"Aye," said Mirth, "on Unity!"
"We concur on Duality," Tragedy explained.
"They can't even agree on what they agree on," Rod said to the doppelganger, exasperated.
"Oh, they do, if you look at it the right way." The doppelganger tilted his head way to the side. "I mean, after all, the Duality is just the two aspects of Eternity."
"Not you, too," Rod groaned. "Look, can we get down to basics here?" He turned back to the two-faced man. "Which way should we go?"
"To the right," said Mirth; so of course:
"To the left," said Tragedy.
"Got a coin?" Rod asked the doppelganger.
"Why?"
" 'Cause I'm ready to flip."
"Chance brings disaster," Tragedy intoned.
"Chance may bring happiness," Mirth responded.
"Why did I know that was coming?" Rod muttered. He looked up at Fess. "Can you make sense out of all this?"
"Not readily," Fess answered. "However, I do detect a slight depression in the snow between the two paths of the fork."
Rod whirled, staring."I don't see anything."
"It is a matter of averaging the bumps in the snow, Rod."
"I'll take your word for it." Rod stepped forward toward the center.
"Back!" cried Mirth.
"You must not go there!" cried Tragedy.
"At last," muttered the doppelganger, "something they agree on."
Both faces whirled toward him at the same moment—or tried to. The only real result was that the two-faced man lurched aside, and Rod dodged past him.
"Stop!" shrieked Mirth.
"Avoid moderation!" lamented Tragedy.
But Rod was kicking the snow aside, and discovered a very faint, but discernible, track. "Come on," he said to the doppelganger, who jumped to follow him.
The two-faced man lumbered into motion, following them with the ungainly stride of a man who is of two minds about an issue, reaching out with clumsy arms. "The Middle Way is forbidden!"
"There is nothing amusing in synthesis!"
Fess took two leaps and stood astride the trail between the two Rods and the two-faced man, who blundered into him with a loud "Oo/!" and rebounded, falling over his own feet and collapsing. He was scrabbling back up in a minute, but Fess had turned away, and the guardian of extremes found himself facing a horsetail.
With a sigh and a shake of his head, he turned back to face the single trail again.
Rod had to kick his way through leafless ground vines, last year's leaves and fallen sticks, to find the path. He was glad he favored stout boots, and kept them heavily waxed. "I assume this will take us someplace."
"Someplace not overly favored by those who search for fame and fortune, at a guess," the doppelganger returned.
"Well, yes," Rod agreed, "but not too many of those find either one, do they?"
The doppelganger shrugged. "Myself, I wouldn't know. I keep trying for obscurity."
Rod nodded. "I know the feeling. All I want is a calm, peaceful, quiet, contented existence."
"Wonder why we never get it?" the doppelganger mused.
"Because we want it, of course… Whoa! What's this?"
Rod had parted a screen of brush, and they found themselves staring out at a broad road on top of a ridge.
"It's the King's Highway." said the doppelganger softly.
Rod grinned. "Of course. We go looking for a quiet life, and what do we find?"
"I'll take the low road," the doppelganger said quickly.
"But you'll get the high one," Rod answered. "Come on—let's see what tranquillity and solitude await us here."
It was out onto the highway then with Fess scrambling up behind them. They mounted the great iron steed and set off down the middle of the road.
The chill deepened as the sky darkened. To make matters worse, the trees began to crowd in at either side of the road.
"Maybe we ought to stop and consider digging in for the night," the doppelganger suggested.
"Just what I was thinking." Rod shivered. "A nice campfire and some roasting pheasants…"
A huge snarling yowl tore the stillness, and six strapping figures leaped out of the woods, three on each side, muscles rippling under fur. They stood upright like men, but had the heads of cats. Their feet were encased in boots, but their arms ended in genuine hands, albeit fur-covered and clawed; and they wore knee-length mail-shirts, criscrossed by weapons belts.
They attacked with feline screams, two of them leaping for Fess's bridle; but the great black horse tossed his head, knocking one of them aside, and struck the other away with a hoof.
Rod spun around on the horse's rump, drawing his sword and dagger, setting his back against the doppelganger's. A huge cat-man sprang up on the horsehair, scimitar swinging down. Rod parried, just barely managing to keep his blade intact, and riposted. The point struck a leather belt, skidded, and scored through fur. The cat shrank back, screaming—and slipped off the rump. Another landed in its place, splitting and snarling, sword flashing around in a flat arc. Rod ducked and lurched forward, hooking upward with his dagger. A tremendous shock jarred him, but he held his place, and the cat screamed, its eyes beginning to dull even as it slipped back and away.
Then, suddenly, it was over. Two dead cats lay staining the snow with their blood, and the other four were fleeing back into the trees, spitting and snarling. Rod stared in surprise, then turned with a grin. "I don't know what you managed to do to them, O alter ego, but you…"
The doppelganger slumped, slipped out of the saddle, and sprawled on the ground.
Rod stared in shock.
"Rod?" Fess asked. "What has happened?"
"Can't you see?" Rod leaped down and knelt beside his own huddled form. "Where'd they get you? Quick! Maybe I can staunch the flow!"
"Too… late…" the doppelganger gasped. "Carotid… cut…"
It was true. The whole front of his doublet was soaked in blood.
"What happened? No, don't answer—one of them got past your guard. With those claws, one swipe would do it." Rod leaped up and dug through the saddlebag frantically. "Got to be something in here! Fess, I told you we should have packed some plasma!"
"Don't… trouble…"the doppelganger gasped.
"Don't trouble!" Rod whirled back down, staring at his own wan visage. "I can't let you die!"
"Do," the doppelganger urged. "Don't… trouble… I'll be back when… you need…"
His voice trailed off, and his eyes dulled.
Rod stared, kneeling, frozen in the snow.
"Rod."
"Not now!" Rod glanced up at Fess in irritation, but when he turned back to the doppelganger, he was gone. There wasn't even a hollow in the snow to show where he had been.
Rod stared.
"What has happened, Rod?"
"Six cat-men just attacked us,'' Rod heard himself explaining. "We killed two…" He glanced around. "I don't see them, either… And we chased off the rest. But one of them slit my double's throat."
"I had surmised as much," the robot sympathized. "But how shall we bury him, when the ground is frozen?"
'Rod glanced up at him in irritation. "Come off it! You know he wasn't really there."
Then he stopped, startled by his own words.
"Neither were the bandits," Fess told him. "There were only two peasants, dressed in remarkably well kept brown jerkins and leggins. You drove them off."
But Rod wasn't listening. He was staring at the barren, unstained snow and muttering, "All the monsters we meet can't do more damage than cat-men do. Damn! Just when I thought I was getting to know myself, too!"
He sighed, mounted Fess, and turned away from the road, riding deeper into the forest.
Chapter Four