Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Well, in this instance, anyway. One of the kobolds quoted Lenin, word for word. Lenin, Joe! Here! Where nobody ever heard of him!

  You mean the Russians are invading?

  No, of course not. Don't be silly. But somebody over here is bringing in ideas wholesale from over there, that's for sure. That bothers me, Joe. Remember that Ruddygore was worried about the plot to bring guns into Husaquahr?

  He nodded. I remember. He had that rat Dacaro turned into a horse for suggesting it.

  Well, maybe—but it doesn't add up. Ideas are stronger even than guns, Joe, and somebody's importing ideas. Trouble is, who's the only guy we know who can make the trip between our world and this one any time he wants to?

  Joe, although still dizzy and weak, saw her point. The base of Ruddygore's power was his unique ability to travel between the worlds across the Sea of Dreams. They had never been really sure about the big sorcerer, and this compounded the doubts beyond measure. Ruddygore had fought the forces of Hell head on, yet he conjured up and used demons from the same place for his own purposes. He had fought the Dark Baron to a standoff, which had put him with the good guys, yet— had he fought for the same reasons as the rest of them? Or was he, in fact, taking on a rival challenger to his ambition of ruling the Council and the world? Certainly there were depths and layers to the sorcerer far beyond the funny fat man in opera clothes, depths and layers hidden by his wild personality.

  Let's let it rest for now, Joe suggested. I'm tired, weak, and dizzy and I feel that I could sleep for a month. But let's remember that we're only doing some work for the old boy. He doesn't own us, and we'll work for ourselves first. Okay?

  She smiled at him, Okay. You know, though, I— She stopped in mid-thought, seeing that he had sunk back down into a more normal but very deep sleep. She got up and sighed, looking around. Let him sleep—he certainly needed it.

  Joe slept through most of the next day, and it was early evening by the time he woke up. He was sore and stiff and still felt terribly dry, but he managed to go through a series of exercises without doing too badly.

  His horse, he found, was dead and already stinking up the place. Marge or the kobolds had managed to get the saddlebags off, though, and he found some salted fish and the few cakes remaining of the hard, extra-sweet Terdieran candy. It wasn't enough, but it would have to do for now.

  Marge's horse seemed to have come through the mountain crossing reasonably well, but he thought it best not to push her for another day or so. For now he'd repack the supplies into one load and let the horse carry that. He felt he could walk.

  He found what he could of dry wood and, with the flint from the packs, made a small fire. There was a rustling in the trees behind him and he turned warily, but it was only Marge, who'd apparently been asleep up in the tree.

  How are you feeling? she asked him, settling to the ground.

  You look a mess!

  He chuckled. Oh, I'm okay. I think we ought to press on, even though it's dark. You can see pretty well around here, and my night vision's not all that bad. I've been looking at the map and I figure it's about forty miles to the main road, if we can go due west, then maybe another fifty to the city. It's a long, tough walk, but I can make it.

  She nodded. The land's not bad. I went up and took a look at it. While it's all overland, no good roads or clear paths, it's mostly farmland and forest. Maybe we can hitch a ride when we hit the main road. They might have some kind of coach service or something. At least maybe we can buy another horse.

  He frowned. Do we have enough money left for that?

  We do now. The kobolds decided it was their fault the horse died, so they gave us compensation. She went over to her own pack and rummaged through it for a moment, then reached in and pulled out a large, blackish rock. She seemed to have trouble with it, so he went over and took it from her, then almost dropped it. It was incredibly heavy.

  What is that?

  Raw fairy gold, she told him. Worth a hundred horses.

  Well, then, let's get started, now that we're on the same clock.

  She laughed. I think maybe you ought to go down to the riverbank first—it's really a creek, but the water's fine. You're coal black from soot and ash.

  He didn't feel much like it, but he went, and he did feel a little better after he'd immersed himself in the cool waters for a while. Coming back out, he checked over his clothing. The belt with his great sword had come through pretty much untouched, but the thick loincloth he'd been wearing was stained and singed. He had spare loincloths, so that was no trouble. The sandals, though, were his only pair, and they were cracked and worn almost beyond belief. He decided to go barefoot until he could buy some new ones.

  His cowboy hat, much to his relief, was virtually unscathed, and he stuck it on his still wet hair, fastened the loincloth to the belt and strapped it on, checked to see that his sword was easily drawn, then nodded to himself. Okay, faithful scout, he called to Marge. Let's pack up and get on the trail.

  Ugh! Kemo sabe! she responded playfully, and they went to work. Somehow they managed to get everything of importance onto the horse.

  Using Marge's incredible night sight as the pathfinder, they had little trouble going for most of the night. By early morning, although it was impossible to tell for certain, they thought they had made at least fifteen miles. Joe let Marge sleep then on the horse, in front of the pack—since she seemed to weigh virtually nothing, the horse never noticed—and, taking frequent breaks for both his and the horse's benefit, he managed to add over five miles more before deciding to camp out in a small wooded grove.

  Marge had been correct—the rough land had given way quickly to rolling farmland, with lots of herd animals idly grazing and, here and there, red-roofed farmhouses and fields of neatly planted wheat, corn, and other grains. He remembered somebody telling him once, after some big eruption down in South America or some place, that the reason people lived so close to volcanoes was that they only went off once in a lifetime, while the stuff they spewed out was the best farm dirt in the world, and he could see that, at least here, it was true.

  Occasionally they stopped at a farmhouse along the way. But, while there were a few draft animals available, there were no horses. Finally giving up, they settled for a mule and loaded most of the supplies onto it, allowing Joe to ride Marge's horse, while she sat atop the packs on the mule. Now they would make better time.

  He kept to his modified schedule, remaining awake through most of the night and into the morning, then joining Marge in sleep for the afternoon. He didn't really need as much sleep as she seemed to, and certainly this was the most peaceful and uneventful part of any of their journeys in Husaquahr.

  They reached a farm road which, they were assured, led to the main highway, and it was in the early morning, with Marge barely dozing on the mule's back, that they met their first odd or unusual experience.

  Joe stopped both animals, reached over, flipped down the dark glasses, and shook her awake.

  Hmph? Uh? Something the matter? she muttered drowsily, still mostly asleep.

  I'm not really sure, he responded a bit cautiously, but unless I've gone nuts, the road ahead is being blocked by a pig-

  So? Shoo it away.

  Uh—this pig is standing up like a human on its hind legs and is holding a cutlass, and I really don't like the mean glint in its eye.

  Chapter 6

  THE TROUBLE WITH MAGICIANS

  Once a thief has committed himself or herself to that vocation by deed rather than by inclination, the thief is bound by that nature, regardless of consequences, the Rules apply for life.

  —Rules, VIII, 41(b)

  Marge suddenly sat bolt upright and stared ahead of them. Sure enough, there in the middle of the farm road was the biggest pig she'd ever seen, impossibly standing on its hind legs. The creature was easily Joe's height that way and must have weighed in at half a ton or more. Around its middle was a belt of some sort, its only clothing, and again impossibly, in it
s right foreleg it gripped a menacing-looking cutlass, apparently held mittenlike between the two parts of the unnaturally pliable split hooves.

  Halt! Stand and deliver! the pig grunted menacingly. Joe sat back and shook his head in wonder. Of all the sights in Husaquahr, this was certainly the most ridiculous he'd ever encountered. So, pork chops, what do you need with money? he called back.

  You think I like being like this? the giant pig retorted. It takes money to hire somebody good enough to break a spell like this.

  Joe reached down and took hold of the hilt of his great sword, which hummed in anticipation of action. Well, porker, it will take more than a pig with a pig-sticker to get anything from us. Stand aside and pick an easier victim.

  Your choice, the pig grunted back. We take what you have from you now and you escape with your lives, or we pick over your bodies.

  We?

  - There was a rustling from the underbrush on either side of the road ahead of them, and there appeared the most incredible trio of creatures they could imagine. One had the head and torso of a chimpanzee that blended into the body of a large snake. The second had a giant duck's head on a cow, udder and all, while the third looked like nothing so much as a human sized catfish whose fishy body merged into that of a crab, complete with pincers. The monkey-thing had a broadsword, while the cow-thing held a bow. The fish-crab needed no other weapons than those pincers.

  It was hard to take such monstrosities seriously. What in hell happened to you? Joe asked them, as Marge just gaped, open-mouthed.

  We were lying in wait for the Sachalin night coach, which was late as usual, the cow-duck quacked, when we saw this guy coming, all alone, decked out as if he was king of the gem mines. It just got the better of us, I guess. The sight of all that wealth made us forget about the sorcerer's convention.

  Joe nodded. I see. And when you jumped him, he turned out to be somebody powerful and he zapped you. I must say he had a real sense of humor.

  Hilarious, the pig snorted. Now that we've had our introductions, can we get back to business?

  Joe sighed and sat back a bit in the saddle, positioning himself. Your bad luck continues, my odd thieves. As you can see, neither my fairy companion nor I have much to hide, and we are going to that same convention. I think, again, you'd better wait for safer game.

  Says you, the monkey-snake retorted. You don't look like a sorcerer to me, and it's clear her magic powers, whatever they are, aren't for fighting. It chuckled. Care to kiss me, honey?

  It's true, we're not magicians, although we serve Ruddygore of Terindell, whose power will find you no matter where you are—and you look to be pretty easy to find in any case. But I do have one bit of magic, and it is of the most fatal kind. Joe paused and whispered so low he could only hope Marge could hear. Be ready to charge when I do.

  Yeah? And what kind of magic's that? the pig sneered.

  Joe drew his sword, which began to hum even louder. Its blade seemed like something alive, pulsing a glowing bronze. This, he told them, is my very good friend Irving.

  Irving! They all started laughing and sniggering. What sort of name is that for a sword?

  The great sword's hum rose in pitch, as if it were angry and insulted by the remarks. The sword was, in fact, a semi living thing of sorcery and iron, as only the dwarfs could make it.

  Irving doesn't like to be laughed at, Joe said quietly, then suddenly kicked his horse and sprang forward with a yell. The attack took the thieves by surprise, and he was on the pig before any of them could react, bringing Irving down on the cutlass and slicing through the thief's weapon as if it were butter. With his foot, he kicked out and sent the great pig sprawling on all fours.

  The monkey-snake screamed in anger and launched itself at Joe, but he whirled around and this time was not so gentle, slicing off not only the sword but the arm that held it.

  Needing no more of a cue. Marge charged on her mule right through the melee, the mule jumping over the pig.

  Joe reined in his horse, reared back, and looked at the other two creatures. The duck-cow had seen enough, dropped its bow and stepped back. The fish-crab, however, looked uncertain.

  Well, fish-face? Do we see what Irving does to those claws?

  Uh—I think Irving is 'a real nice name for a sword, the fish-crab burbled and backed off.

  By this time, though, the pig had gotten back up behind Joe and now reached to unhorse the big man. Joe saw the move from the comer of his eye and pulled back on the reins, causing his horse to rear up on its hind legs. The pig, startled, fell backward and Joe came down and had his sword at the creature's throat before it could recover. Be thankful I spare your lives, he told them. If I meet the man who did this to you all, though, I'm going to buy him one hell of a good drink. With that, he whirled and rode off, following Marge, who'd stopped to watch about a hundred feet farther on. He passed her, slowed, and called out, Well? What are you waiting for? Run for it before they get their wits back! Then he was off.

  She shrugged and kicked the mule, proceeding forward at a lesser pace.

  They kept it up for almost a mile before Joe slowed to a walk and relaxed, allowing her to catch up. Close one, he commented. If they'd had any guts at all, they'd have had us, Irving or not.

  She burst out laughing. Somehow I don't think they'll ever have the guts. A pretty poor lot of robbers they are, even as monsters.

  Don't laugh too long, though. Remember, we're riding into a whole city just crammed with magicians, and most of 'em with the power won't think any more of us than they would of bugs.

  That's more your worry than mine, I think. I'm not really sure of my powers, but they seem made for a situation like that.

  He cleared his throat. Urn, yeah. I've been meaning to ask you about that. I kind of assumed that your powers were in the, ah, lovemaking area.

  She laughed. Well, so I'm told. But that's only the lesser part. Supposedly, I can cancel out magic, even redirect it. I'm not sure how that works, and they weren't very good at explanations. It's just supposed to come when I need it, more or less.

  He thought about that. It makes sense, sort of. No great powers, like a lot of the fairy folk are supposed to have, but you'll have the power of whatever is used against you. Seems to me, they'll think twice about using you for a subject with that in mind.

  She nodded. If they know it. Kauri are better known for the other thing we do best, and I don't think it would work well against somebody like Ruddygore or the Dark Baron or even Huspeth. Still, most magicians aren't on that level, so I feel fairly safe. Truth is, I might not have much offense, but I'm a catalog of defenses, which is what I think Ruddygore had in mind. You're the offense and I'm the defense. She saw him frown at that. What's wrong?

  The old bastard hasn't done anything for us or to us, unless it's for some reason of his own. That magic Lamp business was big, but I don't think it's what he really brought us here for and made us what we are today, whatever that is. He's got something big planned for us, and I don't like the smell of it.

  You were the one who was bored, she reminded him. I would think you'd like a real challenge.

  Challenge, yeah, but if that Lamp business was just practice, what's he really got in mind, and can we survive it?

  You're unusually gloomy today! Huspeth said Ruddygore could see the direction of the future and planned accordingly, and those silly Rules said we were destined for at least three great adventures. Me, I'm not going to worry until the third one. Instead, I'm going back to sleep.

  And she did.

  The main road was wide and well traveled, as they expected one of the primary routes between the capital of Marquewood and the rest of the nation to be. Not only were there the usual wagon trains of goods going to and from Sachalin, but there was much traffic by individuals and small groups. Joe noticed that most of the people going away from the city looked rather ordinary—merchants, deliverymen, carpenters, all the people a capital would be expected to have. The traffic in the city's di
rection, though, beyond the commercial trade, seemed a different sort. Old women in black cloaks and hoods, small groups dressed in varicolored robes, and mysterious, mystical, even sinister folk were the rule.

  Joe stopped at a roadside inn that was doing a large business and went inside. He was getting really tired and he figured that they would most likely have a room available at midday. Few landlords could resist the possibility of renting a room twice in one day, and he could use a bed after so long on the road.

  The innkeeper, a big, burly man named Isinsson, didn't disappoint him, although a large eyebrow was raised at the sight of a groggy Marge wearing only dark glasses.

  The price was reasonable, and Joe agreed readily to leave by eight in the evening. The room was small but adequate, and the double bed had a genuine feather mattress. They looked at it groggily, and Joe said, Too bad. If we weren't both so dead, we could make real use of it, as the landlord thinks we will.

  Maybe we'll wake up early, she muttered and lay face down on the bed. Joe looked at the velvety wings sticking out from her back and, with a silent wish that she didn't toss and turn in her sleep, he secured the door and joined her in slumber.

  When he awoke, to his great disappointment, it was after seven. Marge, he saw, had already arisen and gone from the room. For a second, he was worried about that, remembering the last time she'd disappeared from a hotel, but she hadn't been fairy then. He was pretty sure she could take care of herself. At least, he hoped so. The next dragon they met might not have a neurotic fear of fair maidens.

  He packed up and went down to the main floor, which was fairly crowded with traffic. He didn't see Marge anyplace, but he decided not to get really worried until it was time to leave.

  There were no empty tables; but with such a crowd, any empty chair belonged to the first person to sit in it, and he picked one with a small group of ordinary-looking people and ordered a heavy meal.