Dilvish, The Damned

by Roger Zelazny

  "Well… I told him that that was what I was going to do. In fact, I had just finished laying the spell when you awoke. That kept me from doing the second one."

  "Second one? Of what sort?"

  "A sleep spell. To keep you there while I did whatever I decided to do."

  "I'm afraid I'm still lost. What were you deciding?"

  "To run away with me," Reynar shouted down. "To teach me to use my new powers properly."

  "Then I'm in the way," Dilvish said. "Why didn't you just tell me? I have no claim on you. I—"

  "I said that I was deciding!" she almost snarled. "It would have been so easy if you had just stayed asleep!"

  "Next time I'll know better."

  "But I did decide! None of this should even have come up. I don't want to go with him. I want to continue as we were."

  Dilvish smiled.

  "Then there is no problem. Sorry, Reynar. The lady has made her choice. Let's go, Reena."

  "Wait," Reynar said softly. "The decision, you see, is mine."

  Dilvish looked to see a bright spark appear in the air high above the hilltop. It raced toward Reynar's extended right hand, growing as it approached. When it arrived, he held a cold blue ball of light that he drew back beyond his shoulder.

  "You," he said to Dilvish, "have became extra baggage."

  The globe flew from his hand. Dilvish attempted to dodge it, but it curved to follow him. It struck him full upon the breast, rebounded, and hit the ground some eight feet before him and to the left, where it exploded into a brilliant fountain of sparks, leaving a smoking hole in the earth.

  Dilvish rushed forward. Reynar raised both hands and began gesturing with them.

  Dilvish felt as if he were barely missing being buffeted. It was as if a series of gusts of gale force wind were breaking all about him, passing… He continued on up the slope, now able to make out the puzzled expression on the sailor's face.

  "Devil lied to me," he said. "You should have been dead by now."

  Dilvish's eyes went past him, to the low outline of the altar, Oele's body atop it, small and pale in the moonlight.

  "Black!" he cried, as he began to understand. "Destroy that altar up ahead!"

  Moments later he heard the sound of metal hooves. Reynar spun, pointing, and a line of flame raced from his extended finger, striking Black upon the left shoulder as he passed them by. The area reddened. But Black continued on his course without slowing, nothing in his movements even indicating an awareness of the effect.

  Reynar spun to face Dilvish, stooping to rise with his blade in his hand.

  "If the magic won't take you," he said, "here's something better."

  Dilvish's own blade, four times the length of the other's, sighed into his hand. He moved forward to engage the other.

  Reynar's fingers twitched, and his left hand described a sweeping gesture.

  The blade was torn free of Dilvish's grip, spinning high into the air where it passed from sight.

  "So it's only your person that is proof against the power," Reynar announced as he lunged.

  Dilvish raised his cloak before him, twisting his left arm within it as he did so. The blade tore through the fabric a foot below his forearm. He pushed forward and downward as this occurred, at the same time drawing his own knife with his right hand and thrusting across with it.

  Reynar recovered quickly, disengaging his own weapon, as Dilvish's blade struck his shoulder and ground on bone before it withdrew again. Crouching low then, they moved to circle one another. Reynar's left hand made a quick sweeping movement, and again Dilvish felt as if a mighty wind had passed him, though only the trailing corner of his cloak was taken by it. He felt a warmth upon his breast, and something caught at the bottom of his vision.

  For an instant he glanced downward. There, where it had come free of his shirt, the charm the old man had given him was glowing faintly. He shook the cloak as Reynar thrust again, baffling the blade and riposting immediately, though he slashed only air, for the sailor had retreated nimbly. In the distance he heard the first crashing blow as Black struck at the altar.

  Reynar's eyes had widened the moment they had rested upon the glowing amulet, as if some suspicion had at that instant been born. They were narrowed now, however, as he moved rapidly, almost too rapidly, to Dilvish's left. Dilvish half anticipated the stumble and quick recovery that followed. When that left hand moved again, it was not magic but a handful of dirt that was cast toward his face.

  Loathe to lower the cloak, Dilvish shielded his eyes with his right forearm and twisted to the side, knowing that an attack would follow immediately. Reynar's knife grazed across his ribs on the left side. Hand still high, unable to gain a thrusting position in time, he brought the pommel of his weapon down upon the shoulder he had cut earlier. He heard a sharp intake of breath from the other and attempted to grapple with him. But Reynar pushed him away and danced back, tossing the blade from his right hand to his left, springing forward and slashing with it.

  Dilvish felt the cut across the back of his hand as he heard Black strike at the altar stones again. He riposted, but Reynar was already out of range. Both their glances were momentarily drawn by a faint reddish light upon the hilltop, haloing Black and the altar.

  Reynar raised his right hand, pointing at Dilvish as he had at Black earlier. The flame leaped toward his breast, struck in the vicinity of the glowing amulet, and veered away as if reflected from a mirror. Reynar immediately followed this with another attack with his blade.

  He rushed and came in low. Dilvish struck the blade down. Reynar straightened suddenly then and his right hand shot forward, seizing the charm and jerking hard upon it.

  The strand parted and Reynar retreated, bearing it away with him.

  Above them the red glow brightened as Black reared once more, very slowly, as if struggling against some opposing force.

  "Now let's see how you fare!" Reynar cried, and the fires danced at his fingertips, spread, and coalesced into a sword of flame.

  As he stepped forward, the light flickered and died on the hilltop to the accompaniment of a shattering sound. Rocks bounced past them as Dilvish retreated, flapping his cloak, his own blade held low.

  Reynar's attack cut a large rent in the material. Dilvish continued to retreat, and as the other brandished the blazing weapon it began to fade, flickering once—twice—and was gone.

  'The story of my life," Reynar remarked, shaking his head, "The good things always seem to melt away."

  "Let's just call the damned thing off," Dilvish said. "Your power is broken."

  "Perhaps you're right," Reynar answered, lowering his remaining blade and taking a step forward.

  He was standing uphill of Dilvish, and suddenly he dropped, sliding downward, his left foot hooking behind the heel of Dilvish's extended right leg, his right foot striking Dilvish below the kneecap, straightening, pushing.

  As Dilvish toppled backward, Reynar was already recovering. He sprang forward as soon as he had, blade upraised, casting himself down toward the other's supine form.

  Dilvish shook his head clear as Reynar launched himself, rolled once, and twisted. He blocked with his right arm as he moved his left into position. He felt Reynar stiffen as he struck the ground beside him, impaling himself upon the blade Dilvish had transferred. He held off Reynar's knife hand until the strength went out of it. Then he rose to one knee and turned the man over onto his back.

  The sailor's face twisted in the moonlight.

  "Leaping and not looking again…" he muttered. "It's finally caught up with me… Ow! that smarts! Don't be pulling it out—till after I'm gone, will you?"

  Dilvish shook his head.

  "—sorry I ever met her!"

  Dilvish did not ask to whom he referred.

  "I don't know—why he should have given me the power—you the protection…"

  "I met a man not too long ago," Dilvish replied, "who was possessed of two very different minds in the one body. And I've heard of ot
hers. If it can be so with a man, then why not a god?"

  "Devil," Reynar stated.

  "Perhaps the distinction between the two is not so sharp as men would think—especially when times grow hard. I knew this place long ago. It was different."

  "The devil with them all, Dilvish the damned! The devil with them all!"

  Something went out of him and Reynar slumped, his face finally loosening.

  Dilvish withdrew his blade and cleaned it. Only then did he look up at Black, who had approached noiselessly and stood watching. Reena stood farther away, weeping.

  "Your sword fell over there," Black said, turning his head back and to his right. "I passed it on the way down."

  "Thanks," said Dilvish, rising.

  "… And the castle is gone. I noticed that on the way down, too."

  Dilvish turned and stared.

  "I wonder what became of our horses?"

  "They are wandering below. I can fetch them."

  "Do it, then."

  Black turned and moved off.

  Dilvish walked over to Reena.

  "Can't dig here," he said. "I'll have to use rocks."

  Reena nodded. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

  "You couldn't have foreseen all this."

  "I saw more than I realized," she said. "I wish now I'd realized more—or seen less."

  She turned away and his hand slipped from her shoulder. He went to fetch the other blade.

  They had traveled this night until they came to a rocky bay free of the winds, near to the edge of the snowline, just above the point where the trail began its downward twisting toward the plains and springtime. There they sheltered and slept, the horses roped in at the rear of the windbreak behind them, Black as still as a piece of the landscape farther ahead.

  Dilvish stirred from his sleep as the sky grew pink in the east. His wounds throbbing dully, he sat up and drew on his boots. Neither Reena nor Black stirred as he passed, heading toward the skin-clad figure with the staff at the right of the trail.

  "Good morning," he said softly.

  The old man nodded.

  "I want to thank you for the charm. It saved my life."

  "I know."

  "Why did you do it?"

  "You once made an offering to Taksh'mael."

  "That is so important?"

  "You are the last to remember his name."

  "Don't you count?"

  "I cannot qualify as a worshipper, save in the most narcissistic sense."

  Dilvish looked at him once again. The figure seemed taller, nobler, and there was that in his eyes which caused him to look instantly away—a sense of unearthly depth, a power.

  "I am going now," he continued. "It was not easy to free myself from this place. Come, walk with me a way."

  He turned and moved upward without looking back. Dilvish followed him toward the fringes of the snow, his breath steaming before him.

  "Is it a good place to which you go?"

  "I like to think so. I heard you earlier. It is true that anyone can be of—two minds. Now I am of but one, and I owe you thanks for that."

  Dilvish blew upon his hands and rubbed them together as the landscape grew white about them.

  "At the moment, I am possessed of more power than I need. Is there anything I can give you?"

  "Could you give me the life of a sorcerer named Jelerak?"

  Ahead, he saw the other's stride falter for a moment.

  Then: "No" came the reply. "I do know of this one, but what you ask would be no easy thing. It would take more than I have to give. He is not easily dealt with."

  "I know. It is said that he is the best."

  "Yet there exists at least one who might destroy him on his own terms."

  "And who might that be?"

  "The one of whom you spoke earlier. Ridley is his name."

  "Ridley is dead."

  "No. Jelerak defeated him but had not the strength to destroy him. So he imprisoned him beneath the fallen Tower of Ice, whence he planned to return when he regained his strength, there to finish the work."

  "That doesn't sound too promising."

  "But he cannot do it."

  "Why not?"

  "Their conflict drew the attention of the greatest sorcerers in the world. For ages have they sought a weapon against Jelerak. When he departed without succeeding in destroying his enemy, they combined their forces to lay a magical barrier about the broken tower, a barrier not even Jelerak can penetrate. Now they have their surety. If he ever presses them too hard, they can threaten to lift it, to release Ridley."

  "And Ridley would destroy him the next tune?"

  "I do not know. But he would have more of a chance than most."

  "Could I release Ridley, unaided?"

  "I doubt it."

  "Could you do it?"

  "I fear that I must be going now. Sorry."

  He gestured toward the east where the sun was beginning its ascent. Dilvish looked in that direction, to where it parted the clouds like scarlet curtains. When he looked back, the other was far above him, climbing with an amazing speed and agility across the sparkling snowface. Even as Dilvish watched, he rounded a rocky shoulder and passed out of sight.

  "Wait!" he cried. "I've more things to ask you!"

  Ignoring his assorted pains, Dilvish began to climb, following the other's trail. Before long he noticed that the rough prints grew farther and farther apart, yet paradoxically were shallower and shallower, until, rounding the shoulder, he found only one, very faint. The following afternoon, they rode out of the mountains. He did not tell Reena about Ridley.

  In the high place, when the moon is full, the witch-fires rise and the ghost of the girl Oele dances before the shattered altar, though no Devil comes, but sometimes there is the form of another watching from the shadows. When the final stone is fallen, he would bear her off to the sea.

  Garden Of Blood

  EARNING his passage and pay as a scout, Dilvish rode on ahead of the caravan that day, checking the pass-worthiness of mountain trails and investigating side ways for possible hazards. The sun had reached midday when he descended the far side of the low Kalgani range and moved through the foothills into the widening valley opening into the wood beyond which lay the plains.

  "A singularly uneventful passage," Black commented, as they paused upon a hilltop to regard the twisting of the trail toward the distant trees.

  "In my day," said Dilvish, "things would probably have been different. This area was full of robber bands.They followed the sun. They preyed upon travelers. Occasionally they would even join together to raid one of the small towns hereabout."

  "Towns?" said his great, dark mount whose skin shimmered like metal. "I have seen no towns."

  Dilvish shook his head.

  "Who knows what might have happened in two hundred years?" He gestured downward. "I believe there was one right below us. Not large. It was called Tregli. I stayed at its inn on several occasions."

  Black looked in that direction.

  "Are we going down there?"

  Dilvish glanced at the sun.

  "It is lunchtime," he observed, "and the winds are strong here. Let's go a little farther. I'll eat down below."

  Black leaned forward and began descending the slope, picking up speed as the land leveled, making his way back onto the trail. Dilvish looked about him as they went, as if seeking landmarks.

  "What are those flashes of color?" Black asked him. "Some distance ahead."

  Dilvish regarded a small area of blue, yellow, white —with an occasional flash of red—that had just come into view around a far-off bend.

  "I don't know," he said. "We might take a look."

  Several minutes later, they passed the vine-covered remains of a low stone wall. Ahead lay strewn stones in patterns vaguely reminiscent of the outline of a building's foundation. Here and there, as they advanced, they noted depressions at either hand, disposed in such fashion as to indicate that here might have been cella
rs, now rubble-filled and overgrown.

  "Hold," Dilvish said, pointing ahead and to his left to a place where a section of wall still stood. "That is the front of the inn I mentioned. I'm sure of it. I think we are on the main street."

  "Really?"

  Black began to dig at the turf with one sharp, cloven foot. Moments later a spark flashed as he struck a cobblestone. He widened the hole, to reveal more cobbles adjoining it.

  "This does appear to have been a street," he said.

  Dilvish dismounted and walked to the crumbling section of wall, passed it, moved about in the area behind it.

  After several minutes he returned.

  "The old well is still in sight out back," he said. "But its canopy's collapsed and rotted, and it's covered over with vines now."

  "Might I suggest you save your thirst for that stream we passed in the hills?"

  Dilvish held up a spoon.

  "… And I found this part-buried where the kitchen used to be. I might have eaten with it myself, years ago. Yes, this is the inn."

  "Was," Black suggested.

  Dilvish's smile vanished and he nodded.

  "True."

  He tossed the spoon back over his shoulder and mounted.

  "So much has changed…"

  "You liked it here?" Black asked as they moved forward again.

  "It was a pleasant stopping place. The people were friendly. I had some good meals."

  "What do you think might have happened? Those robbers you mentioned?"

  "Seems a good guess," Dilvish replied. "Unless it was some disease."

  They moved along the overgrown trail, a rabbit starting before them as they passed toward the far end of the town.

  "Where did you want to take your meal?" Black inquired.

  "Away from this dead place," Dilvish said. "Perhaps in that field ahead." He drew a deep breath. "It seems to have a pleasant smell to it."

  "It's the flowers," Black said. "Full of them. It was their colors we saw from above. Weren't they there— in the old days?"

  Dilvish shook his head.

  "No. There was something… I don't quite recall what. Sort of a parklike little area out this way."

  They passed through a grove of trees, came into the clearing. Large, poppylike blossoms, blue, white, yellow—the occasional red—moved almost as high as Black's shoulder, swaying on hairy, finger-thick stalks. They faced the sun. Their heavy perfumes hung in the air.