Abruptly they were in it. It was as if the day had been turned off, and a starless night set in. Throe did not like walking boldly ahead, but had to trust his guide. He knew he had been walking blind throughout, in effect, because what he had been seeing was all illusion. Now he knew he was seeing no reality.
There was an eerie rushing sound, as of wind rising in a closed cavern. It swelled in volume until it became deafeningly loud, but it was not physical; when Throe put his right hand up to cover his ear, it made no difference. Illusion sound.
Then sparks of light appeared, forming a cloud ahead. They rushed toward him, expanding to the size of flying stones. One came straight at his face. Throe barely stopped himself from flinching, and the stone passed through his head without resistance. Sticks and stones will break my bones, but illusion will never hurt me, he thought, remembering a childish ditty. Its message was false, as he had learned when he traveled across Chroma; illusion could indeed hurt a person in a number of physical or social ways. There were stories of marriage breaking up because one partner had seen the other having sex with a neighbor when neither traveling nor looking for a fourth—and the act had been a set of realistic images crafted by a third party.
The deadly-seeming flying stones continued to come at him. Throe closed his eyes, but it did not cut off the sight. That was further proof that the illusion did not depend on his physical senses; they were generated in his mind, by the demons passing through it.
The noise faded, and the last of the stones cleared. Now there was the ground-shuddering impact of some huge foot, and another, as some giant tramped behind him. If he did not get out of the way, those awful feet would crush him to death. But Jamais’ hand remained firm, and the pace of walking did not change. Throe had to trust him.
There was a boom ahead, as of a powerful explosion, and the outline of a cave appeared, already collapsing. The roof caved in on their heads, crushingly. But without impact.
Suddenly they were out of it, walking along the visible path. “Fortunately the demons were only playing, this time,” Jamais said, disengaging his hand.
Only playing. Throe knew he would not care to experience their anger.
"And we are at Ine's house. I will come for you in the morning.” Jamais faded.
House? This was a veritable castle, with towers and battlements, and a moat whose flowing liquid rippled with more than water. Piranha, by the look of it—the vicious fish with teeth and pincers.
Throe marched on toward it. What else was to be expected of a sorceress? Why should she settle for minor illusion when she could do major illusion?
As he came close, a monstrous snout rose from the moat, the head of a serpent big enough to chomp a man with dispatch. Its left eye oriented on him. “Greeting."
Oh. “Acknowledgment."
The serpent became a stunningly lovely woman standing on the water. Her hair was wild and orange, her cloak striped with myriad lines of scintillating color, and her hourglass torso fairly burst from its mailed vest. “I am Ineffable, of Air."
"I am Throe, of Triumph City. I am here at the behest of—"
"Certainly. Do enter.” She gestured, and a drawbridge appeared, lowering into place across the moat.
He hesitated. Should he set foot on an illusion bridge? Then he realized that the moat itself was probably illusion. He strode forward, and the footing was solid.
Ine floated across to join him at the castle entrance. “Shall we make love now, or court a bit first?"
He was getting used to the situation. “I prefer the illusion of acquaintance and familiarity."
"Illusion I can provide. Kiss me."
He tried to demur. “As I said—"
She stepped into him, putting her mouth to his.
"What are you doing?” It was a voice from the side.
Throe jerked back his head and looked. A farm girl stood there, staring. What did this mean?
"Nobody kisses a golem,” the girl said indignantly.
"Golem?” He looked at the woman before him, and saw a brown wooden form with carved features. The eyes were painted, and so was the mouth.
She had played a trick on him. Suppose he had tried to have sex with the golem? Actually the golems of the Brown Chroma could have sex with people, when animated by a nearby person. King Havoc was making excellent use of them, sometimes using golem emulations of himself and Gale to confuse assassins. Still, he was going to have to take nothing for granted during this encounter.
"If you do not wish to talk with me, I can depart,” Throe said to the farm girl. But she was already changing into a white dove. It spread its wings and flew across the moat and away.
She was calling his bluff. He turned around, ready to make good his offer/threat.
The moat was gone. Instead he faced the front gate of the castle, the dark interior showing under the raised portcullis.
He glanced back over his shoulder. There was the moat, and the path beyond it. Had he gotten disoriented? No—his sense of direction told him that he really was facing back the way he had come. So he stepped forth, determined to call her bluff. He would leave if she didn't stop him.
There was a squeak above. He leaped forward even as he glanced up. The portcullis was coming down!
He landed inside the apparent castle and faced the gate. The points of the portcullis crashed into the stone pavement, chipping off fragments and raising a cloud of dust. One of the chips struck his leg and bounced off; he felt it. The dust made him sneeze.
If this was illusion, it was impressive. He reached out to touch the metal grating of the portcullis—and caught hold of an iron bar. It was real! He could have been severely injured or even killed if he had not gotten out of the way in time.
Several thoughts went through his mind. This suggested that the castle was real, rather than illusory, or at least had some substantial real components. Also that his sense of direction was confused, because the real castle had indeed been where he thought the moat was. And that the games of the sorceress Ineffable were not necessarily innocent. Maybe she was annoyed by the examination to which she was being subjected, and was taking it out on him. That annoyance could be dangerous. This might not be her only trick.
He needed to get out of here without delay. It would be no good for the woman to have second thoughts after he was dead or incapacitated. Once he was clear, he could decide what to do. Maybe he could camp out in the wilderness and wait for Jamais’ return in the morning.
He shook the bar. It rattled, but did not come loose. He checked on either side of the portcullis. It met stone; no exit there. He tried to haul it upward, so that he could pass under and escape the castle, but it would not budge.
There was no help for it: he would have to brave the rigors of the castle. This was unlikely to be fun.
He took an arrow from the scabbard on his back and used it to test the pavement ahead. Illusion could hide real objects, but it could also hide pitfalls. He did not want to step into a deep hole.
The floor seemed solid. He moved on into the dark depth of the castle. Soon the passage turned, and he was in shadow almost too deep to penetrate. Except for a dim glow ahead. He approached it, and found a guttering candle in an alcove. He lifted that out and used it to light his way.
The passage curved again, while offering no exit. He had no choice but to follow it deeper into the castle. It also slanted down. He wasn't comfortable with that, but until he found stairs or a window he could climb through, it had to be his route.
After several more turns, the passage opened into a dank chamber. He stepped into it—and there was a squeal. A rat scurried out from a hole in the wall. More rats followed. As if this were not bad enough already. Unless they were illusions.
Throe brought out his short club and held it ready. The rats turned and ran for his feet, their eyes gleaming redly. He brought down his club, sweeping it across the floor beside his feet, knocking them snouts over tails. They squeaked and skittered away, satisfied that thi
s was no patsy. But he was not greatly reassured, because he had verified that the rats were real.
The next chamber was filled with scuttling scorpions. Some of them were huge, with multicolored segmented tails curving over their bodies. There were too many of them to sweep aside with his club; they would get under and over and around it and sting him.
He turned, looking for a safe retreat while he considered options. There were more scorpions behind him, coming from the walls. No escape there.
There was no help for it: he would have to plow through them, hoping none got on him. He wasted no time; he charged forward, not trying to avoid them, concentrating mainly on shielding the candle from the wind of his motion. He felt them crunching under his boots. At least those ones would not be stinging him.
He reached the far side of the chamber, and discovered an old mattress, evidently thrown away long ago. He whipped out his knife and cut it open, then sheathed his knife and grabbed for the straw inside. He held a tuft to the flame of the candle. It burst into fire, and he dropped it on the floor and grabbed more.
The pursuing scorpions halted by the burning straw. He had balked them.
But then he felt a tickle on his leg, and discovered several scorpions on it. They had somehow scrambled onto his feet while he ran. He took another tuft of straw and used it to sweep each one off him. As he did so, one dropped off his head. By sheer luck none had stung him. He was shaken; he had had an extremely close call.
He stuffed more hay in his belt, in case of more scorpions, and went on. The next chamber was an old prison; cobwebbed skeletons were along its walls, iron chains still on their wrists and ankles.
The next chamber was larger, round in outline, and in its center was a dark hole. He walked to that hole and peered into it. There was a slight updraft of cool air from it, making the candle flicker, but he could not see the bottom. He ignited a tuft of straw and dropped it into the hole. It fell far down, and finally went out with a faint hiss. Water must have put it out.
This was an oubliette: a chamber below a prison, used for wastes or for confinement of prisoners deserving of special isolation or torture. Normally it had no other exit, but that cool draft suggested otherwise; where was the air coming from? Could there be a secret way out, that no normal person would think of?
Throe decided to give it a try. He uncoiled his loop of rope and tied it around the largest of the rough stones in the floor. He would use this to draw himself up from the depths, if he had to return this way. Then he wedged the candle in a crevice near the edge and climbed into the hole. He would have to explore the oubliette in darkness, but he could handle that.
The circular stone wall was slippery, in the manner of a well, but that didn't matter as long as the rope held. He let himself slowly down, his feet swinging.
And he didn't descend. He was going down, yet remained only knee-deep in the hole. How could this be?
His eye fell on the candle, which flickered in its crevice. It had been hardly more than a stub when he took it, but it had not burned down. In fact it had not diminished at all. How could that be?
There were several mysteries here. The entire castle had appeared behind him, which suggested that it was illusion—but that portcullis had been solid. The scorpions had gotten on him, but not stung him. The oubliette hole was not letting him enter, though his feet had no support. And the candle burned without using up its substance. Was there a common thread?
Suddenly he had it. Touch illusion! Ordinary folk could do sight illusion, and some could do sound illusion too. But a sorceress would be able to do touch and smell illusion. How could a person tell whether the iron bar of a portcullis was real or illusion, when it looked, sounded, and felt real? Logic said it was probably illusion. He could not descend into the hole because it too was illusion. His feet felt as if they were dangling, but obviously they weren't.
He let go the rope, so that he had no apparent support. His body did not drop. There was the proof. He could not trust any of his senses, but his logic fathomed the limits of the illusion.
There was no hole. There was no dungeon. There was no castle—at least, not here.
Throe stepped out of the hole, which was only knee-deep, recoiled his rope, picked up the candle, and resumed walking. When he came to a wall, he walked on into it. He felt its substance against his chest and thighs, but he kept walking—and forged on through it. In a moment he was out the other side of it, in another chamber.
A column of huge ants came at him. They swarmed over his boots and up his legs, biting at his flesh. He felt the bites, but ignored them. Sure enough, the bites had no substance either; the brief pain of them faded immediately. That was why the scorpions had not stung him; their stings could have been lethal, and he would have realized they weren't real when he didn't die or suffer.
He walked through another wall, and found himself outside the castle. He had won free of it, the easy way—once he had caught on to its nature.
The farm girl appeared before him. “Do not go, smart man,” she said. “I will behave."
Throe nodded. “You had better. I do not appreciate jokes of this nature."
"Apology."
"Acknowledged.” He did not say “accepted."
"I will make it up to you."
"No need. This interview was not of my choosing."
The girl came to take his arm. “I know it. I was annoyed. I do not like being tested, especially by a stranger."
"Understandable.” He remained gruff.
She drew on his arm, making him face her. Her face and bosom were almost painfully lovely, despite the fact that one eye was blue, the other red, and her lips black. At least her hair was a normal brown. “Please. I am contrite. It is not my natural state. How may I obtain your forgiveness for offense?"
He knew that she and all around her were illusion, but her aspect and manner were melting him. “Play it straight henceforth. Be candid with me. Answer my questions honestly."
"Granted! What are your questions?"
"Can we avoid this encounter?"
She smiled, and her eyes exchanged colors as her lips and hair turned yellow. “We are already in it."
"I spoke euphemistically. Do we have to have sex?"
"We do. And to anticipate your next, I did not want it, but now I do. It is no longer unwilling. You are no longer a stranger, but a man of competence. I will make it as nice as I can for you."
He shrugged. “Once that is done, maybe we can relax."
"How many times did you do it with my sisters?"
Surprised, he counted mentally. “Three times with Ina. Twice with Ini."
"Twice, then, for us, and the third optional. And you remained the night in their beds?"
"Agreement."
"Let's do the first your way, and the second my way."
Throe did not quite trust this, despite her contrite manner. “Reversal. Your way first."
"As you wish. And we will talk between.” She took him by both hands and drew his face down to hers for a kiss. Her eyes were now brown, her lips red, and her hair green, sacrificing none of her beauty.
As their lips touched, sensation radiated from them, suffusing his body with warmth while her mouth remained cool. Startled, he opened his eyes, and saw no woman, though the feel of her lips against his remained. She had been replaced by a scintillating fountain of colors that arced to the ground and became flowing liquid that coursed into a variegated stream that flowed toward the horizon.
He drew back. “You agreed no more tricks."
She reappeared before him. “You agreed my way."
So he had. “Apology."
"Accepted. I am a sorceress. My way is with effects."
"I had somehow thought a bed, in a private chamber."
"In your turn. I prefer public display."
And he had asked for it her way. “Do your will."
The coursing stream solidified into a colorfully woven carpet. Ine stopped onto it, drawing him along. She sa
t, crossing her legs beneath her so that her thighs showed under her skirt. They were excellent thighs. He sat too, uncertain where this was leading.
The carpet lifted into the air, causing him to jump with alarm. “I will hold you steady,” she said, putting her arms around him.
Then he caught on. “Kinesthetic illusion! We aren't moving at all."
She kissed his ear. “True. Enjoy the ride."
They floated across the landscape to the castle, which had reappeared. The carpet rose to sail into an upper window, and came to rest on a bed in the chamber beyond. The bright colors faded, revealing the reality beneath.
"If the flight was illusion, how did we get in here?"
"We were always here. Now if you care to remove your weapons and apparel, I will clothe us in raiment more suitable to the occasion."
Throe's cynicism about this process was weakening. He stood on the stone floor and removed his things. He turned to face her on the bed.
She was splendidly nude. Every part of her was perfect. Then he caught on again. “You are emulating Ina's body."
"It is better than mine."
"But in the course of—of doing what we have to do, I will feel your real body."
"Try it."
He joined her on the bed and ran his hands over her breasts and belly. The touch exactly matched the appearance.
Yet again, he caught on. “Illusion of touch."
"Anyone can do sight. A sorceress does all senses."
"Then how was I able to fathom your ruse of the castle dungeon?"
"I am as yet in training. When I graduate, I will be able to maintain a full castle with an oubliette that works. As it is, I can handle each effect competently separately, and in prepared clusters. So you will have no need to deal with my real appearance."
"Compromise: show me briefly the reality."
Her hair became somewhat duller in color, and her breasts smaller, her belly larger. But her legs, in this position, remained full fleshed and enticing.
"You are by no means an ugly woman."
"But not a beautiful one.” Then her ordinary face become lovely again, her body following. “I assure you that all the essential parts are here for your accommodation, regardless of appearances."