He could not understand a feeling that something was out of joint until he realized that though the flames were dead, the world seemed no darker than it had been. In fact, it appeared to be lightening. He regarded the sky and realized that the moonlike sun had brightened. Looking ahead then, he saw that the area before them was lighter still, with a pearly complexion upon the face of the water. Moving beyond twilight, the world began to brighten with almost every sucking pace they advanced. The hazy outline of the Castle Timeless loomed large suddenly, immediately before and above, its windows like the dark eyes of an enormous insect.
"I see the shore now!" Arlata announced. "It is not all that far ahead. Stormbird can rest…"
For the first time, Dilvish became aware of all the places where their bodies touched.
"You were a soldier, weren't you?" she asked.
"For a time."
"Not just in the old days. There was some engagement within the past few years."
"Yes. We won and I've done with all that. I set out on a personal quest after the last battle. I stop and work occasionally at anything available, replenish my supplies, and continue on."
"What is it that you seek?"
"The man who turned me to stone and sent me to Hell."
"Who might that be?"
Dilvish laughed.
"Why else would I journey through this nightmare? The man whose castle lies ahead, of course."
"Jel—the old wizard? I've heard he is dead."
"He is not dead—yet."
"So we are not in competition for the power of Tualua?"
"You can have Tualua. Just leave me his master."
"Obviously, you intend to kill him."
"Of course."
"You may be wasting your time. I inquired before I came this way. In the opinion of Wishlar of the Marshes, he is not here. He felt that he might even be dead. That was why I thought so."
"Wishlar still lives? I knew him when I was a boy. Is he at Ban-Selar still?"
"Yes, though that area has been annexed by Orlet Vargesh and is no longer known by the old name. Oh… that would have been your family, would it not?"
"Yes. When I've settled this business, I'd like to set those claims right. If you see this—Orlet—before I do, tell him that I said so."
"Dilvish, if the one you seek be indeed within, I've a feeling you might not be traveling home."
"Most likely you're right. But I'll be happy to go if I can take him along with me."
"I've often heard it said that a strong hatred is self-destructive. Now I believe it."
"I like to think that I'll be doing good for a lot of others as well as for myself, should I succeed."
"But if that were not the case, would you still do it?"
"Yes."
"I see."
Stormbird slowed as they drew nearer the shore.
"A magician of that power could blast you with a look," she said.
"Black was to have helped me on that count. I met him in Hell. But even without him, I know that Jelerak is weaker now than perhaps he ever has been. And I bring weapons I believe are more than sufficient to the task."
Stormbird uttered a long neighing sound and halted, panting.
"We've tired him to the end of endurance," she said, dismounting. "Let us lead him ashore."
"Yes," Dilvish replied, swinging his leg and stepping down. "He needs a rubdown, he needs my cloak. We can rest for a—"
The neighing continued. The horse appeared to be struggling now, and there was foam upon his lips.
"I—"
Dilvish sank into the mud. He struggled to raise his foot, failed.
"Oh, no! I have come so far—" she said, looking ahead to where the bright sun shone upon a clear, sandy shore, to where the grasses waved beyond it, where patches of blue and red flowers swayed within the field.
She lowered her head and Dilvish heard her sob.
"It isn't fair," she said.
Dilvish struggled, leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her.
"What are you doing?"
He dragged, lifted. Slowly she began to rise. The water grew muddy about them. Bubbles broke on the surface. She came higher within his arms as he sank lower.
"Reach for Stormbird," he said, twisting his body. "Get onto him."
She extended her arms, caught hold of the horse's mane with her left hand, cast her right across his back. Still sinking, Dilvish pushed, thrusting her up and forward. She drew herself across the horses back, threw a muddy and soaking leg over him, rose erect.
"Rest. Recover your strength," Dilvish said, "then swim to shore."
She spoke to Stormbird and caressed him. His struggling ceased. He stood still. Then she leaned to the side, to reach for Dilvish. The distance was too great.
"No good," he said. "You can't help me that way. But when you get ashore, there are those trees off to the left… Use your blade. Cut a long limb. Bring it back. Push it out to me."
"Yes," she said, unfastening her cloak. She paused and looked at it. "If you took hold of one end of my cloak, perhaps I could pull you up here."
"Or perhaps I'd pull you back in. No. Do it from the shore. I seem to be stabilizing."
'Wait… Supposing I cut my cloak and knot the lengths together? You could take one end and tie it under your arms. I could swim to shore with the other end and try pulling you out as soon as I've a foothold."
Dilvish nodded slowly.
"It may work."
She drew her blade and began cutting the long cloak into strips.
"Now I remember hearing of you," she said as she worked, "as someone who lived long ago. It is a strange feeling, seeing you here and recalling that you loved my grandmother."
"What did you hear about me?"
"You sang, you wrote poetry, danced, hunted. Not the sort of person one would guess to become a Colonel in the Armies of the East. Why did you leave and take up such a life? Was it grandmother?"
Dilvish smiled faintly.
"Or wanderlust? Or both?" he said. "That was a long time ago. Memories grow rusty. Why do you want the power that lies in that pile of colored rock up ahead?"
"I could do much good with it. The world is full of evils that cry out for righting."
She finished cutting and sheathed her blade. She began knotting the lengths of cloth together.
"I felt that way once," Dilvish said. "I even tried righting a few. The world is still pretty much the same as it has always been."
"But you are here to try again."
"I suppose… But I cannot lie to myself about it. My feelings are not unalloyed. It is as much a matter of revenge for me as it is the removal of an evil from the world."
"I'd guess it's even sweeter when they come together that way."
Dilvish laughed harshly.
"No. My feelings are not such nice things. You don't even want to know them. Listen, if you were to gain the power you seek and try the things you wish to try with it, it will change you—"
"I expect so. I hope so."
"But not in all of the ways you anticipate, I'm sure. It is not always easy to tell an evil from a good, or to separate the two. You would be bound to make mistakes."
"You're certain about what you are doing."
"That's different, and I'm not entirely pleased with it. I feel it has to be done, but I do not like what it is doing to me. Perhaps I would like to dance and sing again one day—when we get out of this. To turn around and go home."
"Would you come with me?"
Dilvish looked away.
"I can't."
She smiled, coiling her handiwork.
"There. All knotted. Catch the end, now."
She tossed it to Dilvish, who snagged it, passed it under his arm, around his back and forward beneath his other armpit. He knotted it before him.
"Good," she said, securing the other end at her waist and slinging her blade across her back. "When we're both ashore, one of us can swim back and put a line on Stormbir
d. The two of us will drag him loose."
"I hope so."
She leaned forward and spoke again to the horse, stroking his neck. He nickered and tossed his head but did not struggle.
"All right," she announced, drawing up her feet, rising into a crouched position on Stormbird's back, one hand still twisted in his mane for balance.
She released her grip and drew her arms back.
"Now!" she said.
Her arms shot forward, her legs straightened. She cut the water in a powerful plunge which bore her almost entirely to the shore before she took a single stroke.
Then her arms moved a few times. She raised her head and moved to rise. She screamed:
"I'm sinking!"
Dilvish began drawing back on the slack line which joined them, to pull her into the water. She was over her knees in the sand-encrusted mud, and still sinking rapidly.
"Don't struggle," Dilvish said, finally drawing the line taut. "Take hold with both hands."
She gripped it and leaned forward. Dilvish began to haul upon it, slowly, steadily. She ceased sinking, bent far forward.
Then, with a single, sharp noise, the line parted and she fell face forward.
"Arlata!"
She struggled upright again, face and hair splashed with mud. Dilvish heard her utter a single sob as she began sinking once more. He cursed softly, the slack line still in his hands.
Chapter 5
"Please, sir, how is a girl to rest when you keep jumping into and out of bed with such annoying frequency?" said the dark-eyed girl through the pale screen of her hair.
"Sorry," said Rawk, brushing the hair aside to stroke her cheek. "It's this damned Society business that's come up. I keep thinking of records I should be checking. I get up to check them, I find nothing, I re-retire."
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Mm. Nothing you could help me with, my dear." He dropped his clawlike hand upon her shoulder. "I'm trying to find more information on this Dilvish fellow."
"Dilvish the Deliverer, the hero of Portaroy?" she asked. "He who raised the lost legions of Shoredan to save the city a second time?"
"What? What are you saying? When was this?"
"A little over a year ago, I believe. Also known as Dilvish the Damned, in a popular ballad of the same name—the one Jelerak's supposed to have turned into a statue for a couple of hundred years?"
"Gods!"
Rawk sat upright.
"I do recall the statue business now," he stated. "That's what was gnawing at my mind! Of course…"
He tugged at his beard, ran his tongue among the gaps in his teeth.
"On, my!" he finally said. "There are more sides to this thing than I'd realized. I wonder, then, what that Weleand fellow would have against such a one. If he has a contact file, I've a mind to ask him. Might as well get the whole picture before I report back."
He leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek.
"Thank you, my pigeon."
He was out of bed and down the hall, nightshirt flapping.
He rushed across the great Society library to a large, nondescript piece of furniture. Finally, he began rummaging in one of its drawers. After a time he straightened, bearing in his hand an envelope across which the name "Weleand" was written.
Opening the envelope, he discovered it to contain several strands of white hair, held together by a drop of red sealing wax.
These he removed and took with him to the black-hung table in the corner, where he deposited them beside a yellow ball of crystal. Then he seated himself and stared forward, lips moving, fingers touching the white strands.
Shortly, the crystal clouded. It remained so for a time. Rawk began repeating the name "Weleand." Finally, there came a clearing. A fat-faced, nearly bald man peered up at him. He seemed out of breath.
"Yes?" he inquired.
"I'm Rawk, Society Archivist," Rawk stated. "I'm sorry to trouble you in the midst of such an arduous undertaking, but there is something you might be able to clarify for us."
The man's brow furrowed.
"Arduous undertaking?" he said. "It's just a little spell-"
"You needn't be modest."
"—of interest mainly to practitioners of veterinary sorcery. Of course, I'm rather proud of what it does for the mange."
"Mange?"
"Mange."
"I—Aren't you in the foothills of the Kannais, in the changing belt, near the Castle Timeless?"
"I'm treating a stable of ailing horses here in Murcave. Is this a joke?"
"If it is, it is on us, not on yourself. Do you know anything at all about a man named Dilvish, who rides a metal horse?"
"His reputation only," Weleand replied. "He is said to have played a significant role in one of the border wars awhile back—at Portaroy, I believe. I've never met him."
"You've not spoken with a Society representative named Meliash recently, have you?"
The other shook his head.
"I know who he is, but I've never met him either."
"Oh. Then we have been fooled—by someone, about something. I'm not certain who, or what. Thank you for your time. I'm sorry to have bothered you."
"Wait! I would at least like to know what is happening."
"So would I. Someone—a fellow of the Art—used your name recently. Down South. He is apparently not kindly disposed to this Dilvish, who is also down there. I can't say that I understand what it all means."
Weleand shook his head.
"Rivals, most likely," he said, "and the one using my name is doubtless up to no good. Let me know what comes of this, will you? I've a good reputation, and I don't want it besmirched."
"I'll do that. Good luck with the mange."
"Thank you."
The crystal clouded again and Rawk sat staring into its depths, trying to order his thoughts. Finally, he rose and returned to bed.
Dreaming dreams of days gone by and wondering at the bright world beyond, Semirama regarded the changing land. It was about time for another wave—one of massive destructiveness—to sweep over it. She smiled. Things were working according to plan. Once matters were resolved here, she could go forth to enjoy the present incarnation of the world. What sort of garments might now be in fashion? she wondered.
Below, she saw two figures on horseback emerge from the darkened area, splashing across the still waters of the treacherous pond.
Why did they keep coming? she wondered. Nothing had changed here, so they must be aware that all of their predecessors had failed. Avarice and stupidity, she decided. All noble sentiments had doubtless vanished with her own times. Still—
There!
The horse was stuck, near to the shore. Two more power-hungry fortune-seekers were about to enrich the world with their absence.
Idly, she leaned forward and ran her hand along the side of the window, pronouncing the spell of activation, directing its focus toward the couple on the horse.
The scene leaped forward and Semirama's face underwent a series of rapid changes. She touched the window again, with additional words of fine tuning.
The Elfin girl was common enough. One of the willowy blonde sort, from Marint' or Mirat'. But the man—
"Selar!" she gasped, her hand moving to her throat, eyes wide. "Selar…"
The girl had dismounted. The man was following her.
"No!"
Semirama had risen to her feet. Her fists were clenched at her sides. Both figures were now in the water, beginning to struggle. And—something else…
The change wave! It was beginning!
Turning, she ran toward the Chamber of the Pit, phrases in the chirping tongue of the Old Ones already rising to her lips. As she entered the reeking room, she saw the demon Baran had quieted earlier, lurking in a corner, gnawing on a bone.
She snapped several brief words in Mabrahoring at it, and it cringed. She reached the edge of the pit and warbled three vibrant notes. After several moments, she repeated them. A dark, amorphou
s form broke the shadowy surface and writhed slowly. It emitted a single musical tone. She responded with an intricate aria to which she received a very brief reply.
She sighed then and smiled. They exchanged a few more notes. Then a tentacle rose beside her and she embraced it. She held it for a long while, unmoving, and gradually her flesh took on a faint glow.
When she finally released it with a parting note and turned away, she looked somehow larger, stronger, wilder. Her eyes flashed as she approached the demon in the corner. It dropped its bone and crouched when she pointed her finger at it, its mismatched eyes rolling and darting.
"That way," she said, indicating the gallery she had recently quitted. "Stay with me."
It moved to obey, but when they had passed through the doorway, it broke into a lop-legged run. She raised her finger again, and this time a line of something like fire seemed to race from it to envelop the creature. Her peculiar aura was diminished slightly as this occurred.
The demon had halted and begun wailing. She crooked her finger and the flames vanished.
"Now you must do as I say," she said, approaching it. "Do you understand?"
It prostrated itself before her, took gentle hold of her right ankle, and placed her foot upon its head.
"Very good," she observed. "One should always define a relationship at the outset." She removed her foot to the ground. "Get up. I want you to accompany me to the window. There is something you must see."
She returned to her former observation post and looked down. The girl was now floundering at the shore's edge and the man was still in the water, by the horse, immersed to near shoulder level. The girl had sunk to a point slightly above her waist.
"Do you see that man in the green kerchief, beside the horse?" she asked. When the demon grunted an affirmative, "I want him," she said.
She reached out and laid her hand upon the creature's head.
"I lay this geas upon you, that you know no rest until you have retrieved him and brought him to me, alive and unmaimed."
The demon drew back.
"But—I—will—sink—too," it rumbled, beginning to tremble. "And—I—do—not—like—water," it added.
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