Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Undaunted, the naval craft swung around and let loose a second volley of stones as the stern lined up with another of the attackers. Clearly the pirates were paying a stiff bill for this one. As the stones rocked the small craft, a cheer went up from the four merchant crews watching the battle.

  Suddenly the second naval escort came gliding past the Pacah, closing on the attacking boats. As soon as it cleared the merchant convoy, it loosed its own rocky attack.

  Joe frowned and looked around. Where's the fifth one?

  Huh? Tiana, like Marge, was entranced by the battle and was startled by the question. It is right—where is it?

  There was a sudden shout from the lookout of the Tolah, just behind them, and they turned back to see what was going on. There! Joe shouted. “They're already boarding the Tolah:”

  The mate turned, grabbed a megaphone, and shouted at the pilot in the aft wheelhouse, Bring her around slow! Make fast for collision! Crew at the ready! Prepare to board aft!

  Joe suddenly saw what the mate was doing. He meant to bring the Pacah about slowly, causing the Tolah to run into their ship's side. At that point, the crew was prepared to jump to the defense of their sister ship before any of the pirates could gain control of the Tolah’s wheel and take her out of the convoy or avoid the maneuver.

  Joe looked at Tiana and Marge. I don't know about you, but I'm going over there! Without waiting for a reply, he went down the ladder to the deck and made his way aft, drawing Irving as he did so. The great sword gleamed in the warm sun and began to hum expectantly.

  Tiana followed, drawing her own nonmagical but still lethal bronze blade. They joined the dozen crewmen, armed with a variety of swords and pikes, waiting to jump over.

  Certainly the fighting was furious on the Tolah, and yells, curses, the sound of clashing metal, and an occasional cry of pain or anguish could be heard.

  One burly crewman looked at the two newcomers and grinned. All right, barbarians—as soon as you hear the bump, over the side we go. We have at best only a few seconds before the force of the collision separates us again.

  They nodded and braced for it. It came almost immediately, nearly knocking them off their feet. But in an instant, and with a joint cry, the Pacah's men stood and made for the boat. just on the other side of the rail, already moving backward a bit as it recoiled on the placid water from the shock of the collision.

  The pirates were not expecting the attack, and three lost their lives just by turning at the wrong time to see what new enemy was screaming so. The rest recovered quickly and arranged to meet the newcomers. The fight was soon joined, and before long it was a mass of people. Joe was painfully and suddenly aware that he could hardly tell the human pirates from the crew of the Tolah, but that didn't bother him right away. At least half the pirates were nonhuman, some in the extreme.

  A reptilian creature fully as tall as he, with burning yellow eyes and a mouthful of sharp teeth in its lizardlike head, turned and hissed at him. The creature was a rather sickly blue and covered in scales, and Joe had no time to reflect on what the hell the thing might be. The gleaming sword in its humanoid right hand told him his job, and Irving came up to parry a blow. They were joined.

  He concentrated on fancy footwork and positioning as usual and let Irving do the work. This thing, whatever it was, was no pushover, though; it was incredibly strong, and he reeled under the force of its blows, even as Irving parried them. Still, he had greater maneuverability and was able to jump once he got the rhythm of the attacker's sword strokes. He leaped sidewise and let Irving sweep out of the way; the creature missed, and its own momentum carried it forward. Joe brought his great sword down quickly and sliced right through the creature's scaly neck. Greenish ichor squirted out from the gaping wound, and the creature roared and reeled backward, dropping its sword. Joe pressed forward, plunging Irving into the creature's abdomen several times and drawing even more green blood.

  Satisfied, he turned and saw Tiana taking on a squat, solid humanoid. The thing was a head shorter than she, but totally hairless and built like a tank, with huge, clawed hands grasping a lethal-looking sword. Joe paused to note the expression of sheer joy on her face as she swung her sword again and again, matching the pirate blow for blow. She was good, he decided.

  At that moment, he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his back and cried out, whirling at the same time; this maneuver brought him face to face with a thing he could only think of as a four armed creature from the Black Lagoon. Each of its four hands held a weapon, but one held a broken-off staff, telling Joe that he had been pierced with a spear.

  Too mad really to feel the wound, he screamed and swung Irving up and at the creature, who lifted one of its two swords to parry.

  This was a tough adversary, since it could use all four arms separately and had the strength to wield its own broadsword with only one hand. Joe knew that this sort of creature was deadly to most opponents, but he'd been trained by an equally ugly, four-armed monster named Gorodo and he knew the tricks, moves, and weak spots.

  The creature, too, was damned good; in the hack, slash, and move attack Joe employed, trying to get position, he suffered a wound for every one he scored—but soon two of the thing's arms were flopping on the deck, and it was roaring in pain and flinging its swords wildly in front of itself in a hopeless defense. Joe easily moved under the swords and struck deeply again and again into the thing's armored chest, so strong his anger and so powerful his sword that the armor proved no protection at all.

  The creature howled in agony, dropping both swords, and Joe rushed it, pushed it against the rail, then shoved it over. He heard a thud rather than a splash and took the time to look over the side. The creature had struck the pirate ship and now lay sprawled on the deck.

  He turned again and saw Tiana engaging a large, tough looking human swordsman. Praying that it wasn't a crew member, he looked for more game. His eyes went up to the aft pilothouse, where he saw a hairy man climbing the ladder to the wheel. It was clear that, if the pilot was still up there, he'd been felled by a bolt or an arrow. Using his sword as a passage through the deck fighting, Joe made for the ladder himself.

  Any doubt that the man now up on the wheelhouse level was a pirate was dispelled as the fellow shouted down to the pirate craft to pull away, then headed for the wheel.

  Joe appeared almost in front of him; for a moment, the two just stared at each other. The pirate, Joe saw, was as cold and nasty-looking a character as he'd ever faced, but the man didn't seem to have any weapon. Come out from behind that wheel or die there! Joe challenged.

  The pirate chuckled and spat. Goodbye, barbarian! he snapped and raised his hand in a motion suggesting he was about to throw something. Joe ducked as a small fireball sped past him, right through the spot where he'd just been standing.

  Joe knew now that he was dealing with at least a low-level adept and was at risk, but he couldn't wait for reinforcements. The pirate was already turning the wheel hard, bringing the Tolah about and separating it from the convoy. Crouching, Joe made his way around the back of the wheelhouse and prepared to rush the pirate. Taking a deep breath, he stood and moved into the wheelhouse with a cry that stopped in mid-utterance. The wheelhouse was empty.

  Nice try, barbarian. Now it's time to die, the pirate said from behind him. Idly, the man made the tossing motion, and Irving, with its own life, began to parry the little fireballs as they came.

  Joe at the same time eased back to the door on the other side and quickly ducked around, then pressed himself against the cabin wall. He wasn't sure what to do now.

  The pirate walked calmly out from behind the wheelhouse and looked at him, grinning. Nice work. Too bad I can't afford any prisoners. With a little seasoning, you'd be one hell of a pirate yourself.

  Joe tensed and turned to face the man standing only a few yards from him, trying to figure out if he could throw Irving with enough speed and force so that the adept would be unable to parry.

  Suddenly a figure see
med to appear from nowhere and come to rest between them, facing the adept. It was small enough that the two men could see right over the newcomer.

  Marge! Joe cried. Watch it!

  She spread her wings and looked at the pirate adept. Want to practice on me first?

  Out of my way, fairy, or you bum! the pirate snarled.

  Go ahead.

  This time both hands went up, and from the pirate's palms came a tremendous surge of yellow energy. It struck Marge fully, and Joe cried out, No!

  Suddenly the pirate adept stopped and stared at the Kauri, his expression of confidence fading with his magical energy bolts, to be replaced by a look of sheer fright. No! Don't! he cried.

  Joe was behind Marge and so could not fully see what the adept was seeing, but he could see a huge field of yellow energy shoot from her back at the pirate. The man screamed and was suddenly enveloped in crackling flames. He fried on the spot.

  Marge put down her wings, turned, and grinned at Joe, who was just gaping at her. I thought you couldn't fight, he managed.

  The grin grew broader. But I can defend. He attacked me, and he got exactly what he gave. Gee—that was kinda neat. I didn't even use all of it, you know. Let me see whether I can release the rest of it down below. She walked to the front of the wheelhouse and looked down at the fight, which was certainly now going the merchant's way but was still pretty fierce. Extending her wings again, she picked out those she could who had to be pirates. Little spurts of yellow energy shot from her; down below, humans and nonhumans alike yelled and screamed in pain. It wasn't nearly enough to kill, only to sting or bum, but the shock of getting hit with a bolt was enough to distract the pirates from the people who were cheerfully trying to kill them and who took full advantage of their added worry.

  Joe went back to the wheelhouse. He had no idea how to run one of these things, but he saw the rest of the convoy a thousand yards distant and going away. At least, he knew enough to bring the wheel around so that the Tolah was heading back toward its friends. He only hoped that somebody was left down there who knew how to find the brakes on the thing.

  That proved an easy task to tell, since the sight of many of their people being killed and of Joe in the wheelhouse was too much for the pirates, who began to break off, close in as a group, and make for the rail where their corvette was lashed.

  Marge—you got any juice left? he yelled.

  She turned. A little, I think. Why?

  Fly down there and zap the two lines holding their boat to this one! They'll have to swim for it!

  Gotcha! With that she was off, over the side and out of his sight. A moment later he felt a bump and, looking over, he could see the mast of the pirate ship begin to move away from the Tolah. He grinned. Good girl!

  Suddenly he saw a thick plume of inky black smoke appear near that pirate mast. Marge flew back up to him and landed, looking very satisfied with herself.

  They're on fire! he almost shouted.

  She nodded. I wondered how much juice I had, so after I zapped the ropes, I saw all this crap on their deck they use for the fireballs. It was real easy to light.

  He looked down again and saw the remaining pirates leaping over the side. Damn! Too bad we can't get 'em all, or at least one, alive.

  I'm not sure there's much chance of that, Marge replied. They had to climb to the top of the rail, which is about five feet, then jump clear of the running board or whatever it is. I make it a jump of maybe twelve feet and I think the water here is only two or three feet deep. The way we're still swinging around, they'll all still be stuck headfirst in the mud when we run over them.

  Chapter 11

  ZHIMBOMBE

  A percentage of all seats of magic shall be dark towers, said percentage to be not less than twenty percent of all such seats of power at any given time. Practitioners of the black arts shall be given preference for these locations.

  —Rules, IV, 203(b) (c)

  Both Marge and Tiana looked him over back on the Pacah and did a joint shaking of heads. Joe was almost covered in blood, much of it his own, and Marge swore that she had seen a crewman on the Tolah pull the working end of a spear out of his back; yet when the blood was washed off, there seemed not a sign or mark on him, front or back.

  It's a spell, I think, he told them at last, although just how much I want to push it, I'm not really sure. I don't want to test it by getting my skull crushed or my head lopped off or anything like that, but it seemed to do its job here. Trouble is, a weapon still hurts just as much going in as it always did, damn it.

  Both women studied him, skepticism written all over their faces. Finally Marge said, I've just run through the entire spectrum and I can't see a spell anywhere. Joe—are you holding something back from us?

  He sighed. Well, you'll find out about it sooner or later, anyway. Urn, would it be clearer if I told you that only things made of silver can cause hard wounds or kill me?

  A werewolf! Tiana exclaimed, slightly shocked.

  A were Pekingese, more likely, unless I miss my guess, Marge responded. Is that it?

  He nodded. Only it's not a werewolf or a weredog. Giving up, he told them what Ruddygore and Poquah had made plain to him. So, you see, I didn't even want to come on this crazy mission. I've been trying not to think about it since I found out.

  Well, you said you wanted a little magic, Marge reminded him. Looks as if it's handy magic at that. Either the spear or the sword into your belly might have done you in during that fight back there—or you'd probably be badly infected, at least. As it is, you're sitting here chewing on an apple and feeling fine.

  He looked over at Tiana, who seemed very uncertain about this whole business. Aside from a very small nick on the arm, she'd fought through without any problems and without the aid of a magic sword, too. Still, it was she he was most worried about. Does all this make a difference to you? he asked her nervously.

  She shook her head wonderingly. I—I do not know. On the face of it, certainly not, but when the moon is full... I ' do not know. The curse is transferable, and who knows how much self-control you might have?

  A fair amount, he replied. That's why it's so rare. That Peke wouldn't have bitten me if I hadn't stepped on its tail. I think it's something I'm just going to have to endure, like people with malaria. We'll have to see.

  Maybe it will even come in handy, Marge said thoughtfully. In a way, it already has done so.

  Tochik was another version of Zichis, although it spread on both sides of the falls, which meant on both sides of the border, and each country had its own routing and lift system. The Pacah touched port only on the Zhimbombean shore, since all of its passengers and cargo were to be transshipped south.

  South Tochik was an immediate contrast to the lands they had known. Entry formalities were officious but correct, although they gave the impression that exiting would be far more difficult. All of the officials, not only at the port of entry but everywhere in the town, wore black military uniforms, and there was a definite impression of being under martial law. The immigration officer asked only routine questions of them, writing in a small book for each; but when all three books were handed to them, he was very stem.

  These are documents necessary for safe passage in the Barony. Keep them with you at all times. It is an offense punishable by imprisonment or death not to have them, and it is an equal infraction not to present them to any uniformed soldier of the Barony, regardless of rank, as well as to innkeepers, transportation officials, or others who might require them. As you are in transit to Marahbar, you will go only to those areas and frequent only those places officials might approve while you are passing through the Barony. Is that understood?

  They all nodded. Good. You will proceed now to your hotel. The corporal there will escort you and see that you are properly checked in. As transient passengers, you are restricted to the hotel, its shops, and its restaurants, unless given permission otherwise.

  Have a nice day.

  The corporal was
a dour, thin young man with the crispness

  of a military cadet and the communicativeness of a rock. He was definitely not a native of the region, whose people seemed dark and swarthy, but of some place far away and far different.

  They were not fifty feet from the customs station when they saw long lines, not only of men but of various sorts of fairies and creatures from unknown places, ail shifting cargo under the watchful gaze of a number of tough-looking military types, some of whom had whips and others with mean-looking crossbows, loaded and held on the workers. It was clear that these were hardly volunteer labor; and this close to the border, with ships from the free north putting in and needing service, the local authorities were taking no chances.

  Likewise, it seemed as if there was a uniformed soldier on each street comer, keeping an eye on everything and everybody. The few ordinary citizens on the street looked cowed and terrified and were being stopped every block for some sort of credentials check. The travelers were waved on, since they had an escort. They finally reached their hotel, a small, three storey structure that badly needed repair and several coats of paint.

  In point of fact, the whole town looked as if it needed a great deal of repair. Hitching rails seemed rotted or fallen everywhere, wood sidewalks were dangerous to walk upon, and the shops were dingy and grim-looking.

  The hotel was as bad as the rest, inside and out. It stank and looked so rundown that it reminded Joe of more than one bad flophouse he'd seen in the older cities of America. The bathrooms were on the first floor and barely better than holes in the floor, not cleaned or sanitized in ages, and smelling so bad that no one could waste any time in them. The flies, too, were awful, not just in the bathrooms; and everywhere roaches and other insects scampered about. The desk clerk and a few of the people in the lobby looked just like the hotel—dirty, worn out, and hopeless.

  Marge shook her head in wonder. We'd need the entire race of Kauri to do anything here at all. And the soldiers are worse. They all feel so—dead inside, beyond all hope.