Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  You be careful around here, no matter what your impulses, Joe cautioned. You saw how all those 'dead' soldiers were looking at you out of the comers of their eyes. I can just imagine what would happen if you fell into their hands.

  Worry less about me and more about us, she cautioned. I wonder how long we'll be stuck in this great pigsty of a town?

  The answer was quite some time, with no way of telling exactly when they would leave. The soldier outside refused permission for them to inquire of the shipping agency, but also could not inquire for them without getting approval from her superiors. No, they couldn't contact her superiors without the proper forms and permissions. No, she couldn't supply the proper forms and permissions. It was one of those bureaucratic nightmares and it meant they were kept bottled up.

  Tiana, in particular, didn't like it. She was in her home territory now, but there was a pretty good fugitive warrant on her that their simple cover names and stories would not hide for long. How many beautiful and exotic women six feet six inches tall would there be trying to get into the country? They discussed their options, which included fighting their way out, waiting for capture, or just sitting around, and grew itchier and itchier as they did so. Joe, in particular, was not enamored of the enormous prices they were being charged for the stale bread and half-rotten meat they were being served by the hotel.

  Finally, though, just as they had decided to force a move, a soldier arrived and informed them that their ship was now in and that it would leave in just one hour. They were to accompany him immediately, or they would be stuck for two more weeks.

  The inn, which, it turned out, was owned by the local government, quoted an outrageous room rate and they couldn't afford to haggle. They either disputed the bill, they were told, in which case the dispute would be heard by a local magistrate in six or seven weeks, or paid up now and got their boat.

  Snarling, they paid up.

  The boat, another shallow draft freighter, was also a patchwork affair, and it was clear that this, more than anything else, had thrown its schedule into disrepair. The oarsmen on this one were chained in place and supervised by tough-looking soldiers; the sail had been patched so many times it was impossible to see anything that looked original on it. But the boat clearly .had been built by the same company that had constructed the Tolah and the Pacah, and the cabins, while not very comfortable, were at least an improvement over the hotel. The smell, however, was overpowering at times, since the entire central flat carried, not standard freight or amphoras, but goats.

  Hundreds and hundreds of goats.

  Still, if a decent place to look could be found and the wind was right for the passengers and wrong for the goats, the scenery was spectacular.

  The heights of Sogon Gorge reached almost a thousand feet on both sides, making the travelers feel as if they were moving through a small Grand Canyon. The gorge emptied into the third and last of the lakes leading to the River of Dancing Gods, Lake Ogome, a very deep natural reservoir that looked as if it should be fished as well—but they saw no craft of any sort on their passage southwest. Although there were no falls at its outlet, there were violent and swirling rapids, and a great deal of work had been done to dig an elaborate canal with locks to get the boats around them. It took the better part of a day to clear the locks and rejoin the river once more.

  Everywhere now, there was a strong contrast from the opposite shores. To the north was still Marquewood, with small, brightly colored villages and lush farmland; to the south was Zhimbombe, rough, ugly, and overgrown, the few villages in sight looking either deserted or unfit for animal, let alone human, occupancy. Obviously the area along the border, perhaps all the way, had been cleared of people by the Barony and allowed to overgrow into wilderness, but there was no doubt in the minds of the three passengers that the riverbank was heavily patrolled, and it wasn't to keep Marquewooders out, either.

  For Joe and Marge, what took place on the boat itself was an education. Neither had ever really experienced slavery and its cruelties firsthand, nor seen human beings chained and beaten as expendable draft animals. It was repulsive—and, worse, it was beyond their abilities to do anything to help the poor wretches. Captain, crew, and military, which were of the mixed races that seemed standard in the Barony, were crisp but not friendly or approachable. They handled their three passengers like carriers of some dread disease and spoke only when necessary.

  The boat crossed the joining of the Tofud and the River of Sorrows late in the evening and moved into the mainstream of the now great and powerful river. The trio knew that they soon would be reaching their departure point, which might be more of a problem than it had sounded when Ruddygore sketched it out.

  They were to leave at the junction of the River of Sorrows and the Corbi, the closest point to Witchwood and on the main road to Morikay. It would have been along this road that the troops of the Barony had marched for their crossing into Marquewood for the fatal battle not many months past, a battle those troops had almost won.

  They passed the spot, still littered with the remnants of temporary bridges and abandoned equipment, late in the day, but decided to ride a bit farther downstream. Darkness would 'be a better ally here, and it wouldn't do just to jump ship near the road that was probably the most heavily guarded in the entire Barony.

  It was still fairly easy to slip over the side, despite all the military aboard. The goats, for once, came in handy, covering any sounds they might make, and nobody really paid the three passengers much heed, anyway. The idea of jumping ship at this point was obviously ridiculous.

  The water was surprisingly cold and the current rough. Joe cleared the ship and then, half swimming, half drifting with the current, made his way toward shore, with Marge slightly overhead to be sure he made for the right one. She had already scouted the immediate shoreline and found no signs of a patrol.

  He reached the bank and pulled himself up onto muddy land and into the brush, then just lay there, getting his breath, while Marge went back to make certain Tiana would not get separated from them. She was gone a fairly long time, and Joe began to get worried, but finally Marge returned. She's about a hundred yards down from here, the fairy told him.

  He nodded, got up, saw how muddy he was, then made his way along the bank. What was the hang-up? he asked her.

  The sword belt, apparently. Getting it freed from herself so she could swim, she ran into some brush drifting down and had to get herself untangled.

  He nodded understandingly. Yeah, I had some hairy moments myself with Irving. Lost my new sandals, too, damn it.

  Marge chuckled. Well, she lost more than that. They soon joined Tiana, and Joe saw what Marge meant.

  Tiana was sitting there, breathing hard and looking disgusted, wearing only mud.

  What happened to you? he asked, trying not to chuckle.

  I was not born with three hands, that is what happened, the large woman responded disgustedly. I tried carrying sword and belt and whip and wound up losing my clothes to a floating bramble. Scrambling for them, I lost the rest. Damn. She got up and walked a little way forward.

  Where are you going?

  Back in the river. I have to get 'some of this mud off. This she did, taking several minutes, then sighed and came back out again. I don't really mind losing the clothes, but the sword, belt, and whip are a real loss.

  Joe thought a moment. Well, maybe we can replace some of it, anyway. Let's take advantage of this darkness while we have it and see if we can find that road. Marge?

  I'm off, the Kauri responded and flew into the night. It was not long before she returned. I'd say three miles, no more. There's an old village right on the river that's abandoned, except by troops. Nasty-looking bastards, I'll tell you. Big eyes and beaks, of all things.

  Bentar, Tiana said. They are birdlike humanoids, very large, very fierce. Mercenaries all. Their eyes see like cats in any light, and they are swift and powerful.

  Can they fly? Joe asked worriedly.

&nbs
p; No. They have arms and four-fingered hands, although their feathers give them protection almost like armor against the elements and even all but the most powerful and true of blows. I would be surprised, though, if they don't have winged scouts out. They have a communion with the birds that is hard to explain; often ravens and condors work with them as their protective shield, as well as several species of owl. You saw no birds?

  Marge shook her head. At least none that I noticed. A few bats and a lot of insects, that's all.

  Any patrols? Joe asked.

  Yeah, two that I saw. Parties of five, all on these big mothers of horses.

  That's too many, particularly with only one weapon, he said, almost as much to himself as to the two women. Our best bet, I think, would be to parallel the road if possible and wait for a better opportunity.

  They both nodded. I agree, Tiana told him. Things will have to wait. Still, Witchwood is but fourteen kilometers in from the river. Once we reach it, the risks will be less from the Bentar than from the wood itself, with the Dark Tower in the center.

  Hmmm... Yes, Esmerada. But won't those troopers be under her control and supervision? Joe asked.

  They would be. She runs the entire area between the Corbi and Zhafqua, west to the Dancing Gods. However, within Witchwood she will need no troops. In there, she rules by magic.

  Joe groaned. Another magical grove. Is there no end to them?

  Marge grinned. Probably not. So far, they all seem to be run by women.

  Tiana nodded. It is true, in a general sense. But Witchwood is much more than those you have seen so far. It is a seat of government for a much wider area, for one thing, and it is a place of black magic, not white or fairy.

  Joe sighed. Well, the object wasn't to storm the place, just to get invited inside. Let's get closer to it while we can move, and we'll talk about the fine points when we get there. He paused a moment. I hope she's home after all this. I think she was still at the conference when we left.

  Oh, she has returned by now. Remember the delay on our part, the big woman assured him. She has the advantage of fast flight.

  Huh? I caught sight of her back at the hotel and she looked human. Kind of imposing, but human.

  Oh, on her broom, of course. All wicked witches fly on their brooms. Surely you know that much.

  Hmmm... I should have known. Time to switch frames of reference, Marge put in. So long epic fantasy, hello Brothers Grimm.

  Chapter 12

  WITCHWOOD

  Since a witch's broomstick is for life, care should he taken to select one that will support not merely current but also future size, and weight conditions.

  —Rules, XVIII, 27(a)

  Myriad small shapes broke through the dawn, flying on long, tireless wings. Their leader wore around his neck a small golden charm, although never before had any of his tribe allowed such symbols of subservience to man or those of faerie. He allowed it now because he owed a debt of honor, and he and his would play their part in the drama for no reward other than honor, for that and the free skies that none could chain were all that was of real value in the world.

  The magic charm about the leader's neck continued to give off a soft buzz that was not irritating but insistent, so close to his small earholes it was. Suddenly the buzzing sound was diminished, although it did not fade entirely, and over the sound was a very tiny, unnatural voice.

  I am in place on a small plot of what seems to be safe ground about three hundred yards from the side gate of the tower, the tiny voice said. I have them located roughly at the edge of the wood, just off the road. I hope they have the sense to stay near it.

  The leader looked down along the great expanse beneath him and saw the little road the groundlings made and of which the voice spoke. It was relatively straight and paved with loose white granite that made it stand out, even from this altitude, as a white line through the otherwise unbroken greenery. He saw now where it entered the witch's wood and became then only visible in little bits as it made its way in a nearly straight path toward the center of that wood. In the center, he saw, was a perfectly circular clearing in which sat a great structure of dull black stone, a single tower, only slightly tapered to its flat top, surrounded on the ground by a low, star-shaped outer wall. The road was clearly visible there, as it divided at the clearing and circled the Dark Tower before coming together once more and vanishing back into the dense wood.

  He cursed the groundling agent mentally. Where was the side to a round structure? Or, for that matter, to a star-shaped one? Still, it would be easy to find the groundling when the need arose, but more difficult once the message had to be carried.

  He heard a warning shriek from his point, and looked around to see a small swarm of blackish creatures rising from the village near the river. Clearly they meant to challenge, but just as clearly they could be ignored. Ravens. Was that the best the Bentar could send against the royalty of free eagles?

  The flock slowed and circled to meet the oncoming black tide. The ravens approached brazenly and with great confidence, as they always did. When their leader reached hailing range, he called out to the soaring, great white and brown birds who awaited him.

  You trespass, eagles, far from range and eyrie. What seek you here in the land of the Barony?

  And who are you, crow, to challenge us? the eagle chieftain shot back. Will you bind the skies as your foul masters who hold your leashes bind the earth? We recognize no boundaries here, nor any crow authority over our whereabouts. But lower, in the royal language understood only by his fellow eagles, he said softly, None, not even one, should return alive or dead to the camp.

  The ravens seemed so cocky and confident that they didn't even notice the eagle formation fan out and slowly and subtly take up the most advantageous battle positions. The chief raven replied, The bird crumbles as victim to man. We are shot by the hunters and eaten by all manner of man and beast. We are captured, leashed, enslaved, even set forth by those slavers to catch and kill our own. We follow this cause out of choice, not from bindings, for the air must be liberated and purified as the ground will be.

  And this you propose to do to us here and now? the eagle chieftain scoffed. All ten of you against twenty-four eagles?

  By the time the ravens realized the import of that statement, the circle had closed and the eagles were upon them.

  Magic, Marge said, flows toward you. I should have seen it before, but I never really got into the habit of shifting to the magic bands, particularly after spending so long in a city full of magicians. Now, however, I see it clearly. Bands of black and silver and bright green, they're slowly moving at you as if you were a magnet.

  Tiana nodded worriedly. Can you describe the pattern? If I had pen and paper, maybe I could, but not much longer.

  As we move inland, more and more pieces are added, forming increasingly complex formulae.

  Joe had that look that he always got when magic was being discussed, since he lacked not only the ability to see such things but even the proper frame of reference to imagine them. In plain words, what are you two talking about?

  A spell. No, several spells, all coming at me, Tiana told him.

  He frowned. I thought you were supposed to be more or less immune to that sort of thing while under Ruddygore's protection.

  Only fully when I am with him. I fear our little deception at the convention did not last. Kaladon was quite clever about it, though. In a sense. Marge is correct—I was, in a way, magnetized by Kaladon. Since it was not, in and of itself, a spell, it remained totally undetected and undetectable by anyone. Basically, he laid half a spell on me, then randomly scattered the rest through Zhimbombe. Were I never to return here, there would be no problem, but once I did return, the opposite pieces of the spell are attracted to me, and only to me, wherever I am in this country. I see now that the loss of my clothing and weapons was not an unhappy chance, but the workings of the usurper's evil mind.

  Huh? He seems a little nuts, then. All that just to ha
ve you disarmed and naked? You can always find something for a weapon; and even if you have to wait a while for good clothing, you weren't exactly inconspicuous to begin with.

  She smiled. Poor Joseph. You are so totally practical. Kaladon is teasing me. What is more demoralizing than to make someone both naked and unarmed in a hostile land? It is his way of telling me who is boss and just what power I am facing. I suspect, too, that bad things will happen should I try clothing or weapons again. The spell is not a one-time thing, like your pirates' fireballs, but a true creation of the mathematical art of sorcery. And, as Marge tells it, I am to be greeted with even more annoyance as we grow closer to Kaladon.

  Joe frowned. Then you should get out of here and let us handle it. Get back out of range.

  Tiana leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. That would do no good. Whatever spell I wear, I keep until dissolved by my own resolution, which is unlikely, or by one greater than Kaladon, which means weeks of northward travel without clothing or arms to Terindell, or by the death of Kaladon. Besides, are we not supposed to be targets? The three of us are hardly inconspicuous. All Zhimbombe must know of us by now, I would think. As you yourself said, we are simply to get inside the seats of power, not storm them.

  He sighed. All right. It's kind of like my own, ah, problem. I don't like it, but I can live with it—if you can.

  She nodded. I am committed to this. Did you ever consider that nothing like this has ever been attempted before in the whole history of this world? To assassinate top members of the Council, whose power is just a little less than that of gods?

  That's probably because they never found any suckers stupid enough to do what we're doing, he shot back.

  Marge looked around. Dawn is coming. Shall we press into the wood or wait for dark again?

  Joe looked over at Tiana quizzically, and she responded, We may as well press in, at least as far as we can. There are far less dangers in Witchwood in daylight than in darkness.