Songs Of The Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Quietly, he tiptoed down the hall to the stairs, then started down. The whole downstairs was dimly lit and looked empty. He continued down, feeling it was going to be fine, when suddenly a deep, rich male voice said, "You there! Come here!"

  He jumped, turned, and saw, sitting at a table almost under the stairway . . . Holy cats! It's Sugasto himself!

  At least he didn't have to stimulate a look of abject terror on his Mia-slave face.

  "Come here! Now!" the sorcerer ordered, and he scampered over and knelt, head bowed.

  "Yes, my lord?"

  The Master of the Dead reached out a hand under the slave girl's chin and slowly raised the head, studying it. "Where are you going? Why are you up and about at this hour?" he demanded.

  "M-my master has been ill," he managed, never feeling closer to doom than right this second. "I—I am throwing out what his stomach could not take."

  Sugasto looked over at the chamber pot, but not too closely. "Ick! Yuck!" he exclaimed, disgusted. He reached out a hand and the chamber pot flew from Joe's hand. A bolt of blue-white light came from the sorcerer's fingers, enveloped the chamber pot, and the entire thing vanished in a puff of smoke.

  Joe turned back to Sugasto, suitably impressed, and waited. The man had certainly aged since the last time he and Joe had seen one another. The face was pitted and puffy, the eyes surrounded with lines, the hair mostly gray, and he'd put on a fair amount of weight. Still, there was no mistaking the bastard. The worst part was, Joe realized, if he'd been there, as Joe, with his sword at his side, two inches from Sugasto's neck, he would have been just as helpless as he was now.

  "Where's your collar, child?" the sorcerer asked, almost kindly.

  "My lord, we came only a few days ago out of Marquewood. The collar which my master purchased did not seal and fell away and we have not yet had chance to get another."

  When the only defense you had was your wits, you used what you had.

  "Hmmm . . . Make a note of that, Quod," the sorcerer commented, and for the first time Joe saw that the sorcerer was not alone. With him was a Ben tar officer, looking meaner and oilier than most of them already did.

  ' 'Of what, sir?'' the officer asked.

  "I think I made a mistake on the regulations. I like this plain, unadorned look. If restraints are needed, they can use shackles. No collars from now on. Get the word out. No jewelry or such of any kind."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Tell me, child," the sorcerer said, turning back to Joe, who had remained on one knee, "how do you like the new fashion in slaves?"

  "My lord, it is not for such as I to like or dislike.''

  "Well said. Don't worry about returning thus to Marquewood. By this time next year, this will be the fashion there as well." He reached out suddenly and put his hand on the slave's bald pate. "Do you know that just by doing thus I could remove that which is you and put it in that little bottle there?''

  "N-no, my lord."

  "No?" The sorcerer seemed genuinely surprised. "Do you not know who I am?"

  "No, my lord. I have no doubt you are the greatest of all sorcerers, but I concern myself only with serving my master."

  He let go of the head and Joe had to suppress his feeling of intense relief. But the hand continued down the body, not missing what on any but a slave would be considered private parts.

  Sugasto stopped that suddenly, then reached up and touched the nose ring. "Hmmm . . . Odd pattern. This is no common magician's product. The way it's done, it almost seems like . . . Who put this ring in your nose? And where?"

  "My lord, I do not know the names. A big town in Marquewood. The ring was purchased there."

  "The one who put the ring in—was he a big, old man with a flowing white beard?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "I thought so!" He took Joe's face by the chin and held it up, as if looking at a bust, and studied it. "I could almost. . . No, it would be inconceivable. Still—how ill is your master, girl?"

  "He is recovering well, my lord. It appears to have been a touch of bad food. There is not much here. He was sleeping well when I left him."

  Sugasto nodded. "Very well. If he's well enough to ride tomorrow, you tell him to come to the military camp outside of town. You tell him the Master of the Dead commands his presence. Can you remember that?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "At midday tomorrow. They will be expecting him. You come, too."

  "Yes, my lord. I will tell him. "Oh, great!

  "You get him there. Tell him that if he does not appear, ones will come for him, and he might well not have to worry about bad food again. Understand?"

  "Y-yes, my lord."

  "I like you, girl," the sorcerer commented, continuing in the gentle if patronizing tone of voice he'd used aff along.' 'It would be child's play to alter that spell in the ring ..."

  Joe again fought momentary panic. What if Sugasto just took him, now, like this, and he changed back tomorrow morning? Worse, what if he didn't change back?

  "Go on back up to your master, girl," the sorcerer said at last. "But don't forget to tell him when he wakens!"

  "I swear I will tell him, my lord!"

  "I know you will." He patted Joe on the rump. "Okay, now, off! I have work to do here!"

  Joe didn't need any more urging. He was off and up the stairs as fast as possible and back into the room. His heart was pounding like mad, and he stood there, back against the door as if barring it with his body against intrusion, for quite some time.

  "Sugasto? Here?" Marge could hardly believe it, and really didn't want to. "You don't suppose he's still in the place, do you?"

  "I would doubt it, my lady," Joe responded. "I heard a large number of horses leave some time ago, although it was quite late. He would be riding with ah honor guard, even if he needs no protection himself."

  "Well, that's something," the Kauri commented. "You're sure he didn't suspect? Not that you were Joe, but that you might be Mia?"

  "He saw some resemblance, my lady, that was clear, but he has never seen this body before and would be going on descriptions alone. Possibly, had I had hair and Marquewood slave dress he would have made the connection."

  She chuckled. "Just like his kind to have their petty little perversions get in their own way. Still, you're lucky. With a wave of his hand, he could have put you in a trance and made you spill everything. It was a close call."

  Joe nodded. "Still, my lady, he is not free of all suspicions, or else why would he command our presence later on? He saw Ruddygore's signature in the slave spell in the nose ring. I do not think he believes me to be anything other than I seemed, but he will be far more critical of the barbarian. Even worse, what if the curse does not lift at sunrise? Then his people will come later on and find two slave girls here. It is certain then that this would quickly become my permanent condition."

  "Surely you aren't gonna keep that date anyway! Why, you'd be riding of your own free will right into the enemy camp! One slight misstep and he'll have the both of you!" She looked at the great sword Irving, hanging in its scabbard on the bedpost. "You've got a disguise, but what about that thing?"

  "My lady, unless I had to call it by name to summon it to my hand, I could call it 'George' or 'Trenton,' for that matter. And if I needed to summon it, there would be little point in pretending any way."

  "What if the Baron is there?" Mia asked worriedly. "He, or she, or whatever he is these days, has seen us. The disguises might not be good enough to fool him.''

  "Well, my lady, he, or she, wasn't with Sugasto last night. I have thought of the possibility that this meeting is to do just that—let Boquillas have a look at us. It cannot be dismissed as a possibility. But doing anything but obeying is unthinkable. It is a day's ride over a single road to the border, if that would stop them. Otherwise, he has an army of men and fairies around here. We are as trapped as if we were in his Hypboreyan lair."

  "That's a point. Ah, sunrise!"

  For a moment, Joe felt real fear
when nothing happened, but Mia hadn't changed, either. Marge had seen the first light of dawn, but it was another two or three minutes before any part of the sun made it over the horizon.

  Joe was Joe again. He let out an ecstatic "Yippee!" and banged one fist into the other. He turned to them and said, "If I'm gonna go, I'd rather be as me. It looks like his snare spell just scrambled the curse for a night, which is a real relief." He looked over at Mia. "First things first. I have to get some clothes on, and then we've got to find a bolt cutter.''

  "Huh?"

  "The spell gave me the ring but not the collar. Sugasto saw me—Mia—without it. In fact, he decreed them off right then and there. If she's got one on when we meet him, that'll be a tip-off right away." He turned to Mia. "Remember, for some reason he took a real fancy to you. Play it cool but don't overdo it. I don't want him to order me to hand you over to him."

  The idea alarmed her. "What would I do, Master, if he did?''

  "Almost anything's possible this afternoon. If he does, then go. We'll find you. Hell, if I could get us both up there, on him, I'd do it and save us a real journey. But I'd rather we do it together, and not as prisoners of the enemy."

  "I'd think, once you get that collar off, you'd better try and get some sleep," Marge grumbled.

  "The hell with sleep. He's expecting a man just getting over food poisoning anyway, and he knows Mia was up and about most of the night."

  "Yeah, but it seems to me that you need a clear head."

  "Very little sleep is needed during the were periods. It's as if you slept while the other form was awake. Don't ask me about it—look it up sometime."

  "So what do you want me to do?"

  "You'd best sleep outdoors today. Let them come in and do routine things in the room. They might well send somebody to search it anyway. If we don't come back, you can't do much. Return and tell Ruddygore. If we do, come again at dusk. We've still got one more night of the moon."

  "Well, I don't like it, but okay. In case moonrise comes before you get all the way back, but it's clear, come to the back window as whatever you are. I'll figure it out. If they take you, they'll come and get all your things and I'll know: If nobody comes, not even the hotel people, I'll know that, too."

  He nodded. "Good enough."

  Getting the collar off was a hell of a lot harder than he thought it would be and took the better part of two hours and a lot of finagling to do it without cutting, burning, or strangling Mia.

  He got ready in his new buckskin outfit, even though it was still mild out. It had the best image, and an image, with the beard and other disguises, different from the one they'd be looking for. Thanks to the Rules, all people here tended to categorize folks much stricter than they did even back on Earth.

  As they rode out toward the camp, though, he was more worried about himself than about Mia. She'd shown time and again how cool she could be under pressure and she wasn't under the same kind of cloud that he was. Mia had proved herself last night; now Cochise was on trial.

  Although he'd always thought of the Bentar as birds of prey, they looked more dinosaurlike in the full light of day. He presented his old pass to them from the entry station. They glanced at it, then nodded. "You are expected. Straight on to the flagpole, then the second building on your right."

  And now, in the full light of day, they rode straight into the heart of the enemy force.

  The building wasn't hard to find, and they were actually early. He thought it better to be early than late. A nervous-looking human officer told them to wait outside until called, and they did so.

  Mia sat, looking at all the activity, then suddenly frowned, then got up, somewhat excited. "Look, Master! A flying horse with wings!"

  He looked where she was pointing and, sure enough, there it was, all stately-looking, right out of the old myths and legend books. A huge, pastel pink stallion, not too different in coloration from Marge, with enormous birdlike wings, circling to land. Its rider appeared to use no bridle and, indeed, sat back a bit, almost tied on, feet straight out across its back so as not to interfere with the wings. It didn't look comfortable to Joe.

  "Impressive," he said to her. "I've never seen one before, except in the picture books and on gas station signs, but I guess they had to exist somewhere around Husaquahr. Everything else does."

  "That is the sort of steed we need for a journey such as ours, Master," she noted. "Far better to have wings, but if we cannot, that would do."

  He agreed with that. He had actually considered making time by traveling during these three nights of the moon as a Kauri, but Kauris weren't very strong, and they could have taken little with them—nor, indeed, could any of them have so much as touched Irving. The iron in the great sword would have burned both him and Mia severely and would have killed Marge.

  Still, he wondered how many of the flying horses were around here and if they served a primary military function. Many of the more experienced officers and noncoms here would have been on the losing side at Sorrow's Gorge, and he didn't remember any there.

  The door opened behind them, and he and Mia arose and turned, expecting to see the office flunky calling them in. Instead, it was the Master of the Dead himself, followed by his Bentar flunky, the latter looking much the worse for wear. Joe knelt, and took his sword, still in its scabbard, and touched the hilt to his forehead in salute.

  "Come, come! Get up, sir!" the sorcerer said, the wind catching and rippling his black robes. "I'm not the king, and it's a beautiful day." He breathed in and out several times. "Good, fresh air and sunshine. I get so little of it these days that I want to savor it when I can. You are . . . ?"

  "Cochise, my lord," he responded. "Cochise of Tsipry."

  "Ah! You are Valisandran by birth, then."

  "Yes, my lord, by birth but not for a very long time. I was orphaned young. There was a sickness that went through my tribe, and many of the young children were sent south in hopes of avoiding it. Truly, I have not been back since, which is one of the reasons for this journey."

  "Hmmm . . . Interesting." He turned to the aide. "Any Tsipry here?"

  The Bentar shook its head negatively. "No, my lord."

  "You seem certain of that."

  "My people may be the sickness he recalls as a child. The artu of the Bentar had a bit of a disagreement with them fifteen or twenty years back. I remember it well; I was very young at the time. I would say that there are very few Tsipry anywhere now, sir, and most would be like this one."

  Always nice to have your inquisitors back up your alibis, Joe thought.

  Sugasto cleared his throat. "I see. Sorry to bring up old wounds on such a pretty day. Does the colonel's presence here trigger hostile feelings?"

  "No, my lord," Joe responded smoothly. "It is a sad chapter because it was personal, but I have been in the position of his people in other cases, so I cannot judge. I fought for Valisandra and the Baron alongside his people as well as my own at Sorrow's Gorge."

  "Indeed? I was there myself, but I don't recall you."

  "Uh, pardon, sir, but I do not recall you there, either, but it was a very big battle."

  "Uh, yes," Sugasto admitted. "And I was a horse of a different color there, at that.''

  A black stallion, if memory serves, Joe thought, but he said nothing.

  "How is your health today?" the sorcerer asked him.

  "Better, sir, but I am still being careful today while my full strength returns. Once my body expelled the offending food, I could sleep."

  "Come, walk with me a bit in this nice air," the sorcerer invited. "I was going to offer a complete cure, but it seems you don't need such services. The sun and fresh air aid recuperation better than most other things anyway. Stroll with me, and we'll reminisce a bit as two old comrades at arms meeting once again."

  And that's exactly what he wanted to do. Joe knew, of course, that this was also a test, but he couldn't figure out why Sugasto was being, both so friendly and so conventional in his interrogation.
But, of course, he was a master sorcerer, and he would assume that anybody from Ruddygore had been as blocked as he'd block his own people from enemy powers.

  Since Joe had indeed fought at Sorrow's Gorge, it was an easy test to pass.

  They walked along, the Bentar, then Mia following, and Joe got almost as much of a kick out of the reactions of the folks they encountered as they walked as Sugasto obviously did.

  "So, how come you aren't on our team now?" The sorcerer asked at last "We can always use good men like you."

  "I hope my lord doesn't take offense," Joe responded, "but I am a professional mercenary. I chose the Baron back then not out of old loyalties to king and country, but because I like the work and, if you are on the winning side, it pays well. The Baron lost."

  "Only because of that damned dragon and some treachery on the part of the Council."

  "Indeed, it looked to me at the time like a can't-lose situation. Since then, I have taken only small commissions from stable local authorities, and done, I admit, some less than honest work between jobs. The girl, there, for example, was booty from a little pirating I did downriver."

  "And in spite of all this, you don't think we'll win?"

  He shrugged. "It appears as impressive as before, and I have heard of your legion of the dead, which would have been quite useful in the old days, and your powers are legendary. But the Baron was the best in his day, yet not a good gambler in the end. His less than dependable political maneuverings, as you mention, were part of his undoing, and he allowed himself to be beaten by a lesser power who was better at psychology."

  Sugasto stopped and looked at the mercenary with some respect. "That's an excellent analysis. It is a reason why Boquillas works for me now. Did you know that?"

  "No, my lord. I thought he was dead."

  "Not dead, no. Different, I'll allow, but still with that amazing mind. I am not even certain that Boquillas can die. Consider, he has rejected and fought against Heaven, and he has betrayed Hell. When the soul has no refuge, it remains. The only relevant fact is that I have that mind and that knowledge at my disposal because there's nowhere else to go. As to the rest, we can fight if we have to, and Ruddygore, alone, won't find me the sort of ivory tower academic the Baron was—I know him far too well. But I prefer imagination first. I can say nothing more at this time, but if my plan works, we can conquer without war and perhaps without even a face-off, since the chilled livers of the Council would back any victory already won. There would be localized fighting, resistance, and pacification, of course, but no great war."