“It was all for the best. He was in such great pain...”
She got up and walked over to the other side of the camp, where Grogha’s body had been carefully wrapped in his bedroll, and looked down at it. Tears welled up in her big eyes, not only for Grogha but also for her failure to remember him right from the start. Most of all, she was frustrated by the fact that she had the Lamp, but too late, too late...
“Damn!” she swore aloud. “I wish we’d been in time to save him!”
Suddenly she heard Sugasto cry exuberantly, “I’m free!”
Then things happened too fast and too confusedly to be sorted out properly.
There was a blurring, a dizziness that overtook not only Marge but each of them, and then they were all there again, in the same places but Grogha was no longer dead and wrapped, but lying there pretty much as they had left him, moaning and groaning in pain.
The Lamp fell from Marge’s belt as if the loop had broken.
She bent down, still confused, to pick it up and found that her hand went right through it. “What’s happening?” she cried, in something of a panic.
A very solid Sugasto stood near her. “You made a second wish and it was granted,” he told her. “Now you’ve paid the price for it. You are the slave of the Lamp.”
Joe was over checking the supplies and, except for the slight dizziness, which he put down to lack of sleep, didn’t seem aware that anything was wrong. Houma and Macore, however, had seen it and, while confused, went over to her and to the stranger now suddenly in their midst.
Sugasto pointed to the Lamp. “If you want to save your friend, pick up that Lamp, one of you, and wish him whole and healthy once more. I’d do it quickly he won’t last long, and since I can’t use it or touch it ever again, it’s only fitting that the lady’s sacrifice not be in vain.”
There was a greedy gleam in Macore’s eyes as he realized what the Lamp was, but it was Houma who picked it up first, held it, turned to Grogha, and said, rubbing the Lamp, “I wish Grogha was whole and well, healed of all ailments and afflictions.”
The bloody, broken body of Grogha shimmered, then solidified, and all traces of the illness, loss of blood, wounds, and lacerations were gone. He opened his eyes, looked confused, saw them all, shook his head, and said, “I I had the most horrible dream...”
Houma was so pleased and excited that he dropped the Lamp and rushed to embrace Grogha, tears of joy in his eyes.
Seeing his opening, Macore grabbed up the Lamp, smiled, then turned to Marge. “Inside the Lamp until I call you out!” he commanded.
Suddenly she felt a tremendous force drawing her, like a vacuum cleaner, into the Lamp’s mouth. It was a strange, eerie sensation, and the limbo in which she found herself was neither dark nor light, but an odd, formless land that went on and on.
She could hear no sounds at all. No wait. There was something. A voice. Macore’s. He was talking to somebody but she could not hear any response, none at all. She was attuned to his voice and his voice only. But something was happening to her...
Forms, concepts, and a great deal of information poured into her mind from out of nowhere, almost as if they had been there all along, but unknown and untapped until now. She knew everything there was to know about the Lamp of Lakash, its powers and limitations, and her own nature, bonds, and powers.
She also suddenly knew the plane of existence she was now on and understood that it was not empty at all...
Macore stared suspiciously at Sugasto. “You were the genie?”
“But no more,” The Adept replied. “Nevermore. After a thousand years!” He sighed. “It’s good to be alive once more, particularly with the new knowledge I’ ve gained from the Lamp.”
Macore looked crafty and thoughtful. “She was telling us before that wish that you were the guy who stole it in the first place. That true?”
Sugasto shrugged and bowed.
“You’re some kind of adept, right?”
“Something like that,” Sugasto agreed.
“Well, we’re workin’ for the guy you took it from. If you don’t fancy meetin’ up with him again, you better use what powers you got to get that guy Joe and these two off your back.”
The Adept thought about it. “And off yours?”
Macore grinned. At that moment Joe finished checking the supplies and walked back to them, looking confused. He didn’t think Sugasto’s appearance was unusual, since he didn’t think of him as flesh and blood, but he glanced around. “Where’s Marge?”
Sugasto smiled and made a few signs in the air in Joe’s direction. Joe suddenly froze, then looked even more confused.
“I forgot my train of thought! Damn!”
“You asked about Marge,” Sugasto reminded him.
The big man frowned. “Marge? Who’s that?”
“Nobody important,” the adept responded smoothly, then turned and made the identical gestures in the direction of Houma and Grogha, who hardly noticed. “Why don’t you see about Grogha?”
Joe nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.” He walked over and bent down beside Grogha.
Macore looked impressed. “That’s some trick.”
“A simple one. It won’t last long, you know. When the dragon returns, Vercertorix and Algongua will know, and it would take a lot more work to make them forget. The dragon is only here because of her and so their return will precipitate a return of memory.”
“But that could be any minute!” Macore protested. “Some trick!”
“There are other tricks,” Sugasto bragged.
“Yes, there are,” Macore agreed, touching the Lamp. He suddenly became stiff and glassy eyed. “I wish Sugasto and Dacaro would exchange bodies, curses, and geases, and that Sugasto would then be subject to and obedient to Dacaro in all matters.”
Nothing seemed to happen at all, but Sugasto’s look of astonishment suddenly changed into a broad grin. He flexed his arms for a moment, then reached out and took the Lamp from the still stiffened Macore. “Thank you, Macore,” he said, his voice and inflection subtly altered. “I knew I could count on your greed to get this Lamp sooner or later.”
He turned to the three men now excitedly talking to one another, oblivious of the little drama that had just taken place, bowed his head, and concentrated for a moment. Grogha, who was just getting to his feet, slumped down again, and Joe and Houma fell into a heap on top of him, unconscious. The adept then turned back to Macore, pointed to the ground, and snapped his fingers, and Macore, too, collapsed.
Feeling satisfied, he walked over to the two remaining horses, the gray spotted Posti and the black stallion that was Dacaro, but who now looked at him with frightened and puzzled eyes.
He carefully saddled Dacaro, then placed the Lamp in the saddlebag, got up on the horse, and turned to Posti, who stared back at him.
“Don’t look so shocked, Posti, old friend. You can explain it all to them when they come to, which won’t be very long from now. But tell them not to look for me. Warn them. I wish none of them harm, for they are good people, but I will do whatever I have to to protect myself and I am now very powerful.”
“Who are you?” the gray horse challenged. “And who’s now inside Dacaro?”
The man sighed. “You never were too bright, were you?
While in the mind of Marge to heal Macore, I was able to cast spells and I cast one on Macore, certain that the opportunistic little thief wouldn’t rest until he’d gotten his hands on the Lamp.
I triggered it, and dictated his wish, from my own mind. I’m your old friend Dacaro, Posti, and I have no intention of letting that bastard Ruddygore keep me a horse.” With that he reined around, then urged the horse forward, riding off on the upper trail.
Posti was still confused, and tried to sort it out in his mind.
For a moment he considered chase, but realized that, alone, the way he was, he had little chance of it. He remembered that upper trail, though. There was no way off until almost to Kidim.
Dacaro mi
ght think he was smart, but he was trapped.
Joe, Grogha, and Houma came out of it rather quickly, as did Macore. Of them all, only Macore realized what had been done, and he was none too anxious to tell anybody about it.
Doc Algongua had brought them around when he returned and found them out. He was no slouch on practical magic, either, it seemed. Sorting it out, even with Posti’s help, wasn’t quite so easy.
“So Dacaro planned all along to steal the Lamp,” Joe said, shaking his head. “Ruddygore never did trust him. But Marge did more and more. We needed his knowledge. And all he did was lead us on until he had what he wanted. But where will he go now?”
Algongua thought a moment. “Not back to Ruddygore, that’s for sure. You remember he added that bit about transferring geases?”
They all nodded.
“That means he’s freed from any obligation to get that Lamp back to Ruddygore. Sugasto the real one now has the geas, much to his discomfort, probably, but he’s totally subject to Dacaro’s orders. I would say that Dacaro has no intention of using his wish any time soon, and he’s got enough power and self control not to waste it. That means he’s got some greater game in mind.”
Joe thought a minute. “Marge said the whole thing between him and Ruddygore was over his trying to smuggle a gun into this world.” Briefly he explained what a gun was, and Algongua seemed to get the general idea. “That means either he’s going to use his wish to open up the route between my old world and this one to him, or he’s going to the Dark Baron.”
“Probably both,” Doc replied. “He can’t ally himself with Ruddygore or with anybody who’s a friend of Ruddygore’s.
Any member of the Council he might turn to would demand the Lamp and would then have him. That leaves the Baron.
He’s got a lot to offer. His own considerable powers, the Lamp, and the way to the other world, a world he knows and has been to.”
“Poor Marge,” Joe sighed. “Trapped in that Lamp as a genie.
Slave to his wishes.” As Sugasto had predicted, memory had returned with the dragon’s arrival.
“Well, she can’t help us or herself,” Doc noted. “Looks as if I’m going to be involved more than I figured. Vercertorix and I will go the length of the upper trail and see if we can pick them up. His powers will be few against a true dragon.”
They all brightened. “Yeah! He wouldn’t have figured on the dragon! He thinks he’s left us here with one horse!”
“Well, he’s got several surprises,” Algongua told them.
“First of all, you ought to be able to pick up a soldier’s horse or two or three not too far down from here. We finished them, but a number of horses escaped unharmed.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I may have made another mistake about Vercertorix.
Now that he’s had two battles, he wants more. It’s like eating peanuts he just doesn’t want to stop. I’m afraid he wants to get into the war itself now.”
They searched what they believed to be every inch of the upper trail, and the lower one, too, but found no trace of the elusive Dacaro. He was incredibly powerful in the magical arts, that was clear so much so that Ruddygore had not trusted him with the human form to operate his skills. Now he was joined with an adept of additional great powers subject to his command Sugasto, in the body of the horse, whose skills and knowledge could be called upon when needed, as Marge had used Dacaro.
About the only solace Joe took from any of it was that Sugasto had thought he’d been freed and now he was captive and slave once more. He certainly deserved it, as much as Dacaro did, but there was little real comfort in that knowledge.
Marge was still captive, and Dacaro had all the high cards in his favor.
After getting Vercertorix to scare a few of the runaway horses toward them, Joe bade Algongua fly to Terindell with the news, taking Macore with him. What was left of the Company would return by trail and, hopefully, pick up Dacaro’s tracks somewhere.
For Dacaro’s part, the spells of concealment and invisibility had been simplicity itself. He was confident that, while they might follow him, even chase him, he was more than a match for the lot of them. His only fear was that Ruddygore would get personally involved.
The first night, he rubbed the Lamp and brought forth Marge, mostly to have conversation with somebody other than the seething Sugasto. He saw, somewhat to his surprise, that she had changed more physically. She was somehow less human looking, more exotic than ever; her complexion was becoming a light brown, and the webbing between her fingers and toes was nearly complete. Her nails, too, were becoming harder, thicker, more animal-like, and sharp. All of which meant nothing as long as she was in spirit form, unable physically to manipulate any material thing in the real world, but it fascinated him nonetheless that the process continued even in this state.
She was, of course, by no means very happy with him, and he finally got tired of her cracks and ordered her to speak only when spoken to. Ever obedient as required, she shut up, but couldn’t disguise her contempt for him regardless.
“Sugasto tells me that those of the Lamp don’t live inside it, but rather on a different plane,” he said. “Is that true?”
“It is,” she told him. “The land of the djinn. It is fascinating.”
“Tell me about it. Describe it.”
“What you ask is not possible. There aren’t any words for it. The frame of reference is different. It’s like trying to describe our three dimensional universe to a one dimensional being. It took me a while just to be able to perceive it myself. Even now, I’m not sure what it is or what I’m perceiving, and I certainly have no way of describing it. There is no way to relate it to anything we know or experience.”
“So even the command of the master of the Lamp has limits,” he muttered. “You can’t tell about what you have no frame of reference to relate to. Still, there is intelligence there and knowledge?”
She nodded. “Vast knowledge. Since the realm has no physical existence at all, as we know it, it is a realm of pure magic.
But the Lords of the Djinn impart little they don’t wish to impart.”
“The Lords of the Djinn...” he repeated thoughtfully. “I wonder. I have heard of their realm and of them, but I had no idea that the Lamp was a gateway to it. In the end, the entire Council studied there before becoming the most powerful. Yet I find Sugasto’s added knowledge from that realm to be mostly petty or useless. Is it so with you?”
“It’s not much,” she admitted. “They are mostly concerned with my triple nature from another universe and a changeling. Still, I find my mind much clearer on magical principles and procedures, and my understanding of spells and incantations is far greater, even for the short time I’ve been there. It’s like learning a foreign language, I think. The best way to leam one is total immersion going into an environment in which only that language you wish to leam is spoken. Substitute magic for language and you get the idea. When magic is everything, learning is easier and you learn or you go nuts.”
He nodded. “Do they have a sense of what is going on here?” he asked her. “The battle between the Dark Baron and the rest?”
“They know of the battles between the greater forces. Heaven and Hell, and that’s all that concerns them. They take no sides because they feel no threat from either side. Nor will they deliberately help, hurt, or in any way interfere with events here. That’s in the laws of magic they obey.”
He shook his head in satisfaction. “That’s good enough for me. I would like to go there sometime and see and learn for myself. But, as of now, I know of only one way to do that and I am not willing to make that kind of sacrifice. There is another way later. Perhaps the Baron will complete my training to the point where I can go on my own.”
He ordered her back into the Lamp and got some sleep.
Even a man with Dacaro’s considerable powers was still a physical and mortal being. As such, he required the same three days back that he’d needed getting to the Gateway, and he also required
food, shelter, and rest. He risked Kidim because he had to, but used a spell to alter his features subtly so that they might not betray him to later inquisitors.
Kidim, however, was more crowded than usual, he found.
More of the black liveried soldiers were about, mostly relaxing as they waited for the rest of their parties to return from Starmount, still ignorant that those parties would never return.
After a day or so in the town, he had a good idea of who was who among the Baron’s forces, and had overheard a hundred conversations. He was satisfied and confident enough to approach an officer of the rear guard.
“I’m an adept, formerly with Ruddygore,” he told the man, a Captain Thymir. “We have had a falling out. In the meantime, I have acquired something that your master wishes very much.”
The captain was distrustful. “How do we know you’re not a spy or double agent?”
Dacaro chuckled and, in the privacy of his room, showed the captain the Lamp and brought forth its increasingly exotic and beautiful genie. The captain was convinced and very impressed, but discovered quickly that Dacaro was no pushover.
If the Lamp were to be taken from the adept, it would have to be by one far more powerful in sorcery than Dacaro himself.
“All right,” the captain said, after being forced within a hairbreadth of spitting himself on his own sword, “what is it you wish?”
“Safe and rapid passage from here to your lines,” Dacaro told him. “After that, as soon as practical, an audience with the Baron himself.”
The captain thought a moment. “All right. I think it can be arranged. We’ll take one of the boats downriver tomorrow. All I can promise, though, is to get you to somebody higher up.
I’ve never even seen the Baron myself, so I haven’t the slightest idea of how to go any further.”
Dacaro nodded. “That is satisfactory. But I remind you of my own powers. Any attempt on me will bring a most unpleasant slow death. Do you understand me?”
The captain looked at his sword, on which he was so recently almost impaled against his will, and shivered. “Don’t worry.
As much as we want that Lamp who wouldn’t? I’m not about to go after it. But I’d suggest you keep it hidden. I’ll tell no one else until I report to my superiors, understand?”
The River Of Dancing Gods Page 28
