The demon chief smiled. “Then we be together, this time. We ha’ no joy in aliens who would mine out our mounts.”
“Aye, I hoped so,” Flach said, relieved. “My sire the Rovot Adept opposes them, and hides the Book o’ Magic.”
“We remember the Rovot—and Fleta ‘Corn, a mare one could learn to like.” That was strong language, from those who liked no one. Flach’s dam had evidently made a considerable impression.
“Stile be their captive, and most o’er Adepts. Mayhap I alone can implement our defense.”
“And needst our aid?”
“Aye.”
“Shallst have it, ‘Corn. What needst?”
Just like that! Demons evidently wasted no time pondering. “Needs must I go to the North Pole.”
Icebeard was taken aback. “That be one hard haul. I would trust not my cold bones there. The weather be mean.”
“Aye, I fear I can make it not alone.”
“But my daughter be full o’ the flush o’ youth. She will lead thee there, with picked guard.”
“My thanks to thee, chief o’ demons!” Flach said gratefully. A demon squad could handle anything short of Adept magic—and they would not encounter that near the Pole.
“But a caution,” Icebeard said. “My cub be impetuous, and my guards be virile. Needs must a man’s presence keep them in check.”
“I be but boy,” Flach protested. “An I not be the only one remaining, this task were ne’er mine.”
“Thou dost be Adept,” Icebeard reminded him. “Canst do magic we wot not, an we oppose thee not.”
“Aye—but an I invoke it, the traitor Purple be on my tail. I can risk but small spells.”
“Illusion be but small.”
Flach gazed at him, catching on. “Make myself seem older? Maybe twice mine age o’ nine?”
Icebeard nodded. “My cub be twenty. That be close enough. She will show the way. An a guard show interest in her, do thou step between.”
Flach was daunted. “I know not if I—”
“Do thou fashion a seeming o’ robust strength and brief temper. That, plus mine orders, suffice.”
Maybe it would. Flach realized that it would have to be risked, if he was to get to the Pole. “I will try, Chief.”
“Mayhap soon I find suitable match for her. But an she fall for a mere guard, that be complicated.”
Flach could appreciate that. Each group had its own conventions about romance and marriage, and violation of them could be perilous. Flach knew the wolf conventions, and was catching on to the human ones, thanks to Nepe’s information. Icebeard wanted his daughter emotionally uncommitted until there was a good marriage lined up for her. Naturally there was no worry about a relationship with a warm-bodied man; any closeness would freeze him or melt her. There was even less concern about a nine-year-old child. The chief might be taking advantage of Flach’s mission to keep his daughter safely out of temptation until he completed his arrangements for her.
This could be good for Flach, too. Any demon help would be good, but because Icebeard valued his daughter, these would be picked guards, able to handle just about any threat. That, plus Flach’s minor magic, should get them through in good order.
“Methinks it will take thee a day to get the party organized,” Flach said. “I be tired from my trek here—”
“Didst not conjure thyself close?”
“Nay, that be strong magic. I came by land, running day and night and day.”
Icebeard snapped his icy fingers, and a demon female appeared. She was stooped, and her hair was a curtain of icicles, but she was human rather than beastly in general configuration. “Take him to a secure chamber and watch him sleep,” the chief told her.
The woman walked to Flach, picked him up, and carried him out of the room. She was taking the order literally, and taking him as she would a block of ice. He had to do a quick spot spell to prevent their contact from doing each harm.
She bore him to a bubble of air deep in the glacier and dumped him down on a bed of snow. Again he did spot magic to make the interface proper: now the snow seemed like warm feathers, and did not melt under him. He stretched out, ready to sleep for twelve hours.
The demoness stood there, gazing down at him. Time passed, and she did not move. Then he realized what it was: she was watching him sleep, literally.
So be it. He would surely be safe, this way. He closed his eyes and slept.
Next day, refreshed, he conjured some bread to eat, found a crevice for natural functions, and went to see what had developed in the interim.
Icebeard had been busy. A troop of ten stout snow demons had been assembled, and a similar number of demon dogs, also made of ice. Several were to be harnessed to a sled, and the others would range out around the group, guarding it. They were to travel in style.
“Adept!”
He turned. It was a petite young demoness, not greatly taller than himself. He was surprised; he had thought all demons, of any type, were ugly, hideous, or grotesque, but she was a perfect figure of a woman molded from ice. “Aye,” he said.
“I be Icedora, but thou mayst call me Icy,” she said, her voice like the crystalline tinkle of glass dangles. “That be spelled with a c, not a k, for I be not Iky!”
“I can see that,” he said, awed even at his age in the spectacle of her frozen splendor.
“We be traveling together, methinks.”
Icebeard’s daughter! He realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. The demon chief had said she was twenty, which was adult, and that he was trying to set up her marriage, but he had neglected to say she was beautiful by any standard. “Aye,” he said after a moment. “I be Flach.”
“I met thy dam, the ‘corn,” she said. “I were but thine age then, but she were beautiful.”
Flach hesitated, not knowing the appropriate response. Icy’s the same! Nepe prompted him.
“No more so than thee,” Flach said.
Icy smiled, and that confirmed the compliment, for her smile made her seem almost warm. “Methinks we shall get along well enough,” she said.
Told you! Nepe put in. Way to a woman’s heart is flattery.
So it seemed. He would try to remember that, for the time when it might count for him. “That should be nice. Who rides the sled?”
“Thou—and I. So we had better get along well!”
“Aye.” He looked around, to make sure that no other demons were listening. “Thy father says I must pretend to be older, so I will make a spell o’ illusion. But thou must remember I be but a child.”
“Aye. But thou dost be distressingly hot. Canst make thyself comfortably cool?”
“Aye. I will seem cold, but will not be cold. I will not melt thee, and thou willst not freeze me.”
“I be glad o’ that!” she said, laughing. “We folk associate not much with thy folk, because o’ their oppressive heat. An they e’er change their ways, all will be cool.”
“Aye,” he agreed, not caring to argue the point.
On the following day they started off. Flach had generated an illusion that doubled his age, so that he looked and sounded eighteen instead of nine. He seemed larger and heavier, but he retained the strength and mind of his true age. His image moved exactly as he did, magnified appropriately. He was rather proud of the spell; he had never done this before.
Icebeard looked him over and cracked a slow smile. “An that not fade in thy sleep, it be suitable.”
“It will remain till I counter it,” Flach assured him. “My spells fade slow. But an I have to do a man’s work, I needs must use magic to amplify my strength.”
“Nonesuch be required. The story be this: my daughter has a mission to the Pole, and thou too, to help her complete it. Thou willst tell her what needs must be done, and she will tell the guards. The dogs not will attack thee.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “Canst tell me what thy business be at the Pole?”
“I know it not, only that I must go,” Flach said, appreciatin
g why he had not been told. He could not blab the secret to anyone. “I hope to discover why when I get there. Then mayhap it will be known to all.”
“Mayhap,” the demon chief agreed, disappointed. “Come, needs must I introduce thee to my cub, lest she mistake thee for other.”
“I met her yesterday,” Flach said.
“In this form?”
“Nay, in mine own.”
“Then the introduction be needful.”
He had a point. Flach now looked completely different. He had the aspect of a powerful young man. He hoped he would be this solid and handsome when he really did grow up!
Icy was evidently impressed when she saw him. “I knew not that warm ones could be so rugged!” she exclaimed, eying him in a way that made him uncomfortable.
You should be! the inner voice that was Nepe told him. That’s one hot snow demoness! She’s going to find out just what is possible, before this trip is done. She formed a mental image of wolves sniffing tails, then making ready to mate.
Flach shrugged. Nothing was possible, of course.
They got on the sledge, which was shaped to allow them to sit comfortably side by side, their backs supported by the supplies behind and their legs moderately bent in front. Icy took the reins. “Hush!” she cried, and the dogs took off.
But they were high on a mountain slope. The sledge careered down and to the side, skidding toward a drop-off. “Yiii!” Flach cried, grabbing on for dear life.
The sledge turned just before the ledge and zoomed along its edge. Flach hung on, afraid to look down into its dark depths. They seemed about to bounce off the snow and tumble right off the mountain.
“Well, now,” Icy said, her frozen breath tickling his ear. Flach opened his eyes.
She was what he had grabbed on to! Hastily he let go, steeling himself to sit upright and ignore the horrendous scene just beyond the sled, and the breathtaking one on it.
The demons skiing behind laughed. So did the racing guard dogs. So, in a moment, did the harnessed dogs. They had done it on purpose, to make him react.
Flach relaxed. If they were so sure of their footing and Icy’s safety, he might as well be sure too. They surely knew every inch of these mountain slopes, and could handle them precisely. They had had their fun with him, but he would keep his nerve better from now on.
Soon they were beyond the mountains and heading north across a relatively flat plain. The dogs ran indefatigably, and the skiing demons kept the pace. It quickly got dull.
“Dost know any good games?” Icy asked with a toss of her ice tresses. “We have long to ride.”
“Well, there be tag—”
“And which o’ us gets off and runs to do that?” she inquired archly.
“It were a stupid notion,” he admitted. “I could conjure cards—”
“I have played e’ery game there be for cards!” she said crossly. “A chief’s daughter has much time on her hands.”
There’s one she hasn’t played, I’ll bet, Nepe thought. I don’t know what it’s called, but I remember how it goes.
Flach conjured a deck of playing cards. “Mayhap I have one thou hast not.”
“Willst bet on’t?”
“Bet what?”
“Consequences.”
Flach wasn’t sure he trusted this. “What consequences?”
She shrugged. “I’ll decide, after I win.”
“Suppose I win?”
“Then the consequence be thine to decide, for me.”
“I have a mission to accomplish. I can’t be diverted to—”
“Innocent tasks,” she said. “Like saying ‘I be a warm ogre bottom!’ or mayhap standing on the sledge and sunning the guards.”
“Sunning?”
“Mayhap thy kind calls it mooning.”
This was beginning to sound like the kind of challenge a person of his generation couldn’t turn down. “An thou dost lose the bet, I define a consequence for thee?” he said, making quite sure.
“Aye. So long as it be harmless and delay our travel not.”
This creature is dangerous! Nepe warned admiringly. But you better accept her challenge, or she’ll come up with worse.
“Agreed,” Flach said. “The bet be whether I have a card game thou hast ne’er played before.”
“Aye. Name it.”
“I can’t name it. But—”
“Then thou dost lose!” she exclaimed.
“Nay, that be not the bet!” he protested. “I need not name it, only describe it. An it be a good game thou has played not before, I win.”
She reconsidered. “Aye, that be fair. Describe it.”
Drawing on Nepe’s information, he described it: “Several can play, or only two. The dealer lays down cards according to a secret rule, and first to guess that rule becomes dealer.”
She considered. “I ne’er heard o’ it,” she confessed. “But be it a real game? Who wins it, who loses? How be points scored?
“The dealer wins, long’s he holds his place. It be like king o’ the hill: the one atop wins till he loses. But we could play for points an thou wishest: each wrong guess be the dealer’s point.”
“But the dealer gets all the points!” she protested.
“Aye, but the players can become dealer by guessing right, and get points. When the game end, belike one be ahead.”
“Aye,” she said, considering it. “I like this game. Thou dost win the bet. What wouldst thou make my consequence?”
Flach was tempted to make her sun the guards, but lacked the nerve. “Let’s play the game, and this be my first point.”
She looked at him. “Thou dost be generous, Flach. I would have gi’en thee worse.”
“I lost my nerve,” he admitted.
She laughed. “I like thee, warm one! I will not make thee do aught onerous.”
“An thou dost win.”
“Ne’er fear, I will win,” she said confidently. “I be not Adept, but I be sharp at card games.”
Flach marveled at her certainty. Though his own experience with the Proton Game was slight, Nepe had played it often, and her expertise was his to draw on now that they were merged. Also, he had played games with his adopted sibling wolves, among which guessing games were prominent because they could be indulged while running together through brush in quest of game (the other kind). In short, despite his youth, he regarded himself as a good competitor, quick with his wits. Could this sheltered snow girl be the same?
He shuffled the cards. They were plastic, able to withstand both his heat and her cold. “Wouldst be dealer first?”
“Nay,” she said. “How couldst thou have the first point, and thou not be dealer? Lay me out.”
He glanced at her, unsure of her terminology. She had undone her ice coat, evidently feeling too warm, and had her feather-ice sweater open to view. It was a remarkably shapely sweater, rather like a contour map with two perfectly rounded mountains.
“Some cards,” she clarified, laughing so that the mountains shook. Well she knew the nature of his confusion and his distraction.
When I grow up, I’m going to practice to make my sweater move like that! Nepe thought enviously.
That helped clarify things for Flach. He had found that sweater oddly intriguing, but hadn’t quite realized why. No doubt when he became the age he had made himself appear to be, he would have no trouble realizing why. Apparently there was a greater correspondence between the interests of demons and men than he had appreciated.
“Then thou must shuffle,” he said. “That be standard, to assure I cheat not.”
She laughed so hard that her sweater threatened to ripple apart and hurl the mountains into limbo. “Thou fool! Canst be serious?”
“Aye, serious,” he said, annoyed. “Needs must the game be played fair.”
“Willst bet on that?” she asked, suppressing a chortle.
“Aye! I would not cheat!”
She calmed down enough to face him directly, but the mountains still qu
ivered with merry aftershocks. “This be no random dealing, Flach,” she said. “This be cards laid down by secret rules. How canst thou have a rule, an thou deal randomly—‘less random be thy rule?”
Ooops! She had caught him in an embarrassing blunder. Even his simulated aspect blushed. “Thy point,” he admitted.
Her head darted forward, and she kissed him on the cheek. The magic of the illusion was such that her cold lips scored on his own flesh, though it was not quite where the flesh of the older youth seemed. “But I like thine honesty,” she said. “Thy foolishness becomes thee.”
That made him blush worse. He tried to ignore it. “Now must I put the cards back in order,” he said.
“Easy, Adept!” she said, taking the deck from him. “Make us a table—a sheet o’ ice will do—and I will play a game o’ clock solitaire.”
“But a game will just mix them up more!” he protested. “And what be this about a clock? Time be not o’ the essence.”
She shook her head wonderingly. “I had thought it to be dull, shepherding a boy into the bleak. Methinks I forget the joys o’ naïveté. Watch—nay, no pun!—and learn, lad.”
He conjured the sheet of ice she wanted, and they laid it across their laps. His woolly clothing and protective spell prevented his heat from melting it, and her body would only freeze it colder, so it was an excellent table. She put the cards down in a circular pattern of twelve piles, and a thirteenth pile in the center. “This be the clock,” she announced. “North be twelve, south be six, and the rest in order. An I complete the numbers before the center, I win—but that be seldom.”
“One chance in thirteen,” he remarked.
“How cle’er o’ thee to figure it!” she said, smiling. He knew she was teasing him, but he felt a surge of pleasure. She’s mistress of her trade, Nepe thought appreciatively.
She lifted the top card in the center pile. It was an ace. She put that face up under the 1 pile just right of the 12 pile, and lifted the top card of that pile. This was a 6, so she put that under the 6 pile, and took its top card.
So it went, from pile to pile, each one showing the way to the next. Icy’s snow-white hands flashed cleverly from pile to pile, placing and lifting cards so quickly it was hard to follow. Obviously she had played this game many times before—and many others. She had spoken truly about her experience in this regard.
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