The Complete Dilvish, The Damned

by Roger Zelazny

  "I would like to dissuade you— Arlata," he said, rising. "The risk is very great."

  "So is the gain," she replied.

  "Come and have breakfast with me," he said, "and I will tell you somewhat about it."

  "I have already eaten," she answered, turning with him toward the camp, "but I will join you for the conversation."

  She accompanied him to a trestle table south of the fire and seated herself on a bench at its side.

  "Shall I serve you now?" asked the younger retainer.

  "Would you care for some tea?" Meliash asked.

  "Yes, I'll have that."

  He nodded to the servant.

  "Two teas."

  They sat in silence while the beverage was prepared, poured, and placed before them, staring westward into the changing land with its mists. When she had tasted her tea, he raised his cup and sipped also.

  "Good, on this cold morning."

  "Good on any morning. It's a fine brew."

  "Thank you. Why should you want to go to that place, lady?"

  "Why should anyone? There is power there."

  "Unless I have heard very wrongly, you are already possessed of considerable power, not to mention riches of the more mundane sort."

  She smiled.

  "I suppose that I am. But the power locked in that curious place is enormous. To gain control of that Old One… You may list me as an idealist, but there is so much good that it could accomplish. I could relieve many of the miseries of the world."

  Meliash sighed.

  "Why couldn't you be self-seeking like the others?" he asked. "You know that a part of my job here is to attempt to discourage these expeditions. Your motive makes it all the harder in your case."

  "I know the Society's position. Jelerak may return at any time, you say, and the presence of intruders could create an incident involving the entire Society. You are an unimpeachable witness, as are the other four pointed about the place. To satisfy the Society requirement, I give my oath that I am acting solely on my own behalf in this enterprise. Is that sufficient?"

  "Technically, yes. But that was not what I was aiming at. Even if you get through, the castle still has its defenses, and its master's agents are presumably still in command there. But putting all that aside for the moment, I strongly doubt that one of the Old Ones can long be coerced into doing good, should you succeed in gaining some measure of control over it. They're a rotten lot, and it's best to let them sleep. Return to the realms of Elfdom, lady. Work your charities along simpler lines. Even if you succeed, I say that you will fail."

  "I've heard all this before," she stated, "and have given it much thought. Thank you for your consideration, but I am determined."

  Meliash sipped his tea.

  "I have tried," he finally said. "If anything happens to you within sight of here, I will attempt to rescue you. But I can promise nothing."

  "I have asked nothing."

  She finished her tea and rose.

  "I will be going now."

  Meliash stood. "Why hurry? The day is young. It will be warmer and brighter later—and mayhap another seeker will come along. A pair of you might stand a better chance—"

  "No! I will not share whatever there is to be gained."

  "As you would. Come, I will walk you to the perimeter."

  They moved across the campsite to the place where the grasses began to fade. A few paces beyond, the foliage was bleached to a dead white.

  "There you have it," he said, gesturing. "Approximately two leagues across, roughly circular. The castle's the highest point, somewhere near the middle. There are five Society representatives stationed about its periphery at almost equal distances from one another—to study the effect and to advise and witness. If you must use magic, you may find that your spells work perfectly well; then again, their efforts may be enhanced, diminished, canceled, or in some way distorted. You may be approached by creatures harmless or otherwise—or by the landscape itself. There is no way of telling in advance what your journey will be like. But I do not believe that too many have made it across. If some have, nothing appears to have been changed thereby."

  "Which you attribute to defenders within?"

  "It seems likely. The castle itself appears to be undamaged."

  "Surely," she said, catching his eye, "one cannot base any conclusions on the condition of that castle. It is not like other structures."

  "I have never known for certain, though there may be some truth in this. The Brotherhood— rather, the Society—is checking now."

  "Well, I do know. I could have saved you the trouble. Would you know who was in charge of it when this thing happened?"

  "Yes. The one called Baran of the Extra Hand. He'd been a Society member in good standing until some years ago, when he went over to Jelerak."

  "I've heard of him. It seems he might be the sort who would have gone for the power himself if the opportunity were present."

  "Perhaps he tried and this was the result. I don't know."

  "I expect I will be finding out soon. Have you any advice?"

  "Not too much, really. First, cover yourself with a general defensive spell—"

  "That is already done."

  "—and pay heed to the waves of disturbance as you go. They appear to sweep outward and around the place widdershins, building in force as they move. Depending upon their intensity, they may pass about it anywhere from one to three times. Their pace is normally about that of an ocean breaker on a pleasant day. In their wake, things are changed, and the effects on your spells will be most severe at their crests."

  "Is there any period to them?"

  "None that we have been able to detect. There may be long lulls, there may be several in rapid succession. They begin without warning."

  He was silent then, and she looked at him. He looked away.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  "Should you be overcome," he said, "unable to retreat or advance—in short, should you fail in the crossing—it would be appreciated if you would attempt to use one of the means at the Society's disposal to communicate all of the particulars to me."

  He glanced at the upright wand nearby.

  "If I am dying and have yet the strength, you will have the record for the archives," she replied, "or for any other use to which it might be put— if the message can reach you."

  "Thank you." He met her eyes. "I can only wish you good luck."

  She turned her back upon the changing land and whistled three soft notes.

  Meliash turned in time to see a white horse with a golden mane make its way out of the wood beyond the camp and move toward them, head high. He drew a breath at the beauty of the approaching animal.

  When it had come to her, she held its head and spoke to it in Elvish. Then she mounted quickly, smoothly, and faced the changing land once again.

  "The most recent wave was just before sunrise," he said, "and for some time, things have seemed clearest past those two orange pinnacles off to the right—you'll see them in a moment, I think."

  They waited till a breeze stirred the fogs, and the twin stands of stone were momentarily visible.

  "I'll try it," she said.

  "Better you than many another."

  She leaned and spoke softly. The horse flowed forward into the pale land. They grew dim and noiseless in a matter of moments.

  Meliash turned back toward his camp, touching the dark wand as he passed it. He halted instantly, his brow furrowing, running his fingertips along its length, squatting beside it. Finally, he opened a soft leather pouch which hung from his belt, withdrew a small yellow crystal, raised it, and spoke a few words. The face of an older, bearded man appeared within its depths.

  "Yes, Meliash?" The words came into his head.

  "I'm getting peculiar vibrations," he stated. "Are you? Is another wave beginning over there?"

  The older man shook his head.

  "Nothing here yet. No."

  "Thanks. I'll try Tarba."

  T
he face faded as he spoke additional words, to be succeeded by that of a dark, turbaned man.

  "How are things in your sector?" he asked him.

  "Still," Tarba replied.

  "Have you checked your wand recently?"

  "I'm right beside it now. Nothing."

  He communicated with the remaining wardens—an older, heavy- jowled man with bright blue eyes, and an intense young man with a deeply lined face. Their responses were the same as the others.

  After he had restored the crystal to its bag, he stood for some time staring into the changing land, but no new wave rose. He touched the wand once again, to discover that the vibrations which had disturbed him had now subsided.

  He returned to his camp and seated himself at the table, chin propped on his fist, eyes narrowed.

  "Do you want your breakfast now?" the younger servant called.

  "Let it cook. There's more to come," Meliash answered. "Bring me more tea, though."

  Later, as he sat drinking, he spilled a little on the tabletop and began tracing designs with his fingers. The castle, so… A pentagram of watchers about it, thus… Waves spiraling outward in this manner, generally arising in the west…

  A shadow fell across the diagram and he looked up. A dark-haired young man of medium stature, with dark eyes and a laughing twist to his lips, stood beside him. He wore a yellow tunic and black fur leggings; his link belt and the clasp of his brown cloak were of bronze. His beard was short and neatly trimmed. He nodded and smiled the moment that Meliash looked up.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you approach," Meliash said.

  He looked at the servants, but their attention was elsewhere.

  "Yet you knew of my coming?"

  "In a general sort of way. My name is Meliash. I am the Society warden here."

  "I know. I am Weleand of Murcave. I am come to cross the changing land and claim the Castle Timeless in its midst."

  "Timeless… ?"

  "A few of us know it by that name."

  The Society sign passed between them.

  "Sit down," Meliash said. "Join me for breakfast. Might as well start with a warm meal inside you."

  "Thank you, no. I've already had one."

  "A cup of tea?"

  "I'd better not take the time. It is a long road I've chosen."

  "I'm afraid there is not too much I can tell you about it."

  "I know everything I need to know on that account," Weleand replied. "What I would like to know is how much traffic you have seen."

  "You are the second today. I have been on duty here for two weeks. You are the twelfth to pass this way. I believe that makes thirty-two altogether, of whom we have record."

  "Do you know whether any of them made it through?"

  "I do not."

  "Good."

  "Small chance, I suppose, of my persuading you not to try it?"

  "I imagine you are obligated to try talking everyone out of it. Have any heeded you?"

  "No."

  "There's your answer."

  "You have obviously decided that the power to be gained is worth the risk. What would you do with it, though, if you obtained it?"

  Weleand lowered his head. "Do?" he said. "I would right wrongs. I would go up and down in the world and to and fro in it, putting down injustices and rewarding virtues. I would use it to make this land a better place in which to live."

  "And what would be your gain from this?"

  "The satisfaction."

  "Oh. Well, there is that, I suppose. Yes, of course. Sure you won't take some tea?"

  "No. I'd best be moving on. I'd like to be across before nightfall."

  "Good luck to you, then."

  "Thank you. Oh, by the way—of the other thirty-one you mentioned, was one of them a big, green-booted fellow riding a metal horse?"

  Meliash shook his head.

  "No, no one such as that has passed this way. The only elfboots I saw were on a woman—not too long ago."

  "And who might that have been?"

  "Arlata of Marinta."

  "Really? How interesting."

  "Where did you say you are from?"

  "Murcave."

  "I'm afraid I don't know it."

  "It is a minor shire, far to the east. I've done my small share in keeping it a happy place."

  "So may it remain," said Meliash. "A metal horse, you say?"

  "Yes."

  "I've never seen such. You think he may come this way?"

  "Anything is possible."

  "What else about him is special?"

  "I believe that he is one of our darker brothers in the Art. Should he succeed, there is no telling what mischief he may work."

  "The Society will not take a position one way or another as to who may essay this thing."

  "I know. Yet, one need not go out of one's way to help such a one with good directions and advice, if you catch my meaning."

  "I believe that I do, Weleand."

  "… and his name is Dilvish."

  "I will remember it."

  Weleand smiled and reached out to retrieve an elaborately carved staff which was leaning against a tree. Meliash had not noticed it until that moment.

  "I will be on my way now. Good day to you, warden."

  "Have you no mount, no pack animal?"

  The other shook his head.

  "My needs are few."

  "Then fare thee well, Weleand."

  The other turned and walked off toward the changing land. He did not look back. After a time, Meliash rose and went to watch until the mists enfolded the man.

  Chapter 2

  Hodgson strained against the chains. They cut into his wrists, his ankles, but his weight loss during the month of his imprisonment gave him the slack he desired. With the big toe of his right foot, he continued the line he had been inscribing in the gritty floor, joining it at last with the one his nearest companion had drawn. Then he sagged and hung in his chains, breathing heavily.

  Across the way, near to the entrance, Odil—who was shorter than the others —strove in a similar manner to draw a character into his section of the diagram.

  "Hurry!" called the dark wizard, Derkon, who hung at Hodgson's right. "I believe one of them is on the way."

  Two lesser mages chained to the same bench along the wall to the left nodded.

  "Perhaps we'd best begin concealing it," one of them suggested. "Odil knows where his part goes."

  "Yes," Hodgson answered, hauling himself upright again. "Hide the damned thing from the damned thing!" Extending his foot, he scuffed a clump of straw into the diagram's center. "But gently! Don't mar it!"

  The others joined him in kicking wisps of the floor covering onto their sections. Odil completed another stroke at his character. The room took on an eerie blue glow, and a pale bird which had not been there earlier beat its way from corner to corner until it finally found the doorway and exited.

  The glow subsided, Derkon muttered, Odil managed another mark.

  "I believe I hear something," said the one on the left who was nearer to the door.

  They all grew silent, listening. A faint clicking sound occurred outside the chamber.

  "Odil," Hodgson said softly. "Please…"

  The small man struggled once more. The others moved to conceal their pattern further. A wheezing sound reached them from without. Odil executed a pair of parallel lines, the second longer than the first, then carefully traced one perpendicular to the latter. He fell limp immediately upon its completion, his face glistening with perspiration.

  "Done!" said Derkon. "If it, too, has not been denatured, that is."

  "Do you feel up to it?" Hodgson asked him.

  "It will be my first pleasure since I've come to this place," replied the other, and he began intoning certain preliminary words, softly.

  But it was a long while before anything more occurred. They glanced repeatedly at the empty chains where the man Joab had hung, as the dark-streaked wall behind them. Derkon had completed the
first stages of his work and there was a faraway look in his pale eyes, which stared straight ahead, unblinking. Hodgson had leaned toward him, occasionally muttering, as if attempting to transfer his own remaining energies to the man. Several of the others had assumed similar attitudes.

  The creature appeared suddenly in the doorway and immediately sprang toward Hodgson, who was secured directly across the way from it. It was a red-bodied, thick-tailed, sharp-jointed streak, crowned with antlers, red eyes blazing, dark claws extended.

  As it touched the middle of the concealed platform, it gave voice to an ear-piercing cry and pressed forward as against an invisible wall, the ivory pickets of its permanent grin clashing audibly upon its completion.

  Derkon spoke a single word, firmly, without emotion.

  The creature wailed and darkened. Its flesh began to shrivel, as if it were being burned by invisible flames. Grimacing horribly, it beat at itself. Then, suddenly, came a bright flash, and it was gone.

  A collective sigh went up. Moments later, there were smiles.

  "It worked…" someone breathed.

  Derkon turned toward Hodgson and nodded, somehow making it seem a courtly bow.

  "Not bad for a white magician. I didn't think it could really be managed."

  "I wasn't too certain about it myself," Hodgson replied.

  "Good show," said one of the two to his left.

  "We've got us a working demon-trap," said the other.

  "Now that we've insured our survival for a little longer," Hodgson said, "we've got to figure a way out of here and plan what to do once we're free."

  "I'd just like to get out, call everything off and go home," said Vane, the nearer of the two on the bench. "I've tried both spells I know for getting rid of manacles, getting free of bondage, over and over again. Neither of them works here."

  His companion, Galt, who sat to his left, nodded.

  "I've been grinding away at the weakest link in my chain—the same as the rest of you, I guess—for weeks now, because nothing else works," Galt said. "I've made some progress, but it looks as if it will be weeks more before it yields. I take it no one knows a better way?"

  "I don't," Odil answered.

  "We seem to be restricted to physical methods," Derkon said. "We must all keep grinding until something better comes along. But say it does—or say we break free the hard way. What then? Hodgson has a good point. Shall we simply run for it? Or do we attempt to take over here?"