Crewel Lye

by Piers Anthony

  “Too peaceful,” I agreed. “Yet there is merit in that.”

  For my part, I used my body’s talent. First I expanded my size to that of Threnody’s body. My body, technically. Next I increased my density to make myself normal again. Then I changed my head to become that of a horned cow.

  The cowfolk, watching this one-hour transformation, were amazed. So was Threnody. “You did it three times as fast as I do!” she exclaimed.

  “I started to change to a giant twice as tall as you,” I explained. “That would have taken an hour to complete. I stopped when I was your height, so only ten minutes had passed. Then I started to increase my mass eightfold, but stopped after fifteen minutes, when it was only double. Finally I changed my head, leaving the rest of my body alone, so that only took half an hour.”

  “But the whole body has to change!” she protested.

  “No, it doesn’t. If you change from human shape to cowgirl shape, only the head changes. Otherwise you couldn’t assume some partly human forms, such as this one or that of a harpy or centaur.”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t believe it, but I just saw you do it; you’ve learned more about my talent in three days than I did in a lifetime!”

  “Just lucky,” I said smugly.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I thought barbarians were sort of stupid. You’re smarter than—” She shrugged. “You’re really quite a—a person.”

  I shrugged. “I’m close to nature, that’s all. Your talent is a natural thing, your demon heritage.”

  “Natural!” she muttered with mixed emotions.

  We had a supper of fresh moss, as that was all that was available. It wasn’t tasty by our standards, but it did feed us. We slept in a chamber lined with old straw, which was a precious substance here; the cowfolk were treating us royally.

  Next day we set out for the challenge. Moola had explained how to find the Knights, who would give us swords if they accepted our status as Sacrifice. It was simply a matter of walking to the lower level and mooing for attention. The Knights, like most arrogant conquerors, did not bother to speak the subjects’ language.

  “Vaarr wwelll!” Moola said as we departed, a big, lovely bovine tear in her brown eyes.

  “Fare well, Moola,” I replied, giving her a female hug. I was now much bigger than she, but the sentiment was the same. I had increased my size because I felt that would give me a better chance in the action to come. Part of what sets women at a disadvantage is their smaller size, and that was one disadvantage this body did not have to put up with.

  We walked down the indicated route. The caves looked strange from my bovine eyes; I could see behind me as well as before me, but detail was not as clear as I liked. Very soon we were in the forbidden territory, so we started mooing to advertise our presence. Otherwise, we had been warned, we could be slaughtered casually as trespassers or as strays from the herd.

  It wasn’t long before a figure in metal armor appeared. It was large—as large as we were—and so completely covered that no flesh was visible. A forbidding apparition, indeed!

  “Moo!” we mooed together.

  The specter studied us, one gauntleted hand on the huge sword slung at its metal hip. Then it turned and walked away. Its armor did rattle some, but its knees did not actually knock. Nervously, we followed, presuming we had been accepted as the Sacrifice and would be permitted the privilege of Running the Gantlet.

  Sure enough, we were brought to an arena. It wasn’t really a labyrinth, or a gantlet, but rather an open area surrounded by a warren of low channels. As we stood in the center, more suits of armor filed in, taking seats on these low walls. In fact, I now saw that these were tiered benches, the ones behind set higher than those before, so that the Knights could all see clearly into the arena. Empty, it looked like a labyrinth; filled, it was an audience chamber.

  In the center of the arena, beside us, was a ramp. It started level with the floor, fairly wide, and rose at a slight incline as it crossed the arena. Near the edge, the ramp curved and went back, still rising. Across the arena, it bent once more and had another straight run. By this time it was fairly high, so that a person would not want to fall from it.

  At the uppermost end of the ramp, far overhead, was a metal gate—and beyond that was the light of day. That was the route to the surface! That was our escape! That distant spot of light looked wonderful. Below, the only illumination was by murky torches.

  What was to prevent us from simply marching up that ramp and out that gate? Well, the gate was closed and surely locked; we’d have to break through, which would be very difficult and perhaps impossible, or get the key to the lock. That key could be anywhere and certainly not where we could get it. The gate would open when the Knights chose to open it, not otherwise.

  But why, then, make a ramp up to it? Was this a highway the Knights used themselves? Then why have it in the arena? Surely they did not form an audience every time one of their number went topside!

  We were not kept waiting long. Once the theater was filled, a Knight walked to the base of the ramp. He faced us and drew out a chain with a large metal key on it. Then he walked up the ramp, swinging the key, tramping around each curve until he was high above the floor, approaching the gate. He used the key on the lock of the gate, and the gate swung open. Then he pulled the gate closed, locked it, and walked back down the ramp. No question about it; this was our escape route. We would have to earn that key.

  As the Knight reached the base of the ramp, he looped the chain about his armored neck. Then he walked to the far wall. A door opened, and an armored horse emerged. The Knight went to this steed, mounted, and took up a long, sharp lance.

  “But what about our swords?” Threnody asked nervously.

  The Knight spurred his steed, who charged forward. The monstrous lance descended to point at us.

  “I think the cowfolk got the wrong information about that!” I cried. I had kept a human tongue in my cowhead so I could talk readily.

  “Or these honorable Knights have broken the agreement,” Threnody said bitterly. “No wonder no cowboy has ever won this challenge!”

  “But they’re supposed to be nothing at all, without honor,” I said. “Does this count as a breach of—”

  We dived to either side as the mounted Knight charged through. The hooves of the steed barely missed us as it passed.

  We scrambled to our feet as the Knight braked his steed, slowed, and turned. “We’re lambs for the slaughter!” Threnody cried.

  “You escape up the ramp while I distract him,” I said, as the Knight started his next pass.

  “No good without the key!” she cried.

  The Knight charged again. That sent us both diving over the ramp. We had better sidewise maneuverability than the Knight did, but sooner or later that terrible lance would skewer one of us.

  Again we scrambled as the Knight slowed and turned. “We’ve got to get rid of that lance!” I exclaimed.

  “Sure! How?”

  “I’ll drop on him from above,” I said. “You distract him so I can—” The Knight thundered at us again. Threnody ran away to the side, while I raced up the ramp. With diverging targets, the Knight had to choose one, and he went after Threnody. She ran and dodged with the fleetness of desperation and a powerful body. The Knight swerved to pursue her, and I got the feeling that this was what the knightly audience really wanted—the sport of the hunt. We were not opponents, we were fleeing prey. One victim would have been too easy to dispatch, but two was more of a challenge, so they set it up that way. To help provide the illusion that the prey might escape.

  I considered that as I ran upward, rounding the first turn. For sport, the Knight would not slaughter us right away; he would play with us, making us react, and perhaps be applauded by the audience for an artistic performance. That might give us more leeway. He might even withhold his killing stroke if the points were wrong, waiting for the chance for a better score.

  “Threnody!” I called. “Take off
your dress!” For my body, which she was using now, still was wearing the brown dress I had donned at Threnody’s house. It was soiled and torn, but represented a fair quantity of material.

  “Huh?” she called out as she cut back, causing the Knight to overshoot her position. No points for him on that pass! My well-coordinated body was proving to be a boon to her as she learned how to use it.

  “Take it off!” I repeated, still running. I was now head height; soon I’d be high enough to be above the Knight. “Use it to bait him with!”

  “I don’t understand!” she cried, ducking out of the way again.

  There was no time for a detailed explanation. Maybe the mask-helmet Threnody wore prevented her from hearing exactly what I was saying. I would have to make a demonstration.

  I struggled out of my own dress as I ran; it was tight on me anyway, in my larger size, despite the tucks I had let out to accommodate my girth. Theoretically, the dress should have expanded with me, and maybe it had, but somehow my extra mass bulged more in proportion. I saw the helmeted heads of the Knights in the audience turn to follow me. Oops—I hadn’t thought of that! I wore nothing under the dress and I was one big girl now. My anatomy bobbled all over as I ran. I had tried to keep the proportions the same, but realized belatedly that I should have slimmed them down; mass does make a difference, so that the giant has to have different proportions from the normal person in order to carry his weight conveniently. Now that the dress was off, I was really hanging out.

  Well, that couldn’t be helped. I had to show Threnody what I meant. “Like this in front of him!” I cried, holding the dress so it formed a swatch of gray to the side. “Make him charge it instead of you!”

  Now she understood. She ripped off her brown dress, and I saw the visors of the audience swivel to follow her. It seemed the Knights got a voyeuristic thrill from seeing people disrobe; evidently they never got out of their armor. Not in public, anyway. Strange folk!

  Threnody stood naked and held the dress to the side, forming a cape of it. The Knight, who perhaps did not see too well from the saddle with his visor closed, aimed his lance at the dress. Of course the point slid through it, brushing it aside, and Threnody did not have to dive out of the way. Well, she still had to step clear of the horse, but this was an improvement.

  “Get him to pass under me!” I cried, stopping at a suitable elevation on the ramp.

  Threnody tried. She ran under—but the Knight passed to the side, so I couldn’t drop on him. However, we seemed to have a viable program.

  The Knight turned and came back—and this time he was on target. As he passed under me, I dropped on him, landing just in front of him on the horse. I could have sworn his visor slits widened as my bare anatomy came up against his faceplate. But my ample posterior was crushing down his arms and lance, interfering with his action. He could hardly have been pleased.

  I grabbed the chain around his neck and ripped it off. I had the key! Then I realized that I had a pretty good position here and I tried to haul him off his horse with me. I squirmed around, attempting to pin his arms to his sides, but he turned out to be very strong, and I had only woman’s muscles. His hands came up, letting go of the lance, and grasped me with horrible force. In a moment he heaved me from the horse.

  I landed partly on my feet, but without balance, and sat down hard. I had a lot of padding in that region, but that landing smarted! It was as if I had been spanked by a giant.

  However, I had a victory of sorts, for not only did I have the chain with the key, I had caused the Knight to drop his lance. Threnody was hurrying to pick it up.

  “Go up and unlock the gate!” she cried. “I’ll fend him off here!”

  “You don’t know how to use that thing,” I pointed out. “He’ll wipe you out with his sword!” Indeed, the Knight was already drawing his great blade. It was dusky black, and reminded me ominously of the evil sword Magician Yang had sent against me.

  “But you don’t have the muscle for this!” she responded. And she had a point; that lance was one heavy pole. I could see why the Knight was strong; he had to be, to carry his weapons.

  Now the Knight charged us both, the terrible sword gleaming wickedly. We both wrestled with the lance, heaving it up—but we were at the end, and the point was at the other end, far distant, and by the time we managed to lift that point, the Knight was upon us. His sword slashed down and lopped off the point of the lance. Again we had to dive out of the way, ignominiously.

  “We’ve got to stop splitting up this way!” Threnody gasped as we got up on either side of the fallen lance.

  “We can still use this,” I said, picking up the severed point, which was about half my body length. It was a sword of a sort. “You get the other part.”

  She picked it up, finding it more manageable now that it was shorter. The Knight had unwittingly done us a favor. He had helped arm us.

  As the Knight charged this time, we attacked him from either side, swinging our sticks at him. He merely lifted his shield to fend me off on the left and slashed down at Threnody’s arms on the right. She jerked back, but the sword cut off her left hand. It plopped to the floor, fingers curling spastically.

  “Damn you!” she cried as the Knight turned for the next charge, a smear of blood on his blade. She jammed the stump of her wrist into her own side to stop the blood from spurting out, but already that flow was abating as my healing talent manifested. She stooped to pick up the fallen hand. Then, as the Knight advanced, she hurled that hand at his head.

  The Knight was one tough fighter, but this startled him. The hand clutched at his visor, one finger poking into an eye-slit. It looked like a distorted spider trying to get inside the helmet. It couldn’t get inside, of course. The Knight should have known the separated hand was harmless, but he reacted with remarkable vigor. He halted his steed and grabbed for the hand with his left gauntlet.

  I took advantage of his distraction to leap up and spread my gray dress over the entire helmet. I clung, forming a hood of gray material, so that he was blinded. “Get his sword!” I cried.

  But already that arm and sword were thrashing about, and Threnody could not get close. So I grabbed for the sword arm myself. My leverage was bad, and when I let go of the hood, it started to slide off. The Knight got a glove up and shoved me violently away, so that I fell on my sore bare bottom again. The dress slid down. Now the Knight could see again and he retained his weapon.

  However, Threnody saved the moment. Unable to get near the Knight, she went for the horse. She got her mouth close to an armored ear and yelled, “Booo!”

  The horse spooked, naturally enough. It neighed and reared. The Knight fell off and clanked to the floor. Threnody scrambled to fling herself on the extended sword arm, pinning it to the floor, while I made a flying leap for the head.

  My weight knocked the helmet from the armored body. It squirted out from under my feet and rolled across the floor. Simultaneously, the body went dead. Threnody was able to wrench the sword away from the abruptly flaccid gauntlet.

  I peered into the neck of the armor—and there was nothing. I looked at the separated helmet. It, too, was empty!

  There was nothing in this suit of armor. Nothing at all.

  Threnody looked at me. “Empty armor?” she asked, bewildered. “But it fought us!”

  “It fought without honor,” I said. “We were unarmed. Without honor, the Knights are nothing at all.”

  “Then what about all the others, who permitted it?”

  We looked out at the audience. Now each Knight there reached up a gauntlet to open his visor. Inside each helmet—was nothing.

  “They’re all empty!” I breathed. “The Knights are all bodiless!”

  “No wonder they never removed their armor,” Threnody said. “Without their armor—” She paused to look at me, realizing the significance of my statement about honor. “They’re nothing!”

  “Let’s get out of here before they decide to do something dishonorable!”
I said.

  She looked around. “That horse,” she said.

  “What about it?”

  “It looks familiar.”

  “It’s buried in armor, just like the Knights,” I protested. “It’s probably empty too.”

  “No, its hooves show. It’s a real horse.”

  I walked over to it. The armored horse stood still, waiting for its rider to return. I saw there were metal straps holding its armor together. I unbuckled one at the neck, so as to uncover the head.

  Underneath was a real horsehead, no phantom. “What’s a live horse doing in a place like this?” I asked.

  Threnody, one-handed, removed a portion of the body armor. “It’s a ghost horse!” she exclaimed.

  Sure enough, there were the chains wrapped about the barrel. “A ghost horse, serving armored ghosts!” I said.

  “We killed its master,” she pointed out. “We’re entitled to what the Knight had, anything of it we want. The spoils.”

  “We’ll keep the sword,” I said. “As for the horse—we can free it.”

  “Free her,” Threnody said, unbuckling more armor. “She’s a mare.”

  “A knight-mare,” I said, realizing the manner in which this made sense. “Let’s ride her up the ramp and out—and let her go on the surface.”

  “Agreed. We owe her that. We won the match when she spooked.”

  And Threnody had been the one to think of that ploy. I would remember that.

  We got the rest of the armor off while the assembled Knights watched emptily, evincing no emotion. It seemed they did honor the rest of their deal. We had won; we were free. And there would be no more cowfolk sacrifices, and the grazing range would be expanded. We had done our part for the creatures who had helped us. That pleased me.

  I mounted the ghost mare. “Don’t forget my hand,” I reminded Threnody.

  She picked up the fallen hand and stuck it to her wrist, which had stopped bleeding and started to heal over. At first she placed it backward, but she corrected that immediately. “I’ll walk,” she decided. “I can’t ride while holding this together.”