Clip charged the goblin who was poking at Stile, crushing the creature's head with a blow of a forehoof. But the two others were running down the far passage, too narrow for the unicorns to follow, crying the alarm.
Stile readied a spell, but paused. So far he had not used magic and, now that he knew there was an enemy Adept involved here, he did not want to give himself away one second sooner than necessary. The goblins did not know it was the Blue Adept who was in their midst, so the other Adept might not know, either — until Stile gave himself away by using magic.
But now there were two unicorns in the prison, and the main goblin mass was stirring in the bowels of the mountain. The Stallion could use his roach-form to escape-but Clip could not change form without his horn. Stile could change Clip's form for him — but that meant magic of Adept signature. Stile could also melt the bars away with magic, if they were not of the magic-resistive type. That must have been how Clip was brought here; the enemy Adept had spelled him through.
If he had to use magic, he might as well tackle the most important thing first. How he wished discovery had been delayed a little longer! "Clip — here to me!" he called, bringing out the thing he carried like a spear. It was Clip's severed horn.
The unicorn stared, almost unbelieving. No doubt he had thought the horn destroyed.
"My power can restore it!" Stile said, holding the horn out, base first.
Clip came and put his head near the bars. Stile reached through, setting the horn against the stump. "Restore the horn of this unicorn!" he sang, willing the tissue to merge, the thing to take life again.
It was hard, for he had not intensified his power by playing the harmonica, and the horn was magic. It resisted Stile's magic, and he knew the two parts were not mending properly. He was grafting on a dead horn. Meanwhile, a phalanx of goblins appeared in the passage behind Stile, bristling with spears. Stile saw them from the corner of his eye but could not release his hands from the horn, lest the slow healing he interrupted. Clip could not move, either, for he was on the other side of the bars waiting for the healing.
But the Herd Stallion was free. He launched himself at the bars. "No!" Stile cried in alarm, knowing the stone was too strong for the animal to break. But the Stallion shifted in midair to roach-form, sailed between columns, and shifted on Stile's side to dragon-form.
The dragon spread his wings, banked about, and fired forth a horizontal column of flame that seared the oncoming goblins. The stench of burnt flesh wafted back. Stile felt sorry for the goblins, then remembered how they had treated Clip, and stilled his sympathy. The creatures of the frame of Phaze conducted their business violently, and goblins were among the worst. Stile continued to concentrate on the healing, letting the Stallion guard him, and slowly the two parts of Clip's horn melded together. Stile felt the living warmth creep along the length of it, animating it. Soon all would be well.
A horde of goblins poured in from the far side of the prison. "Stallion!" Stile cried, and the Herd Stallion turned about, charged the bars, shifted into and out of roach-form, and appeared on the other side in dragon-form again. Another burst of flame seared out, cooking more flesh.
But greater trouble was gathering. Stile could feel the rumble of the march of many feet as hundreds or thousands of goblins closed in, traveling in unseen neighboring passages. He knew he had alerted the enemy Adept, for he had performed Adept magic; that would further complicate the situation. Still he held on to the horn, waiting for the final inch to be restored to life so that Clip's full capacity would return. He would settle for nothing less.
There was a puff of fog. The White Adept stood beside Stile. Her hair was white, matching her eyebrows, and a sparkling white gown bedecked her somewhat stout form. "So it is thee, Blue, as we suspected," she said, her voice and gaze cold as ice, "Thou didst take the bait."
"I took it," Stile agreed grimly. He was not really surprised; his relations with the White Adept had always been chill. But why was she involved with the goblins? "I got tired of getting ambushed by the likes of thee." Would she tell him anything before making her move? If she started a spell-diagram before he was finished with Clip's horn, he would be in trouble; he would have to defend himself, for without him the unicorns could not escape. But White could have generated a spell that acted at a distance instead of facing him directly. Maybe she wanted to talk.
The Herd Stallion turned from his endeavors, leaving a pile of scorched goblins rolled up like dehydrated bugs, and saw the witch. He braced for renewed action.
"Caution," Stile called. "She's Adept."
The mighty animal stood still. He knew better than to attack an Adept in a situation like this. He also knew that
Stile was not finished with Clip. For the moment it was an impasse.
"I can not attack thee directly, Blue," the White Adept said. "And thou canst not attack me. Yet can our minions make mischief."
"Agreed," Stile said. "But why has mischief been made? I sought none."
"Abate thine onus for the moment and hear me out," she said. "Blue, I would reason with thee."
In Stile's experience, those who claimed to want to reason with others were apt to have cases that were less than secure. Still, it was better to talk than to fight. Now at last Clip's horn had healed. Stile let go, and the unicorn backed away, blowing an experimental saxophone note. It was off-key, but strong. His coat seemed to be brightening under the grime; he had been restored to the joy of life.
The White Adept had known what Stile was doing, and had not interfered. She had to be serious about her subject, and Stile seriously wanted to know what this was all about. "Give thy word there will be no attack by Adept or goblin without fair warning," he said. "No treachery."
"I give it, Blue." There was a faint ripple in the air about her.
He had to accept that. Truth animated the very atmosphere and substance of Phaze. Adepts did not get along well with each other, but they honored the deals they made. "Then I will hear thy reason."
"Thou knowest that the end of Phaze draws nigh," she said. "The Purple Mountains have shaken, the Foreordained is on the scene, the Little Folk mass as for war, and portents abound."
"Aye," he agreed. "They tell me I am involved. Yet all I sought was to honeymoon with my wife. Someone set traps for me, and one trap setter resembled thee."
"Merely to warn thee off," she said. "Thou art Adept and perhaps the strongest of us all. Thou hast suffered much, yet thou shouldst be the leader in our effort instead of opposing it."
"What effort?" Stile's interest intensified.
"To save Phaze."
"Of course I want to save Phaze! I love this land! I want to live and die here!"
"But not, methinks, before thy time."
Stile smiled grimly. "I wish not to die here among goblins, true. But I sought no quarrel with goblins. Thou didst kidnap my steed, and abused him, and forced this quarrel on me."
"Aye. Unable to strike effectively at thee or at thy Lady, or to warn thee off, we finally had to take thy steed. It is not a thing I like. Now thou canst have thy freedom with our apologies, and thine animals with thee, and leadership in the present Order, if thou wilt but accept it."
"Why should I not accept it?" Stile asked, not rhetorically.
"Because thou art prophesied to be the leader of the forces of the destruction of this order. The Foreordained is only part of it; thou art the other part."
"Obviously there's a loophole," Stile said. "Aside from the fact that I have no intention of harming Phaze, thou wouldst not be pressuring me if thou didst believe my destiny was fixed."
"There is a loophole. A dead man cannot lead."
Stile laughed ironically. "Kill me? My fate will survive thine effort, if it be truly set."
"Aye. Fate has indeed charmed thee, unlike thine other self. But we are not assured thou canst not be killed, only that if thou dost remain alive in Phaze, thou wilt destroy it. The charms that preserved thee so cleverly before are passing. Thou
hast already conceived thy son on the Lady Blue-"
"I have?" Stile asked, surprised.
"— which is why she joins thy former steed and accepts the protection of the animal herd. So fate no longer preserves thee for that. It preserves her. Still, her feeling for thee is such that she might not survive thy demise, so thou art indirectly protected yet. I warned the others of that, but they heeded me not; they thought they could vanquish thee before thou didst reach the West Pole."
"They?"
"The other Adepts. We all are patriots in the end, Blue. We all must needs try to save our land."
She seemed sincere! "All the other Adepts are against me?" he asked incredulously.
"All except Brown; the child wavers. She likes thy steed."
Stile remembered how Neysa had given the little girl a ride. It seemed that kindness had paid a dividend. "What of Yellow?" Stile had had differences with the Yellow Adept, but recently had gotten along with her tolerably well. He could not believe she was his enemy.
"Dost thou want it from her own mouth?"
"Aye."
'"Then let me bring her here." White made a diagram on the floor and tapped it three times. A puff of smoke formed and dissipated, and there stood the Yellow Adept in her natural hag-form.
"Oh, no!" Yellow exclaimed. "Let me just get changed for the occasion, my handsome bantam." She brought out a vial, tipped it to her lips, swallowed — and changed to a young, ravishingly pretty creature.
"White tells me that thou and the other Adepts think I will destroy Phaze, so are against me, Yellow," Stile said. "Can this be true?"
Yellow made a devastatingly cute moue. "It is close enough, Blue," she said. "I am not thine enemy and will not oppose thee — but neither can I join thee, for that thou art indeed destined to wreak much mischief and overthrow the natural order."
"How is it I know nothing of this?" Stile demanded.
"The instruments of great events seldom know their destinies," Yellow said. "This prevents paradox, which can be an awkward complication and a downright nuisance."
"Nuisance, hell! I was attempting to have my honeymoon! Why should this represent a threat to anyone?"
"Thou didst bring the Foreordained, and then thou didst travel to the West Pole. These were elements of the prophecy."
"So the other Adepts decided to stop me from getting there," Stile said, grimacing. "Setting neat little magical traps."
"Some did. Green chose to stand aloof, as I did, misliking this. Sure enough, thou didst get there. Now the onrush of events is upon us, and if we do not get thee away from Phaze promptly, we all are doomed."
"So you propose to remove me by killing me?"
"Nay, we know that would not work," Yellow said. "At least White and Green and I suspected it would not. Black and Orange and Translucent did not participate in the proceedings, and Brown opposed them. We had to suppress her, lest she warn thee."
So it now developed that the other Adepts were anything but unanimous; most were at best neutral. That explained why they had not simply massed their magic against him. Stile's expression turned hard. "Suppressed Brown? What dost thou mean by that?"
"A stasis-spell," White said quickly. "No harm was done her. It is hard indeed to do direct harm to an Adept; the spell is likely to bounce and strike down the speller. But slantwise action can be taken, as with the silence and confinement for thee."
"You froze the child in place?" Stile demanded. "Our truce is just about to come to an unkind end."
"She would have blabbed to thee," White repeated.
"Now I am blabbing to thee: release her."
White's expression hardened, as was typical of those whose reason was only a front. Yellow quickly interceded. "Provoke him not unnecessarily, White; he has power and friends we hardly know. We need hold Brown no longer. I shall go free her." She brought out another vial, sipped the potion, and vanished.
"Methinks thou hast won the heart of more than Brown," White grumbled. She viewed him critically, noting the mud caking his body and the awkward turban, loincloth, and shoe structures. "It must be thy magic, rather than thy demeanor."
Stile relaxed marginally. Ugly things were happening, and he knew it wasn't over. So far there had been attacks against him, the Lady Blue, Clip, and the Brown Adept. An organization of Adepts had formed against him. He needed to know the rest of it. "Let's have it, White. Exactly what is the threat to Phaze, and what dost thou want of me?" For he knew her suggestion about giving him a place of leadership was wrong; how could he lead, if his presence meant the end?
"We want thee to leave Phaze voluntarily, so that the dangers of Adept confrontations are abated. Thou canst take Lady Blue and aught else thou wishest. Cross the curtain, embark on a Proton spaceship, and depart for the farthermost corner of the universe as that frame knows it, never to return."
Stile had no intention of doing that. Apart from the complication of the Lady Blue's official nonexistence in the other frame, where the Records Computer took such things more seriously than people did in Phaze, there was the matter of the robot Sheen. How could he marry her, with his other wife in Proton? And how could he leave his friends the unicorns and werewolves and vampires? Phaze was the world of his dreams and nightmares; he could never leave it. "Nay."
"The applicable portion of the prophecy is this: Phaze will never be restored till the Blue Adept is forever gone.' Thou canst not remain."
"I have had some experience with misrepresented predictions," Stile said. "Restoration of Phaze after my departure is hardly synonymous with my destruction of it — which I maintain is no intent of mine. Thou hast answered only a fraction of my question, and deviously at that."
"I am getting to it, Blue. The goblins guard an apparatus from the other frame, protecting it from all threats. The end of Phaze will come when that device is returned. The goblins guard it blindly from harm; we would prefer to destroy it."
"So the collusion of Adepts with goblins is rife with internal stress," Stile observed. "Doubtless the goblins know not of this aspect."
"Doubtless they suspect, however," White said.
"Surely the massed power of the Adepts can prevail against mere goblins," Stile said, pushing at her verbally. "Any one of us could enchant the entire species of goblin into drifting smoke."
"Thou might, Blue. Few others could. But this device is a special case and can not be attacked directly."
"Anything can be attacked!" Stile said. "Some things with less success than others, though, as seems to be the case when Adepts attack Adepts."
"Nay. This device is what is called in the other frame a computer."
"A computer can't operate in Phaze! No scientific device can." Except, he remembered, near the West Pole.
"This one has a line running to the West Pole."
Parallel thoughts! "Maybe. If it could figure out how to use magic in its circuits."
"Aye. It functions partially, and has many thoughts. Some concern thee — which is why we did not wish thee to make connection with it at the Pole."
"How canst thou know this if the goblins let thee not near it? In fact, why do the goblins allow Adepts in their demesnes, seeing the likes of thee would destroy what they endeavor to guard from harm?"
"The goblin-folk are not unduly smart," she said with a fleeting smile. "But smart enough to keep Adepts away from the device. They cooperate with us to some extent because they know that we oppose thee — and thou art one who will take the contraption from them and return it to Proton-frame, where it seems it will wreak all manner of mischief on both frames. So it is an uneasy alliance, but it will do. All of us, Adept and goblin alike, wish to save Phaze."
"And I wish to destroy Phaze," Stile said. "Or so you other Adepts choose to believe. Because of some fouled-up prophecy. No matter that I love Phaze; you believe that not."
"Nay, Blue, this one is not distorted. Thou wilt return the thing to Proton and thereby destroy Phaze, and only thy departure can alleviate that."
"The computer itself made it."
"And what relevance can the guess of an other-frame contraption have? Thou dost credit it with the accuracy of the Oracle!"
She nodded, and Stile's mouth dropped open. "Oh, no!" he exclaimed.
"It is so," she affirmed. "The computer is the Oracle. That is how it defends itself from the likes of us. Any thrust we can conceive against it, it anticipates and foils. Its means are devious but effective. We dare not attack it directly."
"Now let me back up," Stile said. "Thou didst offer me peace and fortune in Phaze, then told me I have to get out of Phaze forever or be killed, so that I won't destroy it. Surely thou perceivest the contradiction. Where is the lie?"
"Nay, Blue!" she said. "We Adepts differ some amongst ourselves about our manner of dealing with thee, so there may be seeming contradictions. It is a fair offer — if thou dost but accept it. Cooperation or exile. We fear thou wilt not."
"Try me, White."
Her glance played across the cavern, indicating the unicorns and goblins, all waiting for the settlement of Adepts. "Needs must we have greater privacy than this," she said. "Thy spell or mine?"
"Mine," he said. He played a bar of harmonica music, then sang: "Give us a globe that none may probe." And about them formed an opaque sphere that cut off all external light and sound.
In a moment light flared, as the witch made a spell of her own. "Now before we suffocate," she said, "I'll give it to thee without artifice. We want thee to destroy the Oracle. Only thou canst do it, for thou art its tool. It will admit thee to its presence, if thou canst get somehow past the goblins, and thy power is great enough to do the deed. Destroy that evil machine, Blue, and Phaze will be saved. This is the loophole we dare not voice aloud. Only if it returns operative to Proton can it act to destroy Phaze, and it can not foresee its own demise. Do this, Blue, and all other prophecies are null; we then shall have no onus against thee, and thou canst govern in Phaze."
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