Unicorn Point (3 page)

Stile had cautioned the lad as soon as he learned to speak, and Flach had responded beautifully. His seeming slowness was a two year act, masking his true progress. But Stile had known that this could not be concealed indefinitely; eventually the Adverse Adepts would catch on, and then they would act to eliminate the threat. The boy’s great progress had been possible without attracting the notice of the Adepts because they were not watching him; they assumed he was too young to practice great magic. That was their colossal error.
 
The key was this: Flach could communicate with Nepe across the frames. Just as Mach and Bane could. That meant that Stile and Citizen Blue could develop similar information to that which the enemy had from Mach and Bane. Had both been male, they might even have had the potential to ex change, for they were parallels, perhaps alternate selves. This represented a possible shift in the balance of power, turning it back to Stile’s side.

Stile had been holding off action as long as possible, so as to enable the children of both frames to mature. But there was too much at risk; the action had to be now. This was the real reason for his chess trip: it provided him the opportunity to do what he had to do, without giving his motive away.

Because he had to escape the surveillance of the Adepts while he told Neysa what to do. A few seconds would suffice; then it would be out of his hands. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

Neysa picked up her pace, so as to arrive at the White Mountain Range at dusk. That would make direct visual observation trickier. She knew the importance of timing; every thing had to be right. If they did not achieve their dialogue without suspicion, all might be lost.

As the light waned, they approached the base of the range.

The snow demons spied them, of course; they were expected.
 
They entered the track that led to the pass that opened on the demon chiefs cold caves. Stile waved, then singsonged a spell, while Neysa played a theme to help intensify the magic.
 

Make us warm despite the cold;

Make us private till it is told.

Immediately the chill of the mountain dissipated; the snow remained, yet they felt warm. But it was the second part of the spell that counted more: the privacy. This was masked by the larger spell the demon chief had arranged to prevent any information being exchanged magically while the chess match was in progress; he wanted to be sure that nothing but the two great minds was operating. There was a certain vague ness at the fringe of the region, because the boundary of the demon’s spell could not be precise. Stile had researched this well. Thus his own spell of privacy should not be detected, and the spying Adepts should not realize that they were being excluded. They would assume that Stile and Neysa were passing through a region of interference, that would clarify as they reached the center and the demon’s spell took full hold.
 
He could have made his privacy spell back at the Blue Demesnes, but that would have attracted the notice of the spying Adepts, and they would have doubled their watch, making Neysa’s action impossible.

“Neysa,” Stile said now. “It is time. Fetch Flach, take him on the circuit of allies, and take no note when he leaves you. Bring the golem to me.”

She made a querying note.

“He will ask you,” Stile replied. “Signal yes, then cooperate with anything he asks. His life will be at stake. He will be afraid; support him. This is the crisis.” She blew an affirmative note. Stile said no more. The spell of privacy depended on his intent as much as on his invocation; now it dissipated. The music summoned his magic; the intent interpreted it; the words denned it, approximately. Another person might sing as he did, and speak similiar words, and wish the same effect, but would not be able to achieve the same result because only the Adepts had the necessary underlying talent. Any person could do some magic, but most could perform only poorly unless gifted with the talent and willing to train carefully. Some tried, but the established Adepts were quick to detect such effort and to act against it; they did not desire competition. So successful Adepts were few; usually the only new ones were those protected by existing Adepts. Thus Stile’s son Bane had been training to assume the status of Blue Adept, and the Tan Adept’s twin offspring had trained to become the Tan Adept. Sometimes an Adept died without a successor; then there could be a certain free-for-all, unless some accommodation was achieved with the other Adepts. As a general rule, those who became Adept were not nice people; rather, they were the most talented and unscrupulous. That was why the majority of them opposed Stile; they preferred to operate without ethical hindrance. Only Red, who owed his position to Stile, and Brown, in her time somewhat smitten by him, were on his side.
 
But now they were coming up to the pass, and the snow demons were waiting. They were about to suffer the hospitality of Icebeard.

Stile had been to these mountains before, a generation ago, but had encountered a different chieftain: Freezetooth, who had had a passion for a lovely fire spirit whose proximity would have melted him. Stile had enchanted the snow demon to make him invulnerable to fire, and a heated romance had followed. Relations with that tribe had been amicable for twenty years, until the communication between Mach and Bane had polarized the Adepts and tribes of Phaze and forced new alignments. It was possible that Icebeard remembered that, and that the chess challenge was his way of maintaining relations despite their status as enemies. There were as many tribes of demon folk as there were human folk, and demons differed as much from each other as did human beings, and were subject to similar constraints.

Neysa had not been along on that trip. Instead Stile had ridden her brother Clip, now a Herd Stallion. Neysa was not partial to any demons, no matter what their heat or color, and was hard put to avoid an impolite snort as the white creatures closed in. This was however no attack, but an honorary escort. Icebeard wanted very much to play chess with Stile, and would do nothing to interfere with that.
 
They were ushered into the palatial ice caverns that were the demon’s throneroom. Icebeard tried to maintain his chill reserve, but could not. He jumped down and approached Stile with an attitude that in any other creature would have been positive, but with him was merely less threatening. “Now we play!” he exclaimed. “Thou and I alone!”

“Aye,” Stile agreed. Then he glanced at Neysa. “The mare liketh not these Demesnes; if thou willst grant her safe passage out, she will depart and return for me when the issue be settled.”

Icebeard looked at Neysa. “Be this not Fleta’s dam?”

Neysa made an affirmative note.

“And she play not chess? Fleta be a better player than Mach; comes she oft here to challenge my minions.” Stile had not realized this. But of course Fleta had come with Mach when he trained here, so had had opportunity to pick it up if she wanted to. Of course there was no reason a unicorn could not play chess if she wished, but Stile had not heard of it happening before.

“Interesting,” he remarked.
 

“Methinks the filly be a better gamescreature than Mach overall,” the demon confided. “My affinity to unicorns be not great, but that one dost have charm.” Neysa stood awkwardly. Naturally she was pleased to hear her offspring praised, but she was not speaking to Fleta, as perhaps Icebeard knew. Demons had ways of teasing. Stile did not comment.

“She it was, methinks, made him what he be,” the demon concluded. “A filly worthy o’ any male, like her dam.” Neysa did not react visibly, but the snow around her was beginning to melt. At last the demon had mercy, and directed his minions to escort her out and to keep lookout for her safe return perhaps a week hence.

It occurred to Stile that he could get to like Icebeard. As Neysa departed, they walked to the chessboard with its pieces crafted from ice. He did not care to admit it, but he had looked forward to this game as much as had the demon, be cause Icebeard was indeed the best other player in Phaze.
 
And, with luck, the Adverse Adepts would relax, believing that Stile could not make any initiative against them while locked in a chess game in the cold White Mountains. He was counting on that. Chess was not the only game he was playing at the moment.

“Let’s get on with it, pretender,” Stile said. “I expect to wipe the floor with thy king before the hour be out.”

Icebeard swelled up like an advancing glacier. ‘ ‘Thou dost call me pretender? Thy king shall be meltwater, and thy queen ravished ere mine be threatened!”

Stile smiled grimly. They both knew this was going to be great fun.

Mach felt the disorientation of the exchange. It was both physical and emotional: physical because he moved from a living to a machine body, and emotional because the frame of Phaze was so different, with its magic and his unicorn wife and son. He hated to return to Proton, though his existence here was hardly a negative one. It was merely a less feeling one.

Then things firmed, and he looked around. He was standing in Bane’s apartment in Hardom, and before him was Bane’s wife. Agape, and Bane’s daughter, Nepe. Mach spent as much time in Proton as in Phaze, alternating months, but each time he saw Nepe she seemed to have grown another notch. She was in human form, a four-year-old child, and rather pretty. Of course she derived from alien stock, and could assume any living form she chose, with sufficient application and practice, so could be just as pretty as she was able to imagine.

Mach smiled, a trifle grimly. “The exchange has been made; I will leave you now.”

“Of course,” Agape said. She was pretty too, possessing the same ability as her daughter. It was always a bit of a jolt to encounter her naked, after a month of life in Phaze, where human nakedness was often a signal of sexual readiness. In Proton, of course, all serf’s were naked. He normally adapted to the situation in minutes, just as he did to the change to a body that was a machine. He had existed many years in this body before discovering what life was like; he could endure it for another month. Bane, after all, was suffering the same readjustment, returning to his home frame, separated from the woman and child he loved. Agape, three syllables, with the accent on the first; Nepe, two syllables, accent on the first. His computer brain always clicked through such details as he oriented on his other selfs family.
 
He turned to the door panel, and extended one hand. The panel irised open, showing the hall beyond.
 

“Uncle Mach!”

Mach paused. “Yes, Nepe.”

“Can I go with you?”

Agape was startled. “Nepe, he is going to report to the Tan Adept, whom we don’t like. You would not be welcome there.”

“I don’t give a—what’s a bad word?—about the Tan Adept!” the child said stoutly. “I want to see.”

“Pollution,” Mach said.

“Beg pardon?” Agape said.

“The bad word.”

Nepe considered. “No, plution’s too legitmet. Maybe one about excement.”

“Nepe!” Agape exclaimed.

Mach smiled. “I am a robot. I have no need of a bad word for excrement.”

“Don’t patonize me!” Nepe exclaimed furiously.

“Horse manure,” Mach said contritely.

Nepe smiled victoriously. “I don’t give horse manure for the Tan Adept!”

“Now see what you’ve done,” Agape said sternly. “She will be using that word everywhere.”

“She has to learn adult usage some time,” he pointed out, amused. Then he spoke directly to Nepe: “But if you say that to his face, he might swell up and burst, and the smell would be horrible.”

“Really?” she asked, delighted.

“No, not really!” Agape said, darting a frustrated glance at Mach. “But don’t do it, anyway. We have to try to get along with these people.”

“Why?”

“Let her come along, and I will try to explain,” Mach said. He was flattered by the child’s wish to accompany him; normally she treated him with supreme indifference. In fact, for the first time she was making him feel like a real relative, causing his humor and flattery circuits to activate very much the way they would in life.

“But she has to go visit her grandfather, Citizen Blue,” Agape protested. “The plane is ready to take her to his country dome estate.”

“I can catch it after!” Nepe cried. “I know the way. Be sides, it’s autmatic.”

“What has gotten into you?” Agape inquired. “Your father would have taken you there, if you had asked!”

“It’s all right,” Mach said. “I will take her. Probably my son Flach is pestering Fleta similarly, in Phaze.”

Nepe turned sober. “I want to meet Aunt Fleta.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Agape said. “Even if she came here, she would be in my body.”

“Over there,” Nepe said. “I want to meet the uncorn!”

“I’d better take her to the Tan Adept,” Mach said. “She will be all right, and I will see that she boards the plane on schedule.”

Agape nodded, yielding without liking it. It was hard to see her as an alien creature at a time like this; her reactions were completely human, as were those of her daughter.
 
Nepe took his hand, and they stepped out of the chamber.
 
The panel closed behind them.

“Why did you make that scene?” Mach inquired as they walked down the hall.