Piers Anthony - Split Infinity

Neysa snorted indignantly. She was mad at Stile now, but she believed in him. Yet it was apparent that most of the others were in doubt again. The infernal logic of the Lady!

How could he refute this new challenge? There was one other person who knew his identity—but that was the Yellow Adept. Best not to bring her into this! He would simply have to present his case, and give them opportunity to verify it.

“I am not the Blue Adept. I am his alternate self, from the other frame. Anyone who is able and willing to pass through the curtain and make inquiries can ascertain my existence there. I am like Blue in all things, but lack his experience of this world. I am not an impostor, but neither am I this Lady’s husband. Call me the brother of Blue. I apologize to those of you who may have had misconceptions; it was not my intent to mislead you.” It still felt funny, using “you” in this frame, but it was the correct plural form. “Were I some other Adept, I would have little reason to masquerade as Blue; I could set up mine own Demesnes of whatever color. My power of magic is real; why should I pretend to have another form than mine own?”

The others seemed mollified, but not the Lady Blue. “I would expect a murdering Adept to arrive prepared with a persuasive story. To come as a seeming savior, destroying the golem he himself had sent, to make him-self appear legitimate. To emulate the form of magic that is Blue’s. Why should he do this? I can think of two reasons, to begin. First, this would tend to conceal the murder he committed. Second, he might covet the things that are Blue’s.”

Kurrelgyre turned to her, his brow wrinkling. “An Adept of such power could create his own estate, as impressive as this, with less complication than this.”

“Not quite,” she said tightly. “What has this estate, that a foreign Adept might covet and not be able to duplicate?”

The Lady hesitated, her color rising, but she had to answer. “It has me. It is said by some that I am fair—“

Telling point! “Fair indeed,” Kurrelgyre agreed. “Motive enough. Yet if he honors the works of Blue and maintains the premises in good order—is this not what thou wishest?”

“To accept in these Demesnes the one who murdered my love?” she demanded, flashing. “I will not yield this proud heritage to that! The false Adept may destroy me with his magic, even as he destroyed my love, but never will he assume the mantle and privilege of Blue.”

Kurrelgyre swiveled on the wall to face Stile. “I believe in thee, friend. But the Lady has a point. The magic of Adepts is beyond the fathoming of simple animals like ourselves. We can prove no necessary connection between Blue’s alternate in Proton and thyself; that double could be dead also, and thou a construct adapted by magic, emulating the mode of Blue when in truth the real power lies in some other mode. We can all be deceived, and until we are assured of thv validity—

Stile was baffled. “If neither my likeness nor my magic can convince her, and she will not take my word—“

“If I may ask two questions?” Hulk put in tentatively.

Stile laughed. “We already have more questions than answers! Go ahead and throw thine in the ring.”

“For what was the Blue Adept noted, other than his appearance and his magic?”

“His integrity,” the Lady said promptly. “Never did he tell a lie or otherwise practice deceit, ever in his whole life.”

“Never has this one told a lie,” Kurrelgyre said.

“That remains to be demonstrated,” she retorted.

The werewolf shrugged. “Only time can demonstrate that quality. Was there nothing else, subject to more immediate trial?”

“His riding,” the Lady said, brightening. “In all Phaze, only he could ride better than I. His love for animals was so great, especially horses—“ She had to stop, for her emotion was choking her.

To have the love of such a woman! Stile thought. Her husband was dead, but she still defended him with all her power. She was right: another Adept might well covet her, and not merely for her beauty, and be willing to go to extraordinary lengths to win her.

Kurrelgyre turned to Stile. “How well dost thou ride?”

“I can answer that,” Hulk said. “Stile is the finest rider on Proton. I doubt anyone in this frame either could match him on horseback.”

The Lady looked startled. “This man can ride? Bareback on an untamed steed? I should be glad to put him to that test.”

“No,” Hulk said.

She glanced at him, frowning. “Thou guardest him, ogre, by preventing him from betraying incompetence on a steed?”

“I seek only to settle the issue properly,” Hulk said. “We have seen that careless application settles nothing—such as Stile’s demonstration of magic. For all the effect it had, he might as well not have bothered. To put him to a riding test now, when he has been weakened and injured—“

“There is that,” Kurrelgyre agreed. “Yet the importance of this proof—“

“Which brings me to my second question,” Hulk said. “Is the issue really between Stile and the Lady—or between the Lady and the mare?”

Lady and mare looked at each other, startled again. “He only looks like an ogre,” Kurrelgyre murmured appreciatively. Then, to Stile: “He speaks sooth. Thy destiny must be settled by Lady and mare. They are the two with claims on thee. If thou provest thou art the Blue Adept, one of them must needs suffer. This is what brought both wolves and unicorns here.”

Stile did not like this. “But—“

The Stallion honked from his enclave. “Only the finest of riders could break the least of unicorns,” Clip translated. “This man conquered Neysa; we accept him as the Blue Adept.”

Stile was astonished at this abrupt change on the part of the Stallion. “How couldst thou know I really—“

“We saw thee,” Clip said. “We rooted for her to throw thee, but we can not claim she did. We recognize that whatever else thou art or art not, thou art indeed the finest rider of thy kind.”

“But had she turned into a firefly—“

“She would then have admitted she could not conquer thee in her natural form,” Clip said. “It matters not, now. No man ever rode like thee. The Stallion resented that, but now that he knows that was the mark of Blue—“

“I didn’t really do it by myself,” Stile said, remembering something. “I hummed, and that was magic, though I knew it not at the time. I used magic to stay on her.”

“And unicorns are immune to magic,” Clip said. “Except the magic of Adepts. Another Adept could have destroyed her, but never could he have ridden her. There is only one Adept we know of who can ride at all, and that is Blue. All this the Stallion considered before accepting thee.”

“But I do not accept thee!” the Lady flared. “The unicorns could be in league with the false Adept, to foist an impostor on the Blue Demesnes. My love was a horseman, never partial to unicorns, nor they to him, though he would treat them on occasion if they deigned to come to him. The mare could have allowed this impostor to ride—“

Clip reacted angrily, but Kurrelgyre interposed. “Didst ever thou hear it mooted. Lady, that werewolves would collude with unicorns in aught?”

“Nay,” she admitted. “The two are natural enemies.”

“Then accept this word from this were: I have come to know this mare. She did not submit voluntarily, except in the sense that she refrained from using her own magic to destroy him. He conquered her physically—and then, when she saw what manner of man he was, the kind of man you describe as your lord, he conquered her emotionally. But first he did ride.”

“Almost, I wish I could believe,” the Lady murmured, and Stile saw the agony of her decision. She was not against him; she merely had to be sure of him, and dared not make an error.