Piers Anthony - Phaze Doubt

He came to the base of the mountains. Grandpa Stile had told him of one of the tribes of snow demons he had come to know, because he had played chess against the demon champion, Ice-beard. Even demons loved good games! They had been on opposite sides in the Adept struggle, but demons did not take human altercations too seriously. In any event, they should all be on the same side now: the side of Phaze.

He found the pass leading to the demon caves. He started up, his paws feeling the ice. Soon he would have to change to boy form and invoke a spell of warmth.

A snow demon appeared, and roared a windy challenge. “Away, wolf, ere ) bury thee!” It was no bluff; the creature could set off a snowslide in a moment.

“I be friend!” Flach called in growl-talk. Not all creatures understood all languages, but there was some interaction between wolves and snow demons. With magic he could do for himself what he had done for Lysan: make their languages compatible.

“Demons have no friends!” The demon made ready to start the slide.

“I be grandpup to Adept Stile, come to see Icebeard.”

The demon paused. That name was known here. “Prove it.”

Flach assumed his unicorn form, then his boy form. He made a minor conjuration of clothing, lest he freeze. “Dost see the resemblance?” For he did have a family resemblance to his grandfather, one he had cultivated from pride.

“Aye,” the demon said grudgingly. “An thou dost be faking it, we shall make o’ thee a statue o’ snow.”

“As would be proper.” Flach agreed.

The demon led him on into a cave farther up the pass. Soon he stood before the demon chief, who was a fearsome figure. He was made entirely of ice, with wild icicles for hair and of course matted ice for a beard. He gazed coldly at Flach. “Thou claimest to be the ‘Corn Adept?” he demanded, his breath a freezing fog.

“Aye. An thou wishest, I will perform small magic.”

“Why small? An thou dost be he, thou canst make big magic.”

“And have our enemy spy my location.” Flach replied. “That were not kind to thee or me.”

Icebeard considered. “Dost play chess?”

Flach laughed. “Aye! But I be far from Grandpa’s league—or thine.”

That was a good answer. “What willst thou here?”

“Knowest thou o’ the Hectare?”

“Word reaches e’en the hinter. Thou hast dealings with them?”

Here was the crux. If the demons had sided with the enemy, he would have to risk strong magic to escape. “Aye. I be dealing to destroy them.”

The demon chief smiled. “Then we be together, this time. We ha’ no joy in aliens who would mine out our mounts.”

“Aye, I hoped so,” Flach said, relieved. “My sire the Rovot Adept opposes them, and hides the Book o’ Magic.”

“We remember the Rovot—and Fleta ‘Corn, a mare one could learn to like.” That was strong language, from those who liked no one. Flach’s dam had evidently made a considerable impression.

“Stile be their captive, and most o’er Adepts. Mayhap I alone can implement our defense.”

“And needst our aid?”

“Aye.”

“Shallst have it, ‘Corn. What needst?”

Just like that! Demons evidently wasted no time pondering. “Needs must I go to the North Pole.”

Icebeard was taken aback. “That be one hard haul. I would trust not my cold bones there. The weather be mean.”

“Aye, I fear I can make it not alone.”

“But my daughter be full o’ the flush o’ youth. She will lead thee there, with picked guard.”

“My thanks to thee, chief o’ demons!” Flach said gratefully. A demon squad could handle anything short of Adept magic— and they would not encounter that near the Pole.

“But a caution,” Icebeard said. “My cub be impetuous, and my guards be virile. Needs must a man’s presence keep them in check.”

“I be but boy,” Flach protested. “An I not be the only one remaining, this task were ne’er mine.”

“Thou dost be Adept,” Icebeard reminded him. “Canst do magic we wot not, an we oppose thee not.”

“Aye—but an I invoke it, the traitor Purple be on my tail. I can risk but small spells.”

“Illusion be but small.”

Flach gazed at him, catching on. “Make myself seem older? Maybe twice mine age o’ nine?”

Icebeard nodded. “My cub be twenty. That be close enough. She will show the way. An a guard show interest in her, do thou step between.”

Flach was daunted. “I know not if I—“

“Do thou fashion a seeming o’ robust strength and brief temper. That, plus mine orders, suffice.”

Maybe it would. Flach realized that it would have to be risked, if he was to get to the Pole. “I will try. Chief.”

“Mayhap soon I find suitable match for her. But an she fall for a mere guard, that be complicated.”

Flach could appreciate that. Each group had its own conventions about romance and marriage, and violation of them could be perilous. Flach knew the wolf conventions, and was catching on to the human ones, thanks to Nepe’s information. Icebeard wanted his daughter emotionally uncommitted until there was a good marriage lined up for her. Naturally there was no worry about a relationship with a warm-bodied man; any closeness would freeze him or melt her. There was even less concern about a nine-year-old child. The chief might be taking advantage of Flach’s mission to keep his daughter safely out of temptation until he completed his arrangements for her.

This could be good for Flach, too. Any demon help would be good, but because Icebeard valued his daughter, these would be picked guards, able to handle just about any threat. That, plus Flach’s minor magic, should get them through in good order.

“Methinks it will take thee a day to get the party organized,” Flach said. “I be tired from my trek here—“

“Didst not conjure thyself close?”

“Nay. that be strong magic. I came by land, running day and night and day.”

Icebeard snapped his icy fingers, and a demon female appeared. She was stooped, and her hair was a curtain of icicles, but she was human rather than beastly in general configuration. “Take him to a secure chamber and watch him sleep,” the chief told her.

The woman walked to Flach. picked him up, and carried him out of the room. She was taking the order literally, and taking him as she would a block of ice. He had to do a quick spot spell to prevent their contact from doing each harm.

She bore him to a bubble of air deep in the glacier and dumped him down on a bed of snow. Again he did spot magic to make the interface proper: now the snow seemed like warm feathers, and did not melt under him. He stretched out, ready to sleep for twelve hours.

The demoness stood there, gazing down at him. Time passed, and she did not move. Then he realized what it was: she was watching him sleep, literally.

So be it. He would surely be safe, this way. He closed his eyes and slept.

Next day, refreshed, he conjured some bread to eat, found a crevice for natural functions, and went to see what had developed in the interim.

Icebeard had been busy. A troop of ten stout snow demons had been assembled, and a similar number of demon dogs, also made of ice. Several were to be harnessed to a sled, and the others would range out around the group, guarding it. They were to travel in style.

“Adept!”

He turned. It was a petite young demoness, not greatly taller than himself. He was surprised; he had thought all demons, of any type, were ugly, hideous, or grotesque, but she was a perfect figure of a woman molded from ice. “Aye,” he said.

“I be Icedora, but thou mayst call me Icy,” she said, her voice like the crystalline tinkle of glass dangles. “That be spelled with a c, not a k, for I be not Iky!”