The genie of the Lamp appeared, and Ruddygore sighed as he saw who it was.
"It's not my fault!" Macore the genie protested.
"I should have known," Ruddygore said disgustedly. "First tell me why you did it, then how."
"The why of it I only now fully understand," Macore replied, and proceeded to tell the story of the gem, the snowstorm, and the demon. Now that he had completed the geas the demon had laid upon him, he remembered all the details.
"So, anyway," Macore continued, "I was set up to do it. I had lots of information from the demon—he ducked down You Know Where and talked to Hiccarph, who, it seems, is currently shoveling shit and hating it. With the information he planted, added to my knowledge of you and my own skills, I did it. I can tell you, it wasn't easy, even with that."
"I can see getting to the mirrors. Many have done so. But how did you get past them?"
"Simple. The mark the demon laid on me was to have no shadow or reflection. The mirrors saw nothing. I, of course, saw the mirrors and deduced the gimmick, so that meant you had to have something to kill vampires beyond. Way back when, I lifted one of those pairs of sunglasses you had made for Marge, on the idea that it might come in handy, so I put 'em on and saw the keystone plain as day."
"But the sonic alarm—that's battery-powered! Earth technology! How did you come up with the combination?"
"I didn't. The young punk of a black wizard I traded the gem to gave me several spells in return, one of which was a blocking spell. Allowed me to go through spells that only activated when you broke their web because it kept the spell's energy lines intact as you passed through them. I figured that spells are just energy, and so is an alarm system, so I cast the spell several times, including there, as a precaution. I broke the sonic beams, sure—I didn't know about them until you just told me—but the spell kept the signal from being transmitted back to your box."
Ruddygore nodded gravely. What happened when the sonic beams were broken was that a simple transmitter was interrupted, causing it to send a strong signal to the alarm box. Macore's spell simply kept the current stable even when he passed through, so the box received no wrong signal. "And how did you guess the correct door and pick it in so short a time?"
"Oh, I'll admit that took me the better part of a day, and I damned near died of thirst and starvation taking all that time, even with my supply kit. I sensed the movement and figured out the gimmick, so the first problem was deciding on how to figure out which door held the vault at any given moment. You have a lot of fairy gold in here and every decent thief who's any sort of a pro has a diving spell for fairy gold. The iron in the doors was a big problem, but I've practiced at finding an ounce or less in some dutchess' necklace, so with several tons to work with even the iron couldn't block it out. Once I figured that part, I had to work on undoing the spells on the door, and that took damned near forever. Eight, maybe ten hours at least. It was hard to know just how much time had passed. Picking the combination was a piece of cake—it's my job, after all, and these are commercial vault doors, even if they are antiques."
By this time Poquah had joined them, and was listening intently. "I can follow this far," the Imir commented, "but I cannot understand how you could pick the lock and know that the vault would be beyond when you opened it."
Macore laughed. "See? That's how thieves make their living. Even the best wizards think like wizards, not like thieves. You see, once I figured out that the thing moved around every hour or so, it didn't matter which door I cracked. All I had to do was crack it but leave the key inside the lock and then sit back and wait until my spell for the gold detected that the true vault was behind the door I'd already opened. Then I just took the key out, opened the door, and walked in. Simple."
"Simple," Ruddygore repeated glumly. "Yes, when you had Hell's knowledge of the map of the place, a good knowledge of my habits and electronics, and when you cast no reflection and have all the right spells to counter these things! This is far more serious than simple robbery and escape. This was plotted and planned by Hell, with the plot coming from Hell's highest level and through official channels. When the Demons saw that they had you in their power, they set it all up, having failed with their own thieves. The young black magician certainly was expecting you, and was certainly told just what spells to provide you. So, come—give us all the bad news. You are the genie; hence, you made two wishes."
Macore sighed. "You're not gonna like this...."
Macore had rubbed the Lamp, and a rather surprised Dacaro, still darkly handsome and in the black leather uniform of the Baron's forces, had appeared. As a practiced wizard, it was quickly clear to Dacaro that the thief who'd freed him was not wholly himself.
"I must make my wishes to free myself of the geas," Macore told him, somewhat woodenly.
"I am bound to obey you, as you are to obey whoever sent you, but if you can, will you first tell me of what has happened since I was imprisoned in the Lamp?"
Macore nodded, and proceeded to tell the wizard how the Dark Baron had lost the battle, both on the battlefield and in wizardly combat with Ruddygore, causing an uneasy stalemate. He told of the return of Tiana, the unmasking of Boquillas, the great turnabout that Ruddygore had played on the Baron and his demon ally, the great facedown, and how Hiccarph had been yanked back to Hell while Boquillas had been stripped of his powers and eventually exiled to Earth after he helped defeat Kaladon and then tried to doublecross everyone.
Dacaro listened intently, but only when Macore had finished did he ask, "So who sends you now to this place, thief?"
"I am sent by Hell, by commandment of a demon whose name I know not."
"Very well, then. I am more than weary of the djinn. What a poor, miserable rattrap of a place, inhabited only by magical creatures who can do nothing but magic yet to whom nothing is real without mortal wish! It was, however, an education in magic that might prove more than useful, so discharge your geas and command me and the Lamp."
"First, I wish that no wizard of Council rank, be they on the Council or not, shall be able to cross the Sea of Dreams to Earth until bidden to do so by name by a wizard of such rank on Earth."
"It is done," Dacaro intoned.
"I also wish that when you are human again you be transported to the presence of Esmilio Boquillas on Earth, and be bound to his service, to materialize only when he is alone and unwatched, along with as much true gold as you can carry with you, stating the words 'Hutsut Ralston on the rillorah' when you are ready to go."
"Done!" Dacaro cried, and suddenly became solid flesh once again. Macore, looking as if he were awakening from some sort of sleep, faded into insubstantiality and found himself drawn to the Lamp and pulled into it. He knew no more, until Ruddygore called him out.
"I should have guessed as much." Ruddygore sighed.
"I do not understand why he didn't simply wish the Lamp over there if he had this much latitude," Poquah noted.
"No, he really couldn't. Neither Boquillas nor Dacaro can use the Lamp, and he knew we'd be able to trace it through the djinn, anyway. The Lamp was more danger than asset to him. For the same reason, he took no fairy gold, since its atomic weight and structure varies enough that it might not be accepted on Earth as real. However, the real gold he took will net him a rather large sum, I would say, sold judiciously. Also, thanks to some prior wishes and some strong limitations, the Lamp is of far less effectiveness there than here. It takes one of our world now to do much with it, and even then the Rules governing its use on Earth are extremely restrictive since the Compact limiting direct conflict between Heaven and Hell to mortal intermediaries."
"But what can Boquillas be up to?" Poquah wondered. "He has no power, and is, after all, on Earth."
"Yes. On Earth, thanks to my muddle-headed compassion. On Earth, where Hell's real battles are waged, no holds barred. No, he has no power himself, but he has vast knowledge, perhaps nearly equal to my own, of magic and its usage—and now he has a sorcerer powerful enough to
use that knowledge."
"Surely that will not avail him much on Earth! The Rules do not apply there!"
"Ah, but magic does work there, as you should know, my friend. It has simply been forgotten by most and disbelieved by the vast majority of people intelligent and dedicated enough to use it. And, you are right—there are no Rules there. I would never have sent Boquillas there if he had even a hair of his power, or if there were any formidable professional wizards still living and operating there. Now, though—he has found the way. And this time with Hell's full cooperation and blessing!"
He sighed. "And the worst part is, I can no longer even get over there to stop him."
She was a creature of the night and the fairy light and she loved it. She had been across the length and breadth of Husaquahr, and she had been the consort of kings and wizards, rogues, thieves, pirates, and mercenaries, and had to a degree shared their adventures. For one so tiny and delicate, she was a creature of great power, both known and unknown to mortals and other fairies.
She did not choose this life or this existence. It was forced upon her, as it was forced upon her sisters who were born to it. But she had not been born to it; she was a changeling, a human who had become a fairy when taken to the land where faerie power still held sway, and while she was totally what she now was, she was also the one she had been.
She was four feet ten inches tall, with a skin that was a soft burnt orange. She was humanoid, but not human. Her fingers, far too long for a woman's, ended in clawlike nails; so, too, her toes, and all digits both fingers and toes were webbed. She had a cute, sensuous face with enormous, sad, dark eyes and a playful, sensuous mouth, flanked by short, thick, blue-black hair shaped something like a pageboy with bangs over her forehead. From either side of her head protruded erect, shell-like pointed ears. Her body matched her face, and was both sensuous and perfectly proportioned.
But the most striking feature was the wings, sinister and batlike but somehow less threatening in deep crimson than in demonic black, although from the back the wings were a deep purple. They were not merely attached to her but seemed almost woven into and between her arms and body, so that, if an arm moved out or forward, the membranes fluttered and acted something like a natural cape, when not extended for flight.
She was of the race of Kauri, an all-female race with a very special place in the interrelated and complementary nationhood of faerie, a race numbering only a bit over three hundred, one of the most ancient and most primal of faerie types. They all looked exactly alike, but by a faerie sense of reading what was truly important about an individual as easily as humans might notice superficial surface features and blemishes, they all knew just who each was at all times.
To the Kauri, the whole world was magic and they alone were born just to enjoy it. In the sanctuary of their home at Mohr Jerahl, they flew and played tag and acted like small, uninhibited children without any self-control, having not a care in the world. Part of their job was removing from men, both human and otherwise, the heaviest emotional burdens inside the men's souls. They took it within themselves and fed off it, but they also acquired in this way more than they could consume. To cleanse themselves fully, they had to return quite often to Mohr Jerahl, where the Earth Mother who bore them lived in the heart of volcanic fires and could cleanse in those fires the stains they had removed from the souls of others.
Marge had often reflected how ironic it was that her Kauri powers grew enormously the more of that guilt and fear and loneliness she ate, yet the less fun it was when she had too much. She had returned to Mohr Jerahl only the previous night from a trip to the north, where she had participated in an ancient and colorful barbarian rite. When a chief or warlord married, there were three days of celebration, feasting, dancing, and all the rest, but on the wedding eve it was traditional for a Kauri to visit and service the groom, to take away that which might harm the relationship and make his soul pure for the wedding. While this involved, among other things, incredible sex, the Kauri even took away the guilt. Nor was there much in this case—there was a male race which was the counterpart of the Kauri, the Zamir, and they, too, were hired to service the bride.
Marge had always wanted to meet a Zamir, but she'd discovered long ago that it was simply not possible. Even when brought face to face, Zamir and Kauri could neither see, hear, nor feel one another, or in any way sense one another's presence. Each was nonexistent to the other— although not to everyone else.
Marge was unique in several ways other than being the only known changeling among the Kauri. She was from another world; she had vast experiences beyond the comprehension of a Kauri; and she was highly educated. She was also, of course, the only Kauri, and probably the only one of the fairy folk, to have a west Texas accent.
The barbarian wedding had taken its toll on her, and she was glad to be back at Mohr Jerahl and to have dipped into the fires of the Earth Mother and be cleansed once more. She was prepared to remain quite a while now and just relax and play.
She was content, really, with her lot in life, and the most important thing was that she had learned the faerie way of not looking ahead or anticipating, but living each moment to the full and making the best of whatever the situation was. She had meant to visit Joe, Tiana, and old Ruddygore; she still intended to do so, but she did not plan nor have any sense of time as humans did and she simply hadn't gotten around to it. Time was measured by day and night and nothing else; she had no idea how long it had been, except that it didn't seem very long at all.
It was, then, with some surprise that she received a summons to return to the Earth Mother only one night after coming "home," as she thought of Mohr Jerahl. The summons was internal, and it was obligatory. The Earth Mother was rather direct and, well, earthy; subtle was not something she understood.
Marge flew in toward the small hissing spatter cone in the center of Mohr Jerahl and unhesitatingly flew into its crater, oblivious of the heat and of the red bubbling lava. Instantly, she was one with the Earth Mother.
"I come in answer to your call, my Mother," she said, projecting her thoughts into the swirling mass of reds, oranges, and blacks.
"You bet your ass you do," the Earth Mother responded curtly. "A problem has come up which resulted in a request for you specifically. You've been out quite a while and I'm generally inclined to ignore such requests, but this one seems different."
Marge didn't really feel like going back into the world right now either, but she had no choice in the matter and said nothing.
"It appears that the forces of Hell are once more on the march, not in the old army sense, but in the way they are most effective," the Earth Mother told her. "As a rule, we're neutral in such matters, but this is an unusual situation. It involves the Dark Baron and others whom you know well."
She was startled. "But the Dark Baron is not in this world any longer!"
"That's true—but his influence pervades the world still, for his darker employer is not limited to merely one world or one place. This appears to be something so big it involves both worlds, and as one of both worlds it has been requested that you join the company formed to counter the evil. How do you feel about it?"
"The third adventure," she responded, suddenly remembering. "Oh, yes, my Mother. I will go."
"If I decide it, you'll go. I am hesitant. There are no signs or signals I can read on the course and outcome of this, since it involves Earth. There is great danger and possibly death in this. There is a great possibility that you will have to go to Earth to get this resolved."
"To Earth?"
"Yes. And if you do, it will not be as you were but as a Kauri you will go. Your powers are sufficient to mask you from ordinary folk, but none with the sight, including those from this world, will be fooled. Worse, Earth is a place terribly in need of Kauri, so the pressures on you will be enormous to help all that you find, and you must resist this. There is no way while there to cleanse yourself. Half of Earth is made of iron, which means it will be uncomforta
ble at the very least, and while there are spells to protect you, they offer only a very limited protection. It will be arranged so that you can handle small amounts without more than slight discomfort; but if you are injured by iron, it cannot be healed, and if you are killed, it will be the true death."
"I'm not afraid of that. I longed for the true death once, and was only saved by providence from taking my own life. All that I have done since has been the only truly happy time in my life. If the bill must be paid for that, then it must."
"Good girl! I'm proud of you! Very well. You will go to Castle Terindell, arriving on the night of the new moon, and from that point you will be in the hands of Ruddygore and his company. Just remember at all times that you are Kauri. Your will is strong. Control yourself and place the mission above all else." The Earth Mother hesitated a moment. "If you don't come back, I'm going to be really pissed off."
It was the closest thing to affection the Earth Mother had ever said to her, and she was touched.
"As a Kauri, I would not want to do anything to cause you anguish."
"Go, then! Before I change my mind!" And, with that, she found herself flung from the top of the volcano back out into the open night air.
The moon was a thin crescent in the sky, telling her she had but three days to make the castle. It would not be difficult.
Chapter 5
A Long-Expected Reunion
The Council is absolute in all matters of adjusting or supplementing the Rules. Council members may not like or be allied with one another unless they so choose, but must be civil when meeting in session. This Rule should not be taken as a constraint against assassinations.
—Rules, II, 77(a)
IT WAS A SOMBER PARTY, BUT, NEVERTHELESS, THROCKMORTON P. Ruddygore was a good host. There was gourmet food of every kind, fine wines and even champagnes, and the best accommodations. It was, in fact, a historical meeting at Castle Terindell; short of the convention of the Brotherhood, it was the first time anyone in living memory could recall that all thirteen members of the Council were in the same place at the same time.
Vengeance of the Dancing Gods Page 5