Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Oh, there is Sargash! she breathed excitedly and pointed. She is a famous idiot.

  Joe looked at the red-robed woman and frowned. She doesn't look like an idiot to me. She looks pretty smart.

  Oh, you are strange, Joseph! I meant she is a famous I.D.I.O.T.—Iconological Doctor of Incantations, Obturations, and Transudations.

  Oh. Yeah, sure.

  And there is Mathala, ogre.

  Actually, she's sort of distinguished.

  No, no. SheisheadoftheOrderofGeomorphicReification and Exuviation.

  If you say so, was all he could respond. Even though he was getting the idea, he still didn't know what those words meant.

  Ah, and that man all in black over there is a world-renowned nutcase.

  Do I want to ask questions about that one?

  Notater of Ultravires, Transubstantiations, Casuistry, Alchemy, Soporophics, and Ephemerides, she explained. He will be one of the referees in the sorcerers' matches.

  First get me a dictionary—one that I can read, he grumped.

  She stopped and gasped. There—there is the evil bastard himself!

  He waited, noting a tall, distinguished-looking sorcerer in red and green velvet garb, catching up to and talking with Mr. Nutcase. Well? he said after a moment. Aren't you going to tell me what evil bastard stands for?

  It stands for usurper, cheat, murderer, and harlot, she spat out.

  Joe was trying to figure out how that fitted the title when she added, That is Kaladon.

  He looked again with new interest. He's a lot older than I thought he was.

  He is five years my senior. The aging that you see is the wages of his art. He is in fact still the youngest of all the Council members by more than three hundred years.

  Spell or not, I think we'd better be on our way out of here, Joe suggested. As I understand it, everybody else can see you normally, and you stand out in any crowd.

  As do you, she responded and squeezed his hand playfully, but she also wasted no time heading for the nearest exit.

  Back out in the corridor, he looked at her and asked, Now where?

  She shrugged. Let us go up to the room and sort through this material. Somewhere in there is a program that will tell us what is going on with whom and where.

  He nodded and retrieved his untouched bag from the cloakroom. They headed out into the now jam-packed lobby and up the long series of stairs.

  As they walked down the hall, the door to the suite opened and a small figure stepped out. They both halted as the figure turned and looked up, first at Joe, then at Tiana. Hello, Joe, she said. Hello, Marge. Uh—this is Tiana. So I gather, the Kauri answered a little coolly. Joseph has told me much about you, Tiana said, trying to break the ice a little. You have had many great adventures.

  You don't look like much of a slouch in my sort of adventures yourself, Marge responded cattily.

  Uh, Marge—you'll be sharing with Macore, Joe put in. She looked up at him strangely. I thought as much. He shrugged. You called the tune, remember. I'm just playing along.

  Yeah. Well, have fun, you two, she replied, then turned and walked back into her own room.

  Tiana didn't quite know what to say, so Joe just moved forward down the hall, unlocked his door, and the two went inside and closed the door after them.

  Finally Joe said, You know, I'm really going to hate myself for that tomorrow, but right now I just have that feeling that there is justice in the world.

  She looked so hurt and lonely.

  He nodded. Yeah. She looked, somehow, almost like that scared, lonely kid I picked up back in Texas. Funny. If she'd been like that the last couple of days...

  The big woman thought a moment. Joe, I think I can explain it. I was just sort of putting myself in her position now. Briefly she described the true nature and function of the Kauri and their strong shifts in mood.

  He nodded, understanding to a point. Well, that explains it, I guess.

  No, Joe, not completely, judging by your expression. You and I, we feel grumpy sometimes, happy other times, as all people do, and as she used to. Now, though, she has no control over it. She can fix the souls of others, but only by taking the hurt inside herself.

  Yeah, but you said the effect wears off—she eats it or something, or she can take the cure back home. That's more than I can do.

  That is true—as far as it goes. But tell me, what do you do when you feel very mad about something, perhaps about something you yourself did that you wish now to take back and can not?

  He thought a moment. Smash my fist into a wall, I guess, or pick a fight.

  She nodded. But the Kauri, they have no release. There is no Kauri to clean them up, and they can not harm anyone, not even themselves. It must be particularly difficult for someone with a long human past, I would think. And you should be flattered rather than upset that she did not make love to you.

  Huh?

  It means you do not have as many problems as you think you do. The only opening she had to help you was your feeling of loneliness, and now that, too, is gone, I think. I hope.

  You're making me feel like a heel right now.

  She smiled. No, you are human, and that is a wonderful thing to be. She is not human, but she is still your friend. I think perhaps she needs you more than you think, and you need her far less than you think, if that makes any sense. Yeah, I guess so. Think I ought to go over and try and smooth it out?

  It might not be a bad idea, particularly if, as Ruddy implies, we three must go a long way together. I will look through this mass of material we have collected while you are gone.

  He smiled, got up, kissed her, then turned and walked out of the room and down the hall, stopping at and knocking on Marge's door.

  For a moment he was afraid she was gone; but finally the door opened a crack, then wide, and he entered.

  Hey, look, I just want to say I'm sorry for the smart remark, he told her honestly.

  Yes, I know, Marge replied. I don't really hold anything against you, Joe—I couldn't! Not after what we've been through. I deserved it and I know it.

  He sat down on the side of the bed. Hey, look—I've had this whole thing explained to me. You're going to find this hard to believe, but Tiana understands the problem and she was a pretty good explainer.

  Oh, I know she's probably a wonderful person and everything, but it's deeper than that. I mean—oh, I don't know what I mean!

  You mean you'd rather be her than you. The Chronicles of Joe and Marge, right?

  She said nothing, but he knew he'd pretty much hit it on the head.

  Well, you're not—and you never were, he went on. You're you, that's all. Hell, I'm still not sure I like this crazy world much and I'm really not sure I like this barbarian business at all, but I'm stuck with it.

  She looked at him curiously. What would you rather be, assuming you'd still be in Husaquahr and not back home?

  No thinking there. One of these wizards. Somebody with magic at his fingertips. Swordplay skills are handy here, but all that fighting's like being in the infantry. Cannon fodder for the magic boys—and no match for magic, but a hell of a lot of work, all the same, not only to get the skills but to keep

  She slowly shook her head. You don't want any magic, Joe. It's not power—it's a curse. For anybody under the master sorcerer rank, it is, anyway—it controls you, really, and it costs too much. And even the masters—well, every one I've met has been more than slightly nuts.

  Ruddygore? He paused a moment. Hmmm... Yeah, I see what you mean. And your witch, Huspeth, has sealed herself off from the world. The more I hear about the others here, the more I think we've met the nicest and sanest of 'em all, too.

  It's the power, Joe. It corrupts most of them, makes them evil beyond redemption, even if they don't think of themselves that way. I can feel it, just walking these halls. Those very few who were so strong it didn't corrupt them, like Ruddygore and Huspeth, it drove into tremendous loneliness. The responsibility's so huge, Joe! And as f
or the fairies—I know now that we are imprisoned by our powers, not free. Like bees and ants, deer and wolves, we're programmed like robots to do one job each and we have to do that job just like the animals. The only difference is, we can think, so we know we're not free. I always used to wonder why those European elves of legend always drank so much. Now maybe I understand.

  Well, maybe. But a little magic might be nice, anyway. It doesn't matter—I'm not magical, that's all, except through Irving. Tiana's an adept. Daughter of a big-shot sorcerer who got killed by another one.

  Yes, Kaladon. Ruddygore told me the background. You know he's the prime suspect for the Dark Baron.

  Joe nodded. Yeah, I know. I'm not sure if I'm hoping he is or he isn't, though, for Tiana's sake.

  What do you mean?

  If he is, and we manage to polish him off, then she's bound and determined to take over Zhimbombe. That may be her birthright, but it's not her style. On the other hand, if he isn't the Baron, he's just a superpowerful, evil black magician she can never hope to get rid of, so it will eat at her until she tries it, anyway.

  You really like her, don't you?

  He nodded. A lot. And I think it's mutual, at least so far. Hell, we've just met. We'll see how it goes.

  I'll try and be nicer to her then, Joe, I promise, if you'll be a little understanding with me. She paused a moment. Still partners?

  He grinned and stood up. Still partners—and still friends. Uh—I'd give you a hug if I didn't think I'd crush your pretty wings.

  You won't. They're kind of funny, but they have no bones in 'em. I can lie right on them face up if I want to.

  So he did hug her and kissed her, too; then he winked. Three adventures—remember?

  She thought of Ruddygore's gloomy assessment and forced a smile. Yes, Joe. At least three.

  Macore sat in Ruddygore's room, still wearing the one-piece black cloth outfit he'd used in his work, his face and hands black as pitch from the material he'd smeared on them.

  Ruddygore studied the various papers and objects before him and frowned. This is pretty tough, I'm afraid. Two are definite servants of Hell and the third must be, to keep his own holdings. Hmph! I always thought of Boquillas as a hothead, but an idealist. I wonder what his price was?

  Well, we know for sure that this Kaladon is a head man with the whole Barony movement, the thief noted. I'm positive the units in that report were all involved in the battle at the Valley of Decision.

  Ruddygore nodded. They were. There's no question he's a leading figure in this, but he makes little secret of it. Still, I find it hard to believe.

  He's incredibly young, or so he says. Much too young to have won a Council seat on his own and just the sort to fall into this kind of campaign.

  That's true, but it makes him so bloody obvious. I don't see him as a leader, somehow, with the skills to keep an alliance like this together. He's also pretty weak, really—there are any number of adepts here who could challenge him for position. The only reason they don't this time is that they fear the Baron's wrath, and that bastard can marshal three others of Council rank to back him up in this. The one I fought over the plains of the Valley was as strong as I am, and that's strong indeed. I'm pretty sure Kaladon cheated to win his spot, and he's dependent on the Dark Baron to keep his position. If the Baron loses, he's done in. He has no choice.

  Unless he's diabolically clever, the thief responded. He's a smart one, I think, and real ambitious. Hell, you know you can become a hawk or a wolf or anything else you want to be. Maybe this Kaladon's not any spring chicken but really an old pro.

  The sorcerer considered it. You mean he created Kaladon as a persona, lived as Kaladon those years in Morikay, then made it seem as if he beat the old man, huh? What a fascinating idea! Diabolical! Why didn't it occur to me before?

  Macore grinned. Because you're a square, that's why. Oh, you can be pretty devious, but only in response to evil. Who do you listen to? A puffed-up, straight-arrow Imir who thinks the only way to get something is to fight your way through a mob? A muscle-bound ex-Teamster? A fairy who used to teach kids?

  Ruddygore thought about it. Well, more than that, but your point is well taken. Maybe I have been neglecting my true education and perspective of late. Perhaps I should talk more often with thieves and politicians.

  There's a difference? Oh, well, let's look at the others.

  Ruddygore nodded. Esmerada. I had just about written her off because she was a woman, but now, with your new perspective, I see that I can hardly do that. Any of us could be anything we wanted to be at almost any time, so having a male Baron would be a near-perfect red herring.

  I thought the same way. And she's well positioned, too, with a long history in the black arts. She's got tremendous power, even if she is a little kinky about the ways she uses it. Certainly that stuff I found in her adepts' rooms is interesting, if only because it's in no language I've ever seen before.

  Ruddygore reached over and picked up the two books. But I have. You'll have to get these back later tonight.

  No problem. They secured the important stuff real solid, but you sometimes learn more from the stuff they don't consider important. Those books—what are they?

  An interesting set. This one is a condensed version of a major theoretical work by V. I. Lenin. This other one is almost an opposite, in one sense. My Battle, by Adolph Hitler. This fits in some ways with information I've been getting from all over. Even Marge, earlier this evening, told me about a kobold quoting Lenin.

  Never heard of either of 'em.

  And you shouldn't have. Neither should the adepts, for that matter. He studied the books. Not originals. These are of Husaquahrian manufacture. From one of the City-States, I'd say. Fascinating. I wonder how the original text made its way from one world to the other, where it's certainly not appropriate.

  You mean those things are from the place Joe and Marge came from? Huh. I thought only you could get over there and bring things back.

  So did I, my little friend. So did I. But both angels and demons can dictate, and have done so in the past to a variety of people. This is more diabolical than I thought possible! That damned demon is to blame for this! He calmed down and sighed. Well, at least I know part of the plan now. That much is clear.

  Well, I don't.

  And you don't have to. That's a separate problem to be attended to besides the one on the table. What of Count Boquillas?

  He never showed. In fact, word around is that he hasn't showed in the last six months just about anywhere. Rumors in his home district of Marahbar say that he left for his castle hideaway on Lake Ktahr a couple of months ago and hasn't been seen since. Good suspect, though. Idealistic, ambitious, very powerful, and a City-States man to boot, which ties him in to your books, with a castle in Zhimbombe, which puts him directly in the Baron's lands.

  Ruddygore frowned. Still, I would be a little more inclined to him, had he not vanished. He had reservations here?

  Macore nodded. Him and a whole entourage. But he didn't show—didn't cancel, either, according to the hotel records.

  I don't like this at all. Esmilio Boquillas is an old and valued friend of long standing and a most unusual one among our fraternity. He has a strong conscience and he is an idealist, if somewhat hotheaded. He has been appalled by the carnage of the Baron's conquests—this I know—and has been outspoken against them. He is the sort of fellow who might well be influenced by such books as these, if he had a way to know about them in the first place; but, although he was an excellent fencer in his youth for strictly sporting goals, he can't even bring himself to kill a deer or fowl for sport. He is extremely powerful, but not, insofar as I know, a black magician.

  But he's in the Baron's back yard.

  The sorcerer agreed. Indeed he is, and that worries me. He worked out a tacit understanding with the Baron early in the game—indeed, he was the one who negotiated the open city concept for the City-States, so that trade and commerce could continue—but he's a
lways been disparaging of conquerors. He actually wrote a long dissertation a couple of years back, showing the futility of force in conquering Husaquahr, and it was aptly reasoned out. He is, in effect, our hostage to the Baron to keep the river open.

  Some hostage. Skips out and doesn't even show up here.

  Yes, and that's a worrisome thing. I can't conceive of anything short of defeat and death that would keep him from a meeting of the Society, but he's gone. And I cannot imagine any way that one of his strength could be subdued and taken, unless...

  Unless?

  Unless the Baron holds him responsible for the defeat in the Valley. Kaladon has often argued, according to my reports, that Boquillas was a dagger in their midst, a spy to those of us in the north, despite his word that he would observe the understanding. With the defeat, Kaladon's paranoia might be taken more seriously.

  But what could they do to him?

  Individually, very little. Collectively, they could destroy him, but the rest of the Council would know of that. They and their pet demon prince might imprison him, perhaps, as they intend to do to me. Together they could have tricked him into a conference and then created a Null Zone. Inside there, no magic of any sort would function. If that Zone were also a prison cell, he would be helpless. It appears that our young friends will be asked to do double duty, then. I must think on it. Summon them here tomorrow evening, after the matches. I'll talk to them then. By that time the Council will have convened, and we'll see if Boquillas is still among the missing.

  Chapter 9

  THE MISSING

  MAGICIAN AND OTHER WERE TAILS

  Even one who is very good and says his prayers by night, can become a werething when the full moon is bright.

  —Rules, XC, 106(a)

  Help me get him on the bed here' Tiana shouted, and Poquah, Macore, and even Durin rushed out to see the large woman supporting a Joe in pain and bleeding from one calf. His leg was obviously too painful to stand on, not to mention dripping blood here and there on the fancy hotel carpet.