The opacity of the force-field exploded into man-form. One robot was lifted into the air and swung about by the legs so that its head crashed into the wall, hard. There was a blue flash of electricity as its wiring shorted; it was done for.
Already Hulk was turning on the other robot. But this one retained its hold on Bluette. Hulk could not get at it without going through her.
Without pause. Hulk turned back to the first robot, picked it up again by the feet, and smashed it into the wall again. Then he jumped on it, caught hold of one of its arms, and wrenched the limb up and around. His muscles bulged hugely as he strained—and the arm broke off, trailing wires. He worked it all the way free. “That man is beautiful,” Sheen said.
“They kidnapped more than they bargained on,” Stile agreed with grim satisfaction. “Hulk is the over-thirty serf wrestling champion, and he knows free-fighting too. Now he is armed, with only one robot left to disable. He has a fair chance.”
Hulk stalked the robot with his improvised weapon.
“Turn her loose, machine. You can not fight me while you remain encumbered with her.”
The robot retreated uncertainly, but retained its hold on Bluette, “What’s this?” the captor screamed. “You are not the Blue Adept!”
“I never said I was,” Hulk replied, baring his teeth in a fighting grin. “I’m his bodyguard.” He smashed his club at the robot, catching it on the back of the head. It let Bluette go, and she limped hastily away.
“Kill them both!” the captor screamed, enraged.
Hulk stood facing the robot, but he spoke to Bluette. “Go to the body. Open the chest cavity. Take out the breathing mask. Put it on and flee. I will occupy this machine.”
“I can’t go without you!” Bluette cried.
“You must go before the witch summons other help. Go to your Employer; bring a rescue mission here. Don’t let the robot make you hostage again. I need this chamber clear to fight it properly.”
“Yes,” she said, quickly getting the mask. “You are a bold, brave man, and I think I could love you in time. Follow me if you can; I will go for help.” She walked toward the force-field.
“Stop her!” the captor shouted.
The robot went for the lady—and Hulk went for the robot, smashing violently at its face. But the robot threw up an arm to ward off the blow, and grappled with Hulk. Bluette fled, limping. She knew she could not help, here. The robot tried to go after her, but Hulk clung, using his wrestling expertise. “Deal with him first,” the captor decided. “Kill him, then catch the woman!” Given this unequivocal directive, the robot applied its full force to the task at hand. It had no human weaknesses; it could not be choked or kneed in the crotch or made to yield by pain, and it was the stronger creature here. It was bound by no human scruples. It put one hand in Hulk’s face and closed its metal fingers in the vise-constriction, simultaneously gouging the man’s eyes and ripping out the cartilage of his nose.
Hulk smashed desperately with his weapon, but his leverage was not good. His face was a blind mask of blood. It was. Stile thought with horror, like fighting a wooden golem: no harm could be done to the inanimate, and no mercy was expected. Hulk’s blows dented the metal in several places, but he could not put the machine out of commission. He made one more effort, lifting the machine and squeezing it in a bear-hug and smashing it against the wall, trying to destroy it along with himself. The robot remained functional. It put its other hand up to Hulk’s head, clasped the man with its legs, and twisted the head. There was a snap.
“Oh, God—“ Stile cried, anguished.
“Leave this. Go after the woman!” the captor cried. “I will shut down the field.”
The robot disengaged itself from Hulk’s body and lumbered in the direction Bluette had gone. It had suffered some damage; its motion was hardly faster than hers had been. Meanwhile, the force-field clicked off; the air puffed out of the chamber.
If Hulk was not already dead, he would suffocate shortly.
With a broken neck and no air his situation was hopeless.
The holograph faded out. The recording was over.
CHAPTER 8 - Quest
Stile emerged in Phaze at the familiar spot south of the Blue Demesnes. Suddenly his will coalesced. He opened his bag and brought out the magic Flute and played it hard and long. His power gathered to him as the platinum notes pealed forth. Almost, it seemed, the mountain trembled—but not quite. This instrument was the finest he had played, but he knew he could not keep it. When he found the person who could play it better than he—
But at the moment something else preempted his attention. As he played, the words came to him. In a moment he stopped playing and cried it out savagely: “Of the one who killed mine other self, the one who slew my friend, I, Stile, the Blue Adept, swear to make an end!” The magic oath flung outward, making the ground ripple, the trees tremble, and the welkin waver. Pine needles burst into flame. From the Purple Mountains a rumbling echo came back like the voice of a monster: “end . . . end ... end.” Then lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rolled down. A startled griffin shot up and away to the west. A quick wash of water descended, extinguishing the local flame, leaving wet ashes. His oath had shaken the firmament, but it couldn’t bring his friend back. Stile leaned against a scorched tree and cried.
Neysa and the Lady Blue were waiting for him expectantly at the Demesnes. As soon as they saw him, they knew something was wrong.
“Hulk is dead,” Stile said bluntly. “Mine enemy killed him, in lieu of me. I have sworn vengeance.”
“The sudden storm to the south,” the Lady said. “Thine oath! I thought it no natural occurrence.”
“Mine oath,” Stile agreed. Quickly he filled in the details of the tragedy. “And I know not whether thine other self survives. Lady,” he finished. “I fear I have unwittingly brought demise upon Bluette. I should not have suggested to Hulk that he—“
“Nay,” the Lady said. She exchanged glances with Neysa, and the unicorn blew a small note of assent and left the room.
Stile felt his burden increase. “It is meet that she rebuke me,” he said. “Others have paid the penalty for mine er-rors.”
“She rebuked thee not,” the Lady said. “She knows thou didst seek only to do a favor for thy friend. It was thine enemy at fault.”
“I should have anticipated—“
“So should my Lord have anticipated the threat against him, by the ill hands of the same enemy. So also should I have known to warn him. There is guilt enough to go 2around.” She crossed to him and put her hands on his shoulders, and he felt their healing power. “We were all of us well-meaning and naive. We could not believe that genuine evil stalked us.”
“And thee,” Stile said, not meeting her gaze. “It was thine other self I involved in this. I had no right—“
“To pass her to another man? She surely has will of her own! Thy friend was no bad person; I think she might have warmed to him, had she no other commitment. Certainly she would make her own choice, in her own time.” And the Lady Blue surely knew.
“Thou hast no resentment, that I did not—?”
“Did not court her thyself, and bereave the Blue Demesnes a second time? Even were the danger naught, it matters not. An I decline thy suit for myself, why should I be jealous of what attention thou mightest pay to mine other self? She would like thee well enough, I think.”
“But I did not court her!” Stile protested, in his distraction looking into her lovely face.
“And am I to feel insulted that it is I alone thou seekest, not my likeness in another frame?”