The Complete Dilvish, The Damned

by Roger Zelazny

  He saw the spell and shifted to the plane of structures, where he felt more comfortable. It became a series of interconnected lines of various colors, all of them pulsing, beads of energy passing in seeming-random fashion from junction to junction

  Interesting. Something else was studying it also, from closer up, over on the energy plane.

  He withdrew somewhat and watched the watcher. If it could locate the starting point for him, a lot of time and energy—not to mention risk —might be saved. He did not like that fuzzy blue coiled thing in one small corner. Upon careful inspection, it seemed to be touching yet unattached…

  His fellow student of the spell, upon closer inspection, appeared to be one of those vague, cislunar elementals normally of amorphous, fiery aspect when drawn to his own plane. Here it was an inquiring hook, pulsing redly. It traced the periphery of the spell several times, rapidly, without coming into contact with that cage of lines. It did seem to slow its passage at one sharp corner each time that it went by, however.

  Each line that he beheld represented a single unit of the spell, spoken or gestured. That power which filled it was, of course, entered by Jelerak himself in accompaniment to the ritual, drawn either from his own being or from a sacrificial source. The problem for Holrun was to determine the sequence in which the structure had been created back on his own plane—a difficult task, for the beginning was not readily visible, as it would be in the work of a neophyte or even that of a journeyman with no great passion for secrecy. It was an exceedingly intricate piece of work, and Holrun felt an unwilling admiration for the man's technical proficiency.

  The hook slowed at another place—a lower angle, as if suddenly attracted to something there—then passed on and paused again at the sharp corner. Holrun maintained his passive screen. He could get out now even if the spell were employed before him. It would be later that things would become dangerous. Better to let the elemental risk these preliminaries.

  It slowed again at the angle, almost halting, and Holrun focused his full attention upon that place.

  Yes. During the ebb of one of the pulsations he was certain that he had detected the web-thin line of an unnatural juncture where a microwedge of perception might be driven. The elemental did not seem to note it, however, and returned to the sharp corner, where it halted.

  He watched, certain what would follow.

  The hook extended its sharper end, making contact, applying psychic pressures at that point. The cold blue guardian sprang like an uncoiled spring into the adjacent angle. The hook struggled to free itself, then grew still. It began to shrink and moments later was completely absorbed.

  The blue coil fell away and was still, pulsing more brightly now. After several more beats, it attached itself to another angle, and the additional brightness it had gained was drained out of it into the structure of the spell itself. It rolled away then and was still once more, a fuzzy blue thing.

  Holrun drew nearer. He could see now that the elemental had been blocking the spell as well as studying it. Features he had at first taken as part of the construct began to flicker and fade—wedges set between open areas which must close when the spell was called upon to function. As he observed their passing, he considered the person who must have introduced the elemental into the picture in the first place. Once he became aware that it had vanished, it would take him a time to set up the conditions to summon another, should he wish to continue the study and the blockage immediately, and additional time to charge one with its task. Which should leave Holrun sufficient time to do what needed to be done without interruption.

  Unless, of course, someone employed the spell while he was about it, in which case he would be destroyed.

  He advanced upon the lower angle. The only thing remaining to be determined was the direction in which the spell flowed. He had two choices. The wrong one would undo it, totally deactivating the mirror as he ran through it backward.

  One line was thinner than the other, indicating a high pitch to the sorcerer's voice as he had uttered that sound. Normally, a spell commenced on a lower note than it ended, though this was not always the case. Either line, for that matter, could also represent a preliminary gesture. He moved nearer and made momentary contact with the heavier line.

  The blue coil flashed toward him, but he had already withdrawn by the time it arrived, bearing one piece of information away with him: the line echoed on contact! Therefore, it was a word, not a gesture.

  He watched and waited for the coil to subside. It was not so quick to settle back this time, but drifted off, exploring the larger angles.

  Once he entered the spell proper, from either end, he would be safe from its attentions, which had to be put in abeyance during the structure's actual operation The only danger then would be if the spell were employed while he was tracing it.

  The coil subsided once again, and he sounded the thinner line, withdrawing instantly.

  The cold blue thing acted in a predictable fashion, and he ignored it while digesting the additional information he had gained: there had been another echo; therefore, it began and ended with a word.

  There was still no way of telling for certain which arm of the angle represented the beginning and which the end—save for the lower-note presumption. He retreated and regarded the spell as a whole once more, attempting to gain an overall impression of its pattern. He rummaged his memory for analogies, brooded upon them, decided that ultimately he must place his trust upon a totally subjective feeling which had been growing within him.

  He rushed forward and penetrated the end of the thinner line. The striking of the cold blue thing was beyond his perception, for he was already moving within the system of the spell by the time it arrived.

  He realized that he had guessed correctly as he heard the first word—a fairly standard opening—ringing all about him. He advanced through the spell, receiving impressions of each gesture, living within each word, burning them all into his memory. When he came to the end, he jumped the gap and commenced a second circuit. This time he fled through it for a total impression, rather than for a rehearsal of particulars. Again…

  He marveled at the cunning manner in which it had been contrived, knowing full well that he would one day require a set of similar transportation devices himself. You just didn't see that sort of spellmanship these days…

  Again.

  Now it was with a more critical eye that he ran through it, seeking precisely the right point of attack…

  Aha!

  The seventh term ended with a hard consonant and the eighth began with one. The same applied to the twenty-third and twenty-fourth words. He ran by them again. The caesura between the seven-eight pair was slightly longer.

  He halted and inserted a soft "t" into the gap the next time around. Even if Jelerak were to audit his own spell, it would not be detectable between a pair of consonants. Then he spun off from his special element, creating a simple subspell system, all of whose lines paralleled and were superimposed upon existing spell-elements. When he had finished, he ran through the spell proper once again, deleting nothing. Another time around and he activated the "t" and dropped through into his own system. Perfect. The subspell actually utilized the heart of Jelerak's own system, but the linkage should be—

  He trickled energy from his own being through his system, activating it, and mentally thumbed his nose at the cold blue thing as the entire construct vanished and he found himself within his own mirror, regarding his reclining form.

  He departed the mirror, lowered his vibration rate, and opened his eyes. He stretched and smiled. He had done it, and he had left no footprints.

  Rising, he stretched again and massaged his forehead and temples, rubbed his eyes. He began yawning as he obtained the black crystal and set it up. But he gathered his forces, focused his attention, and spoke Meliash's name.

  The image appeared.

  "Hi," he said. "How are they hanging?"

  "Holrun! What's happened? It's been so long!"
/>   "I've been working on this damned thing. Let me tell you about Jelerak's mirror—"

  "His transport mirror?"

  "The same. I just trapdoored the spell on the one in the castle."

  " 'Trapdoored'?"

  "Right. If that damned elemental is not in the way, it will work just as he wants it to, as often as he likes, without his ever being aware that I now have access to the spell, the mirror, the castle—at will."

  "I've never heard of such a thing."

  "It's a sneaky technique I developed myself."

  "What are you going to do with it?"

  Holrun yawned.

  "I'll know when I wake up. Right now I've got to soak and take a nap. I'm dead."

  "But this must mean you persuaded the Council to do something."

  "Come on, Meliash! You know better than that. All I got out of them— accidentally, at that—was the knowledge that there were such things as the mirrors. They wouldn't touch Jelerak with a hawking gauntlet."

  "Then who authorized you to trapdoor the spell?"

  "Nobody. I did it on my own."

  "Won't you get in trouble if they find out?"

  "Not as a private citizen. I resigned from the Council in protest at the end of the meeting."

  "I—I'm sorry."

  "Oh, it wasn't the first time. Look, I've got to get some rest before I do anything else. Bye-bye."

  He blanked the crystal, cased it, and walked to the door. He snapped his fingers as he departed and did not look back.

  At first, Semirama ignored the knocking at her door. But when it was repeated and Lisha still did not appear to answer it, she rose from her mound of furs and cushions and crossed the chamber.

  "Yes?"

  Seeing no one when she cracked the door, she opened it wide.

  The hall was empty.

  She closed the door and returned to her nest of softness and incense, old wine and memory. The air seemed to sparkle for a moment, and tapestries and draperies fluttered as if a breeze were passing through the closed room.

  "My Lady Semirama, Queen. I am here."

  She looked about, saw no one.

  "Here."

  A dark-haired man in yellow tunic and fur leggings was staring off to her right near the foot of the bed, head lowered. He raised his head and smiled.

  "Who—who are you?" she said.

  "Your servant—Jelerak. I required a disguise in order to reach this place. It amuses me to retain it. I hope that it meets with your approval."

  "Indeed," she said, smiling quickly. "When did you arrive?"

  "But moments ago," he replied. "I came here directly, to pay my respect and to learn the nature of the difficulty with our Old One."

  "The difficulty at the moment," she said, "is that he is quite mad."

  "Ah. And how long has this condition prevailed?" he inquired, studying her intently.

  "For about half an hour. He anticipated it and told me of it. I was with him when it began."

  "I see. Yet the land hereabout has been disturbed by his emanations for a somewhat longer period. How might these be reconciled?"

  "Oh." She raised her glass and sipped from it, gestured with her head toward the cabinet. "Please help yourself to a drink, if you'd care to."

  "Thank you. I seldom indulge."

  She nodded, already knowing this.

  "He did it on my instructions."

  "That does explain the patterning. I thought I saw a human mind at work there. Would you care to tell me why?"

  "To keep out the adventurers who have been trying to break in during your absence. They were getting to be a nuisance."

  "It worked against me also."

  "But you had the mirror."

  "The mirror was not functioning."

  "I began to suspect that only this evening, from something Baran had said, and I had Tualua clear it before his lapse. Isn't that how you got here?"

  Jelerak shook his head and smiled again.

  "I had to do it the hard way. Are you implying that Baran is up to something that goes against my interests?"

  "I'm not certain. He may have been trying to repair it for you, also, working to remove some interference."

  "We shall see. Does Tualua's problem mean what I think it does?"

  "His dark nature is rising and he is struggling against it."

  "Hm. Unfortunate, in that it will make him harder to deal with. Too much egotism will accompany some otherwise laudable sentiments. My first order of business had better be the restoration of his sanity so that he can help me to recover from certain debilities."

  "Can you help him at all—beyond temporary relief?"

  "Alas, lady, no. For who can triumph over his own darker nature? You wouldn't know where I can locate a virgin quickly, would you?"

  "No… Perhaps one of the younger servants… What do you need one for?"

  "Oh, it's going to take a tedious human sacrifice to straighten out our Old One. It wouldn't if I were in better form, but that's the way it is just now. Don't worry, I've a virgin locater spell I can use. I'd best be about it right now, as a matter of fact. So I'll take my leave, lady."

  "Adieu, Jelerak."

  "I may require your services later, as interpreter."

  "I will be here."

  "Excellent."

  He crossed to the door and opened it, smiled back and nodded, went out.

  Semirama toyed with her glass, wondering whether the mirror was clear now and how far it could take a person, or persons.

  Dilvish regarded the others, and when Lorman's wailing had subsided, he asked, "Do any of you know where I might get my hands on a weapon once I leave here?"

  There were a few chuckles, but Hodgson shook his head.

  "No. I've no idea where the armory is," he said.

  "You would simply have to go looking," Derkon stated. "Good luck. By the way, might I inquire as to your means of egress?"

  Dilvish raised a hand to his mouth and withdrew it. He moved it to one of his locks. There came a scraping noise followed by a click.

  "A key!" Galt shouted. "He has a key!"

  "And the whole castle will know of it if you don't keep your voice down!" Hodgson said. "Where'd you get it, Dilvish?"

  "A gift from the lady," he replied, unfastening a second lock and shaking off chains, "making it, in many ways, the most memorable kiss I've ever received."

  "Do you," Derkon asked, "think that key might fit other locks than your own?"

  "Hard to tell," said Dilvish, bent forward, unfastening his leg fetters.

  He straightened and kicked off the chains.

  "Here, try it."

  Derkon snatched the key and inserted it into one of his locks.

  "No, damn it! Perhaps this one…"

  "Give it here, Derkon! Maybe it fits mine!"

  "Over here!"

  "Let me try it!"

  Derkon tried it on all his locks in succession, while Dilvish was massaging his wrists and ankles, brushing off his garments. Finally, Derkon growled and passed the key to Hodgson.

  "There were quite a few keys on the rack outside," Dilvish remarked as Hodgson twisted it within a lock that would not move.

  He turned and moved toward the doorway.

  "Wait! Wait!"

  "Don't go!"

  "Get them!"

  "Get them!"

  He went out. Behind him, their cries turned to curses.

  A pale yellow whirlwind sprang up in the center of the room and a variety of exotic aromas filled the place. A number of frogs materialized in the middle of the air and fell to the straw-strewn floor, where they began hopping about. The whirlwind drifted across the chamber, hovered in the doorway.

  Moments later a figure appeared behind it, to cast a ring of keys through it to land onto the ledge between Vane and Galt. A brief silence followed, then a chorus of sharp whispers. The figure retreated. The whirlwind turned green. The frogs began to sing.

  Dilvish removed a torch from a wall bracket and set
out to retrace the course along which he had been dragged. He ignored the cross-tunnels, within which interesting scurryings occurred, even though it seemed that something far back in one called his name in a deep, booming voice. Finally, he came to what seemed the proper turning and headed left, torch flicking, walls dripping, something heavy and leathery bulging from the ceiling and throbbing lightly, as if breathing. He turned again, at the next way which led off to the right. Suddenly, he stopped at another crossway, moving to face each direction in turn. Was this junction here before?

  Everything had seemed right up until now, but he had been but semiconscious as they had descended the stair and for a little while afterward…

  He moistened his left index finger in his mouth and held the torch at arm's distance behind him.

  When he raised the finger he felt the cooling movement of the air from left to right. He raised the torch and moved in that direction.

  Twenty paces, and he had a choice between a right branch and a left. The left seemed vaguely familiar, so he took it.

  Shortly, he found himself at the foot of a stair. Yes. This was the way.

  He turned.

  As he mounted slowly through the gloom, a lighted doorway came into view above. There was a wall to his left, nothing to his right.

  Before he reached the top he extinguished the torch against the wall and dropped it, for the room beyond was clearly illuminated. He heard a faint musical sound coming from around the corner to his right.

  He moved slowly, peered around the corner. There was no one in sight, but—

  There was something, heaped near the torn tapestry, the tiles about it gleaming with a dark wetness.

  He sought along the visible sections of wall, hoping for a display weapon of any sort.

  Nothing. Mirrors mostly, reflecting the hall and reflections of the hall within one another.

  The thing on the floor did not stir. The wet area about it seemed a little larger.

  He advanced soundlessly, approaching the dark heap. Partway there, he froze. It was a demon—the one which had come for him in the mucky prison of the pond—its body squashed like a piece of fruit, twisted and broken.