Van Duyn peered
through thick glasses, down his long nose, in a manner that had intimidated
even seasoned graduate students.
“Chaffinch he
is indeed called, after the little red-breasted songbird. But it’s a grim sort
of joke, because his breast is the red of scaly, almost metallic armor, and his
song’s a song of flame. Andre’s given me a, ah, ‘ball-park guess,’ I think you
would call it, that Chaffinch is on the order of fifty feet long, nose to tail.
“And he’s
winged, flies quite well I understand, against all aerodynamic laws. But the
most dangerous thing about him is that he’s a fire breather. In fact, I had
something a little more formidable than this armored personnel carrier in mind
when we began our invocation. I was, perhaps, a bit hazy in my phraseology when
I described my desire to Andre, or again it may be that the entity we summoned
was unable to make distinctions. I’d wanted a tank or large piece of
self-propelled artillery.”
Lobo’s
crew
went hostile, and Van Duyn perceived that he’d made some sort of subtle gaffe.
“So we’re not a
goddamned tank,” Handelman allowed, “but we go like a japed ape, and three machine
guns and the grenade launcher are pretty heavy clout.”
“Of course, Mr.
Handelman” Van Duyn soothed quickly. Were these kids that sensitive about this
rattletrap? “It’s probably just that I don’t know enough about, er,
Lobo
to appreciate her.”
They invited
him to poke his head through the big cargo hatch and take a look. Gil had Woods
traverse the cupola and pass the end of the .50 ammunition belt to Van Duyn.
The older man had seen .50-caliber ball ammo in World War II, but forgotten its
size and weight.
“Couple hundred
rounds per minute,” said Gil MacDonald, “at three thousand feet per second.
We’re more than enough to bump noses with anything alive, be it a dragon,
reluctant or otherwise.”
He passed the
end of the belt back. “But this is screwy. I mean, what else do you know about
this lizard?”
Van Duyn
thought for a moment.
“To begin with,
he seems to store a reservoir of whatever heat source he uses, because it
occurs to me that Andre said he’s been known to exhaust it from a time after
prolonged use. Could be it’s something like the mythical phlogiston, I suppose.
I’d imagine he distills it within himself. Also, he’s been placated at times
with the offer of a sacrifice, usually a young woman. This time, though, he’ll
not be put off by such an offering, even if we were so vile as to make it,
which we most assuredly aren’t.”
Gil hitched
himself up on the cargo hatch and sat, chin on fist and elbow on thigh,
swinging his feet absentmindedly like a kid on a sofa.
Okay,
suppose this beastie shows up; allow yourself that much for the sake of
argument. How do we fight it? Like it was a plane, maybe? Like it was a
flamethrower? Or, with all that fiery stuff inside him, maybe he’s a bit more
like a fuel depot. If we can just cancel that torch, it’ll be a simple matter
of target practice and we’ll have the world’s biggest snakeskin hatband.
But—whoops! Ah, yep.
“Got an idea”
he said, and the Nine-Mob drew closer.
After Van Duyn
had been taken into the metal war carriage that was crouched in the courtyard,
Springbuck and the deCourteneys retired to the ramparts to keep watch on both
Lobo
and the encircling countryside.
The majority of
the little group, save the women at the cooking fires and the men at the
bartizan, had ringed in the APC at a distance.
Springbuck and
Andre speculated on this and that aspect of the APC and its crew. Gabrielle, on
the other hand, was distracted and ill at ease, peering for long moments in the
direction of Erub.
She suddenly
cried out, a cry that was half a sob. The other two turned at this unaccustomed
and unexpected show of emotion and saw that parts of the village were in
flames.
Gabrielle
whirled and pushed past her brother and the Prince, striding off in the
direction of the main hall. As they watched her go, Springbuck observed to
Andre that there were many differences between the thaumaturge and his sister.
“My half
sister,” Andre corrected him, “for her father was not mine, though both of us
use his name, one that traces back to the time of the Great Blow, when the
whole world was in upheaval.
“Hasn’t it
occurred to you how odd my surname sounds? Its origins go outside of this
cosmos, and the first man in my family to bear it came into this plane if
tradition is to be believed, back during that time of rifts in the fabric of
the universe and rents in the cloth of reality.”
He looked at
the young nobleman, pondering whether there was call for further speech. And,
knowing his sister as well as anyone could, he concluded that there was, and
went on.
“My mother—our
mother—is a sorceress and an aristocrat of Glyffa, an enchantress of surpassing
power. Her husband, my father, was a lesser mage, and, though there were strong
ties of love between them, he was always conscious of the fact that of the two
he was the minor magician and she the sorceress paramount.
“He became
resigned to this in later years, but in the beginning of their marriage he
sought in many ways to increase his power in order to become his wife’s equal
at sorcery, or perhaps her superior.
“How is it thus
so often between men and women otherwise in love? I cannot speak to this beyond
the observation that it simply is. Wife or husband resents the spouse’s fame,
knowledge, authority or beauty, reputation or might. Love waxes cancerous with
jealousy and often malignant with ambition. My father grew bitter at length
that his skill and acclaim were only a fragment of hers.
“I know only
the bare details, how after a particularly heated argument he committed himself
to an infernal compact, promising in the flush of anger to pay any price for
his own aggrandizement. But any supernatural contract is suspect, my friend,
and since his did not specify permanence, my father’s prepotency lasted for the
space of a night and a day only. But he had to concede that the contract had
been fulfilled. The payment demanded was the opportunity to… to beget in my
mother a child. Though she wept unconsolably, that great lady submitted,
against the forfeiture of her husband’s soul. Ha, does your lip curl with
contempt, young Pretender, for such a man as would yield to that? Save your
opinion until, as I have, you look upon Hell and see with what choice he was
faced.
“But the union,
if such it may be termed, proved fertile. It became evident thereafter that my
mother had conceived. The fruition of it was my sister, born of enchantress and
incubus. I was born years later, child of a normal union between my parents.
“Gabrielle and
I have become parts of a greater whole. She is a repository of sheer elemental
force, occult energy, but her control is erratic and she has a savage, yes and
vicious, side which she must hold constantly in check. I am the stable one; I
find that I am talented in the delicate ordination of our arts.
“My sister
never harbored partisanship one way or the other in the struggle in which we
have fought for so many years; she adhered to the side of Right, I think, more
because it was the side I chose than for any reasons altruistic. I am the one
dependable thing in her life. There was only one other human being to whom she
was ever truly attached outside of our parents, a knight-errant, a proud,
penniless member of the high lineage which produced Balagon of the Brotherhood
of the Bright Lady. This knight was everything Gabrielle was not, a trifle
naive, idealistic, patient, without guile and of an even temperament. She was
attracted to him but fought, oh, wildly against her own emotions. In the end
she adored him, practically worshiped him, and he her.
“They were wed
and she bore him a child, a daughter, perhaps two years before the second
coagmentation was essayed. That was the only time, I think, when she was truly
happy, but it was all too brief. Her husband was killed and an attempt made on
the child’s life, by Yardiff Bey’s agents, I’m sure. And that was strange;
though Bey and I have contrived against one another for years, that is the only
onset he has ever made at Gabrielle. Indeed, the one most dedicated to her
undoing is Bey’s chief rival for infernal favor, the ice witch Mara.
“But with the
death of her husband, Gabrielle’s become the Infernality’s most implacable
enemy. No mercy or compassion does she show, and she never curbs her hatred of
Bey and his works. Yet he has always avoided a confrontation with her and I
think that, in some way which is not clear, he is vulnerable to her. The reason
I have told you all of this, my Prince—ah, you wondered?—is because I see my
sister becoming attracted to you, and you to her. Yes, yes, deny it not. But it
is important that you know what sort of person Gabrielle is. She is subject to
cruel whims, she is often selfish and aloof. She is also a vessel of power, the
greatest sorceress of the age, and those in her presence are well advised to be
careful; her anger can shake the earth itself. I was happy when she became interested
in Edward Van Duyn, with his experience and maturity to draw upon. But now her
fancy has wandered to you, and yet am I unsurprised; I doubt if she will ever
again restrict herself to one man. If your association with her prove
emotional, I beg you, be circumspect. You are dealing with a woman unlike any
other in the world.”
They stood
looking out upon the fires drifting up from Erub as the sounds of argument and
disputation reached them from
Lobo.
“You know,”
said the Prince, “I think that this is the first time that a town has been put
to the torch in Coramonde in fifty years and more. Why is Gabrielle so upset
about it, though?”
Andre pursed
his lips for a moment before answering. “As I told you, there was an issue from
her marriage, a girl-child. In order to ward off any further attempts on the
girl’s life, Gabrielle sent her away. It was with her that my sister stayed
during the battle in town yesterday, for my niece is now a healer in that place
and has been for many years. And it is for her daughter’s safety that my sister
is distressed. So far, they have only burned a few houses, but Gabrielle is
afraid the villagers will be put to the sword, though we did not think that the
troops would bother with Erub once we had left. It was to keep the girl safe
that Gabrielle forbade her to join us in the castle.”
They turned
their conversation away from these things to talk of Chaffinch and of the
strangers and their machine. Dusk came on and Erub began to glow before they
saw Van Duyn emerge from the rear hatch of the APC. The two went down from the
bartizan to meet him, and Springbuck considered, as he walked on, the
peculiarity of the fact that he felt so much more familiar and at ease with
Andre deCourteney, whose abilities and skills were intimidating, than he was
with Van Duyn, who was by comparison not that many years older than the Prince,
and a common mortal.
“They will help
us,” Van Duyn said when they’d joined him. “They are still a bit dubious but
they understand that we are in trouble and need their help, and that they can’t
get home without us, and that’s enough for them. That sergeant is an unusual
chap. Oh, and I told them we’d send out some food and something to drink. I
guess they’re pretty tired of canned rations. Where’s Gabrielle?”
But they
couldn’t find her, not in her small room nor anywhere inside the castle walls.
Andre and Van Duyn looked one at the other.
“Erub. She’s
gone to fetch back Foraingay,” said the magician.
“Foraingay?”
Springbuck asked.
“Her daughter.
She must have decided to try to bring her to the castle. If my sister chooses
to slip away, there are few who could detect her going and none who could stop
her if they did.”
“But, is she in
danger?” the Prince persisted anxiously, and Van Duyn’s mouth grew rigid at the
tone that was in his voice. “I mean, she is the most competent of sorceresses,
is she not?”
“Yes, she is
expert,” Andre answered. “But a spell is not something that you can carry ready
in your hand like a bow or spear. In time that is consumed in calling down a
helpful spell, some rustic can stick a pitchfork or a hatchet into you. That is
part of the reason I carry this.” He slapped the big sword at his side.
His agitation
growing, Van Duyn interrupted. “We’ve got to go and get her. There’s no way of
knowing what may have happened to her already. I’ll get our horses. We’d better
make it a small band, Andre. You and I.” He looked at the Prince and said as if
against his better judgment, “And Springbuck.”
Surprisingly,
deCourteney said, “No, Edward. I don’t think that you have reasoned out the
best way of doing this thing. If we must go into the middle of an enemy force,
why not do it in our guests’ machine and improve our chances of coming back?”
Van Duyn looked
at
Lobo,
just as Gil was changing places behind the .50 with Woods.
“Very well then,” the scholar decided. “I’ll try to get them to agree to it.
I’ll explain that we can’t send them back unless we can return with Gabrielle.”
“Speak with
them,” answered Andre, “but do not tell them that. We don’t know what they
might do if they knew their true peril. And I cannot go with you; if I leave,
Ibn-al-Yed is sure to use the occasion to devastate the castle with some spell
or other. Springbuck, you and Edward must get my sister back without my help.”
The Prince
could see that Andre’s impulses were bringing terrific pressure to bear on the
man, conflicting leverages to safeguard those who depended on him and rescue
his sister. Springbuck hesitated only an instant before answering with a
heartiness he did not feel. “Don’t worry, Andre; we’ll clank down there and be
back with her in minutes.”