Roger Zelazny - Wizard World 1 - Changeling

"They're Mark's," she replied. "The same sort of thing that came to save him. He sent them for me...."

"Why?"

"He wants me. He said he'd come for me."

"And you don't want to go to him?"

"Not now."

"Then I think we'd better go see him and straighten this out. Where is he?"

She looked at him, at Moonbird, back at him.

"South, I believe," she finally said, "at a forbidden place they sometimes call Anvil Mountain."

"Do you know how to find it?"

"I think so."

"Have you ever ridden a dragon before?"

"No."

He squeezed her hand and turned.

"Come on. It's fun. This one's named Moonbird."

She did not move.

"I'm afraid," she said. "The last dragons anyone saw were Devil Det's. ..."

He nodded.

"This one's okay. But let me ask you whether you're more afraid of this Mark guy and his gadgets or a tame, housebroken pet I just rode in on."

She shook her head.

"Where did you find it? How do you control it? Is it true about your being related to the House of Rondoval? You said you were a traveler--"

"Too much. Too long to tell you now."

"....Because, if you are of Rondoval--as they said--then that probably is one of Det's dragons."

"He's mine now. But I won't lie to you. I didn't before, either. I just didn't know then. Yes, I'm related to that House. I'd like to help you, though. Will you show me where this guy lives? I want to talk with him."

She studied his face. He met her eyes. Abruptly, she nodded.

"You're right. He means harm. Perhaps we can reason with him. How do we mount?"

"Let me introduce you first. ..."

As the ground dropped away beneath them, Pol leaned past Nora and told Mouseglove, "There's going to be a little detour on the way to Dibna. I want to visit the person who controls these things."

Mouseglove nodded.

"You postponing your revenge, too?" he asked.

Pol reddened.

"Revenge?" Nora inquired. "What does he mean?"

"Later," Pol snapped. "Tell me about forbidden places."

"They are areas containing leftover things from the old days when people still used that sort of equipment."

"They are supposed to be haunted," she added.

"I've heard similar stories," Mouseglove put in. "Seen some artifacts too, in my line of work. The day you were taken away, I heard Mor speak of some sort of balance. Our world went the way that it did, the one he was taking you to went the other way. The two ways seem basically incompatible, and attempts to combine them are dangerous. I got the impression Det might have been doing something along those lines."

"So Mark could be a greater menace than is immediately obvious?"

"It seems that way."

Pol shaded his eyes and stared ahead, locating the tiny dot the bird-thing had become.

"We seem to be headed in the same direction."

"What revenge?" Nora said.

"I'm not sure. Let it go, huh?" He glowered at the small thief, who smiled back at him. "An intention is less than a deed," he said, "less even than an attempt." His gaze grew unfocussed. He seemed to pluck at something in the air. "You're a fine one to preach," he added, long moments later, as the smaller man clutched suddenly at his chest, "when you've got my figurines inside your shirt."

Mouseglove blanched, then fell into a spell of coughing "I'll deal with you later," Pol said. "I doubt you'll be running off in the meantime. Right now, though, I think I'm beginning to see what Mor meant about a menace when he was bringing me here."

"I can explain--" Mouseglove began.

"Old Mor is the one who brought you to our land?" Nora said.

"Yes."

"That is very interesting. For he is the one I told about Mark when it happened. He seemed ill at the time, though."

Pol nodded.

"He wasn't well."

The character of the land began to shift beneath them. The forest grew thinner. A large river which had followed roughly parallel to their course in the west narrowed, finally passed beneath them and vanished into the southeast. Exposed areas of land were lighter in color now, shading over toward yellow.

The dark speck that was the surveillance flier disappeared from Pol's sight far ahead. It was not until afternoon that they encountered more of them. They first saw several wheeling at a great height for ahead. They dipped lower and moved in their direction, half a dozen of them.

Pol felt a sudden tension in Moonbird's neck and it seemed that the dragon began to grow warmer.

More to smash...

Wait, Pol instructed. They don't seem to be attacking. I think he has sent us an escort.

Smash escort.

Not so long as they keep their distance.

....Some time later.

Wait.

They continued on until the shape of Anvil Mountain appeared low on the horizon in the afternoon light. Their escort had maintained a regular flight about them for hours, unvarying. As they drew nearer, they saw that more of the birds patrolled the skies above the flat-topped height. Below, the land had assumed a bleaker aspect--yellow, streaked with red, dotted with gray and russet outcrops of stone; jagged cracks ran in dry, unpatterned profusion, as on a dropped, earthenware pot; small, scrubby bushes, wind-twisted, clung to the slopes of hills.

The mountain stood larger now, and they could make out a skyline atop it--white, green, gray, a reflecting backdrop to many movements. Pol looked about as they drew closer and he felt Moonbird stiffen, then change his course slightly to conform with the movements of the dark fliers.

Go where they take us, for they are surely taking us to him, he ordered.

Moonbird did not reply, but altered course several times as they neared the city on the rock, rising and swinging to the west, beginning a gradual approach to the great flat-roofed building near the center of the complex. Peering downward, Pol saw a tall, red-haired man standing upon a terrace outside what appeared to be a penthouse dwelling. A flying machine of unusual design rested upon a gridded landing area behind the structure. A number of man-sized machines of unknown function moved about in the vicinity.

"More magic," Mouseglove muttered.

"No," said Pol. "Not at all."

He felt Nora's hand upon his arm then, gripping it.

"You know this guy pretty well, don't you?" he asked her.

"Know him? I've been in love with him for years," she replied. "But I'm afraid of him, too, now. He's changed a lot."

"Well, we seem to have a landing clearance. Let's go and talk with him. If you want him to stop bothering you, tell him so and I'll back you up. If you don't, now's your chance to straighten things out."

Down, Moonbird. Land in the clear area.

They descended into a much smoother landing than the previous one. His ears rang faintly as the winds finally ceased whistling about them. He climbed down and assisted Nora to descend. He heard her gasp.

"His eye! It was injured!"

Pol turned. The man in the khaki jumpsuit with numerous bulging pockets was now approaching a peculiar device which covered his left eye changing color as he left the shade, becoming a bright, then deep blue. A vivid scar passed down his forehead above it, emerged on his cheek below it. Pol stepped forward to meet him.

"I'm Pol Detson," he said. "Nora wants to talk to you. So do I."

Mark halted at a distance of about two meters and studied him. Finally, he nodded curtly.

"I'm Mark Marakson." He immediately turned to look at Moonbird. "I've never seen a dragon before... Gods, he's big!"

He returned his attention to Pol, not even glancing at Nora.

"Detson... Magician?"

"I suppose so."

"I don't understand magic."

"I'm still working at it myself."

Mark gestured suddenly, a sweeping motion of his left arm, apparently intended to take in the entire city.