The Complete Dilvish, The Damned

by Roger Zelazny

  Meliash, at his records, felt rather than heard his name being called. He set aside his writing equipment and fumbled after his crystal.

  It cleared almost instantly, and he faced the rheumy-eyed Rawk, who smiled faintly.

  "Did I disturb you?" the old man asked.

  "No."

  "Pity. Well, I've something for you. I found the date in our Book of Signs for that recognition signal. It was somewhat over two hundred years ago. Checking the membership records for the same period, I learned that there was but one person named Dilvish among the Brotherhood—half Elf, House of Selar, a minor adept, appears to have been a military man. I think I might have met him once. Tall fellow, I believe."

  "I feel that might well be him. What else have you got?"

  "He is gone from the rolls a few years later. No reason given. There is more to it than that, I believe, thinking back. But I can't remember what."

  "Try."

  "I did. But it seems to be beyond reach."

  "What about the other one?"

  "The current rolls show a Weleand from the small western town of Murcave. A minor magician. In good standing."

  "Of extreme persuasion, either way?"

  "No. He's gray."

  "Was Dilvish?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you anything else at all on either of them?"

  "Only my curiosity. Do you mind telling me what this is about?"

  Meliash leaned back, sorting his feelings, impressions, and ideas. Then he spoke slowly:

  "I am bound by this assignment to check into anything peculiar pertaining to… the former proprietor of the castle at the center of things. Now, this Dilvish is the only person who has passed this way who has said that he is not seeking the power within the place. Indeed, he has stated that his sole purpose in coming here is to kill… the castle's erstwhile lord. He would not elaborate."

  "There are many who would like to take vengeance on that one."

  "Of course. But Dilvish is the only one who has come calling. Also, he was aware of the business at the Tower of Ice—"

  "That is hardly a secret matter any longer within the Society."

  "True. But he mentioned having been in the far North recently."

  Rawk gnawed at his beard.

  "I don't see what you're getting at. I don't recall hearing of any third party being involved in that affair."

  "Nor I. But didn't Ridley have a sister?"

  "Yes. Pretty thing. Reena, by name. She's a Society member herself."

  "It seems I heard she escaped, with some assistance…"

  "That does sound correct."

  "Is there any way we could check further into that?"

  "Possibly. There were any number of members watching the conflict—from the safety of their own apartments. Some one of them might have further information."

  "Would you try to find out for me?"

  Rawk sighed.

  "I fail to see what it would prove."

  "So do I, at this time. Yet I feel something is there."

  "All right. I will inquire of several and let you know what I learn. But what is Weleand's place in all this?"

  "I do not know. He came by earlier and warned me of Dilvish's coming, insinuating that he was darker than gray and not to be trusted."

  "Something personal, most likely. I will be back when I know more."

  His image faded.

  Meliash polished the crystal upon his sleeve before replacing it. Then he rose and walked the perimeter of the changing land, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring off toward the darkened area which had occurred to the southwest.

  Dilvish rushed to the side, interposing his shoulder to block Black's passage to the ground.

  "What is it? What is happening?" a soft, almost familiar woman's voice inquired.

  "Help me!" Dilvish called out, bracing himself, not even looking to where the girl now stood, brushing hair back from her face. "We can't let him fall! Hurry!"

  Moments later, she was beside him, her back against Black's left flank.

  "Stormbird, come to me—gently," she said, speaking in High Elvish.

  The white horse moved toward them.

  "Around." She gestured with her head, sliding toward Dilvish.

  The horse moved toward the rear, turned.

  "Your shoulder, where mine was— lean!"

  The horse moved, taking some of Black's weight upon himself. The girl turned toward Dilvish and lapsed into the common tongue:

  "What now?" she asked him.

  "Down now, to the ground, with great care, lest he shatter," Dilvish replied, speaking High Elvish himself for the first time in many years.

  She studied his face for a moment, then nodded.

  It took several minutes and one near-catastrophe before Black lay on his side upon the ground.

  "I do not understand what is happening," the girl said. "One moment I was standing over there, now it is night and you appear out of nowhere, propping a statue of—it isn't exactly a horse, is it?"

  "No," Dilvish replied, turning toward her. "No, Fevera, it is not."

  She cocked her head, narrowed her eyes.

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  "You do not recognize me?"

  "I am Arlata of Marinta. Fevera is my grandmother's name."

  "… of the House of Mirata?" Dilvish asked.

  "The same. Who are you?"

  "Does she still live?"

  "Possibly. She went away several years ago, into the Twilit lands. You seem acquainted with the family, but—"

  "Forgive me. I am Dilvish of Selar."

  "You? The one they say was stricken to stone long ago?"

  "The same."

  "Is it true?"

  "That I was stone? My body was, yes. My spirit was—elsewhere. And you yourself were a statue until a little while ago. Not of stone, but of some glassy substance—as my mount now is."

  "I do not understand."

  "Nor do I, completely. A sorcerer named Weleand restored you by somehow transferring the effect to Black, here. Do you know anything of such a one?"

  "Weleand? No, I've never heard of the man. I was a statue?"

  "You and your mount both. Standing over there." He gestured. "You have no memory of how it happened?"

  "None." She shook her head slowly. "The last I recall was dismounting here to rest a little before going on. I had but stepped down when the wind acquired a peculiar note. Then it struck me like a wave, and I remember that it was incredibly cold. Then I heard your voice, and it seemed as if I were coming out of a faint or a slumber. I am sorry that your mount was the price of my awakening."

  "You had small choice in the matter."

  "Still, if there were anything I could do—"

  "Don't say that! It was similar words on my part that brought the entire thing about. Talk that way, and Weleand's likely to turn up and change you back."

  He looked skyward. She followed his gaze.

  "It is a strange moon," she said at last.

  "It's the sun."

  "What?"

  "It is not really night. The darkness is unnatural." He gestured. "And the castle lies that way."

  She turned.

  "I cannot see it."

  "Take my word."

  "What is now to be done?" she asked. "I have studied the Art, but I know of no way to restore—" She nodded toward Black, "—that. What is he?"

  "That story is too long," Dilvish replied, "and what is done is done. Yet I know not what to do. I cannot leave him this way, and I cannot let you go on alone."

  At that moment, a single word echoed within Black's frozen throat:

  "Go!" he said.

  Dilvish turned and dropped to one knee, placed his head alongside Black's.

  "You hear! You can speak!" he cried. "Is there anything at all that I can do for you?"

  There was silence for the space of a dozen pulse beats, then Black's voice rang again: "Go!"

  Dilvish rose
and turned toward Arlata.

  "He generally means what he says," he stated, "but I feel worse now than ever. There is no way of telling what new misfortune may pass this way to cause him further distress."

  "But he must possess intellect if he speaks—and some power beyond that of our kind, to be able to speak under the circumstances."

  "Yes, to both," Dilvish replied. "He is a magical being. He knows things that I do not know. In fact, he can detect an emanation from Tualua before the wave strikes—and I am wondering now whether he was warning of this."

  "What, then, should we do?"

  "I think we should do as he says—get out of here."

  Dilvish turned and pointed.

  "Get mounted and head for the castle. I'll follow on foot."

  "I believe that Stormbird will carry both of us." She spoke quietly to the horse, and he came up and stood before them. "Mount!"

  "I would slow your progress," Dilvish said.

  She shook her head.

  "We've a better chance together. I'm sure. Mount!"

  Dilvish obeyed, and she followed him. She guided Stormbird to the northwest, and Dilvish looked back as they departed, to the place where Black lay like a block of ice.

  The sky darkened as they rode, the pale, westering sun growing fainter and fainter. They rode for several minutes, hurrying past two more gleaming human statues at which Dilvish did not look any longer than was necessary to determine that neither was Weleand. The distances between the ghostly stands of stone began to widen. The layer of talc grew thinner and the sounds of Stormbird's hoof-beats began to reach their ears.

  Abruptly, the singing winds ceased. Far ahead, a large, open area came into view, where the ground was darker and lightly ridged. Stormbird's pace increased moments before they felt a sharp vibration, followed by a loud explosion from overhead. For several seconds the sky grew bright as day, and then it darkened again.

  A little farther along, the way was lightened once more, this time by tiny flakes of fire which began to descend like snow.

  At first the flames were falling only ahead and to the right, but soon they were upon them, and Dilvish raised his cloak to shield Arlata and himself. Stormbird whinnied, laid his ears back, and raced beyond the final pinnacles.

  "Those glints ahead!" Dilvish cried. "Is it water?"

  Arlata's answer, if there was one, was lost to him in the series of explosions which sounded then, above and somewhat to the rear. The falling flames increased in size and number.

  "Those last noises sounded almost like laughter of a sort," Arlata called back to him.

  Dilvish twisted his body so as not to uncover them to the flames, and looked back. A fiery, manlike outline with a mane of flaming hair towered before the pale, stony land they had just quitted, its silhouettes still visible through the half-substantial form. The figure's right hand was upraised to a great height, and it held a huge bowl of fire from which it shook the blazing leaves that fell upon the land.

  "You're right!" Dilvish shouted. "It's an elemental—the biggest one I've ever seen!"

  "Can you do anything about it?"

  "I've never been very good with elementals, except sometimes earth ones. But that looks like water up ahead."

  "Yes, it does."

  They veered to the right. Dilvish's cloak was smoldering in a dozen places by then. He smelled burning horsehair as well, and Stormbird was making sharp, nickering noises with increasing frequency.

  "The gods know what may be in that water," she said as they reached it, dark and glinting with the reflected light from behind them, "but it can't be much worse than being burned alive."

  Dilvish did not reply, but battered at the flames which fell within reach upon them. Another series of explosive peals of laughter sounded above them, much nearer this time. Dilvish looked again and saw that the elemental was almost upon them—and even as he watched, it upended the bowl and an unbroken stream of fire poured forth like bright honey.

  "Ride! He's dumping it all! Right on us!" he cried.

  Arlata shouted to Stormbird, and the horse put forth a final effort, leaping about like one of the great white cats of the snowfields. The fires fell almost directly behind them and splattered. Dilvish took his long gauntlets into his hand and began beating at Stormbird's tail, at the two places where the hair was burning.

  Then water was splashing all about them, and the pace was slowed and Dilvish felt his legs grow wet up to the knees. He restored his gloves to his belt, leaned forward, and dropped his cloak back over his shoulders, for the firefall had ended.

  They splashed on ahead and the water grew no deeper. After a time it even grew shallower, though the bottom became mucky as they progressed. It was still and very cold. When Dilvish looked back again, he saw that the elemental had retreated into the still, pale forest of stone, and only its flowing, flaming mane and blazing shoulders were visible as it moved away.

  He could not understand a feeling that something was out of joint until he realized that though the flames were dead, the world seemed no darker than it had been. In fact, it appeared to be lightening. He regarded the sky and realized that the moonlike sun had brightened. Looking ahead then, he saw that the area before them was lighter still, with a pearly complexion upon the face of the water. Moving beyond twilight, the world began to brighten with almost every sucking pace they advanced. The hazy outline of the Castle Timeless loomed large suddenly, immediately before and above, its windows like the dark eyes of an enormous insect.

  "I see the shore now!" Arlata announced. "It is not all that far ahead. Stormbird can rest…"

  For the first time, Dilvish became aware of all the places where their bodies touched.

  "You were a soldier, weren't you?" she asked.

  "For a time."

  "Not just in the old days. There was some engagement within the past few years."

  "Yes. We won and I've done with all that. I set out on a personal quest after the last battle. I stop and work occasionally at anything available, replenish my supplies, and continue on."

  "What is it that you seek?"

  "The man who turned me to stone and sent me to Hell."

  "Who might that be?"

  Dilvish laughed.

  "Why else would I journey through this nightmare? The man whose castle lies ahead, of course."

  "Jel—the old wizard? I've heard he is dead."

  "He is not dead—yet."

  "So we are not in competition for the power of Tualua?"

  "You can have Tualua. Just leave me his master."

  "Obviously, you intend to kill him."

  "Of course."

  "You may be wasting your time. I inquired before I came this way. In the opinion of Wishlar of the Marshes, he is not here. He felt that he might even be dead. That was why I thought so."

  "Wishlar still lives? I knew him when I was a boy. Is he at Ban-Selar still?"

  "Yes, though that area has been annexed by Orlet Vargesh and is no longer known by the old name. Oh… that would have been your family, would it not?"

  "Yes. When I've settled this business, I'd like to set those claims right. If you see this—Orlet—before I do, tell him that I said so."

  "Dilvish, if the one you seek be indeed within, I've a feeling you might not be traveling home."

  "Most likely you're right. But I'll be happy to go if I can take him along with me."

  "I've often heard it said that a strong hatred is self-destructive. Now I believe it."

  "I like to think that I'll be doing good for a lot of others as well as for myself, should I succeed."

  "But if that were not the case, would you still do it?"

  "Yes."

  "I see."

  Stormbird slowed as they drew nearer the shore.

  "A magician of that power could blast you with a look," she said.

  "Black was to have helped me on that count. I met him in Hell. But even without him, I know that Jelerak is weaker now than perhaps he ever has been. And
I bring weapons I believe are more than sufficient to the task."

  Stormbird uttered a long neighing sound and halted, panting.

  "We've tired him to the end of endurance," she said, dismounting. "Let us lead him ashore."

  "Yes," Dilvish replied, swinging his leg and stepping down. "He needs a rubdown, he needs my cloak. We can rest for a—"

  The neighing continued. The horse appeared to be struggling now, and there was foam upon his lips.

  "I—"

  Dilvish sank into the mud. He struggled to raise his foot, failed.

  "Oh, no! I have come so far—" she said, looking ahead to where the bright sun shone upon a clear, sandy shore, to where the grasses waved beyond it, where patches of blue and red flowers swayed within the field.

  She lowered her head and Dilvish heard her sob.

  "It isn't fair," she said.

  Dilvish struggled, leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her.

  "What are you doing?"

  He dragged, lifted. Slowly she began to rise. The water grew muddy about them. Bubbles broke on the surface. She came higher within his arms as he sank lower.

  "Reach for Stormbird," he said, twisting his body. "Get onto him."

  She extended her arms, caught hold of the horse's mane with her left hand, cast her right across his back. Still sinking, Dilvish pushed, thrusting her up and forward. She drew herself across the horses back, threw a muddy and soaking leg over him, rose erect.

  "Rest. Recover your strength," Dilvish said, "then swim to shore."

  She spoke to Stormbird and caressed him. His struggling ceased. He stood still. Then she leaned to the side, to reach for Dilvish. The distance was too great.

  "No good," he said. "You can't help me that way. But when you get ashore, there are those trees off to the left… Use your blade. Cut a long limb. Bring it back. Push it out to me."

  "Yes," she said, unfastening her cloak. She paused and looked at it. "If you took hold of one end of my cloak, perhaps I could pull you up here."

  "Or perhaps I'd pull you back in. No. Do it from the shore. I seem to be stabilizing."

  'Wait… Supposing I cut my cloak and knot the lengths together? You could take one end and tie it under your arms. I could swim to shore with the other end and try pulling you out as soon as I've a foothold."