“Irritation. Who are you?” the man demanded.
“I'm King Havoc. Don't you see my crown?"
“Annoyance. That's a fake crown. I'm a miner; do you think I can't tell real magic gems from fake ones? Now stop wasting my time, impostor, before I hit you with some real magic."
This set Havoc back. The man was right: he was a miner, he could tell the difference, and these were fake stones. Havoc didn't want to reveal his Glamor status.
Then he got a nudge from Voila, who did not understand the details of the situation but knew the most feasible path. “Then turn me in to your leader as a fake king."
“Satisfaction. You asked for it,” the man said. He snapped his fingers, causing a flash of red light. It was a signal.
In a moment an older man appeared. “Problem?"
“Confirmation, section manager. This faker pretends he's the king.” The miner walked away.
The manager turned to Havoc. “Observation: You look like the king, you're garbed like the king. But that fake crown is a giveaway. Question: what's your business here?"
Havoc's clairvoyance informed him that this man had no knowledge of the king's supposed assassination. That confirmed the conjecture that the miners were being framed for the assassinations. “I need to see the leader of your zone."
“Warning: you are about to see the interior of our brig for intruding on private premises. How did you get in here?"
“Your intruder alerts are inadequate. Now summon your leader."
“Surfeit,” the manager said. He concentrated.
Magic coalesced around Havoc, and was repelled. Then Havoc focused his own magic, and lifted the manager, pinning him against the wall.
The manager stared at him. “Amazement! You are not what you seem."
“Your leader,” Havoc reminded him as he let him slid back down to the floor.
The manager snapped his fingers, emitting a blue flash. Another man appeared. “Man of mysterious power here to see you, Duke,” the manager said. “Air Chroma sorcerer or equivalent."
Duke eyed Havoc appraisingly. “Follow, stranger.” He turned and walked away.
Soon they were in a comfortable subterranean office. “Introduction,” Havoc said. “I am King Havoc."
“Question: can your baby float?” He evidently knew that the king had adopted magical children.
Havoc reached over his head, lifted Voila out, and let her go. She floated. Duke eyed her, and magic swirled, but did not affect her. The man had tried to nullify Air Chroma magic, and verified that there was none.
Duke bowed his head. “Sire."
“Explanation,” Havoc said. “On occasion I have private missions. I use a mock king to emulate me, so that my absence will not be noted. He wears the real crown, as I have magic of my own. You and your minions were right to doubt me."
“Sire, how may we serve?” Duke, also, had no knowledge of the assassinations.
“I am in search of a person who may be somewhere in your zone. Deliver that one to me."
“Name?"
“Unknown."
“Description?"
“Unknown."
“Question?"
Havoc reached out and fetched Voila in. “Speak categories."
Duke nodded. He was quick to relate, as effective leaders generally were. “Male."
Havoc mentally relayed the concept of maleness to Voila, and received her confirmation. “Yes."
“Age below eighteen."
“No."
“Between eighteen and forty."
“Yes."
“Chroma: Air."
“Yes.” That made sense, as this was an Air Chroma zone.
“Miner."
“No."
“Administrator."
“No."
“Service person."
“No."
Duke paused. “Sire, we are running low on categories."
“Try what remains."
“Visitor."
Now Havoc hesitated. “Perhaps."
“Sorcerer."
That was interesting. Ini's sister Ine was a sorceress, capable of magic well beyond that of ordinary zone dwellers. “Probably, but not entirely."
Duke smiled. “Trader."
“Yes. Amplify."
“We mine, but are isolated from other zones. We are Air, and trade with an Air trader sorcerer who travels to the more populous zones. Other mining zones trade with other traders for other Chroma. Our trader brings us necessary supplies, as our zone has no viable gardens or animals for food. We suspect he cheats us, but we would not get a better deal from another trader, and can not afford to antagonize him.” He sent a mental impression of huge amounts of Air crystals required for food. Indeed, it was a ruinously unfair exchange rate. The trader was squeezing both ends, thus amassing much material wealth and power.
So these folk were in regular business, and were not outlaws. It was the middleman who was the unscrupulous operator. “You will soon have a better deal from the king,” Havoc said. “The trader will have other concerns."
Duke smiled, appreciating an excellent opportunity to rid his zone of an oppressive yoke. Havoc's reputation as a barbarian who took his word seriously had reached him. His cooperation became complete. “His name is Hoard. We do not know his residence, but he has an Air mistress who remains here; she might know."
“Summon her."
Duke snapped his fingers, making a green spark. In a moment a very pretty and fetchingly garbed young woman appeared. “Present,” she said, curtsying.
“Where does Trader Hoard reside?” Duke asked.
“Why, with me, when he visits."
“When at his home."
The girl hesitated. “I wouldn't know."
Duke scowled, knowing she was concealing something.
But Havoc read her mind, and got a shock. “I have it. Appreciation. My administrator will contact you to discuss terms of trade. I verify only this guarantee: they will be substantially better for you than the ones you have had hitherto, with prospects for further improvement. The king appreciates cooperation."
Duke bowed his head again. “Appreciation, Sire."
“Parting.” Havoc jumped to that site, which was in a small Air Chroma zone not far from Triumph city. The mistress had known, but been barred from telling. There was fear in her mind; Hoard was a brutal man, and quick to punish transgressions. She wished to be free of him, but dared not say so.
Yet that was only part of it. The mistress had received news of the appearance of the king at the polar region, and relayed it to Hoard. So Hoard had known what Duke did not.
Hoard was probably the assassin. His bribery connections were surely sufficient.
And they would have to work with him, to save the planets? Havoc was extremely wary of that. He had a serious score to settle. He remembered his night with Spanky; she had been a fine girl, undeserving of her fate. And Berm, Swale's brother, a worthy young man. The one who had killed them deserved a brutal execution, not the support of Glamors.
Hoard's residence was a veritable castle that was real, not illusion. Havoc surveyed it clairvoyantly. It had no service personnel, but huge storage chambers filled with Air Chroma crystals. The man had been truly named; he hoarded the source of his power. Surely he didn't want the king catching on and demanding the king's tax, which would be formidable.
There was no doubt now: this was the person. But how could they ever cooperate with such a criminal?
Havoc reached back to touch Voila's little hand. Clarification, he thought.
And got it: the key here was not positive, it was negative. That was what was odd; Voila had not quite grasped it until she got this close. Instead of endorsing a good agenda, they needed to eliminate a bad one. They were not going to work with this man, but to prevent him from working with Mino. By killing him.
“Satisfaction,” Havoc muttered grimly. He jumped to the south pole to return Voila to Gale.
“Progress?” Gale inquired.
br />
“Vengeance,” Havoc said. “Victory when it is done.” He showed her a quick mental summary, and jumped back to the castle.
He considered the situation. He wanted to be sure of taking out Hoard, and to acquire or destroy his hoard of crystals. But because they were magic, matching the man's Chroma, they would give him great magic power. A Glamor's power was no greater than that of a trained Chroma person, in his Chroma zone; the strength of the Glamor was that he could take his power with him, anywhere, not limited by the zones. A man with unlimited Chroma crystals could do much the same. It depended on his ability and experience. And this man, as a sorcerer, would have considerable. He was dangerous.
What Havoc needed to do was separate Hoard from his Chroma and crystals. Then the man would have no magical power, and could readily be dispatched. But that would surely not be easy to do, if he chose to remain in his castle. That set up the first step: remove the trader from his castle.
But first he had to do the honorable thing: give the man a chance to surrender to justice. Havoc hated the necessity, but he had to follow proper form. Damn these civilized obligations!
He used his clairvoyance to locate the man in the castle, then jumped to that chamber. Air Chroma folk were naturally invisible, but usually formed illusion images about their natural contours, making themselves visible and handsome, and this one was no exception. Havoc could see him plainly, and in any event could track him by his sound and solidity, as well as his mind.
As it happened, Hoard was with another person, a young woman. A lovely Green Chroma girl, surely another mistress. He probably had them wherever he did business, and at home. He was in the process of licking her full right breast, while she stared over his shoulder, for the moment allowing a natural expression of resignation to form. She of course had no magic here; she was out of Chroma and largely helpless. Men often liked to possess women of other Chroma, if they had the chance. Especially if they got them out of their Chroma. This girl did not like to indulge sexually with men of other Chroma; that was why she had been selected, apart from her beauty. Her mind was quite open; she hated being handled like this, and not just because she had been forced to give up the Green boyfriend she loved and would have married, had his desperate family, and hers, not been bought off by the rich Air trader. She had to do it.
Hoard did not see Havoc, but the girl did. Her eyes widened and she inhaled to scream. That mashed her breast into the man's face and alerted him. He turned his face toward Havoc, baring his teeth in anger as the girl stifled her scream.
“Introduction,” Havoc said. “I am King Havoc."
“False!” Hoard snarled. “He's dead."
That confirmed his guilt, since no one outside the palace was supposed to know. “Clarification,” Havoc said. “His mock is dead—the man who emulated him when he was elsewhere. That man wore the real crown. I recommend that you confess complicity and submit yourself to justice for that assassination."
“Laughable.” The man stood, assessing Havoc. He was stout, of middle height, but clearly sound of body.
“Let us agree, for the sake of dialogue, that someone is dead, by your design,” Havoc said. “That is murder, regardless of the identity of the victim. Will you submit to justice?"
“Negation!” An almost invisible air crystal appeared in Hoard's hand. He could do magic regardless, here in the Air Chroma zone, but the power of the stone would enhance it.
Havoc's smile was genuine. This was the answer he had wanted. “Then send the girl away, for you and I about to settle accounts."
Instead of responding verbally, the man hurled a bolt of fire at Havoc. Now the girl did scream as fire engulfed him, but it had no effect.
“I take this to mean that you wish to compound your crime by trying to take out the real king,” Havoc said as the flames flickered out. “For this the penalty is death, by order of the king."
“Fuck your penalty,” Hoard snapped. He dropped the spent crystal and summoned another.
Havoc addressed the green girl. “Depart this chamber and this castle swiftly; it is not a safe place. I will give you one minute to get clear before I destroy it."
The girl did not even scramble for her clothing. She lurched to her feet and lunged for the door, her green breasts bouncing. Hoard did not even notice; he was focusing on his next attack.
A huge heavy stone came down on Havoc's head, the weight of it more than sufficient to crush his body to pulp. But it stopped just as it touched his hair, and hovered there. Then it fragmented into a mass of gravel and dropped to the floor around Havoc, who lifted one hand casually to cover an obvious yawn. He was counting off the minute.
Hoard dropped the second spent crystal and summoned another. Each crystal had enough magic to power illusion pictures for a year, or more substantial effects for lesser periods; this was wasteful extravagance. But of course the man had an almost unlimited supply.
A pit opened up under Havoc's feet. He floated in place. A giant croc leaped in to bite his legs, but its teeth shattered without scratching the material of the trousers.
“The minute is up,” Havoc said. “Now let's do something about those crystals.” He focused, and conjured a rack of them from the nearest storage chamber. Each crystal was carefully packed in a wooden frame that prevented it from touching any other crystal. There were about a hundred of them on the rack, spaced out on multiple shelves.
Hoard seemed to be almost frothing at the mouth as he cast about for something that would make a suitable impact. But now he stood and watched, amazed that Havoc had been able to conjure so many crystals so readily. It seemed he still doubted that Havoc was genuine, and in any event didn't know he was a Glamor.
Havoc took one from a shelf and extracted it from its housing. He set it back, and took another, denuding it similarly. He set it against the first and took a third.
“Idiot!” Hoard exclaimed. “You can't do that!"
“Question?” Havoc inquired innocently as he set the third against the first two.
“The magic—too many too close will detonate it!"
“Doubt,” Havoc said, setting a fourth crystal. “Let's experiment."
“Disaster!” Hoard said, reaching for the rack. But his hand stopped short, halted by Havoc's magic. “You barbarian hick, you'll start a chain reaction!"
“True? That should be fun.” Havoc took a fifth crystal.
Belatedly the man caught on. “You rectum! You know!"
“Perhaps.” Havoc took a sixth crystal. He held it a moment. “Do you wish to reconsider about submitting to justice?"
The man lunged at him. Havoc held him off with magic deflection, and set the sixth crystal with the others.
The magic of the close crystals interacted. They quivered, glowed, heated, and exploded, dissipating their magic in energy. The effect spread to the others despite their isolation, and they went off like a series of bombs.
Havoc jumped outside the castle. The green girl was there, still bare, staring at the light spearing out from the castle. “It is just beginning,” Havoc said, conjuring her a green cloak, which she donned almost unconsciously. “In a moment I will take you home.” He conjured one of the crystals and handed it to her. “Take this; it will repair the fortunes of your family and restore your prospects for a good marriage."
The effects in the castle intensified as the chain reaction spread to the storage chambers. Light flared out from the windows and muffled explosions sounded. Then the castle flew apart, the stones landing in a pile of rubble. All the remaining crystals were gone.
“Where do you live?” Havoc inquired.
The green girl told him. He touched her arm and jumped there, delivering her home. He knew she would be all right; the single salvaged crystal was immensely valuable for trading.
He returned to the ruined castle. He had wreaked some satisfying havoc, but it wasn't enough. It was time to finish off Hoard, after letting him suffer briefly.
But the man was gone. Havoc was
sure he had survived the destruction of the castle; he clearly knew enough magic to safeguard his body. So where was he? Havoc was not nearly done with him.
* * * *
Ennui stood gazing down at Voila. Such a little baby, yet so much magic power! She had enabled Havoc to locate the person they needed. Now all Havoc had to do was take out that man, avenging the assassination of the mocks, and winning the contest with Mino. They were close to the end.
A man appeared. He looked around, then took a step toward Voila and disappeared. He was of the Air Chroma, and going for a hostage.
The baby screamed and started to float away. But Ennui realized with a terrible certainty that she wouldn't get clear in time. This was a sneak attack that had caught the Glamors off-guard. Even Voila had been relaxing, not watching her paths.
Ennui leaped between the intruder and the baby, shielding Voila with her body. She collided with the invisible man and grabbed on to him, determined to prevent him from reaching the baby.
There was a wrenching sensation. Then she found herself unceremoniously dropped to the ground. “Bitch! Why did you have to get in the way?” the man demanded as he reappeared.
So she had succeeded in balking him. She looked around. They were in a well appointed chamber, surely one of his many houses. “To deny you your hostage,” she said. “You're the assassin."
“Good guess,” he said. She realized that he didn't know she was telepathic; few nonChroma folk were. “Who are you?"
There seemed to be no harm in telling him. “I am Ennui, the king's personal secretary.” And he, she had from his mind, was Hoard, a cruel and selfish trader and sorcerer unlimited by ethical concerns.
He nodded. “Young and shapely, of course. The king has good taste in mistresses. I have heard of you."
But evidently he hadn't heard enough; he was assuming too much. He didn't know her true age, either. “Fortunately I am useless to you. Soon Havoc will come for you; I don't know how you got away from him even this long."
“He destroyed my castle and most of my crystals. Somehow he has very strong magic. I thought no nonChroma folk have magic."