Why was he thinking of this, and just why had he climbed down all those awful stairs? His legs ached abominably. He needed to rest, but something screamed at him that he must go back or rue the consequence. At the same time he realized that he hadn't really wanted to climb down these stairs. So why had he done it?
Something went “Click.” Something that had no business being here.
He half turned. As he did, a sudden chill formed somewhere in the region of his heart. It was uncanny what was happening to him. It was something he was sure had never happened before.
She stood there behind him, holding a crystal ball. Her hair was as red as dragon sheen, and her eyes the green of feline magic with sparks like tiny stars. Her pointed ears identified her with a horrifying certainty.
“Zoanna,” he said. “Zoanna, I thought you dead.”
“Yes, one-time king, once my feeble husband. I have returned to reclaim all that I once had and all that has since been gained for me. I am back to rule, Sweet Husband. Back to punish the likes of you, and to destroy the likes of that Hackleberry brat.”
“No! No! You drowned! I know you drowned, and-- “
She made a pass over the crystal ball with her hand. A repellent shade of red immediately suffused the crystal.
King Rufurt clutched his chest in sudden agony.
“Yes, yes,” she murmured, her white teeth glistening as she smiled. “Did I ever tell you how pretty your ears are, my erstwhile liege?”
He fell forward, trying vainly to talk. The dock, when he struck it, seemed to be and not to be, while he----
EVENING
When the king finally emerged from the ruins the sun was setting. His face had somehow gotten bruised, though the bruises had the appearance of those acquired days before. His clothes were now soiled, and he wore a stockelcap pulled all the way down over his ears despite the warmth of the day. He wore an expression that was not at all typical for Rufurt: malevolent.
“Your mare, Your Majesty,” said Lomax, the tall guard. Though his voice was controlled, he was upset. This is not right, not right at all. What had happened to the king, this past hour?
The king went to place his foot in the stirrup that was being held for him. A hoof came for him, grazing his hip. The king stumbled and fell. When he rose a moment later there was no mistaking his expression: mean, extremely mean. Lomax had thought he might be mistaken before, but now there was no doubt. How could this be?
“What's the matter with you, idiot?” the king demanded. “Can't you control a stupid horse?”
The young guardsman swallowed. “Your Majesty-- “
The king drew a riding whip from its harness scabbard and lashed the mare across her face. The horse reared, and Lomax was so startled he let go of the reins. The mare took off, running as though for her life.
The king swore, using an oath Lomax had never even heard. “I can't abide an unruly animal! Catch it and slay it!”
“But Your Majesty-- ” Lomax started, horrified.
“Do it, idiot!” The whistling lash just missed taking his eye out. Lomax swallowed and ran after the horse. She had stopped some distance away, her white-rimmed eyes as frightened as he himself felt. What is going on here?
“Here, girl, here,” he said, holding out his hand.
The mare let him take the reins. But as he turned to lead her back he saw that the king had drawn a sword. The king intended to kill this beautiful horse! Unbelievable!
Sensing what the man sensed, the mare yanked hard on the reins. This time Lomax deliberately let them slip. The horse ran off.
The king glowered at him. “Never mind, Your Majesty,” Lomax said quickly. “I'll catch her again. She caught me by surprise; she isn't usually like this. It may take a little time. Perhaps-- ” He strove desperately to think of something. “Perhaps you would prefer not to wait. It's a long ride to the palace. Another horse-- “
“Yes,” the king said grimly. “Another horse, in any event.” He spoke roughly to Slatterly, the other guard. “Bring me that roan!”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Slattery said, and obeyed with alacrity.
Slatterly held the reins and the king mounted. The guard handed up the reins.
The king raised his whip and brought it down first on Slatterly and then on the horse. “Get on your own horse. You ride ahead of me!” he ordered. “Fast! I want to reach the palace by nightfall!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lomax had never seen Slatterly move so fast before. But Lomax himself was moving fast, pretending he was going to catch and possibly slay the king's favorite horse.
Hoofbeats, and the king all but rode him down. The roan whirled, raising dust, and the king turned a terrible face down at him. “You, I want you to get that horse!”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Yes, of course.”
“And I want you to ride her.”
Hope leaped suddenly in Lomax's boyish chest. “Ride her, Your Majesty?”
“Until she drops! Ride her to her death!”
“Majesty, no-- “
The whip caught him across the face, stingingly, telling him more plainly than words that this was not the same man who had entered the ruins. “You will do as I order! If you don't, I'll see you in the torture chamber!”
“But Your Majesty, you haven't-- haven't got-- ” He swallowed, knowing that what he most needed to do was shut up.
“Haven't what?” the king demanded ominously.
“Haven't a torture chamber,” Lomax said reluctantly.
“That,” the king replied, “will be remedied. Now find that horse, ride her until she drops, then beat her to death. Failure in this will cost you your life in much the same manner!”
Lomax watched the bay whirl as the king rode away after Slatterly. He felt tears welling in his eyes, and knew they weren't entirely from the sting of the whip.
“What's gotten into him? What's gotten into him?” he asked the trees and rocks. He didn't know and wasn't certain he wanted to know. Witchcraft? Magic? Something old and evil and ugly? That ruined palace-- who knew what evil spirits lurked in there!
But he was only a guardsman. These were, alas, questions his kind was not authorized to ask. But he knew that this was not his king-- not the real king, whatever the body was.
There were tears on his face as he went after the mare. It was as though all the good that the roundear had done were now undone, and the bad was returning with a vengeance. How could this happen, so soon after the great victory of the forces of right?
When he caught up to the horse he discovered without surprise that he simply did not have the heart to hurt her, let alone kill her. She was not at fault; she had reacted to the alien nature of the king, being more forthright than the guardsmen dared be. She was too fine an animal to destroy.
He approached the proprietor of a farm where there were a number of horses. “I will trade you this mare for your worst mare of this color and size,” he said. “Provided you keep the transaction secret.”
“For how much gold?” the sharp farmer demanded.
“No gold. An even trade.”
The man studied the mare. He could see that she was as fine a horse as existed in the kingdom. “You stole her?”
This was getting complicated. The truth was better. “She inadvertently offended the king. He ordered me to kill her. I can't do it. Give me a mare I can kill, and never speak of this.”
The farmer nodded. “Now I understand.” He brought out a scruffy-looking mare. “This one's ill, and due for slaughter anyway.”
“She'll do.” Lomax rode off on the new mare. When he reached a suitable place, he dismounted, drew his sword, and stabbed her carefully in the heart, so that she died quickly, without extended suffering. Then he took a whip and lashed the body, leaving stripes all over it. He paid special attention to the head, so that it became unrecognizable. This horse now looked as if it had been cruelly beaten to death. The original scruffiness of the animal only enhanced the effect.
He l
eft the corpse there for others to find, knowing that the news would reach the king soon enough. He walked away, not looking back, thinking that if it were not for a certain lady, and not for his love for his homeland, he would desert for another kingdom. He had no pride in what he had done. He knew he had only reduced the evil somewhat, at great risk to himself. If the living mare were ever recognized--
Late in the day he slunk silently into the royal stable. There he found the groom cursing ceaselessly as he treated the deep welts on the roan.
“Rufurt,” Lomax whispered softly to himself. “Rufurt, good king, where are you and who is this impostor who so boldly wears your face?”
CHAPTER 1
Travel
Kelvin was not at all happy about returning to the world of silver serpents, but Kian had asked him to please come and be his best man, and their father was after all going to attend. It was, he vowed, going to be the last time he'd travel there. If Kian and Lonny wanted to visit, let them come here, or better yet, let them move here and live here. This world was the way a world should be, without monstrous silver serpents that could swallow a person or capture his soul. Of course in this world there were golden dragons, who had been known to gulp people down, but that was natural.
He was seeing things more clearly as the five of them rode along. His wife Heln was accompanying them as far as the palace ruins, as was his sister Jon. Heln was getting into the later stages of her pregnancy, but she had insisted, to his mixed pleasure and dismay.
“I still say,” Jon said in her argumentative way as her horse pulled up alongside his, “that a pointy-eared person could use the transporter.”
“Yes, Jon, once,” he replied patiently. “Then there'd be no point-eared person and no transporter.”
“You can't know that!”
“I know it certainly enough. Look, Brother Wart, has Mouvar ever lied to us? You know what that parchment says.”
“Well, it just doesn't seem right,” Jon fumed. “And I've asked you not to call me that. It makes people think there's a big mole on my nose or something. It might have been cute when I was little and dressed up like a boy, but now-- “
“Right, Sister Wart.”
Jon, as was her custom, raised a hand as if to strike him. Kelvin pulled back on his reins so that she rode ahead and he now rode beside his growing wife.
“Teasing Jon again?” Heln asked, flashing him a grin.
“She started it.”
“She always does, doesn't she? Why is it you two can't act like adults?”
“Because we're brother and irritant,” Kelvin said, proud of having thought of it.
Predictably, Jon turned in her saddle and stuck her tongue out.
“Now that's really adult behavior. Ladylike, too.”
Jon said some naughty words that drew an immediate frown from Heln and a bit of amused head-shaking on the part of Kelvin's father. “Who's a lady, you-- you-- ” Jon demanded.
“She's got you now, Kel,” John Knight interjected. “Ever since St. Helens showed up and talked about Female Liberation she hasn't wanted to be one.”
“She never did, Father. You didn't grow up with her as I did. If she could have grown a penis she'd have done it.”
“Darn tootin’,” Jon said, affecting one of St. Helens’ cleaner expressions.
“Somehow I don't think Les would have approved,” Kelvin remarked, referring to Jon's absent husband and his own good friend. “But she would have interests appropriate to her anatomy.”
“Kelvin, that's enough!” Heln scolded. Jon, seemingly taken aback, merely rode on ahead.
“I'd think she'd get over that,” Kelvin said.
“Kelvin, you really have to grow up a little! You and your sister both.”
“Yes, Mama,” Kelvin said.
For a moment, just a moment, Heln looked as if she'd stick her tongue out. Little crinkles formed at the corners of her mouth but she managed not to laugh.
Kelvin got her message. She really was annoyed with him and she wanted him to appreciate it. Well, he appreciated. So maybe he'd try not to tease his sister as constantly. He just hoped she was resolving the same about him.
John and Kian had been all but dozing on their horses. Kelvin could imagine that both were thinking of their return to the land of silver serpents and of Lonny. Kian hadn't any doubt he could wed Lonny, and John really seemed smitten with the former queen who so resembled Kian's own mother in outward aspect. But why was he, Kelvin, returning? he had to ask himself. Why when Heln was carrying their baby and might need him, and couldn't use dragonberries to separate her astral self at this time? Why? Because he was John Knight's son and Kian was his half brother. Because each of them had saved the other's life. Because they were roundears on a world where roundears were uncommon, and kin. As his mother Charlain had said repeatedly, claiming it was a saying from John Knight's Earth: “Blood is thicker, Kelvin. Blood is thicker than air, earth, fire, or water. It's stronger than any magic, any witchcraft.” So what did that mean? he'd asked, and she had talked about kinship.
John suddenly spoke. “I never knew the ruins were so far away.”
“It's the riding,” Kian said. “You're not used to it.”
“That's for certain,” John said. “To ease my backside I'm tempted to use the belt.” He referred, of course, to the levitation belt that had been in the Mouvar chamber and was now around Kelvin's waist.
“That wouldn't look right, Father. You know how nervous people get when they see magic.” Kian himself had once been nervous about such things.
“Science! Confound it, science! Magic is-- magic is what that witch had and that the Mouvar weapon put a stop to.”
“But then it has to be magic, doesn't it, Father?”
“No! At least I don't think so. It's antimagic, so it can't be magic. It has to be science.”
“You know,” Kelvin said thoughtfully, speaking up and surprising himself, “it just could be we're in some sort of war. Not a war between armies, exactly, but between science and magic.”
“Horse droppings!” Jon said. As happened more and more frequently these days it was a slightly more acceptable version of an expression used by Heln's father.
“Now I don't know there, Jon,” John said, easing himself up in the stirrups. “Kelvin just might have something. Back on Earth there was sometimes talk about a war between faith and technology. That was not the same as here, in this frame, or in that frame with the silver serpents, but it's close. Mouvar seems to have science, albeit advanced. The citizens of this world, and the one we're going to, don't. Here or there a sorcerer might fly with a spell, but on Mouvar's world or mine it would be with a mechanical apparatus or belt.”
“That's different?” Jon inquired. For once there was no sarcasm. She must really be curious, Kelvin realized.
“Well, I'd say so. But then you have to remember that I'm from a world and a culture where magic wasn't. As a boy I often wished there was magic, but then there were cars and radios and TV sets and airplanes. Unfortunately there were also scientific horrors that I don't like to think about.”
“Horseless carriages, talking boxes, glass with moving pictures of sometimes living and sometimes dead people in them,” Jon enumerated with satisfaction. “Though why anyone should want to listen to corpses talking I sure don't know! Machines that fly and what you called atomic explosions. Gee, Father, what would life have been for you if you had just called it magic?”
“Only Mouvar knows,” John said. Then, fast, as if correcting a blunder, “I mean Mouvar's people, of course. And possibly others who have lived with both.”
“Both magic and science? You think that possible?”
“That's what I was asking, Sister Wart,” Kelvin said. So much for resolutions, he thought. But the seriousness of the subject seemed to nullify the previous conversation. “I mean, you take these gauntlets, for instance.” He raised them high, as if for inspection. “Are they one or are they the other or are they both?” r />
John gave a sigh that seemed to owe nothing to the chafing on his backside. “You know I wish I could decide. The gauntlets seem magic, but then so do many things that are science.”
“I personally don't see what it matters,” Jon said. “If something works, why not just accept it? Why did people on Earth have to deny magic anyway?”
“There you've got me,” John said. “Magic doesn't follow natural laws, we are told. Magic doesn't follow our logic, so we say it has no logic. Magic, simply, unequivocally, can never, ever exist. Why? Because magic is impossible, that's why.”
“That sounds stupid,” Jon said.
“I agree. Magic does exist here, now. But on Earth where I grew up things were entirely different. To say you believed in magic was to be laughed at, or worse.”
“Well I for one don't believe in science!” Jon said stoutly. She was so emphatic that each of them were forced to laugh. When the laughter died down, and her face was flaming, John gave her a most serious look.
“You have to believe in cause and effect, Jon. That's what science basically is. If something happens it has a cause. I still believe that, only today I often don't know the cause and so I accept with other people that the cause is magic. I admit it took me some time to get this far. Beliefs are hard to change.”
“Like the transporter,” Jon said. “And the spell on it that will destroy it and me if I try to use it.”
“If you say so, Jon. To me it's science, but the results are certain to be the same. You and Heln rest overnight and then go home, once we reach the ruins. I know you'd like to follow, but I know too, as you must, that your trying to follow would be disastrous.”
*
“I ... know,” Jon said. Then in a very small, slightly defiant voice: “Magic.”
Late that day Jon repeated her now legendary feat of downing a game bird with her sling. They all enjoyed a hearty meal and a good night's sleep. At least Kelvin slept well, he reflected as they approached the site of the old palace, its blackened stones and burned timbers looking ghostly in the morning mist. He wasn't sure about the others.