“O, sigh,” she said, not sighing. “What shall we name him?”
“What?”
“Has thou not paid attention, sludge brain? Our foal, an we conceive.”
She changed subjects as readily as she changed her form! “Aren’t you counting chickens before—” He saw her laugh bubbling up again, and corrected himself. “Foals, before they hatch?”
“I ne’er yet saw a foal hatch,” she remarked. “An we make a name for him, he will have to step into it. So what be the name?”
She had already decided on the sex, and now was working on the name. He reached for her, seeking another kiss, but this time she eluded him. “Mayhap combine our two names?”
“Mach, Fleta,” he said, considering, “MA, FL. Mafl?”
“That be more like a sneeze!” she protested. “Mayhap the hind ends?”
“TA, CH,” he said. “Tach?”
“That be more like cloth ripping! Mayhap one of each?”
“FL, CH—Fletch or Flatch?”
“Flach,” she decided, pronouncing it with a soft C.
“Rash?”
“Watch thy language, rovot! Flach.”
“Flach,” he agreed, not changing the pronunciation. Then she stepped up for her kiss.
Now they started up the trail that Mach’s magic told him led to Icebeard’s den. They had to approach slowly, so that the demons had a chance to recognize them; it seemed that the demons were suspicious, hostile folk.
Fleta assumed her natural form, and Mach rode her, deciding that he needed to remain recognizable. He kept alert, though; demons were known to like starting snowslides.
Sure enough, they had not progressed far before there was the rumble of an icy avalanche starting.
Mach snapped his fingers. The sliding snow became white fog, that flowed past them without impact. They proceeded as if nothing had happened.
Farther along, five snow tigers appeared, pouncing in unison. Mach made a tiny gesture, and they became five snow birds, who spread their wings and flapped wildly, not understanding what had happened.
They crested the first foothill, and moved on toward the larger range. A horrendous snowstorm swept in, stirring white tornadoes from the drifts, and hailstones the size of human heads began pelting down.
Mach lifted his gaze and squinted, and the tornadoes lay meekly down on their sides and expired. The hailstones slowed, becoming translucent, and bobbled in the air like balloons, finally popping into nonexistence. The storm thinned to the semblance of a canopy, and slid away to the side, leaving the sky clear.
Fleta snorted musically through her horn. Mach now understood horn language. Her sentiment translated, approximately, into: “Methinks that will teach them not to mess w’ rovot Adepts.”
They moved on without pause. They were approaching the region of the ice caves, where the snow demons lived. Fleta played a merry ditty on her horn, theme and countertheme on the panpipes, as if the two of them had not a care in the frame. Indeed, it seemed they had not; Mach’s Adept magic was proof against all the demon malignance.
A snow demon appeared at the mouth of a cave. His whole body seemed to be made of ice; parts of him were even transparent. “Go ‘way, freaks!” he called in the demon fashion of welcome.
Mach lifted his left little finger. Fire blossomed behind the demon, cutting off his retreat and causing him to leap forward before he melted. He plunged into a snowbank for protection.
“How’s that?” Mach inquired innocently.
“Go melt thy buns in a furnace, flatlander!” the demon snapped.
The snow puffed into steam, leaving the demon exposed. He scrambled up the slope to reach fresh snow.
“We have come to see your leader,” Mach said. “Will you lead us to him?”
“Ne’er!” the demon exclaimed.
A panel of quartz appeared beneath the demon’s feet. Beneath it could be seen the leaping flames of some subterranean conflagration. The snow above it began to melt.
The demon started to retreat, but more panels appeared, surrounding it. “Well, maybe…” he said doubtfully.
The panel beneath him developed a hinge. Slowly the quartz eased down, about to slide whatever was on it into the inferno below.
“…it would be best if I did that,” the demon concluded.
“How nice of you,” Mach said graciously. The quartz ceased its motion, turned opaque, and frosted over.
They followed the demon to the mouth of the largest cave. But he stopped there. “No ‘corns allowed,” he said.
Fleta assumed girlform, huddled in her black cloak. “Do I look like a ‘corn?” she inquired.
“Listen, mare. I just saw thee change!”
A small ball of fire appeared in the air, like a star that had fallen too low.
The demon eyed it nervously. “Look, it’s Icebeard’s law! No animals inside!”
The fireball brightened, resembling the sun on a foggy morning; The demon reconsidered. “Come to think of it, she looks not much like a ‘corn.” He led the way into the cave.
It had been cold outside, but it was colder in the cave. Mach made a spell to warm them both without affecting anything else, and Fleta gave him a glance of appreciation.
A glow, developed in the icy walls, providing wan light that became adequate as their eyes adjusted.
Then the demon leaped ahead. The ceiling cracked, and ice dust sifted down. The tunnel was collapsing!
Mach grimaced. The falling particles became floating motes of fire, that moved forward through the tunnel as if propelled by a stiff draft. As larger chunks came down, they too ignited and shot forward. Whatever was ahead would become quite warm, quite soon.
The ceiling stabilized.
Mach turned to Fleta. “Do you know, the demons seem to live in rather shaky passages. I worry that the entire mountain might fall in on them unexpectedly.” A rumbling developed, and indeed the mountain did seem to be shaking. “If I ever got the suspicion that any of this were deliberate, I might be inclined to hasten that collapse.” The shaking increased, making that collapse seem imminent. “It isn’t smart to annoy an Adept, as I’m sure these demons know.” The shaking became horrendous, so that even Fleta flinched.
The demon reappeared. “Icebeard will see thee now!” he cried.
The mountain was instantly quiet. “I thought he might,” Mach said.
The tunnel opened into a chamber whose walls were curtained with icicles. On a frozen throne sat the leader, whose beard was indeed formed of ice. “So nice to see you, Adept,” the demon leader growled.
“I came to play Pole Chess with you. Do you by chance have time for such a game?”
Icebeard considered, scowling. A distant rumble started. The demon’s aspect changed. “Yes, of course. The Translucent Adept informed me that thou didst wish to practice, and the cause be worthy.”
“Whether the cause is worthy is a matter of opinion, but the issue must be settled, and I mean to do my best. Since you are said to be the best player available to me, I want to practice with you.”
“The best player,” Icebeard said, evidently flattered. “Aye, we shall play.” He glared at a demon messenger. “Frostbite, fetch the board and pieces!”
Fleta looked around, and chose a block of ice to sit on. All she knew of chess was what Mach had told her, but she wanted to watch.
Icebeard glanced at her. “Be thou not cold, filly?”
“Nay, thank thee; I be quite comfortable.”
“Um,” he said, disappointed.
The board and pieces arrived, and they set them up on a stand. The board was a cross-hatched sheet of ice, and the pieces were finely carved ice. Mach made sure his touch was cold, so that he would not damage the chessmen. The figures were elaborate: each pawn was a grotesque little goblin, the castles were coiled dragons, the knights griffins rampant, the bishops thin trolls, the queen a glowering ogress, and the king a crowned demon.