The Complete Dilvish, The Damned

by Roger Zelazny

  "It's all right," Reena was saying. "A dream, a bad dream… It's all right."

  "Yes," Dilvish finally said, rubbing his eyes. "Yes…"

  He dropped his hands, patted her thigh.

  "Thanks," he said. "Sorry to wake you."

  "Go back to sleep," she answered.

  "What is that?"

  "What?"

  "To the right," he said softly. "Look at the door."

  There was a long pause, then: "I don't see it…"

  "Neither do I."

  He swung his feet to the floor, rose, and crossed the room. He halted near the place where the doorway should have been. He reached out and touched the wall, pressed upon it. He ran his fingertips along the stone. He moved from one corner to the other.

  "It's not just a trick of the darkness," he said. "There is no door."

  "Magic?" she said. "Or masonry?"

  "I can't tell, and it doesn't matter," he replied. "Either way, we're prisoners. Get up and get dressed. Get your things together."

  "Why?"

  "Why? I'm going to try to get us out of here."

  He moved across the room toward the narrow window.

  "Wait! Are you certain it would be wise, even if you can find a way?"

  "Yes," he replied. "When someone makes me a prisoner, I am certain that it is better not to remain one."

  "But no attempt has been made to harm us—"

  "Yet," he said. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

  "It might be more dangerous outside than it is in here."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Something is going on out there tonight. Something dangerous, I believe, from—hints—I got when I was talking with Reynar. I feel safe here. Why don't we just wait—until morning?"

  "I will not be controlled," Dilvish stated, "if there is something I can do about it."

  He leaned his head into the narrow window and shouted:

  "Black! I need you! We're walled into this room! Come to me!"

  There was movement within the well of shadow below and to his right. Moonlight touching its eyes to fire, the dark horse shape advanced several paces and halted. Abruptly it threw back its head and emitted a wailing note that caused Dilvish to draw away from the aperture.

  "Black! What is it! What's the matter?" he cried.

  "Just burned myself" came the reply. "Someone's encircled me. Can you break it from there?"

  "I don't think so. Wait a minute."

  He turned toward the bed.

  "Someone's bound Black—" he began.

  "I heard," she said. "I can't loosen it from here."

  "All right."

  He located his clothing and began dressing.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "It'll be a bit of a squeeze, but I believe I can get through that window."

  "Those are flagstones down there."

  He picked up a blanket and knotted it about the nearest bedpost.

  "We've enough linen to get me far enough down to drop. Get the basin and soak it all. It's stronger that way. I don't think the bed can be moved, though… No, it won't budge."

  He finished knotting the bedclothes together and slung his blade over his back. He raised the damp line and cast it out the window.

  "All right. I'm going now," he said, kicking over a stool and mounting it. "Get ready. I'll be back for you shortly."

  "But how—"

  "Just do it."

  He was already edging his way through the window. He had to pause to unsling his blade, holding it in one hand and the line in the other. He stopped, exhaled heavily, and resumed pushing himself to the left, slowly, feeling the stone grate across his backbone. Expelling more breath, he continued to slip sideways, his sternum also scraping slowly past the narrowest portion of the window. A cold night wind fell upon his face as he came free and reslung the blade over his back. Taking the line into both hands, he began his descent.

  His Elfboots found purchase where others might have slipped. Leaning heavily, straining his arms, he backed down the wall. He paused to wipe his hands one by one as he descended, his weight wringing moisture from the taut cloth. He looked up once, looked down several times. The moon, climbing toward midheaven, cast a milky film upon the still courtyard beneath him and the grainy wall upon which he trod.

  His intention when he reached the end of the line was to hang suspended at arm's length before dropping the remaining distance. However, his hands slipped free before he could achieve this position. As he tumbled backward, he felt his body jerked about, repositioned with respect to the ground, his charmed boots calling upon the forces necessary to assure his landing upon his feet.

  He bent his knees. He threw himself forward into a roll as soon as he struck, his ankles still taking a heavy jolt upon the unyielding surface.

  He rose quickly and buckled on his sword belt in a more traditional fashion, looking about, listening the while for any indications of approaching danger. Save for the wind and his own heavy breathing, however, he heard nothing. Nor did he see anything out of the ordinary.

  He moved across the courtyard quickly and stood before Black.

  "Who did it?" he asked.

  "I don't know. I wasn't even aware that I was bound until I attempted to depart. Had I known what was going on, I certainly wouldn't have waited here for them to finish it. I can refresh you on the loosening procedure if you do not recall—"

  "It takes too long," said Dilvish. "Since I can do a few things you can't, I'm simply going to break the circle and bring you out."

  "It will be painful. It's a strong one."

  Dilvish chuckled softly.

  "Whatever, I've felt worse."

  He moved forward, feeling first a tingling, then a fiery pain as he neared his mount. He paused for a moment in its midst and it rose to an agonizing peak, as if his entire body were burning inside and out, his head swimming. Then it began to subside. He reached out and touched Black with both hands.

  "I've drained off the worst of it," he said, and he mounted. "Let's go!"

  Black began to move. There was a tingling sensation, and then they were crossing the courtyard, heading toward the main entrance. Moments later they were through it.

  "Up that stairway!" Dilvish said, and Black sprang forward, hooves clattering. "To the right and around when you reach the top. Then up the next stair."

  Large standing candles flickered as they passed, tapestries flapped, hanging weapons chattered against stone walls.

  "Turn right here"—at the top of the second stair. "Turn again—right. Slow now… Near the middle of the corridor. Hold it!"

  Dilvish slid down and approached the wall, placing his hands flat upon it.

  "It was here," he said. "Right about here—the door. Reena!"

  "Yes"—faintly—from beyond the wall.

  "I don't know what they did with it," Dilvish said. "But we need another one."

  "I've a feeling," Black said slowly, "that the original one is still there, somewhere—that you were trapped by an illusion. But it is only a feeling, and I can't detect it either now. So we will start from scratch, so to speak."

  Black reared, casting a giant shadow. As he did, there followed the first silence since they had entered the building. Through it, beyond it, Dilvish thought that he heard voices and footsteps, coming from the vicinity of the stair. No one was in sight, however, and moments later the nearer silence was shattered as Black's forelegs descended to strike against the wall.

  Dilvish drew back as chips of stone flew about the hallway. Already Black was rearing again. His second blow struck sparks from the stone. The third time that he lunged a crack appeared within the wall.

  A group of servants entered the corridor, clubs in their hands. They halted as Black rose up and struck again.

  The woman, Andra, moved forward, calling to him.

  "You said that the metal beast would not move!" she cried.

  "… And I meant it—until I was made a prisoner," he answe
red.

  Black crashed against the wall once again. Stone shattered and fell away. A head-sized hole appeared.

  After several moments' hesitation, the servants— four men and two women—began to advance. Dilvish drew his blade. Black's next assault upon the wall tripled the size of the opening.

  Dilvish moved toward the approaching servants. He lowered the point of his blade and drew it across the floor.

  "I'll dismember the first person who crosses that line," he stated.

  From behind him there came another crash and the sound of more falling masonry.

  The advancing figures hesitated, halted. Black's next blow seemed to cause the entire castle to shudder.

  "I'm through," he said simply, backing away from the opening.

  "Reena?" Dilvish inquired, not moving his eyes from his muttering adversaries.

  "Yes." Her voice was clear and near.

  "Mount," he said. "We're getting out of here."

  "Yes."

  Dilvish heard the movements behind him. Then Black's shadow slid forward. He glanced up, mounted quickly behind Reena.

  "Better get out of the way!" he announced. "We're coming through!"

  He brandished his blade.

  "Take us away," he said to Black, and they began to move forward.

  The six figures pressed back against the wall to let them pass. They held their weapons at ready but made no attempt to use them as Black went by. They stared without expression and glanced back along the dust-filled hallway. Dilvish looked back, also, as Black made the first turn toward the stair. The doorway had reappeared, about two feet beyond the new opening in the wall.

  Moments later they were moving down the stair. Nothing barred their way. They left the keep to find the courtyard still deserted. Crossing it, they saw that the portcullis was raised.

  "Strange…" Dilvish remarked, gesturing.

  "Perhaps," Reena said, as Black increased his pace and they rushed through. "I have your cloak here…"

  "Hang onto it till we're farther away. Black, when you hit yesterday's trail, go left."

  "The horses…" Reena said. "The other things…"

  "I'm not about to go back for them."

  Black began to climb, beneath a high moon. The cold winds caught at them as they passed, and at a great distance some creature barked, howled, and grew still. Reena looked back once at the castle, shuddered, then rested in the circle of Dilvish's arms.

  "You are going to die, you know," she said. "He is going to kill you. You haven't a chance."

  "Who?" he said.

  "Jelerak. There is no way you will ever be able to destroy someone like that."

  "Quite possible," Dilvish said, "but I have to try."

  "Why?"

  "He has done a lot of harm and he will do more unless someone stops him."

  They reached the trail and Black bore them to the left, still mounting.

  "There has always been evil in the world and there always will be. Why should you take it upon yourself to purge it?"

  "Because I have seen his at closer range than most who live."

  "And I am another who has. But I know that there is nothing I can do about it."

  "We differ," he replied.

  "I do not believe that it is a desire to do the world a good turn that drives you. It is hate and revenge."

  "There is that, too."

  "Only that, I think."

  Dilvish was silent for a time. Then: "You could be right," he said. "I like to think that there is more to it than that. But I suppose that you could be right."

  "It will warp you and ruin you, even if he does not destroy you. Perhaps it already has."

  "I need it for now. It serves me. It gives me an edge. When its object has been removed, it will go, too."

  "In the meantime, it leaves small room for anything else—like love."

  Dilvish straightened slightly.

  "I've room for many other feelings, only they must be subordinated for now."

  "If I asked you to stay with me, would you?"

  "For a time, I think."

  "But only for a time?"

  "That is all anyone can really promise."

  "Supposing I asked you to take me with you?"

  "I'd say no."

  "Why? I could be of some help."

  "I would not risk you. As I said, I've room for other feelings."

  She rested her head upon his biceps for a moment.

  "Here's your cloak," she finally said. "It's cold. We must be far enough away…"

  "Hold it, Black. Stay a minute."

  They began to slow.

  He had watched Oele dance for Devil with a growing feeling of panic, there before the dark heap of stones with the silver dagger atop it, cup clutched in his hand, seeing the bright design occur on the ground about her, feeling the cold wind.

  "Drink it all," she had told him. "It is a part of the ritual."

  Reena's words came back to him as he looked down into the steaming cup. He had raised it and pretended to sip as Oele spun away into her dance. He had sniffed. It looked like mulled wine, but there was a peculiar odor to it. He had touched the moist rim with his tongue and known a bitter taste. When Oele was faced in his direction, he threw back his head and raised the cup as if he were draining it. When Oele faced away, he dashed it over his shoulder into the darkness.

  Scheming bitch! he thought. She's not about to give you anything. My lovely Reena was right. I'd wager you're the sacrifice for something she wants. Let's just play at getting sleepy and see what happens next. Bitch!

  He placed the cup on the ground and leaned upon the altar, watching the bright design become more elaborate. It was almost hypnotic, the way that she moved. Another man might have bolted and run, having reached the same conclusion as Reynar, but he had been sufficient to every occasion that brought him danger in the course of a very active life. He smiled as he watched Oele's form flowing beneath her light gray garment, remembering to yawn whenever she turned in his direction. Sad… He'd liked her more than most.

  Then the panic had begun. A chill, out of all proportion with the wind and the night, crept across his neck, his shoulders. It was as if someone were standing right behind him, regarding him intently. He judged that he might be able to snatch up the dagger as he turned and defend himself adequately, keeping the altar between himself and his abrupt companion. Yet… He had never before felt himself an object of scrutiny with such intense accompaniments. The mere regard of a stranger had never caused a tingling in the hands, a tightening of the stomach, an absolute certainty of presence. Weakness invaded his limbs as he tried to tear his gaze from Oele's concluding movements to turn and consider the visitor.

  You seek to defraud the priestess, came words like drops of blood into his mind, and by so doing, you would cheat me.

  Who are you? he asked within himself, toward the other.

  That you shall never know.

  He leaned heavily upon the altar, using all of his strength to turn partway toward the presence, the edge of something absolutely black coming into his field of vision. A force seeming to emanate from it clamped down upon him with even greater firmness then, keeping him from turning any farther. He knew that he could never reach the dagger on the stone— and even if he could, that it would be of small avail against the thing that held him.

  He slumped, as if totally drained, his left hand catching at the edge of the stone, his right falling loosely along his side. As he leaned farther forward, he saw that Oele was slowing, that what might be the final steps of the figures were bringing her closer to him. The moon, he had noted, was now almost directly overhead. He still felt the presence beyond the altar, but now its attention seemed nowhere near as intense as it had been moments before. He wondered whether it was communicating with Oele.

  As he leaned just a little more, he kept his eyes focused upon her approaching form. Finally she halted, only a few paces away. The dance was finished. He had let his eyelids droop, his breathin
g deepen. But she was paying him no heed. Her attention appeared to be devoted to something beyond him.

  He waited, wondering just how subdued he might really be, afraid to test it. The earlier panic had passed, to be replaced by the controlled tension, the heightened alertness that always came upon him at times of crisis.

  Oele seemed to be speaking, though he could not hear the words, and then pausing as if listening, though he could not hear any replies. Finally she moved, passing before him with barely a glance, reaching out, taking up the dagger from the stony surface.

  Then she turned toward him, her left hand moving as if to catch hold of his hair.

  "Bitch!" he hissed, his right hand drawing the knife from his boot sheath and thrusting it forward and upward as he straightened, even as he felt the chilling power from behind the altar striving to control him once again.

  The expression upon Oele's face was one of surprise. Her cry was brief and she slumped almost instantly, the sacrificial dagger slipping from her fingers.

  He caught her as she fell, turned and cast her body back atop the altar.

  "Here's your blood!" he snarled. "Take it and be damned with you!"

  He held the knife before him and took a step backward, expecting a supernatural retaliation at any moment It did not follow. The dark presence remained beyond the form of his bleeding lover and he felt its scrutiny, but it made no effort to control him or to strike at him.

  Finding that his strength was with him once more, he took another step backward and began glancing about him, seeking the safest avenue of flight.

  "Sailor, sailor" came that voice which now seemed audible across the windy night. "Where are you going?"

  "Away from this damned place!" he answered.

  "Why did you come?"

  He gestured with his blade.

  "She'd promised me powers like her own."

  "Then why do you flee?"

  "She lied."

  "But I do not. You can still have them."

  "How? Why? What do you mean?"

  "Two routes lie before me, and I am more loathe to give up this world than I had realized. I am not entirely pleased by this, but that is the case. Look back upon the castle from which you have come. It is yours if you want it, and everything in it. Or, if you bid me, it will vanish in the next instant, and I will raise you another place of your own desire—or not, as you would. You may have what she had— anything you want that I can give you—for I find myself in need of you."