“I was counting on a supernatural advantage, magician.”
“You will have it. Fire spells, forfending spells, zone-of-death curses, everything.”
“But you are more skilled than any apprentice, and skill is all in these things.”
“The spells are simple, because magic — here, at least — is a simple matter. And not very potent, either. I have told you many times that if you win the day, it will be by dint of superior military talent and cunning. These you have in adequate supply.”
“That I’m capable is true enough. But any extra leverage, however slight, is desirable.” Gart threw down the haunch and picked up a wineskin. “I’m afraid you will have to stay, magician.”
The magician said quietly, “I’m afraid that will not be possible.”
Gart tilted the skin and a stream of wine poured into his mouth. He grimaced and spat it out, threw down the skin. “Soured! Damn that provisioner. I’ll have him hoisted by his stones and left to savor like a game hen.”
The magician was silent.
Avoiding the other man’s gaze, Gart searched the night sky. The fire crackled, and insects buzzed.
Suddenly the warlord’s head swung around, mouth twisted into a sneer. “Very well, go! You know I can’t force you to stay. Bear in mind, though — I won’t forget. When next the nobles sit in council, I will vote against you on every issue! I will be a thorn in your foot, a canker on your lip. I will block you!”
“You would do that, anyway.”
“I’ll … damn it all to hell!” Gart got to his feet, picked up the mutton and heaved it out into the darkness. Grunting in disgust, he stalked away.
The magician stared into the fire for a moment, watching it glow and pulsate and send puffs of smoke into the night — cryptic signals.
He went back to his tent and packed his things. He didn’t have much. He stuffed the satchel, gathered up his maps and battle plans, and left.
He went to Jarlen’s tent and woke him.
Jarlen blinked. “Master?”
“I’m leaving. Think you can carry on without me tomorrow?”
“You won’t be here?” Jarlen sat up. “I don’t know. I … I think so. Perhaps.”
“Uh, could you be more definite?”
Jarlen rubbed his eyes. Then he nodded. “I can do it.”
“That’s more like it.” He handed the boy a sheaf of papers. “Here are the battle plans. You’ve seen them before. Study them, then burn them before the battle. Draw your pentacles straight and true. And don’t muff any incantations. If you do, you’ll have to start over from the beginning.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. Get up. You’ve got work to do.”
Jarlen struggled out of his bedclothes.
“Come see me off, then go wake the other lads. You’ll need all their help.”
“Master, may I ask where you’re going?”
“Home.”
“Your estate?”
“My castle.”
“The one in a far country, where you are known by a different name?”
“That one.”
They walked to where the horses were tethered. The magician tied his satchel to the saddle, then mounted.
“Master?”
“Yes, Jarlen?”
“May I ask some questions which I have never dared ask you before?”
“Shoot.”
“Is it true what they say about your castle?”
“What do they say?”
“That it is enchanted, and that it is at the center of all things.”
“It’s very enchanted. And it is conveniently located.”
“Is your castle in this world or another?”
“Another.”
“How will you get there?”
“With great difficulty. In order to cast an effective teleportation spell, I must go to a place of power in this world.”
“Where?”
“The best candidate is the Temple of the Universes in Timur.”
“In the land of the ancient Mizzerites? But that is a journey of months, and you will have to go through enemy territory!”
“Tell me about it. The time element I think I can handle, though. I can go by way of Arvad and the Timeless Forest. If I can catch a hellwind, I can get to Timur in a matter of days.”
“But the Timeless Forest is dangerous.”
“Quite. Frankly I’m scared shitless. I don’t know what’s going to be worse, getting home or dealing with all the crap when I do get there.”
“You will succeed, Master. You are a great magician.”
“Well, thanks. By the way, forget the ‘Master’ stuff. Call me by my proper name. Incarnadine.”
Jarlen was awed. “You are the Incarnadine of legend?”
“Don’t take too much stock in legends, kid.”
“You speak strangely now, with a strange accent. You must be from another world.”
“I spent a lot of time on a different world from the one I was born in. It’s called Earth, and sometimes I fall into its speech patterns. Never mind, I must be going.”
Incarnadine looked out into the darkness, then turned again to his apprentice. “Good luck tomorrow, but let me tell you something. If Gart gets his ass beat, it’s no big deal. The barbarians just want a little fun. They have no intention of invading Merydion. This I know because I know their leader, Nagok. Met him when I was exploring the outlands. We used to go wenching together. Nice guy, if a little rough around the edges.”
“I will remember, Incarnadine.”
“Keep a tight anus.”
Incarnadine reined the horse’s head around and rode away.
Jarlen watched the man disappear into darkness. Then he calmly walked back to his tent. He needed more sleep.
To hell with Gart!
Seven
Castle — Hall of Mirrors
Sir gene regarded his many selves.
There were any number of them, all reflections in the numerous mirrors lining the chamber, regressing to infinity. Each seemed to have its own scheme, the machinations furrowing every brow. Furious thinking was going on.
What was known? Just this: that this place was the castle, but it was not the castle he knew. It had its Incarnadine, and indeed its Sir Gene, but was a different thing altogether. This castle’s Sir Gene — or simple “Gene”; obviously the fellow was made of commoner clay — had temporarily left Perilous. That much had been gleaned from chance encounters with servants who had been surprised to find him still about.
He also knew from Tyrone that Incarnadine was away. This datum was a peg on which a whole new career could be hung, if action could be taken quickly enough.
But what action?
He needed allies. There was no end of possibilities. Presumably this castle had access to as many worlds as the other. The same worlds? Similar, but altered? Perhaps entirely different worlds. The truth would have to be ascertained. In any event, enlisting allies among the various universes would be the thing to do, as always. He had had partial success using this tactic.
He would need accomplices in the castle. But he could not rely on his castlemates here being exact duplicates mentally as well as physically. He would have to feel them out one by one.
He left the Hall of Mirrors and walked the hallways, thinking. He had already searched his room. “Gene” was a spartan sort with very few possessions, and what he had was not very useful. There was no cache of weapons, no interesting books or papers, no lists of potential supporters or enemies to be eliminated. Not that a shrewd conspirator would leave such lying about; but then Sir Gene himself had not been altogether cagey. After all, he had been caught!
How long would Gene be gone? It was vital that he find out. How could his unexpected return be explained? He owed no answer to the servants, but to satisfy the Guests he would have to come up with something.
Of course the simplest thing to do would be to get rid of the double. How? By lying low in the castle and waiting for the double’s return. Then pounce, a quick kill, and dump the body through the nearest aspect. Simple enough. But there was no telling when Gene would return. Incarnadine might come back first. Then the game would be lost.