The Medusa Plague tdom-2

by Mary Kirchoff

  Dagamier must have seen me looking at the greenery, because she said, "The plants and fish have always been the responsibility of the red representative. They'd all be dead if it were up to me." She looked at Zagarus for the first time. "Naturally, your gull and its mess is also your responsibil- ity."

  Zag's wing feathers gathered up like a bird in the cold. Does she think I can't hear her? he griped. Imagine talking about me like I'm some wild animal.

  "Of course-" I barely managed to mutter to Dagamier.

  "We can discuss other duties, like the scrying sphere, after you've settled in your rooms."

  Uh-oh, sang Zagarus. She obviously doesn't know you're the boss!

  "Did they… the Council, that is… tell you about my position?" I gulped.

  Dagamier looked up with one dark eye. "The top guard thing?"

  "High defender," I corrected her gently. This was not going well. Since I was to be her superior, 1 decided to take: he bull, so to speak, by the horns. "You don't like me much. Or is it the idea of me?"

  Frankly, I haven't thought of either," she said with a dis- five wave of her hand. "If it makes you feel any better,though, I don't like anyone much. That's why I sought out this position. I prefer solitude."

  Arid the world is better for it, snorted Zag.

  I swallowed a smile with a cough. "Uh, how long have you been here?"

  "Long enough." She pierced me with narrowed eyes. "I hope you won't be inclined to change procedures and routines you know nothing about."

  Do you want me to peck the harridan? Zag said to me. I think I'll call her Harry, for short.

  I almost laughed despite my growing irritation, so unexpected and apt was Zag's evaluation. I can handle her, I ensured my familiar silently.

  Actually, Zagarus's genuine but ridiculous offer helped knock the insecurity right out of me. I sensed that if I didn't demand Dagamier's respect in that instant, if only for the position I hold, I would never get it. I silently invoked a quick protective magic and quite literally but gently poked her once in her mannish lapels.

  "Look," I said fiercely, "I can understand your irritation at being passed up for promotion, but I won't tolerate your insolence. I'm in charge here, whether you like it or not. The Council of Three obviously wants me to be high defender. I would hate to have to report to them that there is another position to fill." I spoke without heat, but lowered my eyes briefly to the pattern on the floor. "Dependable black wizards are hard to find."

  Dagamier pushed herself away with surprising strength for someone of her size. She met my eyes fully for the first time, and there was neither anger nor distaste there. I wouldn't call it respect, but a weary acceptance. It was more than I expected.

  The short tour went better after that. Dagamier was at least civil, if not pleasant.

  "Did the Council tell you where Bastion is, in the scheme of the cosmos, that is?" she asked while we walked slowly about the nave.

  " 'Beyond the circles of the universe,' I believe they said. They didn't want to tell me more specifically for fear that I might let the secret slip."

  "Believe it or not," she said, beginning to steer me in the direction of the red wing, "Bastion is visible from Krynn, if only you know where to look." She must have seen the disbelief on my face, because she stopped to look me. "It's true. Have you ever noticed the dark line on the horizon, where earth and sea meet sky? That's the side of Bastion, like the rim of a steel piece."

  I nodded slowly in understanding, thinking it somehow fitting that I should aid up here, when I had spent so much of my youth staring wistfully at the horizon from the heath near Castle DiThon.

  Contemplating that line, I said aloud, "That would mean Bastion's plane is two-dimensional."

  Dagamier looked impressed. "You probably noticed a sense of disorientation, of flatness, when you arrived in the courtyard."

  I nodded again. "It went away so fast I thought it was a side effect of teleportation."

  "Most people's senses adjust to the change pretty quickly and everything begins to look normal."

  "Does that mean I have only two dimensions now?" The thought worried me for some reason.

  Dagamier's glossy head shook as she pondered. "Let me think of a way to explain it. You, me, this place"-she gave an inclusive wave of her arm-"were created in the three dimensions of the Prime Material Plane, then transported here. We didn't lose any of our definition by coming to a place that only recognizes two dimensions."

  She snapped her fingers when another thought came clear. "It's like visual acuity. You and I may both look at a statue that's fifty feet away. If my eyesight is better, I will see more detail in the statue than you, but that doesn't mean the detail isn't there when you look at it." She held up both hands in an expressively questioning gesture. "Does that make sense?"

  "I think so," 1 muttered, trying to piece it all together. "Does it follow, then, that anything created here and sent to the Prime Material would have only two dimensions?"

  Dagamier nodded.

  "Then that's why the Council decided to build Bastion on Krynn and bring it here," I realized at last. "I'd thought it was only for convenience or secrecy."

  "Probably all three." She dismissed the subject with a shrug. "The nave," she said, redirecting my attention, "is the only space we share, aside from the entry apse."

  Dagamier pointed to the column. "Each of us spends a third of our time, in rotating shifts, monitoring Bastion's perimeter through a magical replica of the plane." She blinked. "At least, that is how we have divided the task previously."

  I was surprised that so much of my time would be spent staring at a model. "It sounds as fair a system as any," 1 assured her.

  Just then, a hidden door-sized panel slid back in the column, and a sparkling footbridge of glass spread like a rainbow across the moat. Out stepped a funny little man who reminded me strongly of the wizened old chamberlain at Castle DiThon. He wore an ill-fitting white robe edged in gold thread. His long, frizzy hair, the color of sunlight on a dull day, was askew, as if he'd just stepped out of a fierce wind. Seeing me with Dagamier, he blinked with eyes that were small black dots behind very thick spectacles. He crossed the small magical bridge and stood among the greenery.

  "Nothing to report today," he said to my black-robed guide, ignoring me. "Your hell hounds became excited with the new arrival, and the gargoyles grew edgy, but they all seem to have quieted now. Is he ready for his first watch?" the man asked with a slight jerk of his head toward me. "Or will you be taking the next one?"

  Before I could say I would be happy to take my turn,Dagamier stepped across the bridge and paused under the sliding panel. "He hasn't even been to his rooms yet." The bridge retracted like a fan and disappeared. Dagamier withdrew into the column, and the panel closed behind her, leaving no seam.

  I stood with Ezius, feeling uncomfortable and vaguely irritated. No one had warned me that they both had stunted social skills. If he was as abrasive and resentful as Dagamier, I was going to have quite a time of managing things here.

  "Yes, well, that won't do," Ezius muttered to himself. "The only way to fix that is to let him look at his rooms. There's no point in delaying that. None at all." The white- robed mage meandered toward the door to his wing.

  "Say, uh, Ezius, is it?" I called after him awkwardly.

  The man stopped his mumbling and his steps to look vaguely over his shoulder. "Yes? Yes, well?"

  "I–I thought we might at least introduce ourselves."

  "Haven't we?" He shrugged. "I guess not. I don't know your name."

  "It's Guerrand. My friends call me Rand."

  "Rand… Yes, well, that's a nice name, isn't it? I once knew a man named Rind, an excellent cobbler from Blode- helm. He could resole a pair of boots in two winks of an eye, and always used the best quality thread and leather. Although there are those who think that catgut made from twisting the dried intestines of sheep is superior." He blinked at me through those thick lenses. "Rind was his name.
I don't suppose you know him?"

  I looked at him closely to see if he was jesting, but his face was guileless. "No, I'm sorry I don't."

  What plane is he on? Zagarus snorted.

  I breathed a sigh of relief so loud even Ezius xvould have noticed if he hadn't already departed through an arched, immense white doorway to the right of the nave. I'd realized the mumbling mage wasn't being intentionally abrasive, he as simply befuddled.

  Reading over his master's shoulder, Zagarus pecked gently at Guerrand's hand until he set his quill down upon the desk in the library of the red wing.

  "What is it, Zag?"

  Make sure you tell Maladorigar that Ezius isn't just befuddled, he's a real stick-in-the-mud.

  Guerrand didn't entirely agree with the gull's assessment, so he ignored it and picked up the quill again. But the bird wasn't ready to be silent yet.

  Is it just me, or does Dagamier remind you of LaDonna?

  Guerrand screwed up his face in thought as he tried to envision both women side by side. "I suppose I see a little resemblance," he agreed at last, "but I'm not sure it isn't just because they're both women and both mages."

  Esme was a woman and a mage, Zagarus pointed out, and Dagamier doesn't remind me the least bit of her.

  Guerrand felt himself tense at the mention of Esme. Would it ever stop hurting? And why was Zagarus, who knew how much the subject pained his master, poking a wing in the wound? Guerrand closed his eyes tightly and willed patience. "What I meant was, LaDonna and Dagamier are both dark-haired women who wear the black robes."

  I suppose. With that, Zagarus closed his beady eyes in reluctant concession, ruffled his wings into a comfortable position, and dropped off to sleep on the desk next to Guerrand.

  The mage gratefully returned to the safety of his letter to the gnome back in Harrowdown.

  With the introductions out of the way, there was nothing keeping me from exploring the red wing.

  Maladorigar, I can't begin to describe how comfortable and carefully considered the red wing is. There is a sense of Justarius's own subtle dignity to the magic that maintains my apartments-no talking teapots or crazed brooms and

  their ridiculous like here.

  The wing's six rooms are set in a rectangle, all of them more warmly inviting than the last, fust one is large enough to make our house in Harrowdown look like a shack. I'm sorry, that was less than thoughtful, since you're still living there.

  Anyway, the first room on the right off the circular nave is a large, practical storeroom. All I have to do is set whatever I wish stored just inside the doorway, and the next time I return it's been put in its proper place upon the shelves.

  Across the hall from the storeroom is the daily living area, where I cook and eat my meals. It's stocked with enough pans and platters and is of sufficient size to feed a visiting troop of nobles and all their retainers. There's a huge fireplace that burns constantly and is far larger than I need to prepare the simple gruels I am capable of cooking. I surely miss your herbal stews.

  Next to this area is my sleeping chamber. I spend little time upon the soft feather tick, yet enough to know that I far prefer it to my straw bed in Harrowdown.

  The sleeping chamber leads directly into a room that I suspect was modified by Justarius for my benefit. Or should I ›ay Zagarus's? I don't remember it from the original floor plan. All of nature that is absent from Bastion is painted here in murals that cover the floor, walls, and ceiling. Blue sea to the left, green fields to the right, and in the middle is an elaborate pool someone (which is why 1 suspect Justarius) went to a great deal of trouble to make look like the seashore near Thonvil. Live heather and pampas grass abound. Real water Jbuts the blue sea mural on the left edge, giving the scene the infinite look of the horizon line between water and sea. Zagarus in particular feels quite at home here.

  My favorite room, though, is the laboratory. It's by far the biggest, taking up the entire short end of the rectangle farthest from the nave. I was concerned about being unable to;cllect my own components of the quality you grow in Harrowdown, but I needn't have been. Oh, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's just that the lab came stocked with things I've never even heard of, all perfectly catalogued and stored in the highest quality green glass. I don't know if I have Justarius or my predecessor to thank. I suspect the former, since the jars magically refill themselves. No more plucking posies in a hot field while angry bees sting my head!

  Or maybe my favorite room is the library. 1 have not seen one its size since my father's at Castle DiThon. But instead of containing only the occasional tome about magic, this one holds floor-to-ceiling spellbooks, with softly cushioned benches on which to read them. New books appear on the shelf now and then. I even found an entry about Rannoch, the black wizard from my dreams, that I hadn't read before. Unfortunately, it added nothing new to my understanding of him.

  I've had the Dream with great regularity here, Mai. I thought it might go away, once 1 took charge of my life again and came to Bastion, but it hasn't, if anything, it comes more frequently and fervently to me here. I confess, Bastion has inspired moments when I could understand Rannoch's sacrifice. I feel I am a part of something bigger than myself, something worth dying for…

  Still, I can't shake the thought that there's something else I'm supposed to learn from that part of my Test, some lesson I've not yet been able to understand. I've been trying to screw up the courage to ask Dagamier if there is something about Rannoch in her library. He was, after all, a wizard of the Black Robes, which is what continues to disturb me. We don't enter each other's areas without invitation here, and neither Dagamier nor Ezius have been forthcoming with one. It is my right as high defender to demand entrance, but I don't want to lose whatever goodwill I have engendered by doing so without good reason.

  The Dream aside, I am wanting for nothing here, except companionship. Ezius is pleasant enough when he's lucid. But it seems that he's always either scurrying off, muttering about some obscure and unintelligible thing, or stopping to lecture me about some obscure and boring thing. Sometimes, I confess, I'm lonely enough to feign interest.

  Dagamier is another story. While she is no longer insolent, there is a darkness in her soul that permeates everything she says and does. Conversations with her frequently leave me lonely and depressed. I have no doubt why she chose to wear the black robes.

  Guerrand stopped again briefly to make sure Zagarus was no longer reading over his shoulder. He watched the slow rise and fall of the bird's breast, heard the slight whistle-wheeze of Zagarus at sleep. Reassured, he picked up the quill once more and dipped it into the pot of black ink.

  You may be wondering why I'm so lonely with Zagarus here. I can tell you, Mai, that Zagarus is not doing well. I don't know if it's old age, or being away from the sea and other birds, or both. His color is bad, feathers and eyes dull. He scarcely talks to me anymore, especially after I reprimanded him for fishing in the moat around the scrying column.

  I must also confess to occasional restlessness. Am I one of those people who is never satisfied with where he is or what he is doing?

  Guerrand's head shot up from the page at the distant sound of wild baying. He set the quill down, cocked his head, and listened.

  Zagarus's eyes popped open. Sounds like the hell hounds, he observed.

  The mage nodded. "But how can they be so close that we can hear them? Unless…" Guerrand let the word trail as his mind finished the horrifying thought. "Stay here," he commanded as he jumped to his feet. The chair flew back and crashed to the floor of the library. Guerrand was through the doorway and down the long hallway to the nave in a matter of heartbeats.

  Ezius stood by the column, his pale face etched with concern. "I've never heard the hounds from inside Bastion," he remarked soberly.

  Just then the panel in the central column opened. Dagamier poked her dark head out anxiously. "The hell hounds and gargoyles appear to be poised for a fight."

  "How is that possible?
" demanded Ezius. "Control of the hounds is your responsibility, Dagamier!" He looked at Guerrand. "Can't you maintain the enchantment on your gargoyles?"

  Ezius's accusations brought a scowl to Dagamier's white face. "Not all of Bastion's magical defenses are entirely predictable, Ezius. Gargoyles, if you haven't heard, are chaotic evil creatures. I think it's remarkable that this hasn't happened before in five years."

  "I still say the Council should have anticipated such problems."

  "They did," cut in Guerrand. "That's why we're here. If Bastion functioned automatically, there'd be no need for guardians." Guerrand was already running for the apse and Bastion's entrance when he said, "Ezius, man the sphere. I'm going out to see what's happening."

  Dashing after him, Dagamier caught Guerrand by the arm and spun him around. "You can't go charging out there. Maybe you trust the gargoyles to attack only intruders, but the hell hounds will kill anything they can sink their teeth into."

  Dagamier had pulled him into one of the black wing's seven doorways before he was even aware of moving. "Let's use the observation tower above the black wing," she said, tapping the wall inside the door. A doorway slid open, revealing a long, narrow flight of stairs.

  Another door flew open and they emerged into the windless, dark air above the courtyard on a narrow walkway hidden by the facade. The sounds of snarling, shrieking animals cut them both to the core. The mages clapped hands over their ears to hush the sound, but it did little good. The noise seemed to slice through the flesh and bones of their hands like a sharp pick on its way to their brains.

  Apprehension made Dagamier's voice sound like a whisper, though she shouted above the din, "The gargoyles are gone."

  Guerrand did a swift scan of the nearby pointed gables of the white wing. He searched the smooth, flat ledges of the red and black wings. The hideous, winged creatures who posed as downspouts on a stronghold that never saw rain were indeed gone.