Horrors of the Dancing Gods (47 page)

It was iron alloy!
The Rules still applied!
But was there any iron in his father's sword? His father was the only faerie other than dwarves who could touch or handle it. If the double intention
was
to make her a guardian of the McGuffin, as seemed likely, then at least one of the swords
had
to be iron or contain it.

The nymph, the pain and torture showing, on her face and tears streaming out of her big eyes, reached out to touch and lift Irving's most private parts so they might be cut off. Under such circumstances it might have been tough to concentrate on something else, on influencing Dad instead, but even vague whiffs of incest didn't deter Irving from sheer necessity.

You love me, Joe. You love me and only me. You would do anything for me. Look at me, Joe. Love me. Love me and protect me from all mutilation and ham. Both of you love me. Both, of you. Love and protect ...

That most eerie of looks came over Joe's face, and clearly there was only one thought there, one overriding set of emotions ...

Both Joe's and Alvi's swords plunged into Boquillas' midsection.

Alvi's swords had no effect, but the sword in Joe's hands erupted in smoke and flames as it entered the entity's flesh, and Boquillas roared in horrible pain.

For the briefest of moments, as pain removed his concentration and before rage replaced it, they all suddenly felt themselves freed of influence.

"The spear!" Irving screamed, sitting up and jumping down. "The spear and the short sword! Iron!
He's still under the Rules! Iron can kill him!"

Poquah could do little on that score, nor could Marge, but they both turned and began to work whatever magic they could on the gaping soldiers, who were too stupid and too confused to figure out what to do. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be able to give a god the hotfoot.

If iron in fact could harm or kill the monster, then they'd been conned! One by one, without even glancing at each other, they faded quickly back into the woods and vanished.

Boquillas grimaced in pain, but the roaring subsided, and with a mighty effort of will he reached down and grabbed the sword and pulled it out of his groin, leaving a gaping, ugly scar that was still smoking.

At that moment, Larae cried, "Irving!" He turned, and she tossed him the dagger. He whirled and threw it right into the Baron's neck. Boquillas' head snapped back, and he roared again in agony.

Poquah looked around, spotted the spear where they'd left it just at the edge of the forest, and said to hell with it. The spear itself wasn't iron-coated, anyway, just the tip. He picked it up, turned, and sent it flying straight at the writhing monstrosity.

It struck Boquillas in the chest and went in deep. He grabbed at it but, still trying to extract the smoking, flaming dagger, broke it off instead. He was clearly in agony.

He was also, unfortunately, clearly still alive and not mortally wounded, although in tremendous pain.

And they were fresh out of iron.

The Baron managed finally to get at the dagger hilt and extract it from his neck, then toss it so high and so far that for all anybody knew, it went into orbit.

Boquillas still had the spear point in him and it was causing him some real agony, but it wasn't the kind that would finish him, only make him even angrier.

Blue energy shot from his fingers and struck Irving but suddenly flamed off as the spear tip continued to move inside him and cause further damage every time he repositioned his body to send out more spells.

"Hey! Irv! Think you know what you could do with a sword with a
real
steel blade?" called a friendly, familiar, but unexpected voice from just over and behind him. Irving looked up and to his complete astonishment saw Macore standing there holding a
huge
sword, the kind out of King Arthur. "Watch it! It's heavy as all blazes!" the thief called, and threw it down with all his might.

Boquillas whirled at the sound of Macore's voice and thundered, "So! Now we
are
virtually complete! Come, thief! I will give you something to remember me by!"

"Me first!" Macore shouted back, and tossed a bag of something at the creature that struck one of the huge horns and burst, spreading a powder all over him, including his eyes.

Macore grinned. "That's one for the professor!" he said cheerily. "Iron filings'll do it every time!"

Irving picked up the huge sword with both hands and, not stopping to think for a moment, rushed right at the huge creature, slashing as he struck.

Pieces of entity began flying everywhere. The giant pseudo-satyr roared and lashed out, but he was blinded, in agony, and nearly helpless against the slashing and cutting sword whose blade was the smoothest and sharpest Irving had ever seen.

"Hey, Joe! Got another not quite as big or fancy!" Macore called, tossing a smaller version to the still-implanted nymph, who caught it and began using it with gusto.

Macore then sat back on the rock and relaxed, watching the show and giving occasional pointers.

He didn't have to. All life went out of Esmillio Boquillas as soon as Irving brought him down with cuts to the legs and then severed his neck from his shoulders.

LOOSE ENDS

At Quest's end the details shall be explained for the benefit and edification of the survivors.

—
Rules, Vol. VIII, p. 404(a)

"IS HE
REALLY
DEAD THIS TIME?
MARGE ASKED MACORE, turning up her nose at the mass of charred and rotting flesh and limbs on the altar.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he is," the thief responded. "Of course, you never know about the likes of him or the Sea of Dreams. If enough people start believing in him, he may be
impossible
to kill completely. On the other hand, what's the difference? You got to figure that he's stuck in the Sea of Dreams, and there's gonna be nobody else there but lots of superpowerful godlike beings all of whom received a bill of goods by him and then got double-crossed. I think if he
does
survive in some form, he'll quickly be nostalgic for the old lake-of-eternal-fire business. Out of our hair for good, anyway."

Marge kissed him. "But how in the
world
did you manage to turn up here just in the nick of time, and with an iron-based
sword?"

He shrugged. "I was late. What can I say? I got hung up, and everybody started doing things before I figured. Next time warn me and I won't oversleep."

"That's not what I mean! Why and how are you here in the
first
place?"

"Oh, I've always been fairly close. I told you I have a lot of contracts and old debts down here. I came across on the same ship you did. Had one
hell
of a time staying out of sight"

"Then that was
you!"
Poquah breathed. "So!"

Macore nodded. "You're getting to be too much a creature
of habit, Poquah. I read you like a book then. In fact, I got so confident, I even decided I could risk briefing Junior there so long as he didn't realize it was me. I spotted the girl in my disguise as a minor demon and figured she'd be a hell of a lot better off with you."

"That
explains it! I thought he was being warned off!" Marge exclaimed.

"I had to give that impression, but I knew no son of Joe's would leave a pretty damsel in distress. Something in the Rules about that, I think. Besides, I
did
want
you all to know the situation with her before you made your decision." He drew a deep breath and continued.

"Anyway, after that I was able to stick pretty close for a while, but Ruddygore decided that you were going on the straightforward path and drawing all the attention, see. That let me get here
direct while you all went off to Castle Rock. Man! That was
some
show punching you all through! Seeing you come in like a rocket from Hell guarded by its legions was the height of absurdity. Damn near split my gut."

"Very funny, We were walking into
this
bastard's trap, and you were laughing," Marge grumped.

"Awwww . . . It's not all
that
bad. I figured, he, wasn't out to kill you. He coulda done
that
anytime,
and he was clearly out for revenge instead. So long as you were alive, we could always fix what was wrong later."

"Fix! What ...?"

"The McGuffin, of course. I stole it maybe four, five days ago.
Those
two never even knew. Neither did Boquillas. I'll tell you how I did it sometime, if I don't write my memoirs.
Damn!
I'm still good!"

"You stole the McGuffin three days before we
got
here?" Even Irving was appalled. "And we did all this for
nothing?"

"Not for nothing, certainly. I wish I coulda been here early enough to have seen old Joel's face when he found out I'd switched birds, though." He dropped the smile and got serious. "Look, it's more complicated than you think. The McGuffin has great power, but it has really strong limits. You can feel that evil vortex yet, can't you? Ruddygore still hasn't completely got it closed. It's kind of nasty, since everything you do with it also has all sorts of other consequences. It has a kind of ruthless logic to it."

"But he'll get it closed, right?"

"Sure he will. And he'll get us out of here, too. He got me back here with the swords and all sorts of stuff." He paused. "Look, we also wanted Boquillas, which is trickier than you might expect. You can't kill with that thing, for one example.
So, dealing with the Baron, maybe once and for all, was a priority. Second was Joe and her friend. Without Boquillas out of the way, we couldn't get 'em completely out of the Baron's clutches, I told you, it's complicated, but it'll work out."

"So what do we do until he
does
work it out? We're still surrounded by a nasty enemy throughout this forest, we've got virtually no supplies, and there's little left to protect us. Not to mention that both Joe and his friend there are gonna give us little Boquillases any time now."

Macore shrugged. "I only take orders. But I know we'll be protected if we stick around here, and I have some supplies for a couple of days. Maybe we can just start renewing a few old ties, huh? Ruddygore's not gonna leave us in the lurch. Not now."

A lot of sorcery and spells had flown around in those minutes, particularly the last ones, as they discovered when they all tried to relax and get their bearings during the day and evening that followed. The worst thing in fact was keeping Macore from telling or, worse,
singing
the entire saga of
Gilligan's Island
to them.

Irving found that his power, his spells, seemed to have vanished completely. He was certain that something else had changed about him, even though the others couldn't see anything and he couldn't put his finger on it. There had been an initial blast from Boquillas, and it had certainly done something.

Larae had been changed the most, although again it had only exaggerated what was already there. She really couldn't figure out what she was going to do now. "In effect, I am a halfling, like
her,
now," she noted, pointing to Alvi. "The thing is, I don't really
mind
it, not anymore. I talked to her a little, and she had gotten to that same point, what with playacting for a long time, then getting sick of pretending and just being whatever she was. I am tired of it, too. It is just—God! I am getting turned on, and this time I can
really
feel
it!
That
is my tragedy, Irving, in the end. I am in love with you. Very much so. Enough so that I can understand why you cannot feel the same about me."

He sighed. "When I watched you go after that idol, to risk that much, swing out, hanging by your feet, and snag that thing, couldn't
begin
to tell you what I felt. Truth is, I
do
love you, but it's got to be what they call star-crossed lovers. I
want
you, but I need Marge—or, rather, what Marge used to be. I don't think she'd be real good for me anymore as she is. If you can get by that, I can get by the rest. Deal?"

"Deal. But I am not going to pretend anymore to be what I am not. Whatever I am, I am."

He sighed. "Well, maybe Ruddygore can straighten it out"

"What about your dad?"

"That's a lot harder for either of us to get by," Irving admitted. "I think I want old Santa Claus around before I deal with it too much."