The Ship Who Won (25 page)

He became aware that the other magifolk were glaring

at the young woman. Chaumel was angry, Nokias shocked,

Potria mute with outrage. Plenna lifted her small chin and

stared back unflinchingly at her superiors. Keff wondered

how he had ever thought her to be weak. She was

magnificent.

"Her heartbeats up. Respiration, too. She's in trouble

with them," Carialle said. "She's the junior member here-I'd say the youngest, too, by a decade-and she spoiled her

seniors' fun. Naughty. Oops, more power spikes."

Keff felt insubstantial tendrils of thought trying to

insinuate themselves into his mind. They were rudely

slapped away by a new touch, one that felt/scented lightly

of wildflowers. Plennafrey was defending him. Another

sally by other minds managed to get an image of bloody,

half-eaten corpses burning in a wasteland into his

consciousness before they were washed out by fresh, cool

air.

"Keff, what's wrong?" Carialle asked. "Adrenaline just

kicked up."

"Psychic attacks," he said, through gritted teeth. 'Trying

to control my mind."

He fought to think of anything but the pictures hammering at his consciousness. He pictured a cold beer, until

it dissolved inexorably into a river of green, steaming poison. He switched to the image of dancing in an anti-grav

disco with a dozen girls. They became vulpine-winged harpies picking at his flesh as he swung on a gibbet. Keff

thought deliberately of exercise, mentally pulling the Rotoflex handles to his chest one at a time, concentrating on the

burn of his chest and neck muscles. Such a small focus

seemed to bewilder his tormentors as they sought to corrupt that one thought and regain control.

Sooner or later the magifolk would break through, and

he would never know the difference between his own consciousness and what they planted in his thoughts. He felt a

twinge of despair. Nothing in his long travels had prepared

him to defend himself against this kind of power. How

much more could he withstand? If they continued, he'd

soon be blurting out the story of his life-and his life with

Carialle.

Not that-he wouldn't! Angrily, he steeled his will. If he

couldn't protect himself, he couldn't guard Carialle. Even

at the cost of his own life he must prevent them from finding out about her. Her danger would be worse than his,

and worse than what had happened to her that time before

they became partners.

The Rotoflex handles of his imagination became knives

that he plunged agonizingly again and again into his own

breast. He forced his mental self to drop them. They burst

into flames that rose up to bum his arms. He could feel the

hair crackling on his forearms. Then a soft rain began to

fall. The fire died with hisses of disappointment. Keff

almost smiled. Plennafrey again.

He was grateful for the young magiwomans interces-sion. How long could she hold out against the combined

force other elders? He could almost feel the mental sparks

flying between Plennafrey and the others. She was actually

holding her own, which was causing consternation and

outrage among them. The outwardly calm standoff threatened to turn into worse.

"Small power spikes," Carialle announced. "A jab to the

right. Ooh, a counter to the left. A roundhouse punch-what was that?"

Keff felt himself gripped by an invisible force. Slowly,

like the rope-dancers, he began to revolve in midair, this

time without his chair. He turned faster and faster and

faster. What little remained of his original delight at having

discovered a race of magicians was fast disappearing in the

waves of nausea roiling his long-suffering stomach. He

tried to touch the floor, or one of the other mages, but

nothing was within reach. Faster, faster, faster he turned,

until the room was divided into strata of light and color.

Images began to invade his consciousness, accompanied

by shrieks tinged with fear and anger, shriveling his nerves.

He could feel nothing but pain, and the roaring in his head

overwhelmed his other senses.

Keff felt a touch on the arm, and suddenly he was staggering weak-kneed across the slick floor behind

Plennafrey. She had abandoned the battle in favor of saving him. Holding his hand firmly, she made for the open

doors.

Chaumels transparent wall proved no barrier. Plennafrey

plunged her hand under her sash to her belt, and a hole

opened in the wall just before they reached it, letting a cloud

of dust whip past them into the room. Coughing, she and

Keff dashed out onto the landing pad. Keff remembered

what Carialle had said about color coordination and ran after

the girl toward the blue-green chair at the extreme edge of

the balcony. His feet were unsteady on the humming floor,

but he forced himself to cover the distance almost on the

young woman's heels.

She threw herself into her chariot, hoisted him in, too.

Without ceremony, the chair swept off into the night.

Behind him, Keff saw other magifolk running for their

chairs. He saw Chaumel shake a fist up at them, and suddenly, the image blanked out.

They emerged into a vast, torchlit, stony cavern that

extended off into the distance to both left and right.

Plenna paused a split second and turned the chair to the

right. Her big, dark eyes were wide open, her head turning

to see first one side, then the other as they passed. Keff

hung on as the chair skipped up to miss a stalagmite and

ducked a low cave mouth. He gasped. The air tasted moist

and mineral heavy.

'"Where are you?" Carialles voice exploded in his ear.

"Damnation, I hate that!"

'"Watch the volume, Cari!"

Sound level much abated, Carialle continued. "You are

approximately nine hundred meters directly below your

previous location, heading south along a huge system of

connected underground caverns. Hmm!"

"What?" he demanded, then bit his tongue as Plennafreys chair dodged through a narrow pipe and out into a

cavern the bottom of which dropped away like the illusion-aiy abyss.

'Tm reading some of those electromagnetic lines down

there, not far from you, but not intersecting the tunnel you

are currently traveling."

"Where are we going?" he asked the girl.

"Where we will be safe," she said curdy. Her forehead

was wrinkled and she was hunched forward as if straining

to push something with her shoulders.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Its the lee lines," she said. "Where we are is weak. I'm

drawing on ones very far away. We must reach the strong

ones to escape, but Chaumel stops me."

"Lee lines?" Keff said, asking for further explanation.

Then a memory struck him and he sent IT running

through similar-sounding names in Standard language. It

came up with "ley," which it defined as "adjective, archaic,

related to mystical power." Very similar, Keff noted, and

turned his head to mention it.

The chair bounced, hitting a small outcropping of rock,

and Keff felt his rump leave the platform. He gripped the

edges until his knuckles whitened. The air whistled in his

ears.

"What if you can't reach the strong ley lines?" he

shouted.

"We can get most of the way to my stronghold

through down here," the girl said, not looking down at

him. "It will take longer, but the mountains are hollow

below. Oh!"

Ahead of them, the air thickened, and a dozen chariots

took shape. These swooped in at Keff and the girl, who

took a hairpin curve in midair and looped back toward the

narrow passage. Keff caught a glimpse of Chaumel in the

lead, glittering like a star. The silver mage grinned

ferociously at them.

Asedow spurred his green chariot faster to beat

Chaumel to Plennas vehicle. He succeeded only in

creating a minor traffic jam blocking the neck of stone as

Plennafrey disappeared into it. By the time they

straightened themselves out, their prey had a head start.

Plennafrey retraced their path through the forest of

onyx pillars. Keff leaned back against her knees as she cut a

particularly sharp turn to avoid the same outcropping as on

the way out. Keff glanced up at her face and found it calm,

intense, alert, pale and lovely as a lily. He shook his head,

wondering how he had possibly missed noticing her

before. He risked a quick glance back.

Far behind them, the magimen in pursuit were coming

to grief amidst the stalactite clusters. Keff heard shouts of

anger, then warning, and not long after, a crash. Their pursuers were down to eleven.

'The passage widens out beyond the junction where you

first appeared," Carialle said, narrating from her soundings

of the underground system. "Life-forms ahead."

They swooped under a low overhang that marked the

boundary of the next limestone bubble cavern. Keff

smelled food and squinted ahead in the torchlight. The

smell of hot food blended with the cold, wet, limestone

scent of the caves. Before them lay the subterranean kitchens whose existence Carialle had postulated. Compared to

the frosty ambient temperature above, this place was posi-tively tropical. Keff felt his cheeks reddening from the heat

that washed them. Plennafrey turned slightly pink. Scores

of fur-faced cooks and assistants hurried around like ants,

carrying pots and pans to the huge, multi-burner stoves

lined up against the walls or hauling full platters of cooked

food to vast tables mat ran down the center of the chamber.

"Natural gas, geothermal heat," Carialle said. 'The

catering service for me nine circles of Hell."

In one corner, discarded like toy dishes in a dolls tea set,

were hundreds of bowls, plates, and platters, sent back

untouched from upstairs by fussy diners.

"What a waste," Keff said as they passed over the trash

heap. The reeking fumes of deteriorating food made his

eyes water. He gasped.

Avoiding a low point in the ceiling, the chariot bore

down on the cooks, who dropped their pans and dishes

and dove for cover. The bottom of the runner struck something soft, but kept going. Keff glanced behind them and

saw the ruins of a tall cake and the pastry chefs stricken

face.

"Sony!" Keff called.

Behind them, the magimen on their chariots swooped

into the cavern, shouting for Plennafrey to surrender her

prize. Bolts of red fire struck past them, impacting the

stone walls with explosive reports. Chunks of stone rained

down on the screaming cooks. Plennafrey jerked the

chariot downward, and a lightning stroke passed over

them, shattering a stalactite into bits just before they

reached it. Keff threw his hands up before his face just a

split second too late, and ended up spitting out limestone

sand.

"Don't damage anything!" Chaumel yelled. "My

kitchen!" Keff saw him frantically making warding symbols

with his hands, sending spells to protect his property.

Plennafrey stole a look over her shoulder and poured on

the speed. She pulled Keffs body back against her legs. He

looked up at her for explanation.

She said, T need my hands," and immediately began

weaving her own enchantments in a series of complex

passes. Keff braced himself between the end of the chariot

back and the chair legs to keep Plennafrey from bouncing

out of her seat.

The cavern narrowed sharply at its far end, forcing them

farther and farther toward the floor. Fur-faced Noble

Primitives who had been throwing themselves down to get

out of their way went entirely flat or slammed into the wall

Anne McCaffrey o-joay L,y 11,11 ^yc-as Plennafrey's chariot flashed by. Females shrieked and

males let out hoarse-voiced cries of alarm.

Scarlet fire ricocheted from wall to wall, missing the

blue-green chariot by hand-spans. The young magiwoman

launched off fist-sized globes of smoky nothingness, flinging them behind her back. Keff, intent on the wall above

the cave mouth zooming toward them, heard cries and

protests, followed by a series of explosive puffs.

Plennafrey resumed control of her chair just in time to

direct them sharply down and into the stone tunnel. This

must have been the central corridor of Chaumels underground complex. Hundreds of Noble Primitives dropped

their burdens and dove for cover as he and Plennafrey

zoomed through. Skillfully zigzagging, dipping, and rising,

she avoided each living being and stone pillar in the long

tube.

"She's good on this thing," Keff confided to Carialle.

"What a rocket-cycle jockey she'd make."

To right and left, several smaller tunnels offered themselves. Plennafrey glanced at each one as they passed. With

the inadequate light of torches, Keff could see no details

more than a dozen feet up each one. The magiwoman bit

her lip, then banked a turn into the ninth right.

"Keff, not that one!" Carialle said urgently.

"Aha!"

Keff heard Chaumels crow of victory, and view-halloo

cries from the other pursuers. He wondered why they