The body was moved, the ritual proceeded, Pol was altered. But none of these seemed particularly important at just that moment. I was undergoing a change, far less physical in nature than Pol's, a thing which raised fascinating and involved speculations on the subjects of free will and determinism. Unfortunately, I did not have time to pursue them just then, for my full attention was required by the change itself: I had changed my mind. I had taken an unstated, barely realized position of not interfering in the affairs of others for as long as I could remember. I suddenly brought it into focus, examined it and decided that the time had arrived to make an exception.
I did not like what was being done to Pol, but I did not possess the expertise necessary to reverse the phenomenon. I would do something, though--what, I was not certain--something to help him return to what was normal for him, so that he could deal with his own enemies as he saw fit.
I thought about it as we descended to the final station. The voice repeating "Faney" had faded. Pol predictably lost his feet at the next stop. I studied Larick in those moments when he was not conducting operations. I saw that he intended to spirit Pol off to Avinconet, where he would be a prisoner, as soon as the night's work was concluded.
When we departed the last station and moved on into the big cavern, I watched as he laid the paralysis upon Pol and began conducting the others outside. It seemed that I might be able to lift the spell which held him there in the alcove, but I was uncertain as to what could be done next.
I followed the first initiate outside, to witness the last phase of things. Then I saw that a number of the masters had come up to accompany their people back into town. Lurking in a secluded spot, Mouseglove watched the cavemouth.
Of course.
I was already working on my plan as I returned to the cavern. When I discovered the sorcerer of the midnight visitation with Pol, however, I halted and observed. There was a great feeling of power about the man.
He began using that power. I saw that he was employing it to reverse the transference. I moved immediately to interfere in a fashion which could not be detected. It was pure impulse on my part, not to see such good materials wasted. The creature's head could be mounted upon a stick by its fellows for all I cared. I made use of the drawstring space pocket as I had seen Pol do for storage purposes.
I saw Pol returned to himself and disguised. It in no way affected my plan when I realized what he intended to do. He would still be operating in an area of considerable danger.
So I sought the body of Krendel, the red-haired man who had died earlier. In that no one else was using it at the moment, I permeated it and set about studying how it worked, I wanted to have it ready soon to run the errand I had conceived of, to Mouseglove, who waited without.
X
The small man slipped through the golden hole in the center of the room and it began to close behind him. A contracting halo, an optical aberration, the view through the opening was not that of the far side of the sumptuous apartment. Instead, the eye followed the dwindling form of the dark-clad man who had passed that way across a high tapestry-hung hall as it approached an arched gallery past pillars dark and light.
Then the wavering lens closed upon itself, flickered and was gone. Ibal slumped back upon the heap of cushions on which he had been sitting bolt upright. His breathing was suddenly deep and rapid; perspiration dotted his brow.
Vonnie, kneeling beside him, delicately blotted his face with a blue silk kerchief.
"There are not many," she said, "can do the door spell well."
He smiled.
"It is a strain," he acknowledged, "and, to tell the truth, not something I'd ever intended to work again. This time, though ..."
"...it was different," she finished.
He nodded.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Recover," he answered.
"You know that is not what I mean."
"All right. Recover and forget. I've given him a hand. My honor is satisfied."
"Is it? Really?"
He sighed.
"At my age, that is all the honor I can afford. The days are long gone when I would care to get involved in something like this."
Her hands passed through his hair, dropped to his well-muscled shoulders, rubbed there for a time, then led him back to a seated position. She raised a cool drink to his lips.
"How certain are you of your assessment of the case?" she finally inquired.
"The gods know what else it could be!" he said. "Something not at all natural sends Mouseglove to me, with the story that the young man I'd sponsored is old Det's son and that he's just been kidnaped by Ryle Merson. Honor says that I should do something because Ryle has made off with the man I sponsored. So I have. Fortunately, all Mouseglove wanted was a fast trip back to Rondoval--and I've just provided it."
"Is that really enough?"
"It is not as if he were my apprentice. I was only doing the man a favor. I barely know him."
"But--" she began.
"That is all," he replied.
"But it was not what I meant."
"What, then?"
"The things you said at first--could they be true?"
"I forget what I said."
"You said that it is a continuation of something that began before Pol was born ..."
"I suppose that it is."
"...the thing that had led to the wars."
He took the goblet into his hands and drained it.
"Yes, I believe so," he said then.
"Something that could reopen that whole business?"
He shrugged.
"Or close it. Yes. I think that might be the case--or that Ryle believes it might be the case. Same thing."
He set the goblet aside, raised his hands and looked at them.
"Pol has apparently aroused the concern of something poweful and supernatural," he said, "and he also has the good offices of the friend we just sent on his way."
"I was not talking about Pol. I am thinking of the entire situation of which that is but a part. This place is full of important practicioners of the Art. It is the only occasion in four years when they will all be together like this. I would almost say that it seems more than coincidental. Don't you feel that we ought to bring this to their attention?"
Ibal began to laugh.
"Stop and think about it for a minute," he said later. "I think it would be the worst possible thing to do. There were attractive things about both sides in that conflict. Some stood to benefit, some did not. Do you really think we'd get a concensus? We can start the next war right here, if you'd like."
She had stiffened as he spoke and her eyes widened slightly.
"Gods!" she said. "You may be right!"
"So why don't we forget about the entire thing?" he finished. He reached out and took her hand. "And I know exactly how to go about it."
"I believe I'm getting a headache," she said.
Mouseglove did not look back. He accepted the sorcery which had brought him to Rondoval as a part of life. If magic were used against him, things could be very bad. If it worked to his benefit, he was grateful. Until he had met Pol, he had generally attempted to avoid the notice of sorcerers, counting them--usually correctly--as an untrustworthy lot. He mouthed a few words of thanks to Dwastir, patron of thieves, that this one had been helpful, as he hurried into the great hall and made his way down the stairway.
He located the bundle of faggots Pol had charmed for him, raised one and spoke the necessary words over it. He turned then and headed without hesitation along the confusion of tunnels, moving back toward the caverns where he had obtained more than one's normally allotted span of rest.