way to get something is to fight your way through a

mob? A muscle-bound ex-Teamster? A fairy who used to teach

kids?"

Ruddygore thought about it. "Well, more than that, but your

point is well taken. Maybe I have been neglecting my true

education and perspective of late. Perhaps I should talk more

often with thieves and politicians."

"There's a difference? Oh, well, let's look at the others."

Ruddygore nodded. "Esmerada. I had just about written her

off because she was a woman, but now, with your new

perspective, I see that I can hardly do that. Any of us could

be anything we wanted to be at almost any time, so having a

male Baron would be a near-perfect red herring."

"I thought the same way. And she's well positioned, too,

with a long history in the black arts. She's got tremendous

power, even if she is a little kinky about the ways she uses it.

Certainly that stuff I found in her adepts' rooms is interesting,

if only because it's in no language I've ever seen before."

Ruddygore reached over and picked up the two books. "But

I have. You'll have to get these back later tonight."

"No problem. They secured the important stuff real solid,

but you sometimes leam more from the stuff they don't consider

important. Those books—what are they?"

"An interesting set. This one is a condensed version of a

major theoretical work by V. I. Lenin. This other one is almost

an opposite, in one sense. My Battle, by Adolph Hitler. This

fits in some ways with information I've been getting from all

over. Even Marge, earlier this evening, told me about a kobold

quoting Lenin."

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"Never heard of either of 'em."

"And you shouldn't have. Neither should the adepts, for

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that matter." He studied the books. "Not originals. These are

of Husaquahrian manufacture. From one of the City-States, I'd

say. Fascinating. I wonder how the original text made its way

from one world to the other, where it's certainly not appropriate."

"You mean those things are from the place Joe and Marge

came from? Huh. I thought only you could get over there and

bring things back."

"So did I, my little friend. So did I. But both angels and

demons can dictate, and have done so in the past to a variety

of people. This is more diabolical than I thought possible! That

damned demon is to blame for this!" He calmed down and

sighed. "Well, at least I know part of the plan now. That much

is clear."

"Well, / don't."

"And you don't have to. That's a separate problem to

be attended to besides the one on the table. What of Count

Boquillas?"

"He never showed. In fact, word around is that he hasn't

showed in the last six months just about anywhere. Rumors in

his home district of Marahbar say that he left for his castle

hideaway on Lake Ktahr a couple of months ago and hasn't

been seen since. Good suspect, though. Idealistic, ambitious,

very powerful, and a City-States man to boot, which ties him

in to your books, with a castle in Zhimbombe, which puts him

directly in the Baron's lands."

Ruddy gore frowned. "Still, I would be a little more inclined

to him, had he not vanished. He had reservations here?"

Macore nodded. "Him and a whole entourage. But he didn't

show—didn't cancel, either, according to the hotel records."

"I don't like this at all. Esmilio Boquillas is an old and

valued friend of long standing and a most unusual one among

our fraternity. He has a strong conscience and he is an idealist,

if somewhat hotheaded. He has been appalled by the carnage

of the Baron's conquests—this I know—and has been outspoken

against them. He is the sort of fellow who might well

be influenced by such books as these, if he had a way to know

about them in the first place; but, although he was an excellent

fencer in his youth for strictly sporting goals, he can't even

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bring himself to kill a deer or fowl for sport. He is extremely

powerful, but not, insofar as I know, a black magician."

"But he's in the Baron's back yard."

The sorcerer agreed. "Indeed he is, and that worries me.

He worked out a tacit understanding with the Baron early in

the game—indeed, he was the one who negotiated the opencity

concept for the City-States, so that trade and commerce

could continue—but he's always been disparaging of conquerors.

He actually wrote a long dissertation a couple of years

back, showing the futility of force in conquering Husaquahr,

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and it was aptly reasoned out. He is, in effect, our hostage to

the Baron to keep the river open."

"Some hostage. Skips out and doesn't even show up here."

"Yes, and that's a worrisome thing. I can't conceive of

anything short of defeat and death that would keep him from

a meeting of the Society, but he's gone. And I cannot imagine

any way that one of his strength could be subdued and taken,

unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless the Baron holds him responsible for the defeat in

the Valley. Kaladon has often argued, according to my reports,

that Boquillas was a dagger in their midst, a spy to those of

us in the north, despite his word that he would observe the

understanding. With the defeat, Kaladon's paranoia might be

taken more seriously."

"But what could they do to him?"

"Individually, very little. Collectively, they could destroy

him, but the rest of the Council would know of that. They and

their pet demon prince might imprison him, perhaps, as they

intend to do to me. Together they could have tricked him into

a conference and then created a Null Zone. Inside there, no

magic of any sort would function. If that Zone were also a

prison cell, he would be helpless. It appears that our young

friends will be asked to do double duty, then. I must think on

it. Summon them here tomorrow evening, after the matches.

I'll talk to them then. By that time the Council will have

convened, and we'll see if Boquillas is still among the missing."

CHAPTER 9

THE MISSING MAGICIAN AND OTHER

WERE TAILS

Even one who is very good and says his prayers by night, can

become a werething when the full moon is bright.

—Rules, XC, 106(a)

"HELP ME GET HIM ON THE BED HERE'" TIANA SHOUTED, AND

Poquah, Macore, and even Durin rushed out to see the large