CHAPTER

ENCOUNTER ON A LONELY ROAD

The road to Hell is sometimes paved with good intentions.

—The Books of Rules, CVI, Introduction

IF HE HAD TO GO TO HELL, WELL, IT WAS BETTER TO GO

dressed in expensive clothes, drinking good wine, and smoking
a fine cigar.

The small figure walking slowly down the road was hardly
visible in the darkness, and any who might have come along
would probably not even see, let alone notice, him. He stopped
for a moment, as if trying to get his bearings from the stars,
and sighed. Well, he thought to himself, the clothes weren't
bad for being nondescript, and the wine was long gone, but he
did have one last cigar. He took it out, sniffed it, bit off the
end, and stood there for a moment, as if hesitant to light and
consume this one last vestige of wealth. Finally he lighted it,
simply by making a few small signs in the air and pointing his
finger at the tip. A pale yellow beam emanated from the finger,
and the cigar glowed. Such pranks were really pretty petty for
a master sorcerer, but he had always enjoyed them, taking an
almost childlike pleasure in their simplicity and basic utility.

He found a rock and sat down to enjoy the smoke, looking
out at the bleak landscape before him, invisible in the darkness
of the new moon to his eyes, but not to his other, paranormal
senses.

The darkness was in itself a living thing to him, a thing that
he sensed, touched, caressed, and tried to befriend. He found
it indifferent to him, interested instead in its own lowly sub-
jects—the lizards, the snakes, the tiny voles, and other crea-
1

2            DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

tures that inhabited the desolation and knew it as home. For
these and all the nameless citizens of its domain, the night was
life itself, allowing them access to food and water under cooling
temperatures, sheltered from greater enemies by the cool, car-
ing dark.

The road seemed empty, lonely, desolate as the landscape
itself, a track forlorn and forgotten in the shelter of deep night;

but as he sat there, nursing the last cigar, he extended his senses
and saw that this road was different, this road was for those
with beyond normal senses and training. This road was inhab-
ited, used in the night; as he let himself go, he could hear the
groans and lamentations of those who used it now in the depths
of night.

Even he could not see them, not now, but he could hear
them, hear the crack of the whip and the cries of hopelessness
and despair from those who moved slowly, mournfully, down
that lonely road.

For in the dark, at the time of the new moon, he knew—
perhaps he alone knew—that this road had a dark and de-
spairing purpose beyond its utility to the travelers of day and
full moon.

They were walking, crawling, along that lonely road, he
knew, going toward a destination they dreaded yet had richly
earned.

The month's quota of damned souls was a bumper crop,
judging from the sounds.

One night, he knew, he'd be there, reduced to the same
level as all the rest, walking or crawling down that road himself.
One night, he, too, would be brought as low as the lowest of
those now moving down that road, paying a due bill he had
willingly run up. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be this night,
if his tongue and quick mind failed him for once. He was
willing to go, he tried to convince himself, but not yet, not
just yet. He had surrendered much to travel that road one day,
not the least of which was his honor, and he certainly was loath
to pay without at least attaining the goal for which he'd sold
his soul.

The cigar was almost finished now, but he continued to
nurse it along almost to the point of burning his fingers, as if
the end of the cigar would also be the end of his hopes, his
dreams, his life, and his power. For the first time, in the dark,

JACK L. CHALKER                     3

with the sounds of the damned filling his bargained soul to its
core, he had doubts and fears about his course and his own
well-being. Was the great goal worth this sort of ultimate price?
Did it really matter one way or the other what he did or didn't
do, or was he, like the cigar, a momentary brilliance turned to
ash and of no more consequence than that in the scheme of
things?

He got up, dropped the stub, and crushed it angrily with
his right foot. Such melancholy was for fools and failures, he
scolded himself. He had not failed yet, and in his setbacks he
had learned a great deal. Now was not the time for self-de-
precation, self-doubt, and inner fears to consume him—no,
that was what they would want, not merely his enemies but his
unhuman allies as well. They, his allies, were the cause of
this, for they dealt in such matters, traded in doubt and fear,
sowed the seeds of turmoil inside you, and, in that way, they
fed and grew stronger.

He began to walk along the dark, lonely road in the wastes,
conscious now of being among the milling throng of the damned
on their way to perdition, and conscious, too, that they knew
he was there, a living, breathing man of power. He could feel
their envy, their hatred of him for still cheating what they now
faced; he could feel, too, the pity in many of them, not merely
for their own sorry fates but for him as well.

Turn back, he could hear them crying. Do not walk this
path with us, as we have walked. You still live! For you, there
is still time...

Still time... Until his corpse rotted as theirs now did, until
his cold and silent soul received their summons, there was
always time. Time to set things right. Time not to repent, nor
turn back—never!—but time, instead, to complete the work.

, Within the hour he had passed through the slow-moving
throng and stood at a point in the road where, in the light of
day, it went through a narrow pass and emerged in greener,
more beauteous regions beyond. Any who dared this path on
a night so dark would still pass through to that other side,
oblivious to that which lay before them, only slightly out of
phase with the world they knew. But he—he was a sorcerer
and he saw the many plains in his mind's eye and in the magical
energies that flowed through all the world.

The colors of the valley's magic were crimson and lavender,

4            DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

the colors of its district prince, and they flowed along the road
with its great traffic of once-human misery, flowed with a
curious and subtle beauty to the head of the pass, then seemed
to pause a moment before beginning a swirl in the air before
him, as if, somehow, these great colors were some sort of
liquid, here reaching a great drain.

And, in fact, it was so, for through him passed the souls of
the damned, screaming in terror, unable not to press forward,
reaching the great swirling mass of magical energy and falling
in, their cries and pleas for a mercy now forever denied them
cut terribly short as they were sucked down the great outlet
from the real world in which they had forged their fate to Hell
itself.

Not that Hell was actually so terrible. He had visited there
on two occasions and found it more a place of curious fasci-
nation than the abject horror of the old tales and mystic reli-
gions. Yet it was still an unhappy place, fueled with hatred
and revenge, its most terrible punishment a constantly available
vision of the glory and beauty of absolute perfection that could
always be seen but never experienced. They walked in Hell,
always avoiding the vision, their eyes averting from it as men's
eyes averted from the sun; yet they were always aware it was
there, a place of indescribable joy and beauty that was held
tantalizingly before them, just out of reach—always out of
reach. It was this vision that had been denied him on his visits,
for no living being was permitted to see such a sight as Paradise,
lest, it was said, he be consumed in the light and desire nothing
else. This did not really bother him; everybody in his past
whom he knew, liked, or admired was in Hell anyway, along
with all the other interesting people.

The swirl was changing now, becoming more irregular, as
if disturbed by some great power or form arising within it,
going, as it were, against the flow of the thing. It was less a
drain now than a spiral. He saw the four arms of the turning
swirl break from the main mass and fly upward above it, then
form in a diamond. The light of these four shapes was no
longer nebulous, but instead took on the form of wraithlike
faces, demon faces, looking down upon him with cold interest.
Now from the center of the magical mass shot two more bright
lights, out and up into the diamond-shaped phalanx of faces,

JACK L. CHALKER                    5

the demonic captain and the equally demonic sergeant of the
guard.

Finally, out of the mass, so large it almost was the mass,
walked a vaguely humanoid form. The creature was terrible to
behold, one who had once been a creature of near perfection,
an angel, distorted by hatred and an unquenchable thirst for
revenge into a vaguely manlike thing that oozed the rot of long-
dead corpses and whose face, twisted in an expression of per-
manent hatred, was set off by two huge pupilless eyes glowing
a bright red.

The creature was dressed in royal robes of lavender, set off
by a crimson cape, boots, and gloves. It halted in front of him
and looked down menacingly. He bowed low and said, "How
is my lord Prince Hiccarph?"

The demon prince gave a bull-like snort. "You really blew
it, didn't you. Baron Asshole?"

"We blew it," he responded calmly. "Despite that cursed
dragon and the very considerable powers of Ruddy gore, it was
the lack of the Lamp that did us in. We had it in our grasp—
and, in your august presence, a brainless hulk and a slip of a
halfling girl stole it right out from under your nose. All that
when one wish would have carried the day and the war for us.
You can't make me take all the credit, not this time."

"I can make you take whatever I wish," the demon prince
hissed. "You're mine. Baron. I own you, not merely when you
get here but right now. I think this fact bears reminding."

He smiled. "If that is true, my lord, and I am your abject
slave, then the fault is truly yours for the loss, for you chose
the instrument and you played its string."

"You are an impudent bastard," Hiccarph commented, his
tone softening. "Perhaps that's why I like you. Perhaps that is
why I just don't strike you down and take you with me tonight."

Inwardly, the Baron relaxed a bit at the comment. Still
time... still time... Aloud, he asked, "Have you determined
why those two were able to ignore your powers? At first I
thought it was the Lamp, but I soon realized that the magic
Lamp of the djinn would have little authority over you."

"I have done much research on the matter," the demon prince
told him, "and still I have not the answer that is true. Dozens
of explanations have occurred to me, but which one is the right

6             DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

one? Unless I know the exact means by which Ruddygore
accomplished this, I can take no measures to counter it. We
know very little about them, after all; and, if I peer too deeply
into it from my side, it will certainly alert his Majesty, and I
would prefer he in particular learn nothing of our little project,
at least not yet, for understandable reasons. Since they worked
so well for Ruddygore, though, it is likely he will continue to
use them, and in that we might ultimately learn the secret
through your offices. Remember, Baron, that we are in a sense
kindred in this matter. Neither of us can afford to fail, and
both of us will suffer terribly if we do."

The Dark Baron nodded. The harsh and rugged land of
Husaquahr, dominated by the great River of Dancing Gods,
had never been totally conquered by force of arms and, as such,
it was the key to the domination of the entire continent. The
continent, in turn, was the key to the entire world, since a bare
majority of the Council of Thirteen, the most powerful nec-
romancers in the world, lived on it—including, of course,
himself. Control of the Council meant the ability to rewrite the
Books of Rules, which governed the lives and powers of all
who lived on the world, and that meant absolute control. From
this world, formed by angels in the backwash of the Great
Creation, Hiccarph and the minions of Hell could launch an
invasion of Earth Prime, an Armageddon that might well have
a different ending from the one everybody and every holy book
of both worlds predicted.

Of course, there was more to it on a personal level than
merely giving Hell a great advantage. Hiccarph might be a
prince, but as his sphere of influence was Husaquahr and not
any place on Earth Prime, he was a decidedly minor one in
the Hellish hierarchy. If Hiccarph could deliver this world to
his Satanic Majesty free and clear, his standing in the royal
pecking order would be second only to great Lucifer himself.

But Hiccarph was taking a terrible gamble himself. For over
two thousand years there had existed a compact between Heaven
and Hell, a reordering of the rules of their great war. No longer
would angels and demons walk directly upon the planes of the
worlds, but would, instead, act through intermediaries native
to those planes exclusively. Thus balanced, the minds and souls
of the worlds would themselves choose sides and do the work
freely and for their own motives. To break the compact would

JACK L. CHALKER                      /

be tantamount to a formal declaration of war, the second War
of Heaven called Armageddon, a war Hell did not wish to fight
unless it believed it could win.

And yet Hiccarph had in fact broken the compact and di-
rectly intervened in Husaquahr. With his powers, unconstrained
by the man-made Books of Rules, he had built and backed the
forces of the Dark Baron and conquered over a quarter of the
entire land. They had been stopped, though, in a great battle
in which Hiccarph's powers were blunted by his inability to
act against the two from the other plane at a key point in the
battle, and by the subsequent skill of opposing sorcery and
swords. Because of that defeat, the Dark Baron's forces had
had to withdraw, and both the Baron and Hiccarph were in
pretty deep trouble.

The longer it took, and the more direct involvement by the
demon prince, the more likely his activities would be discov-
ered by his own king, who might not approve of such a pre-
mature and unilateral breaking of the compact by a comparatively
minor underling. But the more open and direct Hiccarph's
involvement, the more the enemies of the Baron would be
strengthened, since those opposing Hell would be able to rally
all the most powerful sorcerers to their side—acombined power
Hiccarph alone could not block. Worse, proof that the compact
was being violated would raise even the hands of evil against
the Baron—for who, living in decadent splendor and enjoying
the power and possessions that evil brought, would like to take
a risk on Armageddon, at which point their wonderful wicked-
ness might be destroyed for all time, when they had sure things
in the here and now?

"Those two saw you," the Baron pointed out. "Live wit-
nesses now exist that know you personally intervened."

"They are of no consequence," the demon prince assured
him. "After all, Ruddygore already knew. But the others—
particularly those who are already in the service of Hell—will
not want to believe. They will find the idea that any might
violate the compact unthinkable. Only if faced with proof so
clear and incontrovertible that they can not help but believe
will they do so. That's the only thing that's saving our collective
asses. Baron, but it's a big thing."

He nodded. "So what do we do about these two you can't
control?"

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

"They are no longer any threat, now that we know their
looks and boss. Remember, while they are immune to me, they
are vulnerable to the Rules of Husaquahr; thus, they can be
easily handled by such as you. It is ironic, my dear Baron,
that, had you actually gone to attend to them instead of me,
we would have won. While my far greater magic was powerless
against them, you could have frozen them to statues or turned
them to toads with a flick of your wrist. Ruddygore is clever—
he foresaw in the Mazes of Probabilities that such a situation
might occur and prepared for it—but his advantage is now
known. Once known, his schemes are of no consequence. I
think we have seen Ruddy gore's bag of tricks. He will not
expect us to act again so soon, and we will not give him the
time to prepare more tricks and traps."

"You have a plan, then?"

"You still control a quarter of Husaquahr. Your army is a
good army, perhaps the greatest ever raised here, and it retired
from the field intact and in good order. In the end, it was
geography that defeated us, as it has defeated all past con-
quering armies here. Even without the Lamp, we almost carried
the day, nor could our enemies mount a credible counterattack.
They won in the end because geography told them where we
must meet and they were there, well fortified and in the defen-
sive positions of their choice. Eliminate the geographical fac-
tors and we will carry any battle."

"But how do you eliminate geography?" the Baron asked,
fascinated but skeptical.

"With me, you are the equal of six of the Council," Hiccarph
told him. "We have the power. Now listen, my impudent in-
strument, as to how it will be used."

CHAPTER 2

VISITS WITH OLD FRIENDS

The fairies may belong fully to no human orders, nor their political
parties.

—The Books of Rules, LXIV, 36(b)

THE GLEN DINIG WAS A PLACE OF MAGIC AND MYSTERY. THE

sacred grove of trees along the banks of the River of Dancing
Gods was but a few hours north of the great castle Terindell
at the confluence of the Rossignol and the Dancing Gods, yet
it might as well be on another planet. Legends abounded con-
cerning it, but few had actually seen it and fewer still dared to
penetrate its depths. Even those who scoffed at the legends and
tall tales nonetheless admitted that there was a strong spell on
the place; no human male could enter it, no matter from what
direction or means, nor male fairy, either. Only a few steps
into the tree-covered area and a man felt his breath become
labored and hard; in a few steps more, he would be gasping
for air, with the choice of suffocation or fleeing outside the
invisible but tangible boundaries.

Legend said that a great witch, a virgin power who was the
daughter of Adam and Lilith, had finally tired of the world and
its struggles and created this place, perhaps on the spot where,
a world away, Eden had once stood; and here she remained to
this day, never aging, never changing, in some strange and
wondrous world of her own creation, echoing imperfectly the
Garden she once actually saw so long ago. Exiled, as her mother
had been, to this new and alternate Earth, unable to die and
unable to forget, she was in a state where, at least, she might
not go mad.

Some said she was mad, of course, while others said she
9

10

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

had transformed herself, and that she was not in the Glen Dinig
but rather was the magical forest now. All that was agreed
upon was that she was there, that her name was Huspeth, and
that even those who really didn't believe in her still feared and

respected the name.

The woman who rode into the forest confidently had a great

deal of the respect and awe that Huspeth and the Glen Dinig
radiated within herself, but she did not fear either the witch of
Glen Dinig or the forest itself. She knew them well, as old
friends and great teachers, and she owed them much. She did
have fears and concerns, though, and she dreaded this trip for
what to the superstitious outsiders would seem amazing rea-
sons. She was coming to ask of them that they separate her
from this wonder and magic forever, because she had no choice.

The woman had a strange appearance, both human and fairy,
with a beautiful, almost unnatural face and figure set off by
enormous, deep, sensuous eyes that no human ever had. Her
skin, too, was a soft orange, and her hands and feet, with their
length and clawlike nails, were pure fairy.

Huspeth met her warmly at the small glen in the center of
the forest and tried her best to put the newcomer at ease. The
cauldron outside the hut where the white witch lived was bub-
bling with grand smells, and Huspeth would hear nothing se-
rious from her visitor until both had supped and the sun had

vanished far beyond the trees.

Finally, by fireglow, the legendary witch gazed sadly at her
strange-looking visitor and sighed. "Well, my daughter, time
has caught up with thee, and thine anguish I share."

Marge smiled a sad smile and nodded. "I owe you every-
thing," she said sincerely, "and I'm pained by this—but I can
put it off no longer. It's—well, it's driving me crazy!"

Huspeth nodded sympathetically and gave her hand a moth-
erly squeeze. "Already thou art burdened with living in two
worlds, not truly a part of either yet very much a part of both,"
the witch said soothingly, "That is a far greater burden than
any should bear, yet to live in three is impossible."

Marge stifled a tear, knowing that at least one other under-
stood. Two worlds and not truly a part of either, she thought
sourly. A Texas girl who'd failed at a career, failed at marriage,
even failed as a hooker and as a waitress, who'd hitched a ride
on her way to Hell with a crazy trucker drafted by a sorcerer

JACK L. CHALKER                   11

to fight a war in another world. Joe was supposed to be here
in Husaquahr, at least, although he might argue the point.
Ruddygore had needed a hero not born of this world and thus
immune to the demons of this place and he'd plucked Joe from
Earth just before Joe was to die in a crash. She'd hitched a
ride with Joe that dark night, thinking of suicide and expecting
to make El Paso. Instead, here she was, in the land where fantasy
was real, the origins of all human fantasies and myths, across
the Sea of Dreams. And here the sorcerer with the impossible
fictitious name of Throckmorton P. Ruddygore—Huspeth had
taught her that none of the Council of Thirteen used their real
names, since knowing the real name of someone in their class
gave an equal opponent some kind of advantage—had sent the
hitchhiking Marge to Huspeth in the Glen Dinig, to be trained
as a healer and white witch. After the training, she had done
her job well and contributed to keeping the powerful magic
Lamp out of the hands of the marching Dark Baron, but there
had been a catch. The order of white witches to which Huspeth
and she belonged drew power from their virginity and celi-
bacy—and Marge had once again been virginal in Husa-
quahr—but the more magic she had used or been subjected
to, the more she changed.

"Aye, thou art a changeling sure," Huspeth told her, echoing
her thoughts. "It is he whom thou dost call Ruddygore who
did this knowingly. Is there hatred in thy soul for him for this?"

She thought a moment. "No, not really. Not at all. Just for
a moment there, I was back on that lonely west Texas highway,
not caring if I lived or died. Without him I'd be dead, either
in that wreck or not too long after by my own hand. Whatever
he did, he had a right to do. I've got no kick coming."

Huspeth smiled and nodded. "Thou hast learned much, my
daughter, and thy wisdom becomes thee. I do not much like
him, as thou knowest, for he trafficks in demons, yet his heart
is good even if his soul be impure. He had very good reasons
for bringing thee and thy companion to this world, and his skill
at the art placed you both in the place where you were most
needed. It may seem cruel to send thee to a celibate order and
then make thee a changeling, but I divine strong purpose in it.
Thy string is complex and far from played out. At first I thought
him taking a subtle jest at me, but now I see it is not so. He
needed thee as a witch of the order, but the clouds of Probability

12

JACK L. CHALKER                    13

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

change with events. The first act is done, the curtain is down,

but the play is far from completed."

Marge felt a little better on hearing this. "Then—whatever
I'm becoming—is what is needed next?"
The ancient witch nodded. "It is clear now."
"Then—why? What must I face?"

"That is unknown to all save the Creator," Huspeth told
her. "The future is not fixed but is all probabilities. One highly
skilled in the arts may see that a thing is needed while not
knowing why, or when, or how. But it is now clear that the
curtain must rise on the next act of our play. A conference of
the Sisterhood was already held. Thy vows are lifted, as they
must be. Thou art free."

Marge frowned. "Just like that?"

Huspeth laughed softly. "Just like that. And why hot? For
all the magic of the initiation which confers the power, a vow
is a vow and not a spell. It is not a command but a contract.
Thou hast not broken thy vow, so there is no dishonor. Release
is needed and granted freely and willingly. The war against
the forces of Hell needs thee." She sighed. "But stay the night
with me. Enjoy the Glen Dinig. In the morning, perhaps, we
shall visit the unicorn and say thy farewells. Then shalt thou

ride forth to a new destiny."

Marge was almost overcome with emotion, and tears welled
up in her eyes. "May I still—return? For a visit?"

"At any time, my daughter, for my daughter thou shalt
remain always. The Glen Dinig shall sing whenever thou dost
approach, and here thou mayest always find rest and comfort."

That made it much better, much more bearable. "Mother—

what shall I do now?"

"Travel to the east along the Rossignol," Huspeth told her.
"Ten days' comfortable journey will bring thee to the tributary
called the Bird's Breath, and so thou shall follow it to a forest
called Mohr Jerahl, a place much like this one. There shalt
thou find the fairy folk called the Kauri, who will complete
the process and instruct thee in thy nature. Thou art bright, and
so it will take some doing inside thee to trust thy feelings at
all times, even over thy head, but this is the way of fairy folk,
and they live lives far longer than humankind."

"What about Joe?" Marge asked. "Can he come with me?
I think I'd like some moral support."

Huspeth gazed off into space for a moment, seeming not to
hear, then turned back to her visitor. "He may accompany thee
to the edge of Mohr Jerahl, but he must wait there for thee.
There is mortal peril for a human to enter the home of a fairy
folk; should he enter, he will almost certainly have to kill many
Kauri or be consumed by their power. It would not be good
to begin thy relationship with thy new people with death, for
the fairies do not age as humans do, but exist in their soul-
state, and death for any fairy, including thyself, is the true
death, not the transition of the humans. If he must come, then
make him wait. Time to the fairy folk in their own land is not
like time elsewhere, so his wait will not be long, no matter
how long dost thou tarry."

"These—Kauri. What are they like?"

"An ancient folk of great power over mortal flesh, which
is needed to safeguard their fragility. Their nature is quite
elemental and is best experienced firsthand. Don't worry. Thou
wilt find peace and confidence as one of them."

CHAPTER 3

A NICE LITTLE BUSINESS TRIP

For a barbarian, image is the most important thing.

—Rules, LXXXII, 306(b)

THE MAN WALKIN® ACROSS THE CASTLE'S INNER COURTYARD

would have stood out in any crowd. He was a huge man, well
over six feet and so totally muscled that those looking at him
generally expected him to crash through stone walls rather than
be bothered to walk around them. His face, which he himself
described as vaguely Oriental—a meaningless term in Husa-
quahr but not back in his native Philadelphia—was handsome

14

JACK L. CHALKER

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

15

and strong, with piercing eyes that seemed almost jet-black,
the whole thing set off by a thick crop of truly jet-black hair
that hung halfway between his shoulders and waist. His skin
was tanned a magnificent bronze and looked tough enough to
deflect spears. He wore only a flimsy white loincloth, hung
from an ornate hand-tooled leather belt, and a hat, made to his
specifications by the milliner in the nearby town of Terdiera.
It was a cowboy hat, brim sides turning up in starched salute,
and on the front was a strange symbol and the word, in English:

"Peterbilt." The hat, which had shown great utility in deflecting
the elements, had been widely imitated in the land around Castle

Terindell.

He approached a low building separated from the castle

proper and knocked at the wooden door. It opened, revealing
a tall, sinister-looking elf whose thin-lined face, penetrating
eyes in perpetual scowl, and cold manner were in stark contrast
to the small, happy groundskeepers always working on the
castle itself. This was a warrior elf, an Imir, a professional

soldier and deadly fighter.

"Hello, Poquah," the big man said cheerily. "Is he in?"
"Downstairs, working on cataloguing his sculpture collec-
tion," the Imir responded. "Come in—the lady is already wait-
ing inside. You can go down together."

Joe entered, having to bend his head slightly to clear the
door, and looked around the familiar study of the sorcerer
Ruddy gore, its sumptuous furnishings complementing the walls
of red-bound volumes that seemed to go on forever—the Books
of Rules, which governed this entire crazy world and were

constantly being amended.

Marge was standing there, just looking at the huge books
as she always did, probably wishing she could read them.
Although the trading language they now used routinely as a
first language bore an amazing resemblance to English, at least
in many of the nouns, adjectives, and adverbs, its written form
was pictographic, like the Chinese of their old world, with over
forty thousand characters representing words and ideas rather
than letters. It took an exceptional mind to learn it, starting
from childhood. Total literacy meant power and position, no
matter from what origins one came; but there was far too little
time to leam it, once one was an adult.

She looked around as he entered and gave him a mild wave,

then turned back to the books. "You know," she said, "they
still remind me of the U.S. Tax Code. Thousands of years of
petty, sorcerous minds constantly making Rules on just about
everything they can think of. And every time there's a Council
meeting, there's another volume of additions, deletions, and
revisions. I bet nobody knows or understands it all, not even
Ruddy gore."

He just nodded and shrugged. The whole world was nuts,
but people still acted like people, and that meant nutty, too.
He'd long since stopped being amazed at much of anything in
this world and just accepted whatever came. "So how are you
doing?" he asked her, trying to start a more normal conver-
sation.

She turned and shrugged, and he couldn't help but reflect
how she seemed to get more beautiful and sexy every time he
saw her. "Not bad. You?"

"Bored," he said honestly; "The first time I bent a three-
inch iron bar into a pretzel, I was like a little kid and I went
around bending all sorts of stuff, lifting horses, wagons, you
name it. But now it's all just nothin'. I mean, it's no big deal
any more."

Nothing, in fact, was any big deal any more. He was used
to stares and people scrambling out of his way—so used to it
that he pretty well took it for granted now. Just going into a
town was an experience only for those with him for the first
time—the women all gaga over him, no problems with service,
conquests, you name it. There wasn't even any fun in claiming
that he could outdrink and outfight anybody in the town. Hell,
he could and he knew it. In the two months since the battle,
he'd become totally bored, jaded, and itchy for anything new,
even if it was risky. Just a couple of days before, two thieves
from out of the area had attacked him in a back alley. One had
hit him over the head with a club while the other had swung
a board into his stomach. Both the club and the board had
broken on impact—and so had the two thieves.

Just now he'd come from the practice field down by the
river where several trainees had tried to shoot arrows into him.
Without even thinking about it he'd twisted, turned, and knocked
those arrows that still would have hit him down in midair.
Gorodo, the huge, nine-foot, blue, apelike trainer of heroes
and military men, had asked him for permission to have trainees

16

DEMONS Of THE DANCING GODS

try to kill him any time. So far, none had shown the least
promise. He feared no man and no physical threat; only against
sorcery was he powerless and, even in that department, he'd
used his brains and quick reflexes to dodge most of it.

That had been the plan, anyway, since the start of all this.
He would be the brawn and Marge would deal with the magic,
aided by this Huspeth she always talked about and by Rud-
dygore, of course. They made a near-perfect team. But since
the Dark Baron's defeat, there had been little to do.

Poquah appeared—he had the habit of doing that, without
any sound or sign until he spoke up—and said, "The Master
says to come down. He's in the middle of the catalog and he
doesn't want to lose his place."

Marge joined them, and they walked out a back door and
down a corridor which led to the sorcerer's magical laboratory.
They were not going there, though, but to a basement beneath
the main hall and study, where Ruddy gore kept many of his
more personal valuables. She looked up at Joe and whispered,
"Ever seen this collection?"
He shook his head negatively.

"Don't crack up or make jokes when you see it," she warned
him. "He's pretty sensitive about it."

Before he could ask any questions, they were in the base-
ment and surrounded by what she was talking about. For a
moment he looked around, trying to sort out the collection from
the junk—but it didn't take him long to realize that the junk
was the collection.

There were thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of them—
in every size, shape, color combination, and in just about every
style. It was, he had to admit, the largest grouping in one spot
of tacky plaster sculptures short of a Hong Kong factory. Here
they were—the monkey contemplating the human skull while
sitting on a plaster book labeled "Aristotle," plaster dogs, plas-
ter cats, pink flamingos, lawn jockeys, and just about every
other expression of the tacky art ever "won" by contestants at
Beat-the-Guesser stands and fire carnivals the world over. The
souvenirs were there, too—the plaster Statues of Liberty, the
U.S. Capitols, even ones with a foreign flavor like the seven
Eiffel Towers, half a dozen Big Bens, and three different Man-
nekin Piss statues from Brussels, one of which had a definitely
obscene corkscrew imbedded in its painted plaster.

17

JACK L. CHALKER

He was about to say something when a shaggy head popped
up from the midst of the statuary that virtually filled the room,
looked at them, and beamed. "Marge! Joe! How good of you
to drop in! How do you like the collection? I daresay it's the
finest of its type on any world!"

Joe was about to make a comment on just what he really
thought of the junk when Marge kicked his shin. "Um, I'll
agree that nobody else has a collection like this one," he man-
aged, trying to sound diplomatic.

Throckmorton P. Ruddygore got up slowly from the floor,
where he'd been working, then started looking for a way to
get out of the pile that surrounded him without breaking any-
thing. This was no mean task for him, since the sorcerer looked
like nothing so much as the classical depiction of Santa Claus,
although, at a height of more than six feet, his proportionate
bulk was certainly over four hundred pounds.

Joe and Marge carefully helped to make a path for him by
moving statuary where they could, and at last the sorcerer was
able to reach the entry way. Usually dressed in fine clothes or
majestic robes, he allowed few people to see him in the gigantic
T-shirt and Bermuda shorts he was now wearing.

After greeting them warmly, he looked at Marge with his
piercing blue eyes and asked, "What is it you want, my child?"

"I think you know," she responded. "At least, you'd better
know."

"Well, I don't know," Joe grumbled.

Ruddygore just nodded. "I think it's best you go and do it
as soon as possible. Events are moving at a far faster pace than
I had anticipated. Something very odd is going on in the Baron's
lands, and that spells trouble. I may need you both at any
time."

That interested the big man. "You mean another battle?"

"Not like the old one, Joe. I think the Baron has learned
his lesson on that one. But there are disturbing reports from
the south. Whole military units seem to have vanished or been
broken up and re-formed elsewhere. Boundary defenses have
been strengthened, although obviously we can't possibly mount
a successful counterattack, and it's getting tougher to get in
and out of his areas. Something's up, something new, and we
can't get a handle on it; but it's certain that the only reason for
such ironclad border control, other than to repel invasion, is

18

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

19

either to keep your own people in—and he has other means
to do that—or to keep the flow of information to a minimum.
Our usual spies have been next to useless, I'm afraid, so I'm
hoping to leam something at the convention."

"Convention?" Marge prompted.

The sorcerer nodded. "Yes, the annual meeting of the sor-
cerers, magicians, and adepts of Husaquahr. It's a rather large,
elaborate affair lasting five days, and it's only three weeks
away. This year it's in Sachalin, Marquewood's capital. I leave
in ten days for it, since it's a long way. Everybody will be
there, though—the entire Council, as a courtesy, including
those members, both greater and lesser, from the Baron's lands.
I might leam something useful."

"Wait a minute," Joe put in. "You mean to tell me that even
the Baron's side will be there? In a country they just tried to

conquer?"

Ruddygore smiled. "Yes, it does sound odd, but the Society
is above politics, and politics often intrudes but never interferes.
They'll all be there—but on their best nonpolitical behavior,
I assure you. The guarantee is that there will be so much magical
power and skill present that any side in a dispute will be in the
minority—and the majority will act decisively and ruthlessly,
I assure you, if the bond of the society is violated."

"The Dark Baron—he'll be there, too?" Marge asked, tem-
porarily forgetting her purpose.

"Oh, yes, but not under that guise. He'll be his usual self
and impossible to detect by normal means. It's interesting. He
may greet me warmly, then buy me a drink—or I might buy
him one. All the time he'll know, while I'll just wonder at
each and every one of them. But, no matter, some slip, some
slight thing, might be betrayed in such an atmosphere, and we
must be on the watch for it."

"We?" both of them echoed.

"Oh, yes. I certainly want you there as my guests and part
of my entourage. Poquah will also be there, along with other
interested members of the household, but they'll all have been
there before. You two will be fresh, unknown to other attendees
and they to you; you might pick up something that familiarity
misses. If you leave tomorrow, you can make Mohr Jerahl,
then take the old road through the Firehills and get there in
plenty of time."

Joe frowned. "Now, one of you want to tell me what this
is all about?"

Marge laughed and turned to the big man. "Poor Joe! I'm
sorry! I'm going to the home of—well, my people, I guess I
could say. I want to complete the transformation quickly, just
get it over with."

"The way is possibly dangerous, Joe," the sorcerer added,
"although probably no more than any place else in Husaquahr.
The perils are more likely thieves and the like than any really
magical dangers, though there might be some. You must re-
member by experience what sort of things might lurk off every
trail. Going, Marge will be extremely vulnerable to such dan-
gers, which is why I'm asking you to go. Once you get there,
you'll be in more danger than she, so when you reach the edge
of Mohr Jerahl you'll have to camp and wait for her. The kind
of magic the fairy folk have on their own home turf is beyond
you or most others, Joe, and I don't want to lose you. I'm
going to need you when the time comes again for sword and
spear."

"Well, I don't know..."

"Trust me, Joe," Ruddygore urged sincerely. "Even I would
think twice about going in there without all the armaments of
the magical art, and you have none. The Kauri are particularly
powerful, which is why, once the transformation is completed,
you and Marge will make the perfect team. You will comple-
ment each other almost absolutely, and that will make the two
of you among the most dangerous pair in all of Husaquahr."

Joe thought that over. "The most dangerous pair... I kind
of like that. And I've been bored stiff, anyway."

"Then go with my blessings and heed my warnings," the
sorcerer told them. "We will meet again three weeks hence at
the Imperial Grand Hotel in Sachalin."

Much to Joe's disgust, the journey was without incident and
through rolling farm country. They decided to skip the long
and treacherous trollbridge near Terdiera and made their way
along the Rossignol and its good trading road to the much
larger town of Machang, which, being at a particularly sharp
and inward angle of the river, was a convergence of many
roads and trade routes and had a bridge there built and run by
the government.

20

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

21

The Rossignol at this point was barely a hundred yards wide,
but the channel was still more than ten feet deep, hardly ford-
able. The falls to the east of the town offered too risky and
slippery a crossing on horseback; beyond that, the river was
heavily patrolled and the border strongly fenced, as the water
was shallow enough for anybody to walk across.

The formalities on the Valisandran side of the border were
few; a small shack contained an official and a sorry-looking
soldier who barely seemed interested in checking anybody going
out. On the other side, though, was the tiny Marquewood town
ofZabeet, a poor and rundown little place that seemed to subsist
on cheap tourist trinkets sold to those who, coming along the
trade routes for one reason or another, wanted to say they'd
been to Marquewood without actually having to go there. The
people were poor and dressed in rags; many of the children
weren't dressed at all, and everybody seemed anxious to sell
travelers something petty and crude that they had no desire for.

Still, for such a forgotten part of the country, it had one
hell of an official entry station—a gigantic building entrants
actually had to ride through, complete with officious clerks
who were dressed in uniforms that suggested they were chief
generals in some big army. The little man with the ten stars
on each shoulder and the fourteen stripes down his blue uni-
form's sleeves was at least thorough.

"Names?"

"Joseph the Golden and Marge of Mohr Jerahl," Marge
responded, already a little bit annoyed.

The eyebrows went up. "Mohr Jerahl? Then you are a citizen
of Marquewood?"

"In a way I guess I am," she admitted.

"Documents, then?"

"The fairy folk need none, as you know."

"And if you were truly of Mohr Jerahl, you wouldn't need
this bridge, either," the clerk responded coldly. "Insufficient
documentation. Entry refused. And you?"

Joe was growing a little irritated at the man's manner and
drew his sword. It was an impressive weapon, being one of
the last of the legendary dwarf-swords and thus magical, with
a mind and personality of its own. To the consternation of all,
Joe had named it Irving, after his small son a world away; but
looking at the thing induced only respect, not derision.

The clerk was unfazed. "Striking a customs and immigration
official with a sword, magical or not, is an offense punishable
by not less than ten years at hard labor and/or a fine not to
exceed fifty thousand marques," he said casually. "Undocu-
mented and threatening. Entry refused." He turned to go back
to his station, and Joe roared.

"How arc you gonna impose that punishment if you're dead?"

The clerk stopped, turned, and looked at the big man as if
he were a small child or an idiot. "I am only a small cog in a
great bureaucratic machine. What happens to me will not alter
things one bit. It will simply trigger the crossbows now aimed
at you both and, if you survive them by some miracle, will
make you wanted fugitives. It is not my job to bring you in or
punish you. We have police and army units to do that."

"Why, you cold little—machine!" Marge snapped, and
started for him.

"Wait!" Joe shouted, sheathing his sword. "As an old trucker,
I should have realized that you don't fight his type with weap-
ons." He saw Marge stop and look hesitant and he turned back
to the little man.

"Tell me, Mr. Official, what is the penalty for bribing an
officer of the government at an official entry station?"

The clerk thought a moment. "It would depend on the
amount."

Joe reached into his saddlebag, found a small pouch, opened
it, and removed two medium-sized diamonds. He dismounted
and walked over to the little man and handed him the two
stones. "How about for this amount?"

The clerk reached into a shirt pocket, pulled out a jeweler's
magnifier, and looked them both over critically. He placed
both the stones and the magnifier back in his pocket, then took
out a small pad and scribbled something on it that neither of
them could read, handing two sheets to Joe. "Documentation
all in order. Have a pleasant and enjoyable stay in our beautiful
country," he said. He turned and went back inside.

Joe grinned, looked at Marge, and said, "Let's mount up."

They were through the little, shabby town and out onto the
Eastern Road before they slowed and pulled alongside each
other. Joe was still grinning. "No doubt about it," he said.
"People really are the same all over."

She shook her head wonderingly. "You know, he wasn't

22

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

kidding about those crossbows. I spotted them all over, on
some kind of lever and spring mechanism. Either he or a buddy
could have made pincushions of us. What made you sure he'd
take the bribe and not just arrest us for violating some rule
thus-and-so?"

The big man chuckled. "Because people are the same. The
more straightlaced and officious they are, the more corrupt they
wind up being. That fellow had no flexibility at all, yet here
he is at the only major border crossing to a town dependent on
tourists. He wouldn't last long there if he was for real—the
people in that poor little town would have lynched him. No,
he's an old pro. He spotted us for people likely to have money
and tried the good old shakedown. I've seen his type many
times, usually at seldom-used border stations."

She was still shaking her head. "But what if he was wrong?
What if we didn't have the money or never caught on? I notice
he never asked for a bribe, and you never actually offered one."

"Well, if we hadn't gone across, we'd have gone back and
stayed in Machang long enough to gripe about him. Somebody
would cue us in—bet on it. Somebody working with him, most
likely. And that same somebody would find out if we had no
money and offer to get us across for something—say one of
the horses. Don't worry—that fellow will spend the end of his
days either a very rich and comfortable man or in jail. Bet on
his being rich. Don't believe what they told you in school—
crime pays real good. That's why so many people are in the
business."

She thought about that for a minute. "Uh—were you ever
in that business?"

He laughed. "At one time or another, I think most everybody
is. For truckers, it's maybe half the time. Not even the most
honest, flag-waving Jesus man doesn't run an overloaded rig
once in a while and skip the coops—weigh stations—or maybe
run at ten or twenty over the speed limit. About a quarter of
us haul stuff we shouldn't in addition to what's on the waybill,
to make a few bucks. You talk as if you never did anything
illegal, either."

"Let's not talk about that," she responded, and they rode
on.

Again the road followed the river for a long way; but midway
through the second day out from the border crossing, the main

23

JACK L. CHALKER

road diverged into three branches, one heading west, one south,
and one southeast. Joe looked at Marge quizzically. "Which
one?"

She didn't hesitate. "None of them. We go due east now.
That way." She pointed.

He looked in the indicated direction and could make out a
not-very-wom dirt path that went out over the meadows and
toward a wild forested area far to the east. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Forget the maps and road markers now. I
can—well, I can feel it. It's kind of like a—magnet, is the
best way I can say it."

He shrugged, and they set off on the primitive path.

And yet it wasn't so much a magnet as a presence, she
decided. There was something there, something warm and alive,
something that she could feel with every step now. It was an
odd, indescribable feeling, and she could only hope that Joe
would trust her.

Joe really had no choice. He let her take the lead, although
the path was still clear enough to follow, and just relaxed.

They camped well into the forest that night. It was a pretty
peaceful place, but he didn't want to take any chances; he
suggested they alternate sleeping, with Marge going first. She
tried it, but soon was back by the small fire.

"Trouble?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. We're very close now, Joe.
We'll reach it easily tomorrow with^time to spare."

"Cold feet, huh?"

"Something like that. I mean, I don't know what to say,
what to do. I really don't know what's going to happen to me—
what I'm really turning into, if that makes any sense."

He nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I think I know. It's been
pretty rough on you here."

"Oh, no, not really. Remember, I was a total washout back
home. I was on my way to kill myself when I ran into you,
you know. No, it's the other side. I've been happy here. For
the first time in my life since I was a kid, I've been happy. I
really like this place. And now, somehow, I'm afraid again.
This—whatever it is—is forever. What if I don't like it? Or
what if they don't accept me? What if I change into somebody
you and all my other friends don't like or can't relate to? It
seems that every time I have something right, it goes wrong."

24

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

He squeezed her hand tightly. "Don't worry so much. You'll
have a real home here, with people you can call your own.
None of the people of faerie I've met are any kind of holy
terrors if you just treat 'em as people. Besides, Ruddygore said
we were gonna be a super team, and he wouldn't say that if
we couldn't stand each other, right?"

She smiled and kissed him lightly. "You're right, I guess.
But I can't help worrying."

She was able to go to sleep after that, but she started him
thinking in odd directions, some of which he didn't like. He
wished for one thing that he were as confident of this changeling
thing as he made out. He really cared for her, and that made
her special in more than one way. He also valued her because
she was his only link back to Earth, to the world in which both
of them had been born and raised. Oh, sure, Ruddygore went
back and forth all the time, but he was still a man of this world,
not of the other, and he was hardly around all the time. Joe
needed Marge, he knew—she was the one link he had to all
that had been his world. He couldn't help but fear that she
would have no such need of him—not after this.

No matter how he sliced it, after tomorrow she would be at
least as much of this world as of their native land, and she
would have roots, family, tribe, grounding. Not he. Even here
he was the outcast, the outsider, the barbarian from a far-off
land that didn't really exist.

The Kauri would be her new roots, her anchor, he knew—
but she was the only family he'd ever have here. He wasn't
like her. He'd never read all those books, dreamed those fancy
romantic dreams, the way she had. He hadn't wanted to be
here and had never felt at home here.

He wondered what all those trainees who watched him knock
their arrows from the air and all those people who cleared the
streets for him would say if they knew that this big, hulking
brute of a muscleman was scared to death.

CHAPTER 4

BECOMING AN ELEMENTAL SUBJECT

Faerie seats of power may not be invaded by mortals without
permission without exacting severe penalties.

—Rules, XIX, 106(c)

THEY REACHED THE BIRD'S BREATH, LITTLE MORE THAN A

creek at this point, about midday. The air was hot and thick
and insects buzzed around them in constant frenzy, setting up
a cacophony of buzzing sounds. Marge halted and turned to
Joe.

"This is where we split up," she said a bit nervously. "Make
camp somewhere along here and wait for me." She turned back
and pointed to a dark grove of trees beyond the small river.
"That is the start of Mohr Jerahl."

He stared at it, but could tell no difference between the
forest they'd been traveling through and the one on the other
side. Still, he knew, there was little to distinguish the Glen
Dinig from the surrounding countryside, either, and it was
certainly a real and, for him. deadly place. "I still think I should
go with you, at least as far as I can," he argued. "You don't
know what's there, really."

"No. Absolutely not. First of all, you remember Ruddy-
gore's warning. That's magic over there, Joe—a place of en-
chantment."

"If you remember, Irving and I have done pretty good against
enchanted places and things. As for Ruddygore—he's not my
father, whom I never listened to, anyway. I paid my dues to
the fat man; he don't own me any more—just rents me for a
bit."

She grew alarmed at his stubbornness, remembering Hus-
25

26

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

peth's very dark scenario. As best she could, she tried to explain
the position to him. It was possibly true that Joe could survive,
even triumph, but not without dire cost to her. "For my sake,
Joe, stay here. Promise me. Give me your solemn word."

He sensed her genuine concern and, although he put up
something of a front, he knew from that point on that he'd lost
the argument. He glanced around. "Okay. Two days from right
now—then I'm coming in looking for you."

"Two days! Joe, I don't know how long this is going to
take! It could be going just right and then you'll come in and
screw it all up!"

"Thanks for the confidence," he grumbled, "but two days
is it."

She thought a moment. "How about this, then? If I'm de-
layed for any reason, I'll send a message somehow. One that
could only come from me. Fair enough?"

He considered it. "Maybe. But remember, we've got a hard
way to go to that wizard's convention yet. We'll see. That's
the best I'll do for now."

And, in fact, it was the most she could get out of him, and
she decided it would have to do. She realized that his attitude
was entirely based on his concern for her safety, and that made
it really impossible to go further. She got down from her horse
and turned toward Mohr Jerahl.

"You gonna walk?" he called out, surprised.

She nodded. "I think it's best. I know it is, somehow."

"No weapons or food or stuff?"

"No, Joe. This one I walk into clean. You take care of
yourself. You're going to be a sitting duck out here for a couple
of days, and this kind of place holds who knows what kind of
dangers."

"I can take care of myself," he assured her. "Just make sure
you can."

She blew him a kiss. "I think I'll be pretty safe once I get
across the creek." With that, she walked down to the riverbank
and into the water. It wasn't very deep; even at the center, it
did not come up beyond her waist, and the current was weak
and lazy. She had no trouble making the other side. Emerging,
she turned and saw him, still there atop his horse, staring after
her. She waved at him, then turned and disappeared into the
forest.                                      •

JACK L. CHALKER                   27

*    *    *

That feeling that she'd had since they diverged from the
road less than two days earlier was tremendous now. She'd
felt its overpowering influence from the first time she'd looked
at the place across the river, but now she was in it and the
feeling was all around her. For the first time she sensed, at
least, what the nature of that strange sensation was.

It was raw power.

Mohr Jerahl was in some ways an analog to the Glen Dinig;

it was a place of enormous magical power, power that could
be seen, touched, felt. But while Huspeth's small realm was
under tight and absolute control, Mohr Jerahl was not. The
term "raw power" was literally correct—this was no tame and
obedient magic, neatly tied into complex spells, but a force of
supemature, an unbridled power that just was. It was incredibly
strong, yet it had a single defined center, a locus, that she
instinctively headed for. There, at that central radiation point,
would be Kauri. There she would meet what she must become.

It seemed to take forever to get anywhere in the forest, and
the sun was passing out of sight and influence by the time she
was sure of any real progress, yet she felt neither hunger nor
thirst, nor did she feel the least bit tired. The tremendous
magical radiation went through her, tickling and even slightly
burning not only her skin but inside as well, yet she knew it
could not harm her. How she knew this, she wasn't sure, but
it was a certainty that she was feeding off the radiation, drawing
strength and whatever else she needed from it.

Darkness fell, in a land where the trees were so thick they
would block the sun in daylight, yet she had no problem with
that darkness. In fact, fed by the radiation she could now see
as a bright, bluish glow that illuminated everything and bathed
it in its eerie light, she saw every object distinctly and without
shadow. In many ways it was a clearer vision than normal
sight, although a more colorless one.

She knew that, somehow, she'd been delayed until darkness
fell, that the magic was strongest then, and that the Kauri, as
was the case with a majority of the fairy races, were more in
their element.

She heard all sorts of stirrings in the trees; once or twice,
she thought she caught girlish laughter from above and sensed
the sudden shift of mysterious bodies, but they kept too far

28

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

29

away for her to tell who or what was making the sounds. She
was beginning to regret leaving her bronze dagger and bow
back at the river, though.

And then, with a suddenness that startled her, she broke
through the trees and saw the locus of Kauri power.

The clearing was enormous, composed entirely of some gray
lava base that seemed permanently rippled, as if built of a
frozen river rather than a hard-rock base. It rose slightly for
perhaps a half mile, forming a cone-shaped structure, and at
its center was a perfectly circular opening through which bub-
bling, roaring sounds and heavy, sulfurous smoke billowed
upward. The crater was not only the source of the radiation
but also a source of tremendous heat, and she knew that, some-
how, this was a perfect miniature volcano.

Again she heard the girlish laughter, this time behind her,
and she whirled and faced five of the Kauri.

The thing that struck her first was that they were absolutely
identical; some fantastic, fairy quintuplets. Their basic form
was human; all were female and might be called by many
voluptuous. Their rounded, cute, sexy faces were marked with
large, sensuous lips and huge, playful brown eyes. Yet the
faces had a quality that could only be described as elfin, and
through short-cropped hair that was a steely blue-black color,
slightly more blue than black, protruded two cute, pointed elfin
ears.

They were under five feet tall, but not by more than an inch
or so. Their skins were a deep orange in color. Looking closer,
though, she could see some familiar yet quite nonhuman dif-
ferences. Their fingers were abnormally long and ended in
clawlike nails; their toes, too, were a bit longer and more
regular than human toes and ended in similar sharp, pointed,
animallike nails, pointing slightly downward. Between digits
on both hands and feet was the webbing that had first appeared
on Marge back in the mountain town of Kidim. But their most
distinctive feature was their wings, sinister and batlike, yet
somehow less threatening in deep crimson than in demonic
black, although, she saw, the crimson was only on one side;

the back of the wings was a deep purple color. The wings were
not merely attached to their backs but seemed to be woven into
and between their arms and their bodies, so that, when an arm
moved out or forward, the membranes fluttered and acted some-
thing like a natural cape. The Kauri just stood there, watching
her, not so much with hostility, but with a sort of playful
puzzlement on their interminably cute faces, and she sensed
she was supposed to make the first move.

"Are you the Kauri?" she asked.

"We better be, dearie, to be here," one of them responded
in a voice that was soft and somewhat childlike. "So what's it
to you?"

"I was told to come here," she explained lamely, trying to
decide how best to put all this. First meetings were always a
problem for her. "The sorcerer Ruddygore of Terindell said I
was a Kauri changeling. I am supposed to complete the change
here, rather than let it go in little bits and pieces."

"A changeling!" another exclaimed, sounding exactly like
the first. "Well, I'll be damned! Been a long time since we
had one of them for a Kauri!"

Suddenly there was a tremendous babble of voices—or, as
it seemed, the same voice repeated hundreds, perhaps thou-
sands, of times, all at once, and saying different things. She
whirled around and saw that the crater was filled with Kauri,
all looking and sounding the same and all talking at one another.
There was nothing to do but let them run down; nobody could
ever get them quiet any other way.

One of the original five broke away from a conversation
and came over to her. "Well, I sure hope you are a Kauri
changeling," she almost shouted over the din.

Marge frowned. "Why's that?"

The Kauri took her hand and led her back toward the wood
for a bit. The grip was feather-light, and the fairy creature
moved as if she had almost no weight at all. She still had the
moves, though—they all did. If there were fairy hookers, this
was their convention.

The combination of forest and the slowly diminishing din,
as Kauri ran out of things to say, helped a bit.

"Whew! It's always like that around here," the fairy woman
told her. "I'm Aislee, by the way."

"I'm Marge," she responded, glad to find some kind of
friend. "This is all pretty new to me, so thanks."

"Oh, no problem. You got to learn how to cope around
here, anyway. I was born around here and it still drives me
nuts sometimes."

30

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 31

"I'm afraid I don't know enough even to comment on that.
In fact, you five were the first Kauri I'd ever seen."

"Yeah? Well, I guess that's natural. Most of us stay around
here or in the Firehills region and east. It's kinda the pledge,
y'know; keeps us pretty bored most of the time."

"The pledge?"

Aislee nodded. "Yeah. You know—we won't do to others
if they don't do to us, that kind of thing. They're scared of us
and we-'re scared of them, so we take it easy."

"You mean nobody ever goes far from Mohr Jerahl?"

"Oh, some go a long way. We're always in demand, y'know.
Conventions, banquets, troop entertainment, that sort of thing.
But it's strictly temporary and real limited, y'know."

No, Marge didn't know, but in fits and starts she began to
get a picture of just who and what the Kauri were.

The Kauri flew, of course, like many other fairy folk, and
were very light and hollow-boned. Still, they were tough—
their skin was covered with a substance that had the feeling
and texture of felt, while their wings were soft and satiny. This
covering protected them from almost everything—it was water-
proof, even fireproof, and it somehow acted like a major shock
absorber. The Kauri were also extremely fluid in internal con-
struction, so they could bear almost crushing weights without
problem—yet they themselves were so light that they had trou-
ble staying grounded in a strong breeze.

'" While hard to damage or kill—except with iron, of course—
they were by nature quite passive and found it impossible to
cause permanent injury, let alone to kill anyone or anything.

Although without any magic powers or spells themselves,
they were controlled empaths in both directions. The emotions
of any human were an open book to them, and they could
instantly tell fear, love, sincerity, or falsehood. This had its
drawbacks—sorrow would flood into them and they would
find themselves crying uncontrollably; hilarity or joy around
them would make them so manic they'd be higher than kites.
They could, however, project desired feelings to others—hu-
mans, certainly, but also many of the fairy folk, particularly
the most dangerous It could be conscious, especially in a one-
on-one situation, but it could also be instinctive. If a threat
were perceived—and it usually could be from the empathic
input—then they became impossible to harm or kill. The more

intense the negative emotion, the more the counter was ra-
diated.

As Marge and Aislee talked, a couple of other Kauri found
them and joined in, like excited schoolgirls.

It was obvious that the Kauri had no self-control over their
emotions whatsoever. Emotional seven-year-olds. Marge de-
cided, with the brains and physiques of very adult women.

Naturally, they were in great demand as courtesans, exotic
dancers, and everything else that adult physique implied. They
could and did mate with practically any male of any species,
human, fairy, or animal, and the occasional issue of such mat-
ings was an unpredictable hybrid in half the cases, or, of course,
a Kauri in the other half. All Kauri were absolutely identical,
it seemed, because all descended from an initial mother Kauri
back at the start of the world. The laws of genetics often went
wild in the magical Kauri world. The Kauri, at least, believed
that many of the hybrid races of their world were their chil-
dren—the centaur, the satyr, the medusae, and just about all
other hybrid forms. Changelings, too—those bom of one race
who turned into another, such as Marge—were their doing,
although it was extremely rare that a changeling would become
a Kauri.

Marge sat down and relaxed with them, not sure if it was
the fairy empathic powers that made her feel at ease or that it
seemed she was back with a group of barely post-pubescent
girlfriends in junior high school, but not really caring, either.
They giggled, they played, and they seemed incapable of stay-
ing on a single train of thought for any length of time; but as
the hours passed, she did get most of the information she
wanted.

In many ways, each of the fairy races embodied some basic,
elemental force of nature, and it seemed that these elf-nymphs
represented a curious blend of childlike enthusiasm and raw
sexuality.

They had no government, no ruling class or council. They
could never have gotten organized enough for that, nor could
any of them for long follow another's lead. Their lives, in the
main, seemed the classic fairy ideal—they awoke, they played,
they sang, they danced, they spent all the time having childish
fun. Occasionally an emissary from some far-off place would
appear at a clearly defined "gate" to Mohr Jerahl and make

32

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

them a proposition. In exchange for their limited services at
some great occasion or function, they would get—well, nice
things. Their wing structure precluded clothing, but they loved
jewels and jewelry—the finer crafted and the prettier the better.
New songs, dances, games, toys, and puzzles for the whole
tribe were also highly prized. There was no order or system—
whoever happened to be around and felt like going for whatever
offering was tendered just went.

Although they had no active powers of their own—save
projecting emotion, and that was best done one-on-one—their
passivity was no problem in a violent and magical world. With-
out their knowing how, any spell or physical overpowering was
somehow countered. They absorbed the strength, whether
physical, mental, or magical, from the one trying it on them
and retained its power for some time—from a few hours to a
day or more. They had no idea of the nature of any of their
attributes; they were too elemental to have a science. They had
not reached their current point through evolution—they had
always been as they were now and would always be so—and,
therefore, had no interest in the matter. Marge began to realize
what Huspeth had meant by saying she must put reason and
logic aside and do things instinctively, unthinkingly.

A top-grade sorcerer, of course, could negate their powers,
since the very nature of long studies in sorcery was the scientific
investigation of magic and its application. Ruddy gore knew
how the Kauri's incredible defenses worked and so he could
methodically prepare a counter to them—but few others could,
and only the best would block all the magical loopholes.

Still, the Kauri were as much feared as prized. If they
wanted, they could overload a man's emotional centers so much
that they could turn him into a virtual love slave, sapping all
self-control and free will. At the same time, that strength or
power taken from someone was in a way vampiric; the one
from whom it was taken lost it, perhaps for good.

There was danger outside, too, even for such as these. Their
power was strong only against or with males; with women they
had, at best, a localized and temporary effect. The emotional
projection still worked, but little else, and that meant that women,
particularly those skilled in magic, could harm them.

Marge began to see at least part of Ruddy gore's thinking,

JACK L. CHALKER

33

particularly when she considered only the sorcerer's interests.
And why consider more, for that matter? After all, Joe and she
had both been very close to death back home and, no matter
how much they might resent the sorcerer's machinations con-
cerning them, it was, at least so far, much better than the
alternative.

As a team, they had what Ruddygore would be interested
in most. As a passive shield, she could protect against much
of the magic of this world they were likely to encounter; Joe
could certainly handle the rest of the problems. What concerned
her was just how much of what was truly her would survive
in that partnership.

She was still full of questions, though. "If you all look
identical, then how do you tell each other apart?" she wanted
know.

They laughed at the question. "It's easy. You just know,
that's all," one answered.

You just know, that's all...

The basic schism between human and fairy.

"But come," Aislee—at least Marge thought it was Ais-
lee—said to her. "We can solve this a lot easier by making
you totally one of us." They all got up, and the Kauri added,
"Uh, you are sure you're Kauri, aren't you?"

Marge frowned. "As far as I know. At least, that's what
the sorcerer told me, and he should know. You should, too,
if you can read me as you say."

"Oh, yeah, we can tell you believe it, but not whether it's
so. There's only one way to find out; and if your wizard slipped
up, it will be real trouble."

"How do we—do it?"

"The last mortal part of you has to be taken off, of course.
Come on—this should be interesting."

Marge didn't like the tone or the implication here, realizing
that to these creatures she was a game, a diversion, a bit of
fun and no more.

The crowd of Kauri was still out there, but now they sensed
that the big moment had come and lapsed into near-total silence.
They were the spectators in the coliseum now, waiting to see
the show.

Aislee and the others led her up the gentle cone to the very

34

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

35

rim of the crater. The heat and smoke coming from the mass
bubbling not far below were secondary to the tremendous,
blinding magical radiation at this point.

"Well," one of the Kauri prompted, "go ahead. Jump in."

She felt doubt and panic flood into her. "You mean—jump
in thereT'

"That's the only way to do it."

She swallowed hard, and her mind swirled with tremendous
doubts. What if they were testing her? What if they were trying
to get rid of her? What if this were some grisly practical joke
of bored fairies?

Behind her, she could hear the crowd shouting, "Jump!
Jump! Go on! Jump!" It sounded like some ghoulish cheerleader
squad for a virgin sacrificial ceremony and—uh-oh. She'd
forgotten that she was biologically virgin now. Virgin plus
volcano equals sacrifice...

"Jump in, jump in! Rah! Rah! Rah!"

She just stood there, petrified with fright, knowing she could
not move a step in any direction, not even to run.

"Oh, the hell with it. This is getting boring," one of the
Kauri next to her muttered. The next thing Marge knew, she
felt a violent shove and she was falling, falling right into the
boiling, bubbling magma...

There was a shock as she hit the red, bubbling mass that
might have a temperature of perhaps two thousand degrees,
and an all-encompassing but very brief pain, much like that
which an electric shock would give.

And then she was floating, swimming, flying, suspended
in the mass but no longer sensitive to it. There was no up, no
down, no east, west, north, or south. There was, however, a
presence. It was in there with her, all around her and coursing
not only through the molten magma but right through her as
well. She did not know what it was, but it was undeniably the
locus, the source of the magic.

"Be at peace," came a powerful, all embracing, motherly
voice in her head. She realized that no words had been spoken,
since none could be, under these conditions; but the voice was
so commanding, so authoritative, yet so friendly and reassuring
that it could not be denied.

It was her long-dead mother's voice.

"Mother?" her mind shot out, trying to reach it.

"I am indeed the mother of the Kauri, of which you are
almost one," the voice responded.

"Who? What... ?"

"You are troubled, child. The Kauri are not troubled, for
were one to be troubled, the race would be troubled. To be
troubled is for threats to person or the race, not otherwise.
Mohr Jerahl is a place of peace, of art and dance and fun. The
Kauri are the creatures of Mohr Jerahl, and so they must reflect
its nature. Come to me in the fire, as all those who venture
outside our homeland must, and let me ease your trouble. Relax
and think not; come unto me and give me your mind."

The creature, whatever it was, hesitated a moment, as if
waiting for her, but she did not, could not, yield to it.

"You hesitate. You close your mind to me. Why?"

"I—I'm afraid," she admitted. "A change in form is one
thing, but I don't want to be not me any longer!"

"But you will always be you and no other," the voice of
her mother soothed. "You come from the world of the Creator.
He alone fashioned your soul and its nature, and He alone can
refashion it. But the shape of that soul is Kauri, deep down.
Your sorcerer knew this when he directed your destiny so."

"But the Kauri are of this world, not mine!" she protested.
"How can I have a Kauri soul?"

"Child, the soul is insubstantial, mystical. It exists on the
magical plane and on no other. The fairies—all of faerie—
are souls bared, souls distilled, unencumbered by human form
and fears, for they exist only in the world of supemature. They
exist on the plane of pre-creation, before the universes were
formed, at the level of elemental, basic magic. Humanity was
made by imposing natural law on the soul; natural form, pain,
toil, suffering, mortality—these came later, when the Rebels
caused the violation of Eden's perfection. All that is now taken
from you. All that was mortal and natural in you was borne
away when you entered here. The nature of the soul determines
the nature of the person.

"The fairies exist in all humankind and are hot bound by
any world or its rules, only by those rules imposed upon the
race by the Creator. We were the models and the overseers in
the grand design. Humans who go against their own natures—
as many do for a variety of reasons, not all under their control—
suffer all the more for it. For, you see, that is the true curse

36

JACK L. CHALKER                   37

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

laid upon man after Eden—that he will turn his back on su-
pernature and will fight his own soul. In such a way do misery,
unhappiness, and evil breed."

She was startled by this information and its implications.
"What you are saying, then, is that we are all changelings."

"Yes, all. But when death comes to the mortal and frees
the soul, and that soul is purged of its sin, it lives apart from
us, within the Sea of Dreams, in a world that is wholly su-
pernatural. Fairies, being of the world, do not have an afterlife.
The price is paid—we may achieve the true balance of our
natures only by remaining alive until the end of all time, when
Creation shall be undone. That is Our curse for being lax and
allowing the chief Rebel to slip unnoticed into Eden. That is
the curse you now share, a fair exchange for shedding your
mortality. But a cleansing is needed to make you truly of faerie
and allow your full supemature to come out. To do that, you
must surrender to me."

Marge understood now the logic of it all, understood the
nature of the fairies and the soul as few had understood before
her, yet she could not bring herself to yield. Most of her wanted
what was offered, but there was still that comer of her that
was afraid, that feared tampering with her mind as this world
had tampered with her body.

"Or, to put it another way," the goddess of the volcano
added, "if you don't yield to me, you'll swim around in this
hot muck, frying your little buns off for all eternity." For
emphasis, the pain began, and slowly increased.

A Kauri goddess might be somewhat intellectual, but she
was the mold of the race and not much more patient than her
children. The vision, the sensation, of the classical Hell of
Marge's Christian upbringing was a really persuasive argu-
ment. As the pain continued to rise, she could stand it no longer.
"All right! Take me!" her mind screamed.

The pain ceased, and the entity, whatever it was, assumed
complete control. Marge was aware and fully conscious, yet
not in control of even her own thoughts. Her memory was
triggered and read out in reverse order, every moment of her
past flowing from her and into the creature. Her mind was
incapable of digesting the minutiae that were stored in her own
brain, and she tended to seize upon and partially relive only
brief scenes of major events.

She was outside the volcano. She was walking through the
forest. She was leaving Joe. She was at the entry station, now
back at Terindell, then in the Glen Dinig. In fits and starts aad
in a sort of backward review, she relived the great battle, the
Land of the Djinn, the fight for the Lamp, and the battle at the
pass. Backward, ever backward.

She crossed the Sea of Dreams once more and found herself
totally shorn of hope, direction, or self-interest, walking along
a lonely west Texas road.

His face was a furious red with anger, hatred, and frustra-
tion, and he was beating her repeatedly, all the while shouting,
"What the hell good are you? Can't even make a damned kid
in this Godforsaken hellhole!"

"I, Marge, take thee, Roger..."

"I'm sorry, but less kids means less teachers and lower
budgets. You know how it is. Now if you'd been in math or
science..."

She stood on the steps outside the administration building,
still in cap and gown, holding the diploma up to the bright,
blue Texas sky. "See, Momma? I did it!"

"Mommy! Guess what! Tommy Woodard asked me to the
promt Tommy Woodard!"

It was blood! She was bleeding from there\ Oh, God!
"Mommy!"

"There, there! It's just a skinned knee. Mommy'II put a little
stuff on it and lass it and make it all better ..."

She didn't like playing hide-and-seek when there were boys
playing. They always cheated or ganged up on the girls.
"Eight... nine... ten! Ready or not, here I come!" She could
hear the squeals of laughter and see just a comer of somebody's
foot behind the bush. She ran for the hider, who, suddenly
knowing she'd been spotted, broke from her hiding place and
started heading for the tree base. Marge felt a thrill and whirled,
trying to beat Mary Frances to the...

Sufficient, a voice said from somewhere. Freeze.

Quickly, methodically, she began to come back toward the
present. All of the events were there, all the traumas, all the
heartbreak, but it wasn't quite the same as it had been. It was
real, it was hers, it was even totally comprehensible, but some-
how it just didn't matter so much any more. The dark times
that had formed her were there, all right, but the good times,

38

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

39

the happy times, the fun times stood out. She could reach out
and touch any of those dark spots at any time, but, left alone,
it was the good times, the fun times, the innocent times that
seemed somehow forward, filling in the empty spaces.

The goddess of the Kauri had in fact been truthful, honest,
and correct. Marge understood now, understood the nature of
the Kauri and the reason for it. She had recaptured it, with the
goddess' help—that essence of childhood that adults could
fondly and wistfully remember but never really reexperience,
except vicariously through watching their own children. She
realized, with a tremendous surge of excitement, that she had
indeed buried the horrors of her past, even though she was still
and would always be shaped by them. She was new, reborn,
free...

Free!

She burst out of the top of the volcano and flew up, up into
the night, with a feeling of incredible energy and joy. She
spread out her arms and let her wings catch the air currents
she could easily see. Not even thinking about what she was
doing, or how,-she did whirls and flips and laughed and giggled
at everything like a drunken flyer on a real tear. The world
looked subtly different, and very, very beautiful, with every
single object, every single substance, in clear focus as far as
she could see; yet, unlike her earlier experience, it was also a
riot of colors. She began to shift through all the levels she
could see, and the world changed dramatically each time.

The colors, the rainbow of colors—why, the whole world
was magic! She saw below, above, all around, the world of
faerie, and it was more beautiful than she could have ever
dreamed.

And now others were joining her, playing, looping around
in the air. She knew them without having to think at all; her
sisters, the Kauri, each radiating a subtly different magical
pattern and emotional register. They greeted her, welcomed
her, by drawing from her the tremendous feelings she was
having, and they played, chased, showed off, and generally
had a really good time themselves.

They soared together beneath the stars, protected in the glow
of the Earth Mother's radiant embrace, skimming the treetops,
then rising upward, ever upward, until the whole magical land
was spread out before and beneath them. With no cares, no

worries, they soared like superchildren, everything new, every-
thing a wonder.

She saw the treasures of the Kauri and plucked a beautiful,
gem-encrusted tiara out of the pile and crowned herself queen
of the air; others scrambled for even grander headwear and
challenged her reign, laughing and giggling all the while, flit-
tering about and snatching crowns, tiaras, and all sorts of other
regal stuff from one another. There were forty or fifty queens
crowned that night, all self-anointed—and the same number
dethroned by playful, giggling subjects with ambitions of their
own.

There were toys and games and maddening puzzles, and all
sorts of fun things. And never once was there hatred, malice,
anger, or fear.

They plucked ripe fruits from trees and bushes and ate them,
often throwing them at one another, and walked on the waters
of a deep volcanic lake without sinking in. And they were all
queens of this mystical, magical, happy place.

When the sun came up, turning the land a new set of colors,
they went to the trees, high up and far beyond any ground-
dwelling things, and settled into happy, dreaming sleep. For
Marge, it was a sleep filled with the happy experiences of
childhood and the best and deepest sleep she had had in many
long years.

The next night was more of the same. There was total
acceptance of her by the native Kauri; like her, they could see
and feel inside one another, and she was one with them. This
time they ranged far, almost to the Firehills, great ridges in
the earth that seemed to hiss and glow from long fissures in
their sides—mountains that were at once solid and yet contin-
ually on fire.

She did wonder that they never ventured forth by day, but
she was told that the brightness of the sun hurt their eyes and
could actually blind them for a while. Paradoxically, the Kauri
were attracted to light, or, at least, to open flames, and great
fires could have a near-hypnotic effect on them. While it could
not harm them, it induced an odd sort of catatonia of mind and
body, and this, in turn, left them defenseless. It was a hard
thing to explain, being more related to brightness than to the
size or shape of the light; but, they assured her, she would

40

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

41

know the first time she left the protection of Mohr Jerahl. That
comment for the first time brought her thoughts back to Joe,
who would be waiting for her only this one more night. To-
morrow he would enter Mohr Jerahl in search of her, com-
mitting the ultimate sacrilege of bringing iron into the enchanted
land.

"I must go to him while the dark still holds," she told them
with much sadness and regret. "He must not be allowed to
enter here."

"But you'll get rid of him and return soon enough," Coasu,
one of her new friends, responded.

She thought about it. "No, not right away. I think I must
leave for a time, my sisters. Something pulls me that I can not
explain, something that is still important. I am Kauri for a
reason, and that reason pulls me away, but only for a time."

They could read her sincerity, but they could not understand
it. "Then we will go with you, too," Coasu said. "Aislee, me,
and perhaps others. If this matter is so important, then if one
Kauri can help, perhaps many can help more. You are sad to
leave, and one must never leave Mohr Jerahl in sadness."

Her deep affection for them and their offer reached out to
them, so that no words were needed, but she shook her head.
"No, I am sad to leave only because I love this place and you
all so much. But once I looked in the face of Hell, and I know
that somehow I must help defeat it here and now. They ail
knew this—the Earth Mother, Ruddygore, Huspeth."

"This is getting heavy," Aislee noted, grumbling. "We have
nothing to do with that kind of thing."

The thought came, unbidden and from elsewhere, into
Marge's mind. "The Earth Mother knows. We have no dealings
with the affairs of politics, but this is beyond that. All of faerie
is involved in this. Ask the Earth Mother."

They knew instantly that it was not Marge who had spoken,
and they became quiet and almost reverential. Marge smiled
and kissed them all in turn. "I'll be back," she promised them.
"I am a Kauri now, and a Kauri forever, until the end of time.
Besides," she added, part seriously, "it could be a lot of fun
being a Kauri out there." She laughed. "And I'll bring back a
new present and let you drool all over it."

That broke the mood. "Yes! Something really good!" one

cried in anticipation. "Make them pay well for your services!
It is a Kauri tradition."

Visions of tacky plaster sculptures came into her mind and
gave her a mild case of the giggles, but, she promised herself,
there would be none of that here.

It was an emotional farewell, a party of sorts that got enough
out of hand in the Kauri's usual anarchistic way so that she
finally just slipped out on it and flew to the Bird's Breath.

Crossing the little creek and leaving Mohr Jerahl gave her
a cold, eerie feeling—a feeling of being somehow cut off from
a warm and friendly glow.

She flew down the river a bit, until she saw Joe's camp.
Its fire was just a few glowing embers, and both the big man
and the horses were fast asleep. It was easy to find him, though—
the iron in the sword, deadly to her even in the early stages of
her transformation here, was now a tangible and terrible, cold
darkness that she would simply have to adjust to. She knew
that it gave these sensations to all fairies, save only the dwarfs,
whose special power it was to handle iron and its deadly magic,
and in that alone was there some comfort. Although all iron
threatened her, this was as close as she could come to "friendly
iron," and she knew Joe had been well trained and was ac-
customed to shielding the fairies on his side from its power.

She flittered down near the fire, just across from him, with
the unnatural silence that only a fairy could have, and stood
there a moment, looking at the sleeping man.

The sword began to hum softly but irritatingly. She took a
single step forward and the noise became a terrible, grating
sound. In that same instant Joe rolled, grabbed the sword, and
was on his feet, at the ready. As with all dwarf things, Irving
was far more than a mere sword of iron alloy. Now, unsheathed,
it seemed almost to bum her with a cold, deadly radiation all
its own, a flow that ebbed and pulsed with the humming sound.

"Who are you?" the big man challenged menacingly.

"Put the sword away, Joe," she almost pleaded with him.
"It's hurting me."

He made no move to do so. "How do you know my name?"

"It's Marge, Joe. This is the way I look now. All the Kauri
look like this."

He frowned a moment. The creature was incredibly, vo-

42

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

luptuously beautiful, but it was not reminiscent of Marge in
any definitive physical feature. "Can you prove it? I've had
some bad experience with good-looking nymphs and sprites
that didn't mean me any good." He thought a moment. "What's
the capital of Pennsylvania?"

"Oh, good grief." She sighed. "I don't know. Philadelphia?"

"I was thinking Philadelphia, but it's really Hamsburg," he
snapped back. "You're just reading my mind!"

She could feel his anger and suspicion flowing out of him
and into her, and it was an ugly feeling indeed. She could
counter it, of course, even bring him down, but the empathic
projection might not have much power over that damned sword,
which had a mind of its own and could protect against some
spells as well. Instead she countered, "Joe—what's the capital
city of Missouri?"

He was startled. "Huh? St. Louis?" She shook her head.
"Columbia? Kansas City?"

"Jefferson City," she told him. "See all that proves? But
I'll describe every inch of every truck stop in Ozona, Texas,
for you and even describe all the damned tacky sculptures I
can remember being in Ruddygore's basement."

He relaxed, and so did the sword, as his face reflected an
unthreatened but incredulous feeling. "Marge? Is it really you?"

She nodded. "Now put that damned pig-sticker away. Feed
it a bone and tell it to be a good dog or something."

He sheathed the weapon, which lapsed back into silence,
reading his conviction, but he still could hardly believe it. He
walked over to her and examined her closely, dwelling, she
noted, on some rather interesting parts. "Damn!" he swore.
"This is like coming out of Ruddygore's lab, way back when,
all over again. You're—smaller."

That was true enough. Not only was she the four-foot-ten
that was the height of all adult Kauri, but her exaggerated
shapes and curves gave her an even more elfin appearance.

"But I've grown my wings," she pointed out.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah—and other things, too."

"You called me a nymph, and that's right. In fact, we're
the prototype for all nymphs. They say this is my true nature
coming through." She chuckled. "No wonder I kind of fell into
prostitution back in Texas for a while. But back there I had so

JACK L. CHALKER

43

many problems and hang-ups, they drove me crazy. Over here,
like this, I'm free of all that."

He grinned at the implications of that. They had a long way
to go, after all. That did, however, bring him back to the future.
"We should be going in the morning. Ruddygore's convention
is still a rough ride from here, and it's all paths rather than
roads."

That brought her up short a bit. "That could be a problem,"
she told him. "I'm nocturnal. The sun kind of saps my strength,
puts me to sleep."

He laughed and walked over to the packs, then rooted through
them for a moment before coming up with an object. "That
explains this, then. I didn't have much to do, so I decided to
look at what Ruddygore had put in here. Among the things
was this." He brought the object over and handed it to her.

It was a pair of sunglasses, a wraparound sort that hugged
the face, with cupped lenses that blocked all light not coming
through them, almost like goggles. She put them on and was
not surprised to find that they were a perfect fit, even adjusted
properly for her pointed, elfin ears and the new shape of her
face. She took them off again and looked at them, then giggled.
"See the printing down here on the frame?"

He shook his head. "It's too dark for me."

"It says,'Made in Taiwan'!" .

CHAPTER 5

A FEW MINOR OBSTACLES

/( is best to avoid volcanoes whenever possible.

—Rules, XXII, 196(c)

THE GLASSES PROVED SUFFICIENT FOR MARGE TO ENDURE DAY-

light, but did nothing to restore needed sleep. She fitted on the

44

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

horse fine, though, despite the membranous wings and her
smaller size, and found no trouble keeping an almost effortless
balance. Finally she just told Joe that she had to nod out, and
he told her to do so. Although the fearsome Firehills loomed
in front of them, they would not reach them until late in the
day, and the land was pretty much a flat semidesert, requiring
no real riding skills. Her horse was well trained, although Joe
wished often for Posti, the gray mare who was really a trans-
formed dirt farmer. Posti had returned safely to Terindell, but
was not allowed to make this trip to Sachalin. Ruddygore had
been more than worried about a transformed horse in the midst
of a bunch of drunken sorcerers.

Things went smoothly for several hours. Joe was a little
bored, but he'd made his living in the old days driving a truck,
and this was a lot easier to handle than a fully loaded semi.
He did wish now, as he had often wished, that saddles came
with tape decks, but he compensated by singing his favorite
old Ferlin Husky and Way Ion Jennings tunes. He had a lousy
voice, but it was always impossible to convince him of that
fact in this world or the one from which he'd come; as he belted
out tune after tune, he hardly took notice of the hordes of
insects, small animals, and birds fleeing in all directions before
him as if from a forest fire. As for Marge, when she was out,
she was out, it seemed, which suited him just fine right now.
He needed some time to think.

She definitely took some getting used to, he reflected. She'd
been okay before; Ruddygore had given her a pretty good
figure. But, particularly after that witch in the wood got hold
other, she'd been less of a looker and more like a female jock.
This new Marge—or new, new Marge—was something else
again. Small, petite, cute, sexy as all hell, and naked to boot.
The batlike wings were so beautifully colored that they seemed
more like some precious butterfly's than anything negative.
She was definitely no longer human—no real person had ever
been put together so absolutely perfectly, except maybe in some
artist's dreams—but the old Marge personality and an
incongruous trace of a Texas accent still came through.

Those wings, they were funny things, he decided. He'd
seen her fly and knew that she just lifted off effortlessly, like
Peter Pan or something, often hovering as if gravity didn't exist
for her, and quite often without spreading those wings at all.

JACK L. CHALKER

45

They weren't necessary for her to fly, that was for sure, and
he wondered if they were just decorative or whether they had
some different kind of function. They definitely made wearing
clothes impossible, so her unnatural endowments were out there
for the world to see. That, too, would take some getting used
to. He wanted her, and he knew that any other man who was
the least bit turned on by women would want her, too. He
wasn't sure how he'd take that. He'd gone crazy during her
whole celibacy period, but at least it had been the same for
every other man she knew. Now, though—well, creatures
weren't put together that way just for the hell of it. Every fairy
he'd run into since being in Husaquahr had a particular role to
play and was more or less designed for the part. It didn't take
a lecture in fairy lore to tell him what the Kauri's obvious role
in the supernatural scheme of things was.

In a sense, it made him feel even more alone, since he knew
that there was now a gulf separating them forever. She was no
longer human, nor could she be expected to be human again.
The fairies always did what they had to do, what they were
supposed to do, his teachers back at Terindell had assured him.
While that made them somewhat predictable, it made Marge
and him more than a world apart.

He continued to brood as they slowly approached the Fire-
hills, alternately cursing Ruddygore for bringing him here and
himself for feeling weaknesses inside himself he never really
knew were there.

The Firehills looked more intimidating the closer he got to
them. Less a mountain chain than a whole line of continuous
small volcanoes, their tops were shrouded in white smoke,
through which occasional flashes of fire were visible now. He
was worried about that fire, and by the fact that there seemed
no break as far as the eye could see in that solid, if fairly low,
black wall. They had been following the now tiny Bird's Breath
all the way, but soon it petered out into a not-very-wet marsh,
while the path continued right toward the barrier ahead, with
no pass in sight.

There were bushes and many odd-looking groves of trees,
but now in the air there was the unmistakable smell of sulfur
and the rotten-egg odor of hydrogen sulfide. The path led through
brilliantly colored mud pots, some of which occasionally gur-
gled and bubbled and steamed their foul odors. Here and there

46

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

were pools of very clear water, but he could see within the
pools the discolorations from the settling out of minerals and
the steam rising off their surfaces. Clearly the Bird's Breath
had its origins in volcanic waters, and probably should have
been named Dragon's Breath. It sure smelled like it, anyway.

Off in the distance, a geyser spouted a hundred feet or more
into the air with a great rush and roar, and he stopped mo-
mentarily to watch it, then became acutely aware that there
were a lot of geyser holes all around him. He sighed and pressed
on, trying to reassure himself that it had been Ruddygore who
had recommended this route. It didn't reassure him all that
much, though, since Ruddygore had always been more certain
to get them in trouble than out of it in the past.

The sun was low in the sky when, threading his way through
a virtual mine field of volcanic manifestations, not to mention
leading Marge's horse through it, he finally reached the base
of the Firehills themselves. The horses were getting jumpy and
acting uncomfortable from all the hissing, roaring, bubbling,
smoke, and smells, but they didn't feel anything he didn't feel
double. He decided that it was time Marge woke up, no matter
how much beauty sleep she needed.

After finding that yelling and shaking her produced only a
dreamy reaction and shifting, he finally got fed up and did
some obscene and not-very-gentle things to her. She gave a
big, dreamy smile and sighed; her fairy eyelashes fluttered a
bit, and those great, sensuous eyes opened a crack. Under any
other circumstances, he would have been delighted at the re-
action, but the fear of being roasted alive had a tendency to
drive all other impulses from his head.

"Marge! Wake up!" he screamed as the lids started to flutter
back, and he reached over, cursing, and dropped the dark
glasses back into place.

From Marge's vantage point, it was at first like being awak-
ened from a pleasant sleep filled with erotic dreams to a disori-
enting confusion; but when the glasses slid down, she suddenly
saw perfectly and sat bolt upright. "Wha—what's happened?"
She looked up at the blackish cinder wall rising just ahead of
them and the strange and violent landscape behind and grew
instantly alert. "How'd we get hereT

"We rode," he responded sourly. "The map says there's a
path over this damned hill. Not only do I not see one, but

JACK L. CHALKER

47

darkness is coming on, and I sure don't want to spend the night
here!".

She glanced around. "Looks okay to me. Real pretty, in
fact." She stopped short for a moment, realizing her reaction
and comparing it with her memories. The Kauri were creatures
of this earth-fire, but others were not. The land posed no prob-
lems for her, yet she could sense Joe's fear and discomfort
with that empathic ability and she grew concerned for his safety.
She looked up at the Firehills, so dark and featureless to their
smoke-covered tops, and she could indeed see the flashes of
molten fire through that smoke. It looked as if the whole ridge
had a crack most of the way to the top, a crack running hor-
izontally as far as the eye could see. "Let me have the map,"
she said, suddenly serious. She looked at it for a moment,
frowning. "Let me go up and see what's what."

Without waiting for his reply, she rose effortlessly off the
horse and into the air, moving straight up until she was out of
sight. All he could do was wait there, calming the horses and
starting to worry more and more.

She was gone for what seemed like ages; then, as silently
as she'd left, she returned and quickly settled, standing daintily
atop her horse's saddle. He could see by her expression that
things were at least as bad as he'd imagined.

"Trouble," she told him needlessly. "I've been all over the
area, and finally I figured out that we took a wrong turn. There's
something of a break in the Firehills about twenty miles north-
west of here, in a place where they're not very active, and
there's an old path to it and across. There's a second branch
of the Bird's Breath we were supposed to take and didn't."

He sighed and shrugged. "The thing was so small I never
saw any junction. That damned map doesn't show which is
which, so I followed what looked like the main course all the
way here."

"Yeah, this is the source, but it's not the stream we were
supposed to follow."

He looked toward the darkening, nightmare landscape to
the northwest., "So I guess we'll have to detour."

She shook her head. "Uh-uh. You don't want to go through
that mess, I'll tell you. This is a calm and stable part, I'll
swear. You could never be sure of the ground elsewhere. It's
a good twenty miles back to the fork, then another thirty to

48

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 49

the pass. That's two, maybe three days, and I don't think the
horses could take it. They're straining now."

He sighed. "So what else can I do? You can fly over and
be safe and comfortable in bed tomorrow, but I sure as hell
can't, and I'm not going to abandon the horses and supplies
unless I have to. In this stuff, it would be their death warrant."

She nodded. "Then the only way is to go up. If we can
cross over, the horses can get a good rest and watering on the
other side." She paused. "You, too."

He wiped sweat from his forehead and looked up at the
ominous hill. "So how do we do it?"

"First let me go up and check it out, see if there's any place
we can cross. Then we'll risk my horse, with me leading. If
the stuff underfoot holds her, it will hold you and yours."

He nodded. "Fair enough. But be careful—I don't want you
melted down."

She laughed. "No danger of that. I can swim in the stuff,
Joe. I have done it." She sighed and looked up at the swirling
smoke. "Well—here goes!" And with that, she was gone,
flying up the side and into the dense cloud at the top.

This time she was gone for only a couple of minutes, reap-
pearing and setting down in front of her horse. "There's a way,
I think," she told him, "but it's going to be a real hairy time
for you and the horses. It's cinder most of the way, but I think
it will hold. Up just into the smoke, though, the heat comes
and goes. There are real nasty cracks all over the place." She
pointed. "But in one spot, just over there, it seems fairly cool.
It's been hot, though, and the heat has melted and remelted
the stuff up there. The surface is almost like glass, and it's
bound to be slippery. If you slip, it's pretty nasty on either
side."

He looked up and swallowed hard. "Well, let's try it. Any-
thing to get out of spending a night around here. I want to get
it over with while there's still some light."

She nodded. Taking her horse's bridle, she stepped out onto
the cinders. The horse resisted for a moment, then went along
when she saw Marge being supported. Then the horse sank a
bit into the cinders and ash and thrashed for a moment in
confusion. It took precious minutes of Joe's daylight to calm
her down and get her to go on.

Beyond, the cinders and ash were so dense that they gave

a surprisingly solid footing. Joe decided to lead his horse as
well and was relieved to Find that the hill felt, at least at the
beginning, cool. He was, however, really beginning to wish
he could trade his thick sandals for some even thicker boots.
Asbestos boots, preferably.

The slope was rather gentle, and they took it at an angle,
but it was slow going, and several times the material gave way,
causing a momentary loss of footing. The horses were a big
problem here, but, fortunately, none were sufficiently unbal-
anced by the occasional loss of footing to go tumbling over
and back down.

Almost before Joe realized it, they were up to the smoke
level and into it. The stuff stank and stung his eyes, causing
even more problems with the horses, but the gases weren't very
dense, once he was in them, and he could, at least, see ahead
to the rear of Marge's horse. One thing for sure, though—the
air was getting really hot, and he was sweating as he never
had before. The volcanic surface, too, was getting pretty damned
warm, although not bad enough to cause burning.

And then they hit the remelted area. He had imagined a
smooth slope. In fact, it was rough and irregular, but it was
shiny and slippery. Only the irregularities in its surface, almost
like a frozen sea, allowed them any chance of footing. The
stuff was hot, too—he felt as if he were in somebody's giant
oven, and the bottom of his sandals were becoming very, very
warm.

He soon saw why. Only ten feet or so on either side, the
glassy surface dropped away to reveal a bubbling, hissing pit.

"I'm already well done!" he called out, coughing at the
smoke and miserable from the intense heat- "How much farther
is it?"

"Not far," she called back. "Just ten more minutes and we're
home free!"

He groaned. He wasn't sure he or the horses could last that
long. Right about then he was so miserable he didn't give a
damn about the horses.

Suddenly Marge stopped, and he almost screamed out in
agony. "Now what?"

"We're not alone up here," she responded, sounding wor-
ried. "I think you better draw Irving."

"He's so damned hot I can't even touch him," Joe called

50

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

^ACK L. CHALKER

51

back in disgust, but he did try the sword hilt—and found he
wasn't kidding.

A series of small, dark shapes that looked like moving globs
of obsidian formed around them on the peak. Joe couldn't get
a good look at them, but Marge had no trouble at all. They
did, in fact, appear to be made out of the same stuff as the
melted material on which they all stood, but these creatures
had definite form. They looked like, funny little men—or,
rather, statues of funny-looking little men, she decided, with
short, stocky bodies, stubby limbs, and huge balloonlike noses.
She couldn't help thinking of Grumpy from Snow White as she
stared at them, and that certainly fitted their expressions and
mean-looking gazes.

"Are you union or scabs?" the lead one rasped out in a stem,
deep, gruff voice.

The question took her aback. "What do you mean? All we're
trying to do is cross this mountain before the man with me and
the horses die. Please let us past!"

"Are you union or scabs?" the creature repeated, unmoved.

"I am Kauri, and no scab!" she responded angrily. "You
should know we have no need of a union!"

"Hah! Sexual exploitation without love or involvement and
all for some cheap bauble," another of the creatures muttered.
"And they're so dumb they don't even see how they're ex-
ploited."

Marge was acutely aware that time was running out, but
she decided she had to play their game before they forgot their
challenge and started debating among themselves. She'd had
enough of that with the Kauri. "We're independent, yet col-
lective! You know that! It's in our nature to be so! What sort
of creatures are you that you don't know this?"

"We're kobolds, of course," the leader snapped.

"And we're on strike," another piped up. Joe felt his horse
shudder, and began to feel that he was going to pass out on
his feet, as well. He couldn't take much more of this.

"Aye," another kobold responded. "No more of them fairy
rings and stuff until we get our contract!" The rest of them
cheered.

"Your dispute is none of our affair," Marge argued plead-
ingly. "Please—this man will die if we're delayed even a few
moments longer."

The leader looked over at Joe. "How do you stand on unions?"

Right then Joe was not feeling in a fraternal mood. He
decided that, if he weren't about to die, he'd like to chop these
bastards up into-little pieces. He tried to snarl a reply, but only
inhaled more of the acrid smoke and started coughing.

"He is a union man!" Marge told them, thinking furiously.
"He's a Teamster."

The kobolds all looked at Joe critically. "Indeed? He don't
look like no wagon driver to me," the leader noted. "Let's see
your union card!"

At that moment, Joe's horse gave another great shudder and
this time collapsed onto the hot surface. Joe whirled, then fell
almost completely over the horse.

Marge yelled in a mixture of anger and panic, "In the name
of the Earth Mother, help me get him off this place before he
dies and quickly!"

"Religion is the opiate of the masses," one of the kobolds
muttered, seemingly unmoved.

"Still," the leader mused, "we can't have a popular work-
ingmen's movement—"

"And women," another added.

"—sullied at its great beginnings by a lack of compas-
sion ... Hmm... You! Imli! Zimlich! Grab his head and feet!
You, Kauri—get going! We'll follow!"

Quickly the little men snapped to action. They were ex-
tremely strong and powerful, despite their small size. It took
only two of them to lift Joe as if he weighed next to nothing,
and four more actually lifted the horse and started after Marge
and the others at what was close to a trot.

The obsidian bridge thinned appreciably as they went, and
it was none too clear just how much longer it could support
weight, but Marge's horse needed no urging. They were across,
followed by the kobolds, in a few brief minutes. The weight
of Joe's horse, though, was the final straw for the weakened
bridge; just as they cleared the last of it, the entire center
shuddered and collapsed with a rumble back into the volcano.

Joe awoke slowly in the darkness. He had been nearly com-
atose for several hours, often delirious and out of his head. He
felt a cold compress being applied to his forehead and groaned,
although it felt really good.

52

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

"Joe?" Marge asked tentatively, and he could hear the con-
cern in her voice.

"Yeah," he croaked, his voice a dry rasp, "I guess I'm here."

Her joy at his coming out of it was such that not only was
it evident in her physical reactions but also was radiated from
her into him. It was a strange, warm sensation, unlike anything
he'd experienced before, and he was deeply moved by it.

"How bad am I hurt?" he asked her, trying not to show
what he was receiving. To his relief, the joyous emotions didn't
change.

"You're not bad. A little scorched around the edges, but
mostly it was dehydration. I've been feeding you water in small
doses all night and getting compresses on you to bring the
temperature down." She handed him a canteen, and he drank
from it so greedily that she had to pull it away. "Uh-uh. I know
something about dehydration, and you take water in slow doses,"
she cautioned. "Here. Take a little of this."

She handed him a small, crumbly ball of gray-white stuff,
and he put it in his mouth, then almost sat up and spat. "That's
salt\ "

"Yeah. I got it from a salt lick. You need it to replace what
you lost and help keep in the water."

He took a little more water, forcing himself to go slow, and
did feel a bit better. "What about those bastards on the moun-
tain?"

"They finally carried you most of the way here," she told
him. "They're a very funny sort, but not bad really, once you
get to know them."

"I know what I'd like to do to them," he grumbled.

"You couldn't if you wanted to. They're hard as rocks; and
since they're related to the dwarfs, iron has little effect on
them. Besides, they could melt your sword before it ever got
to them, anyway."

"Where'd they get all that militant labor crap, though? They
sounded more like our world than this one."

She nodded. "I wondered about that, too. Apparently there's
been a movement going around to organize all the fairy work-
ers, particularly the heavy-labor types like the kobolds. No-
body's sure where the idea came from, but it's going around
and it's catching on with some like the kobolds. I think we
better tell Ruddygore about it when we get there, though. There

JACK L. CHALKER

53

was one thing that really puzzles me."
"Huh? Only one?"

"Well, in this instance, anyway. One of the kobolds quoted
Lenin, word for word. Lenin, Joe! Here! Where nobody ever
heard of him!"

"You mean the Russians are invading?"

"No, of course not. Don't be silly. But somebody over here
is bringing in ideas wholesale from over there, that's for sure.
That bothers me, Joe. Remember that Ruddygore was worried
about the plot to bring guns into Husaquahr?"

He nodded. "I remember. He had that rat Dacaro turned
into a horse for suggesting it."

"Well, maybe—but it doesn't add up. Ideas are stronger
even than guns, Joe, and somebody's importing ideas. Trouble
is, who's the only guy we know who can make the trip between
our world and this one any time he wants to?"

Joe, although still dizzy and weak, saw her point. The base
of Ruddygore's power was his unique ability to travel between
the worlds across the Sea of Dreams. They had never been
really sure about the big sorcerer, and this compounded the
doubts beyond measure. Ruddygore had fought the forces of
Hell head on, yet he conjured up and used demons from the
same place for his own purposes. He had fought the Dark Baron
to a standoff, which had put him with the good guys, yet—
had he fought for the same reasons as the rest of them? Or was
he, in fact, taking on a rival challenger to his ambition of ruling
the Council and the world? Certainly there were depths and
layers to the sorcerer far beyond the funny fat man in opera
clothes, depths and layers hidden by his wild personality.

"Let's let it rest for now," Joe suggested. "I'm tired, weak,
and dizzy and I feel that I could sleep for a month. But
let's remember that we're only doing some work for the old

boy. He doesn't own us, and we'll work for ourselves first.
Okay?"

She smiled at him, "Okay. You know, though, I—" She
stopped in mid-thought, seeing that he had sunk back down
into a more normal but very deep sleep. She got up and sighed,
looking around. Let him sleep—he certainly needed it.

Joe slept through most of the next day, and it was early
evening by the time he woke up. He was sore and stiff and

54

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

still felt terribly dry, but he managed to go through a series of

exercises without doing too badly.

His horse, he found, was dead and already stinking up the
place. Marge or the kobolds had managed to get the saddlebags
off, though, and he found some salted fish and the few cakes
remaining of the hard, extra-sweet Terdieran candy. It wasn't
enough, but it would have to do for now.

Marge's horse seemed to have come through the mountain
crossing reasonably well, but he thought it best not to push her
for another day or so. For now he'd repack the supplies into
one load and let the horse carry that. He felt he could walk.

He found what he could of dry wood and, with the flint
from the packs, made a small fire. There was a rustling in the
trees behind him and he turned warily, but it was only Marge,
who'd apparently been asleep up in the tree.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him, settling to the ground.

"You look a mess!"

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm okay. I think we ought to press on,
even though it's dark. You can see pretty well around here,
and my night vision's not all that bad. I've been looking at the
map and I figure it's about forty miles to the main road, if we
can go due west, then maybe another fifty to the city. It's a
long, tough walk, but I can make it."

She nodded. "The land's not bad. I went up and took a look
at it. While it's all overland, no good roads or clear paths, it's
mostly farmland and forest. Maybe we can hitch a ride when
we hit the main road. They might have some kind of coach
service or something. At least maybe we can buy another horse."

He frowned. "Do we have enough money left for that?"

"We do now. The kobolds decided it was their fault the
horse died, so they gave us compensation." She went over to
her own pack and rummaged through it for a moment, then
reached in and pulled out a large, blackish rock. She seemed
to have trouble with it, so he went over and took it from her,
then almost dropped it. It was incredibly heavy.

"What is that?"

"Raw fairy gold," she told him. "Worth a hundred horses."

"Well, then, let's get started, now that we're on the same

clock."

She laughed. "I think maybe you ought to go down to the

JACK L. CHALKER

55

riverbank first—it's really a creek, but the water's fine. You're
coal black from soot and ash."

He didn't feel much like it, but he went, and he did feel a
little better after he'd immersed himself in the cool waters for
a while. Coming back out, he checked over his clothing. The
belt with his great sword had come through pretty much un-
touched, but the thick loincloth he'd been wearing was stained
and singed. He had spare loincloths, so that was no trouble.
The sandals, though, were his only pair, and they were cracked
and worn almost beyond belief. He decided to go barefoot until
he could buy some new ones.

His cowboy hat, much to his relief, was virtually unscathed,
and he stuck it on his still v/et hair, fastened the loincloth to
the belt and strapped it on, checked to see that his sword was
easily drawn, then nodded to himself. "Okay, faithful scout,"
he called to Marge. "Let's pack up and get on the trail."

"Ugh! Kemo sabe!" she responded playfully, and they went
to work. Somehow they managed to get everything of im-
portance onto the horse.

Using Marge's incredible night sight as the pathfinder, they
had little trouble going for most of the night. By early morning,
although it was impossible to tell for certain, they thought they
had made at least fifteen miles. Joe let Marge sleep then on
the horse, in front of the pack—since she seemed to weigh
virtually nothing, the horse never noticed—and, taking fre-
quent breaks for both his and the horse's benefit, he managed
to add over five miles more before deciding to camp out in a
small wooded grove.

Marge had been correct—the rough land had given way
quickly to rolling farmland, with lots of herd animals idly
grazing and, here and there, red-roofed farmhouses and fields
of neatly planted wheat, corn, and other grains. He remembered
somebody telling him once, after some big eruption down in
South America or some place, that the reason people lived so
ciose to volcanoes was that they only went off once in a lifetime,
while the stuff they spewed out was the best farm dirt in the
world, and he could see that, at least here, it was true.

Occasionally they stopped at a farmhouse along the way.
But, while there were a few draft animals available, there were
no horses. Finally giving up, they settled for a mule and loaded

56

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER

57

most of the supplies onto it, allowing Joe to ride Marge's horse,
while she sat atop the packs on the mule. Now they would
make better time.

He kept to his modified schedule, remaining awake through
most of the night ana into the morning, then joining Marge in
sleep for the afternoon. He didn't really need as much sleep
as she seemed to, and certainly this was the most peaceful and
uneventful part of any of their journeys in Husaquahr.

They reached a farm road which, they were assured, led to
the main highway, and it was in the early morning, with Marge
barely dozing on the mule's back, that they met their first odd
or unusua! experience.

Joe stopped both animals, reached over, flipped down the
dark glasses, and shook her awake.

"Hmph? Uh? Something the matter?" she muttered drow-
sily, still mostly asleep.

"I'm not really sure," he responded a bit cautiously, "but
unless I've gone nuts, the road ahead is being blocked by a

pig-"

"So? Shoo it away."

"Uh—this pig is standing up like a human on its hind legs
and is holding a cutlass, and I really don't like the mean glint
in its eye."

CHAPTER 6

THE TROUBLE WITH MAGICIANS

Once a thief has committed himself or herself to that vocation by
deed rather than by inclination, the thief is bound by that nature,
regardless of consequences, or.d the Rules apply for life.

—Rules, VIII, 41(b)

MARGE SUDDENLY SAT BOLT UPRIGHT AND STARED AHEAD OF

them. Sure enough, there in the middle of the farm road was

the biggest pig she'd ever seen, impossibly standing on its hind
legs. The creature was easily Joe's height that way and must
have weighed in at half a ton or more. Around its middle was
a belt of some sort, its only clothing, and again impossibly, in
its right foreleg it gripped a menacing-Iooking cutlass, appar-
ently held mittenlike between the two parts of the unnaturally
pliable split hooves.

"Halt! Stand and deliver!" the pig grunted menacingly.
Joe sat back and shook his head in wonder. Of all the sights
in Husaquahr, this was certainly the most ridiculous he'd ever
encountered. "So, pork chops, what do you need with money?"
he called back.

"You think I like being like this?" the giant pig retorted. "It
takes money to hire somebody good enough to break a spell
like this."

Joe reached down and took hold of the hilt of his great
sword, which hummed in anticipation of action. "Well, porker,
it will take more than a pig with a pig-sticker to get anything
from us. Stand aside and pick an easier victim."

"Your choice," the pig grunted back. "We take what you
have from you now and you escape with your lives, or we pick
over your bodies."

"We?"

- There was a rustling from the underbrush on either side of
the road ahead of them, and there appeared the most incredible
trio of creatures they could imagine. One had the head and
torso of a chimpanzee that blended into the body of a large
snake. The second had a giant duck's head on a cow, udder
and all, while the third looked like nothing so much as a human-
sized catfish whose fishy body merged into that of a crab,
complete with pincers. The monkey-thing had a broadsword,
while the cow-thing held a bow. The fish-crab needed no other
weapons than those pincers.

It was hard to take such monstrosities seriously. "What in
hell happened to you?" Joe asked them, as Marge just gaped,
open-mouthed.

"We were lying in wait for the Sachalin night coach, which
was late as usual," the cow-duck quacked, "when we saw this
guy coming, all alone, decked out as if he was king of the gem
mines. It just got the better of us, I guess. The sight of all that
wealth made us forget about the sorcerer's convention."

58

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

59

Joe nodded. "I see. And when you jumped him, he turned
out to be somebody powerful and he zapped you. I must say
he had a real sense of humor."

"Hilarious," the pig snorted. "Now that we've had our in-
troductions, can we get back to business?"

Joe sighed and sat back a bit in the saddle, positioning
himself. "Your bad luck continues, my odd thieves. As you
can see, neither my fairy companion nor I have much to hide,
and we are going to that same convention. I think, again, you'd
better wait for safer game."

"Says you," the monkey-snake retorted. "You don't look
like a sorcerer to me, and it's clear her magic powers, whatever
they are, aren't for fighting." It chuckled. "Care to kiss me,
honey?"

"It's true, we're not magicians, although we serve Rud-
dygore ofTerindell, whose power will find you no matter where
you are—and you look to be pretty easy to find in any case.
But I do have one bit of magic, and it is of the most fatal
kind." Joe paused and whispered so low he could only hope
Marge could hear. "Be ready to charge when I do."

"Yeah? And what kind of magic's that?" the pig sneered.

Joe drew his sword, which began to hum even louder. Its
blade seemed like something alive, pulsing a glowing bronze.
"This," he told them, "is my very good friend Irving."

"Irving!" They all started laughing and sniggering. "What
sort of name is that for a sword?"

The great sword's hum rose in pitch, as if it were angry
and insulted by the remarks. The sword was, in fact, a semi-
living thing of sorcery and iron, as only the dwarfs could make
it.

"Irving doesn't like to be laughed at," Joe said quietly, then
suddenly kicked his horse and sprang forward with a yell. The
attack took the thieves by surprise, and he was on the pig before
any of them could react, bringing Irving down on the cutlass
and slicing through the thief's weapon as if it were butter. With
his foot, he kicked out and sent the great pig sprawling on all
fours.

The monkey-snake screamed in anger and launched itself
at Joe, but he whirled around and this time was not so gentle,
slicing off not only the sword but the arm that held it.

Needing no more of a cue. Marge charged on her mule right

through the melee, the mule jumping over the pig.

Joe reined in his horse, reared back, and looked at the other
two creatures. The duck-cow had seen enough, dropped its
bow and stepped back. The fish-crab, however, looked uncer-
tain.

"Well, fish-face? Do we see what Irving does to those claws?"

"Uh—I think Irving is 'a real nice name for a sword," the
fish-crab blurbled and backed off.

By this time, though, the pig had gotten back up behind
Joe and now reached to unhorse the big man. Joe saw the move
from the comer of his eye and pulled back on the reins, causing
his horse to rear up on its hind legs. The pig, startled, fell
backward and Joe came down and had his sword at the crea-
ture's throat before it could recover. "Be thankful I spare your
lives," he told them. "If I meet the man who did this to you
all, though, I'm going to buy him one hell of a good drink."
With that, he whirled and rode off, following Marge, who'd
stopped to watch about a hundred feet farther on. He passed
her, slowed, and called out, "Well? What are you waiting for?
Run for it before they get their wits back!" Then he was off.

She shrugged and kicked the mule, proceeding forward at
a lesser pace.

They kept it up for almost a mile before Joe slowed to a
walk and relaxed, allowing her to catch up. "Close one," he
commented. "If they'd had any guts at all, they'd have had us,
Irving or not."

She burst out laughing. "Somehow I don't think they'll ever
have the guts. A pretty poor lot of robbers they are, even as
monsters."

"Don't laugh too long, though. Remember, we're riding
into a whole city just crammed with magicians, and most of
'em with the power won't think any more of us than they would
of bugs."

"That's more your worry than mine, I think. I'm not really
sure of my powers, but they seem made for a situation like
that."

He cleared his throat. "Urn, yeah. I've been meaning to ask
you about that. I kind of assumed that your powers were in
the, ah, lovemaking area."

She laughed. "Well, so I'm told. But that's only the lesser
part. Supposedly, I can cancel out magic, even redirect it. I'm

60

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER.

61

not sure how that works, and they weren't very good at ex-
planations. It's just supposed to come when I need it, more or
less."

He thought about that. "It makes sense, sort of. No great
powers, like a lot of the fairy folk are supposed to have, but
you'll have the power of whatever is used against you. Seems
to me, they'll think twice about using you for a subject with
that in mind."

She nodded. "If they know it. Kauri are better known for
the other thing we do best, and I don't think it would work
well against somebody like Ruddygore or the Dark Baron or
even Huspeth. Still, most magicians aren't on that level, so I
feel fairly safe. Truth is, I might not have much offense, but
I'm a catalog of defenses, which is what I think Ruddygore
had in mind. You're the offense and I'm the defense." She
saw him frown at that. "What's wrong?"

"The old bastard hasn't done anything for us or to us, unless
it's for some reason of his own. That magic Lamp business
was big, but I don't think it's what he really brought us here
for and made us what we are today, whatever that is. He's got
something big planned for us, and I don't like the smell of it."

"You were the one who was bored," she reminded him. "I
would think you'd like a real challenge."

"Challenge, yeah, but if that Lamp business was just prac-
tice, what's he really got in mind, and can we survive it?"

"You're unusually gloomy today! Huspeth said Ruddygore
could see the direction of the future and planned accordingly,
and those silly Rules said we were destined for at least three
great adventures. Me, I'm not going to worry until the third
one. Instead, I'm going back to sleep."

And she did.

The main road was wide and well traveled, as they expected
one of the primary routes between the capital of Marquewood
and the rest of the nation to be. Not only were there the usual
wagon trains of goods going to and from Sachalin, but there
was much traffic by individuals and small groups. Joe noticed
that most of the people going away from the city looked rather
ordinary—merchants, deliverymen, carpenters, all the people
a capital would be expected to have. The traffic in the city's
direction, though, beyond the commercial trade, seemed a dif-
ferent sort. Old women in black cloaks and hoods, small groups
dressed in varicolored robes, and mysterious, mystical, even
sinister folk were the rule.

Joe stopped at a roadside inn that was doing a large business
and went inside. He was getting really tired and he figured that
they would most likely have a room available at midday. Few
landlords could resist the possibility of renting a room twice
in one day, and he could use a bed after so long on the road.

The innkeeper, a big, burly man named Isinsson, didn't
disappoint him, although a large eyebrow was raised at the
sight of a groggy Marge wearing only dark glasses.

The price was reasonable, and Joe agreed readily to leave
by eight in the evening. The room was small but adequate, and
the double bed had a genuine feather mattress. They looked at
it groggily, and Joe said, "Too bad. If we weren't both so dead,
we could make real use of it, as the landlord thinks we will."

"Maybe we'll wake up early," she muttered and lay face
down on the bed. Joe looked at the velvety wings sticking out
from her back and, with a silent wish that she didn't toss and
turn in her sleep, he secured the door and joined her in slumber.

When he awoke, to his great disappointment, it was after
seven. Marge, he saw, had already arisen and gone from the
room. For a second, he was worried about that, remembering
the last time she'd disappeared from a hotel, but she hadn't
been fairy then. He was pretty sure she could take care of
herself. At least, he hoped so. The next dragon they met might
not have a neurotic fear of fair maidens.

He packed up and went down to the main floor, which was
fairly crowded with traffic. He didn't see Marge anyplace, but
he decided not to get really worried until it was time to leave.

There were no empty tables; but with such a crowd, any
empty chair belonged to the first person to sit in it, and he
picked one with a small group of ordinary-looking people and
ordered a heavy meal.

The people at the table were a little taken aback by the giant
barbarian in their company, but they soon relaxed and wanned
to him as the place filled with those more mysterious sorts and
various kinds of not very pleasant-appearing fairies.

The squat, middle-aged man with a light beard and no mus-
tache was Jeklir the grainer; the pudgy, middle-aged woman
with him was his wife Asarak; and the teen-ager with them

62

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

who looked every bit their progeny was their son Takgis.

"So you're from Sachalin," Joe noted. "On your way home
from a trip?"

"Going on one, rather," Jeklir responded. "Time to visit the
wife's relatives in Mobadan, at least for a week or two."

Joe's eyebrows raised a bit. "I would think this would be
your busy season. I came through a good bit of farmland, and
it looked as if the harvest was just coming up."

Jeklir's eyes darted nervously at the crowd around the inn.
"Um, usually you would be right, barbarian, but ordinarily
merchants would welcome a convention, not close up shop and
leave as it dawned, if you get my meaning."

Joe did. "I guess the ones coming will be a pretty scary
group, if what we've seen is any indication. My—partner—
and I ran into some unlucky thieves this past morning who had
run afoul of a sorcerer."

"You have no idea," Asarak assured him. "Every time this
convention comes to a town, horrible things happen. Be just
a trifle slow with the ale, and they turn you into who knows
what; and the adepts—they're the worst, practicing spells on
all the honest people with abandon. If you're going into the
city, you watch your step, young man. They pour love potions
in the punch, make people bark like dogs, and worse, just for
the fun of it. The authorities can't do a thing, either."

"I'm surprised anybody will have them, if what you say is
true," Joe noted between bites of the first really good, solid
food in a week.

"What choice do they have?" Jeklir responded. "I mean,
it's always sponsored by a master sorcerer, and if your local
sorcerer decides to host it, what can anybody, even the gov-
ernment, do?"

Joe nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I can see that. But you
mean the whole town will be closed up?"

"Oh, no. First of all, the government can't close, so all
those people have to stay and they have to have their services.
The hotels can't close—they're booked. And the bars, restau-
rants, and shows will be open, of course. Many of the owners
will keep a low profile and send their families out of town,
but they hire a lot of farmers and contract for a lot of serf labor
to be out front. There are always the ones who do so good they
get special favors, too, and some of it can be put right after,

JACK L. CHALKER

63

particularly the stuff done by the adepts. That doesn't help the
embarrassment and degradation while it's happening to you,
though."

Joe understood. Like all conventioneers, these magical ones
would let their inhibitions down and have a totally good time—
for them. In the process, they'd drive the town nuts, but there
was always a cleanup crew of powerful sorcerers around to fix
things. He wondered how long it took and whether everything
ever got fixed, but he suspected that, within the confines of
the host town or city, anyway, things were under more careful
watch than they seemed to be. In the end, it was mental anguish
applied to ordinary people that was the real price—but the
rewards, too, were great. Few groups had conventions this
large, and while some might get stuck a hundred times with
phony money or gems that vanished, others found overly gen-
erous rewards. It really meant millions to the city, too.

Not, however, for a grain merchant. Joe couldn't blame the
family for getting out for a while.

He finished his meal and settled his accounts. But after
saying luck and farewell to the temporary refugee family, he
still hadn't caught sight of Marge and he began to grow a little
worried. He found the innkeeper and asked if he'd seen her.

"The sexy fairy lady? Yeah, I seen her. Don't worry. She'll
be back down in a little while, like she has been."

Joe stared at the man. "Like she has been?"

Quickly and a little bit nervously, the innkeeper described
Marge's activities of the past couple of hours. Joe was incred-
ulous and more than a little hurt. He stalked outside to the
stable area, got the horse and the mule, saddled them, and reset
the packs, brooding all the time.

Marge came out of the inn entrance and spotted him, then
walked over to him with a very light and sassy manner. She
stopped short, though, about ten feet from him, and the smile
faded as she sensed his emotional turmoil. She instantly under-
stood the problem, but couldn't really sympathize all that much.
"Well? What did you expect?" she asked him. "You just kept
lying there, snoring like mad."

"Yeah, but..." he tried lamely. "It's so... cheap."

"It's not that," she told him, stepping more into the light
and putting out her hand. He looked at it and saw two large
and obviously very valuable rings on her fingers. He saw, too,

64

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

that she wore a very expensive-looking gold necklace. In her
left hand she held a small velvet case. "I found out a lot of
things already tonight, and one of them is that you must give
a gift to a Kauri or she owns your soul. The first man practically
fell all over himself finding something to give me."

"Well, at least you'll always be able to buy what you need,"
he grumped.

"Oh, Joe—it's just in my nature. It's one of the things I
do."

"Yeah, but—so many?"

She shrugged and got on the mule. "It was like eating pea-
nuts. Once I got started, I just couldn't stop."

He sighed and mounted his horse. "Well, you ought to have
real fun in convention city up ahead."

"I intend to," she told him. "But don't be so damned sanc-
timonious about it all. I heard Houma and Grogha talking in
little-kid whispers about the virgins of Kidim. It didn't matter
when it was you men against scared, defenseless girls, now
did it?"

"But that was different!" he protested.

"How?"

"Well, um, the damned town deserved it, that's all. They
staked you out for the dragon, remember!"

"Even if that were a good excuse for the seduction of in-
nocent kids, which I doubt, it certainly wasn't true that first
night. You didn't know about it."

"But you were celibate theni A virgin witch!"

"And you weren't then and aren't now. The only difference
is that I'm not now, either. Deep down you're just like all
men, you know. It's okay when you do it, but women—uh-
uh. And I'm even more of a threat—a woman who can control
the emotions of men. A woman in command, you might say.
No, Joe, don't pull that hurt act on me. Not until you can
explain to me why I'm an immoral prostitute while you're just
having a boy's night of fun out on the town." With that she
kicked the mule and started out onto the darkened road.

He waited a moment, not at all agreeing with her position
but unable at the moment to figure out why she was wrong,
then followed her.

JACK L. CHALKER

65

It took two more days' ride to reach the city, and during
that time he still hadn't really figured it out, but he'd partially
come to accept it. He did more or less understand why he took
it so personally, though. It was one thing for him, say, to meet
a woman he didn't know and have a fling in the hay, but Marge
was something else, somebody special and important to him.
People he knew and cared about just didn't do things like that.

Except, of course, once he'd known and cared about a very
special young woman, who'd even borne him a son, but now,
in another world and in another life, she was living with another
guy and probably griping about never getting any more ali-
mony. And he'd tried more than once to pick up truck-stop
waitresses and lady truckers, some of whom he knew very well
indeed, and sometimes he'd succeeded. In a sense, he realized,
he'd taken refuge in Marge's former self. She'd been safe,
dependable, nobody else's, even if not his.

But, irrational or not, he couldn't shake his sense of hurt
and perhaps jealousy, at least not yet, and he consistently re-
fused her advances as if, somehow, at least that could be pre-
served between them. She would remain, then, somehow, his
partner and his friend and nothing more, in the same way that,
were she a male and a womanizer, he might accept but not
approve.

It was, damn it, just that she was so damned desirable...

Sachalin was truly deserving of the term city, rather than
the less important designation of town. It spread out for miles
along the shores of Lake Zahias, a lake so huge that it resembled
an ocean or, at least, one of the Great Lakes, and had tides.

The city was built up against a series of low hills that were,
perhaps, the moraines of the great glacier that carved and be-
came Lake Zahias. Also deep, the lake actually made Sachalin
a major port, since at its southern end the River of Sorrows
began, winding its way through deep gorges to Lake Bragha,
then slowly between the mountain ranges to Lake Ogome, until
finally, as a great river, it reached the Dancing Gods itself. A
parallel canal had been built between Zahias and Bragha, but
two great falls prevented full access to the sea. Still, it was a
simple transfer of goods from ship to barge to ship to get
materials easily into the interior of Husaquahr, and this made
Sachalin a rich and important city indeed.

66

JACK L. CHALKER                    67

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

The volcanic soil from the Firehills covered hundreds of
square miles to the north and west of the city and lake, meaning
that a tremendous amount of food, principally grains, was sent
back down from the port all the way to the City-States and
beyond.

Sachalin was set only slightly inland from the port and the
white, sandy beaches, and it seemed to be constructed of uni-
formly blocky buildings, two to six storeys high, built of some
white stone and masonry materials, topped with characteristic
red shingle roofs. Unlike most cities and towns in Husaquahr,
it was not walled, being far too large and sprawling for that,
but it did have big, open arches at its entrance that served a
strictly decorative function. The road led along the lakeshore
after that, where Marge and Joe could see countless fishing
vessels tied up in neat rows for the night, as well as occasional
yachts and luxury vessels. The heavy-goods commercial port
was north of the city, leaving the center for public beaches and
pleasure use and not spoiling the view.

They arrived in early evening. The city did not die after
dark as most towns did, but took on a whole new character.
Uniformed men of the watch, as they were called, walked every
street, lighting lamps with long lamplighter torches. The glass
containers for the streetlamps were irregular and often multi-
colored, their bright flames inside producing not only more
than ample light but also colorful, dancing patterns against the
white stucco buildings. It was, in a sense, fairyland by engi-
neering rather than by magic, but it was no less effective.

Although neither Joe nor Marge could read the language,
the pictograms on the signs were easy enough to follow. When
they reached a broad park with beach on one side and town on
the other, the road formed a circle around a huge monument
to some very odd-looking creature. Leading into the circle from
town was a tremendously wide avenue, paved with tiny little
bricks and lined with trees the entire way. It seemed to have
a series of circles through town to the hills in back, each one
with a small park and monument in the middle, but far back,
against and seemingly either carved out of or sitting on a ledge
in the hills, was the great capitol building itself, looking less
like any capitol building they had seen than a huge, columnar,
Grecian-style temple to some ancient gods, bathed in great
lights.

They turned toward the capitol and started into the city
proper, following directions on the small map Ruddygore had
sketched for them of the city center. The large buildings behind
the trees on either side seemed to be mostly banks and offices—
shipping brokers, the grain exchange, and other such institu-
tions. This was the financial heart of the city, it was clear.

"It's beautiful," Marge said, mostly to herself. "And every-
thing's so clean."

Joe understood what she meant. Even the best of towns
they'd seen in Husaquahr had been straight out of the Middle
Ages, with sanitation to match. Here, though, it looked as if
an entire crew of workmen came out each night and scrubbed
the place clean, removing trash, droppings, and just about
everything else, then even polishing the brick and scrubbing
the building^ facades. The air was crisp and clean-smelling,
with no hints of garbage or even horse droppings.

At that moment, Joe's horse relieved herself on the bright
roadway, and he felt suddenly very guilty for her doing so. He
hurried on a bit, and they were a couple of blocks up and at
the next circle before he halted at Marge's call. "Hey, Joe—
look back!"

He looked and saw dozens of tiny fairy gnomes emerge
from the trees up and down the whole block where his horse
had violated the scenery. They hurried quickly to the center of
the street, swept up the droppings and took them away, then
scrubbed the whole area and vanished once more into the tree-
lined sides of the boulevard. "It figures," he muttered, then
turned and continued on.

Although the hotel and entertainment district was in the dead
center of the city, the fancy hotels for the business clientele
who would be visiting those financial centers were all directly
on this main, wide boulevard, and the grandest of them was
the Imperial Grand, a huge, fancy structure that took up more
than a square block. Like all the buildings, it wasn't really
very high—though at eight storeys it was one of the tallest
buildings in the city—but it was fancy.

The front, in fact, was almost entirely of glass, rising from
street level up four full storeys, creating a massive atrium and
lobby which was like a glass-covered right angle viewed from
the side. This connected to a solid four-storey stone and stucco
block with balconies sculpted on its face, so that anyone coming

68

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

out of any room would have a free view of the open space
area. On top of this were three four-storey cubes, giving the
whole building a distinctive look. It reminded Joe of some
fancy American hotels, as if designed by Mayan temple de-
signers. There was even a parking entrance on the side, which
led down below the hotel to an underground stable that looked
fancy indeed. Liveried attendants helped Marge and Joe off
their animals, unloaded saddle and packs, put small collars on
both horse and mule and a sticker on the saddle, then handed
Joe three embossed leather claim checks. Another packed up
their meager luggage in an odd-looking cart, and they followed
him to a wide, beltlike structure rising at a steep angle. Strong,
thin boards were spaced about eight feet apart going up. They
were instructed to sit down, and the attendant then went over
and rang a large bell.

"A real bellman," Marge noted dryly.

Suddenly the belt started moving slowly upward. It so star-
tled them, despite the obvious intent of the gadget, that both
almost feil off. The bellman, as soon as they were clear, rolled
his cart onto the next plank below them and hopped on himself.
Joe looked nervously around and saw that they were going to
be raised just above lobby level, followed by a steep drop. The
ascent wasn't very fast, but they were traveling backward.

When they were most of the way up, the bellman reached
over and grabbed another rope, ringing the bell below once
more; just as Joe rose up so that his feet were clear of the floor
level, the device stopped and he and Marge jumped off. It then
moved again, and the bellman and his load were lifted up.

Joe looked at the bellman with unconcealed curiosity. "How
does it work?"

The bellman smiled, telling them both that this was his most
asked question. "There's a treadmill down there. Put some
mules on it every once in a while and it winds up a tremendous
spring. When we need to run it, we just take the brake off and
it goes up until we hit the brake. During the busy periods, we
just keep the treadmill going all the time. Smart, huh? Wait
till you see what else this place has. There's no other hotel
like it anywhere."

They looked around the broad, glass-enclosed atrium, but
there were few people about, and Marge remarked on it."Oh,

JACK L. CHALKER

69

they'll start coming in big tomorrow," the bellman assured her.
"We're full up the next seven days. Tonight we'd normally be
about half full, but with most of the businesses down the boul-
evard taking a holiday during the convention, there are only
some early arrivers like you now. Ah, you are here for (he
convention, right?"

They nodded. "We thought we were late, I guess we made
better time than we expected," Marge commented.

They followed him to the registration desk, a massive horse-
shoe-shaped affair of stained and polished oak. The desk clerk,
dressed in almost regal splendor, eyed both of them with some
suspicion and a nose high in the air. "Yesssss..." he virtually
hissed at them, trying to avoid any sort of eye contact.

"We may be a little early, but we're supposed to have rooms
reserved for us here," Joe told him.

Now the beady little eyes focused first on Joe, then on
Marge. "Are you certain you have the correct hotel?"
"This is the Imperial Grand Hotel, I presume."
"It most certainly is."
"Well, we're in the right place, then."
The clerk gave a bored sigh. "Very well, then. Name?"
"Joseph the Golden, Castle Terindell, Valisandra."
"How original," the clerk muttered patronizingly. "A bar-
barian with a mailing address." He checked through his large
card file, then checked again, and finally said, "As I suspected,
there is nothing, and our hotel is booked for the next week."

Joe thought a moment. "We are with Ruddy gore of Ter-
indell," he told the clerk. "We are a part of his party."

The clerk was unimpressed and yet he dutifully checked
and cross-checked his file cards once more. Finally he nodded
to himself. "Ah, yes. Ruddygore, Throckmorton P., party of
seven. Let's see... Yes, an Imir is already in as the advance
man for the party. I will send a runner up to approve you." He
turned and tapped a small bell on the desk. From a place
somewhere beneath him, a tiny pixie, no more than two or
three inches high, popped up and waited for further instructions,
its transparent multiple wings beating so fast they were virtually
invisible. The clerk jotted something on a pad, tore off the top
sheet, folded it in quarters, and handed it to the little creature.
"Lake Suite," he told it.

70

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

71

The creature was off in a flash, flying into one of a number
of round tubes that seemed to go into the wall in back of the
clerk.

"Those tubes go to every room in the place?" Joe asked a
little suspiciously. If pixies could use them, so could other
things, and they made nice sound conductors as well.

"Oh, my, no!" the clerk huffed. "They go to each floor of
each wing, and the messenger then rings a bell."

Joe nodded, feeling a little better. He didn't trust hotels at
all, and his experience with any of the larger ones in Husaquahr
had been less than pleasant.

"Madam," the clerk said as they waited, "we would ap-
preciate it if you would, ah, cover up while in the public areas.
The Portside, down at Lake Boulevard and Pier Six, is more,
ah, suited to your sort."

Marge got mad fast. "And what exactly is my sort? Do you
discriminate against fairies? Are we not good enough for you?"

"Oh, of course not! That's not what I meant at all."

"Then make your meaning plain. I am a Kauri, and we have
very short tempers."

"Exactly my point. I mean, with the convention coming in,
it's very bad for the hotel's image."

Joe, too, got a little rankled. "With what I hear about this
convention, you'll be lucky to have a hotel left when it's over.
Are you going to be working through the next week?"

"Why, uh, I expect to. Whatever do you mean?" The clerk
was uncomfortable when the topic got personal and forced him
to the defensive.

"When the adepts get through with you, you might wish
you'd gone on vacation with an attitude like that. Now you've
insulted my partner and friend, and we weren't doing anything
but following your rules and making no trouble." He put his
hand to his sword hilt, but Marge stopped him.

"No, Joe. Just stand to one side for a moment. This is my
little problem."

Curious, the big man moved over and just watched. Marge
stared hard at the clerk, then brought her two arms up over her
head, fully extending her magnificent, soft wings. The clerk
started to say something, then stopped and became suddenly
dull and glassy-eyed. She smiled at him, and he smiled back,
although Joe was surprised that it didn't crack his face. She

rose, floated over the desk, and landed just in front of the
transfixed man, whose gaze never left her. Marge nodded, still
smiling, put down her arms, and began systematically to un-
dress the clerk. Joe—and, he couldn't help noticing, the bell-
man and other employees in the lobby area—watched with a
mixture of awe and amusement. Within two or three minutes,

the clerk was completely nude.

At that moment, the pixie shot back through the tube, flew
up to the clerk, and stopped short, the look on its face one of
total incredulousness. Marge reached out and took the small
paper from the pixie and glanced at it, then turned and handed
it to Joe. It was a scrawled mess, but they recognized Poquah's
distinctive calligraphy and guessed what it said. "Well, we can
go up now," Joe suggested a bit nervously.

"Awww..." Marge pouted, sounding disappointed. She
leaned over, kissed the clerk lightly, and said, "You'll wait
right here just like that until I get back, though, won't you?"

The clerk nodded dreamily.

Marge smiled, floated back to the other side of the desk,
and looked at the bellman. "Let's go."

The bellman led them around the big registration area to a
hallway and into the main building in back. On one side was
an opening in the wall, revealing a small, gondolalike car.
They could see a second about halfway down the hall, and

guess a third at the end.

The thing proved to be something like a ferris wheel, but
very, very slow and driven, apparently, by the same sort of
treadmill-gear-spring device as the escalator from the stables.
. They went to the top, then had to transfer to a smaller, similar
device and do the whole thing all over again. "Uh—you do
have stairs," Joe said to the bellman hopefully.

"Oh, sure. This is mostly for the bigwigs and the luggage.
The top two floors of each tower are suites only, and the kind
of people who have 'em not only usually have tons of baggage

but they don't walk no place."

"Um—just out of curiosity, what do you think of that little
scene down there?" Joe wanted to know as they reached the

top floor of the south tower.

The bellman chuckled. "Some people, they run outta town
when this convention hits. Me, I love to stick around. I mean,
I gotta work under guys like that for most of the year."

72

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

Both Joe and Marge grinned. "And you're not scared of
something happening to you?" she asked him, trying to sound
nonthreatening.

"Naw. I been around magicians and stuff a lot, and overall
they're a pretty fair lot. Mostly they stick it to people who
really need it, and, I mean, most of us can't, right? This con-
vention's the payoff to all them types who do the same to
everybody, and I love it."

They both chuckled and followed the little man to a large
and ornately carved set of double doors. The bellman pulled
on a satin rope that dangled from a small recess. In a few
seconds, the door opened, and the familiar face of the warrior
elf Poquah looked out at them. The Imir was as outwardly
impassive as always; but when he saw Marge, his thick, ruler-
straight eyebrows that flanked his cat-shaped eyes at a forty-
five-degree angle went up about an inch. It was as much of a
rise from him as either of them could remember. He looked at
Joe, nodded, then turned back to her. "And this is our old
Marge?"

She grinned. "No, it's the new one. Hello, Imir."
"Hello, Kauri. Come in, both of you."
They entered, and the bellman followed. Marge stopped
short when she saw the suite and gave a low gasp.

It was impressive. The walls were entirely of some sort of
tinted glass, apparently going all the way around the top of the
tower. There were drapes, controlled by long, thin ropes, that
could be lowered from recesses in the ceiling to cover them,
but Poquah had left them open in this large parlor.

It was furnished with thick sofas, ottomans, and luxuriously
padded chairs. The tables were of carved and beautifully stained
hardwoods, each one a handmade work of an. The entire suite
was carpeted in thick, soft wool, dyed in patterns of reds,
yellows, blues, and greens. Facing the inside of the parlor,
against the wall parallel with the hall, was a huge bar on one
side and a mini-kitchen on the other, complete with a small
stove, wood for that stove, and a chimney leading up.

The bellman looked questioningly at Poquah, who simply
said, "Just set them down here. We will put them av/ay when
we arrange who's to go where."

The bellman did as instructed and turned to go. Joe fished
in the pack, brought out a small chunk of Firehills fairy gold

JACK L. CHALKER

73

left over from their road transactions, and called after him,

"Here—catch!"

The bellman did so and realized almost instantly that he had
more than an ounce of fairy gold in his hands. It was certainly
a bigger tip than he was used to, but he suppressed his surprise
and joy and tucked it in a pocket. "Thank you, sir and madam,
and if you need anything, just go to the middle of the hall and
call the messenger." With that he was gone, shutting the door

after him.

"That was an abnormal tip," Poquah noted. "It sets a bad

precedent."

"Well, it was mine, not Ruddygore's, and I liked that little
guy," Joe told him. "Besides," he added a little sharply, looking
at Marge, "he's going to have to clean up a bit after us, isn't

he?"

She gave him a "Who, me?" son of innocent look, and
Poquah was quick to sense that there was something he'd better
know. "What have you two done already?" he asked suspi-
ciously.

"We had a little run-in with a stuffed shirt at the front desk,

and Marge got mad," Joe told him.

"What did you do?"

"He told me to get out of his hotel and go down to the
docks, as if I were some kind of tramp," she responded de-
fensively. "I just gave his libido a nudge so he only had eyes

for me, that's all."

The Imir sighed. "And I suppose he's standing there behind
the desk right now, stark naked, just pining for your return."

"Why, yeah. How'd you guess?"

"As hard as it might be for even me to believe, the Imir
and Kauri are rather closely related, and I have had some
experience around you as well. Combining your rather odd
sense of humor-with the Kauri's almost total lack of self-
control, it was obvious. Is it permanent?"

"Oh, no. Oh, he'll still have a thing for me, but he'll snap
out of it in an hour or so, get real embarrassed, and put his

pants on again."

The Imir nodded. "Ah, yes, you Kauri do have that nice
little trick, don't you?" He looked over at Joe. "You see, her
victim will still have 'a thing,' as she put it, for her even after
it's over, so he'll take it out on the staff, on everybody else,

74

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

even on himself, but he'll never be mad at, let atone blame,
her. Hmph! Totally useless in a fight, but with those defenses
nobody ever lays a glove on them." He thought for a moment.
"The Master and the others will be in sometime tomorrow. The
master bedroom, with the harbor view, is through there, so
that will be his. The room on the other side will be shared by
myself and Durin, his personal chef. There are two more rooms
down the hall that interconnect with each other but not with
this apartment, and we have Macore and Tiana to take care of
as well as the two of you."

"Macore! It will be good to see him again!" Joe cried. "But
what's he doing here?"

"The Master has his reasons," the Imir replied enigmati-
cally.

"And who's Tiana?" Marge wanted to know.

"Tiana—oh, yes, you might not have met her. She fled
from Morikay and has been under the protection of the Master
for years. He sent for her to meet him here. You'll leam more,
perhaps, when you see her." He looked thoughtful again. "I
assume the best course is to put you, Marge, and Tiana in one
of the rooms, with Joe and Macore in the other. I regret that,
but I do not think Macore is the correct sort of person for many
reasons to put in with the young lady."

Joe looked a little sourly at Marge. "Suits me," he said.
"Why not just give each of us a key now?"

Poquah nodded, walked into his own room by sliding back
a door, and soon returned with two large brass keys. Each key
had a small leather tag attached with a welded brass ring. "If
you use any of the hotel's amenities, the key will be all you
need for payment," he explained. "Outside, use what money
you have. From the bellman's tip, I assume you do not require
any more at this time."

"I think we're okay for now," Joe told him. "At least, I
am."

"I have no need of money," Marge said, "but I'm going to
have problems carrying this key around. I'll leave it either at
the desk or with you when I'm going to be gone for any length
of time."

The Imir nodded. "Very well, then.'Come over here." He
walked to the wide windows that looked out on the town.
"Below there, and for several square blocks on either side, you

JACK L. CHALKER

75

see the entertainment district, which usually goes all night. The
restaurants and bars are quite expensive, but all of high quality.
There are also stage shows, strolling entertainment, and other
amusements down there. On the other side, opposite this hotel,
is the central market, which is quite extensive and has some
of the finest craftspeople in all Husaquahr, and which also has
for sale almost anything you might wish. Please keep your
expenses down if possible. Prices always double or more when
a convention is in town, and our coffers are not unlimited."

Both of them knew that this was more the Imir's nature
speaking than any policy or problem from Ruddy gore. The fact
was, to somebody on the Council with his own castle and more,
wealth was virtually limitless. Poquah, though, was not only
the sorcerer's chief bodyguard but also the manager of Castle
Terindell, and he took every expense personally. He was also,
contrary to the traditions of his race, an accomplished sorcerer
himself and, because of that, was somewhat in exile from his
own people. Being of faerie, he could never gain the power
and control of a human sorcerer, but he was nonetheless a very,
very dangerous man in all respects.

Joe picked up the bags, and he and Marge walked out of
the suite and down the hall. Poquah shut the door behind them.
Joe realized almost immediately that the Imir had failed to tell
him which room was which, and the pictogram on the keys
was very little help, so he tried his on the first door they came
to; naturally, it didn't work. Marge unlocked the door with

hers, and they stepped inside.

The room was large and comfortable and had a huge bed
and a mini-parlor with'sofa, but it was nothing like the master
suite. It was still better than either of them had seen in a long,
long time, though. Marge turned and looked at Joe question-
ingly. "Sure you don't want to sleep here tonight?"

He sighed. "No. Not yet. Let's let things go a bit, huh?
Besides, you ought to enjoy a solo room for one night. What
do you want from the packs?"

She thought a moment. "The glasses, I guess, and my trin-
kets from the last couple of nights." He put the packs down,
and she rummaged through and got the few items. "That's it,"

she told him.

He shrugged. "Okay. Well, let me get settled in next door.
After that, I guess I'll find a restaurant and then hit the sack.

76

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

I think I want to move myself back to a little more of a day
schedule."

"Suit yourself," she told him. "The night's still young." He
turned to go, but just as he cleared her door, she called out,
"Joe?"

He stopped and actually hesitated for a moment, but shook
it off. "Look—that stuff you did with the clerk. Never do
anything like that to me. Never. Promise?"

She nodded, looking suddenly serious. "I promise, Joe. You
know I'd never do anything like that to you."

"I don't know anything about anything any more," he re-
sponded and walked down the hall.

His room proved to be a mirror image of hers, but with two
slightly smaller but still plush beds. He put the packs down
and looked around, for the first time noticing a small sink in
one comer, with a pipe coming out of the back and angling
down like a spigot. Looking a little closer, he discovered a rod
and handle on the floor next to the sink that actually went
through the floor. Curious, he pushed down on it, finding it
something like a bicycle pump. Pumping it a bit harder, he
saw water coming out of the spigot and into the basin. He
checked and found it cool but not cold and marveled anew at
how clever the people who designed and built this place were.
The pump took very little effort, so he wasn't bringing water
up from anywhere. Probably there were tanks on the roof, he
decided, so the pump only opened some sort of valve when it
was pushed—it had turned halfway around when he'd pushed
it down the first time, and twisted back at rest—and the pump's
suction just drew water a short distance into the sink line. It
was clever. More than likely there were huge cisterns up there
catching rain off the lake, supplemented when necessary by
hauling water up to the top.

The water closets were at either end of the hall, and he was
tempted to find out if they had flush toilets, but that would
wait. He'd know soon enough.

Using the water and towels, he gave himself something of
a sponge bath and turned two bright white towels almost black
doing so, then changed into his last clean breechclout. He
reminded himself to find out about laundry services here and
that he had to get over to that market the next day and buy a
new pair of sandals, or, perhaps, boots. Maybe both, he thought

JACK L. CHALKER

77

after a moment. After all, he was here on Ruddy gore's expense
account, and to hell with Poquah.

Satisfied as he could be, and with his hair combed and
fastened by a headband, he left the room and went down the
hall, stopping at Marge's room. He knocked. When there was
no answer, he tried the door. It opened, and he peered inside,
but the room was empty.

Well, he thought, so much for company for dinner. That
brought him up short for a moment, and he frowned. Come to
think of it, in the days since she'd come out of that forest with
wings, he'd never seen her eat. He wondered if she did, and,
if so, what.

CHAPTER 7

ON THE CONVENTIONS OF
UNCONVENTIONAL CONVENTIONS

/( is permissible for a while magician to buy a black magician a
drink, or vice versa, openly at convention, without poisoning it.
—Rules, VI, 201(b)

RUDDYGORE ARRIVED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE AFTERNOON OF

the next day, accompanied by Durin and Macore and also by
an extremely large retinue. He made a grand sort of entrance,
being carried in in an ornate, gold-embossed sedan chair on
the backs of four dark, burly men wearing loincloths and tur-
bans. They brought him right up in the chair on the lifting
stairs from the stables, so that the proper impression was ac-
tually enhanced as he rose into view. Besides, the whole thing
wouldn't have fitted through the front doors.

The sedan chair was the immediate object of interest for all
in the lobby area, and there was quite a crowd by this time.
Joe had been sitting in the lobby bar for about an hour, waiting
for this, having been awakened by Poquah, and even he had

78

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

79

to admit it was really impressive. The rest of the people check-
ing in had been a pretty weird lot, with robes and strange chants
and bizarre animals and birds accompanying the costumed ma-
gicians, but this one had real style.

A clearly prompted Macore, looking resplendent in scarlet
and silver noble's dress and leading the parade, walked sol-
emnly back to the door and opened it. After a dramatic pause,
the huge sorcerer got out, looking imperiously neither to the
right nor to the left, instead just standing there waiting to be
admired. He wore formal opera clothes best suited to the nine-
teenth century on Joe's own world, including a full opera cape,
and carried a brilliantly polished mahogany walking slick with
its handle a magnificently carved, solid gold lion's head in full
roar. He snapped his fingers and Macore scampered around
him, reached inside the sedan chair, and brought out a flat disk
which he then shook with his wrist, causing the disk to form
into a great top hat matching the formal outfit. The little thief,
playing the part to the hilt, handed the hat to Ruddygore, who
idly placed it on his head, then snapped his fingers once more.

Durin, his fairy chef, a very round and cherubic figure, who
looked like a five-foot-tall version of a Disney dwarf, was
attired in splendid white fur. He walked from behind the sedan
chair and around Ruddygore and Macore to the front desk. The
uniformed desk crew, already accustomed to serving all manner
of humans and creatures, nonetheless was gathered together
awaiting what came next. "Throckmorton P. Ruddygore, Mas-
ter of Castle Terindell, Vice Chairman of the Council of Thir-
teen, Grand Master of the Society of Thaumaturgists, Keeper
of the Threshold of Worlds, Th.D., Ph.D.,M.D., and D.O.G."
Ruddygore smiled and bowed.

The desk clerk was not officious but also not all that im-
pressed. A hand went down and he called out, "Front, please!"
Several bellmen engaged in a pushing and tripping contest to
see who could make it first to what was obviously a big tipper.

"Show Dr. Ruddygore and his party to the Lake Suite," the
clerk instructed the winning bellman.

That one grinned, went over, and bowed to the master sor-
cerer. "If you will foilov/ me, sir," the bellman intoned and
started off with his body militarily erect, aware that he was
leading a parade.

Macore followed, adapting the same manner of walk, then

Ruddygore, and finally the little chef, obviously having the
time of his considerable fairy life. Joe chugged down the re-
mains of his tankard—it was full of straight hypercaffeinated
tea, anyway—and decided he'd take the stairs. Even if he
didn't hurry, he knew that, by the time they all took that set
of elevator contraptions, he'd be ten minutes ahead of them.
As he made for the stairs, he heard the clerk snap, "You muscle
guys! Get that rig back down where it belongs!"

Joe was certainly ahead of the game as he knocked on the
suite's large door. Poquah answered, looked at the big man's
face, and said sourly, "I assume he's arrived?"

"And how! Did he come all the way here with that outfit?"

"No, actually he had me rent it a couple of days ago here
in the city, and they picked him up on the edge of town. Cost
a fortune, too, not to mention a lot of my time. Do you know
how hard it is to find four men who not only can bear that kind
of weight but also are about the same size?"

"I can guess," Joe sympathized. "Whoops! I think I hear
them coming now!"

It was pretty unmistakable, hearing the clanging and clat-
tering of the car arriving and then the bunch of them getting
out of it. Joe chuckled. "I hope they have a really heavy-duty
set of springs on that gadget."

Poquah went over, opened the double doors wide, then did
a double check of the bar stock and of several large trays of
pastries sitting on the kitchenette counter. Satisfied, he waited.
Soon the batch of them walked in, led by the bellman. They
stood there a moment while the sorcerer looked over the place.
When he nodded, Poquah went over to the bellman. "Arrange
for the bags to be delivered as soon as possible," he instructed,
"and do not touch or disturb the seals on them if you value
your life."

The bellman, not easily intimidated, just stood there. Fi-
nally, out of the comer of his mouth, Ruddygore ordered, "Tip
him, you idiot!"

The Imir sighed, took a pouch from his belt, and gave the
bellman three gold coins. Joe didn't know how much it was,
but it certainly was less than the hotel man had expected,
judging by his expression. "More if the bags arrive quickly
and in perfect condition," Poquah told him. "Now—go!"

The bellman nodded glumly, turned, and left, and Poquah

80

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L CHALKER

81

shut the doors behind him. At that moment they all relaxed,
and Ruddygore broke into hearty laughter. The big man went
over, grabbed a pastry, and plopped into one of the plush chairs,
which groaned and sagged noticeably. "God!" he exclaimed.
"I've been wanting to make an entrance like that ever since I
saw The Thief of Baghdad'."

Joe was the only one who even slightly understood the
comment, although he'd never seen the movie. Ruddygore,
with his ability to go between the worlds, was equally at home
in either one.

"So what's a D.O.G.?" he asked with a smile.

Ruddy gore's eyebrows rose. "Why, hello, Joe! A pleasant,
successful, and uneventful trip, I trust?"

"Not exactly," he responded, "but that will wait."

"Yes, I do want to talk to you in a bit, after we're settled
in and I find out what godawful stuff they have me doing at
the convention. Poquah, did you get a program?"

"They were late, as usual," the [mir replied. "They only
finished carving the plates the night before last. Naturally, they
had lots of last-minute changes."

The sorcerer sighed, "I suppose we ought to give them the
idea of the Gutenberg press, eh? I think movable type's time
has come for Husaquahr. It's almost impossible to have any-
thing accurate when it takes a team of scribes a month to carve
out each page." He turned back to Joe. "A D.O.G., if you
must know, is a Doctor of Oddball Gimmickry. It's irritating
at times, but a lot of titles, particularly in academia and the
Society, have rather unfortunate initials. Try not to laugh at
them when you hear them if you don't want to be turned into
a toad."

"I'll remember," Joe assured the wizard.

Ruddygore reached into his inside jacket pocket and took
out a cigar, lighting it by pointing his index finger at the tip.
A tiny spark jumped, and he was puffing away. He sighed.
"It's been a wearing trip, I fear. With a week to go, I really
should just take it easy today and get a decent night's sleep,
but I probably won't. That was one of the reasons for the grand
entrance down there, though. If I just walked through the door,
I'd run into three dozen people, all of whom are either old
friends not seen in a long time or people who have to talk to

me or to whom I have to talk. I'd be hours just getting across
the lobby."

"It was effective," Joe told him. "You overawed everybody
except the desk clerks."

Ruddygore shrugged. "Can't win 'em all. I assume Marge
is sleeping during this pretty day?"

"I guess," Joe answered. "I don't know. We had private
rooms last night."

The sorcerer frowned and looked thoughtful for a moment.
Finally, he sighed and got up. "I think perhaps we'd better
have our little talk now. Come on into my room." He looked
questioningly at Poquah, who indicated which door, then grabbed
several more of the gooier pastries, opened the side door to his
bedroom, and walked in. Joe followed, deciding he might grab
one of the pastries himself on the way.

The master bedroom was truly huge, with a massive bed,
a full parlor area, its own water closet, and a mini-bar. Rud-
dygore slipped off his coat and boots and tossed the hat on the
bed. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back and stuck his
head into the parlor. "Poquah, when the bags come, prepare
some of what's in the red canister," he instructed. "Then have
it brought in." He then slid the door closed, indicated a chair
to Joe, and took one himself, sprawling comfortably. For a
while he said nothing, just looked at the big man across from
him. Then he sighed. "I gather you do not approve of the new
Marge."

Joe shrugged. "What can I say?"

"Just be honest, that's all, particularly with me. Joe, before
I started this operation, I consulted a series of oracles who are
pretty good at seeing future trends. Trends only—I've yet to
find a reliable perfect predictor, and I'm not sure I'd like the
implications of one if I found him or her. The trend was entirely
the Dark Baron's way, and it was highly unpleasant in the
extreme. The threat went far beyond Husaquahr to the entire
world and from it even to yours. It's an end-around to millennia
of darkness, even if it fails beyond this world. At the very
least, millions of lives were at stake, their children's lives, and
their children's children's, not to mention my own ancient hide.
Most of what I organized to fight them—and it's a vast and
complex system—is better for you not to know, but in all those

82

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

83

predictors I kept hitting a blind spot, an irregularity that skewed
anything that might be in my favor and reinforced the Baron.
It took no great deduction to see that he was being backed by
forces from Hell itself, directly, on stage, in violation of every
agreement between Heaven and Hell ever made, but it was so
clever, so subtle, I couldn't get the proof I needed."

Joe nodded. "I met that demon, remember."

"Indeed you did and you escaped when none should have.
That's what I saw as well. If the Baron had a joker, a real
demon prince, to help him, then I needed a wild card of my
own. That wild card, Joe, is you."

"So you've said. But I'm not magic, and I'm no match for
demons."

"Oh, but you are, Joe," the sorcerer told him. "You are
indeed. And so is Marge. I couldn't stand up to a demon prince,
Joe—but you not only could, you did. He had no power over
you, and, if you had been able to strike at him, you might have
actually wounded him. That's because any demon prince com-
ing through to Husaquahr is attuned to Husaquahr. Things,
people, even souls are very subtly different between worlds,
Joe, and they must be on the right frequency, so to speak. The
demons of your world could harm you, but not one here. That's
what I was looking for when I went shopping, as it were, over
Earth way."

"But magic works on me here," Joe pointed out. "I'm as
vulnerable as anybody else."

"No, Joe. Your body is vulnerable, since flesh is flesh. But
if the flesh were all that mattered, then the Baron would have
no need of a demon prince, would he? No, Joe—the demon
can't even perceive flesh, believe it or not. He sees that per-
manent part of you, your soul, your true self. It's on that level
that demons get you, twist you, corrupt you, often in spite of
yourself. Not you, though, Joe—or Marge, either, for that
matter. That doesn't mean you can't be corrupted, but you
can't be reached on that level against your conscious will here,
and that's a vital but very fine point. When that demon saw
you both, it reached out to command your souls—and it couldn't.
Thus, you were able to break free, use the Lamp, and escape.
And, because of that, the Baron was deprived of the Lamp and
its powers, and we were able to win the battle. All because

you were there, Joe, as predicted—you and not one of this
world."

"Yeah—but why me?"

"You fitted the bill. You were a big man with a strong ego,
an independent with no real ties, and the probabilities said you
would be killed in an accident that very night we met. I set up
the conditions to divert you to me, and you were diverted.
Somehow, inadvertently, those conditions also brought Marge
first to you and then to me as well. I didn't expect her, but I
couldn't complain, either. But I was prepared for you, not for
her, and that caused some problems. Unlike you, her ego, her
self-esteem, and her self-image were extremely weak, and never
so weak as at the point when we crossed over. Forces that are
too complex to explain operated, and while you, with a little
help from me, were able to shrug them off, they took hold of
her. This is a world of magic, and magical forces are strongest
on the nonintellectual level, on the emotional line, as you can
see in your own world, in the example of religious fervor. To
Marge, back then, the intellect had failed. Her college availed
her nothing, her knowledge and skills went unneeded or un-
appreciated, and the only thing she'd done, once she'd sunk
very low, that worked was selling herself, turning herself into
an object, a thing for the momentary gratification of strangers.
This was the pattern she brought with her as she crossed the
Sea of Dreams."

Joe nodded, following him on at least the intellectual level,
although finding it impossible to see how somebody so bright
and capable could have sunk so low. He said as much to
Ruddy gore. "I sure had everything thrown at me and I just kept
fighting."

"That's true, but you already had a profession, a skill, and
the tools to get by. You were also older, more experienced,
and had traveled all over the country. She'd never been out of
Texas."

"Yeah, maybe, but I never got to college, either. In fact,
the army was the only reason I got my high school equiva-
lency."

The sorcerer sighed. "Joe, you're like a lot of smart but
uneducated people. You always had that little glimmer of in-
feriority when you met somebody with all that education. I can

84

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

tell you right now that most people with degrees, even doc-
torates, are dumber and less qualified to make their way than
people like you. Consider the fact that I have been educated
up the rear end, and a lot of it was interesting but very little
was useful. One of my degrees is in music, for example, al-
though I'm only adequate at the piano. It gives me a better
appreciation of opera, for example, and opens up new enter-
tainment pleasures to me, but it's just that—pleasures. It's not
worth a damn in the real world, not even as entertainment,
since I lack the inborn talents that would require. My talents
lay in a different direction, and the way I learned how to use
those and master the intimate secrets of magic was not by any
university experience but by a lot of hard, degrading, and
backbreaking toil as an apprentice—read that as a virtual slave—
to somebody who'd learned it the same way."

Ruddygore could see that Joe wasn't quite accepting this,
and knew the man never really would, but it would have to
do.

"All right," the sorcerer continued, "let's just say she blew
it both because of her own wrong choices and because of things
beyond her control. The fact was, the forces that played on
her played on those parts of her that were the most primal, the
most basic. They reinforced those elements, while everything
else about her was weakened. As a result, despite my efforts
to keep her human, she entered here a changeling, and there
was nothing I could do about it."

That was interesting, not only because it implied that Rud-
dygore's powers had real, clearly defined limits but also be-
cause Marge and everybody else believed it was hardly natural.
"Everybody thinks you caused it. Even the witch she likes so
much."

Ruddygore chuckled. "She would. No, I had no idea at the
time—since I neither knew nor expected Marge, and knew
nothing about her. Whe»i I realized it, after acclimating you to
this world, I tried to block it by sending her to Huspeth and
her witch order, which are, as you well know, celibate."

"Yeah, I know," Joe said glumly.

"Well, that only slowed the changes a bit, and'the time she
spent among the djinn broke the last restrictions. That's why
I decided to get her to Mohr Jerahl to complete the process as
quickly as possible. Otherwise she might have gone quite a

85

JACK L. CHALKER

long time, perhaps years, with a Kauri nature and a basically
human body bound by that celibacy oath. She would have either
gone nuts or had her newly established self-esteem crushed.
By completing the process, it's all right for her to be that way,
you see. It's the Kauri nature. And so her self-esteem is intact,
her confidence actually strengthened, and she's whole and
healthy. She belongs. Now do you understand what happened?"

"I guess so," Joe responded hesitantly. "I think I follow
you, anyway. You're saying that, if this hadn't happened, she'd
have gone nuts or killed herself, and I can follow that, but it's
really not my problem. She belongs, sure, but / don't. I dunno,
maybe it was mean and rotten of me. I guess it was. Son of
misery loves company, I guess. As long as she was, well,
somebody else who didn't fit... Oh, I like Macore, and Grogha,
and Hounna, and even Poquah—although I'd never tell him
that. But they've never seen a football game, don't know Pitts-
burgh from Peoria, and think Clint Eastwood's a magic spell
for curing warts."

The sorcerer nodded. "Joe, you may find this hard to be-
lieve, but I do understand. Yet I think you're missing the point
yourself here. Let me ask you something, and I want you to
be absolutely honest with me."

"Shoot."

"Are you in love with Marge? I mean, really in love with
her?"

Joe thought a moment, searching his feelings, and he had
to admit that he'd never really thought about it before. Was
he? The fact was, he hardly knew her. He'd picked her up, at
least partly with the idea of maybe making it with her, and
he'd wound up feeling sorry for her. That was—how long? A
couple of hours' drive between Ozona and Fort Stockton, and
she'd been asleep half of that. Then they'd gotten waylaid by
Ruddygore, slept most of the way across, gone through his
magic stuff, then separated. He'd spent many long weeks in
training; she'd spent them off with Huspeth learning to be
witchy or whatever. In fact, the only real time he'd had to get
to know her, and this was the new her, so to speak, was on
the expedition to Stormhold, and off and on after the battle.
They'd had maybe two or three serious talks during that whole
time. Once back, she'd taken off again for the Glen Dinig,
returning only for what they'd just gone through.

86

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER

87

He didn't really know her at all, and she didn't really know
him, either. Yet he'd treated her as wife, girl friend, consort,
whatever, in his own mind at least. But—love?

"No, not love. At least I don't think so. I'm all mixed up
about that," he answered truthfully. "I guess it was more that
I needed her, particularly here, and she needed me."

Ruddygore nodded. "And now you still feel a need for her,
but she no longer needs you. That's what it's all about, Joe.
It gripes your independent trucker's soul that you need some-
body and it gripes you even more that they don't need you.
But it's not Marge you're really mad at, Joe—it's yourself."

Joe sighed. "I guess you're right as usual, Ruddygore."

"Not guess, Joe, and you know it. I am right, and you'd
better face that fact, if only for your own sake. Don't let your
ego, your self-esteem, get low, Joe, or you'll sink into that
same pit she did way back when. I need you, Joe. This world
needs you—and you have a real opportunity here to carve out
anything you want. Anything, Joe! Pirate or king, merchant or
adventurer—you have the potential for all of it. The only one
who can stop you is you."

There was a knock at the door, and the sorcerer called out
for whomever it was to come in. It proved to be Durin with a
pot of something on a silver tray and two mugs. Joe sniffed
it, and his face showed total amazement. "That's coffee'."

Ruddygore grinned. "Yep. Good stuff, too. A private blend.
I had to duck over to New York a couple of weeks ago; while
there, I picked it up just for you. I bought a twenty-pound sack
and I brought five pounds here."

It was the perfect gesture and it was well timed. Although
it was possible to grow coffee in this world—in fact, it was
supposedly grown on other continents—it was not native to
Husaquahr, and there was nothing Joe had missed more. He
savored the mug as if it were filled with some fine, expensive
wine, and his morale was lifted accordingly. Ruddygore was
able to resume the talk after a bit with the atmosphere much
relaxed.

"Joe, we're having this talk because I have some important
work for you to do," the big man told him.

Joe nodded. "I figured as much."

"Let's wrap up our discussion of the lay of the land, though,
first. You ever wonder why the fairy folk exist?"

"No. I haven't given it much thought. Kind of like why
everything else exists. Just the way things turned out, I sup-
pose."

"Nope. When things were set up, evolution was supposed
to be the perfecting mechanism, such as it was, but some hedges
were included. Intelligently directed redevelopment, it's called
in my trade. To ensure that vital pollination was carried out,
there were more than a hundred and sixty different races of
pixies, each ensuring that certain types of plants grew and
dominated in certain areas. The land was protected, particularly
in the key areas, by the kobolds, who control vital volcanic
areas and can make certain that soil is renewed, especially in
areas where there is heavy erosion. I could go through the
catalog of thousands of fairy types, but you get the idea. I
admit that sometimes it's tough to figure out the vital service
of a particular race; in a few cases, like the Imir, they are the
guardians and protectors of other races performing essential
services, but they all have their niches. That's their primary
function—one thing each that guarantees that things will de-
velop in certain ways."

"Seems to me, bees pollinate things pretty good," Joe com-
mented.

"But that's the way things were supposed to work. In the
early days, though, they needed a nudge. That's v/hat the orig-
inal fairies were for on your own world. Of course, they weren't
that needed, and now those who are left are hunted, oppressed,
or hiding out and coping. That's part of my job—finding them
and bringing them over here, where we still need them. You
see, Joe, this world wasn't as thoroughly planned out or care-
fully formed as yours, so compromises had to be made. Not
only are the fairies vital, but the wild card is magic, which
fills in the holes, so to speak. It's actually a more awkward
system, but it's worked out pretty well so far."

"This is all leading somewhere."

"Smart lad. First, I want you to remember and accept what
I've just said. Marge is still culturally and intellectually of your
world, so there's still somebody around to talk to. However,
she's also of faerie, an elemental, and that controls her actions
and attitudes from here on in."

"You talk as if she's some kind of smart bee or something."

"Well, that's close. Faerie nature and function is instinctive.

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JACK L. CHALKER                   89

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

It's in the genes, if you will. The intellect is imposed over that,
and is subservient to it. Not that fairies are any dumber than
humans—many are far smarter—but they have less control.
Instinctive behavior, of which we have almost none, comes
first. That's why you're going to have to be both patient and
understanding with her, Joe. I don't want you two at each
other's throat or mad or upset at one another. I can't afford
it."

"I'll try. But I notice you keep dancing around the subject
without actually coming to it. Don't you think it's about time
you stopped discussing the troubles I have and start telling me
about the troubles you're going to give me?"

Ruddygore grinned, but the grin faded quickly. "I'm after
the end game, Joe. The coup de grace. The Baron's planning
something and we don't know what it is. Whole armies have
simply vanished, and we don't think they've been disbanded
or used internally—he has far too many troops and far too
much magic for that."

"And, somehow, you want me and Marge to find out what's
going on."

"If you could, it would be a bonus, but I have others working
on that. No, Joe, if all goes as planned here this week, I'm
going to play my own end game, my separate table. Even if
we find out what's up and stop it, it will only be another short
victory before something else is tried, then another thing and
another. But if I can take out the chief player in this game, 1
can set these demonic plans back for a generation or more,
until they find a new Dark Baron and properly corrupt, train,
and position him or her. It's the Baron I want, son—nothing
else matters as much."

Joe nodded. "So you're going to try and smoke him out
here, then send us against him. The demon can't interfere, so
Marge vamps him and Irving runs him through, huh?"

Tlie sorcerer chuckled. "I wish it were that simple. I really
do. But Marge would be powerless against somebody of the
Baron's strength. In fact, that's her biggest danger. Right now
she's feeling her powers and she's cocky and overconfident,
which is to be expected. But her powers are really quite limited
and easily muted—probably by half or more of the delegates
arriving here."

That worried Joe. "Uh—I've seen the results already of

what one of you boys can do when you get irritated."

"I'll talk to her. Hmmm... No, that wouldn't do it. I know—
I'll set her up."

"Huh?"

"I'll have a couple of old friends get to know her. Either
one will become as nasty or obnoxious as the situation permits,
and she'll find herself powerless to defend herself. Maybe we'll
stick a harmless spell on her, like compulsive singing and
dancing or something like that. It will take her down a peg,
make her more cautious."

"Well, I'll leave that to you. But if she's powerless against
the Baron—and I know he could turn me into a toad before I
got close—then what are we going to do?"

"During the convention, I, along with Poquah, Macore, and
several others not obviously with me, will pursue various lines
of investigation. With any luck, we're going to be able to
narrow down the Baron's probable identity."

"Good trick. How many real high-class magicians are here?
Two thousand?"

"Closer to ten thousand, but that doesn't matter. The Baron
cannot conceal the fact that he is one of the top masters of
the art in the world. I took him on, you remember, and I know.
He fought me to a draw, and you get where I am today by
going head to head in some very serious contests of wills and
magical talent. More importantly, all the talent in the world
won't help you achieve true command unless you have these
contests with the masters. Why, here I'll probably take on a
dozen challengers for rny Council seat. It's the only way they
learn and, eventually, the only way they get on the Council.
The Baron got his skills through such sorcerers' battles, since
there is no other way io get them. Consider—he became that
good, good enough to tie me, without ever having taken me
on before. I'd know if he had, believe me. A battle technique's
like a fingerprint. And since the only truly powerful wizards
I've never taken on are those on the Council who have made
the Council after me, I deduce that our Baron is not only a
councillor but one of the newer ones."

"All right, that makes sense, I guess. So it's one of thir—
ah, tv/elve people."

"Uh-huh. And it's easier than that, since six of the twelve
do not live in Husaquahr, and I'm certain that the Baron must.

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JACK L. CHALKER                    91

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

We have pretty good records of where the others were, con-
sidering the distances involved and magical transportation means,
while the Baron was active here. He simply must be on top of
things through his expanding empire, and that means a Hu-
saquahrian. So now it is one of six, and we shall try to narrow
that down further as we go here."

"Uh-huh. And if you do?"

"Then it's your turn. I need proof, Joe. I need absolute,
incontrovertible proof that the Baron is a tool of a demon prince.
Only with that proof will the Council act against one of its
own, and only the Council can do the job."

"Are you sure even of that? I mean, there are several of the
Council working with him, aren't there? Don't a bunch live in

lands he controls?"

"Quite true, but you misunderstand the seriousness of the

affair. The more truly evil and corrupt a sorcerer is, the more
stake he has in making certain that the covenant between Heaven
and Hell remains unbroken. If Hell breaks the covenant, then
the Creator's forces are free to do the same, and that means
total war to the finish between the two sides. Armageddon.
The end of all the universes. And on whose side will those
evil and corrupt ones find themselves?"

Joe's Sunday school was a little weak, but he thought he
had the idea. "Uh-huh. So they've got their cushy evilness
here, kinda like the Wicked Witch in Oz. They have their own
crazy idea of Heaven now, and they won't be anxious to pay

the bill."

"You have it. I'm convinced Hell, too, doesn't really know

about this. I don't think they're ready for the final battle, which,
of course, they intend to win by picking their own time and
place. Last I checked, old Lucifer's still got his heart set on
nuclear war over on your side. But since he started his whole
career on disloyalty and treachery, it's little wonder that his
underlings echo that, even to him. He's so busy spreading his
little bombs all over Earth, he's not paying any attention to
our side, and that's his mistake. So you see, Joe, the odds
aren't totally stacked against you. It's few people who have
both God and the devil on their side. Maybe you can also now
appreciate the real stakes. You have a son, I recall?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah. In Philadelphia. I think about him a
lot. That's why I named my sword after him."

"So don't let your emotions get the better of you. A lot
hangs on you and Marge getting along and working together.
I'll have a little chat with her later on in the convention, perhaps
after she's learned her lesson."

Joe knew it was a dismissal and he was glad for it. Besides,
the coffee was all gone here, but there was more in the parlor,
he was sure. Still, one thing bothered him. As he got up and
turned to go, he suddenly turned back to the big sorcerer.
"Uh—you say you're gonna have to fight a bunch of up-and-
coming sorcerers here?"

Ruddygore nodded. "That's the way it is."

"Any chance you'll lose?"

"There's always a chance, but I've already looked over this
group and it looks like a pretty lean crop this season. Not that
some of 'em don't have potential—maybe in twenty or thirty
years they'll be up to it, but not now."

"Now, don't you get cocky, either."

"Point taken, swordsman to magician." Ruddygore snapped
his fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot. Has Tiana arrived yet?"

Joe shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't know her if I
bumped into her."

"Oh, if you bump into her, you'll know, Joe, I promise
you. You two should get along very well, actually. Ask Poquah
for her background when you get a moment."

"Okay, I'll do that. See you later?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not for some time. Relax and enjoy your-
self here. Consider it a vacation with pay and relax. In another
week you're going back to work."

"I'm going to do just that," Joe assured him and left.

"This your first one of these things?" Joe asked Macore over
coffee and pastry in the parlor.

The little thief nodded. "You better believe it. Man, I
wouldn't try to hustle any of these babies. Their rooms and
belongings have magical guardians. You run a con on 'em,
even if it works, and they send out the spirit world to get you
wherever you are. Uh-uh. This is one convention that's safe
as a holy temple."

"So how come you're here?"

Macore grinned. "I was asked. Well, more than asked.
Better you don't know any more, for your own sake as well

92

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

93

as mine. If the old boy wants to tell you, then we'll talk."

"I think I get the idea." Ruddygore was at least the equal
of any of the top sorcerers here, so he could offer major pro-
tection to a thief—and a master thief, able to tap magical
powers through his boss, would be quite an asset here. Looking
for—what? Joe wondered. A suit of ghostly armor? Certainly
something, anything, that would lead to the identity of the Dark
Baron, probably through the adepts. They wouldn't have as
good protection, and they'd be overconfident here. Any adepts
working directly for the Baron had to know, and, if they did,
there might be something telltale somewhere. Joe didn't envy
the little thief his job, but he appreciated the risks involved.
For some of these more-than-human sorcerers, death wasn't

the worst thing to fear.

They had begun talking about old times when there was a
sudden, sharp pounding on tlie door, and all conversation ceased.
Poquah emerged from his own room and went to the door,
opening it. After a glance, he admitted the newcomer.

At first sight of her, aii other topics were forgotten by Joe.
As Ruddygore had said, if he ever bumped into Tiana, he'd

know.

She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman Joe had
ever seen; from the expressions on the faces of the others, he
wasn't alone in that assessment. It was hard to go beyond that.
Everything about her was absolutely perfect—perfect figure,
perfect proportions, and a beautiful, sensuous face. Her skin
was tanned a deep and very dark brown, matching her eyes,
but her lips were curiousiy light and very enticing. Her jet-
black hair hung down almost to her narrow, perfect waist, while
her skin was as smooth and blemish-free as polished ebony.
She looked, Joe thought, like some stunning Italian movie star;

there was a Mediterranean cast to her features, as if she be-
longed somewhere romping on the beaches of the Riviera,
and that thought was enhanced by the fact that she was wearing
only a breechclout made of the hide of some furry brown animal
and a halter of the same material that did nothing to hide her
obvious attributes, as well as a necklace of what looked like
gold chain to which small, carved pieces of bone had been
attached. From a sword belt, a broadsword neariy the size of
Joe's hung in a leather scabbard. The belt was worn loosely,
emphasizing the curve of her hips.

Probably the most outstanding thing about her was that she
was barefoot, yet stood well over six feet tall. In fact, when
Joe stood up, transfixed, he found her to be perhaps a half inch
shorter than his own six-six—and he was wearing new sandals.

For a moment, nobody said anything, so she walked briskly
into the room and looked around. "Well? Is everyone struck
dumb?" she said irritably, her voice deep and rich. She spoke
with a trace of what sounded like a German accent to Joe; but,
considering the fact that this was a world with languages dif-
ferent from his, it might only seem that way.

Poquah was quick to recover. "Tiana, I presume. I am
Poquah, the Master's chief associate. These gentlemen here
are Macore, Joseph, and Durin, respectively."

She looked them all over, then settled on Joe and frowned.
"That is an unusual name here, Joseph. Where are you from?"

"Philadelphia," he told her.

"Oh, that is in the United States of America, I believe,"
she responded, literally shocking the hell out of him.

"Uh, yeah, it is, but how... ?"

"I was never there, but for seven years I was in hiding in
Basel, Switzerland."

This was too much at one time. "Switzerland! How?" But
instantly he knew the answer. Only one person he knew could
hide a Husaquahrian in Europe, and that person was in the next
room.

"I was the oldest daughter of Hapandur of Morikay. When
I was but nine years old, he was defeated at a gathering just
like this one by that pig Kaladon, whom my father had be-
friended and treated as a son." She went over, looked at the
pastries, took one, then sat down on the couch and sprawled
out.

Joe sank back into his chair. Suddenly the coffee didn't
seem a strong enough drink right about then. He'd once de-
scribed Marge's moves as catlike; Tiana was a tigress.

"So you had to make a run for it, huh?" Macore prompted.
Barely five foot five and perhaps a hundred and twenty pounds,
he couldn't help feeling like a little child who'd just come
across a ten-thousand-gallon chocolate sundae.

She nodded. "Yes. Kaladon had dreams that he would marry
me as soon as I was old enough, thus legitimizing his rule,
since everyone knew the bastard won only by cheating. He

94

JACK L. CHALKER                   95

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

actually made advances to me, an innocent of nine!"

Joe just followed along, but couldn't help wondering how
Tiana could ever have been an innocent nine-year-old.

"Well, with the help of some fairies loyal to my poor father,
I escaped, but Kaladon pursued. Fortunately, the faerie network
got me to Ruddygore, one of my father's few very close friends
who could be trusted, and he took me out of reach for a while."

"But you came back," Joe noted. "Why?"

"I was discovered. Kaladon is in league with Hell itself; in
exchange for certain favors here, ones which involved aiding
the Dark Baron, the demons of Earth sought me out and at-
tacked. It seemed pointless to remain there when this was my
native land, so I was returned. I have been in hiding since,
these past eight years, moving with the wild tribes and studying
and training when I could in both the magical and the combat
arts. I have grown quite good." That last was said without any
trace of boasting, and they believed it.

"But now you're back, and in the same hotel as this Ka-
ladon," Macore pointed out. "Why? Are you ready to take him

on?"

"No, I do not believe that I am ready for him yet. One day

I will be and I will reclaim what is mine by rights. I was
summoned here by Dr. Ruddygore, and, considering what I
owe him, I could not refuse. It makes no difference. Kaladon
had found me out, anyway, and killed many of those who were

closest to me."

"Then you are in great danger here," Macore suggested.

"Kaladon will know you are here."

"He dares do nothing at the convention unless he wishes to
challenge Dr. Ruddygore," she told him. "And that he is not

up to doing under any circumstances."

"Quite true," came a voice behind her, and they all turned
to see the great sorcerer enter the room, resplendent now in
his golden robes. "He has already been informed that any move
against Tiana will make in me an enemy he can not avoid in

this public place."

"Ruddy!" Tiana cried out joyfully. In a flash she'd gotten
up, turned, and actually jumped over her chair, finally reaching
and embracing the sorcerer, who, if he'd been of lesser size
and bulk, would certainly have been bowled over.

Joe looked at Macore. "Ruddy?"

The little thief tried to suppress a laugh, and it was clear
that Ruddygore was not amused. Still, he tolerated the display
and attempted to pass it off. "Tiana, it is good to see you once
again. I must be going downstairs to find out my schedule, but
I can spare a moment. Come—sit just a bit."

She moved obediently back to her chair and settled there.
Joe bet a bundle to himself that nobody else could ever get
such meek obedience from her. Ruddygore did not sit, but
stood facing them all. "That spell I sent you—I gather it
worked?"

She smiled and nodded. "Very well indeed. In fact, I passed
the usurper in the lobby here and he never recognized me."

Macore looked crestfallen. "You mean she really doesn't
look like that?"

Ruddygore chuckled both at the question and at the mean
look Tiana gave the little thief. "Oh, my, yes," the sorcerer
assured them all. "The spell is a particularly powerful and
undetectable one, since it's tailored strictly to Kaladon and
affects no one else. To him, and to him alone, Tiana looks
quite different, although still rather striking. Basically a blond,
blue-eyed, and fair-skinned priestess from the northern wastes,
if I remember correctly. It's just enough of a change so that
she is definitely not Tiana to him in looks, voice, or habit, but
close enough that the reactions of those around him will be
consistent with what he sees. It's a thin disguise at best, but I
don't expect him to crack it easily, since he's very confident
that no one can put an undetectable spell over on him. Don't
rely on it too heavily, my dear."

"I am not worried about him," she said confidently. "Not
with you around, anyway."

He just shrugged. "Well, I must get down there. Tiana, I've
had you preregistered as Uma of the Golden Lakes, just as an
extra precaution. Why make it any easier on him, after all?
I'm also curious to see how long it's going to take him to find
you out."

"That is fine with me," she told him. "I will see you later,
then."

With that, Ruddygore turned and, accompanied by Poquah,
left the suite.

"Have you any luggage coming?" Joe asked her.

She shook her head. "None. I travel as light as I possibly

r

96           DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

can. You leam that most of all after eight years in hiding.
Always I carry my sword with me, and in the belt is a hidden
compartment in which there are some coins and gems. The
only thing I don't have with me is my bullwhip. I was forced
to abandon it a few weeks ago, so I will have to get another

here."

"The market is excellent for just about anything," Joe told

her. "And, right now, we're on Ruddygore's expense account."

She nodded. "Good, then. I am also starved. Will you show
me this market? Then we can perhaps get something to eat."

Joe got up and she did, as well. Again there was an eerie
sensation in him at her size. "Delighted," he responded, trying
to sound as Continental as possible. "Shall we go?"

They walked out the door, leaving Macore sitting there.
Durin chuckled from the kitchenette. "Left you alone, huh? I

guess you're just not big enough for her."

Macore got up, walked over, took some of the fabulously
rich iced pastry from the tray, and, without a word or a wasted
motion, pushed it into the fairy cook's face.

Joe was absolutely delighted with Tiana. Although of this
world, she had some knowledge of a different comer of his
and she was certainly a fascinating person indeed. It was also
a relief, after all this time of putting up with Marge's vege-
tarianism, to find a woman who obviously enjoyed real meat.

Slowly, over the meal, he told her more about himself and
about his doings since arriving in Husaquahr. Gradually, the

rest of her story came out, as well.

Her father had been of royal blood, but a third son with no
chance of inheriting position or title. His obvious talent for the
magical arts, however, had taken him in the direction of the
Society in the same way that second and third sons of Eu-
ropean nobility during the Middle Ages had gone into the Cath-
olic church. He also married a wealthy noblewoman he'd known
since childhood, and they were very much in love. In due
course, they had a daughter, Torea, but she died mysteriously
in infancy of some disease or spell her father was powerless
to do anything about. They tried again, of course, at about the
time Hapandur won the Council seat and became ranking sor-
cerer in Zhimbombe, but the pregnancy was well along before
he discovered that his first daughter's death had been due to a

97

JACK L. CHALKER

strange and powerful curse laid on his children by someone
unknown who hated him very much. Just who was unknown.

The curse was so well constructed that he could not dissolve
it, nor find its key, but he did manage to unravel it "at the
comers," as Tiana cryptically put it. The result was that her
mother was able to make the decision—either her life or her
child's—and she made it. The distraught wizard pleaded with
her, but she had taken the death of their first daughter very
hard and she was adamant.

"What my father did was complex," Tiana told Joe. "Bas-
ically, though, my birth was a magical event of sorts. The soul,
I am told, enters at the first commands to the body to give
birth. My father, or so it is said, blocked that process, against
my mother's strong wishes, so that I might be stillborn, but so
strong was her resolve that she died at the moment of my birth.
My father would never speak of it, but others have told me
that her soul, because other will to bear me, entered me instead
of another."

Joe was startled. "You mean you're your motherT'

She shrugged. "I do not know. But it is certain that I have
always had strange dreams, and memories of people and places
that I have never seen, and I have always been told by those
of Morikay that I have my mother's mannerisms, habits, and
even turns of phrase. Physically, I resemble more others on
both sides of the family than her, but it does seem, sometimes,
when I look into a mirror, that another, different face should
be there."

Still, her father never remarried, nor, as far as anyone knew,
ever even looked at another woman sexually; but he doted on
his daughter, to whom he gave his dead wife's name. She had
a very spoiled and pampered childhood, she freely admitted,
and was totally unprepared for what came after.

Kaladon, a handsome young man with a great deal of talent,
became apprenticed to her father and proved a more-than-wor-
thy adept. He was treated as a member of the family—in fact,
as the son the old man had never had. She liked him at the
time, considering him an older brother, and she had no idea
that, even back then, he was arranging for her to get as little
education or training as possible, particularly in the magical
arts.

"Then came the great convention, at Coditz Green in Lean-

98

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

99

der, where we knew Kaladon would challenge for a leadership
position. How proud we were of him—the son of a pig! He
was so trusted and so close that it was a shock when he chal-
lenged my father, and an even greater shock that he won."

"You mentioned that he cheated," Joe noted.

She nodded. "Later I was told how it was done. He had
drugged some of the food my father was served. He could
easily do this, because he was a household member and very
trusted. It was also a very light drug, one that you v/ould not
even know you had taken, but it was enough to slow my father's
thinking and speed of action and reaction. After he won, while
still at the convention, the usurper's true nature came out, and
we knew that we were in the hands of and at the mercy of the
blackest of black magicians."

Joe hesitated a moment before asking the obvious question,
but he really was interested in the story and anxious to know.
"Uh—what happens to the losers of these challenges?"

She gave a slight shudder. "Horrible things. That is why
even very powerful magicians do not challenge for the Council.
True adepts, not going for a position but simply testing them-
selves, are prevented by the umpires of such matches from
going too far, and so there is no penalty; but if a councillor is
deposed, he or she must be utterly reduced so that no rechal-
lenge is possible."

"Your father is dead, then."

She nodded sadly. "Yes, but not by Kaladon's hand. They
do not work like that, particularly the black magicians who
dominate the white, nor, in fact, the white who dominate the
black, but my father had many friends and one was merciful."

He whistled. "Are these contests open to the public?"

"If you mean can you see one, the answer is that you can
see as many as you wish here, but it can be a very dangerous
thing to watch. The forces involved are tremendous."

He could understand that. "Still, I think I'll see one of
Ruddy gore's matches if I can. I should know everything I can
about the kind of people I'm actually facing here. The fact is,
except for some of Ruddygore's stuff with me, the fairies, and
the magic Lamp, I've seen very little real magic here. Not the
kind they talk of the sorcerers having, anyway."

"Then you should see one, in fact," she agreed.

After the coup she was returned, a pampered prisoner, to

Morikay, entirely in the hands of her father's betrayer. Kaladon
began a purge of all those, human and fairy, loyal to the deposed
sorcerer, but some had gotten the word and arranged for escape
routes. Two winged elves from Marquewood, who had worked
at landscaping in Morikay, managed to flee with Tiana, as
well.

It was a harrowing, risky escape, the material for an epic
or two, but finally she was passed along from fairy race to
fairy race until she reached Castle Terindell. It was Ruddy gore
who took her in; when he realized that she would be a virtual
lifetime prisoner inside the castle as long as Kaladon lived, he
took her across to Earth. Ruddygore, it seemed, had a major
interest in a bank in Switzerland, and, since that was where he
was heading, that was where she wound up, with loyal guard-
ians in his employ taking her in and providing an identity for
her as the daughter of deposed Romanian royalty killed later
by the communists there. Having been magically prepared by
Ruddygore, she took to languages easily, quickly acquiring a
fluency in German, French, Italian, and even Romansch. Her
tutors were both of Earth and of Husaquahr, imported for the
occasion by Ruddygore on frequent visits, and it was during
those years that she threw herself into her studies with but one
long-term object in mind—revenge.

By this time, though, Kaladon had fallen in league with the
Dark Baron, whose demonic master could talk to and deal with
the demons of Earth, and it was as a bribe to Kaladon that the
Baron had the demonic forces seek her out and find her. A
well-financed Satanist organization in western Europe then was
called in for the actual deed, and again she barely escaped back
to Husaquahr.

"Ruddy decided that, if they could find me once, they could
certainly find me anywhere, now that my appearance was known.
As you might have guessed, I had grown and turned from girl
into woman."

She had, in fact, been a fairly normal-sized girl, but with
puberty came tremendous growth, far beyond anything in her
ancestry. "Ruddy has a theory that it was the diet, eating such
a different balance of things in Switzerland from what our
bodies are used to here. I believe it was probably a spell of
some kind put on me before I left Husaquahr, although by
whom I am not sure. It might have been my father, of course,

100

JACK L. CHALKEK                   101

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

or any one of the fairy races who aided me, or a combination
of those things. It does not matter, because this is how I am

and this is how 1 like being."

"/ certainly see nothing to complain about," Joe told her
honestly. "You are certainly the most beautiful woman I've

ever seen."

She smiled. "That's very nice of you."

"I mean it, too."
She sat back a moment, holding a slight grin. "You know,

• because of my size I have been very intimidating to men. I
wonder if perhaps Ruddy is not engaging in a bit of match-
making."

He wondered that himself. If so, he hoped that she had the

same attraction for him that he felt for her. It certainly was a
very convenient meeting, just after his troubles with Marge,
and it had been arranged by the sorcerer. Well, if so, it was
the best thing the old boy had done for him, even if it didn't

work.

Tiana's history for the past eight years had been far different

from her earlier life. It was only among the barbarous nomadic
tribes of the far reaches of Husaquahr that she could blend in,
somewhat, with the large, burly denizens of those places, and
it was only among them that she could feel relatively safe from
Kaladon's spies and the threats of civilization in general.

At first, she had rebelled at the primitive, hard existence,
and there had been a period of tremendous adjustment until
she'd learned to accept it. It was a kind of existence that Mo-
rikay and Basel had not prepared her for, and she was flung
into it much as Joe had been flung into his existence. She had
been taken under the wing of some very powerful warriors who
owed Ruddygore a favor. She became, however, strong, pow-
erful, and athletic and, because of her size and conditioning,
she trained with swords and took the tests of a warrior usually,
but not exclusively, reserved for the men. She had excelled at
all of it in the end, particularly when she saw the value of it
in having some personal freedom in Husaquahr and, perhaps,
one day leading a rebellion in the south.

She also trained in, and worked on, the magical arts with
the help of Ruddygore and knowledgeable ones he sent to her,
first in Basel and later in the northern wastes. She had her
father's talent, of that there was no doubt, but she began formal

training very late in the game and on an intermittent basis. "It
gives me an edge, but not more," she told Joe. "It means, also,
that I can often ward off or undo some spells, but the more
complex spells are still beyond me, for I have not had the
mental training for it." She could, however, read the picto-
graphic language fairly well, and with the proper volume and
section of the Books of Rules open in front of her, she could
probably do very well indeed. "It is, you might say, the dif-
ference between being a good cook and being a chef. A great
chef does not need recipes."

They finished, he paid the bill, and they made their way
back into the market. There were several leather shops selling
whips, and she tried one after the other, impressing the hell
o,ut of him, the proprietors, and the passers-by with her skill,
but rejecting whip after whip until, at last, in a small second-
hand store, she found one that seemed just right to her. "With
the others I can do many things," she explained, "but with a
whip of perfect balance such as this one, I can work miracles."

She looped it on her belt, on the same side as the sword,
in a clasp apparently designed for the weapon, and they walked
back to the hotel.

"No shoes or other clothing?" he asked her.
She laughed. "It is odd, but I have been with the barbarians
so long that most of those things feel unnatural. If I need furs,
I will buy them, but for now I am enjoying for the first time
in a long while a comfortable climate. It is not easy to explain,
but in order to survive in the wastes, something had to be killed
inside me, and that was my sense of civilization, you might
say. I find myself preferring to be a barbarian woman, thinking
like one, acting like one. All this which was once my own sort
of world seems now so soft and decadent. The sword, the whip,
and a good horse are all that are really needed, and all that I
have or intend to have."

"You seem pretty cultured and civilized to me."
"Because I want to be. That is my veneer, my coat which
allows me to go anywhere and do anything. It is the inside that
matters, and I have proof of my conversion, as it were. The
applicable parts of the Books of Rules tliat apply to me now
are those governing barbarian women; before, they were of the
civilized classes. Even the Rules recognize my change, you
see."

102

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L, CHALKER

103

"But if you depose Kaladon, you'll have to rule Zhim-
bombe," he pointed out. "That will take more of a change."

"I think they deserve a barbarian queen. We will face that
if it comes about."

He noted that she had used the word "if" instead of "when"
and nodded to himself. Just how realistic her dream was, even
in her own mind, was in question. She had as much as admitted
that she could never be the equal of Kaladon and, unless he
was finished off, she had little hope of having any kind of
control over the country. Kaladon, of course, had probably
intended just that—she would be his puppet queen and consort,
by which he would consolidate the country and its popular old
families and his own rule as both sorcerer and temporal ruler.
Joe decided that he'd like to meet, or at least see, this fellow
at close range. Certainly, if nothing else, Kaladon would be
one of Ruddygore's prime suspects for the Baron's true identity.
How easy it would be to pretend to ally with the Baron for
favors when actually he was the Baron—and Zhimbombe was
the first nation of Husaquahr to fall prey to the Baron's forces.
A prime suspect indeed. If Joe's suspicions were so, there was
a chance through Kaladon's elimination to give Tiana a crack
at control by clever politics, sword, and whip.

They reentered the hotel, which was teeming with crowds
of people of all shapes and sizes, garbed in every imaginable
way. "Shall we register?" Tiana asked him.
He nodded. "Might as well."
She thought a moment. "You are called 'the Golden,' is

that not correct?"

"Yeah. Mostly because my last name's de Oro."
"And I am Uma of the Golden Lakes. It gives me a thought.
We are both dark-skinned giants, you might say, and we cer-
tainly look as if we belong together."

He wondered what she was driving at and just nodded.
"Kaladon will not expect a pair. Let us, at least for disguise

purposes, register as mates."

"Huh?" It took him aback, mainly because he'd love it that
way, but he hardly wanted to risk alienating her by suggesting
it. He just wasn't used to women this aggressive.

"You don't wish it?"

"Oh, sure. I think it'll be fun," he answered hopefully.

"Let's go."

It was like waking up from some really strange dream,
although she knew it was no dream at all. She wasn't physically
tired, but she'd come back up to the room for a little break
and found herself just sitting back, relaxing and thinking, and
she realized thinking was something distasteful. She certainly
hadn't been doing much of it over the last few days, that was
for sure.

It was funny how this reaction had hit her, like something
out of the blue, but suddenly, after being almost frantically
active, she no longer felt the desire. She walked over to the
mirror in the room and looked at herself. It was still strange
to see the fairy reflection there, to understand that this unnat-
urally sexy, kittenish, winged figure was herself. But it wasn't
the exterior that was troubling her; it was what had happened
inside to her head and heart.

She'd been to every bar and bistro in the city, she felt certain,
but they all blended into one. And the men—so many of
them—all blended into a faceless crowd as well. Not a single
one stood out as a real human being. Instead, they were objects,
things, nothing more. She went over to a dresser and pulled
out the top drawer. It was crammed with junk—small items
of jewelry, ornaments, little carvings, even toys. She was afraid
to count them and slammed the drawer shut and went back to
the bed to think.

Had she enjoyed acting that way? Yeah, she had, she had
to admit to herself, but it wasn't really her; at least, not the
way she always saw herself. Her whole body still tingled, and
on that level she had never felt better in her whole life. But
was this what she was to be for the rest of her life? How long
did a fairy live if not killed? Until Judgment Day, it was said,
and nobody knew how long that could be. Hundreds of years,
perhaps. Maybe thousands. All like—this?

She remembered the magic time when she had emerged
from the volcanic fires as a "Kauri and she remembered her
sisters of faerie. At the time, they had seemed radiant, magical
children at play, but they didn't seem quite so exciting or
magical any more. Instead, they now seemed like what they
must be—permanent fourteen-year-old girls, locked forever in
the state of irresponsible and irrepressible adolescence and freed
of all inhibitions; a female version of the Lost Boys, without

104

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

105

even Peter Pan, let alone Wendy, to give them any sort of
control or direction, and each one more or less exactly like the
others. Even she had become exactly like them, and that both-
ered her only because the Kauri didn't know any other existence
or any other way, had never faced or understood responsibility
or had a single serious thought in their playfully empty heads.
She had, and that alone set her apart from them.

But she had been that age once and had been frustratingly
restricted by her mother, the school, and the rest of those forces
that kept folks in line. Still, life had been unhappy enough
since adulthood that she had grabbed onto the chance to return
to that state of not-so-innocent grace, to become again that
giggly adolescent without any rules or restrictions whatsoever.
Who wouldn't love that sort of chance—but as a chance, a
lark. It was only now that she realized that this wasn't some'
second chance but rather a permanent condition.

Already she had hurt poor Joe, the first man in years to be
a real friend, the one whose kindness and pity gave her this
second chance in the first place. She'd not only hurt him, she'd
mocked him, and that was far more painful. Her practical jokes
and funny exercises of her strange powers had frightened rather
than amused or reassured him. Worse, she knew deep down
that she might not have the self-control or willpower to keep
those impulses from dominating her again and that each cycle
would make them even easier and more natural to accept. The
more she lived as a Kauri, the more she would become one
inside as well as out. This she knew, although not really from
any faerie insight, but just from knowing herself. Conditioning
did work—as Pavlov's dogs had proved—particularly when
there were no alternatives and an endless future of such con-
ditioning. The Earth Mother knew this, and counted on it.

Kauri awoke ^ with the setting sun. Kauri played games,
danced, sang, flew around, and soared through the skies playing
tag, then went to their toy box and played pretend with their
pretty toys. At sunrise. Kauri went to sleep and dreamed only
happy dreams, awakening again to do the same thing with minor
variations the next day and the next. If they felt like it, on
impulse or whatever, they ventured out of their faerie Never-
Neverland and played with the boys in the real world that was
still nothing more than an extended playland to them, with the
inhabitants merely toys like those on the scrap heap.

Kauri didn't need to think. In fact, thinking was something
that was an absolutely bad thing for them. Oh, they needed to
talk—but innocuously and as vacuously as possible. That, in
fact, was an advantage among the kind of men they liked to
play with. Marge wondered how long she would be able to
have this level of introspection, or even remember words like
innocuous, vacuous, or introspection. Certainly her spoken vo-
cabulary already seemed to switch to something more childlike
and basic. Following the period of her binge, she now realized,
she was speaking in a sexy variation of little-girl speech without
even thinking about it.

Without even thinking...

At that moment, she heard a commotion in the hallway and
went over to her door. To her surprise, she heard Ruddygore's
booming baritone and then the sound of the door of the adjacent
room opening and closing.

The old Marge would have hesitated to disturb him and
would have just sat and brooded, but she literally didn't think
about it in this case. She opened her door, went down to the
big double doors of the parlor suite, and just turned the handle
and walked in without knocking.

Both Ruddygore and Poquah turned in puzzled surprise at
her entrance; but when the big sorcerer saw her, he broke into
a grin and sat down in the chair. He looked very tired, but he
said, "That's all right, Poquah—leave us alone."

The Imir looked a bit concerned for his boss, but bowed
slightly and did as he was instructed, sliding his own door shut
behind him.

Ruddygore beckoned her over with his hand. "Pardon me
for not rising, my dear, but I'm about done in."

"That's all right," she told him. "I guess I should have set
up some better time to see you, but I don't seem much in
control of myself any more."

"I think I understand," he said sympathetically. "Don't worry
about me. Although I hadn't intended to seek you out until
another day or two, this is fine, since I'm not getting any
younger and this pace is telling."

"I just want to know why."

"Huh?" The comment took him by surprise. "Why what?"

"Why am I a Kauri? I was happy the way I was, after coming
here. Why did I have to change?"

106

JACK L. CHALKER

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

107

"Those are two different questions, my dear. You seem to
imply that I had something to do with it."

"Well? Didn't you?"
"Not a thing, I assure you." As quickly and as clearly as

possible, but with more detail on the fine points, he explained
to her, as he had to Joe, why she had been made a changeling
from the moment they crossed the Sea of Dreams. "I made
you neither changeling nor Kauri. You did that to yourself."

"Me!"
He nodded. "Oh, with your mental state, I should have

known from the start that you would be a changeling—but
what sort was really up to you." He thought a moment. "My
dear, what is your vision of Heaven and Hell?"

She shrugged. "Harps on the one side, fires on the other, I

guess."

"Uh-uh. Would it shock you to learn that Heaven and Hell

are actually the same place?"

"Huh?"
He nodded. "That's why Hell is such a curse. You can look

around and see, with little difficulty, just what you missed, but
you're stuck as you are, permanently. And the way you are is
what you built for yourself. Let's see if I can explain it. If Joe
should die, his soul would be re-formed according to the chain
he forged in life, with his own mind, conscious and subcon-
scious, creating his own Heaven or Hell. Most folks, as you
might expect, wind up somewhere in between. Then, at the
end of time, there will be a Judgment. Those of Hell will at
that time suffer the true and total death, while those judged
worthy will be able to perfect their own existences and live
happily ever after in total communion with the Creator. That's
the way it works."
"But not for me?"

"Not quite. As a changeling, your physical form was burned
off in the fires; and because you, as a fairy, exist in the physical
world, you became what your mind said it should become
within the limits of our world. You never wished to harm
anyone, so you became something that can not consciously
harm anyone. You felt that the world was ouKo do you harm,
so you became something that can defend itself against the evil,

cruelty, and malice of the world."

She sighed sadly. "I see. With a bad world all around, 1

wanted only to give and get pleasure," She stopped for a mo-
ment, suddenly feeling stunned. "And since I ran down my
education as getting me nowhere and nothing and being a real
waste, I became something that didn't need any of that. Sweet
Mother! I did do it to myself, sort of. But this wasn't what I
had in mind!"

"It seldom is," he told her, "for anybody, and not just
changelings. It's wonderful to see some of those Holy Joes
permanently sitting on clouds, forever singing hymns and ho-
sannahs, bored out of their skulls. You very seldom get what
you really want, but you usually get what you deserve, based
on your own life and thoughts and desires, both expressed and
suppressed."

"Then that's it, I guess. I'm stuck until Judgment, and by
that time I'll be as empty and bubble-headed as my sisters and
probably just keep on going, like somebody with a lobotomy."

He looked serious. "So that's what it is. I should have
guessed as much." And he did see. The Kauri form was exactly
what that lonely loser on her way to suicide in Texas would
have wanted; and, since it was from that woman that the forces
of magic took their cue, that was what she'd become. But now
Marge was not that woman; Husaquahr had given her a whole
new life and outlook, and she was no longer a perfect match
for what she now was.

"The best I can offer," he told her, "is some hope, with
work on your part, for something a little more than that. You
are Kauri and you will remain Kauri. There is nothing anyone
can do, since you of faerie may be destroyed but not trans-
formed. But the fact that you're talking to me, here and now,
shows that there's still you inside there."

"Yeah, but me, the Marge that's talking, is losing. I mean,
I think I figured out that Kauri are elementals, not like the
elves and gnomes and other creatures. There are water ele-
mentals, and wood elementals, even fire elementals, but we're
a different kind, since we're out of Earth, Air, and Fire. I don't
know about Water."

"You swim like a fish," he told her. "Go on."

"We're—emotion elementals. Only certain kinds of emo-
tions, though. The good ones, I guess. Singing, dancing, play-
ing, even sex."

"That's close enough." Briefly he told her the function of

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

fairies in the scheme of things, as he had told Joe. "Now,
Kauri, they have a very important place in the scheme of things.
You may not know it, but each and every man you were with
so far had some sort of problem. You're attracted to them
without realizing it. They're not evil or nasty or anything like
that, not in the main, but they have totally lost touch with that
sense of childlike innocence and wonder. They're troubled by
all sorts of things—business pressures, deadlines, deep depres-
sion, that kind of psychiatric illness—and you, believe it or
not, help restore to them a sense of fun, of life worth living.
That's the Kauri function."

"All I can say is there are a lot of men with hang-ups," she
noted acidly. "That and the fact that never have I felt less like
a shrink and more like a homebreaker."

Ruddy gore chuckled. "Homebreaker? No. You leave no
guilt. That's part of the magic. Those men, like all who receive
fairy gifts, take with them only the positive. They become
better husbands, better fathers, better in their work for it. Be-
lieve me when I say that Kauri can do harm to no one unless
that person attempts to harm them. Any kind of harm. The
magic knows.

"Look, Marge—don't downplay your importance. Maybe
if they had Kauri on Earth, they would have a lot fewer prob-
lems, although there are—counterparts—for the other side as
well, you know. Incubi and succubi, they're usually called,
and their purpose is the opposite of yours. They are elementals
of a far different sort and they are your sole true enemies."

She considered that. "Then is there a male form of Kauri?
It seems only fair."

He nodded. "Yes, there is such a race, the Zamir. But let's
get back to the Kauri. Tell me—what have you eaten in the
past few days?"

She thought a moment, then realized that, while things were
a blur, she was pretty sure of this answer. "Nothing. Nothing
at all."

"Feel hungry?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Because what you eat is the collective terrors, insecurities,
and nightmares of the men you serve. In an ironic way, they
power you, as the succubus devours the good and leaves cor-
ruption. That's why you feel both physically wonderful and

JACK L. CHALKER                  109

mentally down right now. In time you will transform that spir-
itual decay and it will lessen, but often it gets too much to
bear. Then you must return to Mohr Jerahl and cleanse yourself
in the fires of the Earth Mother. Otherwise it will tire you
terribly and weaken you to a tremendous degree. You see the
system now? I always thought it was rather nice."

She did see the system, and that made her feel better, to a
degree. It explained the very substance of Mohr Jerahl and the
reason for the uninhibited innocence they all had there, as well
as why they were concerned about her going outside it the first
time.

She gave a dry chuckle. "So what you're saying is that I
do my job, then revert to this adolescent level, only to build
it up again. And because I've eaten my fill, so to speak, and
because ol' Marge is really a collection of hang-ups, I'm only
me when I'm carrying around everybody else's burdens."

"If you want to put it that way, yes," he told her. "And the
longer you go without eating, let's say, the more you will
revert. It's actually a tough job, since you, the mistress of
emotion, will be on an emotional roller coaster. That's why so
many Kauri stay at Mohr Jerahl as long as they can, until their
instincts force them out. No, Marge, you don't have to worry
about forgetting yourself. Your big problem, particularly if you
overdo it, will be carrying the extra weight of depression,
neuroses, and anxiety."

She thought about it, and it did make life sound a little
better. "Does Joe know this?"

"No, not specifically, but I'll make certain he's instructed.
Tiana will probably explain it all to him."

"Tiana?" Very oddly, she felt a slight tinge of jealousy at
the name. That made her feel a little guilty, considering how
she'd chided him for that sort of feeling.

Ruddygore nodded. "They've hit it off very well." He smiled.
"You see? You just felt jealousy and guilt—I can tell. They're
inside you now, until you transform them into energy as needed,
but they are familiar to you from your past experience. In fact,
I'd say that you can handle a far heavier load than a bom Kauri,
because you have experienced such things firsthand and know
how to deal with them. No, Marge—you're not going to lose
yourself, just take on a new set of problems. I'm counting on
you to be able to handle a great deal in the weeks ahead, more

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

than I'd ever ask a born' Kauri to handle."

She got interested in spite of herself and lost some of her
self-pity in the process. "So this isn't just a vacation or a
shakedown for me."

He shook his head wearily. "No, hardly. I hesitate to say
this. Marge, but the odds are you might be the only one left
at the end of this to tell the tale." •

CHAPTER 8

THICKENING PLOTS

The convention shall be limited to members of the Society and their
authorized guests.

—Rules, VI, 29(a)

TIANA WAS PROVING A GOOD GUIDE TO THE COMPLEXITIES OF

the convention, but it was still a confusing blur to Joe. He felt
like a truck driver at a convention of nuclear engineers cele-
brating Halloween.

Registration proved to be no problem. Their names were
on file, their single room number raised no eyebrows, and both
were suddenly handed large bags full of written material and
silver necklaces from which hung a bronze rectangular pendant
with various cuneiformlike letters on it, some large and some
small. When they were away from registration, he got Tiana
to translate.

"Well, the top row gives the name of the Society and says
it is their four thousand two hundred and thirty-first meeting,
which is abbreviated as Sach-con Nine Hundred and Two.
Below that it says, 'Hello, my name is Joseph the Golden.'"

He looked at the last little figures. "So that's my name in
this chicken-scratch writing. I'll have to remember it, or keep

JACK L. CHALKER                 111

this as a reference, in case I have to sign my name and pretend
I know it all."

She laughed. "Keep that thing on whenever you are in the
convention areas," she warned him. "Each one has a spell
personalized to the first wearer that admits you tc all public
areas. Try and get in without it and you will get a nasty shock."

"I'll remember," he promised. "Where to now?"

"Let us go back into the exhibition hall. I want to see how
much has changed since I was a child."

They went back, both clutching their bags, and Joe felt a
little absurd. Mr. and Mrs. Barbarian go shopping, he thought.
"Any reason why I should lug all this stuff around when I can't
read a word of it?" he asked her.

"It is hard to say, but probably not. Why not just put it over
in that coat room there and get it on the way back, if it is still
there?"

He did just that and felt at least a little less foolish. They
then entered the exhibition hall, and Joe was surprised to feel
it comfortably air-conditioned. "A minor housekeeping spell,"
Tiana told him.

So this was more of the magic of Husaquahr. "Pretty tame
magic," he noted. "I kinda figured that magic lands like this
one had all sorts of stuff going all the time."

"Oh, of course not. It is true that magic is all around us all
the time here, but it is not intrusive. In fact, the less it is used
or has to be used, the better. It is sort of like a balance of
power. Earth is a world dominated by nuclear bombs, yet I
would say you have seen more magic in this world than nuclear
bombs in yours."

She had a point there, so he let it pass. The exhibition hall
was huge and filled with large numbers of creatures, both
human and fairy—and some he wasn't quite sure about—all
in booths or behind long display tables. There was no logic or
order to the arrangement, so the old crone selling the latest
chemical advances in aphrodisiacs was right next to the bright
young fellow selling the Handy Miracle Pocket Indexer, which
was apparently less hype than a description of a portable quick-
file system that could be clipped onto a belt or carried in a
shoulder bag and that allowed the average magician to access
and classify spells by all sorts of cross-indexing methods.

112

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

They went on, passing a group of salesmen peddling a
condensed Books of Rules—only three hundred volumes—
complete with the magical Codex, a cross-indexed compen-
dium allowing anything needed in the three hundred volumes
to be found easily. Tiana tried to beat off one of the salesmen
and finally got rid of him by commenting, "You are already
four years out of date, and by the time I received my volume
a month on your plan, you would be twenty-nine years out of
date." Arguments that a new edition was in preparation fell on
deaf ears.

Some of the exhibits were downright disgusting, like the
demonstrations by the Entrail-of-the Month Club. Another ser-
vice offered fresh bat's blood and monkey's eyes. There were
also countless protective gadgets and amulets being sold—all
worthless, Tiana assured Joe, since any value they might have
had was compromised by their being so commercially avail-
able.

Some of the salespeople were disconcerting, too. He didn't
really mind the centaurs and their variations so much, nor the
Panlike satyrs, and certainly not the nubile nymphs, but some
of the creatures selling various artifacts and substances, the
purposes of which could only be guessed at, were like nothing
he'd ever seen before. There was that creepy blue creature, for
example, with the wiry hair and buzzardlike beak whose huge,
unhuman eyes kept following them, and the things that looked
like giant swamp logs with eyes at the tip of each branch.

There were also memory and concentration aids for sale,
voodoo dolls and substances to make more—"free demonstra-
tion on request"—and much, much more. Small fairy elves
were hawking clothing spun in the fairy way out of fairy gold,
"for the wizard who truly wants to look the part."

There were booths representing specific interest groups as
well. At one booth an old black-clad hag straight out of Snow
White was apparently representing the Wicked Witches Anti-
Defamation League; at another an extremely fat sort of pixie
in a blue Keystone Kops-type outfit offered membership to
qualified individuals in the Elves, Gnomes, and Little Men's
Chowder and Marching Society; while at a third a tough-look-
ing mermaid was half sunk in a tank of water, smoking a big
cigar, and representing something called the City-States' Be-
nevolent Protective Organization. Tiana explained that traders

JACK L. CHALKER

113

bought insurance from them or their ships mysteriously sank
somewhere.

Joe could only shake his head in wonder and say, "Gee, I
always thought mermaids were real pretty and lovey and all
that."

"Oh, many are, particularly the sirens who lure ships onto
the rocks by bewitching the sailors. She is just one of the sirens'
minor godmothers."

It also took a little adjusting to get used to some of the
titles, whose stated acronyms were more than a little discon-
certing. Tiana was in a nostalgic mood and kept pointing out
luminaries with a disquieting lack of understanding for the way
his own mind worked. He decided that maybe it was the sim-
ilarity of the common trade language to English that was doing
it for him.

"Oh, there is Sargash!" she breathed excitedly and pointed.
"She is a famous idiot."

Joe looked at the red-robed woman and frowned. "She doesn't
look like an idiot to me. She looks pretty smart."

"Oh, you are strange, Joseph! I meant she is a famous
I.D.I.O.T.—Iconological Doctor of Incantations, Obturations,
and Transudations."

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

"And there is Mathala, ogre."

"Actually, she's sort of distinguished."

"No, no. SheisheadoftheOrderofGeomorphicReification
and Exuviation."

"If you say so," was all he could respond. Even though he
was getting the idea, he still didn't know what those words
meant.

"Ah, and that man all in black over there is a world-re-
nowned nutcase."

"Do I want to ask questions about that one?"

"Notater of Ultravires, Transubstantiations, Casuistry, Al-
chemy, Soporophics, and Ephemerides," she explained. "He
will be one of the referees in the sorcerers' matches."

"First get me a dictionary—one that I can read," he grumped.

She stopped and gasped. "There—there is the evil bastard
himself!"

He waited, noting a tall, distinguished-looking sorcerer in
red and green velvet garb, catching up to and talking with Mr.

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

114

Nutcase. "Well?" he said after a moment. "Aren't you going
to tell me what evil bastard stands for?"

"It stands for usurper, cheat, murderer, and harlot," she spat

out.

Joe was trying to figure out how that fitted the title when

she added, "That is Kaladon."

He looked again with new interest. "He's a lot older than

I thought he was."

"He is five years my senior. The aging that you see is the
wages of his art. He is in fact still the youngest of all the
Council members by more than three hundred years."

"Spell or not, I think we'd better be on our way out of here,"
Joe suggested. "As I understand it, everybody else can see you
normally, and you stand out in any crowd."

"As do you," she responded and squeezed his hand play-
fully, but she also wasted no time heading for the nearest exit.

Back out in the corridor, he looked at her and asked, "Now

where?"

She shrugged. "Let us go up to the room and sort through

this material. Somewhere in there is a program that will tell
us what is going on with whom and where."

He nodded and retrieved his untouched bag from the cloak-
room. They headed out into the now jam-packed lobby and up

the long series of stairs.

As they walked down the hall, the door to the suite opened
and a small figure stepped out. They both halted as the figure
turned and looked up, first at Joe, then at Tiana.
"Hello, Joe," she said.
"Hello, Marge. Uh—this is Tiana."
"So I gather," the Kauri answered a little coolly.
"Joseph has told me much about you," Tiana said, trying
to break the ice a little. "You have had many great adventures."

"You don't look like much of a slouch in my sort of ad-
ventures yourself," Marge responded cattily.

"Uh, Marge—you'll be sharing with Macore," Joe put in.
She looked up at him strangely. "I thought as much."
He shrugged. "You called the tune, remember. I'm just

playing along."

"Yeah. Well, have fun, you two," she replied, then turned

and walked back into her own room.

Tiana didn't quite know what to say, so Joe just moved

JACK L. CHAIKER

115

forward down the hall, unlocked his door, and the two went
inside and closed the door after them.

Finally Joe said, "You know, I'm really going to hate myself
for that tomorrow, but right now I just have that feeling that
there is justice in the world."

"She looked so hurt and lonely."

He nodded. "Yeah. She looked, somehow, almost like that
scared, lonely kid I picked up back in Texas. Funny. If she'd
been like that the last couple of days..."

The big woman thought a moment. "Joe, I think I can
explain it. I was just sort of putting myself in her position
now." Briefly she described the true nature and function of the
Kauri and their strong shifts in mood.

He nodded, understanding to a point. "Well, that explains
it, I guess."

"No, Joe, not completely, judging by your expression. You
and I, we feel grumpy sometimes, happy other times, as all
people do, and as she used to. Now, though, she has no control
over it. She can fix the souls of others, but only by taking the
hurt inside herself."

"Yeah, but you said the effect wears off—she eats it or
something, or she can take the cure back home. That's more
than / can do."

"That is true—as far as it goes. But tell me, what do you
do when you feel very mad about something, perhaps about
something you yourself did that you wish now to take back
and can not?"

He thought a moment. "Smash my fist into a wall, I guess,
or pick a fight."

She nodded. "But the Kauri, they have no release. There
is no Kauri to clean them up, and they can not harm anyone,
not even themselves. It must be particularly difficult for some-
one with a long human past, I would think. And you should
be flattered rather than upset that she did not make love to
you."

"Huh?"

"It means you do not have as many problems as you think
you do. The only opening she had to help you was your feeling
of loneliness, and now that, too, is gone, I think. I hope."

"You're making me feel like a heel right now."

She smiled. "No, you are human, and that is a wonderful

116

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

117

thing to be. She is not human, but she is still your friend. I
think perhaps she needs you more than you think, and you
need her far less than you think, if that makes any sense."
"Yeah, I guess so. Think I ought to go over and try and

smooth it out?"

"It might not be a bad idea, particularly if, as Ruddy implies,
we three must go a long way together. I will look through this
mass of material we have collected while you are gone."

He smiled, got up, kissed her, then turned and walked out
of the room and down the hall, stopping at and knocking on

Marge's door.

For a moment he was afraid she was gone; but finally the
door opened a crack, then wide, and he entered.

"Hey, look, I just want to say I'm sorry for the smart re-
mark," he told her honestly.

"Yes, I know," Marge replied. "I don't really hold anything
against you, Joe—I couldn't! Not after what we've been through.
I deserved it and I know it."

He sat down on the side of the bed. "Hey, look—I've had
this whole thing explained to me. You're going to find this
hard to believe, but Tiana understands the problem and she
was a pretty good explainer."

"Oh, I know she's probably a wonderful person and every-
thing, but it's deeper than that. I mean—oh, I don't know

what I mean!"

"You mean you'd rather be her than you. The Chronicles

of Joe and Marge, right?"

She said nothing, but he knew he'd pretty much hit it on

the head.

"Well, you're not—and you never were," he went on.
"You're you, that's all. Hell, I'm still not sure I like this crazy
world much and I'm really not sure I like this barbarian business
at all, but I'm stuck with it."

She looked at him curiously. "What would you rather be,
assuming you'd still be in Husaquahr and not back home?"

"No thinking there. One of these wizards. Somebody with
magic at his fingertips. Swordplay skills are handy here, but
all that fighting's like being in the infantry. Cannon fodder for
the magic boys—and no match for magic, but a hell of a lot
of work, all the same, not only to get the skills but to keep

She slowly shook her head. "You don't want any magic,
Joe. It's not power—it's a curse. For anybody under the master
sorcerer rank, it is, anyway—it controls you, really, and it
costs too much. And even the masters—well, every one I've
met has been more than slightly nuts."

"Ruddygore?" He paused a moment. "Hmmm... Yeah, I
see what you mean. And your witch, Huspeth, has sealed
herself off from the world. The more I hear about the others
here, the more I think we've met the nicest and sanest of 'em
all, too."

"It's the power, Joe. It corrupts most of them, makes them
evil beyond redemption, even if they don't think of themselves
that way. I can feel it, just walking these halls. Those very
few who were so strong it didn't corrupt them, like Ruddygore
and Huspeth, it drove into tremendous loneliness. The respon-
sibility's so huge, Joe! And as for the fairies—I know now
that we are imprisoned by our powers, not free. Like bees and
ants, deer and wolves, we're programmed like robots to do
one job each and we have to do that job just like the animals.
The only difference is, we can think, so we know we're not
free. I always used to wonder why those European elves of
legend always drank so much. Now maybe I understand."

"Well, maybe. But a little magic might be nice, anyway.
It doesn't matter—I'm not magical, that's all, except through
Irving. Tiana's an adept. Daughter of a big-shot sorcerer who
got killed by another one."

"Yes, Kaladon. Ruddygore told me the background. You
know he's the prime suspect for the Dark Baron."

Joe nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm not sure if I'm hoping he
is or he isn't, though, for Tiana's sake."

"What do you mean?"

"If he is, and we manage to polish him off, then she's bound
and determined to take over Zhimbombe. That may be her
birthright, but it's not her style. On the other hand, if he isn't
the Baron, he's just a superpowerful, evil black magician she
can never hope to get rid of, so it will eat at her until she tries
it, anyway."

"You really like her, don't you?"

He nodded. "A lot. And I think it's mutual, at least so far.
Hell, we've just met. We'll see how it goes."

"I'll try and be nicer to her then, Joe, I promise, if you'll

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

be a little understanding with me." She paused a moment. "Still
partners?"

He grinned and stood up. "Still partners—and still friends.
Uh—I'd give you a hug if I didn't think I'd crush your pretty
wings."

"You won't. They're kind of funny, but they have no bones
in 'em. I can lie right on them face up if I want to."

So he did hug her and kissed her, too; then he winked.
"Three adventures—remember?"

She thought of Ruddygore's gloomy assessment and forced
a smile. "Yes, Joe. At least three."

Macore sat in Ruddygore's room, still wearing the one-piece
black cloth outfit he'd used in his work, his face and hands
black as pitch from the material he'd smeared on them.

Ruddygore studied the various papers and objects before
him and frowned. "This is pretty tough, I'm afraid. Two are
definite servants of Hell and the third must be, to keep his own
holdings. Hmph! I always thought of Boquillas as a hothead,
but an idealist. I wonder what his price was?"

"Well, we know for sure that this Kaladon is a head man
with the whole Barony movement," the thief noted. "I'm pos-
itive the units in that report were all involved in the battle at
the Valley of Decision."

Ruddygore nodded. "They were. There's no question he's
a leading figure in this, but he makes little secret of it. Still,
I find it hard to believe."

"He's incredibly young, or so he says. Much too young to
have won a Council seat on his own and just the sort to fall
into this kind of campaign."

"That's true, but it makes him so bloody obvious. I don't
see him as a leader, somehow, with the skills to keep an alliance
like this together. He's also pretty weak, really—there are any
number of adepts here who could challenge him for position.
The only reason they don't this time is that they fear the Baron's
wrath, and that bastard can marshal three others of Council
rank to back him up in this. The one I fought over the plains
of the Valley was as strong as I am, and that's strong indeed.
I'm pretty sure Kaladon cheated to win his spot, and he's
dependent on the Dark Baron to keep his position. If the Baron
loses, he's done in. He has no choice."

JACK L. CHALKER

119

"Unless he's diabolically clever," the thief responded. "He's
a smart one, I think, and real ambitious. Hell, you know you
can become a hawk or a wolf or anything else you want to be.
Maybe this Kaladon's not any spring chicken but really an old
pro."

The sorcerer considered it. "You mean he created Kaladon
as a persona, lived as Kaladon those years in Morikay, then
made it seem as if he beat the old man, huh? What a fascinating
idea! Diabolical! Why didn't it occur to me before?"

Macore grinned. "Because you're a square, that's why. Oh,
you can be pretty devious, but only in response to evil. Who
do you listen to? A puffed-up, straight-arrow Imir who thinks
the only way to get something is to fight your way through a
mob? A muscle-bound ex-Teamster? A fairy who used to teach
kids?"

Ruddygore thought about it. "Well, more than that, but your
point is well taken. Maybe I have been neglecting my true
education and perspective of late. Perhaps I should talk more
often with thieves and politicians."

"There's a difference? Oh, well, let's look at the others."

Ruddygore nodded. "Esmerada. I had just about written her
off because she was a woman, but now, with your new
perspective, I see that I can hardly do that. Any of us could
be anything we wanted to be at almost any time, so having a
male Baron would be a near-perfect red herring."

"I thought the same way. And she's well positioned, too,
with a long history in the black arts. She's got tremendous
power, even if she is a little kinky about the ways she uses it.
Certainly that stuff I found in her adepts' rooms is interesting,
if only because it's in no language I've ever seen before."

Ruddygore reached over and picked up the two books. "But
I have. You'll have to get these back later tonight."

"No problem. They secured the important stuff real solid,
but you sometimes leam more from the stuff they don't consider
important. Those books—what are they?"

"An interesting set. This one is a condensed version of a
major theoretical work by V. I. Lenin. This other one is almost
an opposite, in one sense. My Battle, by Adolph Hitler. This
fits in some ways with information I've been getting from all
over. Even Marge, earlier this evening, told me about a kobold
quoting Lenin."

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

"Never heard of either of 'em."

"And you shouldn't have. Neither should the adepts, for
that matter." He studied the books. "Not originals. These are
of Husaquahrian manufacture. From one of the City-States, I'd
say. Fascinating. I wonder how the original text made its way
from one world to the other, where it's certainly not appro-
priate."

"You mean those things are from the place Joe and Marge
came from? Huh. I thought only you could get over there and
bring things back."

"So did I, my little friend. So did I. But both angels and
demons can dictate, and have done so in the past to a variety
of people. This is more diabolical than I thought possible! That
damned demon is to blame for this!" He calmed down and
sighed. "Well, at least I know part of the plan now. That much
is clear."

"Well, / don't."

"And you don't have to. That's a separate problem to
be attended to besides the one on the table. What of Count
Boquillas?"

"He never showed. In fact, word around is that he hasn't
showed in the last six months just about anywhere. Rumors in
his home district of Marahbar say that he left for his castle
hideaway on Lake Ktahr a couple of months ago and hasn't
been seen since. Good suspect, though. Idealistic, ambitious,
very powerful, and a City-States man to boot, which ties him
in to your books, with a castle in Zhimbombe, which puts him
directly in the Baron's lands."

Ruddy gore frowned. "Still, I would be a little more inclined
to him, had he not vanished. He had reservations here?"

Macore nodded. "Him and a whole entourage. But he didn't
show—didn't cancel, either, according to the hotel records."

"I don't like this at all. Esmilio Boquillas is an old and
valued friend of long standing and a most unusual one among
our fraternity. He has a strong conscience and he is an idealist,
if somewhat hotheaded. He has been appalled by the carnage
of the Baron's conquests—this I know—and has been out-
spoken against them. He is the sort of fellow who might well
be influenced by such books as these, if he had a way to know
about them in the first place; but, although he was an excellent
fencer in his youth for strictly sporting goals, he can't even

JACK L. CHALKER

121

bring himself to kill a deer or fowl for sport. He is extremely
powerful, but not, insofar as I know, a black magician."

"But he's in the Baron's back yard."

The sorcerer agreed. "Indeed he is, and that worries me.
He worked out a tacit understanding with the Baron early in
the game—indeed, he was the one who negotiated the open-
city concept for the City-States, so that trade and commerce
could continue—but he's always been disparaging of con-
querors. He actually wrote a long dissertation a couple of years
back, showing the futility of force in conquering Husaquahr,
and it was aptly reasoned out. He is, in effect, our hostage to
the Baron to keep the river open."

"Some hostage. Skips out and doesn't even show up here."

"Yes, and that's a worrisome thing. I can't conceive of
anything short of defeat and death that would keep him from
a meeting of the Society, but he's gone. And I cannot imagine
any way that one of his strength could be subdued and taken,
unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless the Baron holds him responsible for the defeat in
the Valley. Kaladon has often argued, according to my reports,
that Boquillas was a dagger in their midst, a spy to those of
us in the north, despite his word that he would observe the
understanding. With the defeat, Kaladon's paranoia might be
taken more seriously."

"But what could they do to him?"

"Individually, very little. Collectively, they could destroy
him, but the rest of the Council would know of that. They and
their pet demon prince might imprison him, perhaps, as they
intend to do to me. Together they could have tricked him into
a conference and then created a Null Zone. Inside there, no
magic of any sort would function. If that Zone were also a
prison cell, he would be helpless. It appears that our young
friends will be asked to do double duty, then. I must think on
it. Summon them here tomorrow evening, after the matches.
I'll talk to them then. By that time the Council will have
convened, and we'll see if Boquillas is still among the missing."

CHAPTER 9

THE MISSING MAGICIAN AND OTHER
WERE TAILS

Even one who is very good and says his prayers by night, can
become a werething when the full moon is bright.

—Rules, XC, 106(a)

"HELP ME GET HIM ON THE BED HERE'" TIANA SHOUTED, AND

Poquah, Macore, and even Durin rushed out to see the large
woman supporting a Joe in pain and bleeding from one calf.
His leg was obviously too painful to stand on, not to mention
dripping blood here and there on the fancy hotel carpet.

Marge opened her own door, looked out, saw the scene,
and ran to them. "Get him in on the big bed in my room!"

They did as instructed, but it was Poquah who vanished and
then reappeared with what proved to be a small medical kit
and tended to the wound. "A nasty thing," the Imir commented.
"What sort of creature did this to you? A wolf? Some monster
from the exhibitions?"

Joe shook his head wearily. "No, it was a Pekingese, damn
it."

"A what?"

"He means a little hairy dog with a pug face and curled-up
tail," Marge explained.

"Ah! A tansir dog. From the size and depth of the wound,
I would have suspected a much larger dog."

"It was as big as it had to be," Joe grumbled. "Damned
thing nearly tore my leg off. I didn't even see it—I just stepped
on its tail. It yelped, turned, and, the next thing I knew, it took
a hunk out of my leg!"

Poquah frowned. "Where did this happen?"

"At the lecture on theriomorphism. I was trying to find out
122

JACK L. CHALKER                  123

a few things and I'm afraid I dragged Joe into this," Tiana said
apologetically.

"Umph! I think we were the only humans in the damned
place," Joe added as a salve was applied. "Centaurs, mermaids,
satyrs, minotaurs, all sorts of creatures."

"But that is what theriomorphism is all about," Poquah
noted. "All of those you mentioned are half human, half beast,
which means they are all theriomorphs."

"Well, how was / to know? And since when do those crea-
tures keep fancy pets?"

"They don't," the Imir replied, sounding wary. "Not usu-
ally, in any case. Let me examine that wound again." He leaned
down and let his curious almond-shaped red eyes focus for a
moment, keeping very still. "Hmmmm... Marge—will you
look at this?"

She was startled to be the one he called, but she moved
forward and bent down to see what the elf was talking about.
At first it looked like a nice, large dog bite—they did have
big mouths for such little dogs, she noted absently—but then
she saw what Poquah was talking about.

Very faintly and very subtly, the entire wound gave off a
soft blackish glow, like a negative almost, but not quite, su-
perimposed on a positive picture. It was so faint it was no
wonder nobody had noticed it before, but it stood out clearly
now. "That's a spell of some kind," she said, puzzled.

Poquah nodded absently. "And in the black band."

The pain had faded, but Joe started to feel a different sort
of discomfort. "What's that mean? How the hell can a dog bite
be magic?"

"I'm not sure," the Imir told him, "but it most certainly is
a black band spell, transmitted through the bite."

"He means," Marge explained, "that the dog that bit you
wasn't a dog."

"It sure looked like a dog, acted like a dog, and bit like a
dog. And what's this black band business?"

Tiana sounded worried and tense. "It is the color of the
spell that tells its nature. Magic is a very colorful art, Joe,
made up of a tremendous variety of colors. Which colors are
combined, and in what fashion, determines its mathematics and
thus what it does."

"Okay, I follow that. What's a black band spell, then?"

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

It was Marge who answered. "It's a curse, Joe. And because
it is only in the base color, it is transferable."

Joe sank back on the bed. "Now, let me get this straight.
The dog had a curse, and because the dog bit me, I now have
the curse, too. Is that about it?"

"That's about it," Marge agreed.

He considered it. "And I suppose if/ bit somebody, they'd
get it, too?"

"Most probably," Poquah said. "I believe the Master should
examine this, although he's fast asleep right now, and I'm not
going to awaken him. The wound is still a wound, no matter
what else, so we will bandage it, and then you should get some
sleep yourself. Tomorrow at the dinner hour the Master would
like to see all four of you in any case, so that is plenty of time
to find out more of this. In the meantime, I will try to leam
something about this dog."

"Sounds good to me," Joe told him. With the usual pleas-
antries, all but Tiana and Marge left him. He looked from one
to the other. "Well, if this isn't any trucker's sex fantasy, I
don't know what is. Trouble is, it hurts too much in the leg to
do anything about it."

They both smiled, but neither could conceal her concern.
He had to admit he didn't exactly like the idea of a curse,
either—they were always pretty bad things, and in this crazy
world—and particularly at this crazy convention—they could
mean anything at all.

Joe awoke feeling pretty good. There was still sunlight out-
side, but from its angle he could tell that the hour was pretty
late and he'd slept a good, long time. He looked over and saw
Tiana stretched out beside him, still sleeping. All scrunched
up in a chair. Marge was out, too. He knew that Marge, at
least, would be out until sundown and he quietly brought him-
self to a sitting position, then examined the bandages. It was
odd—the damned thing had been so painful earlier it wasn't
funny, yet now he could swear that there was no wound at all.
Cautiously, he put his good foot on the floor, then the bandaged
one, and stood up. There was no sensation, except the tightness
of the bandage. Otherwise, his leg felt and moved just fine.

He went down the hall to the John with no problems and
then walked back. When he re-entered the room, Tiana turned

r

125

JACK L. CHALKER

and woke up. She saw him standing there and looked surprised.
"You all right?"

He nodded and grinned. "No fangs or funny ears, either.
The bandage is tight and it itches like hell underneath, but
otherwise no problem. Want to go next door and get Durin to
make us a pot of real coffee?"

She got up, yawned, and stretched, her hands actually touch-
ing the rather high ceiling as she did so. "You go on over. I
need to go next door and get myself a little cleaner and brush
my hair."

"Okay. Marge'11 wake up and join us at sundown." He went
over to Tiana, nuzzled her, then kissed her. "Good morning
or afternoon or evening, whatever."

She smiled. "Conventions do that sort of thing."

"Being partners with a Kauri does it, too."

She patted him on the rump and went to the door. "See you
in a few minutes," she said and left.

He turned, scratched, sighed, then went out and down to
the double doors and knocked.

Poquah opened the door, looked at him, and said simply,
"You're early."

He shrugged. "No place else to go—unless there's business
going on, in which case I can think of a way to pass the time
down the hall."

The entendre went unrecognized. "No. In fact, the Master
is not even here right now. He's in a Council meeting."

"Um. Then I can get Durin to make—oops! I already smell
it brewing." He walked by the Imir into the room, and Durin's
elfin face grinned at him from the kitchenette. Joe got a mug
of coffee, then sat down comfortably on the couch.

"How is your wound?" Poquah asked him, after checking
on things on the bar.

"Good. In fact, the bandage is the only problem."

The Imir pulled up a stool, stretched out Joe's leg, drew a
sharp knife from its sheath on his belt, and slit the bandage
cleanly. Then he removed the whole thingwith a single, swift
motion.

"Ouch!"

"Just the dried blood. It cemented your leg to the bandage,
so to speak. Durin—some hot water and a cloth, please."

The chubby little elf was ready for him and brought the

126

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

cloth over and handed it to the Imir, then scampered back to
the kitchenette.

Poquah carefully washed away the very ugly-looking caked
blood, then frowned and rubbed some more.

"Hey!" Joe exclaimed. "Watch it! You're taking leg there!"

The Imir took no notice, but continued until the last of the
blood was off. He motioned to the area of the wound with his
head. "Most interesting."

Joe looked down and felt sudden amazement. "Hey! There
aren't even any teeth marks! That skin's as smooth and un-
marked as glass!"

Poquah nodded. "Indeed. That confirms it."

"Huh? Confirms what? Did I get bit or didn't I?"

"Oh, yes, you were bitten, all right, just as you say. The
blood alone proves that, does it not? No, it just confirms what
I was able to find out from others around and at the meeting
where it happened. I would like to get a second opinion, of
course."

"Cut the weaseling! What is it?"

"Well, last night was the last night of the full moon, which
should have alerted me right away. Then, as you said, there
is the question of what a dog was doing in a seminar. Now we
have the total disappearance of the wound. Tentatively, I would
say that you were bitten by some sort of were."

"Were? You mean as in werewolf?"

"And a lot of other things. Weres come in all types, really.
It certainly explains why a tansir dog should be sitting in at a
seminar on theriomorphism, which means human into beast,
does it not?"

Joe sat back, remembering all the werewolf movies he'd
ever seen, and this didn't fit the image at all. "You mean every
time there's a full moon from now on, I'm going to change
into a Pekingese7"

"Possibly. Possibly not. Although the spell is totally con-
cealed now, I am positive that it was strictly black band—
most unique for any sort of werebeast. A werewolf or weredog
would also have to have the codex for its particular creature,
and this was not at all evident. My tentative diagnosis is that
you have become the most rare of all theriomorphs, a true and
pure were."

"Huh? A were what?"

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JACK L. CHALKER

"A were, period. As there was no codex, it must be exter-
nally supplied."

"Plain speech, please. Short words, too, so I can understand
what you're saying."

The Imir got up, took the bandage over, and discarded it,
then returned and took a seat opposite Joe. "All right. You've
been through this before, if I remember. The Circean turned
you into a bull."

Joe nodded, recalling the incident with a slight shiver.

"Well, were curses are generalized forms of that sort of
thing. Volume Four Sixty-Four of the Rules, if I remember
correctly, treats them in some detail but never actually comes
to grips with them. Nobody really knows how such curses
originate, and the Rules prohibit originating new were curses
of a communicable nature. Think of them as diseases, per-
haps—not only skin contact, but actual saliva or blood transfer
is required."

"But you or Ruddygore can read this volume whatsis and
give me the cure, right?"

Poquah shook his head sadly from side to side. "No. Since
their origin and exact nature are unknown, so is their cure.
They can mostly be arrested through the regular injection of
exotic herbs, different ones from different types, but this is
unique to me."

"Get to the point."

"Well—" At that moment the door opened and Ruddygore
entered. At first he seemed preoccupied, but then he noticed
Joe over on the couch.

"So! Feeling better, I hope. Now, what's this about a were-
wound?" He walked over, bent down, and looked at the area
on Joe's leg that was now distinguishable only by the marks
left from the bandages. He nodded, then turned to Poquah.
"You've told him?"

"No, he hasn't!" Joe snapped. "He's done everything but.
Would you mind telling me what all this is about?"

"Well, you stepped on a were's tail, it bit you, and you
caught the disease. Of them all, I'd say you were the luckiest,
Joe. It's incredibly rare."

"That's what Poquah keeps telling me, but nobody tells me
what it is I've got a rare case of! You guys are worse than
doctors!"

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

Ruddygore nodded. "I managed to get hold of the woman
who bit you. If it's any solace, she's very, very sorry about
it, but she just reacted in pain. She's actually a very nice person,
and you're the first person she's ever bitten."

"She's a bitch as far as I'm concerned," Joe growled.

"Well, she was last night, or she wouldn't have been able
to bite you, but that's beside the point. Joe, you always said
you wanted a little taste of magic, and now you have one. A
rather unusual one, I admit, effective on only three nights a
month on the average, but somewhat controllable. You see,
Joe, you are now a were, but you're not a were anything. Just
a were."

"Huh?"

"To put it bluntly, for every night of the full moon you will
turn into whatever you're closest to at moonrise. It might be
a good idea to carry an almanac from now on."

Joe sat bolt upright, a funny feeling growing in the pit of
his stomach. "Let me get this straight. Whatever I'm closest
to?"

Ruddygore nodded. "It's very unusual, but there's only the
were curse, no codex attached; so when the curse is activated,
it derives its form from whatever is closest."

"So this one who bit me—she was nearest a Pekingese at
moonrise last night? And if she'd been nearest a cow, she'd
have turned into a cow?"

Ruddygore nodded again. "An exact duplicate, with every-
thing in place. The curse works on a modified fairy pattern,
so you won't turn into a tree or grass or anything like that; but
if it's animal or fairy and that's closest, you're going to du-
plicate it from moonrise to sunrise—unless the moon's already
out in the daytime, in which case it will be sunset to sunrise.
If you remember your lunar calendar, you can usually control
what it is, anyway. It's not a good idea to be riding a horse
when it happens, for example. The change is pretty well in-
stantaneous."

Joe whistled, not quite believing what he was hearing. "This
woman who did it—how'd she get it?"

"Oh, the fellow was a spider and she walked into the web.
He felt so guilty about it afterward he courted and married her.
That pretty well solved their problem, since most of the time

r

JACK L. CHALKER 129

they just turn into each other. They seem to think it's fun. At
least it's appealingly kinky. Unfortunately, her husband fell ill
yesterday and she had to go get some medication in town. She
lost track of the time, there was this fellow with a dog nearby,
and, well, you know the rest."

"Oh, great. This is all I needed. Hey—wait! Poquah says
there are herbs and stuff to keep it off, right?"

"For most types, yes. But pure weres are so rare, thanks to
their conscious control, that nobody has ever done any research
on them. I'll put a couple of good people on it right away,
though, so we might get lucky. Unfortunately, I can't wait for
the results of the research."

"Oh, no! Wait just a minute, here! You're not sending me
out on some mission with this. I mean, it'll happen in—what?"

"Twenty-seven days, for three nights. So? It might actually
come in handy, if you can leam to control and use it. Look on
the bright side, Joe. You've just increased your survival factors
by a tremendous amount. There's no external sign on a pure
were. Even a top sorcerer would have to know exactly what
he was looking for to see it at all. But for all practical purposes,
you're invulnerable."

Joe brightened a bit. "Oh, yeah. Silver bullets, right? And
they don't have bullets here. Hmmm... Maybe this thing has
possibilities, after all. And this invulnerability works all the
time, even when I'm not, ah, you know?"

"All the time. But don't feel totally cocky about it. A truly
powerful sorcerer will spot it after a while, or deduce it the
first time your invulnerability shows. You're still subject to
certain spells from the fairy folk and other sources, too. Silver
is the key, not just bullets. Silver of any kind can wound you;

if it hits a vital spot, it can kill you. A silver sword or dagger—
or the silver hilt of a weapon or walking stick used as a club—
will be more dangerous than any blade you've known."

Joe thought about it a moment. "Well, the club might be a
problem, but I don't remember seeing any silver swords around
here. Silver would make an expensive and pretty lousy blade,
except for show stuff."

"True. But total security lies in an enemy's not knowing
until it is too late." With that the sorcerer stretched out his
hand; there was an electricallike flash, and he held in his hand

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

130

a broadsword of what appeared to be solid silver. "Otherwise,
a transmutator can do this." He lowered the sword, twirled it,

and it became a wooden cane.

Joe heard someone coming down the hall. "Uh—listen.
Okay, I'll go along with you, at least for now, but promise me
you won't tell anyone else, huh? I want to break it to the others

myself."

Ruddygore nodded. "That's all right with me, but—be cau-
tious! Telling the wrong person might prove fatal; but if you
tell no one, then you're going to have a tough time explaining

it when it happens."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I—"

There was a knock on the door. Poquah sprang to open it,
and Tiana walked in. "Hello," she greeted Joe. "How is it?"

"All well," he told her.

She frowned. "All well so soon? And the curse?"

"Some other time," he responded nervously. "Let's relax
for now. It's nothing 1 can't handle."

"As you say." She sounded uncertain and worried, though,
and it didn't escape Joe that her mother had died from a curse,
one that she feared she carried but did not know for certain.

Marge joined them within another few minutes; last to arrive
was Macore. Durin set an excellent table, and all ate, enjoying
the truly magical touch of the elfin chef, except, of course,
Marge. After Ruddygore's promptings, however, she found
she could still enjoy good wines and the taste of fancy desserts,
even though she didn't need them and couldn't fully metabolize
them. Still, it made her feel a little more human and a part of
the social group that a fine dinner formed. She was also in-
wardly very grateful to Poquah for calling her in for consultation
on the wound. It was, she knew, because they were both of
faerie and he had known instantly that she could see the fine
magical pattern that most could not because of that fact, but
that was a very important thing to her.

Although fairy races usually didn't get along very well and
were rife with jokes and rivalries, when it came down to prac-
ticality, it was we faerie in Poquah's mind. It meant a lot to
her, although she was sure the Imir hadn't even realized he
was doing her such a service. She was Kauri, yes, but she was
more. She was a member of an entire family of living, thinking
creatures. She was faerie.

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JACK L. CHALKER

There was conversation at dinner, of course, but it was of
a social nature and generally concerned with the convention.
Joe told the sorcerer that he'd seen two of his matches against
adepts. "Nothing like that battle over the Valley of Decision,
though."

"Oh, no, this was a lot of sound and fury and clever parries
and thrusts, but little more," Ruddygore responded. "None of
the challengers were very taxing, and all of them have a long
way to go to get any real command, if they ever do. In a sense,
it's like giving two people a math problem to solve, only one
of them has studied and practiced calculus for years, while the
other is just learning algebra. That's all magic really is—to-
pological mathematics combined with concentration and will-
power. First you must have the talent to be able to understand
and construct the complex patterns which we call spells, then
the concentration to hold them at all cost against all distractions,
and finally the force of will to impose those patterns on a person
or object precisely as you wish. An adept can impose such
things, usually from the Rules and other references, by mem-
orizing a lot of standard stuff, but that's about it. A true ma-
gician can form what he or she needs without references, and
tailor it to the specific requirements of the situation. The best
can hold and create multiple original patterns. The more you
can do at the same time, the stronger you are. One like Kaladon,
for example, might be able to create and maintain as many as
ten separate temporary and permanent spells at once."

"Kaladon! He is a pig and a usurper!" Tiana spat.

"Sorry to spoil the food with a bad name, but when you
consider that he's the weakest on the Council, you see what a
poor adept is up against. Kaladon is good at it, but he's not
one of the best."

"My father could maintain fifteen or more," the large woman
bragged.

"He could indeed, but not on one particular night."

"The food was drugged!"

Ruddygore sighed and signaled for the table to be cleared,
which it rapidly was. "I see it's time to get down to business."
He lighted a cigar as Durin served coffee for those who wished
it. "First of all, Tiana, your father was not drugged that night."

"What! That is a lie!"

"You said it yourself. He was capable of fifteen or more

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L CHALKER

133

spells. No pro in this business goes into action before doing a
static purification spell on himself, not to mention a series of
mental tests, even against the weakest of opponents, to ensure
he is in his best physical and mental shape. No, Tiana, I'm
afraid your father was, in fact, in his usual fine form."

"But it must have been the food! Otherwise that pig would
have been ground to dust!"

Ruddygore drew on his cigar, sat back, and relaxed a bit.
"Well, that was the story the Council more or less allowed to
spread around Zhimbombe. It was a face-saving gesture, really;

although it was rather insulting to Kaladon, even he went along
with it. You see, after the death of any Council member, there
is, shall we say, a psychic post-mortem by the remaining mem-
bers which includes an examination of the winner and his tes-
timony, those of the referees, and others. It is a matter of
concern to all of us when one of us goes, as you might imagine,
and we are most interested in seeing that it doesn't happen to
us." He paused again, then added, "The official judgment was
that your father threw the match."

Tiana stood up and glared angrily at him. "I will not remain
and listen to this, not even from you! My father would never
commit suicide!"

"Oh, sit down, Tiana. That's why you'll never be more than
a weak adept. No self-control, no discipline. Even if you know
all the magic I know and can handle fifty spells at a time,
you'll challenge Kaladon, he'll make some off-the-wall remark
about your father, you'll get so mad your concentration will
crumble, and he'll have you."

She hesitated a moment, then sat back down, but she con-
tinued to glare at him.

"Kaladon was, I'm afraid, your father's weak spot. He con-
sidered him his son and heir to his Council seat. You knew
that. You remember what it was like—before."

She nodded, but did not seem to mellow.

"He had no reason to suspect treachery. Kaladon was quite
clever—he fought the match in such a way that it looked very
natural and very accidental that it escalated to that point. He
must have spent years planning those exact moves. What hap-
pened was that he pushed things just over the edge, so that
there was so much psychic energy in that hall that it could not
be easily canceled out. Likewise, Kaladon had spent some

effort making you look very untalented in the arts in your
father's eyes. So there he was, faced with the choice of killing
Kaladon, letting Kaladon kill him, or hoping the referees would
realize the problem and step in. All the evidence suggested that
the referees did move to cancel; but for some reason, the attempt
was not effective. Either the spells were too personalized, or
not all the referees were in agreement; but the hesitant ones
weren't willing to admit their error later. Regardless, your
father weighed all the factors and decided to will his seat to
Kaladon."

She shook her head unbelievingly. "I know how he regarded
Kaladon, but I can not believe he could do this. He would not
do this to me."

"If it's any help, Kaladon did cheat. I know how he did it,
but I could never prove it."

"What?"

"It would have taken all three referees in tandem to stop the
match. All three claimed to have tried and failed. One of them,
however, was Esmerada, who is now a close ally of Kaladon
and the Baron. The fix was in, and that sort of energy couldn't
have been held for long. Your father was backed into a comer
and forced into a split-second decision. In a sense, Kaladon's
victory was legitimate in that, as I mentioned, his opponent
allowed an extraneous factor to divert him. It is entirely possible
that your father was simply unable to solve his moral dilemma
and thus broke his concentration. The most talented sorcerer
in the world can be beaten by a middling-fair magician if his
concentration is broken, even for an instant."

She considered it. "You are probably right. But—even with
all his deceit and Esmerada's complicity, that means he was
the legitimate and legal winner under the Rules! That is ter-
rible!"

"Is it? He still schemed and took advantage of your father
and you to get the seat, and he's an even blacker magician
than ever now. He must be removed, eliminated—and Es-
merada, too. We must stop his cancer of the Barony for all
time."

"Can't you just take him on?" Joe asked. "You said he was
weak."

"Oh, I could finish him, yes, but he would sense the attack
and call upon Esmerada and the Baron for support; and the

134

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

Baron almost had me last time. As for a challenge in a formal
context, the Rules specifically prohibit one Council member
from challenging or fighting another within the rules of the
Society. Nor can I enter the castle of a fellow Society member
without his or her permission, just as none of them can enter

Terindell."

"And I guess they aren't too likely to invite you in for tea

and cookies," Marge put in.

Ruddygore nodded. "But I've been studying the proper vol-
ume of the Rules pretty closely, and there are other ways. It
seems that if someone is in my service and is invited in, he
may then invite me. That I find most interesting."

"Uh-oh. I just got a funny case of indigestion," Joe grum-
bled.

"It's not a very easy or pleasant task, but I think you see

where I'm leading with this," the sorcerer continued. "We must
strike at the heart of the Barony. We must eliminate Esmerada,
Kaladon, and the Baron. If I can reach the first two, I can take
them. That will leave our Baron, if he is indeed not one of
those two, alone and out front. I can tell you right now that I
cannot take the Baron; but if I can find out who he is^ perhaps
he can be goaded into trotting out his demon master. If I can
get him to do that, with the Council looking on, they will

destroy him as a matter of survival."

Joe whistled. "You sure aren't asking much, are you? We're
to get into these castles and call you in, somehow, all without
getting killed or turned into toads or something; and if we
happen to unmask the Baron in the process, we're to get him

to trot out a demon prince for us."

Ruddygore shrugged. "I didn't say it was going to be easy.
In fact, tricking the first sorcerer should work out because of
the element of surprise in the plan. The trouble is, in the
inevitable post-mortem, the loophole will be exposed, so the
second one will be ready for you. As for bringing out the
Baron's demon, I hardly think that will be difficult if you meet
him. Remember, his demon couldn't do a thing to either of
you, and he's probably just panting and drooling to do a whole
set of things to see why and how he can get around it."
"What army are we leading?" Joe wanted to know.
"No army. It would do no good. I'll supply the army if and
when it's necessary. You and Marge are involved, not only  [

JACK L. CHALKER                   135

for your skills and complementary abilities but also because,
pardon me, you are perfect demon bait. All that I have been
able to teach you, and all that you have become, have been
oriented to this purpose. Tiana will join you for several other
reasons, although she, too, is well trained and dedicated, with
a bit of both your skills to boot as a backup. But, most im-
portantly, she's a native ofZhimbombe, and I've had her trav-
eling in and out of the area for the past month before coming

here."

Tiana nodded. "I wondered why you asked, and only hoped
it was for an assault on Kaladon. Much has changed, partic-
ularly the people and the very atmosphere of the place. It used
to be a happy place. But the roads still go where they once
did, and the towns and cities are the ones I knew in my youth.
It was strange how it all came back to me, although I have
traveled those roads ten thousand times in my mind."

Joe was used to Ruddygore by now, and he was thinking
ahead of the plan. "Uh—in what order do we tackle these
fearsome giants?"

"Geographically. Esmerada's Witchwood is on the way to
Morikay, so she is certainly first. She is the stronger magically,
which is why she is the best start—the best to take by surprise.
And she is the most hidebound and rigid. My, how she loves
the old cliches!"

"Uh-huh. And then Kaladon, all forewarned."

The sorcerer nodded. "But in known territory, with a native
guide even to the castle passages and entryways."

"He's likely just to have us killed on sight," Marge pointed
out.

"No, not all of us," Joe responded, turning back to Rud-
dygore. "Right?"

"Well, uh, that's true."

"I would have no problem getting invited into that castle,"
Tiana said, stating what the others were thinking. "That is it,
is it not?"

"Well, yes, as a last resort," the sorcerer admitted. "How-
ever, I hope we won't have to use that method. I'll be with
you all the way, in a manner of speaking, anyway."

Poquah got up from the table, went into Ruddygore's room,
and returned with a very pedestrian-looking. Earth-style brief-
case. Ruddygore made several passes over it with his hands

136

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L CHALKER

137

and then went into an almost trancelike state staring at it. In
less than a minute, though, he relaxed, then opened the case.
They all realized that the case had been guarded by spells so
great they might have destroyed anyone trying them other than
himself.

He reached inside and pulled out a small jewelry case, set
it before him and opened it, then pushed it across the table to
Marge. Inside was a necklace of what looked like solid gold
chain; from it, a small but distinctive ruby pendant hung. She
looked at the chain, then picked it up and stared at it in puz-
zlement. "Where's the clasp?"

"I had it made without one," he told her. "Don't worry.
Allow Poquah to put it on for you."

The Imir reached over, picked it up, and she felt his long
fingers on both sides of her throat and the cold of the chain.
There was a hissing sound; for a brief moment, the necklace
felt very hot, but it cooled quickly.

"The thing is made of fairy gold and a combination of alloys
that make it almost impossible to slip off," Ruddygore ex-
plained. "As it has no clasp, it's on for good, I hope. While
the blend is strictly Husaquahrian, it was created at Cartier's
in Paris to my specifications."

She chuckled. "Cartier's at last."

Again he delved into the case, brought out a jewelry box,
and opened it, this time pushing it in front ofTiana. She looked,
then reached in and picked up one of the two objects inside.
They were attractive, if slightly large, earrings of the same
fairy blend, and suspended from each was a finely crafted
charm in the shape of a gryphon. Except for being oddly thick,
the charms looked to be made of the same stuff as the earrings.
Again, there was no break or clasp in the earrings themselves.
"Think you can stand wearing them more or less permanently?"
the sorcerer asked her.

She nodded. "They are beautiful. Also Cartier?"

"Oh, yes. Well, if you're satisfied—Poquah?"

The Imir went behind her, but this time he took one earring
in each hand; pulling back her hair, he tugged on the lobes
with his fingers. There was a slight hiss and a wisp of smoke,
and Tiana exclaimed, "Ouch!" That, too, was quickly over—
and the earrings were through the lobes as if she had been bom
with them. She reached up with her right hand and felt one of

the dangling charms, "It feels strange."

"You'll get used to them quickly." Again Ruddygore re-
peated the process, pushing another open box toward Joe. The
ex-trucker frowned and grumbled, "Oh, no. I'm strictly straight!"
Inside was a single small earring with a golden gryphon at-
tached, identical to Tiana's.

Ruddygore laughed. "Joe, it doesn't necessarily mean that
back on Earth and it definitely doesn't mean that here. Almost
all the barbarian tribesmen wear 'em."

"Well, I don't!"

Tiana looked over at him with an amused expression. "Joe,
among the Cagrim tribespeople with whom I lived for some
time, when a woman and a man mated, they wore matching
earrings. Two each."

"I don't care! What's so important about these fancy pieces
of jewelry, anyway?"

Ruddygore grinned. "Inside the jewel Marge is wearing,
and inside the left gryphon in Tiana's set—and in your lone
one—is the latest miracle of Japanese electronics."

"Electronics! Here?"

"Exactly. Oh, I know, I know. I'm the one who has kept
guns and other modem ideas out, and I admit it. However, you
must understand that, more than anything, that is my advantage,
Joe. It's why this plan will work! This sort of technology is as
alien and magical to this world as my magic is to yours. The
tiny little power cells in those jewels will last a year and,
because they broadcast a simple signal, they carry quite far.
You will never be out of range of my messengers, Joe. Al-
though the cells will broadcast only a couple of miles at best,
that's more than sufficient for signals to be received outside
any of the castles—far outside. That's Macore's part of the
job."

The little thief nodded, "I don't understand it, but I never
did understand spells, anyway. All I know is that I'm going
to be able to track you with those things and that you can call
Ruddygore with them if you need him. The rest of how it's
done I think best to keep from you, and he agrees. What you
don't know you can't divulge, and that will keep me safe. I'm
also your backup, though—if real problems develop, I'll help
where I can."

"Those measures are needed because the things were de-

138

JACK L- CHALKER                  139

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

signed to work in connection with directional receivers that
would be large and impractical here," Ruddygore explained.
"However, their tiny, very inaudible signals will reach Macore
and his, uh, messengers, and that's enough."

"And if we want to call you?" Joe asked. "Then what?"
"This may sound odd, but just take the object—jewel or
gryphon—in your hand and say my name. It is triggered to
change its signal at that, and that will alert us."

"How soon could you reach us after we needed you?" Joe

pressed him.

"I will be publicly and visibly here and in Terindell. There
must be no suspicion whatsoever. I feel bound to tell you that
it might be many hours before the message gets to me. After
that, I will use my unique transportation abilities to reach you
very quickly. Now, this is important! While my name alone,
uttered in that way, will bring me, you must say, 'Ruddygore,
please enter castle such-and-so,' wherever you are. I can be
summoned through the device, but I will require the invitation

to circumvent the Rules."

"Uh-huh. And what are we supposed to do for the hours it
takes you to come to the rescue?" Joe asked him.

"The best you can, of course. After the message is off,
Macore will be available as an outside party to help, and he
will have other resources to draw upon."

"You won't see me after tonight," the little thief warned,

"but I'll never be far away. Count on it."

"Do we have a—ouch!" Joe was startled by a burning sen-
sation on his left ear. His hand went up, and he felt the ring
already in place there. He whirled, rising at the same time,
and faced an impassive Poquah. "Damn you!" the big man

cursed.

"Don't blame him, Joe. I expected some, ah, resistance,"

the sorcerer told him. "Don't worry. I can hardly see it under

all that hair, anyway."

Tiana reached over and pushed Joe's dark hair back. "I

think it looks very swashbuckling."

Joe sat and fumed. He said nothing, but it was clear what

he was thinking.

"Now we'll work out briefings and strategy sessions," Rud-
dygore told them. "You should be as prepared as possible. And
henceforth, by the way, we will not mention the radios. That

will remain our little secret—and our little advantage."

They talked on through most of the night, the enormity of
the task not escaping them in the least. Finally Ruddygore
handed Joe a small, round portrait of a distinguished-looking
man of middle age with gray hair and a bushy gray mustache.
He had dark, piercing eyes that the artist had caught exactly,
and it was clear to look at him that he was one of those lucky
ones who aged so well they were even more handsome than
they had been in their youth.

"Count Boquillas," the sorcerer told them, explaining the
background. "If you happen across him, or can determine his
whereabouts, then be sure to tell me. He is the mystery player
in this game, in that we don't really know which side he's on
or what his game might be. All we know is that a powerful
and outspoken critic of the Barony has suddenly vanished, and
it would be of great value, not only to find him but to prove
how little the Baron's word is worth, if Boquillas is in fact a
prisoner."

"So when do we start this death march?" Joe asked.

"I think tomorrow, about sunset," Throckmorton P. Rud-
dygore replied.

CHAPTER 10

SAILING DOWN THE RIVER

Piracy need ml be a dishonorable vocation if bound by the Rules.
—Rules, CLIX, Introduction

THE PORT DISTRICT OF SACHALIN WAS BUSY ALMOST ALL THE

time. Although much trade had closed down for the convention,
ships kept to schedules as they had to, and that meant those
depending on those ships must be ready when they arrived.

140

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 141

Ruddygore had arranged passage for the trio on a merchant-
man carrying what seemed to be thousands of neatly racked
amphoras of whiskey made from the unusually large harvest
surplus in the region. Accommodations were not the most gra-
cious or comfortable, but the ship's captain, who was also half
owner, was being well paid and neither asked questions nor
even raised an eyebrow at the sight of the unlikely-looking
group.

Lake Zahias was huge, and by midmoming there was no
land in sight as they moved out to the deep center and proceeded
south. The ship was close to three hundred feet long and had
a slightly rounded hull that accentuated any rough water but
allowed it to take full advantage of the wind, which was quite
brisk. Twin masts each held a single, enormous square sail,
bright orange in color and with the ship's identification symbol
inside a round yellow circle in the center of each. Joe had to
admire the way the crew seemed to anticipate every little shift
in wind and water and do just what was necessary to keep the
speed steady and the ship relatively stable. The sight of so
much water reminded him of the ocean, although there was no
smell of salt in the spray and the large number of sea birds
trailing the vessel betrayed land off somewhere within flying
distance.

There were long, empty stretches, but other areas seemed
filled with small fishing boats trawling for fish, shrimp, and
whatever else these waters held; here and there, they passed a
ship like theirs headed the other way and watched the sema-
phores on both send greetings and news of conditions to each
other.

One such passing was followed by a sudden flurry of activity
from the crew, each sailor hurriedly falling to one or another
task. Joe, who'd been getting very bored playing a local version
of backgammon with Tiana, grew curious and soon learned
that there was word of a major storm ahead. At the time, it
was sunny and fairly warm with just a few fleecy clouds in the
sky, and both he and Tiana found all this haste hard to justify.

Within an hour, though, a huge front seemed to move in
on them. Not long after, the wind picked up until it quickly
became a roaring gale, complete with monster waves, thunder,
lightning, and tremendously heavy rain. It soon became im-
possible to walk even below, the ship lurching and turning in

what seemed all directions at once, and Joe found himself
wishing for boredom once again.

He and Tiana both became violently ill before too long and
just strapped themselves to their too-small bunks, trying to hit
the chamber pots when they had to.

Marge came in, looking very comfortable and seemingly
unaware that she was being tossed about with the ship. She
spotted them both and regarded them with some pity. "You
should see it up there!" she said excitedly. "Waves just about
swallow half the ship, then up it comes again. It's real ex-
citing—and the crew is wonderful."

They looked at her with misery and irritation in their eyes,
"You don't feel—anything?" Joe managed.

"A little wet, maybe. I'm sorry for you both, but I guess I
just don't get seasick. Hell, I've never been out on a body of
water this big before and I think it's exciting."

"Well, go enjoy it, then," Tiana groaned. "Return when the
sun shines and the water is like a mirror."

Marge took the hint, but the storm did not abate during the
night or into the next morning. Through it all, except for trim-
ming sail, the captain kept his ship fairly well on course and
seemed reasonably pleased with the speed he was making. "It
will take more than a little blow like this to make me run for
safe harbor!" he told Marge proudly.

By the next evening the storm had slackened off a bit, but
not enough to allow either of the seasick sufferers below any
sort of recovery. Joe was more miserable, he believed, than
he'd ever been in his whole life and he would have gladly
ended it all if it wouldn't take too much effort. Even his great
sword Irving, strapped to a handhold, seemed to hum a mixed
and discordant series of notes.

Three days out, the storm passed, although the skies re-
mained overcast and the air was a bit chilled. Joe, feeling weak
and miserable, nonetheless had the need for fresh air; the small
cabin stank of the remnants of two very large people's innards.
He managed to pull himself dizzily up the stairs and onto the
deck. The cool mist struck him, and it felt very, very good;

he luxuriated in it for a few minutes before taking any sort of
a look around. When he did, he was surprised to see land off
to the left, even a few houses and animals. The ship was, in
fact, close in to shore.

142

JACK L. CHALKER                   143

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

Marge spotted him before he could look much further and
came over. "Feeling better?" she asked, sounding genuinely

concerned.

He shrugged. "Well, I feel as if I want to live again, but

I'm not sure I'm going to."

"How's Tiana?"

"Worse, I think. What's this over here?"

"We'll be in tonight. Zichis is only a few miles up ahead,
and that's the end of the line."

"Suits me. Land again," he added, almost dreamily.

"Don't get too comfortable. Tomorrow we just go down
and get on another boat, remember."

He groaned. "Don't remind me!"

"Well, at least it's a riverboat."

By the time they berthed, it was well after dark, but both
Joe and Tiana showed renewed strength when the idea of setting
foot once again on dry land was staring them in the face.

Zichis was a lot smaller than Sachalin and far different, too,
in architecture and ambience. This was a working town with
no pretensions to anything political and no thoughts of tourism.
It was here because, just below the town, at the start of the
River of Sorrows, was Zichis Falls, and all commerce heading
in either direction had to portage around it. The ships, of course,
did no such thing, so all cargo had to be transferred to the next
ship in line on the route south. In the meantime, the three were
to stay over at one of a dozen or so guest houses, as they were

called.

These turned out to be large wooden structures with a hundred
or more rooms apiece, all built of the same weathered wood
as were the other buildings in the town. The rooms were not
much larger than those aboard ship, nor any more comfortable,
but they were in solid buildings on solid ground and they neither
rocked nor swayed. Marge explored the town while both Joe
and Tiana recovered enough to get and keep down a heavy
cream seafood chowder at a small restaurant and then to sleep

it off.

The next day remained chill and overcast, but the seasick-
ness that had totally immobilized the two humans passed as
quickly as it had come upon them, and they both felt cheerful,
if weak, and ate heavy breakfasts while Marge slept.

The system for moving cargo down below the falls to a

river port consisted of an ingenious series of water-filled locks
that lowered the huge crates and racks on large wooden flats
a hundred feet or so at a time. The falls were large and highly
impressive, although no Niagara, plunging more than eight
hundred feet into a whirling mass below.

People, however, were expected to walk down an apparently
endless series of wooden stairs. They soon learned that, to get
information on their next watercraft, they would have to de-
scend to what the natives called the Lower Port, despite the
fact that there seemed to be no guest houses or any other
services there.

Joe looked down, sighed, and said, "Well, I need the ex-
ercise."

"What of Marge? She is sleeping right now, remember,"
Tiana responded.

"Well, she knows the schedule, and the guest houses make
it their business to see that people make their connections. I
don't think we have to worry. It's several hours until sailing
time."

After a seemingly endless descent, they found themselves
at the Lower Port and quickly located the shipping offices of
the line Ruddygore had told them to use. When they got there,
though, they discovered only bad news.

"The Pacah is delayed at least eighteen hours," the agent
told them, "perhaps more. There have been pirates on Lake
Bragha, and shipping has been delayed while protection is
arranged."

"Pirates? Up here?" Tiana asked, looking puzzled. "I have
never heard of pirates on Bragha before."

"These are bad times, lady." The clerk sighed. "The border
runs right through the lake, remember, and even the ownership
of the falls is in dispute down there. It's impossible to police
anything any more."

"But surely both Marquewood and Zhimbombe patrol the
area!"

He chuckled dryly. "Patrol? How long has it been since you
have been in Zhimbombe?"

"Many years," she admitted. "Why?"

"They invaded us not too many months ago down south,
remember. They're not nice or cooperative people—if all of
'em are people, which I doubt. You goin' there?"

144

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

"Down the river, anyway," Joe put in smoothly. "Actually,
we're headed for the City-States."

"Yeah? Well, you're both big enough to fight it out, I guess.
Me, I wouldn't get any nearer the border than this, let alone
go through their territory."

Joe gave him a sour smile. "You're implying that they don't
exactly mind the pirates?"

"Hell, who could tell the difference? You watch it, though.
When the Pacah gets here, it's one of ours and a good ship.
You'll be treated well. But from Tochik, you'll be on one of
their ships, and I wouldn't go to sleep on one of them things
if I were you."

Joe looked over at Tiana, but she just shrugged. "We're
staying at the Cochis Guest House. Will we be notified when
the ship comes in?"

"Oh, sure. No problem there."

They left and walked back to the falls. Joe stared at the
huge set of stairs rising up into the mist of the falls and sighed.
"Well, I said I needed the exercise."

Tiana nodded glumly. "I wish I had a spell for levitation
right about now."

They began the long walk up.

It was, in fact, three days before a small group of ships
arrived at the Lower Port, four merchantmen and two rough-
looking craft manned with archers, bowmen, and even fore
and aft catapults.

These were quite different craft from the Lake Zahias
freighters—all shallow draft with large single sails and side
slots for a dozen oarsmen on either side. In point of fact, the
merchantmen were really large rafts with boxy wooden struc-
tures fore and aft like small houses and a pilothouse atop each.
Clearly the helmsman at the rear could not see what was going
on and depended on a crew with an elaborate series of signals
forward for direction. In contrast, the two warships resembled
sleek Viking craft. They reminded Joe of canoes—-the biggest
canoes he'd ever seen—with a single sail in the middle.

According to those getting off, the voyage had been a rough
one, not only from the usual natural hazards but also from
pirates, who had actually managed to separate a ship from the
convoy near the mouth of the river, take it, and get it across

JACK L. CHALKER

145

the theoretical border in the middle of the lake. At that point,
as usual, an armada of nasty Zhimbombean warships had come
virtually out of nowhere to keep the convoy warships from
giving chase.

The captain of the Pacah was more than happy to see two
large, tough-looking barbarians come aboard, although he wasn't
so sure about Marge. He neither liked nor trusted fairies very
much, it seemed, no matter how small and cute and sexy they
were, but he tolerated them.

There was almost a complete crew change at Zichis, but the
officers remained aboard, where they lived below the forward
pilothouse. The ship was a co-op, with each of the officers
owning a share commensurate with his relative rank. The crew-
men coming aboard were paid wages and looked large and
tough, as they had to be in order to control oars and poles on
the river portion. This, however, would be a far easier trip than
the northbound had been—they were going with the current.

Navigating such a craft down a winding and not very wide
river was a skill that made the crossing of Lake Zahias seem like
child's play. It was clear that the pilots depended not only on
years of experience but on acertain necessary sixth sense to avoid
the eddies, bars, and other hazards of the river, whose current
was strong enough to change things just about every trip.

The land, too, changed dramatically as they moved down
the river. There were few trees and great expanses of savanna
going off in both directions. The yellowish grasslands were
broken here and there by isolated groups of trees, and only the
area right along the riverbank was overgrown and green. Off
on the grassy plains beyond, they could see legions of wild
beasts grazing or running about.

Still, the slow, cumbersome craft, built for tonnage rather
than for speed or maneuverability, took two days to reach the
lake.

By this time Joe and Tiana had gotten to know each other
quite a bit; if Ruddygore had been playing matchmaker, his
scheme seemed to have taken. By the time they reached Lake
Bragha, Joe had to admit to himself that it was already a
problem to remember what it had been like before he met her.
Marge had the good sense to realize that this was going on and
intruded as little as possible. Although she couldn't really bring
herself to make friends with the huge, strangely accented woman

146

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

who had joined them, she managed at least a professional
relationship, which seemed enough for now. Joe felt suffi-
ciently secure now to return to a platonic but cordial relationship
with Marge, and that made it a little easier, too.

And, of course, ship's personnel had plenty of problems to
keep Marge reasonably busy, particularly after she flew over

to the nearest military guard ship.

Lake Bragha was only a third the size of Zahias, but it was
still a pretty big lake, although quite different from the almost
oceanlike parent that fed it. The river here flowed so gently
into the lake that there seemed no seam in the transition, and
Bragha, shallow and gentle, was virtually mirror-smooth and

highly reflective.

It was only forty miles or so across from the river's entrance

to its outlet, but that was the danger area. They could have
avoided much of the threat by sticking to the coastline of Mar-
quewood, but that added more than a day to the sailing time,
and time was money. Still, the first mate admitted, if losses
continued to mount, it might be the only alternative. "Either
we go bankrupt taking the slow and safe way, or we get captured

and killed," he remarked gloomily.

Although they reached the lake in the early morning dark-
ness, they decided to lay over until sunup before crossing. The
three hours or so might put them even further behind, but sailing
would be a little easier in daylight. "Not that the pirates don't
attack in daylight—they do," the mate told Joe. "But at least
we and our protection can see what we're fighting."

The day dawned sunny; while there was still a slight chill
in the air, it was clear that the sun, unseen for so long, would
warm things considerably by midday. They proceeded as soon
as they had good, clear visibility, since at the speed of the
flatboats it would take almost nine hours to cross, even with
a decent wind. There was no current. "A good wind at our
back and a lake mist would have been best," the mate told
them. "As it is, I feel like a very big target."

The tension mounted as they started across, and both Joe
and Tiana could feel the strained nerves of these peaceful mer-
chantmen. Still, they'd be no pushovers—anybody who could
row a craft that size could break a neck in two with a flip of

the wrist.

At almost the halfway point, a lookout from one of the other

JACK L. CHALKER                  147

merchant vessels called out, and suddenly the tension became
so thick that it was almost a tangible, visible thing. Tiana looked
over at Joe, who said, "I'm going to get Marge." She just
nodded and continued staring where everybody else was look-
ing.

Marge, even with her goggles, was grumpy and irritable
when awakened, but all that fell quickly away when he told
her that an attack was possible. Both of them rushed back on
deck.

The mate, a big, bearded man, was strapping on a weathered
old cutlass. He yelled out that this was in fact an attack, and
Joe felt a rising sense of excitement within him. Although he
knew that many good people might die in the fight to come,
he couldn't suppress an almost boyish anticipation of battle.
Damn it, it was what he was trained to do in this crazy world.

He climbed up to where Tiana stood atop the crew's quarters
and looked at the oncoming enemy, then frowned. There were
clearly five ships coming in, but all five were extremely small
and shaped much like the two far larger escorts the convoy
had. On those escorts he could hear the barking of orders and
the sound of battle drums.

Tiana looked over at him. "What is the matter? You look
disappointed."

"Yeah, well, I dunno, but when you say pirates, I kind of
expect a big galleon or something flying the skull and cross-
bones, not five big rowboats with sails."

The mate overheard. While he didn't really understand the
reference to galleons, he got the idea. "Don't let them fool
you, lad. A single big ship would be easy pickings for the navy
boys here. But those little things can really move—easily three
times our speed, if they're handled right in a fair wind like
we're now getting, and perhaps twice the escorts'. They're
hard targets to hit, but they have a single catapult apiece that
can sure as hell hit us. They can rum in a few hundred feet,
and three of 'em will engage the escorts while the other two
try for one of us."

Joe nodded. "Will they try to board?"

"As soon as they can. Counting you two, there's twenty-
two of us, probably about the same in the two that will try for
us. Don't hesitate on any of 'em, remember. They're profes-
sionals at this sort of thing."

148

r

JACK L CHALKER

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

149

Joe turned and looked out at the approaching small fleet and
smiled. "So am I," he said softly. "So am I."

The pattern was pretty much as the mate had predicted, with
two of the small boats separating from the group and bearing
down on the lead escort vessel. When they were barely in range,
both suddenly seemed to catch fire. Tiana gasped at that, but
it was quickly clear that what was being lighted were flaming
masses attached to the catapults, both of which were launched
with a military precision at the lead naval boat, after which
both attackers turned hard in opposite directions. Both shots
missed, and the larger military boat proceeded full ahead, aimed
straight between the two smaller vessels, which now turned

back in.

Two more broke off, going unexpectedly right at the war-
ship, creating four closing attackers on the one larger craft.
The bigger ship adjusted slightly, then let loose her forward
catapult, which was apparently filled with half a ton of small
rocks. It was the machine-gun approach, Joe thought. Nobody
could hit the broad side of a barn with a machine gun, but it
pumped so many bullets in the right general direction that it
was impossible to dodge them all.

By choosing one attacker and firing the tremendous on-
slaught of stone, the navy couldn't miss, and it was clear that
the strategy was successful as the target attacker turned des-
perately to avoid the mass and could not do so.

But at the moment the rocks were striking the craft, the
other three all let loose with fireballs. One fell short, one struck
the side of the naval craft, rocking it but otherwise sliding back
off and into the water with a great hiss, but the third struck
against the rail, splintering into a series of small fires. While
the bulk fell into the sea, several small fires and some black
smoke were visible in the bow of the convoy's protector.

Undaunted, the naval craft swung around and let loose a
second volley of stones as the stern lined up with another of
the attackers. Clearly the pirates were paying a stiff bill for
this one. As the stones rocked the small craft, a cheer went up
from the four merchant crews watching the battle.

Suddenly the second naval escort came gliding past the
Pacah, closing on the attacking boats. As soon as it cleared
the merchant convoy, it loosed its own rocky attack.

Joe frowned and looked around. "Where's the fifth one?"

"Huh?" Tiana, like Marge, was entranced by the battle and
was startled by the question. "It is right—where is it?"

There was a sudden shout from the lookout of the Tolah,
just behind them, and they turned back to see what was going
on. "There!" Joe shouted. "They're already boarding the To-
lah':'

The mate turned, grabbed a megaphone, and shouted at the
pilot in the aft wheelhouse, "Bring her around slow! Make fast
for collision! Crew at the ready! Prepare to board aft!"

Joe suddenly saw what the mate was doing. He meant to
bring the Pacah about slowly, causing the Tolah to run into
their ship's side. At that point, the crew was prepared to jump
to the defense of their sister ship before any of the pirates could
gain control of the Tolah1 s wheel and take her out of the convoy
or avoid the maneuver.

Joe looked at Tiana and Marge. "I don't know about you,
but I'm going over there!" Without waiting for a reply, he went
down the ladder to the deck and made his way aft, drawing
Irving as he did so. The great sword gleamed in the warm sun
and began to hum expectantly.

Tiana followed, drawing her own nonmagical but still lethal
bronze blade. They joined the dozen crewmen, armed with a
variety of swords and pikes, waiting to jump over.

Certainly the fighting was furious on the Tolah, and yells,
curses, the sound of clashing metal, and an occasional cry of
pain or anguish could be heard.

One burly crewman looked at the two newcomers and
grinned. "All right, barbarians—as soon as you hear the bump,
over the side we go. We have at best only a few seconds before
the force of the collision separates us again."

They nodded and braced for it. It came almost immediately,
nearly knocking them off their feet. But in an instant, and with
a joint cry, the Pacah's men stood and made for the boat. just
on the other side of the rail, already moving backward a bit as
it recoiled on the placid water from the shock of the collision.

The pirates were not expecting the attack, and three lost
their lives just by turning at the wrong time to see what new
enemy was screaming so. The rest recovered quickly and ar-
ranged to meet the newcomers. The fight was soon joined, and
before long it was a mass of people. Joe was painfully and

150

JACK L. CHALKER

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

151

suddenly aware that he could hardly tell the human pirates from
the crew of the Tolah, but that didn't bother him right away.
At least half the pirates were nonhuman, some in the extreme.

A reptilian creature fully as tall as he, with burning yellow
eyes and a mouthful of sharp teeth in its lizardlike head, turned
and hissed at him. The creature was a rather sickly blue and
covered in scales, and Joe had no time to reflect on what the
hell the thing might be. The gleaming sword in its humanoid
right hand told him his job, and Irving came up to parry a

blow. They were joined.

He concentrated on fancy footwork and positioning as usual
and let Irving do the work. This thing, whatever it was, was
no pushover, though; it was incredibly strong, and he reeled
under the force of its blows, even as Irving parried them. Still,
he had greater maneuverability and was able to jump once he
got the rhythm of the attacker's sword strokes. He leaped side-
wise and let Irving sweep out of the way; the creature missed,
and its own momentum carried it forward. Joe brought his great
sword down quickly and sliced right through the creature's
scaly neck. Greenish ichor squirted out from the gaping wound,
and the creature roared and reeled backward, dropping its sword.
Joe pressed forward, plunging Irving into the creature's ab-
domen several times and drawing even more green blood.

Satisfied, he turned and saw Tiana taking on a squat, solid
humanoid. The thing was a head shorter than she, but totally
hairless and built like a tank, with huge, clawed hands grasping
a lethal-looking sword. Joe paused to note the expression of
sheer joy on her face as she swung her sword again and again,
matching the pirate blow for blow. She was good, he decided.

At that moment, he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his back
and cried out, whirling at the same time; this maneuver brought
him face to face with a thing he could only think of as a four-
armed creature from the Black Lagoon. Each of its four hands
held a weapon, but one held a broken-off staff, telling Joe that

he had been pierced with a spear.

Too mad really to feel the wound, he screamed and swung
Irving up and at the creature, who lifted one of its two swords

to parry.

This was a tough adversary, since it could use all four arms

separately and had the strength to wield its own broadsword
with only one hand. Joe knew that this sort of creature was

deadly to most opponents, but he'd been trained by an equally
ugly, four-armed monster named Gorodo and he knew the
tricks, moves, and weak spots.

The creature, too, was damned good; in the hack, slash,
and move attack Joe employed, trying to get position, he suf-
fered a wound for every one he scored—but soon two of the
thing's arms were flopping on the deck, and it was roaring in
pain and flinging its swords wildly in front of itself in a hopeless
defense. Joe easily moved under the swords and struck deeply
again and again into the thing's armored chest, so strong his
anger and so powerful his sword that the armor proved no
protection at all.

The creature howled in agony, dropping both swords, and
Joe rushed it, pushed it against the rail, then shoved it over.
He heard a thud rather than a splash and took the time to look
over the side. The creature had struck the pirate ship and now
lay sprawled on the deck.

He turned again and saw Tiana engaging a large, tough-
looking human swordsman. Praying that it wasn't a crew mem-
ber, he looked for more game. His eyes went up to the aft
pilothouse, where he saw a hairy man climbing the ladder to
the wheel. It was clear that, if the pilot was still up there, he'd
been felled by a bolt or an arrow. Using his sword as a passage
through the deck fighting, Joe made for the ladder himself.

Any doubt that the man now up on the wheelhouse level
was a pirate was dispelled as the fellow shouted down to the
pirate craft to pull away, then headed for the wheel.

Joe appeared almost in front of him; for a moment, the two
just stared at each other. The pirate, Joe saw, was as cold and
nasty-looking a character as he'd ever faced, but the man didn't
seem to have any weapon. "Come out from behind that wheel
or die there!" Joe challenged.

The pirate chuckled and spat. "Goodbye, barbarian!" he
snapped and raised his hand in a motion suggesting he was
about to throw something. Joe ducked as a small fireball sped
past him, right through the spot where he'd just been standing.

Joe knew now that he was dealing with at least a low-level
adept and was at risk, but he couldn't wait for reinforcements.
The pirate was already turning the wheel hard, bringing the
Tolah about and separating it from the convoy. Crouching, Joe
made his way around the back of the wheelhouse and prepared

152

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

to rush the pirate. Taking a deep breath, he stood and moved
into the wheelhouse with a cry that stopped in mid-utterance.
The wheelhouse was empty.

"Nice try, barbarian. Now it's time to die," the pirate said
from behind him. Idly, the man made the tossing motion, and
Irving, with its own life, began to parry the little fireballs as
they came.

Joe at the same time eased back to the door on the other
side and quickly ducked around, then pressed himself against
the cabin wall. He wasn't sure what to do now.

The pirate walked calmly out from behind the wheelhouse
and looked at him, grinning. "Nice work. Too bad I can't afford
any prisoners. With a little seasoning, you'd be one hell of a
pirate yourself."

Joe tensed and turned to face the man standing only a few
yards from him, trying to figure out if he could throw Irving
with enough speed and force so that the adept would be unable
to parry.

Suddenly a figure seemed to appear from nowhere and come
to rest between them, facing the adept. It was small enough
that the two men could see right over the newcomer.

"Marge!" Joe cried. "Watch it!"

She spread her wings and looked at the pirate adept. "Want
to practice on me first?"

"Out of my way, fairy, or you bum!" the pirate snarled.

"Go ahead."

This time both hands went up, and from the pirate's palms
came a tremendous surge of yellow energy. It struck Marge
fully, and Joe cried out, "No!"

Suddenly the pirate adept stopped and stared at the Kauri,
his expression of confidence fading with his magical energy
bolts, to be replaced by a look of sheer fright. "No! Don't!"
he cried.

Joe was behind Marge and so could not fully see what the
adept was seeing, but he could see a huge field of yellow energy
shoot from her back at the pirate. The man screamed and was
suddenly enveloped in crackling flames. He fried on the spot.

Marge put down her wings, turned, and grinned at Joe, who
was just gaping at her. "I thought you couldn't fight," he
managed.

The grin grew broader. "But I can defend. He attacked me,

153

JACK L. CHALKER

and he got exactly what he gave. Gee—that was kinda neat.
I didn't even use all of it, you know. Let me see whether I
can release the rest of it down below." She walked to the front
of the wheelhouse and looked down at the fight, which was
certainly now going the merchant's way but was still pretty
fierce. Extending her wings again, she picked out those she
could who had to be pirates. Little spurts of yellow energy shot
from her; down below, humans and nonhumans alike yelled
and screamed in pain. It wasn't nearly enough to kill, only to
sting or bum, but the shock of getting hit with a bolt was
enough to distract the pirates from the people who were cheer-
fully trying to kill them and who took full advantage of their
added worry.

Joe went back to the wheelhouse. He had no idea how to
run one of these things, but he saw the rest of the convoy a
thousand yards distant and going away. At least, he knew
enough to bring the wheel around so that the Tolah was heading
back toward its friends. He only hoped that somebody was left
down there who knew how to find the brakes on the thing.

That proved an easy task to tell, since the sight of many of
their people being killed and of Joe in the wheelhouse was too
much for the pirates, who began to break off, close in as a
group, and make for the rail where their corvette was lashed.

"Marge—you got any juice left?" he yelled.

She turned. "A little, I think. Why?"

"Fly down there and zap the two lines holding their boat to
this one! They'll have to swim for it!"

"Gotcha!" With that she was off, over the side and out of
his sight. A moment later he felt a bump and, looking over,
he could see the mast of the pirate ship begin to move away
from the Tolah. He grinned. "Good girl!"

Suddenly he saw a thick plume of inky black smoke appear
near that pirate mast. Marge flew back up to him and landed,
looking very satisfied with herself.

"They're on fire!" he almost shouted.

She nodded. "I wondered how much juice I had, so after I
zapped the ropes, I saw all this crap on their deck they use for
the fireballs. It was real easy to light."

He looked down again and saw the remaining pirates leaping
over the side. "Damn! Too bad we can't get 'em all, or at least
one, alive."

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

154

"I'm not sure there's much chance of that," Marge replied.
"They had to climb to the top of the rail, which is about five
feet, then jump clear of the running board or whatever it is. I
make it a jump of maybe twelve feet and I think the water here
is only two or three feet deep. The way we're still swinging
around, they'll all still be stuck headfirst in the mud when we
run over them."

CHAPTER !I

ZH1MBOMBE

A percentage of all seats of magic shall be dark towers, said
percentage to be not less than twenty percent of all such seats of
power at any given time. Practitioners of the black arts shall be

given preference for these locations.

—Rules, IV, 203(b) & (c)

BOTH MARGE AND TIANA LOOKED HIM OVER BACK ON THE

Pacah and did a joint shaking of heads. Joe was almost covered
in blood, much of it his own, and Marge swore that she had
seen a crewman on the Tolah pull the working end of a spear
out of his back; yet when the blood was washed off, there
seemed not a sign or mark on him, front or back.

"It's a spell, I think," he told them at last, "although just
how much I want to push it, I'm not really sure. I don't want
to test it by getting my skull crushed or my head lopped off or
anything like that, but it seemed to do its job here. Trouble is,
a weapon still hurts just as much going in as it always did,

damn it."

Both women studied him, skepticism written all over their

faces. Finally Marge said, "I've just run through the entire
spectrum and I can't see a spell anywhere. Joe—are you hold-
ing something back from us?"

JACK L. CHALKER

155

He sighed. "Well, you'll find out about it sooner or later,
anyway. Urn, would it be clearer if I told you that only things
made of silver can cause hard wounds or kill me?"

"A werewolf!" Tiana exclaimed, slightly shocked.

"A were Pekingese, more likely, unless I miss my guess,"
Marge responded. "Is that it?"

He nodded. "Only it's not a werewolf or a weredog." Giving
up, he told them what Ruddygore and Poquah had made plain
to him. "So, you see, I didn't even want to come on this crazy
mission. I've been trying not to think about it since I found
out."

"Well, you said you wanted a little magic," Marge reminded
him. "Looks as if it's handy magic at that. Either the spear or
the sword into your belly might have done you in during that
fight back there—or you'd probably be badly infected, at least.
As it is, you're sitting here chewing on an apple and feeling
fine."

He looked over at Tiana, who seemed very uncertain about
this whole business. Aside from a very small nick on the arm,
she'd fought through without any problems and without the aid
of a magic sword, too. Still, it was she he was most worried
about. "Does all this make a difference to you?" he asked her
nervously.

She shook her head wonderingly. "I—I do not know. On
the face of it, certainly not, but when the moon is full... I
' do not know. The curse is transferable, and who knows how

much self-control you might have?"

/     "A fair amount," he replied. "That's why it's so rare. That
Peke wouldn't have bitten me if I hadn't stepped on its tail. I
think it's something I'm just going to have to endure, like
people with malaria. We'll have to see."

"Maybe it will even come in handy," Marge said thought-
fully. "In a way, it already has done so."

Tochik was another version of Zichis, although it spread on
both sides of the falls, which meant on both sides of the border,
\ and each country had its own routing and lift system. The Pacah
touched port only on the Zhimbombean shore, since all of its
passengers and cargo were to be transshipped south.

South Tochik was an immediate contrast to the lands they
had known. Entry formalities were officious but correct, al-

156           DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

though they gave the impression that exiting would be far more
difficult. All of the officials, not only at the port of entry but
everywhere in the town, wore black military uniforms, and
there was a definite impression of being under martial law. The
immigration officer asked only routine questions of them, writ-
ing in a small book for each; but when all three books were

handed to them, he was very stem.

"These are documents necessary for safe passage in the
Barony. Keep them with you at all times. It is an offense
punishable by imprisonment or death not to have them, and it
is an equal infraction not to present them to any uniformed
soldier of the Barony, regardless of rank, as well as to inn-
keepers, transportation officials, or others who might require
them. As you are in transit to Marahbar, you will go only to
those areas and frequent only those places officials might ap-
prove while you are passing through the Barony. Is that under-
stood?"

They all nodded.
"Good. You will proceed now to your hotel. The corporal

there will escort you and see that you are properly checked in.
As transient passengers, you are restricted to the hotel, its
shops, and its restaurants, unless given permission otherwise.

Have a nice day."

The corporal was a dour, thin young man with the crispness

of a military cadet and the communicativeness of a rock. He
was definitely not a native of the region, whose people seemed
dark and swarthy, but of some place far away and far different.

They were not fifty feet from the customs station when they
saw long lines, not only of men but of various sorts of fairies
and creatures from unknown places, ail shifting cargo under
the watchful gaze of a number of tough-looking military types,
some of whom had whips and others with mean-looking cross-
bows, loaded and held on the workers. It was clear that these
were hardly volunteer labor; and this close to the border, with
ships from the free north putting in and needing service, the

local authorities were taking no chances.

Likewise, it seemed as if there was a uniformed soldier on
each street comer, keeping an eye on everything and every-
body. The few ordinary citizens on the street looked cowed
and terrified and were being stopped every block for some sort
of credentials check. The travelers were waved on, since they

157

JACK L. CHALKER

had an escort. They finally reached their hotel, a small, three-
storey structure that badly needed repair and several coats of
paint.

In point of fact, the whole town looked as if it needed a
great deal of repair. Hitching rails seemed rotted or fallen
everywhere, wood sidewalks were dangerous to walk upon,
and the shops were dingy and grim-looking.

The hotel was as bad as the rest, inside and out. It stank
and looked so rundown that it reminded Joe of more than one
bad flophouse he'd seen in the older cities of America. The
bathrooms were on the first floor and barely better than holes
in the floor, not cleaned or sanitized in ages, and smelling so
bad that no one could waste any time in them. The flies, too,
were awful, not just in the bathrooms; and everywhere roaches
and other insects scampered about. The desk clerk and a few
of the people in the lobby looked just like the hotel—dirty,
worn out, and hopeless.

Marge shook her head in wonder. "We'd need the entire
race of Kauri to do anything here at all. And the soldiers are
worse. They all feel so—dead inside, beyond all hope."

"You be careful around here, no matter what your impul-
ses," Joe cautioned. "You saw how all those 'dead' soldiers
were looking at you out of the comers of their eyes. I can just
imagine what would happen if you fell into their hands."

"Worry less about me and more about us," she cautioned.
"I wonder how long we'll be stuck in this great pigsty of a
town?"

The answer was quite some time, with no way of telling
exactly when they would leave. The soldier outside refused
permission for them to inquire of the shipping agency, but also
could not inquire for them without getting approval from her
superiors. No, they couldn't contact her superiors without the
proper forms and permissions. No, she couldn't supply the
proper forms and permissions. It was one of those bureaucratic
nightmares and it meant they were kept bottled up.

Tiana, in particular, didn't like it. She was in her home
territory now, but there was a pretty good fugitive warrant on
her that their simple cover names and stories would not hide
for long. How many beautiful and exotic women six feet six
inches tall would there be trying to get into the country? They
discussed their options, which included fighting their way out,

158

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

waiting for capture, or just sitting around, and grew itchier and
itchier as they did so. Joe, in particular, was not enamored of
the enormous prices they were being charged for the stale bread
and half-rotten meat they were being served by the hotel.

Finally, though, just as they had decided to force a move,
a soldier arrived and informed them that their ship was now in
and that it would leave in just one hour. They were to accom-
pany him immediately, or they would be stuck for two more

weeks.

The inn, which, it turned out, was owned by the local

government, quoted an outrageous room rate and they couldn't
afford to haggle. They either disputed the bill, they were told,
in which case the dispute would be heard by a local magistrate
in "six or seven weeks," or paid up now and got their boat.

Snarling, they paid up.

The boat, another shallow draft freighter, was also a patch-
work affair, and it was clear that this, more than anything else,
had thrown its schedule into disrepair. The oarsmen on this
one were chained in place and supervised by tough-looking
soldiers; the sail had been patched so many times it was im-
possible to see anything that looked original on it. But the boat
clearly .had been built by the same company that had constructed
the Tolah and the Pacah, and the cabins, while not very com-
fortable, were at least an improvement over the hotel. The
smell, however, was overpowering at times, since the entire
central flat carried, not standard freight or amphoras, but goats.

Hundreds and hundreds of goats.

Still, if a decent place to look could be found and the wind
was right for the passengers and wrong for the goats, the scen-
ery was spectacular.

The heights of Sogon Gorge reached almost a thousand feet
on both sides, making the travelers feel as if they were moving
through a small Grand Canyon. The gorge emptied into the
third and last of the lakes leading to the River of Dancing Gods,
Lake Ogome, a very deep natural reservoir that looked as if it
should be fished as well—but they saw no craft of any sort
on their passage southwest. Although there were no falls at its
outlet, there were violent and swirling rapids, and a great deal
of work had been done to dig an elaborate canal with locks to
get the boats around them. It took the better part of a day to
clear the locks and rejoin the river once more.

JACK L. CHALKER                  159

Everywhere now, there was a strong contrast from the op-
posite shores. To the north was still Marquewood, with small,
brightly colored villages and lush farmland; to the south was
Zhimbombe, rough, ugly, and overgrown, the few villages in
sight looking either deserted or unfit for animal, let alone hu-
man, occupancy. Obviously the area along the border, perhaps
all the way, had been cleared of people by the Barony and
allowed to overgrow into wilderness, but there was no doubt
in the minds of the three passengers that the riverbank was
heavily patrolled, and it wasn't to keep Marquewooders out,
either.

For Joe and Marge, what took place on the boat itself was
an education. Neither had ever really experienced slavery and
its cruelties firsthand, nor seen human beings chained and beaten
as expendable draft animals. It was repulsive—and, worse, it
was beyond their abilities to do anything to help the poor
wretches. Captain, crew, and military, which were of the mixed
races that seemed standard in the Barony, were crisp but not
friendly or approachable. They handled their three passengers
like carriers of some dread disease and spoke only when nec-
essary.

The boat crossed the joining of the Tofud and the River of
Sorrows late in the evening and moved into the mainstream of
the now great and powerful river. The trio knew that they soon
would be reaching their departure point, which might be more
of a problem than it had sounded when Ruddygore sketched it
out.

They were to leave at the junction of the River of Sorrows
and the Corbi, the closest point to Witchwood and on the main
road to Morikay. It would have been along this road that the
troops of the Barony had marched for their ^crossing into Mar-
quewood for the fatal battle not many months past, a battle
those troops had almost won.

They passed the spot, still littered with the remnants of
temporary bridges and abandoned equipment, late in the day,
but decided to ride a bit farther downstream. Darkness would
'be a better ally here, and it wouldn't do just to jump ship near
the road that was probably the most heavily guarded in the
entire Barony.

It was still fairly easy to slip over the side, despite all the
military aboard. The goats, for once, came in handy, covering

160

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

161

any sounds they might make, and nobody really paid the three
passengers much heed, anyway. The idea of jumping ship at
this point was obviously ridiculous.

The water was surprisingly cold and the current rough. Joe
cleared the ship and then, half swimming, half drifting with
the current, made his way toward shore, with Marge slightly
overhead to be sure he made for the right one. She had already
scouted the immediate shoreline and found no signs of a patrol.

He reached the bank and pulled himself up onto muddy land
and into the brush, then just lay there, getting his breath, while
Marge went back to make certain Tiana would not get separated
from them. She was gone a fairly long time, and Joe began to
get worried, but finally Marge returned. "She's about a hundred
yards down from here," the fairy told him.

He nodded, got up, saw how muddy he was, then made his
way along the bank. "What was the hang-up?" he asked her.

"The sword belt, apparently. Getting it freed from herself
so she could swim, she ran into some brush drifting down and
had to get herself untangled."

He nodded understandingly. "Yeah, I had some hairy mo-
ments myself with Irving. Lost my new sandals, too, damn

it."

Marge chuckled. "Well, she lost more than that."
They soon joined Tiana, and Joe saw what Marge meant.

Tiana was sitting there, breathing hard and looking disgusted,

wearing only mud.

"What happened to you?" he asked, trying not to chuckle.

"I was not bom with three hands, that is what happened,"
the large woman responded disgustedly. "I tried carrying sword
and belt and whip and wound up losing my clothes to a floating
bramble. Scrambling for them, 1 lost the rest. Damn." She got
up and walked a little way forward.

"Where are you going?"

"Back in the river. I have to get 'some of this mud off."
This she did, taking several minutes, then sighed and came
back out again. "I don't really mind losing the clothes, but the
sword, belt, and whip are a real loss."

Joe thought a moment. "Well, maybe we can replace some
of it, anyway. Let's take advantage of this darkness while we
have it and see if we can find that road. Marge?"

"I'm off," the Kauri responded and flew into the night. It

was not long before she returned. "I'd say three miles, no more.
There's an old village right on the river that's abandoned,
except by troops. Nasty-looking bastards, I'll tell you. Big eyes
and beaks, of all things."

"Bentar," Tiana said. "They are birdlike humanoids, very
large, very fierce. Mercenaries all. Their eyes see like cats in
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
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 Broth-
ers Grimm."

CHAPTER 12

W1TCHWOOD

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 confi-
dence, as they always did. When their leader reached hailing
range, he called out to the soaring, great white and brown birds
who awaited him.

164

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 chief-
tain shot back. "Will you bind the skies as your foul masters
who hold your leashes bind the earth? We recognize no bound-
aries 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

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 any-
one. Basically, he laid half a spell on me, then randomly scat-
tered 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 mathe-
matical 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 stu-
pid 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?"

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 them-
selves 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.

"Hey! Let go and push me up!" he shouted. She did, and
Irving came down again and again, slicing through the vines
and causing the bush to issue loud, high-pitched screams. Sud-

JACK L. CHALKER                 167

denly all vines were withdrawn, and he managed to get to his
feet. Only Tiana prevented him from rushing in to take the
sword to the bush itself.

"There are too many of them!" she shouted at him, and he
calmed down and saw that what she said was true.

"Let's get over to the road," he suggested nervously.
"Marge—take the high road as far up as you can without getting
into the trees. Better they not see you until they have to."

Marge nodded and rose into the air, then paced her com-
panions there as they limped out to the road. Joe found he had
some fairly nasty welts where the vines had grasped him, but
they began to fade almost immediately. Tiana looked at them
and said, "Perhaps it is well after all that you have this curse.
The poison those things have is often strong enough to paralyze
a horse."

"I'll be all right," he assured her, standing and stretching.
"But anybody we meet on the road, I'll face with the sword,
I think. I don't like those green uglies."

With Marge softly humming, "We're off to see the Wizard,"
they started nervously down the road.

Joe felt better after a while and chuckled dryly. "You know,
here I am surrounded by sexy naked ladies, and the only thing
I can think of right now is that I haven't eaten anything since
we left that damned boat. Must be really getting to me, though—
I could swear I smelted something cooking right now."

Tiana sniffed the air. "You are not imagining things. It
seems to be coming from just over there. Let us see what this
could be."

They walked over and saw a small path through the trees
and brush leading back to what looked like a fairly large, two-
storey Victorian house. Or, rather, it looked like a cast of one.
It was perfect in every detail, but clearly it was a solid block
of some dark brown substance. They approached it cautiously;

then Joe went up to the front steps, sniffed, and said, puzzled,
"Gingerbread?"

Both Tiana and Marge approached and checked it out, then
they nodded. "Gingerbread." Marge giggled. "It really is a
huge gingerbread house."

"Yeah, but for whom? First time I saw two tons of ginger-
bread in my whole life," Joe noted.

168

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

Tiana was the only one who did not find it amusing. "This
is one of Esmerada's famous creations. It appeals to her warped
sense of humor."

"Huh?"

"She creates these things, then sentences those taken for
crimes to work on them. Soon there will be prisoners here,
forced to eat according to their offenses."

"Forced to eat? You mean it's not poison or something?"

Tiana shook her head. "No, not poison. But do not take it
so lightly. For a major crime, you could be sentenced to eat
out an entire living room, parlor, and two bedrooms. With a
minor witch inducing a spell of gluttony, you could literally
stuff yourself to death. It has been a traditional punishment
with her ever since her great-grandmother was killed by a pair
of bratty kids."

"Hmmm... Well," Joe said, "I don't know about punish-
ment, but I feel hungry enough to eat out a room or two myself.
Shall we try it from the back? They'll never miss it."

Tiana shrugged. "We must have something. Why not? Marge,
will you watch, just in case the prison gang approaches?"

Marge did, not being able to suppress a bad case of giggles,
and they had gingerbread for breakfast. It wasn't very nutri-
tious, but it was filling, and a small creek that ran through the
clearing provided a little water with which to wash it down.

"I suppose that somewhere around are the poisoned apple
groves," Marge commented when they were done.

"They are to the north," Tiana told her matter-of-factly.
"Not all are poisoned, though. There is one, for example, that
is the most powerful aphrodisiac known. A fair amount of
business is done by selling those throughout the region."

"Sounds like fun," Joe remarked.

"Esmerada has been known to feed them exclusively to
people in adjoining cells of the tower dungeon, within sight of
each other but just out of reach. They kill themselves trying
to get at one another."

"Pleasant character. Was she here when your father was on
top?"

Tiana nodded. "Oh, yes. Witchwood was then essentially
a buffer, and it was simply regarded as an autonomous region.
The road was guaranteed, HI exchange for Esmerada's having

JACK L. CHALKER

169

her own way in the balance of the place. Once this was the
seat of power for a great region and the place of learning for
all black arts witches, but my father more or less limited her
activities. Still, he thought they were as friendly as two great
powers ever get, and there was a general compromise. She
gained the Council with his help and support, as part of the
deal which protected her and her order from others in Husa-
quahr. And look at how she repaid him!"

"Well, let's see how—oops! Somebody's coming!" Quickly
the three of them checked out the brush, picked their spots,
and barely got under cover in time. Joe hoped fervently that
there were no more nasty vines around or other unpleasant
surprises.

The big surprise was what was passing along the road. They
had expected an occasional Bentar patrol, but this was a fairly
long column of twos, all human and obviously very military,
yet all wearing ordinary clothing and carrying standard knap-
sacks or bedrolls on their saddles. With varying growths of
hair and beard, they looked very much like the sort of people
who might be met anywhere in this world, despite their bearing.

When they had passed, the trio emerged from hiding. Joe
scratched his head and frowned. "Now what the hell was thatT

"There is no way to tell," the big woman responded, "but
clearly they are heading for the river and are in disguise. Some-
thing is going on, I will say that."

"Do you suppose it fits with the shortage of boats on the
River of Sorrows ?" Marge put in. "The pirates caused the delay
upstream, but we had to wait almost a week for ours from
Zhimbombe. The Marquewooders just about said that the Bar-
ony was in league with the pirates. They have all this, so it's
not the cargo they were really after. Maybe it's the riverboats
they want."

"Now why would they want riverboats?" Joe asked her.
"They'd have to take 'em apart and shove them overland to
get them to any place useful to them."

"That may be, but it's still an idea. The Zhimbombean boat
looked just like a wom-out Marquewoodian one. Maybe they're
using their own boats for something else, huh?"

"Yeah—but for what?" he mused. "Something's funny here."

They pressed on, speculating but unable to add anything to

170

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 171

the mystery. They still lacked too many pieces of the puzzle,
and that was supposed to be Ruddy gore's problem, anyway.
They had other jobs.

They finally found a spot concealed from the road that
seemed safe enough to use as a camp and got some sleep. Joe
stood first watch, then Tiana, and finally, as shadows fell again
upon the wood. Marge took her turn. It was well into the night
before all were rested enough to continue, and the two humans
were feeling very, very hungry.

As they made their way again along the road. Marge sud-
denly called, "Joe—look out! Above you!"

He stopped, turning and drawing his sword at the same time,
and saw a menacing black shape leap at him from the treetops.
Marge's warning had been well timed, and the thing missed
Joe's dodging form and virtually impaled itself on his sword.

It twitched a few times, then was still, and they all stared
at it. "An impaka," Tiana told them. "It is a vicious, meat-
eating rodent."
. Joe looked around nervously. "Do they hunt in packs?"

"No, they are usually solitary hunters. This one is a male
and is probably a forager for a den. We might meet others,
but we might not. Still, this is a very good omen for us."

"How's that?"

"They are tough and gamy, but they taste very much like
a cross between rabbit and squirrel."

Joe looked at its nasty snout and dirty black hair and won-
dered just how hungry he was. Still, with Marge's scouting,
they found a safe-looking spot and some branches for a crude
spit. Tiana, using a spell she called a very simple thing, made
a fire and then instructed Joe in the proper skinning and mount-
ing of the beast.

Although they were nervous about the fire being seen and
reported, both Joe and Tiana were too hungry to care at that
point, and the thing yielded close to eight pounds of meat.
Marge found a plant with a bell-like flower that was stiff and
permanently open, it seemed, and managed to locate and fill
two bells with water and fly them back to the camp.

Satiated, they proceeded along the road once more through
the night, occasionally having to dodge an isolated patrol. They
were aware of strange sounds within the wood and odd chants.

Once in a while, white ball-like things floated through the trees
deep inside the forest.

Although they went mostly by night and slept most of the
day, Tiana showed an uncanny ability near dawn and sunset
to become perfectly still, often for up to an hour, waiting for
a small animal or bird to come near, then quickly pounce and
capture it. She came up with several rabbits, squirrels, a few
unfamiliar but edible small animals, and even two fair-sized
birds. When Marge and Joe asked about it, she simply told
them to spend several years among the barbarian tribes of the
north. There one learned such things or one starved.

After more than three days of this, they reached the center
of Witchwood and the Dark Tower. It lived up to its name in
every respect and seemed not only ancient but downright sin-
ister.

The fortification surrounding it was shaped like a five-pointed
star and rose about ten feet from the ground. There were gates
in the wall at each of the inner angles, but it was clear from
the paths to them that only two were actually in any sort of
use these days. The walls themselves were patrolled by nasty-
looking Bentar sentries and by what sounded like a roving pack
of equally nasty guard dogs. The tower itself stood in the center
of the fort, rising over three hundred feet into the air. Here
and there, windows were occasionally lighted with an inner
glow.

Marge tried flying up to the top and approaching the up-
permost window, but she found that, as soon as she got to the
start of the fortification part, there seemed to be an invisible
wall that was impenetrable by living beings of any sort. This,
then, was the sorcerous barrier that could be crossed only with
the permission of those inside.

Joe sighed when told the news. "So what do we do now?
Go up and knock?"

"She is much too clever to fall for that," Tiana responded.
"Our identities, or at least our descriptions, must be known to
them. She would understand in a moment our objective if we
did that."

"That would go for being taken prisoner, too, then," Marge
put in. "So what do we do?"

Tiana suddenly had a thought. "Joe—how long has it been

172

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

173

since you were bitten? The moon looked almost full last night."

He thought about it. "Let's see... Two days later, we were
still in Sachalin, then three days down the lake, another three
laying over in Zichis, then four down to Tochik..."

"Seven more stuck in that hole, then five downriver," Marge
continued the count. "How many is that?"

Twenty-four," Tiana told them. "And we have now been
five more in this land. Tonight will be the first night of the
full moon, then. Marge—can you not see the curse coming
forward?"

Marge looked at Joe, and, sure enough, in the bottommost
part of the magic band, there was a faint but discernible black
pattern. "Yeah. What have you got in mind?"

"First we spend the day here, within sight of the tower. Let
us see who and what goes in and out of those gates. When we
know that much, we can better make our plans."

They did as she suggested, finding an uncomfortable but
adequate concealment near the gate facing them, while Marge,
grumpy about being kept up all day but nonetheless curious,
staked out a convenient tree near the other gate. In midaftemoon
they met to compare notes.

"Well, let's see, not counting the dozen or so witches on
broomsticks flying in and out from the top of the tower, we
have a half-dozen Bentar, two ogres, five humans, and four
fairies of unknown but various types," Marge summed up.
"Where does that get us?"

"In, perhaps," Tiana said. "I do wish we knew the exact
time of sundown, though. It would be a great help." She looked
at the sky. "Perhaps three more hours. The moon is already
full, so the transformation- will be directly at sundown, which
is a help. Marge—more work, I fear. We must pray that the
good spirits remain with us and that a target of opportunity
presents itself."

They fell back about a quarter of a mile from the tower and
waited while Marge continued to scout the area. She returned
as sundown was almost upon them and they had just about
given up being able to put the plan into operation that night.
"Rider coming. Bentar on a big black horse. I think it's one
of those that left earlier today."

Tiana nodded. "It will have to do. Joe, get into position.
I'm going to lure it your way if possible."

Joe drew his sword and got behind a tree just inside the
forest. Tiana and he had gone over this many times, but he
was still uncertain about it and still apprehensive about all that
could go wrong. The sun was almost gone, and it would be
cutting things very close indeed, even if all went well.

The Bentar came along the road, dressed in full armor, a
huge, muscular, man-shaped bird with nasty eyes. It was look-
ing pretty well straight ahead, but Tiana made enough of a
commotion to attract it by the simple expedient of seeming to
trip over a vine and cursing.

The Bentar officer glanced quickly in her direction and did
not hesitate. Dismounting and drawing its sword at the same
time, it proceeded cautiously into the woods, being as quiet as
a creature as large as it was could be.

Tiana had gotten up and taken cover behind a tree, but she
was careful to leave just a part of leg exposed to view. The
Bentar, after checking the area, suddenly spotted it; while the
great birdlike head remained expressionless as always, a tiny
forked tongue ran out of its mouth and along its beak in an-
ticipation. Slowly, carefully, the Bentar soldier crept toward
the tree that almost concealed her, passing several other trees
at the same time. After it passed one particularly large speci-
men, Joe, still unseen, brought down the flat of his sword on
top of the Bentar's bronze helmet, and the creature toppled
over, groaned once, then lay still.

Tiana quickly rushed over to the fallen soldier, checked,
and nodded to Joe. "Hurry," she told him.

"I'd still rather be the Bentar," he muttered, but he went
out to the road all the same. They had gone over and over this,
and the way they were doing it was the safest and surest way
to do what had to be done.

Marge held and pacified the large horse, but backed off
when Joe approached. He looked around nervously, not quite
knowing what to expect, or even whether this wasn't something
rather stupid. It certainly looked dark enough to him, if this
curse thing were really true. He just stood there, petting the
horse, and hoped that all would go well.

There was a sudden, odd blurring of vision and the fleeting
feeling that he was on fire; then it was over. Marge rushed out,
looking very happy, and she and Tiana hurriedly removed the
saddle, pack, and bridle from the Bentar's horse—and put them

174

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER

175

on Joe, who was now that horse's twin.

Only his prior experience as a bull, when he'd had an en-
counter with a Circean, kept him calm and cool. In point of-
fact, being a horse felt, well, right somehow.

The two women barely got the original horse out of sight
before there was a great stamping and cursing in an inhuman
language issuing from the brush. Joe turned his horse's head
and saw the Bentar, dizzy and rubbing its head, manage to
make its way out to the road. It headed for what it believed
was its horse. Just before mounting, it turned unexpectedly and
shouted, in the universal language, back at the forest, "All
right—you have had your little victory! Enjoy it! None of you
shall leave Witchwood alive, and your fate will be most un-
pleasant!" With that the Bentar mounted the horse and urged

it slowly forward.

Joe had been uneasy that he wouldn't know how to react,
but he found that his duplicate horse's body felt like and reacted
just like the original. They approached the gate nearest the
ambush spot, and the Bentar reined him in and called out,
"Guards! Open the gate! I have important news!" This was
followed by several under-the-breath curses in the odd-sound-
ing Bentar tongue, but Joe didn't think he needed a translation.

Despite the sorcerous protections, the place was as well
guarded as any fort, and two sentries appeared atop the wall
with crossbows aimed at the outsider, while a small peephole
in the gate itself slid back to reveal a pair of eyes, then slid
shut again. There were muffled commands given, dogs barked
furiously, and the double gate of bronze and wood opened
inward. The Bentar rode into the castle at this, and Joe was
relieved to find no barrier to his own passage. He had been
worried about what constituted an invitation and had feared
that he would be stopped at the entrance while the Bentar sailed

through.

They entered a courtyard that was larger than Joe had ex-
pected by what could be seen from the forest. Two female
grooms ran to take the bridle and halter as the Bentar dis-
mounted. The soldier then went immediately to a nearby tower
entrance and stalked inside, while the grooms led Joe to a stable

had been prepared. He was mildly annoyed that he'd found
that the wipe and brush felt really good, and he started in on
the hay without thinking about it. In fact, it wasn't until he'd
eaten his fill and relieved himself in true horse fashion that he
bothered to think much at all. He tried the welcome invitation,
but found that only a contented neighing issued forth; that
brought a curious groom, who petted his head and fed him a
lump of sugar, but nothing else. There seemed little to do but
try to catch some sleep and hope both that he awakened before
dawn and that the Bentar didn't want to go back out that night
on him.

In point of fact, he expected a hue and cry and a full-force
patrol to be dispatched and didn't know whether to be relieved
or apprehensive that neither occurred. He vaguely guessed,
since the Bentar talked to and used birds, that the message was
being conveyed by swifter means and that the avenues of escape
would soon be closed off in the immediate area, with perhaps
a bird search for the strangers in the forest. He hoped that Tiana
and Marge could withstand the search until dawn.

Joe awoke and looked nervously around. He was human
again, and that was definitely sunlight coming in through the
wood slats of the stable. He was stark naked and unarmed, of
course—there had been no way to take or transform his sword
or breechclout—but definitely in control. Except for stepping
in a little horse excrement and reflecting embarrassingly on
where it probably came from, he was in fine shape. First busi-
ness first, he decided, reaching up to his left ear. The device,
somewhat to his surprise, had been transformed with him and
was now still there. Keeping his voice low to avoid attracting
a groom, he took hold of the earring, rubbed it, and said,
"Throckmorton P. Ruddygore and any in your service, you are
free to enter the Dark Tower of Witchwood and invited to do
so."

There was no apparent change, and he only hoped that the
message had been heard and that the wording had been suffi-
cient. If so, then Marge could reach him if need be by flying,
and whatever the system was of getting word to Ruddygore
would go into immediate action. If not, then he was in for a
pile of trouble.

He wondered how late it was. The cool dampness he felt

176

JACK L. CHALKER

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

177

told him that it was still quite early, perhaps just beyond sunrise,

which was fine with him.

He heard someone enter and ducked down, then crept to
the front of the stall, crouching in expectation of an attack.

"Joe?" came a familiar whisper.

He stood up, cautiously looked out, smiled and nodded,
then reached over and undid the latch. "Good to see you,
Marge," he said, keeping his voice low. "And thanks."

She dropped a bundle at his feet and looked greatly relieved.
"That's heavy, damn it, and that sword hates me. I hope you
appreciate what I did for you just now! / carried iron!"

He nodded and quickly re-formed the breechclout and put
it on, followed by sword and belt. Marge had taken a great
risk carrying Irving, and not just from the terrible weight, even
though Tiana had another simple spell to help her for the short
haul here. The glorified loincloth, tied around the hilt and
scabbard of the sword, was all that had been protecting her
from the deadly iron blade. Only the ornate gold and bronze
hilt, which covered the true iron base of the sword, had made

it possible at all.

He hugged her. "Now I think we better get out of here.

Those grooms or Bird-face and his friends will be here any

time."

She nodded gravely. "But where? There are sentries on the

wall that I really had a time avoiding to get in here—that sword
dragged me down a lot—and every place else is their barracks,

the kennels, and the tower."

"The tower, then. We might as well take risks here. If the
old boy doesn't come through, I'm done for, and probably
Tiana, too." He paused a moment. "She's okay, isn't she?"

"When 1 left her, anyway. She's dug in within sight of the
gate, figuring that's the last place they'll look for her. There
were owls everywhere last night, and at dawn a huge flock of
ravens lifted off from the top of the tower and fanned out in
all directions. I thought I even saw some eagles up there,
believe it or not. The hunt's really on, so her best bet is to stay

still."

They made their way back to the stable door, and Joe peered

nervously out. The sentries were visible on the wall, but they
seemed to be looking either out or straight ahead, and the
courtyard itself appeared clear.

At that moment there was a wild, maniacal cackling sound
from the direction of the tower's upper levels, and the sentries
turned and looked up. There was a sudden roar, and then all
eyes followed a black figure on a broomstick riding out over
the wall to the west.

"I wonder why they always cackle like that?" Marge mused.

"Probably in the Books of Rules," Joe grumbled. "Let's
move before this one turns around for another launch."

They made the barely twenty feet to the tower door with
no trouble, and Joe was relieved to find that it opened when
he tried it. Quickly, both were inside and they shut the door
quietly behind them.

Clearly the tower was a complex place, and they had entered
on the ground floor. Stairways led around the whole outside,
both up and down, and vanished in both directions through
cavities in the floor and ceiling. This level in general looked
barren. There was, however, illumination from torches around
the hall, and a stone altar in the center.

"I don't think we better stop here," Marge said nervously.
"That altar's stone, but it has a reddish look. Before long, this
might be Grand Central Station."

Joe nodded. "Up or down, though?"

"Well, down's probably either the dungeons or Esmerada's
workshop, neither of which I particularly want to visit. I'd say
up. If we hit some novice witch, I might be able to deflect
some of what she has, although my power's not much against
women."

"Up it is," he agreed, and they cautiously crept up the stairs.
The next level was a warren of rooms, but they had no desire
to find out whose. There were definite snores coming from the
darkened level, lots of snores, and some of them sounded
decidedly nonhuman.

They went up through several more levels. These contained
everything from rooms full of various sorcerous paraphernalia
and wardrobes to an entire level in which young women were
preparing meals. That one was not as hard to get through as
they'had feared, since the girls were busy and there were few
of them.

"What happens when we get to the top?" Joe whispered to
Marge as they climbed and climbed.

"We don't get that far—I hope. I think maybe we ought to

178          DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

find a hiding place and just camp out. The top level's the home

of those packs of birds, I'm pretty sure."

"The storerooms would be handy," he suggested. "Shall we

go back down?"

"One more level. I'm really curious about this place."

He shrugged and followed. They emerged into a brightly
lighted room with a polished and stained oak floor and walls
that squared off the chamber, made of some sort of paneling.
There were no furnishings, but at the far end of the room,
flanked by two floor-to-ceiling red satin curtains, was a huge
and hideous multi-armed idol, seated in the lotus position. Its
face was a travesty of a human woman's face, and it had eight
human arms coming from its somewhat distorted human torso.
Each of the hands held a different deadly weapon—dagger,
sword, crossbow, garrote, and the like. While it seemed made
of some black stone, its eyes were blazing red rubies of nearly

impossible size and perfection.

"Looks like something out of Gunga Din," Joe noted. He

wasn't much on books, but he loved old movies.

"The goddess of death, all right—or what passes for Kali
here," she agreed. Together they approached the altar and its
statue and examined it. "Look at those stones! Wouldn't Ma-

core love it?"

"I, for one, wouldn't touch it. It's probably cursed a thou-
sand ways from Sunday."

"Actually, I'm not," the idol responded. "If you looked like

this, would you need much in the way of curses?"

They both jumped. Joe started to pull his sword—and found
that it would not come out of its scabbard. He pulled and
strained at it, but it just wouldn't come. There was a chuckling
behind him, and he and Marge whirled to see a tall, attractive
woman standing there. She was dressed in a black satin robe
and, except for snow-white hair, looked very young and pretty.
Both, in fact, had seen that face only weeks before.
"Esmerada," Marge said, feeling trapped.
Joe stopped tugging at Irving and just stared at the witch
queen. Swords wouldn't do for somebody like her. It would
be like going against an elephant with a peashooter.

"This is all quite amusing and interesting," Esmerada said
conversationally. "How in the world did you two get in? Well,
never mind that for now. I assume the plot was to get inside

JACK L. CHALKER

179

somehow, then issue an invitation to Tubby Ruddy for a show-
down. How droll. Well, you're here, but old Tubby's nowhere
in sight; and since the invitation must pass from inside to
outside, I hardly think you'll get the chance." She turned and
shouted down the stairs, "All right, boys—bring her up!"

There was a commotion below, and Tiana was brought up,
flanked by half a dozen Bentar. She had her hands tied behind
her back and her arms lashed with heavy rope around her chest.
She looked at her friends, shrugged, and said, "Sorry."

"Since you two were taking the tour, come on up one more
flight," Esmerada invited Joe and Marge, still being casual.

They followed her, with the Bentar and Tiana bringing up
the rear. The next level proved to be a comfortably appointed
apartment, obviously the witch queen's private quarters.

"Untie the woman," Esmerada commanded the Bentar. They
hesitated, and she added, "She's no threat—now."

The rope and hand ties were swiftly cut, and Tiana massaged
her wrists for a few moments.

"You can go," the witch told the Bentar. "I'll handle things
from here on in." They looked uncertain, but left.

"Please, take seats, all of you," the witch urged. "We might
as well be as comfortable as possible for a little while."

Figuring that they had no other choice, all three of them
took seats. There really wasn't much else to do. Esmerada
seated herself in a large, high-backed plush chair opposite them
and crossed her legs. "So, now. What shall we talk about?"
"That idol—is it really alive?" Joe asked, genuinely curious.
She chuckled. "Oh, yes. A former adept of mine who got
too big for her robes. I changed her into the statue because it
was amusing. She's totally frozen except for her mouth. She's
a useful object lesson, though, to the newer girls, don't you
think?"

"Charming," Tiana muttered.

Esmerada smiled. "So glad you approve. I'll try and make
things equally entertaining in this case. You, Kauri, are simple.
Just neutralize your therapeutic qualities, remove your ability
to think, and give you to the soldier boys. You and they will
have a continual ball. Nothing but animalistic sex until the end
of time."

Marge shivered but said nothing.
"As for you, big boy—you're more of a challenge.

180

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

Hmmm... Let's see... We really shouldn't lose the properties
of that magic sword, I think. Maybe a gargoyle. Yes, defi-
nitely—a big, lurking, hulking gargoyle with bat's wings to
guard the gate and attack any who enter that I wish eliminated.
No, too ordinary. Well, I'll think of something." She sighed.
"I wish I had the complete set. Too bad I can't play with both

you and the amazon here."

Joe looked up at her. "What's that mean?"

"She's due on the ten o'clock broom to Morikay. There's
a friend of mine there just dying to meet her."

Tiana bristled. "You would not do this!"

"Why not? Then he owes me one." The witch chuckled.
"Seeing your reaction, I think it's the absolutely perfect thing

to do."

Tiana started to rise, but Esmerada gave an idle flick of her

hand, and it was as if a giant's hand pushed the big woman
back into the chair. The witch smiled sweetly, then made a
few gestures in the air. Marge switched to the magic band and
was startled to see just what a riot of color and complex patterns
filled the room. Still, she could see the witch's hand actually
trace out a basic pattern of new material. It shot out from her
rapidly moving fingers like spider's silk, reaching and covering
the big woman. "Just stay there for a few minutes, won't you
dear? I have to stick these two in storage for a bit."

Tiana struggled, but she was bound tightly and securely to
the chair with a pattern so complex that neither she nor Marge
could have understood or duplicated it in hours—and the witch
had done it almost as an afterthought!

Esmerada got up and gestured to Joe and Marge. "Come
with me." She paused. "Oh, take the sword off first and just

leave it over there on the floor."

He hesitated, and she gave another seemingly random series
of finger motions. Abruptly the sword belt tore on the side
opposite the scabbard, and both it and Joe's breechclout were
flung against the far wall by a force invisible to him, but all

too visible to Marge.

The witch smiled her sweet smile once more. "Now, follow
me and don't dawdle, or I'll have to get a little unpleasant,"
she warned them. It was enough, and they followed her.

To their surprise, they went not down but up. "I put the

181

JACK L. CHALKER

dungeons up here when I redecorated," Esmerada told them.
"In the basement, escape was unlikely but possible. Up here,
you not only have to break out but must get down through all
the lower levels. Or fly, of course."

The dungeon level, as she called it, was second from the
top and contained about two dozen small cells. They walked
along and saw some pitiful remnants of humanity and fairy
people in them, most certainly no longer sane. All were naked,
but one wore on his head a helmet that totally enclosed it. As
they passed, he rushed forward, crying, "You must listen! I
am King Louis! I aw!"

Marge frowned and hesitated, then shook her head and went
on.

They finally reached the end of the cell block, and Esmerada
opened a cell door. "In here, big man."

Joe hesitated, there was the hand motion, and he felt himself
violently shoved inside the cell. The door clanged shut behind
him. Marge made no resistance to entering the next cell. The
doors, while of metal, bore no clear locks. They were made
fast by Esmerada's spell, and that was better than any lock.

The witch looked back at the Kauri and thought a moment,
then made a few more motions with her hand. Marge saw long
threads of gold and silver emerge and bind her in a pattern
even more complex than the one that held Tiana downstairs.
"What is that all about?" she asked.

"You're grounded, dearie," Esmerada replied. "In technical
terms, I just increased your density and altered your specific
gravity. You won't notice it, because I've compensated you
for it, but if you try and take off, you'll get nowhere. You now
weigh two hundred pounds, you see. I also removed your wings
so you wouldn't smash them, although I fear that also removes
any power you might have."

Marge gasped and raised her arms; they were totally free
once more. She now must look pretty much like a wingless,
naked, burnt orange version of Disney's Tinker Bell.

"Well, goodbye for now, darlings!" the witch queen called
as she walked away. "I have much to do today, including
getting our big beauty off to the city, but I won't forget about
you, never fear. Ta-ta!" With that, she was gone down the
stairs.

182

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

The cells were made of solid stone blocks, bound with some
very hard mortarlike substance, and it was clear that escape

was all but impossible from them.

Joe looked around his cell. There was a large pile of straw
that served as a bed, he supposed, and what looked like a
bronze chamber pot. That was about it. The old girl took no
chances with her prisoners, that was for sure.

He walked to the only opening, the barred door. It was far
too tight for him to do more than get a hand through between
the bars, and there was no lock even to try to pick or reach.

It was hopeless. "Marge?" he called.

"Yeah, Joe," came her voice, sounding a little far away.
"I'm sorry I have to stay back a bit, but those bars are iron."

"I understand." He sighed. "Well, I guess we just pray for

rescue before she remembers us again, huh?"

"I guess so," Marge responded dejectedly. "I hope it's a
rush job. It wouldn't take more than a few flips of the wrist
for her to do to me what she said she would."

"Yeah, I know.",He sighed again. "Wonder why she even

waited?"

"It's no fun to her unless she lets you stew for a while,"

came a man's cultured voice from the other side.

Joe was startled. "What? Who's that?"

"A fellow prisoner, I fear," the voice replied sadly. "I've
been here quite some time. Months, actually, although it seems

like years."

"Huh? How come she hasn't turned you into a toad or

something?"

The voice sighed. "She doesn't dare let me out of this box.

I am held, my friend, by the strongest, most diabolical set of
locks you can imagine, and I'm actually inside an inner box
as well. She is very evil and very clever. My inner box is but
a scant foot from the outer one, which is only a fraction short
of what I can reach. She is diabolical."
"Why two boxes and locks?" Joe asked.
"One finger," the voice said mournfully. "If I could just get
one finger a fraction outside the cell, all would be changed.
She knows that, and she's tortured me with this arrangement."
"Who's that, Joe?" Marge called. "I can hardly hear him."
"Yeah," Joe pressed, "who are you, anyway?"
"I am Count Esmilio Boquillas," the voice replied.

CHAPTER 13

OF FRYING PANS AND FIRES

No thief shall ever travel without all the necessary tools of his or
her trade.

—Rules, VIII, 117(b)

"IT WAS THE BARON WHO DID IT," BOQUILLAS TOLD THEM AS

the morning passed. "I believe in the necessity of social rev-
olution, but the battle should be for the minds and hearts of
the people, not their lives. Yet what could I do? As a theo-
retician, both of social principles and of the magical arts, I was
no threat. I have no vast armies nor great cults. By common
agreement, the City-States remain neutral territory, lest all Hu-
saquahr strangle for lack of trade. I gave my word to them. I
would be free to speak out against this terrible war, but I would
not actively intervene on either side. As neutral, then, as mo-
rality would permit me. For a while it was enough."

"The Baron thought you stabbed him in the back, huh?"
Joe responded.

"Indeed. The Baron was convinced that his battle plans in
the Valley had been betrayed, so that his flanking maneuver
was in itself outflanked. He felt, too, that certain of his powers
had been neutralized; and since he was facing Ruddygore, the
only sorcerer with the guts to defy him openly, he felt that the
additional sapping of power had to come from an outside source.
He blamed me, but I didn't know it at the time. He was, in
fact, quite cordial. He told me he was investigating his own
lacks in that affair and, since I was the foremost theoretician
in the area, he invited me to what amounted to a magical post-
mortem of the battle. Naturally, I accepted; even though I
opposed the war,.the idea of being able to study and analyze
183

184

JACK L. CHALKER                  185

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

this methodology firsthand was a once-in-a-lifetime opportu-
nity. I had no reason to suspect his motives, as we had had
many such meetings on a friendly basis before—and I've also
met with the other members of the Council from time to time."
"It was three to one, though, and you got trapped," Joe

guessed.

"Precisely. This box had been specially prepared for me. I
am far too good for them to destroy, even all three, but they
did manage to knock me cold for a period. My defensive spells
were too much for them to unravel in the short time remaining,
so I was carried up here and put inside. It is a bizarre and
humiliating experience, and a humbling one. It must have taken
them months to construct this cell, but it is tight. Within the
inner box not a single spell can be cast, not a single thin strand
of magic can penetrate in either direction. I am totally and
completely powerless within it. The locks arc elaborate and
made of dwarf-forged steel, taking three keys that must be
moved together and in certain ways to unlock them."

Joe had to chuckle. "Crazy. Here I am in a magic box, and
there you are in a nonmagic one. Each of us is helpless where
we are, but might do something if our positions were reversed."

"You know the picking of complex locks?"

"No, but nothing mechanical is foolproof, particularly in
this world. That's why thieves still do a good business. They're
just the local equivalent of truck mechanics."

"What mechanics?"

"Oh, never mind. I— What the hell is thatT

From the floor above them came terrible screeches and
squawks and a great deal of thumping around. The noise lasted
for some minutes while they waited to see what might be
coming next. Finally things seemed to quiet down once more,
and they heard someone slip down the stairs and land on their
floor. Who or what it might be they couldn't see, but the
upstairs commotion had started the predictable outcry in all the
cells, and so it was impossible to do anything but continue to

wait.

A few minutes passed. Then finally someone approached
the door of Joe's cell and looked inside. "Joe? Is that you?"

The big man was thunderstruck. "Macore? Is that really you
or is this some witch's trick?"

"Oh, it's really me. I was just holding down the fort, so to
speak, when I saw Tiana come out on that broom, captive of
one of those harpies. I figured I better get in here before it was
too late."

"But—how?"

"Let's just say I have a lot of fine feathered friends.
Hmmm... Where's Marge?"

"Next cell—no, the other way."

Macore went over, looked in, then returned. "Fast asleep.
Well, we'll wake her up when we have to. Hmph! Spellbound
doors. This will be a tough one. Even if I work on the hinges,
the damned thing might stay in place."

"Wait a minute! In the cell next to me is Count Boquillas.
He's in a nonmagic cell, and that means locks. And here we
were, just wishing for a good thief!"

Macore walked over and examined the outer door. "That
you in there. Count?"

"Yes, it is me," the cultured voice of Boquillas responded.
"Can you do anything?"

"Let me study the situation for a minute. The outer door's
pretty standard. I'll get my small pick and jeweler's hammer
out and do some probing." For a while there were only small
picking and hammering noises, with all comments and ques-
tions shrugged off by the thief as distracting. Finally they heard
a decisive, hard metallic tap and then the sound of creaking
hinges.

"You did it!" Boquillas breathed, not really believing it.
"But—can you take the inner locks?"

Again Macore set to his work, at one point actually closing
the outer door so he could get rid of the annoying other noises
from the prison area. He began attaching a series of small
magnets around various points in the door, then maneuvering
them with his ear to the inner cell door. Finally he seemed
satisfied, and out again came the pick and tiny hammer. There
were three hard taps, then two more, then one more. "All
right—push on the door now, Count."

Boquillas did, and the door swung open. Macore found
himself facing a wan, elderly, and very scrawny-looking man
with long, matted, white hair and beard and hard lines in his
face. He didn't look much like the picture Ruddygore had

186

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 187

shown them, except for the eyes, which were the same ener-
getic, almost electric brown eyes of the portrait.

"I can't believe you actually picked the locks so easily,"
Boquillas said wonderingly. "If you only knew how long I
studied them..."

"Oh, it's a talent, just as you have talents," the little thief
responded modestly. "However, a thorough knowledge of all
kinds of lock mechanisms, years of on-and-off practicing on
them, and the right tools help. Come on—let's free the other
two."

Boquillas nodded and made his way out to the hall. At this
point, he stretched and seemed to gain in both strength and
stature as Macore watched him. Before the thief's startled eyes,
the frame filled out and both face and form appeared to grow
younger. Finally all that was left of the old man he had freed
was the hair and beard; the rest was unquestionably the Count
Boquillas of the portrait, his face full of determined self-con-
fidence. He walked to Joe's cell, looked at the door, chuckled,
then began a series of tracing motions with his left index finger.
The door creaked and then opened a trifle. Joe went over to
it, pushed it, and entered the hall. "You don't know how glad.
I am to meet you, Count," he said sincerely.

Boquillas nodded, then walked down to the next cell.
"Humph! The old girl's getting sloppy. Same damned simple
spell." Again the finger traced and again the door unlocked
itself.

Marge was still fast asleep, but it was a shock to see her.
Without those grand wings, she looked very frail and childlike.

Boquillas stepped inside. "A defrocked Kauri. Amazing."

"Can you restore her?" Joe asked hopefully.

"Certainly, but it will take time. This is a far more complex
spell; if I don't get it right, she'll wind up worse than she is
now. Best I simply add something, which is easy, and take
care of the restoration later." Again a few finger gestures. "This
will give her a jolt of energy to get going and also rearrange
her time sense and eyes to daylight. For the moment, I think
we'd best just get the hell out of here. I assume Ruddygore is
coming?"

"Yeah," Macore told him, "but it won't be quick. These
communicators don't have much of a range, so the message is
going north by eagle."

"Then I don't think we dare wait for him. I couldn't protect
both of you people, even though I have no worries about myself
any more. I think, also, that I want to go to some place that
is mine and get myself back in shape before going on with
this. Thief, can you handle Ruddygore's amenities?"

"Sure. No problem. But where will you go? And how?"

"Up. Up and over, the same way you came in."

"But eagles can't carry you!"

"No, not eagles. Me. As much as I would like to stick
around for the showdown for personal reasons, these two need
me to get clear not only of the tower but of Witchwood. We'll
go to my retreat on Wolf Island. When Ruddygore is finished
here, send one of your eagles to tell us the news, and we can
plan from there. Agreed?"

Macore nodded. "Sounds fair to me. Oh—Marge is waking
up."

She turned and groaned, then opened her eyes and looked
around, puzzled. "Joe? Macore? Am I dreaming?"

Quickly things were explained to her. With Joe carefully
holding the door open wide so that she would not contact iron,
she walked out and glanced around. "Now what?"

"To the top!" Boquillas said, and they started upstairs.

The rookeries and aviary inside the top level looked like the
remnants of a war zone. There were dead birds, feathers, and
blood all over the place. "The boys were a little messy," Macore
told them.

A ladder and trapdoor brought them to the top of the tower
and outside into the midday sun. Marge was startled. "It's been
a long time since I could look normally at a day like this."

Macore turned and looked upward, then made a series of
motions with his arms. "I just told them everything was fine."

Boquillas nodded. "Good. Let's waste no more time. Stand
back against the far wall, all of you."

They did as instructed and watched as the sorcerer went to
the very edge of the tower's top, then got up on the narrow
ledge. He seemed in intense concentration; then he stretched
out his arms, and they all gasped as he apparently plunged off
the cornice.

But Boquillas did not fall. Instead, rising back up to the top
was an enormous bird, the largest and perhaps the ugliest any
of them had ever seen. It had to weigh close to a ton, and it

188

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 189

seemed impossible that such a thing could fly. It landed back
on the roof, completely blotting out the sky and giving them
little room to move. "Get on my back," Boquillas' voice came
from the giant, misshapen beak. "I will carry you all to safety.
Be quick. A giant roc is bound to cause a great deal of attention
below."

They needed no urging, but it was scary getting up on that
broad back. They finally did, though. "Now just hold on and
do not panic," Boquillas told them. "Grab one another around
the waist and dig in hard with your feet—quickly!"

They followed his instructions and then felt a tremendous
jolt and bounce. They were airborne.

Boquillas settled down and hovered unnaturally at treetop
level. "Hop off now, thief. You should be able to make your
way down from here."

Macore let loose and looked nervously at the top limbs.
"Yeah, if I don't break my fool neck. Well, here goes." He
slid off and managed to grab onto a branch that held, finally
pulling himself in. The roc then flew away, gaining altitude
and speed as it went. Soon they were high in the warm air and
rapidly heading southwest.

"Over to the right, there is Morikay." Boquillas told his
passengers. "You can see the great castle directly in the center
of town, rising on top of the mesa." They looked and saw a
large city spread out along the banks of a river at the junction
of the main river branch with what had to be the Zhafqua. The
land was quite level; but in the center of the densely populated
area, a single reddish hill with a flat top stuck out, and atop it
was Castle Morikay.

"It looks like Disneyland," Joe commented. He seemed
suddenly struck by other, darker thoughts. "Tiana's in that thing
somewhere."

Marge gave him a squeeze. "We'll get her out. Don't worry
about that. First things first."

He nodded, but was mostly silent for the rest of the journey.

He had no idea of the speed they were making, but it was
in the best tradition of jet airplanes, despite the heavy breeze
and lack of comforts. In only a couple of hours the flat land
gave way to what appeared to be a seacoast. This was Lake
Ktahr, and soon they could see two large islands. The roc

banked toward the southernmost of these, a heavily forested
wilderness. Near the southern end, though, on a bluff, they
could see Boquillas' retreat—a castlelike structure that was
not large as castles went but looked very much the part. Bo-
quillas descended toward it, landing just outside the low castle
walls.

Joe and Marge slid off quickly, then stood back as the giant
bird reared up, stretched out its massive wings, and seemed to
dissolve and shrink into human form once more. Soon only
the Count himself stood there, looking much as he had looked
back at the Dark Tower. He smiled and nodded, then came
over to them. For a moment he examined them with a critical
eye, then noted Marge's golden necklace and Joe's lone earring.-
"I assume that these hold the communicators the thief spoke
about."

Joe nodded. "So we're told."

Boquillas reached out and took the necklace in two fingers,
then pulled. It was still intact, impossibly so, as if it had come
right through Marge's neck, but it was off. With a quick mo-
tion, he reached up and pulled on Joe's earring as well. It, too,
came off. "Hey! What?" Joe managed, but Boquillas silenced
him with a nonmagical gesture, holding up his hand.

"A thousand pardons for this, but, you see, although I trust
you just fine, I can not really trust Ruddygore. These will be
put in a safe place and returned to you, I promise, when you're
ready to leave the retreat. I simply can not afford to have you
even inadvertently invite him in without my permission and
restrictions. You do understand, I hope."

They didn't really like it, but they had little choice, and it
did seem reasonable. Both, though, remembered that Ruddy-
gore had not really trusted Boquillas, even though the two were
on good terms with each other. No top sorcerer ever could
fully trust another of at least equal and possibly superior pow-
ers.

Boquillas turned, said, "Follow me now," and walked up
to a small gate which opened inward as he approached. There
had been no hue and cry at their arrival—in fact, the place
looked deserted—but Boquillas wasn't in need of a lot of
servants. He had a large place in the City-State of Marahbar
for that, after all. This was his place and his alone.

190

JACK L. CHALKER                   191

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

They entered the courtyard, which looked somewhat over-
grown and unused, and headed for the small castle's main door.
Marge glanced down at the soft earth and gasped, which caused
the other two to stop and turn in puzzlement. "What's the
matter?" Joe asked her.

"Look at the prints I'm making in this wet ground! I'm
practically sinking in it!"

"That is Esmerada's spell, or part of it," the sorcerer ex-
plained to her. "Kauri normal construction is far less dense
than that of humans or even most other fairies. The spell is
actually a transmuter, altering the atomic structure so that you
are made up of much heavier stuff. Don't let it trouble you. I
will examine it in more detail tonight and see about unraveling
it. Esmerada is quite good, though, at that son of thing. We
may have to wait until Ruddygore does her in before the spell
is loosened enough to be worked on. Still and all, it's tem-
porary. Come in and let's get cleaned up and have a decent
meal."

They entered. As Boquillas went along the dark castle halls,
torches burst spontaneously into light, and even fireplaces be-
gan to roar. Marge recalled Ruddygore's comment that Bo-
quillas had a penchant for cheap magic and theatrics. She
wondered who was expected to cook this meal and how fresh
the food would be. That startled her, too—thoughts of a meal.
She was starting to get hungry for real food, she realized,
although she hadn't needed to eat since plunging into that
molten pit back in Mohr Jerahl.

Boquillas led them to a combination dining hall and study,
the walls of which were lined with copies of the Books of Rules
and other volumes. He stopped by one wall briefly, then took
them up a flight of stone stairs to a second floor area.

There were only two rooms and a large alcove upstairs. The
Count led them to the far room and opened the door. It was a
spacious bedroom, with thick carpeting on the floor and carpets
of various designs hung on the walls as well. A window looked
out on the lake, providing a nice view, once the thick shutters
were opened.

"Things are a trifle dusty," the Count said apologetically,
"but I'm afraid it's been a while since anyone was here. The
small door over there leads to an operable shower and toilet,

which you share with my own room. I have begun the fire
under the cistern above, so there should be hot water. Soap,
shampoo, and all the amenities are there as well, and I will
allow you some time to clean yourselves up. A bit of conjuring
has permitted me to take a look at you and shape some appro-
priate clothing, which you'll find in the chest over there. When
you're washed, dressed, and relaxed, join me downstairs in
the main hall, and we will eat and talk."

With that the Count left them alone. Marge looked up at
Joe. "What do you make of all this?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but it's a damn sight better
than a cell in that witch's tower. I do know, though, that I'm
in bad need of a cleanup, a good meal, and a nice, long sleep."

"I'll go for that," she agreed.

The shower, which used a rooftop container that apparently
caught rain and held it, was ingenious and practical. There was
even hot and cold running water, from two separate tanks,
although it took a lot of experimentation to get the balance
right. The soap was the heavy lard soap so common to Hu-
saquahr, but there was also a liquid soap that made a good
shampoo, and both Joe and Marge used it.

The climate here was tropical but damp, and the stone of
the castle made things a bit chillier than they normally would
have been.

The clothing Boquillas had conjured up for them had to
conform to the Rules on such things, of course, so Joe found
a clean breechclout and a pair of well-made sandals for himself.
Marge, who had not been able to wear clothing since getting
her wings, now could once again and found that Boquillas had
interesting tastes. He had provided a loose slit skirt of some
satiny yellow material that hung on her hips and a halter top
of the same material, as well as a pair of matching, open-
topped, high-heeled shoes that gave her a couple of inches in
height but also quite a wiggle to her walk, due not only to the
shoes themselves but also to the excess weight they had to bear.

When Marge had finished dressing, she paraded in front of
Joe and asked, "Well? How do I look?"

"Beautiful. I'm turned on already."

She laughed. "At least I come up to your thick neck now."

192

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

193

She looked at him playfully. "Sir, may I have your arm?"

"Delighted," he responded, and they went out and down to
the main hall.

As far as they knew, there were only the three of them in
the castle or on the whole island, yet the table was set with
fancy tableware and covered tureens and dishes. Boquillas,
sitting in a high-backed chair trimmed with gold, rose and
greeted them with a smile, closing a book he'd been consulting.
It looked very much like one of the volumes of Rules, but
since neither could read the language, they couldn't tell which
volume it might be.

"You look wonderful," he told them. "Please be seated."

"You look pretty good yourself," Joe replied, and it was
true. Gone were the last vestiges of the scrawny, bearded pris-
oner of the Dark Tower. Boquillas wore the fine clothes of a
civilized gentleman, reminding Marge, at least, of some Span-
ish don, complete with ruffled shirt. His beard had darkened
to black with only a fleck or two of gray here and there, and
his hair, now washed, trimmed, and combed, matched that
coloration. On each hand he wore several large golden rings
in which were set precious stones.

Boquillas took them through the meal, from appetizer to
salad to soup to main course, which was a whole roast pheasant
perfectly done, all accompanied by very fine wine, but the talk
they had was mostly small talk. Marge found herself eating
ravenously, as much as or more than Joe, and she had to ask
about it.

"When Esmerada took your wings, so to speak, she took
with them the powers of Kauri," the Count explained. "That
meant your very unusual biochemistry had to be changed, and
this was done. With a structure that is three times as heavy as
that of a human or earthbound fairy—about the density of a
dwarf or a kobold, actually—you require more to fuel it. You
see now why these spells are easier put on than taken off, I
think. It is not enough just to change one thing. When you
change that, you also change thousands of other things as well
by sheer necessity. To put on the spell is easy, as much of this
follows automatically. Magic runs by natural laws as fixed as
any in the world. But to remove the spell, one must decode it.
I must crack Esmerada's personal secret code, then undo the

spell in such a way so that you aren't killed in the process of
restoration."

That seemed to make sense. "Just how—dense—am I?"

"You mean weight? Well, if you were human, someone
your size would weigh, perhaps, eighty pounds. She tripled
your density without adding to your apparent size, so that would
make you about two hundred and forty pounds. It's not as
complex as you make it out to be. Just imagine a feather. Light,
airy, a floater. Now transmute that feather's atoms by adding
a bit here and subtracting a bit there so that those same atoms,
the same number, are atoms of lead. That's what was done to
you."

She nodded. "But I still feel the same. I still have the same,
well, urges and inclinations."

The sorcerer grinned, and Joe looked at her curiously.

"You are still you, that's why," the Count told her. "Why
not just relax and take things as they come? It is always best
in this crazy world."

They continued to talk after dinner, this time on more sub-
stantive topics. Boquillas wanted to know their basic histories,
background, and details on the scheme. They decided to keep
as close-mouthed as possible, but he had surmised much.

"Of all the sorcerers of this world, Ruddygore is the most
complacent and satisfied with things as they are," he told them.
"I suspect this comes mostly from his being able to move
between the worlds, almost at will. You know—the man who
can travel anywhere, see, enjoy, and experience anything he
wishes, then comes back to his comfortable, stable home to
rest. The trouble is, for the rest of us it's not all that simple.
This world is, after, all, comfortable only for those with wealth
or magical power that brings such wealth. The vast bulk of the
population, both human and fairy, toils under a system where
muscle is the only thing that matters. It is their labor that makes
the comfortable lives of the few possible, yet they share very
little of the rewards. Nor can they—for if they stopped their
unceasing toil, the whole world would grind to a halt and
collapse. It is not the magicians and kings of this world who
are essential to it, though—if we all vanished overnight, this
world would probably be the better for it."

"You sound as if you feel guilty for being one of the leaders

194

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

195

here," Joe noted. "It seems to me that you're talking one side
and living the other."

"A fair point," Boquillas conceded, "but any social revo-
lution here will never come from below. It can't, as long as
magical talent is the measure of authority. It must be imposed
from above by ones who are firmly committed to changing
things."

"A benevolent despotism," Marge said.

"If you like. The alternative is either a malevolent despotism
or a totally amoral one that doesn't care about anybody and
has a stake only in keeping things the same. Esmerada is a
good example of a malevolent despot, and your friend Rud-
dy gore is the amoral one. In a way, he's worse than the witch
queen."

"Huh?" they both said at once.

"Yes, I know that's a shocking statement, but consider that
even the evil ones are committed to change. Not the kind of
change we would want, I grant you, but change all the same.
It is Ruddygore who stands against change of any sort. Any
society whose intelligentsia knows atomic theory and structure,
to name just one example, is one with the potential to grow,
to create machines to ease people's labor, to produce, in fact,
a system whereby everyone profits from his labors according
to his contributions. We have a complex, multiracial society
here with everything it needs to become a great civilization,
yet we find innovation stilled, invention wiped out. Even in
the magical arts, which create the elitism and maintain the
feudalism, there is room for expansion. Look at those Books
of Rules on the walls around me. Absurd, aren't they?"

"From what we've seen, I'll grant you that," Marge ad-
mitted.

"With guts, a benevolent Council could eliminate those
Rules—wipe 'em out instead of continually adding, deleting,
modifying, and changing. That alone would totally liberate
society from its stratifications. You could change. Barbarians
wouldn't continue to be barbarians unless they wanted to, nor
would dwarfs have to toil in the mines, or Bentar be mercen-
aries. Each might also leam what of the art they could, so that
all would have a measure of power, and their collective power
would be enormous. The Rules are nothing more than those

of the privileged elite keeping things forever static. The steam
engine was invented at least eighteen hundred years ago, yet,
thanks to one of those Rules, it is nearly instant and horrible
death to build one. You see what I mean?"

They thought about it. Finally Joe said, "I don't know. I've
seen the other side and it's not so great."

"Oh, you've been to Earth, then? Ruddygore must indeed
favor you."

Joe shot a glance at Marge, and she got the look. "Yes,
we've both been there. Every time they have a revolution with
noble goals, it seems to wind up just the same—dictatorship,
the workers working just as hard for just as little, while some-
body new gives the orders and lives the good life. The only
difference is, those new leaders kid themselves that it's okay,
that one day it will all be different. But it never is."

"You sound like Ruddygore, which, I suppose, is to be
expected. And, in fact, I agree that things usually work out for
the worst in such movements. That's why the Council is so
important. If, right at the beginning, it writes the new, simpler,
more free and democratic rules, progress can work here. I've
devoted a good deal of my adult life to determining those ideal
rules, and they are very simple and very basic indeed."

"It's an interesting idea, but I'd hate to see all this spoiled
if you made one mistake. I guess you've never gotten the rest
of the Council to go along?"

Boquillas chuckled. "They're all stick-in-the-muds by the
time they reach their positions. It takes decades of work, ded-
ication, endless practice, and stress to get to the top in my
profession. By the time most of them reach that position, either
they're too old and set in their ways or they feel they are getting
their just payment for all the agony they went through getting
there. It does tend to give you quite an ego."

"Sounds like doctors," Marge muttered, but he didn't hear
her.

"Yeah, but what if it's the Baron who gets to rewrite the
rules instead of you?" Joe asked him. "I'm not sure I'd like
those rules, considering the company he keeps."

The sorcerer shrugged. "In many long conversations with
the Baron, I have never been absolutely clear on what he wants.
So far, it's just getting control that matters. It was my hope

196

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 197

that I could influence him, should he win."

"Could be," Joe said, yawning. "But I doubt it. Sorry about
the yawn, but I'm dead tired."

The Count was suddenly all courtliness. "Oh, I beg your
pardon! Please—both of you. Go on up and get some rest.
Sleep off the whole of your ordeal. Tomorrow we will get
down to what happens next."

As much as Marge wanted to keep talking, she, too, was
really feeling the exhaustion of the past few days. With a few
more words, they excused themselves and went upstairs.

Joe looked around the room. "Well, what do you think of
him?"

"I don't really know," she admitted. "On the one hand, I
like him. He's got tremendous charm and a real sincerity about
him. On the other hand, I don't think I'd trust him too much.
I had the feeling he was keeping a lot from us, and I don't like
his taking away the transmitters, even ifMacore and Ruddy gore
know where we are."

"We can't worry about it," he told her. "Hmmm... Only
one bed. I hope we'll both fit on it."

"Oh, we'll fit," she assured him, and they both undressed
and got in, after brushing a bit of dust off the sheets. Joe just
lay there a moment, thinking, and she knew what the problem
was.

"You can't forget Tiana, can you?"

"No. I keep thinking of her in the hands of that bastard and
I want to go charging off to the rescue."

Marge sighed. "I wish I still had all my powers. I can feel
the hurt inside you, Joe, and I wish I could help."

He turned and pulled her close, then kissed her. "Maybe
you still can. Want to try?"

She smiled. "You know I do." They embraced and kissed.

"Damn!"

She pulled away and stared in confusion at the other in bed
with her. Where Joe had been only a moment before, there
was now an exact duplicate of herself.

The duplicate rolled onto her back. "Damn!" she echoed.
"It must be sundown."

Marge sighed, remembering the curse. "Well, we might try
it anyway."                    ,

The transformed Joe shook her head. "No, it's no use. When
I was a horse last night, I was every inch a horse. It's an exact
physical duplication. Exact."

"Huh? You mean...?"

"Uh-huh. I want it as much as you. I want it from Joe,
though, and, hell, I'm Joe."

Marge sighed, knowing exactly how Joe felt, and pulled up
the sheet. "Well, at least we both fit on the bed."

They awoke at almost the same moment. It was quite dark
and all seemed still. Both just lay there, not really aware that
the other was awake, lost in thought.

For Joe, it was an interesting experience. Not merely the
physical change, but the change from human to fairy. It felt—
well, not better or worse, but different. Without even realizing
it, he shifted his Kauri eyes from the regular band, which saw
only darkness, to the magic band, and suddenly all was alight
with intricate and colorful patterns. It was all over the place,
in, around, and through them and all the objects in the room,
as well. For the first time he saw as Marge, Ruddygore, and
Boquillas could see, and he understood just what this world
was really all about.

He got up from the bed and went to the window, something
he couldn't have done under normal circumstances without
breaking his neck in the dark, and found it unusual to have to
strain on tiptoe to the utmost to see out of it. It had seemed
relatively low to him the day before.

There was a storm off in the distance. He could see the
night sky occasionally light up, and every once in a while a
distant, jagged pencil stab of lightning. A breeze whipped up
by the storm made the lake surface rough and caused breakers
to smash themselves against the cliffs far below with repeated
dull roars.

Marge got up and came over next to him, also looking out.
"It's very pretty, a night like this."

He nodded. "This magic band is kinda wild, though. Jeez!
It's all over the place! Even the lake has it!"

"Well, it's a little more crowded around here than it is with
the usual spells, but, yes, there's magic in everything and
everyone here. Both the Laws and the Rules are magic, and

198

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L CHALKER

199

they determine just about anything."

"You know, it sort of reminds me of that night in west
Texas, except for the water. Same kind of far-off storm, same
pitch darkness. We sure have been a long way since that night."

She took his hand and squeezed it hard. "Yeah, we sure
have." They both lowered themselves and hugged and kissed
each other. "You know, it seems that we should have been a
pair rather than just a team. Things never worked out the way
we figured."

Joe chuckled. "Yeah. Even tonight. Seems as if something's
always working against us, doesn't it?"

There was a tremendous rumbling sound echoing outside,
and they turned back to the window and again looked out. As
the lightning lighted up the southern skies, Joe said, "Funny."

"What's funny?"

"Those big clouds out there. When the lightning goes off,
they almost look like demons' faces."

"Huh? Let's see." She stared out, waiting for the next flash.
It seemed as if it would never come, but then it did, and she
saw that he was right. "Yeah, I see it. Looks almost like that
hideous thing we met in the tent just before the battle." She
looked again, making adjustments. "Joe—I don't think this is
imagination. Shift back to the magic band."

He did, and looked again. It took a while waiting for the
next flash, but then he saw just what she meant. When the face
in the cloud was illuminated in the magic band, it seemed
framed in shades of crimson and lavender, but there was no
pattern. All the other magical things had patterns. "What's it
mean?"

"Solid magic, Joe. Pure magic. A pure magical force, not
the kind of things we see here. Joe—that isn't a dream. It's
real. That is the demon we met. The Baron's demon, coming
toward us under cover of that storm."

Joe frowned. Although frustrated in one respect. Marge
found it fascinating to see herself as everyone else saw her,
and she liked what she saw. "What are you thinking of?" she
asked.

"Didn't he say the bathroom connected? Want to try a peep
and see if he's there?"

"He may have a spell on the door, but let's try. You stay

here. I'm more used to this than you are and I'll know what
to look for. If I can get a peek into his room, it's going to be
tremendously crowded with magic."

He nodded and watched as she entered the bathroom and
crept to the door on the other side. After listening for a moment,
she tried the door and found to her surprise that it was open.
She peered in, then quickly shut the door again and returned.
"He's not there."

"It doesn't mean anything. He could be downstairs, any-
where."

"I think maybe we ought to find those little transmitters and
turn them on," she said. "Just in case."

Joe thought a moment. "He had 'em in his hand when we
came in, but not when we went upstairs. I don't think he
dematerialized them or anything, so they're probably down-
stairs in the den. That's the one place he could have stopped
for a moment before coming up."

"Right. Let's go."

Joe sighed. "I don't know how we're going to explain my
looking like this if he catches us."

"If he catches us, that will probably be the least of our
problems."

"Good point," he conceded and followed her out into the
dark hall. The magic gave enough of a glow to the place to
guide them to the stairs. The torches were still burning dully
below, enabling them to proceed on normal visuals.

They crept down the stairs and peered into the den. Several
books were open and scattered around the table, but there was
no sign of Boquillas. They walked in and started looking care-
fully for any place that the Count might have put the jewels,
but not discovering any likely one. Joe was also finding it hard
to adjust to being far shorter than he'd ever been. Things that
had been within easy reach of him before now seemed unat-
tainable. He began to understand why Kauri had the ability to
fly.

They looked over the area for the better part of an hour
without finding anything. Then the storm hit outside, and Marge
turned to him. "We'd better give it up and get back upstairs.
If the storm is here, he's probably finished."

Joe nodded, and they scampered quickly upstairs. The rain

200

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 201

was blowing through the windows in great sheets, and only by
dragging over a stool could Joe get enough height to close the
shutters.

Marge took one of the long sulfur matches from a holder
and lighted the lamp, illuminating the room with a ghostly
glow.

Joe got down off the stool and sat on it, oblivious of the
wetness. He was wet enough anyway. "So what do we do
now?"

She shrugged. "Wait it out. I just can't believe he's the
Baron. If he's the Baron, then what was he doing in Esmerada's
prison?"

Joe suddenly felt a burning sensation once again, and knew
now just what that meant. "How about that? Sunrise, I guess.
I'm me again."

"Welcome back, Geronimo. Speaking for myself, I like you
this way a lot better. But I still can't figure it all out."

"I agree with you. If he's the Baron, then everything that
happened yesterday was a sham. It meant they knew we were
coming, what we were there for, and that he planted himself
in that cell next to us so we'd fall into his hands."

"Yeah, but even if we buy that, how could he possibly know
that Macore would be there and the right man to break us out?"

Joe had an uneasy thought. "Maybe it wasn't Macore. Ever
think of that? We saw somebody turned into a crazy statue,
and I've sure been turned into stuff lately. Even you were turned
with a few finger motions, and the Count became a big bird
with no trouble. So what's to keep him from turning somebody
into an exact copy of Macore, or even Esmerada herself doing
it?"

"It just could be. But—why? I'm sure neither she nor Bo-
quillas knew about the transmitters. If that's so, then Ruddy-
gore's still going to get in and find her. Certainly the Count
didn't have a chance to tell her."

Joe shook his head sadly. "I don't know. Maybe he just
didn't need her any more. Maybe she was even in the way."

"Not quite right, my friend," a familiar voice behind them
said. "She was of great use to me." They whirled and saw
Boquillas standing in the door to the bathroom.

"Don't look so shocked," he told them. "You think your

wanderings of the evening would go undetected here? I left a
lot of magical strands to see just where you went. For your
information, the transmitters are in a small chest on the top
shelf of the den, masked by a few books. If you had had more
time, you probably would have discovered them. It was an
oversight on my part, but not one that was fatal."

"I have a feeling that the reason you're telling us this is
because we won't have a chance to get back- there, right?"
Marge said uneasily.

Boquillas grinned. "Alas, no. However, as long as those
devices remain there, they will give out an all's-well signal to
Ruddy gore's eagles. Your thief friend, who should arrive nearby
in a day or two just on suspicion, will be lulled. I may even
trot you out under a spell to tell him how wonderful it is here,
if it's still necessary by that time."

"What do you mean, still necessary?" Joe asked. "What the
hell is going on here, anyway?"

"A very complicated plot, or series of plots, I fear. My
original plan was already under way, but I still lacked a key
element. I had to get Ruddygore out of the north. I had to bring
him south, the farther south the better. There were any number
of ruses, of course, but when he launched his own little plot
against the Barony, it all fell neatly into place. Although I still
don't know how you got into the tower, I had no doubt you
would. Because I had to know the mechanics of Ruddygore's
little plot, I contrived that imprisonment scenario. Thanks to
it, you not only came willingly here with me but also told me
about those interesting little devices. That was what I needed
to know."

"Was that really Macore?" Marge wanted to know.

"Oh, yes. It would hardly have the ring of truth, not to
mention giving me a nice alibi, if it wasn't. He has quite a—
record, I suppose you might say—and is rather well known
up and down the rivers of Husaquahr. I had no doubt that he'd
come running when he saw Tiana flown off as a prisoner, or
that he could pick those locks. If he hadn't, though, I had other
rescues arranged. So now, today, Ruddygore enters Witchwood
and faces down Esmerada, who is convinced that I will come
to her aid. Poor Esmerada. She has style, but she always was
a second-rate politician."

202

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 203

"You intend for Ruddygore to kill her, then?" Marge re-
sponded, somewhat appalled.

Boquillas shrugged. "I have far more vital things to attend
to today and tonight as the Baron. Ruddygore is very powerful,
as well I know, and I would prefer to face him on my own
terms at a later date. That, however, might be rather soon. You
see, Ruddygore will attain the seat in Witchwood, but at the
expense of Terindell."

"What!"

The Dark Baron grinned at them. "For the past few months,
in small groups and under civilian cover and disguise, a rather
large force has been moving north on riverboats. Even now
they are beginning to assemble for their individual marches,
closing in on Terindell. Another army is north of Lake Zahias,
set to strike at Sachalin. Yet a third will besiege Halakahia at
the same time. The Sachalin attack will tie down my only
sorcerous threat in the region, while I take the key cities and
transportation hubs. I personally will take Terindell, then attend
to my brother wizard to the east."

"Big talk," Joe told him. "If Ruddygore can't set foot in
here, what makes you think you can set foot in Terindell?"

The Baron laughed. "Alone I can not, but I have a rather
powerful ally. You saw him earlier this morning, I would

guess."

Marge just shook her head. "So all that talk about the horrors
of war and a great moral crusade was just so much wind for
another brutal dictatorship."

"Oh, no! All that I told you last night I fully believe, I
assure you. I am bringing revolution to this world and I will  -I
change it for the better, make it free and great. But I grew   |
weary of trying. I was a voice crying for sanity against a world   [
oppressed by powers who would fight all change. It was ob-
vious that no change was possible except by using the one thing
they respect—brute force in all its ways. But come. We must
attend to you for a while." He made a few hand gestures, and
both Joe and Marge felt their bodies below their necks go
completely numb. With no control at all over themselves, they
found themselves getting up and walking out into the hall, then
down the stairs, the Baron following.

Their heads were still their own, though, and they continued
'o press the conversation.

"All your allies are evil sorcerers and a demon from Hell,"
Marge pointed out. "I don't think they have the same visions
as you do. You've fooled yourself."

The Dark Baron chuckled. "Well, Esmerada's going to be
a vacancy soon, and I will appoint the next candidate, one who
thinks as I do, because I will control what's left after all this.
There will be other vacancies around as well. In fact, I have
a number of friends already on the Council who are simply
dubious about my chances. It's been figured out pretty well,
my friends."

"You mean Kaladon has your idealism? I doubt it," Joe
spat.

"No, Kaladon is playing out a very long game of his own,
a game that seems to involve your girl friend in an integral
way. He will support me as long as it serves his purposes, then
try to dispose of me when I win."

"I thought he was the weakest on the Council," Marge said
as they walked down to the cold, damp cellar of the castle.

"He is, but he knows it. Magic is a curious blend of art and
science, you know. Sort of like mineralogy and a symphonic
composition at the same time. Kaladon is very strong on the
science, perhaps the most knowledgeable man in the business,
but weak in the artistry. As I understand it, years ago he worked
out a very strange plot, partly by duping the girl's father. She
was in Kaladon's keeping when she was quite young, and he
performed some mental games with her, stuff that her father
would never notice unless he really suspected something. When
her mother died in childbirth, her considerable powers were
transmitted to her daughter, and the old boy continued the
process, weakening himself in the bargain to where Kaladon,
with a little help from Esmerada, could knock him off. So
Tiana has more of the artistic side of magic than any other
alive, I'd say. She is potentially the most powerful sorceress
in the history of the world, from what I've been able to un-
derstand—but, thanks to Kaladon, she suffers from a very
minor bit of selective brain damage."

"What!" Joe roared.

"Yes. All that potential is wasted without the ability to form
spacial abstracts and complex mathematical formulae. Poor
Tiana couldn't count past her fingers and toes, I fear, nor draw
even a cube in perspective. You can see Kaladon's problem,

204

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS 205

JACK L. CHALKER

can't you? For twenty years and more, he put together his
scheme whereby he'd be the only one able to use and in com-
plete control of the most powerful sorceress the world has ever
known. And then she went and escaped from him!" Boquillas
chuckled. "The man's been paranoid for years, afraid he would
be deposed before he found her again. He grasped at my offer
for protection in exchange for absolute service like a drowning
man clutching at a branch."

"Aren't you afraid that, now that he's got her, he'll turn on
you?" Joe asked. "Not that it would be much of an improve-
ment."

The Dark Baron shook his head. "No, Kaladon simply has
no idea that there's a demon prince involved in all this, capable
of negating the power of three or four Kaladons, even aug-
mented. I intend doing things the same way Ruddygore hit
on—one sorcerer at a time, although I must work faster than
he. Ah! Here we are!"

In a few moments, deep in the dungeons under the castle,
the two captives found themselves actually cooperating in get-
ting into manacles stuck in the wall. Boquillas closed the locks
on each of them, then also closed locking waist bars and leg
manacles. Both now hung helplessly on a stone wall, about
five feet apart. The sorcerer stepped back and looked at them
with satisfaction. He then used a small wooden stool to get up
next to Marge first, then Joe, and attach something to a small
rod which he brought out. In front of each, about two inches
from their mouths, hung a loaf of bread and a hunk of smelly
cheese.

"I'm sorry. I had hoped this would wait until after breakfast,
but at least you won't starve. You can manage the bread and
cheese with a little effort and practice. There's a small trough
just above you both that's rather sensitive to loud sounds. If
you just shout, it will tip over and produce a stream of water
for half a minute or so. After the rain last night, it's quite
unlikely to run out." Boquillas stepped back, took the stool,
and walked to the front of the cell. "I'm doing this only because
I can't be here for a long period. However, I'm not like the
fool in the stories who takes it for granted that he has his
enemies trapped and then ignores them." He walked out and
clanged the cell door shut, then locked it with a large key which

he put in his pocket. He concentrated for a moment and made
a few more gestures with his hands.

"There," he said, satisfied. "I have transmuted the cell floor
so that it is now an iron alloy. So is the ceiling, and so are
these bars. There are no windows—you are deep within the
rock itself. So, if by some chance you break the control spell
on your bodies, you, at least, my lady, will still have to hang
around. I suspect that this alone will keep our big friend put,
but since iron is no problem for him, I'll cast one little insurance
spell." Again he flicked his wrist, and Joe yelled.

"Hey! You're not going to leave us in the dark!"

"It is no matter," Boquillas responded. "You see, you are
totally blind until I return. Do hang around and have fun. I
have many questions to ask you under less pressing circum-
stances, and I know that Hiccarph, too, wants to question you
on why you don't seem to exist for him. Until happier times,
then—bye!"

With that, Esmilio Boquillas walked off, and they could
hear him ascending the stone stairs to the cheerier part of the
building.

When all sound of him had faded. Marge called, "Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it true? Can't you see at all?"

"Not a thing. It's pitch dark to me." He turned his head
toward her. "Can you see my eyes?"

She strained to see. There was only one torch, and no cer-
tainty of how long it would last. She gasped.

"Bad, huh?"

"Joe—all I see are whites. You don't seem to have any
pupils at all."

He sighed. "Yeah. He sure wasn't taking any chances, was
he?"

"There's still tonight, if he's gone long enough."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"The last night of the full moon. Remember last night?"

"How could I forget it?" he responded grumpily.

"You'll change again. The spells will be off."

"What good's that gonna do? You're the closest living thing
to me, so all I'll be is you again, right? Hanging here without
any painkiller. Okay, maybe the iron wouldn't kill me, only

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

207

silver, but what good does that do? Even if I slip out of these
bindings by getting smaller, I still am no Macore."

"It's a chance, though. One we must take. This madman is
going to destroy the whole world. Our only hope is to get
Ruddygore in here before the Baron comes back. Otherwise
Ruddygore will have nowhere to hole up, no safe seat of magic.
The Baron and Kaladon will pick him off easily, even without
their demon."

Joe sighed. "Yeah. Thanks a lot. It seems that an awful lot
is hanging on very little here."

"That goes for both of us," she said glumly, looking at the
manacles.

CHAPTER 14

OF MICE AND MEN

Castle dungeons must be dark, damp, and infested.

—Rules, XVII, 114(d)

WITH NOTHING TO DO BUT HANG AROUND, THEY TALKED.

"Joe, do you think that even Ruddygore could take Boquillas
on? With his demon, I mean?"

"I don't know. Ruddygore seemed to think so, so we have
to go with that. I'm still trying to figure out how the Baron
could move several large armies all the way up there without
anybody noticing. At least that explains the squad we saw."

"And the missing and pirated boats. I wonder, though, if
he really can pull it off."

"He probably can, at least the military part of it. They aren't
ready for him with massed armies this time and a couple of
weeks' notice on where he'll march. Oh, he'll do it, all right.
What he probably can't do is win the peace the way he thinks.

I wish that demon had brought him over some history books
along with that Marx and Hitler stuff."

"That's true. Lenin in particular was a well-meaning vi-
sionary with real hopes for the future, but his system gave us
Stalin instead. And there were a bunch of Hitler's friends and
supporters who thought he was just a social reformer. By the
time they found out, it was too late. Boquillas isn't Hitler or
Stalin, but there's one around."

"Kaladon?" Joe mused. "I wonder if that's the plot."

"Maybe. Certainly he would be a better friend to demons
than Boquillas in the long run. Do you think Ruddygore knows
about Tiana's power?"

"I doubt it. If he did, he'd never have let her risk it all by
coming with us. Damn! So much depends on your getting out
of here! It's the Baron's only real mistake. That and bragging
about where the transmitters were hidden. If he wasn't just
putting us on. Anybody with his kind of mind can't be trusted
to say his own name right."

"Oh, I think he was telling the truth. As he said, he needs
to have them on and operating or it will tip everything off.
Let's just be thankful he didn't return a few minutes sooner
this morning, or we'd have no chance at all. He'd have dis-
covered two of me in that room, and that would have been it."

Joe sighed. "Yeah. But I still wish I knew how to pick
locks. How's that torch coming along?"

"Still going. I think it will last a while." Marge paused a
minute. "Say, do you hear something?"

He cocked his head. "Water dripping."

"No, a little scratch, scratch, scratch type of sound."

They both kept silent for a long while, and finally he heard
it, too. "What the hell is that?"

She thought a moment, then had it. "What else? Rats. Ugh!"
Suddenly it struck her. "Joe! Rats! Around here!"

"Big deal. So we'll get nibbled to death."

"No, no! If we're very, very lucky, we might be able to
attract them by biting off 'some of your cheese and letting it
drop to the floor!"

"My cheese? Why not yours? At least you can see."

"No, I mean at the proper time."

He finally got the idea. "Fine—if we had a watch or a view

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER

209

of the sun. I don't know if we've been here for ten minutes or
ten hours. The odds are just too slim. Besides, becoming a rat
might get me out of here and even upstairs, but I couldn't
activate the transmitters."

"You wouldn't have to. Just escape, find them, then wait
until dawn. When you turn back again, you can use them."

"No good." He sighed. "When I turn back again, I'll be
paralyzed and blind again, too, remember?"

She thought furiously. "Maybe not. At least, not paralyzed.
I looked you over. The paralysis is a simple spell analogous
to an injury. All your injuries faded, right? I think this will
wear off, too."

"And my eyes?"

"That's fifty-fifty. It looks like a transmutation spell there,
rather than an injury. If he'd just rendered your optic nerves
inoperable, that would be one thing, but he took no chances.
He changed the composition of your eyes. The curse isn't clear
enough to allow me to guess on that one."

"Oh, great. So we have to hope that you're right and that
I'll be able to move afterward. Uh-uh. Too risky. I'll try picking
the cell door lock. Just as likely to fail, but more of a chance
than the other way."

But as it turned out, he had little choice in the matter. After
a while the skittish rats grew bolder, first showing themselves,
then scampering about here and there, and finally checking out
the leavings that had dropped on the cell floor from the pris-
oners' attempts to eat.

It seemed like an unpleasant eternity that they hung there,
but finally, when both had more or less lapsed into sleep,
sundown arrived.

The first Joe knew about it was when he was falling. Then
he hit the floor with a force that hurt. Dizzily he got up, opened
his eyes, and looked around. He was awfully low to the ground.
He turned on four legs and saw behind him a long, bare tail;

he knew for a fact that he had indeed changed into a rat.

He looked up at Marge, who seemed incredibly gigantic to
him, and saw that she was still sleeping. He decided to leave
her that way, since he'd be gone a very long time, anyway,
and she would take a lot of comfort from his absence, far more
so than from his presence.

In rat form, he found it absurdly simple to get between the
bars and out into the corridor. His rat's eyes were quite good,
he discovered, although that stairway was one hell of a gigantic
obstacle.

It took him three hours, stretching and groaning and aching
all the way, to manage the climb. He knew, somehow, that
there was a far better and easier way, but he decided that the
other rats might not take kindly to him, and probably couldn't
tell him where it was, anyway.

Once on the main floor, which was mostly dark now, with
only a few isolated torches left going, he made for the main
hall and discovered that, while the previous evening he'd been
short, now he was in a world where giants loomed.

Being four foot ten was a hell of a lot easier to live with
than being six inches off the floor.

Disgusted, he relaxed and let the rat in him dominate. He
began exploring, almost without thinking about it, and found
a long, tasseled bell rope at one side of the bookcases. Using
his handlike clawed feet, he tried several times and finally got
a grip, wondering where and what he might be ringing, and
started up.

It was a hairy task, and he fell several times, but eventually
he got the hang of it and made it to the top row of shelves.
Judging the distance as best he could, he made the leap, grabbed
a volume of the Books of Rules, and almost pulled it off the
shelf and himself with it. Fortunately, there were so many of
the things that they were very tightly shelved, and he managed
to pull himself up on top of the books and start to look behind
them.

It didn't take him long to find the small jewelry box, hidden
behind a row of the Rules; but after pushing several volumes
out from the back and having them fall and crash to the floor,
he waited nervously. He'd never really believed the place was
deserted; but when a reasonable time had passed, he decided
that it might be true.

He got behind the box now and started pushing it out with
his head, using his neck muscles. It was tough going, but finally
it reached the edge of the shelf, then dropped to the floor. It
somehow managed to miss the pile of books down there and
hit on a comer, coming open in the process. Among a lot of

210

DEMONS Of THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 211

junk spilling out, he spotted both the earring and the necklace.
Halfway home, he thought to himself.

It took him a lot longer to get up the guts to climb down,
but he finally decided on the rope approach in reverse, and it
worked, although he fell the last three feet to the floor. He was
by this time one battered and bruised rat.

He scampered over to the two small pieces of jewelry and,
taking them in his teeth one at a time, he arranged them in a
clear space, then settled down to wait until dawn. He was
determined that, no matter what, he was going to wake up with
those pieces near his head.

Marge heard sounds of somebody coming and moved her
head to look. The torch was dying now, but it still gave off
enough light for her to see by. She was apprehensive about
those sounds, and she had no idea how long she had slept or
whether it was night or day. The figure moved with agonizing
slowness, closer and closer to the cell, and finally appeared.

"Joe!"

He grinned. "Yeah. You were right, kid. When I changed
back, I moved perfectly. I sent the signals with no trouble at
all. If there's anything out there, they're hearing it now. Just
to make sure, I gave as much information as I could into both
transmitters, along with the proper invitations."

"And your eyes?"

"I'm still blind," he told her. "That's what took me so long.
I damned near broke my fool neck coming down those stairs."

"You shouldn't have tried. You should be up top in case
Macore or somebody else comes. You can't get me out of
here, anyway. Even if you had sight and a key, there's too
much iron here for it to be safe, and besides, I'm still
paralyzed."

"I had to," he told her. "I couldn't just leave you here not
knowing. Don't worry, though. I can make it back up now.
Even blind, I can do it a hell of a lot easier than as a rat."

She laughed, and he quickly filled her in on the night's
work.

"Well, I'll go up now, for all the good it will do. Just stay
here and pray the message gets through before our mad Baron
returns."

"It will, Joe! It has to! After all this, we can't have failed
in the end!"

"Well, we'll see."

"Be careful!"

"I will. Just stay here until I come back."

"Ha, ha," she responded sarcastically.

He stumbled a couple of times, but made it to the top without
any real disasters. He felt lucky that the place was so small
and therefore fairly easy to remember. That didn't keep him
from stumbling and tripping over things he didn't quite re-
member, but it helped him get around.

Flags fluttered in the mild breeze, and the army, more than
two thousand strong, now resplendent in full uniforms, waited
in the fields outside the tiny town of Terdiera. The town itself
seemed unnaturally quiet in the early morning sun, but it was
often so just before a battle. Although tense, the men-at-arms
appeared boldly confident. All had gone well up to this point.
The really dangerous part of sneaking in undetected and then
assembling was over. Through the night, supply barges had
shed their protective freighter's camouflage and offloaded all
that was needed. Unit after unit had turned from ordinary ci-
vilians back into menacing military men.

The Dark Baron himself had arrived an hour before dawn.
None had seen him arrive nor knew whence he'd come, but
now he was here, resplendent in his shining black and gold
armor atop his great black horse. With him, too, was his mys-
terious and equally armored adjutant, known by reputation only
as the General. Few had ever seen his massive figure on its
white horse before, but now they watched as both rode forward
to inspect the field of battle.

The Baron looked out on the town. "I do not like this. It's
far too quiet. Not even a rooster crowed, nor has a dog barked."

The General nodded. "We've sealed off the bridge on the
Marquewood side, so they've no place to run to. The trolls
have been raising Cain all night, but they'll quiet down. Send
a patrol into the town and let's see what we're up against."

The Baron rode back and conferred with a leading officer.
Six soldiers drew swords and proceeded slowly forward, fol-
lowed by a dozen spread-out infantrymen armed with powerful

212

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

213

crossbows. They met no resistance nor saw any sign of life,
except an occasional bird and butterfly, as they advanced on
the town. When they reached the first of the buildings, the
cavalry stopped, and the infantry fanned out both to scout and
to protect the mounted men. Only then did they proceed into
the town.

It took them almost forty minutes to do a thorough search,
but after the first quarter hour, they were pretty sure that no
one remained behind. It was, in many ways, an eerie sight.
Although a few things were missing in one place or another,
there were still half-eaten meals on dinner tables and half-
consumed tankards at the inn. All food and fires were cold,
yet there was the distinct feeling among the men that the town's
hasty abandonment could not have occurred earlier than the
previous afternoon or early evening. In fact, dinner had clearly
been at least in preparation when the alarm came. The captain
ordered one of his men back to inform the Baron.

"I don't like this," the General noted. "It has a bad feel to
it."

"It was your plan, remember," the Baron responded, know-
ing that the truth of the statement would make very little dif-
ference now.

The army marched into the town and quickly secured it,
while the bulk of the infantry was told to establish safe perim-
eters to guard against an attack from the rear and to seal off
any breakout.

Detaching a hundred and fifty battle-hardened cavalry from
the main unit, the Baron and the General rode on down the
road toward the dark towers of Terindell.

"Could they have all retreated inside the castle?" the Baron
speculated.

"It's possible," the General responded, "even probable, if
it were just the people who were missing. But they took their
livestock and pets as well when they went, and that I don't
like. The wind is right from the castle now. Such a crowd of
people and animals should make an awful racket, yet I hear
nothing save the birds."

They came around the bend to the castle gates and stopped.
The gates were wide open. Inside, they could see no sign of
a living thing.

Another patrol was dispatched, moving forward with ago-
nizing slowness. Finally it reached the gates and halted for a
moment. The officer in the front turned back to his leaders and
gave a massive shrug.

"I'm going forward," the General told the Baron. "Stay here
and wait for my signal." He rode confidently ahead, soon
reaching the forward patrol. He stopped then, his huge, oddly
cast helmet, which concealed every bit of his features, looking
this way and that, as if giving some sort of impossible inspec-
tion of every stone. Finally he eased his horse across the bridge
and entered the outer castle, the patrol nervously following.
They passed through into the inner castle and then into the
beautifully manicured inner courtyard and looked around.
Nothing stirred.

"There is no life here except the usual parasitic animals,"
the General told the patrol. "No ambush. Nothing. Signal the
Baron to come in and have guards posted on outer and inner
gates."

The patrol quickly did as it was instructed, and the Baron
moved forward and joined the General. They dismounted to-
gether and walked over to the simple, two-storey block building
at the far end of the courtyard. On the door was a large scroll,
held with two heavy nails. The Baron took it down, unrolled
it, and read it with mounting anger and frustration.

"My dear Baron:

"Welcome to Castle Terindell. I hope that you and the boys
won't make too much of a mess of it, since it's a very nice
castle in a "wonderful location. You can safely put up your
troops here and be comfortable about it, as I will have no need
for it in the immediate future. You should have no difficulty
in defending it, as there is no enemy army anywhere nearby.

"I must thank you, though, for that brilliant infiltration plan.
I admit that my military education is sadly lacking, and I would
never have thought of it on my own. Of course, you must have
realized that moving such large forces, even in small groups
over a long period, would inevitably attract somebody's atten-
tion, and it did. When I saw just how ingenious the whole
thing was, I embraced the plot wholeheartedly.

"It should be immediately obvious to one of your talents
and intellect that it is far easier to move such forces downriver

214

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

215

than up, and far faster. It therefore occurred to me that if you
really wanted this place so much, it would be absurdly easy to
swap. By the time you read this, Esmerada will be disposed
of and Witchwood will be under my domain, but I suppose
you expected that. However, at almost the same time, my forces
will have seized control of the roads and river routes between
Zhafqua and the Khafdis, giving us effective mastery of all
Zhimbombe except for Morikay itself, which is totally besieged
and cut off.

"In the meantime, my agents in and around your three armies
have the ability and means to poison meats, fish, fowl, and
water selectively, by nonmagical means. As long as your armies
remain in and occupy the places they took today, all will be
well; but should you take to the march, you will find the
pickings slim. I'm afraid, too, that our effective blockade of
the Dancing Gods at the River of Sighs has already captured
more than a third of your fleet. The rest can not come up,
while those that you have are trapped, as we sank a number
of old ships in the main channel of the Rossignol after your
supply boats passed and I'm afraid there isn't enough draft left
to allow travel. Feel free to start removing my obstacles, but
we sank a tasty cargo with them, so you'll find the river mon-
sters rather dense, shall we say? And, naturally, I'm saving
some other surprises so as not to spoil your fun.

"The civilian populations you now hold have all been given
an effective poison antidote, but they remain your hostages, of
course. I might remind you, though, that your attack on Sach-
alin has brought an additional and formidable sorcerer into the
fight against you, so ifyo« leave, you'll give our brother free
rein to trample your army with all sorts of delightful scourges.

"I believe I have given you only one way out, and I shall
be delighted to meet you in some neutral place to settle this.
Bring your friend, too. Otherwise, have a nice day. Love and
kisses, Throckmorton P. Ruddygore."

The Baron shivered in cold fury, then handed the scroll to
the General, who read it without any visible reaction.

"Now what?" the Baron asked him.

"Well, I would say that we certainly underestimated the
man," the General responded. "From a military standpoint,
he's got us cold. He is quite right that it is far easier to enter

a place than to leave it. We can't even depend on treaty to
keep the waterways open, since nothing says he cannot block-
ade his own lands. We could certainly consolidate our forces
into a formidable army, but we would then face a fighting
retreat of over a thousand miles. There are harsh and difficult
measures that could be taken, of course, including the whole-
sale elimination of the civilian population, one bit at a time,
attempting to force terms, but we don't have enough force to
hold this vast north country well enough to keep the majority
from fleeing to the wilds and waging an endless guerrilla action.
In any such war of attrition, the carnage would be horrible,
and we would lose."

"We could always retreat inland through Marquewood under
a pledge of safe passage," the Baron suggested hopefully. "They
would go for it, I think, just to eliminate the devastation we
could cause."

"To what end, though? Ruddygore would be under no such
constraints. It would be the Valley of Decision all over again,
with all the elements in the enemy's favor."

"I suppose. Damn Ruddygore! He's thwarted us at every
turn! Only my slow subversion by means of the books you
imported from Earth through Hell has shown any measurable
effect, and that will take decades, perhaps, to have any real
impact!"

"He cannot take Kaladon now. Morikay may be besieged,
but its seat of power is safe. The Council will be shocked
enough by Ruddygore's audacity in eliminating Esmerada. They
will not be kindly disposed to helping him topple yet another
member. Even his friends will be feeling their own necks by
now."

"True, but Kaladon is loyal to me only because he sees me
as the way to expand his power. If he is in fact besieged, he
knows that we have lost another round. I hardly think he will
welcome me with open arms, or, if he does, with empty ones.
No, if we are to recover from this, it must be as Ruddygore
himself suggests. If I can eliminate the fat man, I can turn
things around immediately. Then he has an unsupported army
in the south, while we control a strong series of bases here.
Eliminate Ruddygore and we win. Anything less and we lose.
It's as simple as that."

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

"I concur. However, do you think he can be defeated? You
faced him once in the Valley of Decision and fought to a draw.
It was my analysis at that time that you would both have died,
had the engagement not been broken off."

The Baron chuckled. "You are worried about my health?
Kaladon would probably be more to your liking."

"Kaladon is as surely mine in the end as you are; but, unlike
you, he wishes no meeting with Hell until forced to do so. He
is a good schemer, but he is vain and egomaniacal in the
extreme, without the intellect to control what he would have.
Politically, the surviving Council members would move to fill
the weakness. As I said, our fortunes are linked, and I believe
that you are right. Where will you fight him?"

"No question there. I have the means to bring him to Wolf
Island in a hurry, for I have two of his most favored agents
there and a third certainly lurking nearby. I meet him there,
on familiar ground to me, with hostages who just might distract
him." He thought a moment. "Have the Bentar dispatch mes-
sages by their birds to the other units to secure and hold their
positions but not advance until further orders come from you
or me. Our unit here will take Ruddygore's suggestion and
enjoy the comforts of this castle and the town. We will return
to Wolf Island to prepare for the arrival of our fat friend. 'Love
and kisses' indeed!"

The General laughed. "You must admit the man has real
style and flair. Come! We will tend to the business that needs
to be done, then fly to Wolf Island. With any luck, you can
be home by midnight. Then we shall prepare to decide this
thing."

CHAPTER 15

A FALLING-OUT BETWEEN
OLD FRIENDS

Never give a sorcerer an even break.

—Rules, VI, 307(a)

IT WAS WELL PAST MIDNIGHT WHEN ESMILIO BOQUILLAS

swooped down on the familiar shores of Wolf Island once more.
He could see at once from the air that things had changed, and
he didn't like it. In his flight back, he had diverted to check
on the progress of Valisandra's southern expeditionary forces
and he hadn't liked what he'd seen there at all. The border
with Marquewood was now a very open one, with that nation's
army pouring in behind the protection of the Valisandran ad-
vance parties, and the nearest really effective troops the Barony
had were in Leander. The bulk of the regular and mercenary
forces of Zhimbombe not involved in the north had apparently
fought well, but had finally been forced to retreat to secure
defensive positions within the city limits of Morikay. The ma-
jority of the forces south of the Khafdis could not be spared,
or the region would rise in revolt behind them.
In other words, the Barony was in deep trouble.
And now, he saw, even Wolf Island was not secure. The
castle he had left virtually shut down now blazed with light
and warmth, with smoke coming from the two main chimneys.
There was, in fact, a boat docked just down the island from
the cliff side, a boat such as he'd never seen before, and dec-
orated with strange writing and symbols. It looked large enough
to have transported a small army, but the signs of such a force
in and around the castle were absent. He was pretty sure whose
boat it was and what was waiting for him. He was more or
217

218

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

less ready, but he had wished for a night's sleep first. He was
dead tired, and that was no way to go into a fight.

He landed just outside the castle as he always did and quickly
transformed himself from great bird to his normal self. He was
dressed now in his own formal clothes and he hoped for the
courtesy of a switch of robes, at least. Hesitating only for a
moment, he walked up and entered through the familiar gate
and then the front door.

All the torches were fully refueled and lighted, but there
was no sign of any large force. There was, however, the sound
of habitation from the main hall area, and he headed for it.

A lone, huge man sat at the dining table, which was littered
with the remains of a meal that might have fed four lesser men.
The big man looked up, smiled through his white beard, and
raised a wineglass to the haggard-looking newcomer. "Esmilio!
Please, do come in and have a seat. You look dead on your
feet!"

"Hello, Throckmorton. I see that you've made yourself at
home here."

Ruddy gore beamed and drained the wineglass. "I really must
compliment you on your wine cellar. It is surely the finest I
have ever seen, and certainly not what I expected in this remote
locale."

"Glad you enjoyed it. Did you leave a bottle for me?"

Ruddygore chuckled. "But of course! I couldn't help notic-
ing the Hobah '99. Really remarkable! I had thought I'd seen
the last of that enchanting vintage. I took the liberty of bringing
it up but wouldn't dream of touching it. Still, don't you agree
that this is a fitting occasion for it?"

Boquillas was forced to smile. "Yes, I believe it is. How-
ever, I hope you will allow me the luxury of changing into
something more appropriate and perhaps even a shower first?"

"But of course, my old friend! Of course!"

Boquillas looked the big man over critically. "You seem
remarkably hale and hearty. I had thought that Esmerada would
give a better account of herself than that."

Ruddygore shrugged. "It just must have been my day. Ac-
tually, I managed to get a little sleep through it all, so after
that, plus a good meal and fine wine, I've never felt better in
my life."

219

JACK L. CHALKER

"I wish I could say the same. I assume your young friends
are free?"

"Oh, yes. The blindness was a bitch to straighten out, though.
Nice piece of work."

Boquillas sighed. "I should have put them both in suspended
animation and have done with it. The result would have been
the same, but at least I'd get a decent night's sleep."

"I am a bit surprised that you arrived this evening, despite
seeing my boat. You could have waited until morning, after
all. If it makes you feel any better, though, even the suspension
wouldn't have helped in the long run. Not only are they smart
and determined, the best I have, but one of them is a were."

Boquillas started to laugh at that, and then the laughter
became louder and more prolonged. It was a minute or so before
he got his self-control back. "A were! And last night was the
last of the full moon! That's very good, Ruddygore! No, it is
more than good. It is genius\"

"Yes, well, I wish I'd thought of it, but he managed to
catch the curse all by himself. It did come in useful, though.
Got him into the Dark Tower and out of your little jail. If you
have to have a curse, I think that's the one to have." Ruddygore
sighed. "I must say, however, Esmilio, that even with every
signpost pointing to you, I continued to refuse to believe until
the last moment that you, of all people, could be responsible
for such carnage, cruelty, and destruction. It wasn't just an
act. I'm sure of that. What changed you, Esmilio?"

"Frustration! Perhaps a little guilt, too, at having so much
while the masses were in bondage!"

"But what do you know of the masses, Esmilio? You were
born to wealth. Even had you not had the talent or the intel-
ligence, you still wouldn't have had to work a day in your life.
You're like every social revolutionary I've ever seen. You
know no more of the masses, what they're like, how they think,
act, and live, than a hereditary king."

"One does not have to be a woman to understand women's
oppression. One does not have to be a soldier to know the
horrors of war. Often I've gone out in full disguise, mingled
with people from all walks of life all over Husaquahr, lived
with the farmers and the merchants and the stevedores on the
docks. I know more of them than you!"

220

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 221

"Indeed? So the rich boy went off in disguise and played
at farming, or played at loading ships, all the time knowing
that at any time he could materialize what he needed or, if need
be, slink back to his family's banquet hall. You have never
felt, nor can you ever feel, the hunger that comes from having
no such fallbacks, no resources. You can never know the an-
guish of being a continual victim of society, pushed and shoved,
without influential friends to bail you out or stay the whip's
cruel hand. Even your emotions arc intellectualized. The masses
are a conceptual model, a mathematical construct like a good
spell or an accountant's ledger. You can never know the human
individual, for you can never experience what he or she ex-
perienced. As any actor, you can play the part, but you can-
not be the man."

"And you can?"

"My mother was a prostitute. My father, I was told, was a
common sailor, looking for a good time while in port in Todra.
I grew up in the filth and squalor of the docks of long ago,
which were worse then than now by quite a bit. I scrounged
through the garbage for scraps to eat, but I was ambitious. Oh,
yes. I could see the magic and I understood what that meant.
Back in those days, Todra was a republic, and imported tutors
taught the very rich and powerful in small groups on the tree-
lined estates of the wealthy. One day, while still a mere lad,
I was casing one of those places for a possible robbery when
I happened on such a class. I was fascinated. I never did burgle
the place, but I came back, day after day, for weeks and months,
hiding in the trees and hearing the lessons. Basic mathematics.
The classics, frustratingly discussed but which I could not read.
Oh, yes, I can indeed, my friend, I can be such a man."

Boquillas was shocked. In all their conversations over the
years, he had never heard this before. "But—how did you
rise?"

"Every society requires one thing to keep it from exploding.
It requires a measure of social mobility. Surely you know that.
In some countries it is the degree of literacy, or some sort of
merit system within a political structure. For some,-it is money.
Here it is both money and magic, but you know that magic
brings wealth. By my tutorial eavesdropping, I was able to
manage and master some small spells. With that, I was able

to demonstrate the art to certain magicians in the bazaar, who
seemed impressed. They continued my education, as well as
taught me to read, and from this I attained membership in the
Society. From that point, I began truly to leam and to rise. I
really never regretted my origins, nor my pride in my attain-
ments. Perhaps my only regret is a lifetime of overcompen-
sation for those early days of near starvation."

"I never knew."

"It was very long ago."

"But—you should have been my natural ally, not my enemy
in this! Together we could have changed so much!"

Ruddy gore sighed. "I see now my mistake, one that must
be paid for. At some point I should have put aside my reser-
vations about taking a fellow ranking sorcerer across and given
you a tour of Earth."

"Is it so terrible?"

"Well, yes and no. But with all the modernities that tech-
nology brought them, there is more true happiness there than
here, I would say. Many people yeam for our world and our
life. Some of what we have here comes across to them as
dreams, and they write glorious books with wizards and sor-
cerers, and all have their fairy legends. Most would be very
disappointed with the reality here, I grant you, but as long as
we remain fantasy, we remain an ideal they yeam for. It is
ironic, I think, that they yeam for us, while just the opposite
has happened to you. No, old friend, it's not worse than here
over there, only very different. But, on balance, it is about
even in its good and bad points. Those two you held here were
from Earth, and from a particularly progressive part, and they
both seem to be doing better here than there."

"So that explains. . .Never mind. You talk of Earth, but
this is not Earth. Here we have magic! We need not fight,
Ruddy gore! Together we can blend technology and magic to
build a perfect world!"

Sadly, Ruddygore shook his head. "No, it cannot be. You
would see it for yourself, were you not blinded by a beautiful
but impossible vision. Technology and magic do not mix. The
more of the former, the less powerful the latter becomes. There
were as many fairies on Earth at the start as here, you know.
They are mostly gone now—dead. They died from obsoles-

222

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER

223

cence. Their forests were cut down, their rivers dammed, their
true work replaced by devices. You would kill them here as
well, for they cannot change. They are not meant to change.
And, with their going, our power, too, will vanish, for all new
magic-comes from faerie and its values and traditions and work.
It happened on Earth, which once also frolicked with the djinn
and had sorcerers and witches as great or greater than ours."
He sighed. "I will make you an offer. I will send you to Earth,
to a system run according to one of those books you got hold
of. Live there as a commoner and see how far you get and
whether you want it for Husaquahr."

It was Boquillas' turn to shake his head sadly. "It is much
too late for that, even if I believed you, and you have been
too full of tricks for me this day. I can neither give up my
dream nor abandon my people who believe in it. Surely you
must know that."

Ruddygore nodded. "Yes, I knew, but I had to try first.
Why don't you go upstairs, shower, and change? Then we'll
crack that fine old bottle and smoke a couple of good cigars.
I do have your word that you'll be back shortly?"

Boquillas smiled and nodded. "Yes, of course. There is no
purpose to prolonging this while good people are dying on both
sides." With that he arose wearily from the table and made his
way upstairs to his room. Ruddygore just stared after him, a
sad look in his eyes and perhaps just a glint of a tear.

They stood facing each other on the wall, the tall, handsome
Boquillas in brown velvet robes, trimmed in gold and silver,
Ruddygore in his sparkling golden robes. Below them, waves
lapped at the base of the cliffs several hundred feet down the
sheer drop. The sky was clear and star-filled, the nearly full
moon eerily illuminating the great lake.

Boquillas looked at the huge figure of Ruddygore and shook
his head. "This shouldn't have to be. If I win, I win it all. If
I lose, you merely abandon this world to Kaladon, who will
do it far worse than I."

"I think it does have to be," Ruddygore responded. "As for
Kaladon, I will tend to him at the proper time. Come. It is
time to put an end to this thing."

Boquillas bowed silently, his face grim, but he said nothing.

It began.

There was a seamless growth in the Count's figure, until it
rose up and towered over Ruddygore, fluidly taking the form
of a great and ferocious beast that stank and howled and gib-
bered and drooled. Ruddygore watched, but did not seem im-
pressed. "Magic tricks," he muttered. "Ghoulies and beasties.
No, Esmilio, we met this way on the fields of the Valley of
Decision and settled nothing. Now face the curses you would
bring to our land."

Massive explosions sounded all around the monstrous, gib-
bering shape, the concussion from their charges echoing men-
acingly against the castle walls and then out onto the lake like
some eerie thunder. The creature became confused, disori-
ented, and began to swat at the explosions, then realized that
it was on the wrong tack. It leaped upon the form of Ruddygore
with a snarl, but he was not there. In his place was a massive,
horrible machine, all gaseous fumes and grinding gears, suck-
ing in the monster, sucking in and grinding it in sharp and
nasty gear teeth.

The creature changed and became a terrible whirlwind, a
tomadolike funnel cloud that sucked up and broke apart the
machine with a thunderous roar. Overhead, immediately atop
the whirling mass, appeared a great orange explosion that rap-
idly spread and grew until it covered the whole of the sky,
setting, it seemed, the very air afire. As it descended, a blazing
blanket, it drew up into it the very oxygen below; with its force,
it dissipated and swallowed the whirlwind. But it did not reach
the castle proper, vanishing just above it and leaving the region
oddly quiet.

From the sudden, deathly stillness came a huge shape, the
great roc of ancient and terrible legend, its condorlike beak
snapping furiously while from deep within its massive throat
came horrible shrieks. It swooped and whirled around, search-
ing for an adversary, and it found one, also coming out of the
sky, a strange blackness that approached at impossible speeds
and was gone again before even the tremendous explosive sounds
of its passing struck the great and terrible bird of old.

But the newcomer had not passed in demonstration but rather
had laid its eggs, dozens of them that now sped toward the roc
from all directions, including from above and below. Franti-

224

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 225

cally the bird tried to zoom up, then straight down, then from
side to side, but those horrible eggs kept matching its move-
ments and all the time coming closer, closer...

At least five struck the roc in its massive underbelly, ex-
ploding with incredible force, driving white-hot bits of metal
into its flesh along with flaming jellied liquid that seemed only
to eat into the creature while refusing all efforts to be extin-
guished. The roc reeled as seven more struck it, one in the
head, and the force of the explosion there and the spread of
the terrible burning jelly struck its eyes, rendering it blind. In
panic, burning, it raced for the surface of the lake and dove
beneath the placid waters, sending a plume of water thirty feet
into the air as it did so.

Ruddy gore, his face and eyes showing tremendous strain
and concentration, stood on the castle wall and looked outward
to where the roc had entered the water. Within a short time,
the water was smooth once more, with no sign of the huge
entry.

Now, though, great bubbles issued up along a wide area
below the castle, as if some enormous creature was surfacing.
When it did, it was more terrible than anything of the old
legends, a monstrous mass of living green slime from which
issued thousands of wriggling tentacles as needed. It continued
to rise, its bulk so vast that it was soon almost the size of the
entire castle. Ruddy gore faced it impassively, not moving a
muscle as stench-ridden, sucker-covered tentacles reached out
for him.

From all around the beast, small white contrails broke the
surface of the water, dozens of them coming in a semicircular
pattern toward the beast's bulk. Just as the first tentacles of the
kraken closed upon Ruddygore, the objects struck, all within
a fraction of a second, sending up tremendous plumes of water
as each exploded with a roar that made all previous detonations
look like firecrackers. With the water, pieces of green slime
went up as well, and the kraken roared its terrible agony and
writhed in pain, its two giant eyes on great stalks glaring in
hatred.

Ruddygore reached down, picked up a strange-looking ob-
ject, and aimed it at the eyes. The thing shot more of the jellied
flame, which this time burned on and into the water, and the

creature groaned and thrashed in an unsuccessful attempt to
quench the spreading fires that covered it.

Suddenly the kraken vanished. For a moment, all was si-
lence again. Then there was a roar from the castle roof, and
Ruddygore spun around to face an enormous dragon that reared
back and shot hot, smoky flame at him. Boquillas was fighting
fire with fire.

Ruddygore flung back his right arm as if about to throw
something, but when he brought it forward, an enormous stream
of water rose out of the lake and struck the dragon full force
in the mouth. Suddenly the fat sorcerer was standing right on
the castle wall, holding and guiding a gigantic pressurized hose
that quenched the dragon's flame.

The dragon, its flame so easily extinguished while Rud-
dygore's fires had been unquenchable, roared defiance and
leaped upon the man below, but suddenly the man wasn't there.
The dragon missed and plunged over the edge of the castle
wall, but there was no sound of an object striking the water.

Both men again stood facing each other on the outer wall,
neither actually hurt, but Boquillas' fine robes looked slightly
singed.

"It's called napalm," Ruddygore told him. "Just one of
technology's little gifts to mankind."

But Boquillas was no longer there. Instead, the whole castle
shimmered and seemed to change into a terrible, menacing
jungle of carnivorous vines and animated plants. The transition
was so swift that Ruddygore found himself suddenly held by
strong tentaclelike vines that tightened and pulled in all direc-
tions toward gaping plant jaws. The abrupt change had ob-
viously surprised him, and he showed real pain and discomfort,
but only for a moment.

There was a sound like a thunderclap, and down from the
sky rained a suffocating, yellowish cloud of gas. It quickly
covered all the plants and the sorcerer himself; but at its first
touch, the vines recoiled and the gaping mouths of the huge
plants seemed to scream in dreadful agony. The jungle was
suddenly in frantic, insane movement, screaming and tearing
itself to bits as it died. The more it writhed, the more it opened
its wounds to the yellowish powders.

Freed, Ruddygore, although slightly injured, did not pause.

226

DEMONS Of THE DANCING GODS

"Now smell the world of the perfect future! Breathe it and
weep!" he cried. The air changed, and the stars and moon were
blacked out. All around was a dense, wet fog that choked
anything it touched, a fog filled with the metal particulates
from a billion smokestacks and the noxious fumes of a hundred
chemical and power plants. It was the condensation of all that
had been pumped into the air by mankind's progress through
the centuries, and it was more horrible than any monster of
Husaquahr.

Again Boquillas was disoriented by the tactic, which was
more terrible and incomprehensible to him than anything he
had known. He tried to fight his way out of it, to rise above
it, but it was so dense and so horrible that he could not seem
to find a break in it.

Suddenly the way was clear, and he made for it, but it was
not a pleasant clearing. Although the pretty farms and fields
appeared lush and green and the little town looked both alien
and very familiar with its small cottages and dirt main streets,
it was a scene of total terror. Two armies, it seemed, were
going at each other, but not in any formal way. The entire
pastoral vista was one of pure carnage and disorganization, and
men were falling from bullets so thick in the air that the entire
countryside seemed infested with some sort of locust. When
any man showed even a part of himself, though, those locusts
struck and tore gaping wounds open, causing terrible pain and
agony. Men fell by the hundreds, by the thousands, in an
impersonal carnage that turned the little creek that ran through
the fields and then through the town into a river of blood.
Antietam Creek had become Bloody Lane.

Just as abruptly, the scene changed, yet somehow stayed
the same. It was a horrible wasteland now, any trace of what
it might have been before having been long obliterated. Shells
burst in the air in an almost constant barrage of concussion and
shrapnel, while men huddled in long trenches and died every
time they tried to advance en masse just a few yards from those
holes...

Then the sky was filled with a shattering roar as machines
of destruction flew over in so dense a formation that the city
below seemed blocked from sunlight. Most of the people were
below, in shelters against the rain of bombs, but nothing could

JACK L. CHALKER

227

protect them from this onslaught of explosions that created a
firestorm above, rather than on the surface, sucking out the
oxygen and killing them, men, women, children, old and young,
dogs and cats, soldiers and bankers and janitors, as they huddled
in their shelters...

Boquillas whirled, but the place now was a new place,
without explosions or bombs. He saw rows upon rows of men
so thin and emaciated they looked like what the line marching
the road to Hell must look like, only these were human beings,
some being forced to shovel out piles of human remains from
enormous ovens, the remains of men, women, children, and
none of them soldiers...

The sights sickened and appalled him at first; but after a
while, their very sameness brought him a measure of respite,
a crack in the chamber of horrors, allowing reason to resume
command. Ruddygore was effectively showing him the evils
of technology, but without any of the benefits, and he fought
back in this Never-Neverland of the mind.

Gleaming cities of steel and stone... Highways that were
ribbons of concrete stretching from coast to coast, spanning
continents, filled with horseless vehicles in astounding num-
bers ... Homes, powered and heated by oil, gas, even the sun
itself, in tremendous profusion, and not a castle in sight... Huge
symphonies in large, well-lighted halls of acoustical perfection,
playing wondrously beautiful pieces...

Ruddygore, ready, counterattacked...

Family units all grouped around boxes from which issued
moving pictures in full color, all hypnotically staring at the
screen for hours on end, all watching incredible drivel...

A band on a huge stage entertaining tens of thousands of
young people, but the band was dressed in weird, half-naked
fashion, its lead singer's jewelry including razor blades for
earrings; all their faces were terribly made up, while their hair
was shaved in strange ways and dyed in greens and blues and
reds. They were singing of death, destruction, and hopelessness
to a crowd that was at one and the same time worshipping
them, emulating them, and watching with that same hypnotic
fascination as those in front of the little boxes...

Inventory, Boquillas commanded. And in his mind appeared
fallout shelters, missile silos, satellite guidance systems...

228

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

Mutual Assured Destruction... the hydrogen bomb...

He located what he needed, targeted it, and aimed it prop-
erly. The great missile broke back through the atmosphere,
targeted not on a city but on a single individual, its lenses and
computers interacting to locate that one man, who, when spot-
ted, turned to the onrushing death from the sky...

Only it was not Ruddygore. It was a small, helpless beggar
child with pitiful eyes, his hands still grubby and stained from
rooting through dockside garbage. He looked up at the missile
with sad, fatalistic eyes, then turned to Boquillas, who watched,
horrified. The boy reached out, pleading with him, pleading...

Count Esmilio Boquillas screamed and fell back against the
battlements. Again back in his own world, under a starry,
moonlighted night sky, he was not alone. The poor beggar
child was still there, still approaching, those sad eyes boring
down upon him. And now the child spoke, a halting, hurt sort
of tone. "Please, my lord, why do you wish to kill me?"

Only a child, only a little child now. He could reach out,
crush that child, beat in his brains, and toss him from the
battlements to the cold waters below. He could, he could...

"I cannot!" Boquillas sobbed. "Hiccarph! Save me! Save
me from the child/"

Behind the child, abruptly, a ghastly shape formed, towering
over both child and man, a rotting, stench-filled body filling
out a grand costume of crimson and lavender, its eyes consumed
with hatred and contempt. A gnarled, clawed hand reached out
for the boy, then picked him up. The boy screamed as he was
pulled into the air and mercilessly crushed in the foul hand of
the demon, his body quickly limp and then reduced to a bloody
mass of tissue which the demon contemptuously discarded.
Then the demon stood there, looking down on Boquillas, and
shook his head from side to side.

"Well," Hiccarph said casually, "he certainly had your num-
ber."

The Count, breathing heavily, pulled himself weakly to a
sitting position and for a moment just buried his face in his
hands. Finally he looked up at the demon and sighed. "It—it
was horrible! Horrible! If he was that strong, why did he not
take me in the Valley months ago?"

JACK L. CHALKER                  229

"Because he cheated," the demon told him. "First of all, he
knew you very well indeed, while out there he was fighting an
unknown enemy. But, most of all, he cheated. He brought in
the weapons of Earth to face the magic of Husaquahr, and that
was something he could never do in public, where all could
see or feel or sense it. There would be those who would get
- ideas, and others who would like what they saw. Out here, it
was a safer bet. Now, though, his soul is lost to the world. A
pity, for I'd hoped to have him myself."

Boquillas looked up at his demon general. "He is dead,
then?"

"I search high and low and cannot find him in the world.
He is vanquished by his very trap that really won him the
contest. He knew you well, knew that you were powerless to
face down someone totally vulnerable, innocent, and defense-
less. But when he chose that path for the coup de grace, he
also was most vulnerable to outside forces not so easily swayed."

BoquiIIas tried to get to his feet, failed, then tried again,
clutching the battlement stones for support, and finally made
it. He gasped and coughed as he did so. After a few seconds,
he got some strength and took in several deep breaths. Finally
he said, "Then we've won."

"Yes. We've won," the demon agreed.

"Well, not exactly," came a voice from the window nearest
them. They both turned. Sitting in the window, looking fairly
relaxed, was Joe de Oro, clean and rested, dressed in a breech-
clout and sandals, and wearing his great sword.

CHAPTER 16

WHEN THE HURLY-BURLY'S DONE...

A woman has no fury like Hell scorned.

—Old Husaquahrian Saying

BOTH THE BARON AND THE GENERAL WERE STARTLED, BUT

not particularly worried. Hiccarph reached out a long arm to
Joe and swiped at him as if swatting at a fly. Joe flinched, but
the demonic hand passed right through him without effect, and
he relaxed and smiled. "Having problems, fish-breath?"

"You're the one from the tent back in the Valley," the demon
recalled. "I understand it all now. You're from Earth, aren't
you?"

"Give that devil a cigar," Joe responded, gaining a little
confidence.

"You are subject to the magic of Husaquahr, so I wouldn't
feel so confident. You have no one left to protect either you
or your female companion, who, I assume, is also from Earth."

"You're right on that," the swordsman conceded, "but not
on the other. Ruddygore didn't think that a battle between two
such illustrious sorcerers should go unappreciated by all except
vagrant travelers from Earth and a notorious thief. He issued
some invitations, and, what do you know, everybody accepted.
You see, he sort of made a bet with each one, and even though
you did him in, for which I will cheerfully see you in a worse
hell than the one from which you came, he still won the bet.
He was very busy at that convention making deals, you see."

Both the exhausted Boquillas and the demon were fascinated
but hardly worried. "Indeed?" Hiccarph responded. "And what
sort of petty magics can you find against meT
230

JACK L. CHALKER                 231

"Just one," came a thin, nasal voice from behind the demon.
The two on the battlement turned. While Boquillas simply
frowned in puzzlement, the expression on the demon's face
was terrible indeed to behold, and he uttered a groan that
sounded like the death cries of a million damned souls.

The object of this was a small, pudgy little man in monk's
robes, clean-shaven even to his very smooth scalp. He looked
quite cherubic, but his expression was anything but amused.

"Mephistopheles," Hiccarph whimpered. "Wait! I can ex-
plain. .."

"Explain what?" the little monk asked. "That you, a minor
nothing over here in the backwaters, could unilaterally break
the Compact and risk Armageddon without even his Majesty
knowing of it? Well, he knows now, Hiccarph!"

"No!" the demon wailed. "How—how did you find out... ?"

"Ruddygore does a fair amount of business our way, usually
with the minor elementals, of course, but enough to get mes-
sages where he needs to. He's been complaining about this for
years, but we never believed him. We never believed that
anyone in the demonic hierarchy could be both so clever and
so utterly stupid at one and the same time. Finally, he offered
a wager to us. Himself, his soul, all that he had, to the total
and complete service of Hell, if he couldn't prove it to my
satisfaction tonight. It had the approval of the Old Man himself,
in fact. We usually get the average soul without bargains, as
you know, but one of Ruddygore's caliber, right away and
now, is very rare. The Old Man's going to be as pissed by
missing that as he is with your rampant and reckless risk of
the status quo."

"But I could have delivered this whole world to Hell!"
Hiccarph whimpered.

"Bah! You idiot! We're winning now\ We could lose the
whole thing if we're forced into a premature Armageddon.
Well, you'll spoil things no more, now or in the future, until
Armageddon truly comes. An example will be made of you,
Hiccarph, and a most terrible one indeed, I promise you, by
the Old Man himself. Let's see how you like an eternity stoking
fires in the dung pits we reserve for the religious zealots! And
not as supervisor, either—as a common demon ninth class!
And when Armageddon arrives, guess who's going to be right

232

JACK L. CHALKER

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

233

out front leading the first charge into Heaven!"

"No! Wait! I—" the demon screamed, but there was a sud-
den, near-blinding flash of light and both figures were gone,
leaving only a very slight smell of sulfur behind that the wind
quickly carried away. Again there was silence.

The silence, though, was broken by a low chuckling. Joe
turned and saw Boquillas sitting on the battlement wall, looking
highly amused. Finally the sorcerer said, "Well, that's that.
Actually, I have to thank old Ruddygore, wherever he may be.
Now the Dark Baron will put his plans into action without the
meddlings of any Hellish princes—or ex-princes. Yes, indeed,
it was quite a favor you just did me, and I appreciate it."

"Don't appreciate it too much," Joe cautioned him. "Old
monkey wasn't the only onlooker, and I think it's time you
met the rest."

Marge appeared now, looking every bit the Kauri once more,
grand with her wings of power, flitting along the stones in true
fairy fashion. Behind her came a rather large assemblage of
people, all wearing varicolored robes that were made of fine
materials and beautifully tailored.

Marge went over to Joe as Boquillas gaped. "You know the
folks," she said lightly. "Fajera, Docondian, Sargash, Mathala,
Brosnial, Careska, Jorgasnovara, Yiknudssun, O'Fleherity,
Kaladon, and Esmerada?"

The Baron gasped. "Esmerada! But I thought Ruddygore
had killed you!"

Joe looked at Marge quizzically. "O'Fleherity?"

"Darling Esmilio!" Esmerada oozed. "You know me better
than that! I mean, given a choice between a fight to the death
you might not win and a partnership, which would you choose?"

"So that's why he was so well rested," the Baron muttered.
"You traitorous bitch!"

She laughed at him. "Oh, darling, you say the sweetest
things!"

"To business! I have already delayed my departure from
this rotten continent long enough," snarled a huge and pow-
erful-looking black man in robes of red and yellow. "Although,
I admit, the show was more than worth waiting for."

Boquillas was frankly too tired to care. "So what happens
now, my fellow members of the Council?"

"You've been a baad boy, Essie," Esmerada scolded play-
fully. "Got to pay the piper. Playing with real demons in the
real world is a no-no, and you know that."

"You and Kaladon in particular didn't seem so upset at the
Barony when it was going your way," he noted sourly. "And
you, Careska, surely didn't mind when we handed you Leander
on a platter. Fajera, you weren't exactly turning the other cheek
when you helped recruit the Bentar mercenaries. A fine lot you
are! Most of you are blacker than I am!"

"Which is precisely the point," Fajera, the big black man,
shot back. "You heard Mephistopheles. We've a long way yet
to Armageddon, but you provoked it prematurely. At least half
the Council is on the dark end of the art, and the other half
doesn't know which way they'll finally go, but has some idea
that you don't get this far and receive wings, a harp, and eternal
thanks. Maybe Ruddygore got away with it because he was
willing to give his life to stop you, but that's too high a price
for me. You and your damned visionary dreaming almost got
us screwed for eternity! Now you have to pay."

Boquillas sighed. "Yes, I bet Kaladon and the rest of you
love that. Two vacancies to fill on the Council, and Husaquahr
is yours with its armies in place. You like that idea, Sargash?"

"Enough. Temporal problems are for temporal resolution,"
a distinguished-looking woman in silver robes said. "The vote
has been taken after evidence was presented on a proper com-
plaint by a member of this Council, now deceased. Shall we
agree on the sentence?"

"We are agreed," the rest chanted.

"Very well, then. Esmilio Boquillas, the problems of the
world and how much or how little each of us gets involved in
them are none of the affair of the Council as a whole. The
Council is agreed that you have made a most grievous breach
of the ethics of the art and hereby expels you from the Council,
with loss of all rank and privileges, and from the Society, whose
covenant you so violated. So say we all, and so do we all act
in concert."

Boquillas just sighed and nodded.

The Council was quiet for a moment, each member's head
bowed as if in prayer. Then they looked up again at the man
who had been the Dark Baron.

234

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

"It is done," the woman in silver intoned. "Let us leave this
place."

With that, they all turned and walked back along the wall,
chatting pleasantly, and disappeared into the castle below.

Joe was disappointed. "That's all7 They cashier him and
that's that?"

"You don't understand, Joe," Marge told him. "They did
the worst thing they could do to him."

Joe looked over at the man, who was still sitting on the
stone wall. "He looks pretty good to me for a guy who just
got scolded."

"Not just scolded, Joe. They took away his power. All of
it! He has no more magical power than you do. Less, in fact.
I doubt if he's even able to do a sleight-of-hand magic trick.
They cut him off from the magic, you see. He's just an ordinary,
totally human, totally nonmagical mortal now."

Joe brightened. "You mean I can bash him?"

"You could," Boquillas agreed, "but why bother? If you
wish to kill me, then do so now. Otherwise, I am going inside
and going to bed." With that he got up, then walked away from
them down the battlement walkway to the small door, through
it, and back Into the castle.

"Damn!" Joe swore. "He kills the best man in this crazy
world and gets away with it! And I don't have the heart to take
him on, not when he's that beat."

Marge grinned. "Well, we could always do likewise, you
know."

"Huh?"

"There's still the bedroom in there, and we're still here. It
will be a while before Macore gets back with a longboat to
take you off, probably tomorrow sometime. In the meantime,
Boquillas can't get off the island any more than you can, and
all the others have already gone."

"But it's still the middle of the night!" he protested. "You're
not sleepy and I'm not tired."

"And there's no full moon, either," she pointed out.

"Oh—I see..."

Together they went in by way of the window.

The weather turned bad the next day-, delaying Macore's
rescue boat. Ruddygore had sent the little thief back to the

235

JACK L. CHALKER

mainland before the battle between the two sorcerers because
he feared too many people would be noticed and because
Macore had no demonic immunities.

Boquillas slept solidly for more than fourteen hours, but
Marge and Joe finally heard him moving about upstairs as he
breakfasted on leftover pastries from Ruddygore's last meal.
Both Joe and Marge felt pretty good, their only dark clouds
the knowledge that Ruddygore was gone and that Tiana was
still in the hands of Kaladon. That last seemed more unassail-
able an obstacle than ever; although Marge could ease some
of the ache, she wasn't able to remove the problem from Joe's
mind.

When Boquillas finally came down, he looked years older
than he had looked the night before—just a tired old man. Joe
reached for his sword, but Boquillas raised his hand wearily.

"Must we still continue to go through this?" he asked. "Please
understand that now I am as much on your side as Ruddygore
would have been, although, alas, without his power."

Joe frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I may have done all the dark things that you say, and I
will surely roast in that pit for it, but what I did, I did for
the most idealistic of reasons. With what happened last night,
things have turned upside down. Is there still a pastry, by
the way?"

Marge, who no longer felt human hunger, passed him a
gooey one. "What do you suggest, then?" she asked.

"I know Kaladon and some of his plans. I know Morikay,
too, and what's involved there. More than that, I still know
more magic than practically anyone else alive."

"But what good does that do you now?" Marge asked him.
"I mean, you can't use it, you can't practice it, and you can't
even see it or protect against it."

"Quite true," he admitted, "but beside the point. Kaladon
really isn't very good, either. Esmerada helped him rig his
contest for the seat he holds because she wanted a share in the
take, you might say. She's now been badly burned. Ruddygore
had to get a sacred oath out of her to stop the fight, and that
oath certainly removes her from any politics inside or outside
Zhimbombe. We are, then, dealing just with Kaladon, whose
power resides not in himself but in his ward."

"Tiana," Joe said softly.

236

JACK L. CHALKER

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

237

Boquillas nodded. "Exactly. She has the power, but is totally
under his control. She doesn't even have the knowledge to
break the simple spell that binds her to him, although she has
the power to break half of Husaquahr. So we are in a cul-de-
sac, as it were. I can analyze the spell and show anyone just
how to break it, but I can't see the spell. Break the spell, and
any half-baked magician could tell her how to fry Kaladon to
ashes. Ruddy gore's fairy adept, for example."

"Poquah! Sure!" Marge responded, sounding enthusiastic.

"Kaladon's bound to make his move very quickly, before
the armies start getting ideas of their own. That means both he
and Tiana will have to come out of that castle, and I can guess
by the way his mind works what he'll pull. It will take a pretty
good adept to resist the spell, and even that will be chancy.
However, that sort of thing won't work on a true fairy, so
somebody of true fairy blood, preferably somebody who can
also fly and defend herself quickly, would have to go there and
examine that spell, sketch it exactly, and bring it back to me."

"I think I'm beginning to see where you're headed," Marge
noted.

"Uh-huh. The trick then would be to get into Castle Mo-
rikay, if need be. Outside the castle, the defenses will be too
much for any but the best sorcerers in the land. That means
somebody has got to pull Ruddygore's trick—get into a castle
you can't get into without an invitation if you harbor intentions
against any of the occupants, invite in Poquah, say, and dissolve
the binding spell on Tiana. Give me a couple of weeks with
him, and I can teach him what he'll need to know. If my
analysis of her latent powers is correct, and I'm sure this is
what Ruddygore had in mind, the proper spells directed against
an unsuspecting Kaladon could do to him what was done to
me last night."

"You mean—take away his powers?" Joe said hopefully.

Boquillas nodded. "Not permanently, I think. That would
take four or maybe five of the Council to do. But, Joe, if you
had Kaladon unable to use any magic whatsoever for several
hours, what would you do?"

Joe grinned.

"That's what I thought. Now this is going to be tricky, and
I assure you that the odds are very much against it all going

our way, but Ruddygore seems to have picked you two very
well. Somehow, with a superhuman effort, he's matched you
to various arcane bunches of Rules, so that, no matter how
hopeless the situation is, you seem to come through. How
anyone could do this, even in a thousand years, is beyond me,
but he managed it, and I have to go with that."

Marge thought a moment. "You know—Ruddygore was
always going off to Earth at odd times. I wonder if, somewhere
over there, he hasn't got one hell of a computer working for
him."

"Computer? You mean an abacus?" the Count asked, con-
fused.

"One hell of an abacus, you might say," Marge told him.
"Joe? What do you think?"

"I think this is crazy," the big man mumbled. "A couple of
days ago this guy blinded me and chained us both up in a rat-
infested dungeon; then last night he killed the only friend we
had in this world; and now we're working for him\"

"Will you do it, though?" she pressed.

"Oh, sure I'll do it, but..."

CHAPTER 17

...WHEN THE
AND

BATTLE'S
WON

When cults convert more than ten percent of a population, they
are to be considered a religion and are covered by Volume XXVI
instead of Volume XCl.

—Rules, XCl, 494(b)

"IT'S LIKE NOTHING ANYBODY'S EVER SEEN," MARGE TOLD

the small council of war two weeks later. "I've never been so

LOST

238

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

alternately fascinated and repulsed by anything in my entire
life."

They sat there, Poquah, Joe, Boquillas, listening intently.

"First of all, the siege is over. In fact, the war is over for
all intents and purposes. The Barony has been replaced by the
spreading new world of the Goddess."

They nodded, knowing some of this, but not firsthand.

"Morikay has been rechristened the Throne of Paradise and
is the center of this expanding movement. It's an amazing thing
to see it spread so quickly in so short a time. The official line
is that the Dark Baron, who brought Hell to Husaquahr, was
defeated by Ruddygore at the cost of Ruddygore's life. They
made him a saint."

Boquillas chuckled. "It's a wonder he doesn't come back
from the grave over that."

"Anyway, with Hell vanquished, so the line goes, the Cre-
ator sent the Goddess of Husaquahr, a true angel, to watch
over us and see that it never happens again. Three guesses who
the Goddess is."

Joe looked at her and nodded glumly.

"Anyway," she continued, "the Goddess came to banish all
war from the world and to carry out the Creator's plan for us.
She appointed the wise and benevolent Kaladon as High Priest
of the new One True Church and established her seat on earth
at Mori—sorry, the Throne of Paradise. She raised the siege
by merely walking through the lines and letting all the soldiers
see her. They fell down and worshipped her, even the mer-
cenaries and half-breeds like the Bentar. She has since appeared
in dozens of major towns and cities, including Sachalin, Ha-
lakahia, and other places, and every time it's been the same.
Instant conversion, followed by the immediate establishment
of a temple under a leader hand-picked by Kaladon. There are
already huge statues of her all over the place, all of which
attract crowds of worshippers. By the way, Joe, all the statues
are full nudes."

"Naturally," Boquillas put in. "If she's a true angel, then
she is without sin of any sort, and clothing would be inappro-
priate."

"If the statues are from life, that means she's changed a
bit," Marge went on. "From what I understand, she's just about

239

JACK L. CHALKER

ten feet tall; and if you thought her proportions were large
before—wow\ Her hair also seems much thicker and about
ankle-length, and she looks, well, smoother. Really angelic in
the extreme. Of course, I never saw her personally."

"What of the fairy folk?" Poquah asked. "How are they
taking all this?"

"The ones I talked to are mostly divided. Kaladon has sent
emissaries to all the key tribes, offering peace and harmony
and assuring them that the temples will preach a line that they're
the children of God and are to be treated with honor and respect.
Most of 'em seem willing to suspend disbelief and go along.
A few are even debating whether or not the Goddess might be
the real thing. The ones who have seen her haven't fallen down
in worship, but they report an enormously powerful glow of
pure white within her, more than has ever been seen."

"Pure white. Good touch. Perhaps I did underestimate Ka-
ladon," Boquillas noted, mostly to himself. "And what of the
distinguished members of the Council?"

"Esmerada has been given her own seat at Halakahia, taking
over from Ruddygore. She seems delighted to go along with
it all and is working to make Terindell a holy shrine, of all
things! Sargash is still fuming over the siege of Sachalin, but
she's decided that the handwriting is on the wall. She's not
helping, but she's not obstructing, either. Word is that Kaladon
and Esmerada have offered to back her candidate for one of
the two vacancies on the Council, and that's bought her off.
Careska's head of the Church in Leander and she's been given
a pretty free hand there, while Fajera is priming Todra for a
visit by the Goddess real soon now. It's all happening so fast."

"But it's been planned for years, perhaps decades," Bo-
quillas responded. "Kaladon is an incredible politician with an
incredible mind set only on power. With the complicity of the
rest, or at least noninterference, he'll soon have all of Husa-
quahr that's worth having under a single theocracy with himself
at the helm. Oh, it will take quite some time to secure it all,
but if the mere appearance of the Goddess can cause instant
conversion and worship, then any time he gets a pocket of
trouble, he just goes visiting. But tell me, what is this new
doctrine like? Surely he has grandiose plans."

Marge nodded. "So far, the grand plan is limited to the

240

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

JACK L. CHALKER

241

Throne of Paradise, and that's just getting organized, but the
pattern seems clear. Each cooperating sorcerer is more or less
being encouraged to write his or her own holy book for the
locals, tailored to their own aims and conditions, so that keeps
the people happy. Kaladon himself seems to have his own
vision. Whole parts of the city are being torn down by eager
volunteer converts. Parks are being developed, and a style of
building that reminded me of ancient Greece—sorry, I know
most of you won't understand that—is going up. Big marble
temple-style buildings. People work five days on their regular
jobs, then two for the Church for nothing. They also are ex-
pected to go to services each night and get more holy instruc-
tions and they do. Half of what they earn goes to the Church
and gets poured into the building and developmental programs,
while Church leaders are organizing syndicates for all major
industries, including shipping and farming."

"An integrated economy. Interesting. Continue."

"Well, what he's getting is a world of willing, worshipful
slaves who won't even sneeze without permission, but who
will do anything they are told to do. They also seem bent on
a plan they call 'efficiency of form,' where people are being
willingly turned into other creatures to do their work better.
The centaur population alone is growing by leaps and bounds,
since that's an efficient farm form, and the mermaid and such-
like population's going to grow under a harvest-the-sea pro-
gram. There's a whole winged legion for transportation and
communication, too. It's scary. And remember, I'm an em-
path—I can feel these people's insides. They're sickeningly
joyful."

"That's to be expected," the former Dark Baron commented.
"After so much war, suffering, and killing, they were ready
for a savior, and he's given them one. Of course, Tiana's magic
is reinforcing all this, but that just makes it easier. You were
not, however, able to see her in person?"

Marge shook her head from side to side. "I tried to. Just
missed her once. But she takes a leaf from your book and turns
herself into a great white dove, or something similar, and gets
places faster than I can."

"Hmmm... This complicates matters. Have you any idea
how often she returns to the castle?"

The Kauri shrugged. "Hard to say. They're transforming
the place into a really stunning supertemple, by the way, at
least on the outside. All marble and spires."

Boquillas thought for a moment. "But you said Fajera was
trying to arrange an appearance in Todra. Any idea when?"

"The Goddess is due to appear in the City-States—which
arc, by the way, mostly very cynical but very curious—next
month. Does that help?"

"Yes and no. I hate giving him so much more time to
establish and consolidate his program, but this has to go exactly
right or it's no go. You'll be down there when she shows and
give us a firsthand account, plus that all-important spell infor-
mation. I've told you what to look for—the one string that ties
her to Kaladon."

Marge nodded.

"I don't see why I have to wait," Joe put in. "I mean, in
just a couple of weeks I'll be ready again to sneak in there.
Should be particularly easy with all the workmen."

"Perhaps, but we can't take any chances we don't have to,"
Boquillas replied. "First of all, I don't want you meeting the
Goddess. The spell would grab you, and that would be that.
Secondly, we might catch Kaladon with the barriers down for
a few days, even a week, but certainly not a month. He's bound
to notice, busy as he is, that he has no protection. You're the
key man, Joe, the only human we can afford to use in this
operation. Marge and Poquah will handle the rest, but they
can't get in without you."

"Okay, but I just get itchy sitting around here, that's all."

"Better itchy than lost forever," the Count warned.

Four weeks and three nightly transformations for Joe later,
the conspirators held another meeting, this one far more press-
ing.

"I've seen her," Marge told them. "Man! Is she something'.
I tell you, I knew what was going on and I was immune from
the spell she radiates and I still almost bought it. This empathic
thing is a two-way sword. She radiated such, well, godliness
that it almost overwhelmed me."

"It probably would have overwhelmed any other Kauri,"
Boquillas told her. "Your mind and your past are your strength."

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER

243

She nodded. "Joe, she is ten feet tall and looks just like
those statues all over the place. Also, every little blemish and
imperfection is gone, and so is that great dark tan. She's almost
blindingly smooth and white, and her hair's now silver—and
I mean silver, not white or gray—and her eyes are a deep
emerald green. She still has her slight German accent, but her
voice is real soft and musical and super-sexy; yet it will carry
in a square jammed with ten thousand people, somehow. You
ought to see Kaladon, though. Wearing snow-white robes with
silver trim, he looks just like an angel from an old religious
movie."

"You have the spell, I hope?" Boquillas prompted.

She sighed. "Damned hard to do, I'll tell you. That white
inner glow is almost blinding, and I had to do it in daylight.
Bless old Ruddygore's dark goggles! I doubt if anybody without
'em could see through the glare enough to figure out the pat-
tern."

"A smart move on Kaladon's part," Boquillas noted. "Just
in case some of the other councillors get ideas."

Marge passed him her sketch of the spell in colored pencils.
"Took me five different appearances to get it all down," she
told him, "and each time it was harder not to join the cult."

Boquillas studied the incredibly complex pattern for several
minutes, then grabbed a pad and began sketching his own series
of lines, shapes, forms, and relationships. It looked like kin-
dergarten scribble to Joe, but Poquah in particular was gazing
over the former sorcerer's shoulder and nodding.

"Can you do it?" Boquillas asked the Imir.

"Of course," the adept responded. "It is not difficult when
you diagram it that way, but I can think of no other mind save
perhaps Ruddygore's that could have solved the pattern from
so basic a sketch."

"I was a theoretician far longer than I was an activist," the
Count told him. "In fact, Kaladon is cloddish enough or ego-
maniacal enough to have used a slight variation of one of my
own designs. I suppose he no longer considers me a threat.
Still, a wise teacher never tells his student all he knows." He
looked up, smiled, and said to the Imir, "You have all the rest
of the preparation. Joe, you have the latest reports from Po-
quah's and Marge's fairy friends about what's going on in

Morikay. Let's see... Your next cycle is in eight more nights,
right?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah, that's about it."

"And we have here from Marge evidence that our dear
Goddess will formally and personally dedicate Fajera's temple
a week from tomorrow." He sighed. "That's pretty dicey, and
cutting things rather fine, but I think we might manage. No, I
think we have to. If we let this go on another month, we won't
be able to get near the place without being converted ourselves.
Let's do it. Eight nights from tonight, Joe, you will be in
Morikay, and so will Marge and Poquah. If your phenomenal
luck holds, nine days from today we will free this world from
Kaladon, not to mention Tiana."

"I can hardly wait," Joe said truthfully.

It was easier to get into Castle Morikay, or the Palace of
the Angels, as it was referred to, than it was to stomach
two days in the city itself. The building boom was amazing,
with all sorts of bright-eyed men and women, aided by the
Halflings of equal fervor, working like insects in a hive for the
glory of the Goddess. How so many statues had been made in
so short a time without a production line was beyond Joe and
the others, and they were probably magical products, but it
was both stunning and disturbing to see them, not only as
decorations but actual objects of worship.

The people drove themselves with total fanaticism, calling
one another Brother and Sister and praising the Goddess all
the while they slaved. Even though he lay low and kept away
from much contact, Joe got blessed more times than a Swiss
guard at the Vatican. He had to admit, however, that, if it
wasn't for the sheer fanaticism of the people and the fact that
they looked malnourished and horribly overworked, he ap-
proved of the face lift in progress. It was still hard to tell just
what the final thing would look like, though.

The great castle on the flat hilltop in the center of town was
getting a new marble facade, its towers extended, and, in front,
a tremendous statue of Tiana was being installed.

Still and all, Joe had the same distaste for this cult that he
had for the cults back home on Earth. About the only nice
thing he could say for this one was that at least they didn't ask

244

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

for money all the time. In fact, he couldn't pay for anything
at all.

Not that there was an awful lot to be had. Restaurants and
cafes seemed a thing of the past, and inns were closed and
deserted. He had to depend on the charity of some of the bright-
eyed converts for what food he could get, and they were sharing
obviously meager rations. The economic and trading system
had been given a lower priority than the building of Kaladon's
dream city.

As for the castle, or temple, or whatever it was now, passing
through into the inner courtyard proved quite easy in the eve-
ning, since work never seemed to stop. As a mule, though,
Joe put in one hell of a tough night's work and almost had it
all go for nothing when they moved to take the animals out
come daylight. Fortunately, animals worked better when fed,
and there was an area inside the courtyard where the horses
and mules could munch on hay. Near sunup, he positioned
himself in the middle of a large group of animals and managed
to change back unseen, although he was almost chomped and
trampled getting out of the mob.

He wasted no time issuing his invitation with the earring he
still had, and he prayed that the batteries hadn't run down.
They had worked fine in a test the night before, but one never
knew.

His problem now was that he was naked and unarmed in
the midst of the enemy camp and he had no real way out.
Boquillas' memories of the inner castle, though, proved right
on the mark. After a few hairy near misses with some of the
people inside, who did not look or act completely entranced,
he found the right section and also found, to his relief, that it
was still used as an inner storage area. In fact, it had been
stuffed with lots of junk left over from the siege, causing him
no end of trouble to locate a comfortable place. He only hoped
that Marge would find him, preferably with a roast turkey or
a thick steak.

Fortunately, the night's work as a mule, powering-a complex
pulley system for the main steeple, had tired him out so much
that he just passed out for the day.

Marge got in, somehow, before nightfall, with a large cold
cuts sandwich and a small gourd of water. It was better than

JACK L. CHALKER

245

nothing, and he ate the food quickly. As planned, they remained
together until the full moon was again in the sky, making Joe
once more a twin of Marge; but this time a different Marge
was involved. The last time she'd been just a pixiewoman, but
now she was a full Kauri again—and could fly.

That gave him the double immunity of the were's curse and
a fairy form, as well as flying ability.

"Poquah?" he asked her.

"By midnight," she told him. "He's using some of his mag-
ical talents and coming in as a pilgrim worker."

"I just wish Tiana were back," he said. "I want to get this
over and done with."

"She is back. Came here in midmoming, as a huge white
bird with Kaladon perched on her back."

"Something symbolic in that."

Marge smiled and nodded. They settled down to wait in the
dark storeroom for Poquah.

"You know," Joe remarked, "it's a wonder they don't do
this sort of infiltrating each other all the time. Esmerada, for
example, would love to replace the Goddess with herself."

"They would if they could," Marge pointed out. "Remem-
ber, it's only these neat little transmitters that make all this
possible. Kaladon's people are watching for any strangers, and
they'd prevent anybody new from talking to anybody outside.
They check every working person coming up here thoroughly,
too. No, Ruddygore's beaten the system with a were and some
Japanese transistors. Nobody else has even one, let alone both."

"Maybe I should rent myself out to bite specific people, if
being a were is so important."

They waited nervously for hours, but it was almost dawn
before the storeroom door creaked and a shadowy figure en-
tered.

"I had real problems," the Imir told them as soon as they
saw that it was indeed he. "The spells to detect other spells
are very tight. This is a well-defended place, I'll have you
know. I had to—radio, isn't that the term?—Boquillas for
additional help."

"Boquillas! He's here?" Marge was both amazed and wor-
ried.

"He is. Hiding out in the cellar of a deserted inn just down

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

the hill, and a good thing, too. He said either we do it or he
might as well join the cult. There was no purpose in his staying
away. I can communicate with him through Macore's little
devices." He pointed to a small object, like a golden hearing
aid, in his pointed left ear.

"Well, I just changed back, without even getting to fly
once," Joe grumped. "Damn! What do we do now?"

Poquah paused, as if listening, then nodded. "The Count
suggests that we either act straightaway or wait until dark once
again. The rest of the time, the halls will be filled with func-
tionaries."

"Take a chance and go now," Joe suggested. "I don't think
I can stand another night in this place."

Poquah, nodding agreement, pulled up his hood and silently
slipped away.

They almost went crazy waiting, but finally he returned
after what not only seemed like but might have been hours.
The impassive Imir was not in a better mood. "Problems," he
told them.

"You couldn't get near her?"

"Oh, I located her, all right. The trouble is, Kaladon seems
to be in the same room with her at all times. The moment I
try to break the spell, he's going to be aware of it. Incidentally,
you might be interested to know that, although the physical
changes remain, inside here she reverts to her old height, which
was still considerable."

Joe nodded. "That's a relief. But if Kaladon never leaves
her side, we've got problems. How long will it take you to
break the spell?"

"Only a minute or so. But that is a very long time if he
knows immediately and can react. The lines of magic from me
to her will be instantly recognizable to him and traceable back
to me."

Joe thought a moment. "Well, we're in no position to have
him called away. That means we have to distract or confuse
him... Hmmm... Yeah. Why not? I've been Marge twice, so
why not?"

"Why not what?" Marge asked him.

"Poquah, how hard is it going to be to sneak me into a place
of concealment near where they're likely to be at sunset?"

JACK L. CHALKER

247

"They handle business in a magnificently appointed throne
room," the Imir replied. "Their bedchambers are right behind.
A large study and apartment, actually. They take their meals
there as well. Why?"

Joe told him his plan, and both Marge and Poquah were
aghast at it.

"Still and all, it's an interesting try," the Imir said at last,
"and our technical advisor recommends trying it if it is at all
possible. I have a few spells of concealment and nonrecognition
I've used before and just used now. I can get you in, and myself
as well. But the Creator have mercy if you so much as sneeze."

"I'll take the chance," Joe replied. "Just be ready."

"Above all, do not look at her if you can avoid it," Poquah
told him. "It is possible, even probable, that the conversation
spell does not operate in here, when she is human and normal
size, but we can't take any chances."

Poquah set up a watch and waited until the receiving room
was clear of business and both Kaladon and Tiana had retired
to the rear apartment for lunch. With the aid of Poquah's magic,
Joe found himself able to reach the room with no trouble and
he was impressed with the way it looked—like some reception
area from the age of kings, with grand tapestries behind the
velvet-lined throne of solid gold. He got behind the tapestries
all right, then settled down as best he could for the long wait.
Poquah would have to remain outside until after dark, lest Joe's
curse go the wrong way. Even now there was a fifty-fifty chance
of real problems.

Throughout the afternoon, it was maddening to hear the
voices of both Kaladon and Tiana, the latter on the throne just
in front of Joe, but he held onto what patience he could. As
the afternoon wore on, though, he certainly wished he could
go to the bathroom.

Tiana sounded wonderful but imperious. There was a lot of
work to be done and lots of people to be seen. Joe was certain
that the only reason he had escaped detection was because it
would simply never occur to Kaladon that such a thing was
even possible.

Several times, sometimes for long periods, Tiana would
leave the throne, and many times both of them would leave

248

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 249

the room and then return, causing Joe a great deal of worry.
He had no clock, no window, no way at all to know what the
situation was, and he could only wait and listen and hope.

Still and all, it worked. Tiana was, in fact, sitting on the
throne at sunset, while Kaladon was tending to some paperwork
across the room. Joe knew immediately that the change had
occurred, smiled, leaned down, and picked up the small gold
charm he'd taken in with him but not worn. "Go," he whispered
into it, hoping that only the one on the other end would hear.
He then got up, brushed back the impossibly long silver hair,
and stuck the little gadget in his ear.

Outside, a door opened, and a man's voice said humbly,
"Begging your worshipful Highness' pardon, but there is an
Imir outside."

Kaladon was quick to get suspicious. "What? How did he
get in?"

"I—I don't know, sir. I assumed—"

"You assumed9. I should—no, wait. Send him in and leave
us. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

"As you wish, your Worship," the adept responded, then
bowed to the woman on the throne and left.

Poquah entered without disguise, looking as impassive as
ever. Nothing had ever seemed to disturb him, and he didn't
appear to understand the meaning of fear. He bowed to the
throne and to Kaladon. "I am Poquah, your Worships, formerly
in the service of the late, sainted Ruddy gore."

Here we go, Joe thought, knowing every possible meaning
of fear.

"So you are Poquah," Kaladon responded. "I have heard a
lot about you. How did you enter this castle without permis-
sion?"

"But, your Worship;" I had permission," the Imir replied.

"Whose?"

The Imir pointed to the throne where Tiana sat, impassive
as the fairy. "Hers," he said.

Kaladon turned to look, and as he did, Tiana rose and started
toward him...

Then two Tianas were there, side by side, walking toward
him.

"Wha—what trick is this?" Kaladon screamed, and Poquah

watched the thin yellow band connecting him to the real Tiana.
Watched as it wavered, moved, and seemed unable to choose
between the two absolutely identical Goddesses.

The Imir struck. It was something that even Joe could see,
because he had the same relative abilities as Tiana at this point;

although, since his soul was different, he did not have her great
magical powers.

Tiana herself seemed to frown and rock to and fro. Kaladon
became suddenly concerned with reestablishing his umbilical
link, completely forgetting Poquah, who was rapidly rewriting
the magical script.

Once the link had been broken, even for a few seconds,
Poquah's opening had begun changing the rest of the pattern
that bound Tiana so tightly, so that Kaladon's link with the big
woman would not rehook to her. Instead it wavered, then at-
tached itself to the one pattern it could grab hold of—Joe.

Realizing his problem, Kaladon screamed and rushed head-
long into the Imir, bowling him over onto the floor.

Tiana shook her head as if to clear it and blinked several
times, as if awakening from a strange and terrible dream. She
looked around in complete confusion, then saw the two fighting
on the floor.

The yellow umbilical was attached to Joe, but it had no
pattern with which to mate and so it only tickled a little. Tiana
gazed very confusedly at him, gave a gasp at seeing herself,
but did not know what to do, so she just stood there. Joe quickly
moved around to the other side of her, in the process knocking
the yellow magic band away as if it were a cobweb.

The protective spells taught him by Boquillas worked well,
but the Imir was no match for Kaladon and was quickly brought
to heel. He lay there unconscious on the floor, and Kaladon
picked himself up, then looked with a snarl of satisfaction at
the twin Goddesses before him. He stretched out his hand, and
from it flowed a pattern of yellows, greens, and reds, com-
pletely covering one of them and freezing her into immobility,
while the other stared wide-eyed, then seemed to realize exactly
what was going on.

"First the impostor, then the Imir," Kaladon snarled. "Here
is the pattern. Do it! I command you!"

"She would if she could, usurper, but she is only a double

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

of me!" the unbound Tiana on the left said. "But thank you
for the pattern!"

It shot out from her in blinding lights. Joe could only watch,
unable to move or do anything at all, but no help from him
was needed. Kaladon was trapped in the complex mass of colors
and textures. They held him, froze him, and bound him all at
once, and then they started slowly to constrict, ever slowly but
steadily, until the veins began to pop from his skin. Vessels
burst under the pressure, bathing the frozen man in his own
blood and continuing to contract until the pattern met, then
dissolved, leaving a gruesome mess on the rug.

As Kaladon died, the spells binding Joe seemed to snap and
then dissolve away. He could think and move once more and
he let out a loud sigh.

Poquah groaned, rolled over, and made his way to his feet.
Both Tianas just looked at him. Finally he got hold of himself,
glanced over at the pulpy mass and, for one of the very few
times in his life, he gave a slight grin. It quickly vanished when
he realized it, and he turned to the two large women standing
there.

"What is this all about?" Tiana wanted to know. "I do not
remember anything since I was forced into Kaladon's pres-
ence ..." She suddenly paused. "Oh, God! It was not a dream,
was it? This strange religion, all those people..."

The Imir nodded. "Not a dream. In fact, a more humane
version of the system might be just what Husaquahr needs. I'm
not at all sure that it can be properly dismantled with so many
on the Council in on it."

"Quite right, my friend," came a voice from the door, and
in walked Esmilio Boquillas. "The spells hold, for they are
Tiana's, not the late, unlamented Kaladon's, and she doesn't
even know how to undo them."

Tiana was confused. "What? Who?"

The other Tiana grinned a very uncharacteristic Tiana grin.
"I'm Joe, Tiana. This is a night with a full moon. Remember?"

She gasped. "Then that explains it! And you, sir?"

Boquillas smiled and bowed. "Esmilio Boquillas, Count of
Marahbar, at your service."

"How'd you get here so quickly?" Joe asked him. "The
whole outer castle is guarded."

JACK L. CHALKER

251

Boquillas chuckled. "Poquah did it. You see, while I can
no longer cast spells, I can be the easy recipient of them. It
was a trifle. I had him cast several good spells on me for practice
weeks ago."

Marge entered from the back of the room, looking confused,
and stopped at the sights she saw.

Joe eased away from Tiana and over to a side where two
rapiers were mounted decoratively on the wall. Boquillas glanced
over at him and grinned. "Oh, you have guessed it. Yes, indeed,
my friends, we shall yet build perfection in this world. One of
those spells you used in freeing Tiana, my dear Imir, also
subjected her to my direction. Come! Come! Do not feel de-
jected! The Dark Baron's plans come to fruition at last, that's
all. There is nothing you can do about it."

Joe took both rapiers from the wall and checked out the heft
and balance. "I think there is. Baron," he said in Tiana's sweet-
est voice. "I think you should have been in this room rather
than assuming your scenario."

Boquillas' face clouded. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you'd better take this rapier, you bastard!
Poquah did no more than break the link before he was otherwise
engaged. He cast no spells on Tiana—she used Kaladon's
own!" He tossed the rapier to the man, who caught it deftly.

"Joe!" Tiana cried. "No! It is not necessary! With Poquah's
aid, there is no problem!"

"I can handle him without you," the Imir responded, and
Boquillas looked nervously at the two of them.

"No! This is necessary!" Joe told them. "Just get out of the
way, all of you! It's time for this murdering bastard to meet
his fate in the real world!"

Boquillas glanced over at the real Tiana. "If I order you to
fling the same spell on her—er, him—that you used on Ka-
ladon, I don't suppose you'd obey, would you?"

"Not a chance, old man," she responded.

He shrugged, raised the rapier in a salute, then leaped at
Joe.

Joe was fortunate that Tiana was about the same height as
he normally was and that her body was also trained as a swords-
woman, with the proper muscles and reflexes. Although he
had to remember to protect his chest a bit better, he had height

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

and reach on the older man, as well as youth. He also, unfor-
tunately, had six feet of flowing hair that threatened to trip him
up.

Boquillas was no slouch as a swordsman, either. In fact,
he was nearly brilliant, and they dueled back and forth across
the chamber with little effect to either combatant.

Ultimately, though, the Dark Baron's strategy held true, as
he forced Joe into a series of gymnastic moves that could not
be done without tripping on that damned hair. Joe fell, cursing,
and lost his rapier.

Boquillas made no allowance for honor. The rapier plunged
deep into Joe's chest twice, spurting blood, and the stricken
were cried out in pain.

"I think that is quite enough," another voice said, and Bo-
quillas whirled, froze, and literally gaped at the heretofore
vacant throne. The rapier dropped to the floor, and still he
stood there, looking like a man facing his own death.

Tiana, Marge, Poquah, and Joe all stared as well, and only
the Imir remained in the least bit unaffected by the sight.

Throckmorton P. Ruddy gore, looking about forty pounds
thinner and with a neatly trimmed beard, got up from the throne,
an amused twinkle in his eyes. He was wearing his formal
clothes, complete with opera cape, distinctive cane, and top
hat.

"Joe, don't just lie there feeling killed. The rapiers weren't
made of silver, and he had no power to make them so. Wipe
that damned blood away and get up!"

CHAPTER 18

COMPLEX EVER-AFTERINGS

Never consider a sorcerer dead for good until you have seen him
die a minimum of three times.

—Rules, VI, 303(b)

"DON'T LOOK SO STARTLED, ALL OF YOU," RUDDYGORE TOLD

them. "Come back into the apartment with me and let's find
something to eat in this mausoleum. Yes, you, too, Esmilio."

"But—I killed you! Or, rather, Hiccarph killed you! We all
saw it!" the Count protested.

Ruddygore chuckled. "Oh, I admit I got a real mauling, but
only on the psychic level, like your kraken and dragon and my
replay of Earth warfare. I will also admit that, had I been that
poor, starving boy, you would have had me; but he was just
a construct, like the rest."

"He couldn't have been!" Boquillas protested. "It was you
there! You as a starving scavenger! I know the Rules better
than you! No construct may have a direct relationship to its
creator!"

"Could be you're right," Ruddygore admitted, "but, trouble
is. Count, you're just too damned gullible. That life story of
mine that I told you over good wine and better cigars was a
total and complete lie. You're such a sucker for a bleeding
heart I can't help but feel sorry for you, old boy. Come! Every-
one! We must eat and relax and decide what to tell all those
officials around here who are scared to death to enter the pres-
ence of the Goddess without permission, despite the commo-
tion!"

"But where were you when you escaped the demon? Where
253

254

JACK L. CHALKER

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

255

have you been all this time?" Marge wanted to know.

"Where I could rest and bind my wounds and regain strength?"
the fat sorcerer responded. "Where else?" And with that, he
launched into a chorus of "I Left My Heart in San Francisco."

It was daybreak, but Joe and Marge had talked through the
night, telling Tiana of their adventures and briefing Ruddy gore
on what he had missed. Meanwhile, Tiana gave orders forbid-
ding interruptions in her best imperious manner, while fanatical
followers still worked on rebuilding the castle and the city.

Boquillas remained the most silent of the batch, rarely of-
fering a question or comment. He looked, and was, a totally
defeated man and he knew it.

Finally it was dawn, and Joe changed back to his old self.
He was delighted, as was Tiana, who hugged and kissed him.
He finally broke away, laughing, and noted that three of them
in the room were stark naked.

"That brings up an interesting series of questions," Rud-
dygore said at last. "We have to discuss all our futures here."

Everyone was suddenly very serious.

"Boquillas, I certainly owe you for helping dispose of Ka-
ladon, although, as I promised, I was ready all in good time.
I find, however, that I can not allow you freedom, considering
your activities of this night. I think, perhaps, that you will
come with me for a while, and we will take a little trip to-
gether."

The Count's eyebrows went up. "A trip? Where?"

"I'll give you back your health and your youth, so that you
will have a chance to see how things really are. I'll prepare
you with languages and I will even bankroll you. You are going
to work for me, on Earth."

"Earth? Doing what?"

"Research and correlation. It would be a shame to let one
of your intellect and experience go to waste. You like tech-
nology so much, I will introduce you to my computer section.
Without them, all this could never have been possible."

"I knew it," Marge put in.

"Alas, you are also ready to experience a far different world
from what you've ever known, as well as the Bangkok flu,
stomach ulcers, and all the other pressures of day-to-day living.

Still, it is better than you deserve." The sorcerer pointed at
Boquillas, and he winked out and vanished. "Stuck him in
storage until I have to go over again," Ruddygore told the
others.

"And what of us?" Marge asked him. "What now?"

He sighed. "Boquillas was right, you know. Esmerada, Fa-
jera, Sargash, and the rest will not be easily talked out of this
cult thing. Nor, in fact, could you, Tiana, ever lead a normal
life now. You have what you wished all along to have, much
to my surprise. You are absolute ruler here. We can modify
the harsh pans of this new religion, but the others won't let us
kill it, I'm afraid." He chuckled. "Besides, I like being a saint."

Tiana shook her head in wonder. "You know, all that time
in exile, I dreamed of this sort of thing, although tens of thou-
sands of statues of me fully nude are a bit more than I thought
about." She laughed. "Well, then, so be it. The climate is
tropical, and I certainly can no longer claim modesty after so
many have seen not only statues but me in the altogether." She
paused a moment. "But the responsibility it now gives me is
staggering. I had not thought in those terms. My dreams were
always of taking back what was stolen, not of what happened
after."

"Of course, there will have to be some modifications," Rud-
dygore told her. "Let them continue to think you an angel, for
they will, anyway, but we must restore their free will and sense
of perspective. We must get the economy going again. Adjust
the new status to the old so that it all works, but without war
or mass slaughter, at least for a very long time."

She nodded. "Of course. You need only show me how to
do it."

Ruddygore turned to Joe. "And what about you? What do
you want now, Joe? I mean, really want. Long-term."

Joe thought a minute, then leaned over and hugged Tiana.
"I want a goddess."

She seemed delighted and excited, and grabbed and hugged
and kissed him all over again.

Ruddygore smiled. "A slight modification is in order, then.
There will have to be one, anyway, to explain Kaladon's de-
mise. You sent him to his Heavenly reward, that's all."

"She sure did," Joe noted.

256

DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

"Goddesses do not have consorts, of course, and I think Joe
ill fits the role of high priest. Therefore, we'll reaffirm some
old-fashioned values and virtues. The Goddess shall have her
God. You certainly look the pan, Joe."

"Hey! Wait a minute! You mean there's gonna be a million
marble statues of me in the nude?"

Ruddygore laughed. "And why not? When they see the
attributes of both of you, you will be the sex idols of Husa-
quahr."

"But I have no godlike power, and Tiana can't use hers,"
he pointed out. "And you're expecting us to rule a country
directly and a church that goes out who knows how far?"

"There will be little trouble there. First of all, your new
high priest will handle the mundane magical chores and advice,
accompanied by his faithful band of adepts and hangers-on.
And, because the potential for this is so fascinating, there will
be a backup. A simple microcomputer, I think, with a number
of hard disks, should hold the basics. With some nice color
graphics, of course, so you can see the spells and how they're
formed when you punch them up. I'll bring one back when I
drop off Esmilio."

"But how will you plug it in?" Joe asked him. "And isn't
that violating your own ideas on technology?"

Ruddygore winked. "The power source will be a new type
of battery tapping a magical source. As you know, sometimes
cheating on one's principles is necessary. Without doing so,
we would now all be dead, at the mercy of the Baron's armies."

Ruddygore turned to Marge, whose expression was solemn.
"Don't look so glum, my dear!"

"Nothing in that bag of yours for me, is there, Mr. Wizard?"
she responded sadly.

"Soon the inns will open, the shows will restart, and all
will begin anew," he told her. "You are Kauri, Marge, and
that is a great responsibility, but also an important one. Fly,"
Marge, into the night skies! Play! Sing! Dance! The whole new
world is at your feet, and you are truly-free to enjoy it!"

She smiled and got up and walked over to them. "I'll miss
you all terribly, though."

"But you can return any time, and there is always time for
you," Joe told her. "Always."

257

JACK L CHALKER

They hugged and kissed, and then Marge left. Going down
a hall and seeing an open door, she walked in and climbed up
on the window. The sun was bright, and she lowered her gog-
gles to keep the sleep away, then leaped out into the cool sky.

Back in the apartment, Joe sighed. "Will we ever see her
again for real, I wonder?" He leaned over to Tiana and kissed
her. "I know and I'm sorry, but we were pretty close."

She kissed him back. "I understand."

Ruddygore grinned broadly and got up. "Well, Poquah, it's
about time we saw what they've done to our old home. But
we'll be back, children, rather quickly. Until then, don't worry
about any problems coming about. Everybody here will obey
every order the Goddess gives." He sighed, yawned, stretched,
and made for the door, then turned back to the couple.

"Don't worry about not seeing Marge again," he told them.
"The Rules still hold."

Tiana looked puzzled, but Joe smiled softly, and that smile
turned into a big grin.

"Yeah, that's right, isn't it? We've got at least one more
great adventure left, haven't we?"

"Oh, yes, yes. At least," agreed Throckmorton P. Ruddy-
gore.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JACK L. CHALKER was born in Norfolk, Virginia, on De-
cember 17, 1944, but was raised and has spent most of his
life in Baltimore, Maryland. He learned to read almost from
the moment of entering school, and by working odd jobs
amassed a large book collection by the time he was in junior
high school, a collection now too large for containment in
his quarters. Science fiction, history, and geography all
fascinated him early on, interests that continue.

Chalker joined the Washington Science Fiction Asso-
ciation in 1958 and began publishing an amateur SF journal,
Mirage, in 1960. After high school he decided to be a trial
lawyer, but money problems and the lack of a firm caused
him to switch to teaching. He holds bachelor degrees in
history and English, and an M.L.A. from Johns Hopkins
University. He taught history and geography in the Balti-
more public schools between 1966 and 1978, and now makes
his living as a freelance writer. Additionally, out of the
amateur journals he founded a publishing house. The Mirage
Press, Ltd., devoted to nonfiction and bibliographic works
on science fiction and fantasy. This company has produced
more than twenty books in the last nine years. His hobbies
include esoteric audio, travel, working on science-fiction
convention committees, and guest lecturing on SF to insti-
tutions such as the Smithsonian. He is an active conser-
vationist and National Parks supporter, and he has an intense
love of ferryboats, with the avowed goal of riding every
ferry in the world. In fact, in 1978 he was married to Eva
Whitley on an ancient ferryboat in mid-river. They live in
the Catoctin Mountain region of western Maryland with their
son David.