"It appeared that there were two riders."
"I know."
"You were there on the day of the battle, Stel. Was that one of the old dragons of Kondoval?"
"All dragons look alike to me. But the riders... One of them looked like Devil Det himself, younger and stronger than I ever saw him."
"Woe!"
"Alas!"
"Go and spread the word among the folk. And we had best talk with the men of the villages, and with old Mor."
"Mor is gone, A Wise One--Grane--said that he walked the golden road and will not return."
"Then things are becoming difficult. Go! I will investigate farther."
"You would enter the castle yourself?"
"Go! Do as I say! Now!"
The youths obeyed her. They knew the look in her eye, and they still feared her hoofs.
During his evening explorations, Mouseglove was attracted by a series of screams emerging from a small, barred window. Approaching, he ventured one quick glance through the opening, then ducked into a pool of shadow to digest what he had seen and, if possible, to eavesdrop.
The first impression had shaken him. But upon reflection, he wondered whether the small man in the reclining chair had indeed been covered with snakes. The black things did seem overlong to qualify for serpenthood, and their farther ends did all appear to be attached to the large metal box nearby. Also, their movements could have been a result of the man's own thrashings. Mark had stood nearby with a small metal case in his hand, turning something on the face of the unit.
He listened to the shrieks a little longer, wondering for what offense the man might be undergoing discipline. Wondering, too, whether anything was to be gained by remaining, or by venturing another look.
There was silence. He waited, but the cries did not resume. He decided to remain. There came faint sounds of movement from within.
Finally, he could bear it no longer. He rose for another glimpse.
Mark, facing away from the window, was detaching what now appeared to be a series of shiny black ropes from the suppine form, coiling them and placing them in compartments within the large box. The smaller man's eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. When the last of the leads were removed, he stirred weakly. Mark passed him a glass of something pink and he drank from it.
"How do you feel?" the large man asked.
"Shaky," the other replied, flexing his arms, his legs. "But everything's all right again."
"Did it hurt?"
"No. Not really."
"You screamed a lot."
"I know. Some were blue, but most were red."
"The screams?"
"Yes. And I could smell them."
"Excellent. You were a brave man to volunteer for this, and I want to thank you."
"I was happy to serve."
"Tell me more about it."
"I tasted the colors, too--and the sounds."
"It was a fine mix, then. Pity it only has such a short range. There are all sorts of problems in scaling it up, too ... I wish I had more time."
"What do you call the--thing that did it?"
Mark hefted the small unit.
"For want of a better name, I call it a jumble box. It smears your sensory inputs, mixes them. Instant synesthesia."
The man gestured toward the huge unit to his right.
"That didn't do it? Just the little one you're holding?"
"That's right. The other just recorded what was happening. If you didn't hurt, tell me why you cried out so much?"
"I--I couldn't understand what was happening. Everything was still there, but it was changed ... It scared me."
"No pain?"
"No one place that hurt. Just a--feeling that disaster was coming. Most of the time, it kept getting worse. Sometimes, though--"
"What?"
"There were moments of great pleasure."
"You were able to count all right."
"Yes... Most of the numbers were yellow. Some tasted sour."
"Did you feel you could have gotten up, walked about?"
"Maybe. If I'd have thought of it. It was hard to think. Too much was wrong."
"You are a brave man, and I thank you again. I will not forget this service. Now, let's test your reflexes."
Mouseglove heard some instruments being shifted about. Silently, he slid off through the night.
It was difficult for Stel to place her hoofs quietly on stone and tile unless she moved very slowly. This she did, however, with the patience of a huntress and former commando.
Memories returned to her as she passed through the great hall where she had stood dripping blood and sweat that final day of the battle. Ah! the stallions had had much work that night...She recalled the sorcerers' confrontation, and her eyes automatically sought that ruined area of ceiling which had settled Det for good, before he could call upon his hidden powers. Much of the rubble beneath had been cleared for the removal of his body. She recalled how Mor had borne it away into the west....
She paused periodically and stood listening. Her ears pricked forward. There were voices. Somewhere up higher, to the left.
She crossed the gallery, came to the foot of the stair, halted again. Yes, up there...
Slowly, keeping near to the wall, she began to climb. The place appeared to be in better condition than she had remembered.
As she made her way along the hall, the voices came louder. To her right now, that third door...
She noted that the door was ajar. Approaching, she stopped directly beside it. She heard nothing from within, not even the sounds of breathing. Venturing farther forward, she looked around the corner, then drew back in puzzlement.
The couple had just seated themselves, facing one another--the young man with the white streak through his hair and the slim blonde girl. But... These were the same people she had seen departing on dragonback. She had not seen them return. Strange...
She looked again.
More than strange...
The girl's face seemed to be melting, pieces of it falling, drifting away, decomposing in the air. The man--who still bore a striking resemblance to old Det--seemed totally oblivious to the fact that portions of his left arm and right thigh appeared to be unravelling, as though he were composed of thin strips of cloth wound about nothing.
Fascinated, Stel did not retreat, but stared in frank astonishment as the couple came apart. Finally, she moved forward and entered the room. What was left of the pair paid her no heed whatsoever.
"Lovely weather."
"Yes ..."
The man's face now began to melt, the girl's garments ran from her body like liquid, drifted in the air currents like strands of silk. Their conversation continued.
"...Though it could rain."
"That is true."
The man rose to his foot and crossed to the girl.
"You have lovely eyes."
She rose slowly.
Stel watched them embrace, losing larger and larger pieces of themselves every moment, to drift tinsel-like before her, fading from view as they crossed the room.
"I-arrooowarnn ..."
The words slowed and deepened, the mouths were gone, the hair went up like smoke. Another half-minute, and they had intertwined and vanished. Stel whinnied and backed away. She had never before seen the like of it. Superstitious dreads rose to harry her.
The prototype blue-bellied, gray-backed tracer-bird now focussed its attention upon her as she circled the room, studying it carefully without paying real attention to the opened atlas, as she retreated out the door and into the corridor beyond, her hoofs clattering rapidly as she passed down the corridor.
Mouseglove heard the great doors opening below and made it to an appropriate vantage in time to see the metal birdforms launched like blown leaves into the dark sky, where they rose to swirl beneath stars, then assumed a formation which tightened itself as it wound and unwound, took its course and passed in a direction he deemed to be roughly southeast. This troubled him as he made his way to the surveillance center. He managed the approach once more and heard Mark within, cursing and giving orders. The one glimpse he got of the screens showed nothing of interest.