Split Infinity (47 page)

“Werewolves and unicorns are natural enemies?”

“Yes. And both are normally unfriendly to man.
 
Kurrelgyre and Neysa learned to get along, but—“

“Now I’m no genius and this is not my business, but it strikes me that the arrival of these two forces at this time strains coincidence. Could this relate to you? If there were some alert, some way they would be aware of the moment you re-entered this frame—“

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Stile said. “You see, I’m a natural magician in this frame—a focus of much power. But I have sworn off magic.”

“And your frame-wife would like you to break that oath,” Hulk said. “So you can preserve the Blue Demesnes from further harm. And the animals would want you to keep your oath, so you will not become anathema to them. These two types of animals may just be united—against you. You were not joking about needing a bodyguard!”

“You catch on rapidly,” Stile agreed.

The two of them picked up speed though both were tiring, in an effort to reach the castle before either herd or pack. But it soon became evident that they would not succeed. The unicorn herd would arrive first, then the wolves.

Now the wolf pack veered, orienting on Stile instead of the castle. There seemed to be ninety or a hundred of them, large dark animals with heavy fur and gleaming eyes and teeth that showed whitely with their panting.
 
“I hope, despite my reasoning, that they’re on our side,” Hulk said, slowing to a walk.

The wolves ringed them. One came forward, and shifted into man-form. A fresh scar ran across one cheek, and his left ear was missing. But it was Stile’s friend.

“Kurrelgyre!” Stile exclaimed. “Thou wast victorious!”

“That was not in question, once thou hadst shown me the way,” the werewolf replied. He peered at Hulk.
 
“This monster-man—friend or foe?”

“Friend,” Stile said quickly.

“Then I sniff tails with thee, ogre,” Kurrelgyre said, extending his hand to Hulk.

“Sure,” Hulk agreed awkwardly, taking the hand. He seemed to be having some trouble believing the trans-formation he had just seen.

“Hulk is from the other frame,” Stile said quickly.

“My bodyguard. He doesn’t talk much.” And he flashed Hulk a warning glance. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I fear I wronged thee inadvertently,” the werewolf said. “I returned to my pack, but could not kill my sire without first explaining why—“

“You killed your—“ Hulk began, startled.

Kurrelgyre turned, half-shifting into wolf-form.
 
“Thou addressest me in that derogatory mode and tone?” he growled.

“He knows not our ways!” Stile cried. “Even as I did not, at first, and thou didst have to set me straight. He meant thee no offense.”

The werewolf returned all the way to man-form. “Of course. I apologize for mistaking thy intent,” he said to Hulk. “It remains a sensitive matter, and in a certain respect thou resemblest the type of monster that—“

“He understands,” Stile said. “We all make errors of assumption, at first. Why shouldst thou not explain to thy sire? It was the kindest thing thou couldst do for one already ill to death.”

Hulk nodded, beginning to understand. A mercy killing. Close enough.

“I came to my sire’s den,” Kurrelgyre said grimly.
 
“He met me in man-form, and said, ‘Why comest thou here? This place is not safe for thee, my pup.’ I replied, *I come to slay thee, as befits the love I have for thee, my sire, and the honor of our line. Then will I avenge mine oath-friend Drowltoth, and restore my bitch to prominence in the pack.’ Hardly did he betray his dignity, or yield to the ravage of distemper I perceived in him; in that moment he stood as proud as I remembered him of old. T knew thou wouldst thus return in honor,’ he said. ‘How didst thou come to accept what must be done?’ I told him, ‘A man persuaded me, even as the Oracle foretold.’ And he asked, ‘Who was this good man?’ and I replied, ‘The Blue Adept,’ and he asked, ‘How is it that an Adept did this thing for thee?’

I said, ‘He was dead, and his double comes from the other frame to restore his demesnes.’ Then my sire looked beyond me in alarm, and I turned and discovered that others of the pack had come up silently during my distraction, and overheard. Thus the pack knew that the Blue Demesnes were in flux, and the word spread quickly. And my bitch spoke, and said, ‘Of all the Adepts, Blue alone has been known to do good works among animals, and if that should change—‘ “

“But that will not change!” Stile protested.

“I tried to tell them that. But mine own kind doubted, and when the unicorns learned that Neysa was prisoner at the Blue Demesnes—“

“Prisoner! She’s not—“ But Stile had to stop. “Is she?”

“We know not. But the unicorn stallion is of imperious bent.”

“Well, if she is a prisoner, that will cease the moment I get there. But thou hast not finished thy story.”

“It is simple enough,” Kurrelgyre said. “The pack leader came, and my sire said, ‘It is time.’ We changed to wolf-form, and quickly and cleanly I tore the throat out of my sire, and knew then that I had done right, and never did I see a wolf so glad to die. I then whirled and challenged the pack leader while yet my sire’s corpse lay steaming, and my right could not be denied before the pack. The pack leader was not so eager to die. He fought, and perhaps he injured me.” Kurrelgyre smiled briefly, touching the stump of his ear. “His throat I did not tear; that were too honorable a demise for such a cur. I hamstrung him, spiked both his eyes, tore out his tongue, and drove him with bitten tail into the wilderness to die lame and blind among the monsters. It was an excellent reckoning.”

Stile concealed his reaction to this savage tale of vengeance. Perhaps he would have done something similar, in a similar circumstance. “And thy bitch is well?” he inquired, glancing at the female wolf who stood nearest.

“As well as one might be, following exile of her stud, slaughter of his oath-friend, and forced heat to the pack leader. But she will recover. I am now pack leader, and she remains my chosen; all other bitches whine before her.”

“A fitting resolution,” Stile said, hoping that Hulk had now grasped enough of the situation to avoid any further errors of manner.

“Yet she is marked,” Kurrelgyre continued. “She it was who made me see that the mare needed support.”

“Neysa,” Stile agreed. “But I assure thee—“

Now the bitch shifted to woman-form. She was pretty enough, with a wild orange flare of hair, but did look peaked. She must have had as hard a recent life as the Lady Blue, and survived it as toughly. “What mode of man art thou,” she demanded of Stile, “to trust thy female friend to the power of thy wife?”

“The Lady Blue is not my wife,” Stile protested.

“Perhaps not so long as the mare lives. I know somewhat of these things.” Surely an understatement!

“When the mare is dead, thou wilt be freed of thine oath, and practice magic—“

“No!” Stile cried.

“I tried to tell her thou wert true,” Kurrelgyre said.
 
“No way wouldst thou harm the mare—“

“And like my wolf, innocent of the ways of the bitch,” the female werewolf finished. “The mare is of a species we honor not, as they attempt to rival us as rulers of the wilds, but she brought thee to my love, and thou hast sent him home to me and to the honor he was due. I owe the mare. I perceive the danger thou dost not. The Lady Blue knows no limits to her determination to maintain her lord’s demesnes. If thou savest not the mare, I will avenge her in the manner of an oath-friend, though there be no oath between us.”

Could she be right? Had Stile sent Neysa to her doom in the Blue Demesnes? What a colossal miscalculation! Yet Neysa could take care of herself, and the Lady was no Adept. “If she is not safe, I will avenge her myself,” Stile said. But he could not make an oath of it. Suppose the Lady Blue had—

“Others know thee not as I do,” Kurrelgyre said. “So I felt it best to be on the scene when the herd arrived, lest unwarranted blame fall on thee. Thou mayest need guidance.”

“I may indeed,” Stile agreed. What a complex situation had blown up in his brief absence!

They proceeded toward the castle. The unicorns had drawn up before its gate, their music fading out. They were waiting for Stile to arrive. There were about fifty of them, almost evenly divided between mares and lesser males, with the huge stallion in front. The stallion stood some eighteen hands high at the shoulder, more than thirty centimeters—about a foot—above Stile’s head, and all his mass was functional. A truly impressive creature.

Hulk studied the stallion with open admiration. Indeed, the two were similar, in proportion to their species.

Stile halted, for the unicorns blocked the way. The werewolves ranged beside him, grim but neutral. They were here because their new pack leader had brought them at the behest of his bitch; they were not too keen on unicorns, but also not too keen on human beings.
 
Hulk stood back, heeding Stile’s admonishment to be silent. There was much here that was not yet properly understood.

“Dost thou seek to bar me from my heritage?” Stile asked the stallion.

The unicorn did not answer. His glance fell on Stile from an impressive elevation, bisected by the long and deadly spiraling horn. His head was golden, his mane silver, and his body a nacreous gray deepening into black fetlocks and hooves. His tail matched his mane, beautifully flowing, reflecting the light of the sun al-most blindingly. No horse ever had this coloration or this rugged splendor.

After a moment the stallion snorted: a brief accordion treble punctuated by two bass notes. One of the lesser males stepped forward, shifting shape. It was Clip, Neysa’s brother. “I helped thee at my sister’s behest,” he said. “What hast thou to say for thyself now?”

“I mean to enter that castle and see how Neysa is doing,” Stile said. But Kurrelgyre’s remarks, and the apprehension of the bitch with regard to the conflict between the unicorn mare and the Lady Blue made him queasy. Had he really betrayed his steed and friend into doom? Had Neysa suspected it when she left him?

What kind of a woman was the Lady Blue, really, and what would she do with the associate of the man who had destroyed the golem impostor? Stile had thought she would be grateful, but she certainly had not greeted him with open arms.

Yet how could he believe that his alternate self, his likeness in every respect except environment, had married a woman who would callously murder any creature who stood in her way? Had the Lady Blue shown any-thing other than a sincere and praiseworthy dedication to her late husband’s cause and memory? Yet again, if she knew that Stile alone could restore the greatness of the Blue Demesnes, hindered only by a foolish oath—

“And if she lives, what then?” Clip demanded. “The Herd Stallion demands to know.”

“What does the Herd Stallion care about Neysa?” Stile retorted, knowing that in this respect he was voicing the sentiment Clip could not voice. “She was excluded from the herd for no valid reason. She’s as pretty and fine a mare as any in the herd, I’ll warrant.
 
She should have been bred long ago.”

Clip hesitated, understandably. He was at the moment the mouthpiece for his superior, yet his sister’s welfare was dearest to his heart and he was loath to refute Stile’s statement. “Thou hast not answered the Stallion’s question. What will ye with Neysa—if she survives the treachery of Blue?”

“Treachery of Blue!” Stile cried in sudden fury. “I am Blue!” But he felt Hulk’s hand on his shoulder, warning him to restraint. Without his magic, he could not really be the Blue Adept.

The unicorn herd faced him silently, and so did Kurrelgyre’s bitch. Stile realized it was a fair question, and a hard one. No one had actually accused the Lady of murder; the question was about Stile’s own loyalties.
 
He was, potentially, the most powerful person here. If the Lady were exonerated, what would he do then?

“If you take Neysa into the herd, and breed her and treat her as befits a mare of quality, I welcome it.
 
Otherwise she is welcome to stay with me, and be my honored steed, as long as she wishes.”

 
“And what of thine oath to her?”

“What of it?” Stile snapped.

“What of Neysa, when thou breakest that oath?”

Stile suffered another abrupt siege of wrath. “Who claims I am a breaker of oaths?”

“The Stallion claims,” Clip said with a certain satisfaction.

For a moment Stile’s anger choked off his speech.
 
His hand went for his sword, but slapped only cloth; he had no sword now. Only Hulk’s firm, understanding hand held him back from a physical and foolish assault on the huge unicorn.

Kurrelgyre stepped forward and spoke instead. “I was with this man when the Black Adept imprisoned him, but he did no magic, though he was dying of thirst and knew that the simplest spell, such as even any one of us might do, would bring him water and freedom. He freed us from the clutch of the Yellow Adept without magic. He slew the golem of the Blue Demesnes by hand, without magic. He showed me how to regain my status in the pack, using no magic. Now he comes again to this frame—without magic. Never in my presence has he violated his oath. If the Stallion snorts other-wise, the Stallion offends me.”