A spectacle which had lasted for hours.
Sitting on the rolling plain, head bowed, mind aching from the strain of long concentration, Dumarest continued the show. The armies had marched, the combat craft lacing the skies, their weapons creating a threnody of awesome noise. Sound and light which he hoped would be noticed. A mock battle fought from the depths of his memory, given verisimilitude by his own experiences, set as a stage piece to attract a child.
Red set to strive against blue, yellow as an ally, green as a background, orange and purple and violet as minor instruments in the orchestration, swaths and strands of metallic colors to lace the whole into a composite pattern of noise and light which followed the dictates of his mind.
His mind-could it exist beyond his imagination?
And, even if she noticed it, would she be interested enough or curious enough to investigate its cause?
Then a flare died even as he brought it into being. A blaze of expanding light was snuffed and turned into a smoldering ember. A tide of pale cerise washed the sky bringing tranquility and silence.
A whirlpool spun in midair.
A swirling mass of luminous vapor which appeared and swept in diminishing circles to land before Dumarest and to remain a spindle of rapid motion from which sparkled little flashes of brilliance.
It moved toward him and he stepped back to find a wall halting his progress. A tall mass of chiseled stone which moved as he moved and halted when he came to rest. As the spindle advanced a shimmer grew before it, a barrier which halted it as the wall halted Dumarest. Then, abruptly, the whirlpool collapsed in a heap of sand and a man stepped forward and bowed.
"Greetings from Her Majesty the most noble and illustrious Queen Iduna, owner of this world and all within it, supreme head of the forces of good and evil, ruler of all things. Your name and disposition?"
Dumarest gave it, looking at the questioner, seeing a tall figure wearing bizarre armor, his face stern beneath a helmet. A dark, strong face, one cheek scarred, the mouth puckered, the eyes deep-set and darkly brown. A sword hung in a scabbard at his side.
"Earl Dumarest," the man said. "Lord of Earth and Defender of Right. What would you with my lady?"
"That I'll tell her."
"First you tell me." The man dropped his hand to the hill of his word. "I am Virdius, Herald, Champion, a Lord of High Renown."
And, Dumarest guessed, a figment of an active imagination. A doll created by a child for her own amusement as had been the grandiose titles and adoption of power. Iduna, a child with a child's mind and a child's attention to detail. Of course a queen would have a champion-and what else would she be here but a queen? And who else would she respect but another claiming titles and rank of distinction?
A game it did no harm to play.
Dumarest said coldly, "The Lord of Earth does not bandy words with a mere underling. Tell your mistress that I crave audience. And remind her that she has seen a little of my power."
"A meaningless gesture. No rules had been set. No forfeit decided."
"I-"
"Have come to play with my mistress and that is good. I hope that you can play better than the others. Now, for a beginning, you must win to the castle. I will be your guide. If you are beaten you must promise to pay a forfeit."
"And if I win?"
"Then you will be invited inside. It's a good game, Earl Dumarest, and one you'll enjoy. Say you'll agree."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll be a spoil-sport."
And perhaps lose his chance of meeting Iduna. If nothing else she would know the laws governing this place better than he and there was no point in putting off the meeting.
"I agree. How do I start? Which way is the castle?"
"It isn't your move yet," said Virdius seriously. "First the queen moves then you then her again. And you mustn't cheat. If you do you will spoil the game. Now, it's her move." He fell silent for a moment. "There!"
Dumarest felt the ground vanish from beneath his feet.
Chapter Seven
There was a moment of utter confusion, a sense of falling into an infinite darkness, then Dumarest turned, his boots hitting dirt, to see the sward had vanished to be replaced by the familiar black, volcanic sand. Grit which could hide lurking dangers and it changed as he looked at it into a field of solid ice.
"A good move," said Virdius. "You play well. I can tell that."
"By my first move?"
"Your second. First you stopped yourself falling then you changed the field into ice."
And Iduna turned it into water.
Dumarest sank, feeling the warm wetness lave his face, striking out to float as he considered the situation. A game of unknown rules yet he was getting the drift. A point he had to reach and one she would prevent him from making. Difficulties compounded and, if he should be unable to meet each new challenge with a defense, then she would have won. But what now? A boat to rescue him from drowning? A raft to lift him from the waves? To turn the sea into soil? A choice of almost infinite possibilities but once taken it would be her turn to move again and, if he was to play the game, she must be allowed to have it. But he must leave the sea. Like the sand it could hold too many dangers. But a raft could be grounded and a boat could be made to founder.
The log was safer.
It rested beneath his hands, rough, yet the bark not too rough to hold small but vicious insects, slimed but not slimed enough to make footing impossible. To Virdius he said, "In which direction lies the castle?"
"It rests in the place it occupies."
"Obviously. Where is that?"
"At the point where it is."
Riddles, yet the man was supposed to be his guide. Or maybe not. What had he said? "I am to guide you." Guide how? To what? Iduna, it seemed, had a peculiar sense of humor.
And it was her move.
The log rolled a little, began to pitch as a screaming wind suddenly lashed the water to foam. Lightning danced and sent clouds of vapor exploding from where it struck, the roar of thunder, the pounding impact of ceaseless explosions.
A storm which died as abruptly as it had started, to leave calm water and a shore edged with shining-leaved trees.
Trees which sprouted tendrils as Dumarest neared them, weaving coils of menace which changed into drooping fronds masking a rising landscape which turned into a crevassed slope emitting noxious fumes.
Which winds blew away.
Which gave birth to dragons.
Which vanished beneath a pall of snow.
Beyond the crest of the summit ran smooth ground dotted with copses and graced with the silvery thread of a river. A thread which carried the eye up and onward to the loom of somber mountains backing something which flashed like a tumbled handful of sparkling gems.
"The castle," said Virdius. "I said I would guide you."
To the final stages of the game. But the castle was far and it was the girl's move. Dumarest waited for it, confident he could take what she offered and counter it as he had done before. Playing a game no different in basic detail from that played by children everywhere with their verbalized use of objects-rock, paper, shears-each having power over another, each nullified by the correct pairing. A game she must have played often in the past.
When would she make her move?
Virdius said, "There is no obligation on her to make it. And if you move out of turn then you will have cheated and lost the game and must pay the forfeit."
A child?
Dumarest looked at the terrain, noting the greenness of the vegetation, guessing at the swampy nature of the ground it covered. To cover it would take time and effort and always would be the possibility of danger only avoided by his making a "move." And, if he did so, then he would have lost the game.