Dilvish, The Damned

by Roger Zelazny

  "Then I would be somewhat better off to take the thing with me than to leave it behind. It might afford a bit of protection."

  "Yes, there is that. It would also make you the object of a hunt by the Sulvaran troops, however."

  "How far would we have to flee to get away from the shadow beasts?"

  "I couldn't say. They might be able to pursue you virtually anywhere."

  "That doesn't leave me a great deal of choice then."

  "I think not."

  Dilvish sighed and dismounted.

  "All right. We'll take the thing to Kallusan, explain what happened, and deliver it to Cabolus's priests. Hoping they give us an opportunity to explain, that is."

  He picked up the shadow belt.

  "What the hell," he said, and he drew it about his waist and tied it.

  He looked up and swayed. He put forth a hand.

  "What's wrong?" Black asked.

  The world was filled with a silver light filtered through a misty haze. And it was not featured as it had been previously. He still beheld the glade, the bodies, Black, and the trees at the clearing's edge. Also, however, there were now trees where he remembered no trees—thin, dark ones, one of them grown up between Black and himself. The ground seemed somehow higher, too, in his doubled vision, as if he were sunk knee deep in a gray hillock. The horizon was hidden by mists. There was a dark boulder to his left. Beyond it charcoal forms seemed to be churning in the half-light. He reached for the shadow tree to his right. He felt it, yet his hand passed through it, as if it were splashless, flowing water. And cold.

  Black repeated his question.

  "I'm seeing double—our world, and I guess that other plane he was talking about," Dilvish replied.

  He untied the belt and removed it. Nothing changed.

  "It won't go away," he said.

  "You're still holding the belt. Stuff it into the saddlebag and get mounted. We'd better be moving."

  Dilvish did this. "Still the same," he said.

  "Proximity, then," Black replied.

  "Is it affecting you, now you're carrying it?"

  "It could if I'd let it. I'm blocking that plane, though. I can't afford to run with double vision. But I'll take a look every now and then as we go along."

  Black began to move in the direction in which Fly had indicated that Kallusan lay, passing into a trail-less section of the forest.

  "Better check your map for Kallusan," he said. "Find us the best route."

  Dilvish tore his gaze away from the dizzying scene and withdrew the map from a pocket in the other bag.

  "Go right," he said, "until you hit the road we were on beyond the turning. It will be easier if we backtrack for a little distance. It should take us to a clearer piece of countryside."

  "All right."

  Black turned. Shortly they located the trail. By now it seemed distant and twilit to Dilvish. He found himself ducking away from branches that proved nothing more than breezes upon his face. It grew increasingly difficult to keep the two worlds separate. He tried closing his eyes for a time, but quickly grew nauseated with the vertigo this produced.

  "No way you could block the vision for me, is there?" he called out, as they rushed through a seemingly solid boulder to the accompaniment of sensations that made it seem as if they passed through a tunnel of ice.

  "Sorry," Black answered. "It does not seem to be a transferable skill."

  Dilvish cursed and kept low. After a time they came to a branching of the trail they had passed earlier, taking the way that led to their left: well marked, fairly level, and descending gradually. They rode into the setting sun, the light of which served to blur some, though not all, of the unsettling visions that swam past them—the sentient-seeming, menacing trees that swung branches like bony fingers, their touch cold, weak, and disturbing; the gray, spinning things that occasionally dove toward them and veered away from sword cuts; tentacled things that slithered after, reaching, but were unable to match Black's pace; the icy wind that seemed more than a wind, filled with rushing black flakes and streamers, bearing a charnel-house odor. As for occasional animallike sounds he heard, Dilvish could not be certain from which version of reality they came.

  As the sun moved lower in the west and the shadows lengthened, the other world with its undiminished silvery light took ascendancy in the duel for control of his senses. If anything, the shadow world looked brighter, though its mists seemed proportionately thicker now. Dilvish was oppressed by the possibility that the objects of that plane might be gaining in density relative to himself as the day waned in his own world.

  Something of elephantine proportions approached from the left in a menacing manner. It moved rapidly for its size but was unable to match Black's pace and soon fell behind and was gone from sight. Dilvish sighed and peered ahead, half-palpable plant tendrils slapping at his trousers and sleeves.

  It was as Black slowed to negotiate a turn in the trail that Dilvish felt a sudden weight upon his back, felt claws dig into his shoulders.

  Twisting and reaching, he grasped hold of the neck beneath a grotesque beaked head thrusting toward his own. The force of the impact and his own movement caused him to lose his seat. As he fell from Black's back, the shadow world faded about him. The creature, birdlike and about the size of a small dog, let out a shrill, warbling note and flapped membranous wings as they plunged to the ground, but Dilvish gripped it tightly and twisted so that he landed atop it.

  It turned beneath him immediately they struck, pulling away, flapping its wings against his head. Jerking its neck free, it leaped back, glancing wildly in all directions. It sprang into the air then and glided off to the right of the trail to vanish among the trees.

  "What," Dilvish asked, moving toward Black, "happened?"

  "You succeeded in transporting the creature from the shadow plane to our own," Black replied. "You had hold of it when you broke contact with the belt's circuit, and you pulled it right along with you. Congratulations. I've a feeling that doesn't occur too often."

  "Let's get out of here before it comes back," Dilvish said, mounting. "The feeling of achievement is more than a little mixed. What's it going to do in our world, anyway?"

  "Probably follow you to try again," Black responded. "I'll bet it won't last too long, though. It doesn't know much about your world, and predators will smell its difference right away. Something will do it in, eventually." He moved forward again. "Should be interesting, though," he mused, "if it comes across any chickens."

  "How so?" Dilvish inquired.

  "I recognize the thing from my own travels on that plane, long ago," Black said. "If one of them does get through and finds some hens, there'll be a few broods of cockatrices before too long. They like to have a go at chickens, and that's normally the result." The trail straightened and Black increased his pace again.

  "Fortunately, cockatrices don't last too long on this plane either," he added.

  "That's nice to know," Dilvish said, ducking beneath a shadow branch as his vision readjusted to that other plane.

  Daylight fled the normal world, its forms now becoming shadowy and insubstantial. The other plane grew even brighter, more solid-seeming. To test it, Dilvish reached out and plucked a long, serrated, dark leaf from a tree that flapped at them as they passed. Immediately the leaf wrapped itself about his hand and its points pierced his skin with the feeling of a multitude of insect bites. He cursed as he tore it loose and cast it away.

  "Curiosity again," Black remarked. "Don't torment the plants. They're very sensitive."

  Dilvish replied with an obscenity and rubbed his hand.

  They rushed on for several hours, at a speed far greater than any horse could maintain. Large, menacing creatures were outrun; smaller, faster ones were avoided or briefly engaged. Dilvish was bitten on the left thigh and right forearm.

  "You're lucky they weren't among the poisonous ones," Black had commented.

  "Why don't I feel lucky?" Dilvish had replied.

&n
bsp; At length they neared a rising of the land in the other world, though their own way remained straight and level. While there had been incongruous dips and descents to their own plane, producing the impression of riding through the air above the shining landscape, this was the first point where it seemed to Dilvish that they were about to run into the side of a hill.

  "Slow down, Black! Slow down!" Dilvish called out, just as a human form emerged from a cleft in a boulder to the right to take up a position in the trail before them. "What… ?"

  "I see him," Black said. "I've been checking. I might mention that the place is not noted for human habitation."

  The figure—that of a dark-cloaked old man— gestured with his staff as if bidding them to halt.

  "Let's stop and see what he wants," Dilvish said.

  Black halted. The man smiled.

  "What is it?" Dilvish asked.

  The man raised his hand. He was breathing heavily.

  "A moment," he said. "I must catch my breath. I've been projecting all over, trying to locate you. Hard work."

  "The belt," Dilvish said.

  The other nodded.

  "The belt," he agreed. "You're taking it in the wrong direction."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes. You'll have nothing from the Kallusans out of this, not even thanks. They're a barbaric people."

  "I see," Dilvish said. "I'll bet you're a priest of Salbacus, out of Sulvar."

  "How could I deny it?" the man asked. "Unfortunately, I do not possess the power to transport an object such as the belt from plane to plane and place to place. Therefore, your cooperation is necessary. I want to assure you that you will be well-rewarded for it."

  "What, exactly, do you want me to do?"

  "From this plane we observed the theft of the belt," he answered. "In anticipation of it, our army was already mobilized. Our officers began moving it in this direction at the time Fly took the belt. It is still on its way, but the Kallusans are already aware of this and have mobilized themselves. They, too, are coming this way, from the west."

  "You mean that I'm between two advancing armies?"

  "Exactly. Now, we also have a number of advance strike forces and scouting parties out. There is one not even half an hour behind you on this trail. They have with them the temple's statue of Salbacus. It would be simplest if you were to turn around and go back. You could turn the belt over to them, and their officer would give you safe conduct back to Sulvar. You will be a hero there, and well paid. On the other hand, there are also some of our people heading to cut you off—"

  "Wait a minute," Dilvish said. "Being a hero and being well paid is always nice, but what about this plane and the beasts, which even now, I see, are drawing near again."

  The priest laughed.

  "The first priest of Salbacus to get that belt in his hands will lift the curse, never fear. All right?"

  Dilvish did not reply.

  "What do you think, Black?" he whispered.

  "It seems as if it would be cheaper to kill you than to reward you," Black answered. "On the other hand, the Kallusans will be happy to have their property returned, and they'll know you didn't take it in the first place because they know who did."

  "True," Dilvish said.

  "All right?" the priest repeated.

  "I don't think so," Dilvish replied. "It is their belt."

  The priest shook his head.

  "I can't believe that there are people riding about the countryside doing things just because they feel they are right," he said. "It's perverse, that's what it is. That belt has been stolen back and forth so many times that we've lost track of where things started. Don't chase after some ghostly notion of honor, spinning like a windmill and going nowhere. Be reasonable."

  "Sorry," Dilvish said. "But that's how it's going to be."

  "In that case," the other stated, "the troops will recover it from your remains."

  He lowered his staff so that its tip was pointed, spearlike, at Dilvish. Instantly, Black reared, fires dancing in his eye sockets, smoke curling from his nostrils.

  At that moment a short, rotund man, wearing a brown cloak and also carrying a staff, emerged from the cleft in the rock.

  "Just a moment, Izim," he said, turning his staff toward the other.

  "Damn! Just when my shift is ending!" the priest of Salbacus observed.

  "Stranger, keep riding," the newcomer stated. "I am a priest of Cabolus. A force from Kallusan is headed this way, bearing the statue of Cabolus. Once the belt is about his waist, things will be resolved satisfactorily."

  The priest of Salbacus swung his staff at the second man, who parried it, struck back, and leaped to one side. Immediately, he pointed the tip of his staff toward the other and an oily flame sprang forth. The one called Izim lowered his and steam gushed from its end, dampening the other's flame. He swung the staff again and the other blocked the blow.

  "A question has just occurred to me," Dilvish shouted, "with respect to identification. With these troops and gods moving about the countryside, how does one distinguish a statue of Cabolus from one of Salbacus?"

  "Cabolus has his right hand upraised!" cried the short priest, whacking the other upon the shoulder.

  "Should you change your mind," Izim called out, tripping the other, "Salbacus has his left hand upraised."

  The shorter priest rolled, rose, and punched the other in the stomach.

  "Let us ride on," Dilvish said, and Black plunged into the hillside and there was darkness.

  Dilvish lost track of time within the claustrophobia that followed. Then, faintly, his own world came into view as if seen through a cloud of smoke. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the moon had risen.

  "I hope you've at least learned not to strike up conversations with people who try to rob you," Black said.

  "Well, you have to admit he had an interesting story."

  "I'm sure Jelerak has some fascinating stories, if it comes to that."

  Dilvish did not respond. He stared ahead to where a small light had appeared among the trees.

  "Campfire?" he finally said.

  "I'd guess," Black replied.

  "Kallusans or Sulvarans, I wonder?"

  "I don't suppose they've posted a notice."

  "Slow down. I'd say stealth is in order."

  Black complied, his movements growing silent. Dilvish still had a sense of being underground, his normal world a shadowy place about him, as they moved to the side of the trail, departed it, and entered the wood. Black continued to move leftward as well as ahead, continuing a circular course in the general direction of the fire. Dilvish hoped they did not emerge from the shadow hill soon, to confuse him with double images.

  It seemed a ghostly wood through which they passed, all night sounds muffled, a dreamlike, faded quality to every tree and stone. The movements of branches following each gust of the barely perceptible wind were gestures of darkness overhead and to his sides. He seemed to hear a fluttering behind him at one point, but he halted, waited, checked, and nothing more could be detected; nothing emerged to challenge them. They continued then across this darkened landscape, until Dilvish could smell the fire and hear the faint sounds of men's voices.

  "I'd better go ahead on foot," Dilvish said. "Elf-boots are great for sneaking."

  Black halted.

  "I'll take my time and follow quietly," he said. "If you need me suddenly, I'll be there fast."

  Dilvish dismounted. As he moved away from Black and the belt in the bag, the night lost something of its spectral quality, as if the world were being slowly unwrapped. The smell of mold and damp earth grew stronger. The volume of the night sounds increased. The voices from the camp also seemed louder, the fire brighter.

  He moved low among screening trees, dropping to all fours, slowing all of his movements as he neared the edge of the camp. Finally he halted and watched. After a time Black drifted up beside him and became completely immobile.

  Over a dozen men stood, reclined, or m
oved about the campfire, all of them bearing arms and garbed as if for war. A number of horses stood tethered upwind. The ground was well scuffed and in places looked as if it had been turned. Branches were strewn about, perhaps to feed the fire. Beyond the fire and to the left lay a platform litter. Blocked and tied in place atop it was what seemed to be a statue, from what Dilvish could see of it. His view was partly blocked by the two men who stood conversing before it.

  "Move, damn it!" Dilvish breathed.

  It was several minutes before this occurred, however. When they finally did move, though, Dilvish sighed.

  "All right," he whispered to Black. "The right arm is raised. I can return the belt to Cabolus's gang and be out of the game."

  He rose, moved back, opened the saddlebag, and withdrew the belt.

  "I'll wait here," Black stated, "in reserve."

  "Very well," Dilvish said, and he moved forward.

  He pushed his way through a screen of branches and stood still. Never a good practice to rush into a military encampment unannounced, he decided. A moment later the man he had taken for an officer turned toward him. Several of the men near the camp-fire also noted his presence and began to rise, reaching for their weapons. Dilvish raised an empty right hand.

  "You have received a message," he asked, "concerning the belt?"

  The man he had guessed to be in command stood for a moment and then nodded. He moved forward.

  "Yes," he said. "You have it?"

  Dilvish raised his left hand and let the belt unroll like a fiery cascade.

  "I had it from the man who stole it," he stated. "He's dead now."

  He advanced, extending it.

  "Take the thing," he said. "I'm glad to be rid of it."

  The man smiled.

  "Surely," he said. "We have awaited this since our priest's visitation earlier. We—"

  Dilvish halted, having felt something soft within a clump of long grasses beneath his feet. He stooped suddenly, seized an object, and raised it.