Dilvish, The Damned Page 7

  Turning, Dilvish saw the small man with the topknot, whose fish swam to his right.

  "My deepest apologies," he went on. "I'd no idea we had trapped a brother sorcerer here. That was an Awful Saying, wasn't it? I've never seen one done before."

  "Yes, it was."

  "Good thing I got close to the protected area in a hurry. My brother, of course, had to go with his city. I want to thank you for that—very much."

  "I'd like an explanation now," said Dilvish, "as to what was going on. Had you no better ways to amuse yourselves?"

  "Ah, good ski" said the small man, wringing his hands. "Had you not guessed from the resemblance? We were twins—a most unfortunate situation when both are practitioners of the subtler arts. The power is divided. Each is only half as strong as he might be, if—"

  "I begin to see," said Dilvish, "somewhat."

  "Yes. We'd tried duels, but we were too evenly matched. So, rather than share a weakness, we had an arrangement. One of us would spend ten years exiled to an astral limbo while the other enjoyed full potency here. At the end of that time, we would play the game to see who would enjoy the next ten years on earth. One of us would erect the city, the other would back the champion to try its maze. I was rather depressed when I drew the champion this tune, for the city usually won. But you have been my good fortune, sir. We should have suspected something when we beheld your mount. But who could have guessed an Awful Saying! It must have been hell to learn."

  "It was."

  "I am of course in your debt, and at full power— almost—now. Is there any way in which I might serve you?"

  "Yes," said Dilvish.

  "Name it."

  "I am seeking a man—no, a sorcerer. If you have knowledge of his whereabouts, I want it. To name him here is risky, for his attention might have been drawn to these recent workings of power. His strengths are of the highest, and the darkest. Do you know of whom I speak?"

  "I—I am not certain."

  Dilvish sighed.

  "Very well."

  He dismounted, and with the tip of his blade he scratched the name Jelerak in the dirt.

  The small sorcerer blanched and wrung his hands again.

  "Oh, good sir! You seek your death!"

  "No. His," Dilvish said, rubbing out the name with his toe. "Can you help me?"

  The other swallowed.

  "He has seven castles that I know of in different parts of the world. All are defended differently. He employs servants both human and unnatural. It is said that he has ways of transporting himself quickly among these keeps. How is it that you do not know these things?"

  "I have been away for a long while. Bear with me. Where are they located?"

  "I believe I may know who you are," said the sorcerer, kneeling and drawing in the earth with his finger.

  Dilvish crouched beside him and watched the map take shape.

  "… Here is the one at the edge of the world, which I have seen only in visions. Here is the Red Keep… Another lies to the far south…"

  Dilvish inscribed them in his mind as they appeared before him.

  "… Then the nearest seems to be this one you call the Tower of Ice," Dilvish said, "over a hundred leagues to the north and west of here. I had heard rumor of such a place. I had been seeking it."

  "Take counsel of me, Deliverer," he said, rising, "Do not—"

  The city stood all around them again, but changed, beginning lower and sweeping down the hillside for as far as the eye could see.

  "You didn't—uh—summon it back for a small joke, did you?" the sorcerer asked.

  "No."

  "I was afraid you'd say that. Came up awfully quiet, didn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "A lot bigger than Stradd and I could ever make them, too. What now? Do you think he wants to run us through it?"

  A dark mass occurred in the sky overhead.

  "I'd do it gladly, if he would await me within."

  "Don't say that, friend! Look!"

  Like slow lightning, sheets of fire descended from the heavens, silently, falling upon the new city about them. In moments it began to blaze. They smelled the smoke. Ashes drifted by. Soon they were ringed by a giant wall of flame, and waves of heat fell upon them.

  "That is very nicely done," observed the sorcerer, mopping his brow with his sleeve. "I am going to give you my name—Strodd—as an act of extreme generosity on my part, since we may be under sentence of death, anyway—and I believe I've already guessed yours. Right?"

  "I'd say."

  The fires began to subside. There was no city beneath them.

  "Yes, that is nicely done," Strodd remarked. "I believe the demonstration is about over, but I wonder why he didn't simply divert it upon us?"

  Black laughed—a harsh, metallic thing.

  "There are reasons," he said.

  The fire flickered and vanished, leaving the sunny hilltop exactly as it had been but a while before.

  "Well, there you are," Strodd said. "I am suddenly anxious to undertake a long journey, for my health. One grows somewhat attenuated wandering about in astral limbos. I still owe you something, but I am afraid of the company you might be keeping. I would rather you called on me for several small matters rather than the big one I fear you might be headed for—if you know what I mean?"

  "I'll remember," said Dilvish, smiling, and he mounted Black and turned his head toward the northwest.

  Strodd winced.

  "I was afraid you'd be going that way," he said. "Well, good luck to you anyhow."

  "And yourself."

  Dilvish tossed the man a small salute before he rode off.

  "The Tower of Ice?" said Black.

  "The Tower of Ice."

  When Dilvish looked back, the hilltop was empty.

  The White Beast

  ALL that day, as he crossed the ice field, the rider of the burnished black beast had known that he was pursued. He had glimpsed the great loping white form far back among the drifts. Now, with moonlight sparkling upon the sleek and snowy forms and an icy wind sweeping down from the mountains and across the nighted plain, he heard the first howl of his pursuer.

  But the mountains themselves lay very near now. Somewhere at their base, perhaps, a hollow, a cave, a fortified shelter—a place where he might rest with rock at his back and beside him, a fire before him, his blade across his knees.

  The howling came again. His great black mount moved more quickly. Large boulders lay strewn ahead of them, beside them now… He moved among them, his eyes searching the ice-coated talus for signs of an opening—anywhere.

  "There, up ahead," came the low voice from below and before him, as the beast spoke.

  "Yes, I see it. Can we fit?"

  "If not, I'll enlarge it. It is dangerous to seek further. There may be no other."

  "True."

  They halted before the opening. The man dismounted, his green boots soundless on the snow. His black, horselike mount entered first.

  "It is larger than it looks, empty and dry. Come in."

  The man entered the cave, dipping his head below its outer rim. He dropped to his knees and felt for tinder.

  "A few sticks, a branch, leaves…"

  He heaped them and seated himself. The beast remained standing at his back. He unclasped his blade and placed it near to hand.

  There came another howl, much nearer.

  "I wish that damned white wolf would get up his courage to attack. I won't be able to sleep till we've settled our differences," said the man, locating his flint. "All day it's circled and trailed, watching, waiting…"

  "I believe it is me that it fears most," said the dark form. "It senses that I am unnatural, and that I will protect you."

  "I would fear you, too," said the man, laughing.

  "But yours is a human intelligence. What of its?"

  "What do you imply?"

  "Nothing. Really. I don't know. Eat. Rest. I will guard you."

  The leaves took fire beneath showers of spa
rks, smouldered.

  "If it were to brave the flame, spring quickly, and seize me, it might drag me out there—to some snowy crust where one of your bulk would flounder. That is how I would do it."

  "Now you are crediting it with too much wisdom."

  The man fed the fire, unwrapped his rations.

  "I see it moving, among the rocks. It is hungry, but it thinks to wait—for the right moment."

  He unsheathed his blade.

  "Is there any special way to tell a were-beast?" he asked.

  "Not unless you see it changing, or hear it speaking."

  "Hello out there!" the man called suddenly. "Make a deal? I'll share my rations with you, then wave good-bye. All right?"

  Only the wind made answer.

  He took up a piece of meat, skewered it, and warmed it. He cut it in half then and set a piece of it to one side.

  "You are being more than a little ridiculous," said his companion.

  The man shrugged and began eating. He melted snow for water, mixed some wine with it, drank.

  An hour passed. He sat wrapped in his cloak and a folded blanket, feeding the remaining sticks to the fire. Outside the snowy shape moved nearer. He caught the glint of his firelight on its eyes for the first tune, from off to the left and at a point not visible to his dark companion. He said nothing. He watched. The eyes drifted nearer—large, yellow.

  Finally they settled, low, just around the corner of the cave mouth.

  "The meat!" came a panted whisper.

  He placed a hand upon the foreleg of his companion, signaling it to stillness. With his other hand, he picked up the piece of meat and tossed it outside. It vanished immediately, and he heard the sounds of chewing.

  "That is all?" came the voice, after a time.

  "Half of my own ration, as I promised," he whispered.

  "I am very hungry. I fear I must eat you also. I am sorry."

  "I know that. And I, too, am sorry, but what I have left must feed me until I reach the Tower of Ice. Also, I must destroy you if you attempt to take me."

  "The Tower of Ice? You will die there and the food be wasted, your own body-meat be wasted. The master of that place will kill you. Did you not know?"

  "Not if I kill him first."

  The white beast panted for a time. Then: "I am so hungry," it said again. "Soon I must try to take you. Some things are worse than death."

  "I know that."

  "Would you tell me your name?"

  "Dilvish."

  "It seems I heard that name once, long ago…"

  "Perhaps."

  "If he does not kill you— Look at me! I, too, once tried to kill him. I, too, was once a man."

  "I do not know the spell which might unbind you."

  "Too late. I care no more for that. Only for food."

  There came a slobbering sound, followed by a sharp intake of breath. The man took his blade into his hand and waited.

  Then: "I remember hearing of a Dilvish long ago, called the Deliverer" came the slow words. "He was strong."

  Silence.

  "I am he."

  Silence.

  "Let me move a little nearer… And your boots are green!"

  The white form withdrew again. The yellow eyes met his own and stared.

  "I am hungry, always hungry."

  "I know."

  "I know of only one thing that is stronger. You know that, too. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye."

  The eyes turned away. The shadow form was gone from beside the cave. Later Dilvish heard a howling in the distance. Then silence.

  Tower Of Ice

  THE dark, horse-shaped beast paused on the icy trail. Head turned to the left and upward, it regarded the castle atop the glistening mountain, as did its rider.

  "No," the man finally stated.

  The black beast continued on, ice cracking beneath its cloven metal hooves, snow blowing about it.

  "I'm beginning to suspect that there is no trail," the beast announced after a time. "We've come more than halfway around."

  "I know," replied the muffled, green-booted rider. "I might be able to scale the thing, but that would mean leaving you behind."

  "Risky," his mount replied. "You know my value in certain situations—especially the one you court."

  "True. But if it should prove the only way…"

  They moved on for some time, pausing periodically to study the prominence.

  "Dilvish, there was a gentler part of the slope— some distance back," the beast announced. "If I'd a good start, I could bear you quite a distance up it. Not all of the way to the top, but near."

  "If that should prove the only way, Black, we'll go that route," the rider replied, breath steaming before him to be whipped away by the wind. "We might as well check further first, though. Hello! What is—"

  A dark form came hurtling down the side of the mountain. When it seemed that it was about to strike the ice before them, it spread pale-green, batlike wings and pulled itself aloft. It circled quickly, gaming altitude, then dove toward them.

  Immediately his blade was in his hand, held vertically before him. Dilvish leaned back, eyes on the approaching creature. At the sight of his weapon, it veered off, to return immediately. He swung at it and missed. It darted away again.

  "Obviously our presence is no longer a secret," Black commented, turning so as to face the flying thing.

  The creature dove once more and Dilvish swung again. It turned at the last moment, to be struck by the side of his blade. It fell then, fluttered, rose into the air again, circled several times, climbed higher, turned away. It began to fly back up along the side of the Tower of Ice.

  "Yes, it would seem we have lost the advantage of surprise," Dilvish observed. "Actually, I'd thought he would have noted us sooner."

  He sheathed his blade.

  "Let's go find that trail—if there is one."

  They continued on their way about the base of the mountain.

  Corpselike, the green and white face stared out of the mirror. No one stood before it to cast such an image. The high stone hall was reflected behind it, threadbare tapestries on its walls, several narrow windows, the long, heavy dining table, a candelabrum flickering at its farther end. The wind made moaning noises down a nearby chimney, alternately flattening and drawing the flames in the wide fireplace.

  The face seemed to be regarding the diners: a thin, dark-haired, dark-eyed young man in a black doublet lined with green, who toyed with his food and whose nervous gestures carried his fingers time and again to the heavy, black metal ring with the pale pink stone that depended from a chain about his neck; and a girl, whose hair and eyes matched the man's, whose generous mouth quirked into occasional odd, quick smiles as she ate with better appetite. She had a brown and red cloak thrown about her shoulders, its ends folded across her lap. Her eyes were not so deep-set as the man's and they did not dart as his did. The thing in the mirror moved its pale lips.

  "The time is coming," it announced, in a deep, expressionless voice.

  The man leaned forward and cut a piece of meat. The girl raised her wineglass. Something seemed to flutter against one of the windows for a moment.

  From somewhere far up the long corridor to the girl's right, an agonized voice rang out:

  "Release me! Oh, please don't do this! Please! It hurts so much!"

  The girl sipped her wine.

  "The time is coming," the thing in the mirror repeated.

  "Ridley, would you pass the bread?" the girl asked.

  "Here."

  "Thank you."

  She broke off a piece and dipped it into the gravy. The man watched her eat, as if fascinated by the act.

  "The time is coming," the thing said again.

  Suddenly Ridley slapped the table. His cutlery rattled. Beads of wine fell across his plate.

  "Reena, can't you shut that damned thing off?" he asked.

  "Why, you summoned it," she said sweetly. "Can't you just wave your wand or snap your f
ingers and give it the proper words?"

  He slapped the table again, half rising from his seat.

  "I will not be mocked!" he said. "Shut it off!"

  She shook her head slowly.

  "Not my sort of magic," she replied, less sweetly. "I don't fool with things like that."

  From up the hall came more cries:

  "It hurts! Oh, please! It hurts so…"

  "… Or that," she said more sternly. "Besides, you told me at the time that it was serving a useful purpose."

  Ridley lowered himself into his seat.

  "I was not—myself," he said softly, taking up his wineglass and draining it.

  A mummy-faced individual in dark livery immediately rushed forward from the shadowy corner beside the fireplace to refill his glass.

  Faintly, and from a great distance, there came a rattling, as of chains. A shadowy form fluttered against a different window. Ridley fingered his neck chain and drank again.

  "The time is coming," announced the corpse-colored face under glass.

  Ridley hurled his wineglass at it. It shattered, but the mirror remained intact. Perhaps the faintest of smiles touched the corners of that ghastly mouth. The servant hurried to bring him another glass.

  There came more cries from up the hall.

  "It's no good," Dilvish stated. "We've more than circled it. I don't see any easy way up."

  "You know how sorcerers can be. Especially this one."

  "True."

  "You should have asked that werewolf you met a while back about it."

  "Too late now. If we just keep going, we should come to that slope you mentioned pretty soon, shouldn't we?"

  "Eventually," Black replied, trudging on. "I could use a bucket of demon juice. I'd even settle for wine."

  "I wish I had some wine here myself. I haven't sighted that flying thing again." He looked up into the darkening sky, to where the snow- and ice-decked castle stood with a high window illuminated. "Unless I've glimpsed it darting about up there," he said. "Hard to tell, with the snow and shadows."

  "Strange that he didn't send something a lot more deadly."

  "I've thought of that."

  They continued on for a long while. The lines of the slope softened as they advanced, the icy wall dipping toward a slightly gentler inclination. Dilvish recognized the area as one they had passed before, though Black's earlier hoof prints had been completely obliterated.