Demons of the Dancing Gods (30 page)

any light, and they are swift and powerful."

"Can they fly?" Joe asked worriedly.

"No. They have arms and four-fingered hands, although

their feathers give them protection almost like armor against

the elements and even all but the most powerful and true of

blows. I would be surprised, though, if they don't have winged

scouts out. They have a communion with the birds that is hard

to explain; often ravens and condors work with them as their

protective shield, as well as several species of owl. You saw

no birds?"

Marge shook her head. "At least none that I noticed. A few

bats and a lot of insects, that's all."

"Any patrols?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, two that I saw. Parties of five, all on these big

mothers of horses."

"That's too many, particularly with only one weapon," he

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said, almost as much to himself as to the two women. "Our

best bet, I think, would be to parallel the road if possible and

wait for a better opportunity."

They both nodded. "I agree," Tiana told him. "Things will

have to wait. Still, Witchwood is but fourteen kilometers in

from the river. Once we reach it, the risks will be less from

the Bentar than from the wood itself, with the Dark Tower in

the center."

"Hmmm... Yes, Esmerada. But won't those troopers be

under her control and supervision?" Joe asked.

"They would be. She runs the entire area between the Corbi

and Zhafqua, west to the Dancing Gods. However, within

Witchwood she will need no troops. In there, she rules by

magic."

Joe groaned. "Another magical grove. Is there no end to

them?"

Marge grinned. "Probably not. So far, they all seem to be

run by women."

Tiana nodded. "It is true, in a general sense. But Witchwood

DEMONS OF THE DANCING 'GODS

162

is much more than those you have seen so far. It is a seat of

government for a much wider area, for one thing, and it is a

place of black magic, not white or fairy."

Joe sighed. "Well, the object wasn't to storm the place, just

to get invited inside. Let's get closer to it while we can move,

and we'll talk about the fine points when we get there." He

paused a moment. "I hope she's home after all this. 1 think

she was still at the conference when we left."

"Oh, she has returned by now. Remember the delay on our

part," the big woman assured him. "She has the advantage of

fast flight."

"Huh? I caught sight of her back at the hotel and she looked

human. Kind of imposing, but human."

"Oh, on her broom, of course. All wicked witches fly on

their brooms. Surely you know that much."

"Hmmm... I should have known. Time to switch frames

of reference," Marge put in. "So long epic fantasy, hello Brothers

Grimm."

CHAPTER 12

W1TCHWOOD

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Since a witch's broomstick is for life, care should he taken to select

one that will support not merely current but also future size, and

weight conditions.

—Rules, XVIII, 27(a)

MYRIAD SMALL SHAPES BROKE THROUGH THE DAWN, FLYING

on long, tireless wings. Their leader wore around his neck a

small golden charm, although never before had any of his tribe

allowed such symbols of subservience to man or those of faerie.

He allowed it now because he owed a debt of honor, and he

and his would play their part in the drama for no reward other

JACK L. CHALKER

163

than honor, for that and the free skies that none could chain

were all that was of real value in the world.

The magic charm about the leader's neck continued to give

off a soft buzz that was not irritating but insistent, so close to

his small earholes it was. Suddenly the buzzing sound was

diminished, although it did not fade entirely, and over the sound

was a very tiny, unnatural voice.

"I am in place on a small plot of what seems to be safe

ground about three hundred yards from the side gate of the

tower," the tiny voice said. "I have them located roughly at

the edge of the wood, just off the road. I hope they have the

sense to stay near it."

The leader looked down along the great expanse beneath

him and saw the little road the groundlings made and of which

the voice spoke. It was relatively straight and paved with loose

white granite that made it stand out, even from this altitude,

as a white line through the otherwise unbroken greenery. He

saw now where it entered the witch's wood and became then

only visible in little bits as it made its way in a nearly straight

path toward the center of that wood. In the center, he saw,

was a perfectly circular clearing in which sat a great structure

of dull black stone, a single tower, only slightly tapered to its

flat top, surrounded on the ground by a low, star-shaped outer

wall. The road was clearly visible there, as it divided at the

clearing and circled the Dark Tower before coming together

once more and vanishing back into the dense wood.

He cursed the groundling agent mentally. Where was the

side to a round structure? Or, for that matter, to a star-shaped

one? Still, it would be easy to find the groundling when the

need arose, but more difficult once the message had to be

carried.

He heard a warning shriek from his point, and looked around

to see a small swarm of blackish creatures rising from the

village near the river. Clearly they meant to challenge, but just

as clearly they could be ignored. Ravens. Was that the best

the Bentar could send against the royalty of free eagles?

The flock slowed and circled to meet the oncoming black

tide. The ravens approached brazenly and with great confidence,

as they always did. When their leader reached hailing

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range, he called out to the soaring, great white and brown birds

who awaited him.

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JACK L. CHALKER 165

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

"You trespass, eagles, far from range and eyrie. What seek

you here in the land of the Barony?"

"And who are you, crow, to challenge us?" the eagle chieftain

shot back. "Will you bind the skies as your foul masters

who hold your leashes bind the earth? We recognize no boundaries

here, nor any crow authority over our whereabouts." But

lower, in the royal language understood only by his fellow

eagles, he said softly, "None, not even one, should return alive

or dead to the camp."

The ravens seemed so cocky and confident that they didn't

even notice the eagle formation fan out and slowly and subtly

take up the most advantageous battle positions/The chief raven

replied, "The bird crumbles as victim to man. We are shot by

the hunters and eaten by all manner of man and beast. We are

captured, leashed, enslaved, even set forth by those slavers to

catch and kill our own. We follow this cause out of choice,

not from bindings, for the air must be liberated and purified

as the ground will be."

"And this you propose to do to us here and now?" the eagle

chieftain scoffed. "All ten of you against twenty-four eagles?"

By the time the ravens realized the import of that statement,

the circle had closed and the eagles were upon them.

"Magic," Marge said, "flows toward you. I should have

seen it before, but I never really got into the habit of shifting

to the magic bands, particularly after spending so long in a city

full of magicians. Now, however, 1 see it clearly. Bands of

black and silver and bright green, they're slowly moving at

you as if you were a magnet."

Tiana nodded worriedly. "Can you describe the pattern?"

"If I had pen and paper, maybe I could, but not much longer.

As we move inland, more and more pieces are added, forming

increasingly complex formulae."

Joe had that look that he always got when magic was being

discussed, since he lacked not only the ability to see such things

but even the proper frame of reference to imagine them. "In

plain words, what are you two talking about?"

"A spell. No, several spells, all coming at me," Tiana told

him.

He frowned. "I thought you were supposed to be more or

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less immune to that sort of thing while under Ruddy gore's

protection."

"Only fully when I am with him. I fear our little deception

at the convention did not last. Kaladon was quite clever about

it, though. In a sense. Marge is correct—I was, in a way,

magnetized by Kaladon. Since it was not, in and of itself, a

spell, it remained totally undetected and undetectable by anyone.

Basically, he laid half a spell on me, then randomly scattered

the rest through Zhimbombe. Were I never to return here,

there would be no problem, but once I did return, the opposite

pieces of the spell are attracted to me, and only to me, wherever

I am in this country. I see now that the loss of my clothing

and weapons was not an unhappy chance, but the workings of

the usurper's evil mind."

"Huh? He seems a little nuts, then. All that just to have you

disarmed and naked? You can always find something for a

weapon; and even if you have to wait a while for good clothing,

you weren't exactly inconspicuous to begin with."

She smiled. "Poor Joseph. You are so totally practical.

Kaladon is teasing me. What is more demoralizing than to

make someone both naked and unarmed in a hostile land? It

is his way of telling me who is boss and just what power I am

facing. I suspect, too, that bad things will happen should I try

clothing or weapons again. The spell is not a one-time thing,

like your pirates' fireballs, but a true creation of the mathematical

art of sorcery. And, as Marge tells it, I am to be greeted

with even more annoyance as we grow closer to Kaladon."

Joe frowned. "Then you should get out of here and let us

handle it. Get back out of range."

Tiana leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. "That

would do no good. Whatever spell I wear, I keep until dissolved

by my own resolution, which is unlikely, or by one greater

than Kaladon, which means weeks of northward travel without

clothing or arms to Terindell, or by the death of Kaladon.

Besides, are we not supposed to be targets? The three of us

are hardly inconspicuous. All Zhimbombe must know of us by

now, I would think. As you yourself said, we are simply to

get inside the seats of power, not storm them."

He sighed. "All right. It's kind of like my own, ah, problem.

I don't like it, but I can live with it—if you can."

166 DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

She nodded. "I am committed to this. Did you ever consider

that nothing like this has ever been attempted before in the

whole history of this world? To assassinate top members of

the Council, whose power is just a little less than that of gods?"

"That's probably because they never found any suckers stupid

enough to do what we're doing," he shot back.

Marge looked around. "Dawn is coming. Shall we press

into the wood or wait for dark again?"

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Joe looked over at Tiana quizzically, and she responded,

"We may as well press in, at least as far as we can. There are

far less dangers in Witchwood in daylight than in darkness."

With that. Marge, who flew and had only one piece of

baggage, undipped her sunglasses from the necklace and put

them on. They started into the wood, keeping just to the right

of the road in the brush.

The forest was full of the sounds of tens of thousands of

birds awakening to meet the new day and of insects changing

shifts from night to day, but the road remained deserted. The

trees, however, began taking on a sinister appearance as the

three travelers pushed deeper into the seat of power, with huge

trunks looking like the ghosts of tortured souls. Vines and

underbrush, too, grew thicker and harder to navigate. Many

seemed to have thorns or brambles that caught and scratched.

"I think we're going to have to risk the road, at least for

this part," Tiana said.

Joe shrugged. "It's a little rugged, I agree; but—w/iat?"

That last was caused by a nearby bush with long, vinelike

branches, one of which managed to snake around Joe's foot

and start pulling. He found himself suddenly crashing to the

forest floor as yet another branch, then another, threw themselves

around whatever parts of him they could, and all then

began pulling him toward the large plant. With a yell, he

managed to draw his sword, but had some trouble keeping

enough balance to slash away at the tendrillike branches that

held him. Tiana rushed over, trying to keep out of reach of

more of the things herself, and grabbed him under his shoulders,

creating a tug of war with the plant.