Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Kaladon! He is a pig and a usurper! Tiana spat.

  Sorry to spoil the food with a bad name, but when you consider that he's the weakest on the Council, you see what a poor adept is up against. Kaladon is good at it, but he's not one of the best.

  My father could maintain fifteen or more, the large woman bragged.

  He could indeed, but not on one particular night.

  The food was drugged!

  Ruddygore sighed and signaled for the table to be cleared, which it rapidly was. I see it's time to get down to business. He lighted a cigar as Durin served coffee for those who wished it. First of all, Tiana, your father was not drugged that night.

  What! That is a lie!

  You said it yourself. He was capable of fifteen or more spells. No pro in this business goes into action before doing a static purification spell on himself, not to mention a series of mental tests, even against the weakest of opponents, to ensure he is in his best physical and mental shape. No, Tiana, I'm afraid your father was, in fact, in his usual fine form.

  But it must have been the food! Otherwise that pig would have been ground to dust!

  Ruddygore drew on his cigar, sat back, and relaxed a bit. Well, that was the story the Council more or less allowed to spread around Zhimbombe. It was a face-saving gesture, really; although it was rather insulting to Kaladon, even he went along with it. You see, after the death of any Council member, there is, shall we say, a psychic post-mortem by the remaining members which includes an examination of the winner and his testimony, those of the referees, and others. It is a matter of concern to all of us when one of us goes, as you might imagine, and we are most interested in seeing that it doesn't happen to us. He paused again, then added, The official judgment was that your father threw the match.

  Tiana stood up and glared angrily at him. I will not remain and listen to this, not even from you! My father would never commit suicide!

  Oh, sit down, Tiana. That's why you'll never be more than a weak adept. No self-control, no discipline. Even if you know all the magic I know and can handle fifty spells at a time, you'll challenge Kaladon, he'll make some off-the-wall remark about your father, you'll get so mad your concentration will crumble, and he'll have you.

  She hesitated a moment, then sat back down, but she continued to glare at him.

  Kaladon was, I'm afraid, your father's weak spot. He considered him his son and heir to his Council seat. You knew that. You remember what it was like—before.

  She nodded, but did not seem to mellow.

  He had no reason to suspect treachery. Kaladon was quite clever—he fought the match in such a way that it looked very natural and very accidental that it escalated to that point. He must have spent years planning those exact moves. What happened was that he pushed things just over the edge, so that there was so much psychic energy in that hall that it could not be easily canceled out. Likewise, Kaladon had spent some effort making you look very untalented in the arts in your father's eyes. So there he was, faced with the choice of killing Kaladon, letting Kaladon kill him, or hoping the referees would realize the problem and step in. All the evidence suggested that the referees did move to cancel; but for some reason, the attempt was not effective. Either the spells were too personalized, or not all the referees were in agreement; but the hesitant ones weren't willing to admit their error later. Regardless, your father weighed all the factors and decided to will his seat to Kaladon.

  She shook her head unbelievingly. I know how he regarded Kaladon, but I can not believe he could do this. He would not do this to me.

  If it's any help, Kaladon did cheat. I know how he did it, but I could never prove it.

  What?

  It would have taken all three referees in tandem to stop the match. All three claimed to have tried and failed. One of them, however, was Esmerada, who is now a close ally of Kaladon and the Baron. The fix was in, and that sort of energy couldn't have been held for long. Your father was backed into a comer and forced into a split-second decision. In a sense, Kaladon's victory was legitimate in that, as I mentioned, his opponent allowed an extraneous factor to divert him. It is entirely possible that your father was simply unable to solve his moral dilemma and thus broke his concentration. The most talented sorcerer in the world can be beaten by a middling-fair magician if his concentration is broken, even for an instant.

  She considered it. You are probably right. But—even with all his deceit and Esmerada's complicity, that means he was the legitimate and legal winner under the Rules! That is terrible!

  Is it? He still schemed and took advantage of your father and you to get the seat, and he's an even blacker magician than ever now. He must be removed, eliminated—and Esmerada, too. We must stop his cancer of the Barony for all time.

  Can't you just take him on? Joe asked. You said he was weak.

  Oh, I could finish him, yes, but he would sense the attack and call upon Esmerada and the Baron for support; and the Baron almost had me last time. As for a challenge in a formal context, the Rules specifically prohibit one Council member from challenging or fighting another within the rules of the Society. Nor can I enter the castle of a fellow Society member without his or her permission, just as none of them can enter Terindell.

  And I guess they aren't too likely to invite you in for tea and cookies, Marge put in.

  Ruddygore nodded. But I've been studying the proper volume of the Rules pretty closely, and there are other ways. It seems that if someone is in my service and is invited in, he may then invite me. That I find most interesting.

  Uh-oh. I just got a funny case of indigestion, Joe grumbled.

  It's not a very easy or pleasant task, but I think you see where I'm leading with this, the sorcerer continued. We must strike at the heart of the Barony. We must eliminate Esmerada, Kaladon, and the Baron. If I can reach the first two, I can take them. That will leave our Baron, if he is indeed not one of those two, alone and out front. I can tell you right now that I cannot take the Baron; but if I can find out who he is, perhaps he can be goaded into trotting out his demon master. If I can get him to do that, with the Council looking on, they will destroy him as a matter of survival.

  Joe whistled. You sure aren't asking much, are you? We're to get into these castles and call you in, somehow, all without getting killed or turned into toads or something; and if we happen to unmask the Baron in the process, we're to get him to trot out a demon prince for us.

  Ruddygore shrugged. I didn't say it was going to be easy. In fact, tricking the first sorcerer should work out because of the element of surprise in the plan. The trouble is, in the inevitable post-mortem, the loophole will be exposed, so the second one will be ready for you. As for bringing out the Baron's demon, I hardly think that will be difficult if you meet him. Remember, his demon couldn't do a thing to either of you, and he's probably just panting and drooling to do a whole set of things to see why and how he can get around it. What army are we leading? Joe wanted to know. No army. It would do no good. I'll supply the army if and when it's necessary. You and Marge are involved, not only for your skills and complementary abilities but also because, pardon me, you are perfect demon bait. All that I have been able to teach you, and all that you have become, have been oriented to this purpose. Tiana will join you for several other reasons, although she, too, is well trained and dedicated, with a bit of both your skills to boot as a backup. But, most importantly, she's a native of Zhimbombe, and I've had her traveling in and out of the area for the past month before coming here.

  Tiana nodded. I wondered why you asked, and only hoped it was for an assault on Kaladon. Much has changed, particularly the people and the very atmosphere of the place. It used to be a happy place. But the roads still go where they once did, and the towns and cities are the ones I knew in my youth. It was strange how it all came back to me, although I have traveled those roads ten thousand times in my mind.

  Joe was used to Ruddygore by now, and he was thinking ahead of the plan. Uh—in what order do
we tackle these fearsome giants?

  Geographically. Esmerada's Witchwood is on the way to Morikay, so she is certainly first. She is the stronger magically, which is why she is the best start—the best to take by surprise. And she is the most hidebound and rigid. My, how she loves the old cliches!

  Uh-huh. And then Kaladon, all forewarned.

  The sorcerer nodded. But in known territory, with a native guide even to the castle passages and entryways.

  He's likely just to have us killed on sight, Marge pointed out.

  No, not all of us, Joe responded, turning back to Ruddygore. Right?

  Well, uh, that's true.

  I would have no problem getting invited into that castle, Tiana said, stating what the others were thinking. That is it, is it not?

  Well, yes, as a last resort, the sorcerer admitted. However, I hope we won't have to use that method. I'll be with you all the way, in a manner of speaking, anyway.

  Poquah got up from the table, went into Ruddygore's room, and returned with a very pedestrian-looking. Earth-style briefcase. Ruddygore made several passes over it with his hands and then went into an almost trancelike state staring at it. In less than a minute, though, he relaxed, then opened the case. They all realized that the case had been guarded by spells so great they might have destroyed anyone trying them other than himself.

  He reached inside and pulled out a small jewelry case, set it before him and opened it, then pushed it across the table to Marge. Inside was a necklace of what looked like solid gold chain; from it, a small but distinctive ruby pendant hung. She looked at the chain, then picked it up and stared at it in puzzlement. Where's the clasp?

  I had it made without one, he told her. Don't worry. Allow Poquah to put it on for you.

  The Imir reached over, picked it up, and she felt his long fingers on both sides of her throat and the cold of the chain. There was a hissing sound; for a brief moment, the necklace felt very hot, but it cooled quickly.

  The thing is made of fairy gold and a combination of alloys that make it almost impossible to slip off, Ruddygore explained. As it has no clasp, it's on for good, I hope. While the blend is strictly Husaquahrian, it was created at Cartier's in Paris to my specifications.

  She chuckled. Cartier's at last.

  Again he delved into the case, brought out a jewelry box, and opened it, this time pushing it in front of Tiana. She looked, then reached in and picked up one of the two objects inside. They were attractive, if slightly large, earrings of the same fairy blend, and suspended from each was a finely crafted charm in the shape of a gryphon. Except for being oddly thick, the charms looked to be made of the same stuff as the earrings. Again, there was no break or clasp in the earrings themselves. Think you can stand wearing them more or less permanently? the sorcerer asked her.

  She nodded. They are beautiful. Also Cartier?

  Oh, yes. Well, if you're satisfied—Poquah?

  The Imir went behind her, but this time he took one earring in each hand; pulling back her hair, he tugged on the lobes with his fingers. There was a slight hiss and a wisp of smoke, and Tiana exclaimed, Ouch! That, too, was quickly over— and the earrings were through the lobes as if she had been born with them. She reached up with her right hand and felt one of

  the dangling charms, It feels strange.

  You'll get used to them quickly. Again Ruddygore repeated the process, pushing another open box toward Joe. The ex-trucker frowned and grumbled, Oh, no. I'm strictly straight! Inside was a single small earring with a golden gryphon attached, identical to Tiana's.

  Ruddygore laughed. Joe, it doesn't necessarily mean that back on Earth and it definitely doesn't mean that here. Almost all the barbarian tribesmen wear 'em.

  Well, I don't!

  Tiana looked over at him with an amused expression. Joe, among the Cagrim tribespeople with whom I lived for some time, when a woman and a man mated, they wore matching earrings. Two each.

  I don't care! What's so important about these fancy pieces of jewelry, anyway?

  Ruddygore grinned. Inside the jewel Marge is wearing, and inside the left gryphon in Tiana's set—and in your lone one—is the latest miracle of Japanese electronics.

  Electronics! Here?

  Exactly. Oh, I know, I know. I'm the one who has kept guns and other modem ideas out, and I admit it. However, you must understand that, more than anything, that is my advantage, Joe. It's why this plan will work! This sort of technology is as alien and magical to this world as my magic is to yours. The tiny little power cells in those jewels will last a year and, because they broadcast a simple signal, they carry quite far. You will never be out of range of my messengers, Joe. Although the cells will broadcast only a couple of miles at best, that's more than sufficient for signals to be received outside any of the castles—far outside. That's Macore's part of the job.

  The little thief nodded, I don't understand it, but I never did understand spells, anyway. All I know is that I'm going to be able to track you with those things and that you can call Ruddygore with them if you need him. The rest of how it's done I think best to keep from you, and he agrees. What you don't know you can't divulge, and that will keep me safe. I'm also your backup, though—if real problems develop, I'll help where I can.

  Those measures are needed because the things were designed to work in connection with directional receivers that would be large and impractical here, Ruddygore explained. However, their tiny, very inaudible signals will reach Macore and his, uh, messengers, and that's enough.

  And if we want to call you? Joe asked. Then what? This may sound odd, but just take the object—jewel or gryphon—in your hand and say my name. It is triggered to change its signal at that, and that will alert us.

  How soon could you reach us after we needed you? Joe pressed him.

  I will be publicly and visibly here and in Terindell. There must be no suspicion whatsoever. I feel bound to tell you that it might be many hours before the message gets to me. After that, I will use my unique transportation abilities to reach you very quickly. Now, this is important! While my name alone, uttered in that way, will bring me, you must say, 'Ruddygore, please enter castle such-and-so,' wherever you are. I can be summoned through the device, but I will require the invitation to circumvent the Rules.

  Uh-huh. And what are we supposed to do for the hours it takes you to come to the rescue? Joe asked him.

  The best you can, of course. After the message is off, Macore will be available as an outside party to help, and he will have other resources to draw upon.

  You won't see me after tonight, the little thief warned, but I'll never be far away. Count on it.

  Do we have a—ouch! Joe was startled by a burning sensation on his left ear. His hand went up, and he felt the ring already in place there. He whirled, rising at the same time, and faced an impassive Poquah. Damn you! the big man cursed.

  Don't blame him, Joe. I expected some, ah, resistance, the sorcerer told him. Don't worry. I can hardly see it under all that hair, anyway.

  Tiana reached over and pushed Joe's dark hair back. I think it looks very swashbuckling.

  Joe sat and fumed. He said nothing, but it was clear what he was thinking.

  Now we'll work out briefings and strategy sessions, Ruddygore told them. You should be as prepared as possible. And henceforth, by the way, we will not mention the radios. That will remain our little secret—and our little advantage.

  They talked on through most of the night, the enormity of the task not escaping them in the least. Finally Ruddygore handed Joe a small, round portrait of a distinguished-looking man of middle age with gray hair and a bushy gray mustache. He had dark, piercing eyes that the artist had caught exactly, and it was clear to look at him that he was one of those lucky ones who aged so well they were even more handsome than they had been in their youth.

  Count Boquillas, the sorcerer told them, explaining the background. If you happen across him, or can determine his whereabouts, then be sure to tell me. He is the
mystery player in this game, in that we don't really know which side he's on or what his game might be. All we know is that a powerful and outspoken critic of the Barony has suddenly vanished, and it would be of great value, not only to find him but to prove how little the Baron's word is worth, if Boquillas is in fact a prisoner.

  So when do we start this death march? Joe asked.

  I think tomorrow, about sunset, Throckmorton P. Ruddygore replied.

  Chapter 10

  SAILING DOWN THE RIVER

  Piracy need not be a dishonorable vocation if bound by the Rules.

  —Rules

  CLIX, Introduction

  The port district of Sachalin was busy almost all the time. Although much trade had closed down for the convention, ships kept to schedules as they had to, and that meant those depending on those ships must be ready when they arrived.

  Ruddygore had arranged passage for the trio on a merchantman carrying what seemed to be thousands of neatly racked amphoras of whiskey made from the unusually large harvest surplus in the region. Accommodations were not the most gracious or comfortable, but the ship's captain, who was also half owner, was being well paid and neither asked questions nor even raised an eyebrow at the sight of the unlikely-looking group.