“The likes of us have naught to do with the likes of them!” the Lady Blue protested.
“Or with the unicorns or werewolves?” Stile asked her, smiling wryly.
She was silent, unmollified. Certainly her husband had not had much association with such creatures. The free presence of unicorns and werewolves in the Blue Demesnes dated from Stile’s ascendance. He felt this was an improvement, but the Lady was evidently more conservative.
“Actually, he was not a bad sort at all,” Hulk said. “I lost my way, going in, and he flew by in bat-form, saw I was in trouble, and changed to man-form and offered to help. He hadn’t realized I was human; he thought I was a small giant or an ogre, and those pseudomen sort of look out for each other. I think he was rather intrigued by my motorcycle, too; not many contraptions like that in Phaze! I was afraid I was in for the fight of my life, when I realized what kind of creature he was, but he told me they only take the blood of animals, which they normally raise for the purpose and treat well. In war, they suck the blood of enemies, but that’s a special situation. They never bother friends. He laughed and said it wasn’t true that people bitten by vampires become vampires themselves; that’s a foul myth propagated by envious creatures. Maybe that story originated from a misinterpretation of their love-rites, when a male and a female vampire share each other’s blood. The way he told it, it almost sounded good. A fundamental act of giving and accepting. I guess if I loved a vampire lady, I’d let her suck—” He broke off abruptly, embarrassed. “I didn’t say that well. What I mean is—”
Stile laughed, and even the Lady smiled briefly. “There is no shame in love, any form,” Stile said.
“Uh, sure,” Hulk agreed. “I got to talking with him, and the more I knew him, the better I liked him. He drew me a map in the dirt so I could locate the Oracle’s palace without getting in trouble. Then he changed back to a bat and flew off. And you know, that route he pointed out for me was a good one; I made it to the Oracle in a couple more hours, when it could’ve been days the way I had been going.”
Hulk made another wave on the water, one that swamped the pattern of wavelets. “I’m finding it harder not to believe in magic. I saw that man change, I saw him fly. He was there when I arrived, and showed me that room where the Oracle was—just a tube sticking out of the wall. I felt sort of silly, but I went ahead and asked ‘How can Stile defeat—’ I forgot to use thy Phaze title, but it was too late, and it didn’t seem to matter to the Oracle—‘How can Stile defeat the unicorn Herd Stallion in fair combat at the Unolympics?’ And it replied ‘Borrow the Platinum Flute.’ I couldn’t understand that, and asked for a clarification, but the tube was dead.”
“The Oracle has no patience with fools,” the Lady said. “It answers only once, and considers all men fools; no offense to thee, ogre.”
Hulk smiled. It seemed he had been nicknamed after the monster he most resembled, and he did not mind. “So I discovered. But I feared I had failed thee, Stile.”
“I was as baffled when it told me to ‘Know Thyself,’ ” Stile said. “My friend Kurrelgyre the werewolf was told to ‘Cultivate Blue’ and could not understand that either. We all have trouble with Oracular answers, but they always make sense in the end.”
“Not always desired sense,” the Lady Blue agreed. “When it told me ‘None by One,’ I thought it spouted nonsense. But now I know to my grief what—” She turned away, but Stile had glimpsed the agony that transfixed her face before she hid it. He had not realized that she had ever been to the Oracle. That answer must have related to the death of her husband.
Hulk filled in the awkward pause. “I talked again with Vodlevile Vampire—that’s his name—and we compared notes. It seemed he had asked the Oracle how to help his son, who was allergic to blood—that’s no joke to a vampire—”
“I should think not!” Stile exclaimed.
Hulk was quite serious. “They don’t live on blood all the time. But they need it to be able to change to their bat-form and fly. The blood facilitates the magic. So his boy couldn’t keep up with the family, if—well, I guess I’d be concerned too, in that situation.”
“Of course,” Stile agreed, sorry that he had even considered any humorous side to this.
“But all the Oracle told him was ‘Finesse Yellow.’ That made him furious, because he said Yellow is an Adept, and vampires don’t deal with Adepts. They live near one, and they’re afraid of her and leave her strictly alone. But if they did have truck with Adepts, they wouldn’t try to cheat them or anyone else, and Yellow was the very worst one anyway. Several of their number have been trapped by her and sold to other Adepts, who spell them into blind loyalty and use them for spying and for terrorizing other captives. Gives the whole tribe a bad name. So he was going home without an answer he could use. I couldn’t help him; I don’t know anything about Adepts. It was too bad.”
“He sounds like a creature of character,” Stile said. “Why should the Oracle suggest to such a creature that he cheat? That’s the same as no answer.”
“Finesse is not the same as cheat,” the Lady pointed out. “It implies some artifice or devious mechanism, not dishonesty.”
“Vodlevile is a very forthright person,” Hulk said. “No tricks in him. Still, he helped me. He told me that most of the metal tools and weapons and musical instruments of Phaze are made by the Little People, the tribes of Dark Elves, and that some worked with bone, and some with wood, and some with silver, or with gold, or with platinum. So probably if thou canst find the right tribe of elves—”
“The Little Folk are not easy to find,” the Lady Blue said. “They dwell mainly in the Purple Mountains, and they dislike normal men and deal with them seldom. Most of all they detest Adepts. When my lord desired an excellent musical instrument, he could not go to them, but had to trade with a hawkman who had a connection across the curtain. He said he would like to be in touch with the Little Folk, but that they wanted naught he had to offer.”
“So Vodlevile informed me,” Hulk said. “That’s what I meant about danger. It seems that the more precious the metal a tribe works with, the less use that tribe has for men, because men try to steal the artifacts. Especially they hate big men. I’d be dead the moment I set foot in their territory. And the Blue Adept—” He shook his head. “So my Oracle answer isn’t much use either. But I report it to thee, for what it’s worth, and hope this doesn’t cause mischief.”
Stile was already deep in thought. “The advice of the Oracle is always practical, if obscure. One has to work to understand it, usually. But it surely makes sense—for both me and the vampire. And him I may be able to help, in return for his help to thee.”
“I had hoped thou wouldst see it that way,” Hulk admitted. “It really is thy mission he tried to facilitate.”
“I like this not,” the Lady said. “Thou meanest to go among the Little Folk.”
“Perhaps,” Stile agreed. “That’s the mischief Hulk feared, knowing mine inclination. But first I must tackle the matter nearer at hand. It will take me a moment to devise a suitable spell. Let’s meet in the courtyard in ten minutes.”
“No spell will take thee safely to the fastness of the Little Folk,” she protested. “Like the unicorns, they resist magic. Better thou goest among trolls or goblins; there at least thou wouldst have a fair chance.”
“I had in mind summoning the Yellow Adept.”
“The Yellow Adept!” she cried, horrified. “In these Demesnes?”
“I swore never to return to her Demesnes, so must needs she visit mine. Thus do I finesse the restriction. Come on—we have to give Hulk a chance to get dressed.” Stile led the way out. The Lady was spluttering, but offered no further resistance.
They met in due course in the courtyard. The Lady had evidently communicated the situation to the unicorn, for Neysa was moving her horn about angrily and snorting just beneath the level of meaning.
Stile played his harmonica to bring the magic ambience. Then he intoned: “Yell
ow Adept, I ask of thee, come to the Blue Demesnes, to me.”
Abruptly the yellow hag was there before them. “Blue, methought we were at quits!” she snapped. “Seekest thou war between Adepts?”
“By no means, Yellow. I only wish to bargain with thee, to mutual advantage, and may not invade thy Demesnes again.”
Her somewhat beady eyes peered about. “There is that, my handsome. Thou’rt a man of thy literal word. But I am not garbed for socializing. Give me leave to freshen up first.” And she felt about her baggy old dress, searching for a potion.
“Allow me, since thou’rt my guest.” Stile played a bar of music, then intoned: “While Yellow visits Castle Blue, grant her youth, image and hue.”
In place of the old crone stood a ravishingly beautiful young woman with an hourglass configuration and long golden-yellow tresses, wearing a marvelously fetching evening gown. Hulk’s jaw fell, and the Lady Blue’s eyes widened. Neysa merely snorted disparagingly; she had seen it before.
Lovely Yellow brought out a vial, shook out a drop, and caught it as it formed into a mirror. “Oh, thou shouldst not, thou darling man! Yes, thou hast recaptured it perfectly, my delicious!”
“Yet she remains a witch,” the Lady Blue said tightly. Neysa snorted agreement.
Yellow shot a glance at them. “Witch, thou sayst? And aren’t we all, regardless of our shapes or magic? What chance does any man have, against a vamp of whatever color?”
“None,” Hulk muttered. Neysa made as if to stab him with her horn, and he hopped out of the way.
“What I wish is this,” Stile said briskly. “There is a vampire man, Vodlevile, whose son is allergic to blood. The Oracle told him to finesse Yellow. He refuses to deal—”
“Aye, I have a potion to cure that malady,” Yellow agreed. “But what does he offer in return?”
“Nothing,” Stile said. “The vampire folk are wary of thee, for what reason I do not pretend to comprehend.”
She waggled a pretty finger at him warningly, in much the way the Rifleman had in Proton. “Play not the innocent with me, pretty man! I have back orders for bats galore. Though I daresay their fear of female Adepts derives somewhat from propinquity, since they reside near one the canines would term ‘woman.’ ”
Hulk stifled a chuckle. Insults were very much a matter of viewpoint, here.
“Vodlevile will not deal with thee,” Stile said evenly. “But I will. If thou wouldst trade favors with me, as one professional to another, this is the favor I crave.”
“What has the bat done lately for thee?”
“He helped my friend Hulk, who was on a mission for me. Never did the bat ask for mine assistance, nor does he know it is coming.”
She shook her head. “The machinations of honor and friendship are a fascination to the likes of me! Thy generosity to animals will cost thee yet, Blue.” She glanced at Neysa, whose ears angled quickly back. “Yet ’tis a true finesse that does appeal to me. My livelihood is in dealing and wheeling, and I will deal with thee. The bat shall have his potion.”
“I thank thee, witch. And what favor dost thou crave in return?”
She considered prettily. “I could wish that thou wouldst come to see me, as once I thought thou wouldst—” Her eyes traveled to the Lady Blue, who gazed disdainfully away, and back again to Neysa, whose nostrils were beginning to steam. “Yet thine oath forbids, and if it did not, I think others would say nay, or neigh.”
Now a small jet of fire shot from Neysa’s nostril, and the tip of her horn made a tiny motion suggestive of mayhem. “Even so,” Stile agreed, straight-faced. He despised Yellow’s business of trapping and selling live animals, but he rather respected her personally. A romantic alliance was certainly out of the question, as well she knew; Yellow was only teasing the competition. Such lighthearted malice was no doubt more of a pleasure for the men to note, than to the females against whom it was directed.
“Then methinks I will take it on the cuff,” Yellow decided. “Some day, when I am in some minor way in need and call on thee for aid—”
“Agreed,” Stile said. “Provided only that the service violates no ethic of mine, and I am then alive.”
“There is that. Thou hast a veritable stormcloud of a future,” She pondered again. “Then let me protect mine investment, and give thee a potion.” She fished a tiny bottle out of her bodice and presented it.
Stile accepted it, disregarding Neysa’s fiery snort. “If I may ask—”
“No secret, my scrumptious. This elixir renders the wearer less noxious to the Elven folk.”
“Thou vixen!” Stile exclaimed. “Thou conniving wench! Thou wert aware of my mission all the time!”
“Even so, on all counts,” she said. “Though I prefer the term ‘foxy’ to ‘vixen.’ ” She vanished.
“Some company thou keepest!” Hulk remarked appreciatively. “She is foxy!”
“Or bitchy,” the Lady Blue muttered as she and Neysa walked stiffly away.
Stile smiled. “She’s not a bad sort, considering that she really is a hag and a witch. She really did look like that, a century or so ago when she was young.” He considered briefly. “Hulk, I don’t have much time for the probable magnitude of this mission, so I’ll set off for the Purple Mountains this afternoon, as soon as I do some spot research to pinpoint the platinum-working elves.”
“I’ll go with thee!”
“Nay, friend! Thy appearance would only antagonize these folk, and I go not to quarrel but to borrow. I need thee to guard the Lady Blue, as thou hast done so ably before.”
Hulk frowned. “I prefer not to do that, Stile.”
Stile was perplexed. “Thou likest it not here? I would not hold thee—”
“I like it well here. That is the problem.”
“Something tells me I am being opaque about something.”
“Aye.”
“Thou dost not get along with the Lady Blue?”
“The Lady is a wonderful person.”
“Then I don’t see—”
“Thou needest an Oracle?”
Stile shook his head. “I must.”
The big man paced the courtyard. “Thou and I strike others as quite different. The giant and the dwarf. Yet we are similar. The same age, the same culture, similar Game skills, similar honor.” He paused. “Similar taste in women.”
Stile began to get the drift. “Thou didst like Sheen at the first sight of her, and thou dost get along great with Neysa—”
“Yes. But for their special natures—” Hulk shrugged. “The Lady Blue is another matter. It befits me not to guard her any more.”
Now Stile began pacing. “Thou knowest she is not mine.”
“She sure as hell isn’t mine!” Hulk exploded. “She may not be thine now, but she is destined for thee and no other. Thou’rt the Blue Adept, the keeper of these Demesnes, and she is the Lady Blue. She is the finest woman I have known. Were there another like her—”
“There is another like her,” Stile said, remembering Sheen’s comment. “And I owe thee for the manner in which thou hast given up thine only Oracle answer to my need.”
The two men exchanged glances, a remarkable notion dawning. “Another—in Proton,” Hulk said. “Of course. Her alternate self. But that one too should be—”
“Nay. Not mine. I can not love two.”
“With all the qualities I have seen, but versed in Proton culture.” Hulk smiled, liking the notion. “Then thou wouldst not oppose—?”
“That Proton-lady sure as hell is not mine,” Stile said, smiling as he echoed Hulk’s expression. “Go to Proton. It is a different frame. Thou knowest thou canst never bring her here.”
“Yet even for brief visits—it is all I could ask.”
“Cross the curtain, talk to Sheen. Her friends will locate the lady for thee.”
Hulk nodded. He stopped before Stile and put forth his hand. Stile shook it gravely, knowing this was their parting. Hulk would not come to the Blue Demesnes again. Stile
felt a certain smouldering resentment that the big man had taken an interest in this particular woman, and a certain relief that there was in this case a solution, and a certain guilt for both the resentment and the relief. Hulk was a good man; he deserved the best, and the best was the Lady Blue. Her Proton alternate surely had similar qualities. So this was a triumph of fortune and common sense—yet it bothered him. He was simply not as generous in his private heart as he was externally. He had some growing to do, yet.
Now he had no guard for the Lady Blue. He could not leave her alone for any length of time; whatever enemy had struck down Stile’s alternate self, the true Blue Adept, would surely strike again now that it was known the Blue Adept had been reconstituted. Stile had been constantly devising and rehearsing spells and strategies to deal with such an attack, and felt reasonably confident he could handle the situation. But suppose the enemy took the Lady Blue hostage and used her against Stile? He could not risk that.
While he pondered, the Lady reappeared. “The ogre prepares to depart. Know ye why?”
“I know,” Stile said.
“I like this not.”
How did she feel about this arrangement? “He is a good man, worthy of the likes of thee, as I am not.”
If she grasped his hidden meaning, she gave no sign. “Worth is not the issue. I have a premonition of doom about him.”
“I confess to being uneasy. I thought it was jealousy or guilt.”
“Those, too,” she agreed, and then he was sure she understood. But she did not elaborate.
He changed the subject. “Now I fear to leave thee here alone—yet must I seek the Flute, lest mine enemy move against me. Neysa will go with me.”
“Is it security thou seekest—or vengeance?”
Stile grimaced, looking at her. “How is it thou knowest me so well?”
“Thou’rt very like my love.”
“Would he not have sought vengeance?”
“For himself, nay. For those he held dear—” She halted, and he suspected she was remembering her vision of the fiery destruction of the trolls who had wiped out the Blue Adept’s village. Then she met his gaze again. “Without Hulk or Neysa, the Blue Demesnes be not safe for me now. I must go with thee to the Purple Mountains.”