by Brian Daley
Van Duyn’s eyebrows arched.
“So homesick already, even if only to return to a war, Mr. Pomorski? As to your question: transitions, summonings, invocations and things like your being brought here and sent back again are governed by, among other things, astrological configurations. Just as the dragon cannot come before tomorrow, we can’t send you back before tomorrow evening. If we’re still alive, that is.
“This means that, help us or no, you’ll be here with us when he comes. And if he destroys this castle, I doubt very seriously if you’ll find anyone in this world both willing and able to send you home. But if you’ll use your weapons to fend off Chaffinch or kill him, we’ll return you to the selfsame point in space and time from which we summoned you.”
Gil slouched back, stiff from sitting hunched over on the low bench. Even with the cargo hatch open, the APC was uncomfortably warm.
“We’ve got no reason to get our tails mangled for you,” he said, “and none of this has anything to do with us.”
“Nonetheless, you’re here.”
The sergeant bridled but checked his anger, and took a ballot by eye; Olivier and Handelman nodded, Pomorski and Woods shrugged.
A tie.
“All right,” Gil told Van Duyn, casting the deciding vote himself. “If there is a dragon, we’ll grease it for you; but I’m goddamned if I know how I’m going to explain this later.”
Van Duyn pretended to think for a moment, though he already knew what he would say to them.
“Since you will be returned to the point from which you were taken, may I suggest that you simply say nothing? You won’t be believed anyway.”
Pomorski nodded. “Good thinking there. The best we’d get if we opened our mouths is a two-oh-eight discharge for the Jungle Jitters and maybe a stay in the upholstered ward.”
Gil, who’d shifted from decision-making to practical details of the problem at hand, said, “Look, exactly what is this dragon—Chaffinch, you called it? What’s it like, anyway?”
It was only afterward that the Nine-Mob realized how easily they’d gone from incredulity and suspicion to the problem-solving attitude. Pomorski and Gil, speculating later, thought that the nature of the spell that had drawn them there for that one purpose had perhaps predisposed them to accept their mission with minimal objections.
But they were never quite sure. Hadn’t their actions been logical, rational under the circumstances? What, if anything else, could they have done at the time?
Van Duyn peered through thick glasses, down his long nose, in a manner that had intimidated even seasoned graduate students.
“Chaffinch he is indeed called, after the little red-breasted songbird. But it’s a grim sort of joke, because his breast is the red of scaly, almost metallic armor, and his song’s a song of flame. Andre’s given me a, ah, ‘ball-park guess’ I think you would call it, that Chaffinch is on the order of fifty feet long, nose to tail.
“And he’s winged, flies quite well I understand, against all aerodynamic laws. But the most dangerous thing about him is that he’s a fire breather. In fact, I had something a little more formidable than this armored personnel carrier in mind when we began our invocation. I was, perhaps, a bit hazy in my phraseology when I described my desire to Andre, or again it may be that the entity we summoned was unable to make distinctions. I’d wanted a tank or large piece of self-propelled artillery.”
Lobo’s crew went hostile, and Van Duyn perceived that he’d made some sort of subtle gaffe.
“So we’re not a goddamned tank,” Handelman allowed, “but we go like a japed ape, and three machine guns and the grenade launcher are pretty heavy clout.”
“Of course, Mr. Handelman” Van Duyn soothed quickly. Were these kids that sensitive about this rattletrap? “It’s probably just that I don’t know enough about, er, Lobo to appreciate her.”
They invited him to poke his head through the big cargo hatch and take a look. Gil had Woods traverse the cupola and pass the end of the .50 ammunition belt to Van Duyn. The older man had seen .50-caliber ball ammo in World War II, but forgotten its size and weight.
“Couple hundred rounds per minute,” said Gil MacDonald, “at three thousand feet per second. We’re more than enough to bump noses with anything alive, be it a dragon, reluctant or otherwise.”
He passed the end of the belt back. “But this is screwy. I mean, what else do you know about this lizard?”
Van Duyn thought for a moment.
“To begin with, he seems to store a reservoir of whatever heat source he uses, because it occurs to me that Andre said he’s been known to exhaust it from a time after prolonged use. Could be it’s something like the mythical phlogiston, I suppose. I’d imagine he distills it within himself. Also, he’s been placated at times with the offer of a sacrifice, usually a young woman. This time, though, he’ll not be put off by such an offering, even if we were so vile as to make it, which we most assuredly aren’t.”
Gil hitched himself up on the cargo hatch and sat, chin on fist and elbow on thigh, swinging his feet absentmindedly like a kid on a sofa.
Okay, suppose this beastie shows up; allow yourself that much for the sake of argument. How do we fight it? Like it was a plane, maybe? Like it was a flamethrower? Or, with all that fiery stuff inside him, maybe he’s a bit more like a fuel depot. If we can just cancel that torch, it’ll be a simple matter of target practice and we’ll have the world’s biggest snakeskin hatband. But—whoops! Ah, yep.
“Got an idea” he said, and the Nine-Mob drew closer.
* * * *
After Van Duyn had been taken into the metal war carriage that was crouched in the courtyard, Springbuck and the deCourteneys retired to the ramparts to keep watch on both Lobo and the encircling countryside.
The majority of the little group, save the women at the cooking fires and the men at the bartizan, had ringed in the APC at a distance.
Springbuck and Andre speculated on this and that aspect of the APC and its crew. Gabrielle, on the other hand, was distracted and ill at ease, peering for long moments in the direction of Erub.
She suddenly cried out, a cry that was half a sob. The other two turned at this unaccustomed and unexpected show of emotion and saw that parts of the village were in flames.
Gabrielle whirled and pushed past her brother and the Prince, striding off in the direction of the main hall. As they watched her go, Springbuck observed to Andre that there were many differences between the thaumaturge and his sister.
“My half sister,” Andre corrected him, “for her father was not mine, though both of us use his name, one that traces back to the time of the Great Blow, when the whole world was in upheaval.
“Hasn’t it occurred to you how odd my surname sounds? Its origins go outside of this cosmos, and the first man in my family to bear it came into this plane if tradition is to be believed, back during that time of rifts in the fabric of the universe and rents in the cloth of reality.”
He looked at the young nobleman, pondering whether there was call for further speech. And, knowing his sister as well as anyone could, he concluded that there was, and went on.
“My mother—our mother—is a sorceress and an aristocrat of Glyffa, an enchantress of surpassing power. Her husband, my father, was a lesser mage, and, though there were strong ties of love between them, he was always conscious of the fact that of the two he was the minor magician and she the sorceress paramount.
“He became resigned to this in later years, but in the beginning of their marriage he sought in many ways to increase his power in order to become his wife’s equal at sorcery, or perhaps her superior.
“How is it thus so often between men and women otherwise in love? I cannot speak to this beyond the observation that it simply is. Wife or husband resents the spouse’s fame, knowledge, authority or beauty, reputation or might. Love waxes cancerous with jealousy and often malignant with ambition. My father grew bitter at length that his skill and acclaim were only a fragment of hers.
“I know only the bare details, how after a particularly heated argument he committed himself to an infernal compact, promising in the flush of anger to pay any price for his own aggrandizement. But any supernatural contract is suspect, my friend, and since his did not specify permanance, my father’s prepotency lasted for the space of a night and a day only. But he had to concede that the contract had been fulfilled. The payment demanded was the opportunity to . . . to beget in my mother a child. Though she wept unconsolably, that great lady submitted, against the forfeiture of her husband’s soul. Ha, does your lip curl with contempt, young Pretender, for such a man as would yield to that? Save your opinion until, as I have, you look upon Hell and see with what choice he was faced.
“But the union, if such it may be termed, proved fertile. It became evident thereafter that my mother had conceived. The fruition of it was my sister, born of enchantress and incubus. I was born years later, child of a normal union between my parents.
“Gabrielle and I have become parts of a greater whole. She is a repository of sheer elemental force, occult energy, but her control is erratic and she has a savage, yes and vicious, side which she must hold constantly in check. I am the stable one; I find that I am talented in the delicate ordination of our arts.
“My sister never harbored partisanship one way or the other in the struggle in which we have fought for so many years; she adhered to the side of Right, I think, more because it was the side I chose than for any reasons altruistic. I am the one dependable thing in her life. There was only one other human being to whom she was ever truly attached outside of our parents, a knight-errant, a proud, penniless member of the high lineage which produced Balagon of the Brotherhood of the Bright Lady. This knight was everything Gabrielle was not, a trifle naive, idealistic, patient, without guile and of an even temperament. She was attracted to him but fought, oh, wildly against her own emotions. In the end she adored him, practically worshiped him, and he her.
“They were wed and she bore him a child, a daughter, perhaps two years before the second coagmentation was essayed. That was the only time, I think, when she was truly happy, but it was all too brief. Her husband was killed and an attempt made on the child’s life, by Yardiff Bey’s agents, I’m sure. And that was strange; though Bey and I have contrived against one another for years, that is the only onset he has ever made at Gabrielle. Indeed, the one most dedicated to her undoing is Bey’s chief rival for infernal favor, the ice witch Mara.
“But with the death of her husband, Gabrielle’s become the Infernality’s most implacable enemy. No mercy or compassion does she show, and she never curbs her hatred of Bey and his works. Yet he has always avoided a confrontation with her and I think that, in some way which is not clear, he is vulnerable to her. The reason I have told you all of this, my Prince—ah, you wondered?—is because I see my sister becoming attracted to you, and you to her. Yes, yes, deny it not. But it is important that you know what sort of person Gabrielle is. She is subject to cruel whims, she is often selfish and aloof. She is also a vessel of power, the greatest sorceress of the age, and those in her presence are well advised to be careful; her anger can shake the earth itself. I was happy when she became interested in Edward Van Duyn, with his experience and maturity to draw upon. But now her fancy has wandered to you, and yet am I unsurprised; I doubt if she will ever again restrict herself to one man. If your association with her prove emotional, I beg you, be circumspect. You are dealing with a woman unlike any other in the world.”
They stood looking out upon the fires drifting up from Erub as the sounds of argument and disputation reached them from Lobo.
“You know,” said the Prince, “I think that this is the first time that a town has been put to the torch in Coramonde in fifty years and more. Why is Gabrielle so upset about it, though?”
Andre pursed his lips for a moment before answering. “As I told you, there was an issue from her marriage, a girl-child. In order to ward off any further attempts on the girl’s life, Gabrielle sent her away. It was with her that my sister stayed during the battle in town yesterday, for my niece is now a healer in that place and has been for many years. And it is for her daughter’s safety that my sister is distressed. So far, they have only burned a few houses, but Gabrielle is afraid the villagers will be put to the sword, though we did not think that the troops would bother with Erub once we had left. It was to keep the girl safe that Gabrielle forbade her to join us in the castle.”
They turned their conversation away from these things to talk of Chaffinch and of the strangers and their machine. Dusk came on and Erub began to glow before they saw Van Duyn emerge from the rear hatch of the APC. The two went down from the bartizan to meet him, and Springbuck considered, as he walked on, the peculiarity of the fact that he felt so much more familiar and at ease with Andre deCourteney, whose abilities and skills were intimidating, than he was with Van Duyn, who was by comparison not that many years older than the Prince, and a common mortal.
“They will help us,” Van Duyn said when they’d joined him. “They are still a bit dubious but they understand that we are in trouble and need their help, and that they can’t get home without us, and that’s enough for them. That sergeant is an unusual chap. Oh, and I told them we’d send out some food and something to drink. I guess they’re pretty tired of canned rations. Where’s Gabrielle?”
But they couldn’t find her, not in her small room nor anywhere inside the castle walls. Andre and Van Duyn looked one at the other.
“Erub. She’s gone to fetch back Foraingay,” said the magician.
“Foraingay?” Springbuck asked.
“Her daughter. She must have decided to try to bring her to the castle. If my sister chooses to slip away, there are few who could detect her going and none who could stop her if they did.”
“But, is she in danger?” the Prince persisted anxiously, and Van Duyn’s mouth grew rigid at the tone that was in his voice. “I mean, she is the most competent of sorceresses, is she not?”
“Yes, she is expert,” Andre answered. “But a spell is not something that you can carry ready in your hand like a bow or spear. In time that is consumed in calling down a helpful spell, some rustic can stick a pitchfork or a hatchet into you. That is part of the reason I carry this.” He slapped the big sword at his side.
His agitation growing, Van Duyn interrupted. “We’ve got to go and get her. There’s no way of knowing what may have happened to her already. I’ll get our horses. We’d better make it a small band, Andre. You and I.” He looked at the Prince and said as if against his better judgment, “And Springbuck.”
Surprisingly, deCourteney said, “No, Edward. I don’t think that you have reasoned out the best way of doing this thing. If we must go into the middle of an enemy force, why not do it in our guests’ machine and improve our chances of coming back?”
Van Duyn looked at Lobo, just as Gil was changing places behind the .50 with Woods. “Very well then,” the scholar decided. “I’ll try to get them to agree to it. I’ll explain that we can’t send them back unless we can return with Gabrielle.”
“Speak with them,” answered Andre, “but do not tell them that. We don’t know what they might do if they knew their true peril. And I cannot go with you; if I leave, Ibn-al-Yed is sure to use the occasion to devastate the castle with some spell or other. Springbuck, you and Edward must get my sister back without my help.”
The Prince could see that Andre’s impulses were bringing terrific pressure to bear on the man, conflicting leverages to safeguard those who depended on him and rescue his sister. Springbuck hesitated only an instant before answering with a heartiness he did not feel. “Don’t worry, Andre; we’ll clank down there and be back with her in minutes.”
The wizard gave him an unconvincing smile and, not knowing what else to say, Springbuck dashed off to Lobo.
Chapter Ten
War is delightful to those who have no experience in it.
—Desiderius Erasmu
s
When Springbuck reached the APC a very angry Sergeant MacDonald was confronting a red-faced Van Duyn.
“Okay, okay,” said the soldier. “We’ll go look for her but we aren’t taking you with us. Thing is, I run Lobo and I don’t like people who try to tell me how to do it, and you’re just a leetle bit too inclined in that direction, so you stay here. We’ll take the kid there.” He gestured to the Prince. “And we’ll park outside the village. Then whatsisname and I, Springbuck, will do one, repeat, one fast dismounted scout. If we don’t find the woman, tough rocks; we’re not sticking around.”
Van Duyn opened his mouth to protest but closed it again at the set expression on the soldier’s face. “Agreed,” he said, though there was that in his features which conveyed his fury well enough.
Springbuck was hustled into the track, his sword hilt catching on the narrow rear hatch. The other crew members, already at their stations, gave him one cursory glance before turning their attention to their trade. He studied the sinister-looking black M-60 machine guns with interest and started when the big engine howled to life. A rapid, persistent vibration made the entire APC quiver. The two side gunners were nervously checking belts of linked ammunition in feeder trays as Pomorski leaned closer and shouted into his ear to be heard over the engine. “Stand up front there and hang on with both hands. Just stay out of our way.”
The gates were thrown open and the Prince thrilled as the APC lurched ahead. He shouted to Pomorski, “Where is Sergeant MacDonald?”
“He’s ground-guiding us across the bridge, since we’re still in friendly territory. I think.”
Once they’d passed slowly and carefully over the drawbridge, Gil came swarming up over the front of the track and lowered himself behind the .50 caliber. Lobo accelerated and Springbuck found himself bouncing along through the gathering darkness, fighting to keep his balance in the swaying machine. Too late, he remembered his war mask, still back at the castle. He shrugged, thinking that it would have been a bother in these cramped quarters anyway, and concentrated on appreciating this singular ride.