Roger Zelazny - Wizard World 1 - Changeling

"What do you mean?"

"I know those dwarves fairly well. She'd be dead by now if they didn't have orders not to kill her. They came here in flying ships and they'll doubtless take her back in one. They must be to them by now."

"I thought it was me they were after--or the last piece of this rod."

"Yes, but they'll avoid you rather than confront you now that you've got it. She was probably second choice--as hostage, possibly."

"What do you mean 'possibly?' "

"Mark likes her himself, you know."

"Yes, I know," Pol said, "Fill me in later. Let's move."

He raised the rod, and a blinding flash of white light leaped from it, cutting a path through the jungle. Without pausing, he headed forward along it.

When they came into the clearing once again, they saw that Moonbird and the feathered serpent were locked together, unmoving, pressed up against the side of the pyramid. The dragon was still caught within a coil, and his teeth were now locked upon the great snake's side. The serpent had his fangs fixed in Moonbird's left shoulder. A portion of the pyramid had collapsed about them.

As they turned and began to pass to their left, a sudden resumption of activity shook the ground. The singed serpent was thown flat as Moonbird, wings freed, rose into the air, his shoulder still in the grip of his dangling adversary. Pol swung about and raised the rod.

No! The word vibrated along a green strand which suddenly sprang up between Moonbird and himself. This is between us! Stay away!

Without pausing to acknowledge the message, Pol continued on his way toward the place where Nora had been borne into the jungle, Mouseglove close behind him. There came another roar. Shortly, he smelled the stench of burning flesh. He did not look back.

They reached the spot where the bodies lay among the reddened grasses, Nora's blade protruding from one of them. Now that they were away from the scuffling beasts, other noises came to their ears--mechanical humming sounds from beyond the trees.

A dark shape rose into the air some distance to the south of them. Almost immediately, two more followed it.

"No!" Pol cried, and he raised the rod.

Mouseglove caught at his arm, dragging it down.

"You'll kill her if you shoot it down!" he shouted. "Besides, you've no way of knowing which one she's in. You can't afford to hit any of them!"

Pol's shoulders sagged. Two more vessels climbed into the air.

"Of course," he said, his arm falling. "Of course. ..."

He turned and looked at Mouseglove.

"Thanks," he said. Then, "I've got to go after her. I have to do what Mark wants--take things to a full conflict. He doesn't know what I've got to bring up against him, but he has to find out before he can embark on his campaign. Now he is about to learn. I'm going back there and take Anvil Mountain apart, if Moonbird can still fly. ..."

"I've got a ship," Mouseglove said. "I stole Mark's. I can fly it. I'll show you."

He took Pol's arm.

As they passed the pyramid again, the struggle was still in progress with neither combatant showing any sign of weakening. Great furrows and pits had been torn in the charred ground; thick, sweet-smelling blood was smeared everywhere, and both dragon and serpent were soaked in it. At the moment, they were so intertwined that it was impossible for Pol to assess their damages, let alone to use the rod on Moonbird's behalf.

He summoned the strand by which Moonbird had addressed him earlier.

I must return to Rondoval now and prepare for battle, he said. Mark has Nora. Mouseglove can take me there in his flier. I cannot await the outcome of your struggle.

Go. When it is finished, I will return.

Immediately, the two began to thrash about again. The serpent, half of its feathers missing, began to hiss violently. Flames blossomed about it, upon it, as Pol and Mouseglove hurried by. It succeeded just then in throwing a coil about Moonbird's neck, but the dragon's claws were now raking its midsection.

"Tell him to go for the green jewel in the thing's head," Mouseglove said. "I stunned it for a moment when I hit it there."

Strike at the jewel in its head, Pol immediately relayed to Moonbird, but there was no reply.

They hurried past, coming shortly to the trail Mouseglove had hacked through the brush.

"This way," said the smaller man. "I've concealed it in a place not too far ahead. But--Pol, I'm too tired to make the flight all the way back. I'd fall asleep and kill us both."

"Just get us airborne," Pol replied. "I'll watch and ask questions. We can take turns flying if necessary."

"You look fairly tired yourself."

"I am. But it is not going to be as long a haul as you might think."

They entered a cleared area. Mouseglove paused and gestured, crossed to a green mound, began removing fronds.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I just made the trip."

Pol moved to assist him.

"You're not going to like it," he said, "but I know a shortcut. ..."

...He strode past the glassed-in banks of flat-faced machines, their huge metal eyes rotating, stopping, reversing, rotating again, ceaselessly, silently, to his left. To his right, a line of men and women, seated before glowing screens, traced designs with electric pencils upon them. The rug was soft and resilient, making the floor seem almost nonexistent. A gentle light emanated from glowing tubes overhead. The abstract design upon the wall to the right changed as he passed. A soft, characterless music filled the air. ...

...He halted when he came to the large window looking out upon the city. Far below, numerous vehicles passed on the streets. Boats moved upon the distant river, and an airplane was passing overhead. Towering buildings dominated the prospect, and everything was clean and shining and smooth, like a piece of well-tended machinery. A certain warmth grew in his breast as he regarded the power and magnificence of the scene. His fingers tapped at a latch, and he drew the window upward, leaning forward to drink in the full range of sensations which emanated from the city...

...A heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he turned toward the tall, heavyset man who stood smiling beside him, drink in hand, face as ruddy as brick, red hair mingled with white, red scalp showing through....

"...Yes, Mark, admire it," he was saying, gesturing with his glass. "One day, all of that will be yours...."

...He turned to look again, having drawn back slightly from the aura of power which surrounded the larger man. Something at the left side of his face clicked against the window's frame. Raising his hand to explore, he discovered a huge protruberance above his left eye. Immediately, he remembered that it had been there all along. Turning farther, with something like shame, he reached up and touched it again....

...His vision doubled. Beyond the window now, he saw two discrete scenes. Half of the city before him was still bright and beckoning. The other half was gray, drab, the air filled with ashes and yellowish fog-like tentacles. Raucous noises, as of the rattling of heavy machinery rose up on that side of the split scene, accompanied by a wave of acrid odors. Moist, sickly patches of color clung to the buildings. The river was muddy. The ships' smokestacks poured filth into the air....

...He drew back, turning again toward the big man, to discover that he, also, had doubled. The man to the right stood unchanged; the one on the left was even redder, his face partly shadowed, eyes flashing baleful lights....

"...What is the matter, my son?" he was asking.... Mark could not speak. He gestured toward the window, turning slightly in that direction, to discover that the scene was no longer split. The left side had superimposed itself upon his entire field of vision. His father merged also at that moment, and only the darker version remained....