Key to Chroma

  Actually Havoc's woman Gale was special too, for she was another changeling. Only one woman in Throe's experience rivaled her for beauty and talent: Symbol—and she too was a changeling. Gale was to Symbol somewhat as Havoc was to former King Deal, a younger version of outstanding presence. The changelings were superior examples of the human state, perhaps second only to the Glamors.

  And what were the Glamors? Throe had now seen two of them: Glamor Black and Glamor Red. Both had shown magic independent of their Chroma zones, and more potent than any other known. Both had come to support King Havoc when his life and crown were threatened by traitors in Triumph. Throe had thought Glamors were the stuff of legend, with no real existence; now he knew better. But why were they involving themselves in human affairs? This present mission was really because of the Red Glamor, who hardly needed the help of any mortal person to have her way. Why had she bothered?

  Throe had no answer to that, and none to the riddle of the changelings. But Havoc was trying to unriddle those mysteries, and maybe he would succeed. Assuming that Throe and the others did their parts. Havoc had in fact been paying far more attention to things spread across the Chroma than he had to running the kingdom. So far that hadn't seemed to make much difference, perhaps because the general populace did not know that the King was absent.

  He came to a camping site. It was within the fringe of a Brown Chroma zone, which meant that Brown golems protected it from molestation. It had food and water, and a marked pasture with brown fruit trees and brown grass. It was ideal.

  "Inertia: stop,” he said as they pulled in. The millipede came to a halt. “Inertia: wait.” Then he got down, stretching his legs. He used the outhouse, drank water, fetched brown bread and fruit, and returned to the waiting steed. He climbed back into the saddle. “Inertia: walk."

  He guided the creature to the watering trough and told her to drink. Everything had to be told to a millipede, when saddled and ridden, as he could not set her loose. It was important that her needs be taken care of. Indeed, she drank copiously, filling her segments. Then he directed her to graze, and removed his feet from the stirrups, so that she knew she could choose her own pattern. Only if she seemed likely to wander beyond the marked grazing area would he use his feet to guide her back inside it. Meanwhile he ate his own meal.

  As night came, he slept in the saddle while Inertia continued to graze. Every few minutes he woke to verify their location, and on occasion did guide her back. Eventually she had her fill and let her segments rest on the ground. She could snooze while grazing, but she had worked hard and evidently needed rest for her legs and feet. He couldn't leave her, even now, for she could wake at any time and wander off, and a loose millipede in human occupied territory was subject to theft or execution. So he remained in the saddle; it was a condition of his use of the millipede for transport. He would be liable if she were lost or damaged because of any neglect on his part.

  In the morning he watered the millipede again, fetched some more food, and moved on. He had not seen a golem or a Brown Chroma native, but he knew they had been aware of him, and would have appeared had there been any mischief. Magic was not as strong at the Chroma fringes, but it did exist, and it was never safe to assume he was unobserved. In fact, had he not had to remain on the millipede overnight, he might have been visited by a Brown Chroma woman looking for a fourth, or perhaps just for variety in the guise of seeking a fourth. He was satisfied that this had not been the case, because he was not looking for interaction of this nature. Not since Ennui. So he waved as they resumed travel, his acknowledgment of the usefulness of the camping site. They were maintained by order of the King, but appreciation was never out of place.

  The steed was refreshed and vigorous, so they moved along at a comfortable canter, making good progress. They passed Invisible and Yellow Chroma, the first looking like vague mist, the second like fire. But the path safely skirted both, as it was its nature to do.

  Then, as the path approached a crevice between Green and White Chroma, a storm came up. The weather was constantly changeable in any season, of course, and he had expected to be caught at some point in his trip. But this was a bad locale, because the path region was narrow and there was no immediate shelter. His choices were to retreat and seek cover, which would confuse the millipede and perhaps cost him more time than he cared to lose; or to forge on through it, hoping to win safely to the other side.

  Had there been shelter close behind, he would have gone to it, for it was foolish to take any unnecessary risk. But there was not, and the storm was blowing rapidly toward them; they might not be able to outrun it anyway. By similar token, they might get through it quickly by going ahead; it would be passing them as rapidly as they passed it, as it were.

  "Inertia: brace pace.” That meant she should not maintain any particular gait, but react to the buffeting of the storm so as to maintain her balance and place on the path. She would surely have encountered storms before, and have appropriate reflexes. She would hew to the path without straying into a Chroma, having a natural aversion to magic.

  To his surprise, she broke into a gallop. She was evidently as eager as he to get through the storm rapidly. He hung on and let her do it.

  The storm closed around them. Wind whipped across, carrying green rain. Green was the Plant Chroma, but that was the human specialty; its natural ambiance was simply magic, which could take any form. Without guidance, it might be neutral.

  It wasn't. Huge green tendrils reached down to grab at them. Throe drew his knife and sliced off any that came within his range. They didn't seem to be able to get hold of the millipede, who perhaps had some natural repulsion. Fortunately they were moving so rapidly that by the time the cut tentacles could react, man and millipede were out of reach.

  Then Throe felt light. He hung on to the saddle, but it was a more general effect; Inertia was getting light too, so that she was bounding far through the air with each leap of her gallop. Would she lose her balance? If she fell on her side or back, she could be injured. But she maintained equilibrium, evidently having had experience with this effect, and in a moment weight returned and her feet landed more firmly on the ground.

  A huge green golem appeared. That was a Brown specialty, but Throe did not dare assume it was illusion, which was an Invisible specialty. He ducked down, avoiding the giant hand, and then they were beyond it.

  Only to encounter a green monster. It opened its mouth, roaring, showing jagged green teeth. It lunged, but misjudged the millipede's velocity, and its jaws snapped closed some way behind. Inertia's decision to gallop was proving its value.

  There were green flickers in the air. One intersected Throe's shoulder before he could flinch away, and he felt the weird curiosity. It was a formless demon of the type generally known in the Red Chroma; obviously Green demons existed too, in nature.

  But now a wave of green fire formed. Throe felt the heat. This was no good; there was no telling its extent. They could both be severely burned before winning through.

  "Inertia: off!” he shouted, bringing down his feet to take the stirrups and guide her left, toward the White Chroma zone. White was weird, and he was not comfortable with it, but it seemed to be the better bet at the moment.

  The millipede veered left, leaving the path. She slowed, for there was imperfect footing here. Fortunately when the front feet found good lodging, the latter feet did too, for they landed in the same spots.

  The storm quickly thinned, for its magic could not operate in a foreign Chroma. To a degree, it was making this region its own Chroma, for windblown dust from the Green volcano carried its magic. But it was vitiated where it overlay dust from the White volcano, so its force weakened.

  It seemed to know that, for now a wall of huge animalistic faces formed, glaring at the travelers. That had to be illusion, for two reasons: it was not feasible for faces to exist without bodies to support them, and illusion was among the least energy-intensive of the magics, so could appear where more solid mag
ic could not. Yet it was odd, for it seemed that the green magic had awareness and emotion of its own; that instead of being random, it was actively attacking them, and was angry when they escaped. That was hard to believe, yet it did look that way.

  Now they were crossing pure White territory. The White Chroma was the magic of science, which followed its own odd rules. Or it seemed like the absence of magic, but White Chroma natives could demonstrate impressive and sometimes deadly applications. There was no telling what they might come up with if annoyed. So it was best to get off this shades-of-white land as rapidly as possible.

  The millipede agreed. She broke back into a gallop and followed such faint paths as she fathomed, skirting the green cloud. She did not venture any farther into White than she had to. Soon, fortunately, the storm did blow on by, and they were able to return to the established path between Chroma.

  "Inertia: walk.” Because the millipede had been working hard, and her segments were radiating heat; she needed to rest. A millipede did not necessarily know when to ease off, which was one reason they were given names like Resolute, Consistency, Stubborn, Earnest, and, yes, Inertia, in the sense of continuing what she was doing.

  Then he reached back to pat a flank. “Inertia: good.” He was complimenting her on her performance.

  The antennae on the insectoid head quivered, and a small ripple of pleasure ran along her length. A millipede was not the smartest animal extant, nor the most feeling, but did have a few basic emotions. Throe could relate. Much of his life he had served the King, always ready to do the King's bidding, never expressing any personal opinion unless specifically asked, and never presuming. He had been the perfect servant, character neutral. But he had had feelings, and these were quite real despite their invisibility. Only with the advent of Havoc had Throe become a full person. And of course that connection had brought him Ennui. King Deal had been competent, winning, fair minded, and Throe had liked him. King Havoc was all of those, and something else. Perhaps the best perspective was via Gale, who was a virtual clone of Havoc in the female gender, replacing the male capacity for violence with the female capacity for feeling. Gale was the age of Throe's youngest daughter, but she could have seduced him with a gesture, had she chosen to, and bound him to love, had she wished to. Throe doubted that any living man could resist Gale, if she went after him. Just as no woman resisted Havoc. Both had been raised in their distant village of Trifle, and come to Triumph City with the quaint ignorance of their origin, but neither was any patsy, and both learned so quickly it was awesome.

  Throe smiled ruefully. He tended to think too much. This time the pleasure of a millipede had led him into the power of changelings. Perhaps he was making parallels where none belonged.

  The journey took several days, but in due course they reached the Invisible Chroma zone that surrounded the destination site. This was going to be a challenge, but Throe intended to accomplish his mission.

  First he had to deliver the millipede. He stopped in the camping area near the fringe and hailed the man there. The man was young, muscular, and handsome. “Greeting."

  "Acknowledged."

  "I am Throe, nonChroma, of Triumph City. I must return this mount, and pursue a personal mission. I will require a native guide."

  "I am Robust, Invisible.” For an instant he faded into complete invisibility. His appearance was of course illusion. “What is your mission?"

  "I must fetch an object from a site.” He gave the coordinates.

  The man whistled. “That's at the volcano! We have only one guide competent for that region, and he is presently distracted."

  Bad news. “I nevertheless have need of him. What price will be required?"

  "I do not know. But it will be high."

  "I will be obliged to pay, to the extent of my ability."

  Robust nodded. “Deliver your steed; the guide will meet you there if he chooses to negotiate."

  "Appreciation. Parting."

  "Parting,” the man agreed, as Throe addressed the millipede.

  "Inertia: home."

  The creature took off with a will. She followed the trail as it circled around the Invisible Chroma zone, and soon cut in, seeking an attractive farmstead. That was a real development illustrated by illusion; nothing in this Chroma could be seen in its natural state, but the powers of illusion more than made up for it. The actual farmstead might be ugly, but its illusory representation was pretty. Similarly it was said that there were no ugly women in the Air Chroma, which was the popular name for Invisible, because each crafted her image as she chose. No ugly men, either.

  The door opened and a lovely (of course) woman emerged. Her hair was like golden sunshine, her face was barely shy of perfection, and her figure was outstanding. “Inertia!” she cried, running forward. She had the appropriate illusion down pat; her tight sweater was bouncing sexily.

  The millipede's antennae vibrated as she turned her leading segment toward the woman. Then the two collided in a close embrace. “It's so good to have you back, dear,” the woman said, kissing a mandible. “You're looking great."

  Throe quietly dismounted and waited by the saddle. In a moment the woman glanced his way. “Greeting,” he said.

  "And you brought her back! Um, Acknowledged, of course. Thank you so much. We missed her."

  "She's a good steed. Well trained."

  "Oh, yes!” Then she looked prettily flustered. “Introduction: I am Vision, Inertia's keeper."

  "Throe, of Triumph City. I needed transport, and she was available."

  "How fortunate for us! I can see that you have taken good care of her. She says you are a considerate rider."

  It was Throe's turn to be flustered. “She talks?"

  Vision laughed. “Hardly! I mean, I can tell by her reaction. She is relaxed and vigorous, and she likes you. She will obey any rider, but she is choosy about whom she likes. You have ridden millipedes before, and respect their needs."

  "True. She is about the best I have ridden. We were attacked by brigands, and she maneuvered well so that I could take them out. Then we encountered a green storm, and she handled herself well again. It is easy to like her."

  "Don't I know it! Come have some refreshment while you wait for Jamais."

  "Jamais?"

  "Jamais Vu, your guide. He will be here shortly."

  Throe shook his head. “Communications are fast in the Invisible Chroma zone! All I knew was that a guide would come here to negotiate terms."

  "This way,” she said, putting a fine hand on his elbow and urging him toward the house. Inertia, released, began to graze on the lush-looking shrubbery at the fringe of the Chroma. Apparently there was no need to confine her, once she was home; she would not stray.

  At the house Vision served excellent blue bread with yellow cheese, and sparkling silver wine. All seemed to be genuine rather than colored by illusion, and of excellent quality. This was clearly an upper class household. Throe appreciated it; he was hungry, as the days of riding had not allowed him very regular or substantial meals.

  "I am not sure I understand the name, Jamais Vu,” Throe said.

  She smiled. Her teeth were starlike in their brightness, as were her eyes. “It means he is oddly strange, in contrast to Deja Vu, oddly familiar. There is simply something intriguing about him. Were I not already married and in no need of another fourth, I would be amenable to a liaison with him. He is a fine young man. I envy the woman who gets to fathom his mystery."

  "All I seek is a competent guide."

  "He is that. You will like him; everyone does.” She smiled again, and though Throe well understood that her beauty was illusion, he remained impressed by it. “Now tell me about the gossip of Triumph City. Is it true that the new King is wild?"

  He did not care to reveal his own closeness to King Havoc, for that could compromise his mission. “It is true. But also sincere. He is doing his best to learn governance and keep the peace. He is from a barbarian village, unaccustomed to the ways of civiliza
tion, but is unusually smart. The women like him very well."

  "Women do like kings."

  "And kings like women,” he agreed. “But he made a friend of King Deal's widow, and another of Deal's mistress."

  "Those would not have been easy conquests."

  "Surely not. But perhaps like Jamais, there is something about him. I understand that when there was an assassination attempt against him, two Glamors intervened."

  "Glamors!” she exclaimed. “I never heard of them intervening before."

  "Nor I. I admit to having entertained some doubt that they even existed. But Glamor Black appeared and turned the traitors to ashes, and Glamor Red appeared and embraced Havoc after perhaps restoring him to life. I was not the only one astounded."

  "Glamors,” she repeated. “We are surely come upon interesting times."

  "I think they were annoyed about the murder of King Deal."

  "As were many of us. He was by most accounts a good and virile man."

  "So I understand."

  "And young King Havoc is similar?"

  "Possibly more so. He seems to have won the favor of King Deal's entire staff and household personnel, which he kept on."

  "He did not replace them? No wonder they like him!"

  "I think it is more than that. They are like a family to him, protecting him socially as well as physically. His young consort Gale is similarly winning."

  Vision looked beyond him. “Greeting, Jamais."

  "Acknowledgment, Vision.” Jamais turned out to be a handsome young man with a shock of blue hair. The Invisibles were not limited in colors, since their appearance was entirely illusion.

  Throe stood. “Greeting."

  "Ditto."