Castle War!, page 7
He reached the summit, and the rate of the ground's passing picked up even more. The beast ran at freeway cruising speed, impossibly. Then faster, and faster still.
He came down into tableland cut by deep arroyos. Cactuslike plants populated the flats. The nearby ground was a blur, distant scenery passing as in a fast-moving train. Still the speed increased.
Clouds grouped, turning dark. Lightning cut the sky at the horizon and rain began to fall. The wind was fierce now, whipping at him and churning up a whirling storm of dust. Bits of dirt and tiny pebbles stung his face, and he spoke a short bit of magic-making to ward them off.
The sky darkened and lightning struck to either side. Auroral displays lit up the horizon, fingers of fire brushing distant mountains. His speed was incredible now. The horse seemed to leave the ground ... it did leave the ground.
Horse and rider rose into the maelstrom.
Queen's Dining Hall
Sir Gene had stuffed himself, and now felt a bit queasy. He should have known better than to pile food into a prison-shrunken stomach. Looking over the table, however, he could hardly blame himself. One could not ask for more inducement to gluttony. There was food enough here for an army of gourmands. This castle's Incarnadine was a gracious host. Not that his counterpart was incapable of setting a good table—if you didn't mind a few dishes laced with poison. The dinner entertainment consisted of watching the unlucky diners twitch and heave. Great fun, that.
So, knowing this lord of the castle to be a decent sort, he had succumbed. But no matter. He would just sit quietly until the spell passed.
“Gene, old buddy!”
A great white beast barged into the hall. Snowclaw. Sir Gene's groan was barely audible, and he tried to put on a smile. Like it or not, this horrendous shambling creature was supposed to be a friend.
“Hello, Snowclaw. So good to see you again.”
“What happened to you? We were looking all over.” The beast threw a tremendous broadax down on the table and took a seat across from Sir Gene.
“I did some reconnoitering. Not that it was fruitful.”
“Did you find out what that world was out there? Looked like Earth, but nobody's sure.”
“No, I didn't think it too wise to blunder into some unknown aspect.”
“You showed good sense, which is pretty unusual for you. I was ready to crash in there and try to find you, but Linda sort of talked me out of it.”
“She can be very persuasive.”
“I know. So. Have any idea what's going on?”
“Not a clue, I'm afraid.”
“I heard Incarnadine can't get back.”
“That's what I hear. Pity.”
“Yeah. What are we going to do?”
Sir Gene answered truthfully: “I don't quite know.”
He thought about it. Here was an ally of sorts: Snowclaw, if the beast could be harnessed. As far as Sir Gene could tell, he seemed cooperative enough. This might prove useful.
“Maybe we could go get him with that fancy machine you guys saved my rump with a while back.”
“Ah ... perhaps. Perhaps we could.”
This was going to be tricky going indeed. What machine could the creature be talking about? The castle had few machines. In fact, Sir Gene was familiar with none of any complexity. But this was another castle.
“Nah. Somebody would have thought of that already,” Snowclaw said, “and would have done it. There's got to be some problem.”
“I suppose so.”
“What's-his-name, the little guy—Jeremy would know.”
“Yes,” Sir Gene said. “We should go ask him. Um, where do you think he'd be?”
“Up in the laboratory? I dunno. I guess.”
“The laboratory. Of course. Shall we go?”
If the castle had a laboratory, Sir Gene didn't know where it was. Fortunately Snowclaw led the way. This variation of the castle was proving to be very interesting indeed. Machines, laboratories ... what next?
Linda came around a corner and nearly collided with Snowclaw.
“Watch yourself,” Snowclaw said, chuckling and wrapping Linda up affectionately.
“Snowy, you should get turn signals. Where are you guys going?”
“To the laboratory,” Snowclaw said. “What's happening up there? Anything?”
“Jeremy is cooking something up with ... well, he's got himself a girlfriend up there.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Someone new. She's ... it's hard to explain. Anyway, he's busy with the stuff Lord Incarnadine wants him to do.”
“What about using the gizmo to go pick Incarnadine up?”
“The Voyager? Can't. Well, maybe. Jeremy doesn't know yet. There are problems with that idea. I wouldn't get my hopes up.”
“That's too bad.” Snowclaw scratched his abdomen with one bone-white claw. “Well, what can we do?”
“Nothing much. Just sit tight. Not a lot is happening. We've lost contact with Earth, but that's nothing new. Portal problems we can deal with. It's this weird stuff that Lord Incarnadine said to expect that worries me.”
Sir Gene said, “What exactly did he say we should expect?”
“Well, something about anti-universes. And then—”
Linda looked over Sir Gene's shoulder.
“Oh, here comes Tyrene. Maybe he has some news about Mr. Dalton.”
Sir Gene turned. When he saw the festering mole on Tyrene's cheek, his hand went to the hilt of his sword.
Tyrene was already lunging with his broadsword. Sir Gene stepped back, drew, and beat off the attack. Then, sidestepping as Tyrene passed, he delivered a decapitating blow to the back of the neck, which would have done its job if the blade had not caught the edge of the Guardsman's helmet. The helmet flew and Tyrene went sprawling, stunned.
“Lord Incarnadine!”
Sir Gene whirled. Incarnadine was standing a few feet away, a smirk curling his lip. Two Guardsmen flanked him, swords drawn.
“Very good, Sir Gene. And I suppose you've already dispatched your counterpart.”
Sir Gene's eyes darted between Incarnadine and Linda, who looked baffled. Snowclaw also seemed confused. He raised his broadax.
Incarnadine squinted. “It is you, is it not? You have the requisite dissolute mien about you. I can't imagine two such creatures. No matter. And this”—he turned to Linda—“must be the Lady Linda. My, my. Good teeth, this one. Have you had her yet, Sir Gene?”
Linda's mouth was hanging open. She closed it, shook her head, and said, “Wait a minute. What's going on?”
“I've just come to pay a friendly visit,” Incarnadine said. “I live in the castle next door.”
“Huh?”
Sir Gene said, “It's not the Incarnadine you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mirror aspect, my dear,” Incarnadine said. “It's been known to happen. An aspect turns into a mirror of the castle itself. Sometimes a distorting mirror, sometimes not.”
Linda shook her head slowly, saying, “You mean you're not the real Lord Incarnadine?”
“Oh, come now. Surely you don't think that I would feel I was anything but the real Incarnadine. The mirror formed in my castle. Sir Gene here did us the favor of blundering into it, and we followed him. And here he is, and here we are, and ... well, thereby hangs the tale.”
“What do you think you will gain by coming here?” Sir Gene asked.
“Don't quite know. I've never explored a mirror aspect. Thought it might be fun. By the way, where is the lord of this castle? The real Incarnadine, if you insist.”
Sir Gene and Linda were silent.
“Hm. Doubtless we'll meet eventually. Judging from the intelligence we've gathered, I'd say our forces are superior. And we do have the element of surprise.”
The hallway behind Incarnadine had filled with milling Guardsmen.
Incarnadine pointed at Snowclaw. “What the devil is that monster doing here? I thought I gave orders never to let...” He broke off suddenly and smiled. “But of course, I forget. Excuse me. Snowclaw, is it not? Yes. Well, no matter.” He turned to the Guardsman next to him. “Kill them all.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
Incarnadine turned away and the Guardsmen edged forward.
Sir Gene and Linda backstepped, but Snowclaw stood his ground, broadax raised.
The Guardsmen hesitated. They knew the beast they faced.
Snowclaw said over his shoulder, “Run, you guys!”
Sir Gene took off.
“Move!” Snowclaw barked.
Linda saw three Guardsmen charge Snowclaw. As she ran she heard the clash of steel and then a scream. At the corner of the intersecting hallway she cast a glance back. Two of the Guardsmen were down and the third was retreating.
She yelled, “Snowy, run for it!”
Snowy ran for it, and Linda dashed down the corridor, hearing Snowy's big feet coming up fast behind her. There was no sign of Gene. She sprinted to an intersection, looked both ways, and fled across it.
Snowy was close behind. “Where's Gene?” he yelled.
“I don't know!”
Running by an alcove, she caught sight of someone pressed up against the inside wall. It was Gene. She skidded to a stop and backstepped.
“Gene?”
Gene gave her a strange look.
Snowy scouted down the hall, then came back.
“Soldiers coming,” he said. “Can't tell if they're ours or theirs.”
Looking worried, Sir Gene peered out. “I suspect Incarnadine invaded in force. They'll be all over the castle, and they know it as well as we do.”
There was an aspect leading out of the alcove, one Linda didn't recognize. The world didn't look inviting: sand, rocks, and straggly bushes.
“We'll have to duck through a portal,” Linda said. “I don't particularly care for this one, but it is handy.”
Sir Gene gave it a sullen look. “I suppose we have no choice.”
Voices down the hallway, shouting orders.
“No, we don't,” Linda said. “Let's go.”
The three of them ran through to another world.
Golfing Hell
Thaxton was still damp from his dunking as he putted on the ninth green. The monstrous bird had dropped him over the water hazard. The height would have been enough to kill him but the gravity on this world was somewhat less than normal. He had survived the plunge, only having the wind knocked out of him. Dalton had fished him out.
The course had turned even more bizarre. Now there were lava pits instead of sand traps, geysers on the fairway, and sinkholes on the approaches. Smoke rose and flames leaped. The lava pits bubbled noisily, spattering hot goo.
The sky had turned dark. It didn't even look like a sky, but more like the vault of an expansive roof. The green was not grass but artificial turf of some kind.
Thaxton putted. The ball rolled straight until the last second, then veered off. It orbited the rim of the cup and spun away.
“Oh, blast.”
He had lost a stroke to one of the pits, and now he would have a short putt for a double bogey.
“Beastly luck I've been having.”
“That's the truth,” Dalton said. “It's not every golfer who gets carried off by a roc.”
“Is that what the thing was?”
“Well, it fit the description.”
“It could only happen to me.”
“You've done well. Twenty over par isn't bad, considering.”
They finished putting and picked up their clubs. Smoke and steam rose around them as they left the green to walk a narrow path between two rocky escarpments. Coming out on the other side, they saw the clubhouse.
“There, you see?” Dalton said.
“You were right.”
The place looked a little odd. It was shaped haphazardly, consisting of half-spheroids and other bulges, and had oval windows. A lava pond fronted it, spritzing liquid rock like a fountain.
They entered what looked like the lobby of a hotel. An assortment of strange creatures—variously clawed and scaled, fanged and furred—were sitting around on stuffed chairs reading newspapers.
“Well, it's not restricted,” Thaxton said.
“Where's the bar?”
“I'm famished. Let's drink at a table.”
“Fine. Let's see, that looks like the eatery.”
A somewhat demonic-looking creature, presumably the maître d'hôtel, met them as they entered the dining room.
“Two for lunch?” it said in a cultured, deep-throated voice. Its barbed tail twitched back and forth.
“Yes, please,” Dalton said.
“This way, gentlemen.”
“By the window, if you can,” Dalton added.
“By all means, sir.”
Their table offered a prospect of a large crater filled with bubbling pitch. Fire danced in the distance.
“Charming,” Thaxton said, sitting down. There were no other patrons in the room.
“Would you like to see the wine list, gentlemen?”
“Hmm. I was going to have a martini, but wine might go better,” Dalton said.
“I'll have a gin and bitters, easy on the bitters,” Thaxton said.
“Your waiter will be with you in a moment, sir.”
“This Château Avernus sounds good,” Dalton said. “Could you recommend a good year?”
“All vintages are good, sir. The climate where it's produced doesn't vary.”
“Sounds like a hell of a good vino to me. We'll have a bottle.”
“I'll tell the wine steward.”
“I could eat a horse,” Thaxton said.
“Or a roc, maybe?”
“God, no. Rather a tough old bird, wouldn't you think?”
“Maybe so. Well, I sort of like this course. How about you?”
“Oh, so-so. I've seen better. It certainly is different.”
“Unique, I'd say.”
“Tell me. Have you given any thought as to how we're going to get back?”
“Oh, we should be able to find the first tee again. That's where we came in.”
“The first hole is miles back,” Thaxton said.
“The first hole is always somewhere near the clubhouse.”
“But the place wasn't like this when we started. The first tee can't be anywhere near. Besides, it might not have been the first hole. How can you be sure this course has the regulation number of holes?”
“Why wouldn't it?”
Thaxton shrugged. “No good reason. Do you suppose the portal's still there?”
“It's occurred to me that it might have moved or disappeared.”
“Oh, that's occurred to you? Perhaps we might give it some thought.”
“Relax,” Dalton said. “I've been walking in and out of portals for years now. Never been lost yet.”
“There's always a first time, old boy.”
“Yes, I suppose there's always a first time. Come to think of it, though, I wouldn't mind being stuck on a golf course for the rest of my life.”
“God forfend.”
Another creature came up to the table. This one's scales were shinier and its horns longer.
“Hi, I'm Gamalkon, and I'll be your waiter today.” The creature handed out menus.
Thaxton ordered his drink. The waiter said, “I'll be back to take your orders,” and left.
“Interesting bill of fare,” Dalton said.
Thaxton looked it over. “What the devil ... ‘Filet of basilisk'?”
“Haven't had basilisk in a long time. Hmmm. ‘Cockatrice au vin—breast of cockatrice sautéed with wild mushrooms and fresh tender roots in a light wine sauce.’ Sounds good.”
“Are you joking? This is abominable.”
“Broaden your palate, my friend.”
“Eat this rubbish and you'll have your palate broadened, all right. Into a death rictus.”
“Hmmm. I might try the luncheon special.”
“Where's that?”
“Up at the top.”
“Oh.” Thaxton's eyebrows shot up. “'Chimaera casserole—chunks of tantalizing chimaera with noodles and wild herbs in a rich cheese sauce'? Chimaera? You're actually going to—?”
“That or the barbecued harpy.”
“Good God.”
“Now, if you really want to experiment, the stuffed python ... but maybe that's a little intense for lunch.”
“By all means keep it light.”
The wine steward showed up, uncorked a bottle, and poured a taste for Dalton. Dalton breathed the bouquet, then took a sip and swished it around. Swallowing, he said, “A very playful little wine. Fruity.”
“Barbecued bleeding harpy,” Thaxton muttered, still vainly searching the menu.
“Leave the bottle,” Dalton instructed.
The steward filled Dalton's glass, then turned to Thaxton.
“Having wine, sir?”
“Hm? Later, I have a drink coming.”
The waiter returned with Thaxton's gin. Dalton ordered the cockatrice, with gryphon soup to start.
“And what will you be having, sir?” the waiter asked Thaxton.
“God, I don't know. Do you have ... do you happen to serve hamburger à la carte, by any chance?”
The waiter's red eyes rolled. “Yes, sir, we do.”
“Hamburger, then.”
“How would you like that done, sir?”
“Oh, I like my beef flamed to a turn. You shouldn't have any trouble doing that.”
Dalton said drolly, “Are you sure it's beef?”
The waiter said, “Our hamburger is ground from the freshest—”
“I don't want to know!” Dalton said, holding up a hand. When the waiter left he downed his drink in one gulp.
Dalton sat back. “Well, a few drinks and a leisurely lunch ought to put us right for the back nine.”
Thaxton gave him a skeptical look.
Dalton said, “Come on, buck up.”
“I'm all right. But I get the feeling that something's not right at the castle.”
“Yeah. That has occurred to me. But then neither of us could do very much to help.”
