He pushed upward. Finally, he was at the top, but more noble carcasses barred his way.
He heard the girl scream. He jabbed his fist into the spine of the man in front of him.
When he went down Trent broke into the clear, and stopped in his tracks.
Above him, on the highest stone platform, Anthaemion stood with his right arm upraised, the gold of his bronze blade against the gray sky, ready to bring it down on the terrified child. The king's eyes were dark, a kind of resolute fury in them. Though he hesitated, he was clearly determined to see this through.
A blinding flash lit up the acropolis.
The blade of the king's sword was the focal point. Spider-legs of blue fire crawled from it, metastasizing to a circle of points around the oval brazier. A blue glow enveloped everyone and everything. Simultaneously, one of the spider-legs darted to Trent, lifted him up, and hurled him over the heads of the crowd. Then a cascade of sparks radiated from the king's sword, and white smoke rose from it.
A tremendous crash resounded. People tumbled over each other down the steps.
The sea echoed thunder.
Telamon's face came into focus. "Trent?"
Trent raised his head.
"What happened?" he asked.
"The sign."
"Uh, yeah."
Telamon helped Trent sit up, then palpated his arms, his legs, all of him. Nothing broken. Trent tried to get up, found that he could.
"The gods have spoken," Telamon said, "as they always do."
"Loud and clear," Trent said. He was a little dazed, and his ears hurt. He turned to find Anthaemion looking at him. The crowd had dispersed. A few lingered to stare at the top of the altar.
"Come with me," Anthaemion commanded.
Trent followed him back to the top of the altar. There, the king stopped and looked down at something lying at his feet: a piece of twisted half-fused metal.
Trent looked. It was Anthaemion's sword.
"It was a trial, a test," the king of Mykos said, staring at the thing.
"Yes," Trent said.
"To see if I would obey. And I obeyed."
"Yes," Trent said again. He had command of few words at the moment. "The girl? She…?"
Anthaemion looked at Trent. "She is unhurt."
"Ah."
"You were right, Trent. But the gods had their plan, which you tried to thwart. And I had no choice. Now, the gods have seen to it that my conscience is clear."
Trent nodded.
Anthaemion took a long breath. "I felt nothing," he said.
"The lightning's fire passed through me. Yet I had no sensation. Was there much pain for you?"
"Nothing at all," Trent told him.
Anthaemion nodded. "The gods are all-powerful. And all-wise." He looked out over the cliff. "We cannot fail now."
"No. I suppose not."
Trent went down, leaving the graying king to stare at the wine-dark sea.
Walking back down the stony path, Trent began to chuckle.
Yep. He'd played the ace about as cagily as it could be played. Anthaemion didn't suspect a thing. Close, though. Close.
Just how do you go about calling down a bolt from the sky and directing a convincing portion of it at yourself without hurting anybody or turning your carcass into a piece of charred meat?
Carefully. Very carefully.
Above the bustling seaport, a patch of blue was showing.
CASTLE KEEP LOWER LEVELS, NEAR THE GRAND BALLROOM
Gene was dressed for trouble. He had on a chain-mail hood over a padded jupon (more or less a long-sleeved doublet), tights, and anachronistic high leather boots. He was packing a long broadsword and a dagger.
Linda was in leather shorts over black tights, high green felt boots, and a ruffled blouse under a leather jerkin. The scabbard of her dagger was gilded in filigree.
They had found an unoccupied sitting room and were hiding out, taking a breather, while all around them the disturbance continued. Cacophony reigned. Hundreds of orchestras clashed in disharmony while thousands of dancers and singers contributed to the din.
"I'm bushed," Gene said, collapsing on the couch.
"Yeah." Linda plopped next to him.
Gene watched a military band march past the archway, then said, "How many floors did we cover?"
"Dozen or two."
"What floor is this?"
"The sixth, I think."
"That far down? It's getting pretty congested. Think we can make it to the basement?"
"That's where the ruckus started, you said."
"I was just guessing, but judging from the fact that it gets worse the farther down we go, I'd say I was right."
"So, we go to the basement and see what's up."
"Check. As soon as I catch my second wind."
"My third."
"Oh, no."
A marching band in green uniforms with gold piping and epaulets trooped through the room, blaring out a peppy double-time number. Linda covered her ears and buried her face in the sofa.
When the last piccolo player had fast-stepped out, Gene said, "I wonder where the football game is."
"God, they were loud," Linda complained as she sat up. "Maybe this isn't the most dangerous disturbance we've had at the castle, but it certainly is the most annoying. What a racket."
"I wish there was a door to this place." Gene looked at her, frowning.
She returned his stare. "What are you-?" Then it dawned on her. "Oh. Yeah, right."
She folded her arms and twitched her nose.
A stout oak door appeared under the formerly open archway to their right, along with a fitted section of wall. When she twitched again, an identical assemblage materialized to block the entrance opposite. The din outside became a dull hum.
"Sorry," she said. "Should have thought of it."
"That nose business you do is strangely evocative, I must say."
"I've rigged it as a trigger for my spells. I stole it from an old TV sitcom."
"Of course. Television, the source of all wisdom. I'll never live up to Darin."
"Of course you will. Who'll play the mother-in-law?"
"Endora? Deena."
"Great, we're set for a long season."
"High ratings."
They laughed, then fell silent.
At length Linda said, "Sure is quiet."
"Yup."
She looked at Gene. "Want to talk about it?"
"It? Oh."
"Us?"
"Yeah, us. What about us?"
She shrugged. "Any future?"
He shrugged in turn. "Dunno."
"Should we have an affair?"
Gene chuckled. "What a question."
"I'm serious."
"You really want my opinion?"
"Yes."
"No."
"We shouldn't?"
"Probably not," Gene said. "We make a good team. We've gone through a lot together. Maybe we shouldn't complicate it."
Linda's shoulders fell a little. "Maybe not."
"Are you relieved or disappointed?"
"Don't know, really."
"Are you hurt?"
"Hurt? No, not at all."
"I like you, Linda."
"And I like you. Guess I was being silly."
"No. Oh, hell. Linda, I think you're attractive."
"You do? You've never said so."
"No, guess I never have said so. Seems to me that the subject simply never came up. But it's true. I've always thought you were attractive. The thing is-"
"What?"
"I've always thought of you as… above it all."
"Above what?"
"You've always seemed… What am I trying to say? Uninterested, aloof from anything so mundane as romance."
"Really?" Linda was amazed.
"Not true?"
Linda thought about it. "Call it hibernation. I was just in a dormant state. You're forgetting the psychological wreck I was when I arrived here."
&n
bsp; Gene thought back. "You're right. I'd quite forgot."
"So now maybe I'm better. Or thought I was. Ready for romance. But that's out of the question."
"Hey, I never said it was out of the question."
"What did you say?"
"Well, you asked me if I thought it was a good idea for us to… you know."
Linda smiled. "You know?"
"You know, do that thing."
"Sleep together. Gene, you're almost blushing."
"Don't be silly, my dear. We men of the world-"
"You are blushing! You must have taken up with a dozen women since I've known you."
"What? You're dreaming! And as far as blushing is concerned, I'm blushing because you're trying to make me blush. Stop that!"
Linda giggled. "Sorry."
"Okay, well… What the hell were we talking about?"
"Having sex."
"Good God, woman! This isn't a proper conversation, not at all, not at all."
"Prude."
"Besides, `sex' in that usage is a misnomer, you know. `Sex' means gender, not coitus."
"You should go on Jeopardy."
"Well, it's true."
"Fine. Anyway. So you didn't rule it out, but you don't think we should."
"That's more or less what I said."
Linda nodded. "Okay, I can live with that, I suppose."
"Wait a minute. What do you think?"
"What's it matter what I think if you don't think it's a good idea?"
"Because the fact that it might not be-I say might not be-such a good idea doesn't have anything to do with my maybe wanting to do it."
"So your answer is maybe?"
Gene crossed his ankles and leaned back. "Maybe."
"Your answer is maybe, or maybe your answer is maybe?"
"It may be that maybe is my answer."
"God, talk about playing hard to get."
"Who's playing hard to get? All I said was-"
"You said maybe maybe."
"Maybe maybe?"
"Not just one maybe. Double maybe."
"No, what I said was-"
"I don't believe this," Linda said. "The woman is supposed to play hard to get."
"Well, these are the nineties. The gay nineties."
"Don't be silly. Maybe you're right, though."
"Right about what?" Gene asked.
"About us not being compatible."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't? But you said we'd be no good together. Maybe that's true. For one thing, you're six times brighter than I am."
"Oh, please."
"No, really. Sometimes you're so bright you blind me. You're witty and charming. You're absolute greased lightning with a comeback, and you always know the right thing to say-"
"Give me a freaking break."
"Listen to me. Sometimes I can't keep up with you."
"You listen to me," Gene told her. "One of the reasons I like having you around is that you let me be bright and charming and oh-so witty. People are different depending on who they're with, you know. If I'm charming when you're around, it's only because you bring that out in me."
Linda looked at him for a moment before she said, "That's a nice thing to say."
"It's true."
"Thank you for saying it. But you do intimidate me sometimes."
"Sorry, don't mean to."
"I know it's not intentional."
"Last thing I want to do is intimidate you. Some other people, yes. So, you think this is major problem between us?"
Linda shook her head. "No, I'm not saying it's a major problem."
"A minor problem?"
"Uh, well, maybe."
Gene said, "Lots of maybes in this conversation."
"Yeah. Seriously, I don't want to give the impression that I think there are these major barriers between us. Just… well, what I'm saying is… uh…"
"What are you saying?"
"What are you saying?"
"What I said."
"Which was?"
Gene thought about it. "I need to think about this a little bit more."
"There's hope?"
"Are you hoping there's hope?"
"Are you?"
Gene laughed. "This is like a poker game."
"How so?"
"Playing close to the vest. We don't want to tip our hands."
"Maybe we're both afraid of being hurt," Linda said.
"Maybe we're both bluffing?"
"Could be. Maybe we should leave it at that."
"More maybes."
"Yeah." Linda suddenly yawned. "Oh, excuse me."
"You want me to take a nap?"
"I'd love to."
The noise level jumped and startled them both.
Gene glanced at both entrances. The magically created doors were gone.
"You're doing your disappearing act well these days," he commented.
"I don't make anything disappear," she said. "I just make the spell weak, and when it fizzles, the thing I conjured just vanishes."
"Oh, is that how you do it? Neat. You want to rest more?"
"No, let's get to the bottom of this. We have to."
"Okay. But I hate to-"
A large, well-muscled man came bursting through the archway. He wore the visored steel helmet and greaves of a gladiator and carried a shield, but his chest was vulnerably bare. Seeing Gene, he raised his short-sword and charged. Gene leaped up and drew in time to parry the man's lunging thrust. Stepping deftly aside, he tripped his assailant and laid the flat of his sword sharply across the man's bare back.
The man yelled and went tumbling. But he was quick to recover, get to his feet, and charge again.
Gene and the gladiator fought. The shield was an advantage, but Gene was by far the abler swordsman. In short order Gene had the man backed into a corner, and slashing two-handed with his larger and superior weapon, reduced the shield to a battered and dented plate.
Linda, watching from behind the couch, let out a tiny scream when Gene found an opening and thrust his sword home.
Grimacing, the man dropped both shield and sword to grasp the blade that had buried itself deep in his abdomen. "Thou hast conquered, comrade," he gasped.
Gene withdrew the bloodied blade as the man fell. The gladiator drew one last breath.
Then he disappeared.
"That's a relief," Gene said, looking at his sword, which was no longer bloody. "Didn't think he was real, but he sure put on a good show."
"Gene, if he'd killed you…"
"Morituri te salutamus. I sure as hell wouldn't disappear. I'd stay right there, deader 'n a doorstop."
Two more gladiators spilled into the sitting room, swords clashing, shields banging. Gene ran and leaped over the couch.
"We'd better get out of here," he told Linda.
Another pair of fighters, engaged in mortal combat, came in through the opposite entrance. Both pairs ignored Gene and Linda, who began backing out of the room.
"As long as there's an even number of combatants," Gene observed, "we won't be attacked. But the loose guys are going to be a problem."
"Do you want to head back up?"
Gene shook his head. "No, my sword magic gives me the advantage. We have to see what's behind all this. You want to hide out somewhere while I go below?"
"Of course not. I want to be with you."
"Right. We do make a great team."
She took his hand. "Let's go, teammate," she said, leading him cautiously out into the confusion of the hallway.
STAIRWELL
"What's the matter?" Dalton called back over his shoulder. "Getting winded, old boy?"
Below, Thaxton was slow to mount the next few steps. "Nothing of the kind. Just feathering back a bit to conserve strength."
"Only five more stories to the top."
"Right."
Thaxton took two steps at a time to catch up, winding his way up the spiral stairwell. But when he reached the spot where Dalton stood
waiting, he wilted.
He sat and heaved a weary sigh. "Gadzooks."
"You should get more exercise, old fellow. Play a little golf now and then."
Thaxton sent a withering look upward.
"Or whatever's your pleasure," Dalton amended.
Thaxton said sarcastically, "Golf is not my pleasure, as I'm sure you know."
"Sorry. Ever been up to the roof, by the way? Or the high battlements, I should say."
"No," Thaxton said. "Have you?"
"Once. Magnificent view. Plains, snow-capped mountains. Beautiful."
"I'm sure."
"Truly. But strange, disorienting in a way."
"How so?"
"Well," Dalton said, "we know there are about eighty stories to the keep. But from outside, it doesn't look it. I mean, the castle is huge, massive. But the keep looks to be only about thirty to forty stories at its highest point. Which makes it towering compared to earthly castles, but not exactly the World Trade Center either."
"Really. Can't say I'm surprised, though."
"No, the castle does tricks with interior space."
"Indeed."
"Ready?"
"A bit longer," Thaxton begged.
"No problem."
"How old are you, Dalton, old boy?"
"I'll be sixty-six come October eleven."
"Really. I must say you're in jolly good shape for an old blighter."
"Why, thank you. Strikes me that I never asked you the same question."
"Fifty-one, old boy. Fifty-one bloody years, and I feel every one of them in every bone in my body." Thaxton looked up. "Please don't bring up exercise again."
"Never!"
Thaxton looked glum. "Some people don't age well."
"Guess not."
Hauling himself upward with great effort, Thaxton said, "Remind me again what we're doing this for."
"To see if the source of the invasion is outside the castle."
"Don't they have lookouts?"
"The lookouts were pulled from their posts when the ruckus started. Tyrene needed every reinforcement. Tyrene delegated me to go up and see if anything's out there."
"Oh. I see."
"Don't expect to see much. Looks like an interior problem. Damned castle magic gone awry, like so many times before."
"Oh, yes," Thaxton said. "So many times."
They resumed climbing the helix of the stone stairwell. Every third turn brought round an embrasured window, but the narrow aperture offered a limited view. The windows let in some daylight, however.
Castle Spellbound c-7 Page 9
