Chimaera's Copper

  With an intensity she had not imagined she had, Charlain felt the buildup, the great ballooning of rage. In her body, in her soul. Growing, growing, growing. She believed the mechanism to be good and just, yet the force was so strong she could not begin to control it.

  In the crystal, above the armies, there developed a great roaring ball of flame. All fighting stopped. The soldiers of both armies looked up. The blacks and the greens trembled. The orange-clads waved and cheered. For the ball was orange. Orange was on top.

  With a sudden swoop the ball shot over the invading army. It descended. Men threw up their arms, trying vainly to ward off its heat. It glowed, and the horses danced, spilling their riders and stampeding in terror. Little tendrils of flame grew out of its sides, reaching down, touching, burning, crisping as it sped. Men cowered and threw away their fire-hot weapons. The horses bolted for elsewhere. There was chaos.

  The ball imploded with an earthshaking report. Sparks showered down on the Kelvinian army.

  The Kancians charged. Encouraged by the panic in the enemy resulting from the witch's fire, they met little fighting resistance. Their swords swung freely. Their spears darted. Men, good, bad, and indifferent, choked and died.

  “Oh Lester,” Charlain whimpered, remembering how it had been with him, knowing that similar horror was now being visited on so many more on his side. But there was no stopping it. The invading army was retreating, racing headlong for safety.

  Charlain felt herself falling. She felt her face against the ground. She felt blades of grass in her nose and tickling her ears. She felt that she herself was dying.

  “Oh what have I done?” she moaned. “What have I done?”

  “You did what had to be done,” said her other mouth there above her. “What I had to do and you had to help me do.”

  “But all that killing! All that death!”

  “This is the idiocy of men. We cannot redefine their nature. We can only intercede to enable the right side to prevail.”

  “Meow!” said Katbah, her other body's familiar. Gently, soothingly, the creature rubbed against her head and sounded a comforting purr.

  *

  Zoanna stared at the crystal with disbelief. The Kelvinian fighting men and the pick of Hermandy's fighting men were being routed! They shouldn't be. She had endowed them with special strength through her newly acquired powers and had weakened the enemy with others. Now they were losing, and this was contrary to reason. What had happened?

  Then she knew. “Helbah!” she cried aloud. It didn't seem possible, for she had seen the old witch almost dead. She should have known that the only good witch was a dead witch, not an almost dead witch.

  In the crystal a burst of witch fire formed above the Kelvinian army. Men fell from their horses, grass browned in places, and the mud from a recent rain dried.

  That settled it. It was definitely the witch.

  “Damn her! Damn!” Zoanna swore. She would do that literally, as effectively as her powers allowed. First she would have to get the witch's image in the crystal, and then by all the evil in existence she would crisp her to a cinder!

  The crystal's image swirled and opaqued without her willing it. The opacity vanished, leaving a clear crystal with Helbah's grimly wrinkled face inside.

  “Helbah, I'll get you! I'll finish you!”

  The face smiled grimly. “Will you, Zoanna? Try!”

  The challenge was too much! Zoanna raised her hands, spoke the words of power, and sent forth a ball of fire.

  It backfired. She was thrown across the room, flat on her back amid a pile of smoking furniture and room furnishings. Behind her there was a large crack in the palace's wall.

  She sat up, gasping, feeling her ribs, blinking her eyes. She focused on the crystal. There was Helbah's image, with a pleased expression.

  “Helbah,” she gasped, amazed. “You're strong!”

  “Stronger than you, Zoanna.”

  “We can become allies. We-- “

  “You are going to leave this frame forever. You and your impostor of a monarch are to vanish. Leave on your own, or be destroyed.”

  “You can't threaten me, you old bag of bones!”

  “Zoanna, I do not threaten. I, far more than you, have the power to destroy.”

  “Prove it!” Zoanna screamed, losing all control. “Prove it, you old hag!”

  “Certainly, Zoanna.”

  In the crystal the aged face was replaced by a gnarled hand. The fingers separated, spreading to their maximum. Behind the hand, on a level with it, were two deeply burning feline eyes.

  “No! NO! NO!” Zoanna cried, panicking.

  “Yes, YES, YES!” mocked Helbah's voice.

  The crystal grew pink, then rosy. Belatedly Zoanna tried to put up some mindscreen to abate what was happening. She had become so enraged that she had neglected to ready her defense.

  Suddenly there was a loud splintering sound. The crystal turned black and cindery. Then it imploded with a great whoosh of air. Zoanna, who had climbed to her feet intent on retaliation, was back on the floor. Bits of broken and powdered crystal covered her from head to foot.

  “Damn you, Helbah! Damn you!” she cried. The gritty stuff was in her mouth and eyes. She had never felt more frustrated or angry.

  “What's the matter, dear?” Rowforth had chosen this moment to come casually strolling into this wing of the palace. He appeared unperturbed by the disorder, and in fact he seemed hardly to have noticed it.

  She glared at his pudgy form, seething. How dare he act as if nothing had happened!

  “YOU!” she screamed at him. “It's your fault!”

  “That it is, dearie,” Rowforth said in Helbah's voice.

  Zoanna stared at him, appalled.

  “Goodbye, wicked woman,” Helbah said. Then her projection faded, leaving only Rowforth, standing there with a bewildered expression.

  Zoanna gazed for some time at the vacant spot where the crystal had been. This was once, she realized, that she had been outmagicked and bested. She had underestimated Helbah, and thought her dying and finished, and so ignored her. That had been a colossal mistake. The witch had survived and recovered, and gathered her magic for an effective retaliation.

  Well, Zoanna could do that too! One more visit to Professor Devale, and she would be ready. But first she had to see what she could do to shore up the crumbling attack forces she had launched. Otherwise the war would be lost before she was ready to finish Helbah.

  Needing something to occupy her mind, she rehearsed the brutal tongue-lashing she would give Rowforth the next time he gave her the slightest pretext.

  *

  St. Helens listened hard. The sounds that had been growing nearer were now receding like an outgoing wave. Why?

  “I wonder, I wonder,” he said aloud. There was nobody to hear him except an apparently deaf raouse that went right on nibbling his hunk of bread. Halfheartedly he threw his left boot at the rodent. The boot missed by the length of its tail. He drew off his right boot and threw that with as little effect. He went back to pacing his clean cell.

  “Those boys, they said surrender, and I thought it was because they were losing. But now it sounds as if our side has been driven off. More witchcraft?”

  A commotion at the dungeon door did not quite startle him. He stood back and waited as another prisoner was brought down the stairs. His cell door opened, and a big Kelvinian was pushed inside.

  “Mor!” St. Helens exclaimed incredulously. “Mor Crumb!”

  Mor rubbed at a spot of blood on his right cheek. He shook his head as though trying to clear it of cobwebs. “Yah, they got me, big mouth. Me and a hundred or so more they stuck in a stockade. Gods know how many died!”

  St. Helens’ mouth went slack. “You're blaming me? You're calling me big mouth?”

  “That's what you are! You were all for this war. You could hardly wait to get your commission!”

  “Mor, I never wanted to fight! But there's the prophecy, and the king-- “ br />
  “The king you knew is not our beloved Rufurt! He's a nasty imitation from another world! You knew, and yet you approved everything he wanted!”

  St. Helens felt his face flushing. At another time he would have exploded like his namesake, but this was a friend. Moreover he knew the man to be right. “We were all of us witched or magicked. It's Zoanna, I'm certain.”

  “Zoanna?” Mor repeated, with disbelief. “She's dead!”

  “I wish she were. We all wish. But she must have escaped John's wrath. She must have gotten away and brought back King Rufurt's impostor from that frame Kelvin visited. It's the only answer.”

  Mor glared at him, then took his fists out of his ribs and crossed to the straw. He sank down, wearily, as though all his air was out.

  “St. Helens, what are we going to do?”

  “I fear we are going to lose.”

  “Can we lose? With the prophecy working?”

  “I never believed as completely in that as you pointy-ears do,” St. Helens said. “Kelvin isn't in this frame. He might not even be alive.”

  “That would cancel the prophecy, I suppose.” Mor sighed noisily. Clearly he was as much at sea as was St. Helens.

  “There may be a way,” St. Helens said.

  “What way? My men were running as if they'd never stop.”

  “The boy-kings. They're sort of friends of mine, maybe. Nice little chaps. They even cleaned this cell. They offered me their two countries’ surrender.”

  “WHAT?”

  “That's right. Only I'm not sure the witch would let them. Only she's a good witch, not the Zoanna kind.”

  “Witch's tits! You mean actually surrender?”

  “That's what they said. They're afraid for themselves and for Helbah and I think for Helbah's cat. They're only kids, younger than Phillip.”

  “They're twenty-four,” Mor said. “They age one year for each of our four. They only look like six years old.”

  “So it is said. But they want to surrender, that's the important thing. What should I tell them?”

  Mor looked down at the clean floor and scratched a flea he'd brought. “You could tell them yes. Zoanna and her consort we can get rid of once the fighting's over.”

  “We hope. It was tough going before, wasn't it?”

  “Yes. I'd hate to fight a revolution all over again, and this time without a roundear.”

  “I have round ears,” St. Helens reminded him.

  “Yah. Yah, you have. But St. Helens, you're no Kelvin.”

  “It don't look like he and his father and his half brother are coming back. Be nice if they did.”

  “I don't like to say it, but I figure their disappearing and the evil one appearing may not be coincidence.”

  They sat in gloomy silence for several long moments. Then Mor spoke his thought: “If they're winning, they won't surrender.”

  “Probably not. But they're just kids.”

  “The witch would prevent them.”

  “I don't know. She bosses them and spanks their butts, but maybe they have the governing decisions.”

  “You think?”

  “Naw. I think they're only kids.”

  “Difficult situation.”

  “Yah.” Halfheartedly he picked up a boot and threw it at the raouse, missing completely again. The rodent looked up in annoyance, grabbed another bite of bread, and streaked for its hole. St. Helens wished he could do that himself.

  “All right. All right. If they'll give the surrender I'll take it. If it's legal it should end the fighting.”

  The raouse came back out of its hole.

  *

  Heln held her tummy and cocked her head to one side as she listened to a conversation in a distant part of the palace. Her hearing was getting more acute than it had been. And something else. Something she hardly dared think about.

  “And you really want me, Your Majesty?”

  “Of course. Who wouldn't? You're lovely.”

  “But the queen. Your Mrs., Your Majesty!”

  “What Zoanna doesn't know won't hurt her, will it? Now just turn over and I'll unbutton-- “

  Heln pulled her round ears flat down over her head, pinning them and making them hurt. It didn't drown out the giggly scream of the wench. Yet she wasn't really offended by what she had heard. Once, she knew, she would have been.

  Heh, heh, heh, like old times! Doing a maid while the queen naps. This one's a bit fat, but I'll bet she's got bounce!

  Oh gods, I wanted to be a good girl! But he's the king! Who can deny the king? Besides, his wife's gone, poor man, and she was bad and threw him in the dungeon. Will he know I've done this before? Ah gods, he's biting me! What is he doing down there? OH! OH! OH! OH!

  Heln knew what her thoughts should be, and these weren't her own. She screamed.

  Jon woke up with a start.

  “Jon! Jon! I'm hearing voices! And I'm thinking other people's thoughts! I know what other people are thinking!”

  Poor girl, she's demented! “It's all right. It's all right, Heln. You've just had another bad dream.”

  “You hypocrite!” Heln exclaimed with sudden helpless fury. “You think I'm crazy!”

  “Just a bad dream.” I'm going to have to talk to Dr. Sterk. She's not right! She's all mixed up, and paranoid! But can he help her? Can anyone help? Gods, I wish Kelvin were here!

  Knowing that all was really hopeless now, Heln permitted herself a scream that threatened to collapse the walls of the palace.

  CHAPTER 23

  Scarebird

  They stood at the edge of the swamp watching the froogears come laden with copper stings. The Crumb look-alikes and their brethren watched with disbelief as the pile grew higher and higher before the transporter. Finally, late in the day, it was all there and the second stage of the operation was about to begin.

  “Will this be enough?” Kelvin asked the big Loaf. “Is this enough copper to buy an army sufficient to overthrow your tyrant?”

  “Son,” Marvin said, very red in the face, “if we lose with this much copper, we deserve it! I didn't know there was so much anywhere. At home I know there's not. Can we start sending now?”

  Kelvin nodded. The Loafers began working in a way that belied their name. Bundle by bundle they reduced the pile, tossing each into the transporter. There was a purple flash as the stings traveled alone to their destination. At the other end the men who had gone back were presumably unloading as fast as the stings arrived.

  Suddenly Kelvin had an uncomfortable thought: Could they be certain that the people who were to get the copper were in fact getting it? The guardsmen might have come in force and overwhelmed those they had sent back. Consequently the tyrant king could have the copper, and would remain entrenched in a land that was identical to Kelvin's homeland but with a broader river and higher cliff.

  Kelvin, you're worrying again!

  I am, Mervania. I can't help myself.

  Suppose you go back and I stay with you as I did before?

  If the guardsmen are there they will kill me or capture me. You wouldn't be able to stop that.

  Yes. Mervania managed to make the thought disinterested.

  Or can you come to the rescue? If there was something he had overlooked . . .

  No, I'm confined.

  I mean, mind-stunning anyone who attacked me, as you did with my father when he--

  Not at such distant range, Kelvin. I'm only in contact with you, there. It would be like you trying to score on an enemy soldier out of your sight beyond the horizon.

  Kelvin thought that over. He didn't like it. The squarears will help?

  They would not interfere with another world's affairs. That might annoy Mouvar.

  But the copper's an interference!

  Not to them. Copper's a mineral. Besides, there's no way they can use this transporter.

  “No use-- ? Oh, I forgot! Wrong ears, right?

  Your mental deficiencies never cease to amaze me.

  Yes, really stupi
d, ain't he? the chimaera's other human head broke in.

  Then I'm really on my own? Kelvin asked despairingly.

  You're the hero, Kelvin.

  Kelvin looked at his father and brother and his newfound friends. Was he just scaring himself needlessly? No, the chimaera had as much as assured him that his worries were justified.

  “I'm going back,” he said abruptly. He drew his sword and flexed his left gauntlet. “If all is not going as it should, I'll return.” I hope.

  “And if it is, you'll stay?” his father asked, catching on.

  “Until you join me. The chimaera will warn you if I get there and the king's guardsmen are in control and I get caught and can't return.” For Mervania could touch other minds more freely, here in her own frame.

  “Why can't we all go?” Marvin asked. “One after the other?”

  “Because one after the other we could all be killed or captured. The squarears can't help and neither can the chimaera. So I have to find out.”

  They were still discussing it as Kelvin forced his feet to carry him into the transporter. His heart skipped--

  It seemed to be all right. The four Loafers he had seen into the transporter were there with a big pile of sting bundles behind them. All four of the men were covered with sweat from the work of lifting bundles the froogears had carried with ease. The labor of getting copper to this frame was more than any of them had anticipated.

  Kelvin heaved a sigh of relief and exchanged greetings. Redleaf, Bilger, Hester, and of course Jillip. The boy, unlike the three grown men, was sweatless and resting. Why did they let him get away with such laziness?

  “King's guardsmen been around?” Considering the mountain of sting bundles, the question seemed unnecessary.

  “Uh-uh,” Redleaf said. “Just us and the copper. Jillip's supposed to be watching. He's too weak for anything else.”

  “Says you!” Jillip said.

  Redleaf grinned and bent to pick up the just-arrived bundle. It was almost like a farm operation John had once told Kelvin about. A machine transporting bundles of grain or grass that had then to be carried by hand. He doubted that the grain bundles had ever weighed as much as copper.