Home. He never really thought about it much, but what was home? A shack, that’s all. A nice one, though, comfortably livable, and warm enough when the north wind blew and it got really cold at night, so cold the blowing snow felt like needles against your hide and the air was brittle enough to shatter like the glass in the windows of city-folks’ houses if you yelled or made a sudden move, just shatter into a million pieces, so cold that you’d give anything for spring to break early and to see the icebergs calving into the sea and moving out with the tide, great white floating islands, and to feel a mild breeze and see little green things appear among the wet rocks …
He was homesick. But all he had back there was a shack and a shaky living. Sometimes he got lonely — every once in a while, and he’d get the urge for companionship. Why, the last time he’d shacked with a mate was years ago. Yeah, it was a lonely existence out there in the ice fields. But it was the only way he knew how to make a living.
Now, this place — he kind of liked it here. It was lots of fun, sometimes, and the food was good. There were plenty of good fights, a little danger for spice. Yeah. He liked it. Thing was, on a permanent basis it would tend to wear a little thin. But on the whole, the prospect of staying here indefinitely didn’t upset him as much as he would have thought.
He missed Gene. For some reason he liked the little smooth-skinned fellow a whole lot. Why, he didn’t know. Didn’t really matter.
Great White Stuff! He wanted out of this cage so bad he could taste it. What in the name of the Ice Queen were they doing out there? Witchy stuff, most likely.
He thought of Gene and Linda again and wondered what they were doing, whether they were okay. They could be in trouble. He was a bit worried. He grasped the bars again and shook. The cage rattled, and the hairless soldier turned to glare at him. Up your mud hole, Bare Butt. Give your dirty looks to someone else.
No use. He sat and leaned his broad back against the far wall of the cage. His thoughts returned again to his friends. He was convinced, somehow, that Gene was in trouble. Linda he wasn’t sure about. But he was certain that Gene needed him. He had no idea how he knew that, but he knew it for sure.
He could almost see Gene. He closed his fierce yellow eyes. He could! He could actually see his buddy now, and it was true, the little hairless guy was up against it.
He jumped to his feet. “Gene!” he called out. “I’m coming, pal!”
Snowclaw could almost reach out and touch him. He didn’t know what was happening, but whatever it was, Snowy was all for it.
Melydia sprinkled more incense onto the glowing coals. Smoke rose from the brazier.
She was not adept at visualizing spells, though her sense of them was keen. But her perception of the enchantment cast around the Stone had become so palpable that she saw, or thought she could see, an intricate network of glowing filaments surrounding the Stone like a spider’s web, each strand pulled taut with extreme tension. As she recited the opening lines of the Spell of Abrogation, the web shimmered and vibrated, emitting a sound like an ethereal harp.
The beast in the cage made noises again, but it did not distract her. She barely noticed it.
She finished the Greater Invocation. Soon, Incarnadine, soon. You will show yourself, and you think you will have me, but you will be wrong. I am now far more powerful than you — than anyone one in this world. And once the demon is loose, it will do my bidding. You will control it no longer.
She regarded the Stone again. Around it, glowing strands of red, green, purple, and yellow entwined sinuously in a filigree of magic. She blinked her eyes and it was gone. Then, slowly, it returned. Yes, it was really there. She was not just imagining it.
She looked over her shoulder. The servants sat huddled as far away from her as they dared. The young one looked frightened. She would try to prevent him from dying immediately, so as not to upset the others. It would be difficult, though, as the spell called for a great quantity of virgin’s blood. She would endeavor to put the least amount to good use. She cared nothing for the boy. At one time, long ago, she would have balked at such an act. In fact, it would have horrified her. But after years of delving into the Recondite Arts —
“Your Ladyship.”
She turned her head. It was the soldier.
“What is it?”
“The beast. It is no longer in its cage. It is nowhere to be found.”
“Have you been watching it?”
“Yes, my lady, just as you said. But it … it disappeared. One moment I was looking at it, and the next —”
“No matter,” she said. “Do not bother to search for it. I doubt it will return here. Return to your post and do not disturb me again.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship.”
Sometimes she forgot that everyone in this castle was a magician to some extent. Be that as it may.
She began another incantation.
Elsewhere, And Back Again
“At last I have you, Count Ciancia!”
From the floor Gene looked up at a man who was dressed in something that vaguely evoked The Three Musketeers and similar costume epics.
Gene said, “Huh?”
“I know not by what thaumaturgy you have contrived to change your appearance, or how this secret chamber was instantly revealed, but I know you, Count, for the fiend you are.”
“Wait a minute,” Gene said, struggling to his feet.
The man drew a rapier, whipped it about briefly, and fell into a fencing stance. “Be on your guard, sorcerer!”
“Hold it!” Gene yelled, raising his hand. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not this Count whatever you call him. You —”
“More lies!” the man hissed, anger flashing in his eyes. “You spew them like vomit from a drunkard!”
“That’s getting personal.” Gene glanced around. He couldn’t figure what happened after the floor had swallowed him. He’d fallen, but not far, and had wound up in darkness, briefly. Then the lights had come on, and … Was he still in the castle?
“Have at you!” The man charged.
Gene barely had time to draw his sword. He sidestepped the middle-aged man’s lunge, ran out of the alcove in which he’d found himself and into a spacious seventeenth century drawing room. He instantly realized that he’d just crossed a portal.
His antagonist chased after him, still yelling but now quite unintelligibly. On this side of the portal there’d be no communication at all.
Gene backed away, brandishing his sword. The weapons were mismatched, of course, broadsword against rapier, but Gene didn’t know enough about weaponry to guess who’d have the advantage, if any.
He found out quick. His opponent was a passable swordsman, and the rapier’s tip nearly skewered Gene three times before he had time to back out of range, parrying desperately. If Gene could bring the full force of the broadsword against the thin steel of the rapier’s blade, the rapier would break. But his opponent wasn’t about to let him do it. The man stayed with feint-and-lunge maneuvers that kept the rapier unpredictably darting about, avoiding contact with Gene’s heavy weapon.
The portal might close any second. He would somehow have to maneuver back toward the far wall. But Gene was not in charge. His opponent would determine who would go where. On the positive side, the man was no expert. Although he couldn’t fathom why, Gene had the feeling that he could hold his own with a fencing sword too. This flashed through his mind when he saw the crossed épées above the mantelpiece.
His back to the fireplace, he swung wildly with the broadsword and fended his opponent off, then overturned a stuffed chair to block him. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Gene reached back and fumbled with one of the crossed swords — it fell and rolled away. He reached again, grasped the remaining épée by its cupped hilt, and ran off toward the alcove.
“Coward!” the man yelled when Gene had recrossed the boundary. He was in the castle again — he could tell by the distinctive purplish-gray stone — but the chamber was a cul-de-s
ac. He had nowhere to run.
Gene switched the épée to his right hand and put it up against the man’s thrusting attack, neatly parrying and delivering a riposte that the man had trouble beating away.
The man’s expression changed. He was a little less sure of himself.
“Just who the hell are you?” Gene demanded.
“As if you didn’t know!” came the answer, along with a forceful beat against Gene’s sword and a savage lunge.
“I’m not Count Whozis,” Gene said, calmly beating back and riposting. “Isn’t that apparent by now?” The sword felt like part of his hand, as if he were born to be a swordsman.
“No other human dwells in this place. If you are not Giovanni Luigino, the Count di Ciancia, then you are one of his familiars, and if that is true, I should be dead! But I’m not. So you must be he, though you bear no resemblance to the fiend.”
“Okay —” Gene feinted, then attacked the man’s left shoulder. His opponent parried, but couldn’t riposte due to Gene’s expert follow-up attack to the middle. “What’s this guy done, anyway?”
“Damn you to hell! You know more than I what foul deeds are yours. I know only —” The man overreacted to Gene’s feint, leaving himself open to a quick lunge, which he had to hastily beat away, retreating. “I know only that you have raped my baby daughter and have forever soiled her reputation.”
“Hey look, if you want, I’ll marry the bitch.”
The man froze, his eyes wide. “You will?”
“Hell, yeah, if you’ll keep your shirt on.”
The man looked skeptical. “What sort of dowry will you demand?”
“Make it easy on yourself. Nothing, if you want. Or her hope chest, what do I care?”
“Done. You have my blessing.”
Three events happened then, almost but not quite simultaneously.
One: Snowclaw’s voice came out of thin air.
“Gene! I’m coming, pal!”
Two: a short, chubby young woman in a blue hooped gown and décolletage came bursting through the double doors in the left wall of the outer room. Following close behind was a thin, dissolute young man dressed in lavender pantaloons, hose, and white puffed-sleeve blouse. At the sight of Gene, an outraged father, and the unexplained hole in the drawing room wall, his pale eyebrows rose. He lifted a monocle.
“How very interesting,” he said.
“Father!” the girl shouted indignantly, her multiple chins quivering. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Turning, the man said, “Corabella?” Then he saw the count and drew a sharp breath. “You!”
Three: Snowy materialized in a dead run and slammed into Corabella’s father, sending him cartwheeling across the room.
Snowy was a little disoriented. “Hi, Gene,” he said. “Hey, I really did it!”
Corabella screamed. On Gene’s side of the portal the walls turned milky and began to waver.
“Snowy, quick!” Gene reached across and tugged at a handful of Snowclaw’s fur. Snowy got the idea and leaped across the boundary.
Darkness.
“Snowy?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Where are we?”
“The portal shut, and this room’s a dead end. Jesus, that was another close one.”
“You’re probably going to ask me where the hell I came from.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” Gene said.
“I was in that cage right up until a few seconds ago, and now I’m here. Just before that happened, I could see you. I wanted to help you, and suddenly I was here, helping you.”
“Congratulations! You got your magic power. Teleportation!”
“No kidding? Hey, that makes me a real magician, don’t it?”
“It sure does, big fella. Now, if we can get out of this hole.”
As if on cue, an oblong of light materialized to the left — an opening, leading into familiar castle architecture.
“Here we go,” Snowclaw said. “By the way, what was that scene all about? Looked like fun.”
“Seventeenth century Italy, maybe, but nobody’s ever said anything about time travel, so it must’ve been some goofy variant. I don’t know. We gotta find Linda.”
“I think I can do just that,” Snowclaw said.
Donjon, Then Chapel
Jacoby stopped to examine a few of the curious torture devices that filled the room. He had known immediately what they were, though he was not certain how most of them worked or what torments they were designed to inflict. Some of them looked positively diabolical in intent. Looking them over, he felt a curious ambivalence — an amalgam of dismay and approval. These were but tools in the ungloved fist of power. There was no mercy in this room, only the certainty of punishment for trespasses against the ruling order. There was no compromise, and no escape.
He strode through a block of cells. The straw in them looked fresh, and he wondered when the facility had last housed prisoners. Everything looked perfectly functional, ready for use. But that was no different from the usual state of things here; he had never seen anything in the entire castle that looked worn-out or dilapidated, even though the place was reputed to be thousands of years old.
He left the donjon and searched for stairs. He had had his fill of the cellar. Besides, he needed food. He regretted losing Linda. No one had seen the cook for the last few days, but the Guests’ dining room had been laid out with enough nonperishable items to last for weeks. If he could get up there —
The floor began to shake, and the stone walls shimmered. Jacoby dived to the floor, buried his head in his arms and rode out the disturbance.
When he thought it safe, he climbed to his feet and looked about. The tremors seemed a little less intense in this area of the castle, thank heaven for that. He was in a large high-ceiling chamber. It was dark, and he had to squint to pick out some detail in the far wall. He saw what looked like enormous cast-iron doors, similar to those on great cathedrals. He walked toward them.
Suddenly, a thin bright vertical line of light appeared between the doors and began to widen. Slowly, ponderously, the enormous entrance swung open, revealing an interior flashing with yellow-orange light.
“COME FORWARD!”
Jacoby’s heart froze. It was the loudest, most terrifying voice he had ever heard. Stiffly, he turned and started running, but there was nothing but darkness back where he’d come from. He stopped and slowly turned to face the hellish light.
“WE BID YOU ENTER. OBEY NOW, OR INCUR OUR UNSPEAKABLE WRATH.”
Jacoby tottered forward. The color drained from his face, and beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead like condensation on a pitcher of ice water.
He passed through the huge iron doors into a vast cathedral. Looking toward its farthest end, he beheld what had summoned him. He sank to his knees and averted his eyes.
“WE ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR OBEISANCE. ARISE, SERVANT, AND BE INFORMED OF A BUSINESS OF GREAT MOMENT.”
Jacoby got up on shaky legs. He could not bring himself to look directly at the beatific visage behind the plumes of smoke and the tongues of fire.
“KNOW THAT SOON, VERY SOON, THIS HOUSE SHALL FALL. IT WILL VANISH, AND WITH IT ALL WHO DWELL WITHIN. TELL US NOW WHY THIS FATE SHOULD NOT BEFALL SUCH A ONE AS YOU.”
Jacoby nearly swallowed his tongue before he could get out, “Oh, Great One … if there were any way that I might be spared —”
“THERE IS. YOU WILL BE CHARGED WITH A TASK. UPON ITS COMPLETION YOUR WORTHINESS WILL BE JUDGED ACCORDINGLY.”
Jacoby’s eyes were desperate. “Anything, Great One! Anything!”
“YOUR WILLINGNESS PLEASES US. DO YOU STILL BEAR THE FRAGMENT OF THE BRAIN OF RAMTHONODOX?”
Jacoby fumbled in his suit, finally bringing forth the crystal. “Here it is, Great One — I did not steal it! I swear. In fact, I took it from the thief himself! He —”
“THE MATTER IS OF NO GREAT IMPORT. WE ARE WILLING TO FORGIVE PAST TRANSGRESSIONS IN LIGHT OF SERVICES PERFORMED ON OUR BEHALF. ATTEND
US. YOU WILL PROCEED AT ONCE TO THE NETHERMOST REGIONS OF THE CASTLE. YOUR FOOTSTEPS WILL BE GUIDED ALONG THE PROPER PATH. YOU WILL BE CONDUCTED AWAY FROM THIS HOUSE TO A PLACE OF SAFETY. THERE YOU WILL AWAIT OUR PLEASURE. YOU MUST HENCEFORTH GUARD THE FRAGMENT WITH YOUR LIFE, OR YOUR DOOM IS SEALED. SPEAK NOW, AND TELL US YEA OR NAY.”
“Yea!” Jacoby squeaked. “Oh, yes! I shall be infused with holy purpose! Nothing shall divert me, O Great One! Even if —”
“ENOUGH. BEHOLD.”
The glossy floor quaked, heaved, then shattered, a huge crack appearing and widening rapidly. Smoke and occasional bursts of flame issued from the jagged chasm that soon gaped wide.
Jacoby fell on his buttocks. “Good Lord! ” And then, muttering bitterly, “This is absurd!”
“ARISE,” the voice commanded. “COME FORWARD.”
He got up and moved reluctantly to the edge of the pit. A rough stone stairway descended into it.
“YOUR JOURNEY MAY BEGIN. THE WAY WILL BE MADE CLEAR, AND YOU WILL BE UNDER OUR PROTECTION AT EVERY STEP. DISCHARGE THIS OBLIGATION, AND YOU WILL FIGURE HIGH IN THE NEW ORDER.”
“New order?” Jacoby said.
“THIS HOUSE SHALL BE BUILT AGAIN, AND ONE WHO IS OUR SERVANT SHALL BE ITS MASTER. PERFORM THIS TASK WHICH WE HAVE GIVEN YOU, AND BE CHIEF AMONG OUR SERVANTS.”
“I shall perform it,” Jacoby said firmly.
“GOOD. THEN GO.”
“But who —”
“WE HAVE COMMANDED YOU …GO! ”
“Yes, Holy One!”
Stumbling, slipping and muttering all the way, Jacoby disappeared into the earth.
When he was gone, the voice laughed.
Lower Levels
Linda hugged the floor until the tremors passed, then got up and started walking again. An enormous blue flying insect buzzed by. She ducked, and the thing went sailing over her head — then transformed itself into an umber bird and continued down the tunnel. Crawling things skittered across the floor. To her own surprise, Linda had ceased jumping at their every appearance. She hated bugs, but she was rapidly getting used to far worse.
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