Piers Anthony - Blue Adept

“Yet she remains a witch,” the Lady Blue said tightly. Neysa snorted agreement.

Yellow shot a glance at them. “Witch, thou sayst? And aren’t we all, regardless of our shapes or magic? What chance does any man have, against a vamp of whatever color?”

“None,” Hulk muttered. Neysa made as if to stab him with her horn, and he hopped out of the way.

“What I wish is this,” Stile said briskly. “There is a vampire man, Vodlevile, whose son is allergic to blood. The Oracle told him to finesse Yellow. He refuses to deal—“

“Aye, I have a potion to cure that malady,” Yellow agreed. “But what does he offer in return?”

“Nothing,” Stile said. “The vampire folk are wary of thee, for what reason I do not pretend to comprehend.”

She waggled a pretty finger at him wamingly, in much the way the Rifleman had in Proton. “Play not the innocent with me, pretty man! I have back orders for bats galore. Though I daresay their fear of female Adepts derives somewhat from propinquity, since they reside near one the canines would term ‘woman.’ “

Hulk stifled a chuckle. Insults were very much a matter of viewpoint, here.

“Vodlevile will not deal with thee,” Stile said evenly. “But I will. If thou wouldst trade favors with me, as one professional to another, this is the favor I crave.”

“What has the bat done lately for thee?”

“He helped my friend Hulk, who was on a mission for me. Never did the bat ask for mine assistance, nor does he know it is coming.”

She shook her head. “The machinations of honor and friendship are a fascination to the likes of me! Thy generosity to animals will cost thee yet. Blue.” She glanced at Neysa, whose ears angled quickly back. “Yet ‘tis a true finesse that does appeal to me. My livelihood is in dealing and wheeling, and I will deal with thee. The bat shall have his potion.”

“I thank thee, witch. And what favor dost thou crave in return?”

She considered prettily. “I could wish that thou wouldst come to see me, as once I thought thou wouldst—“ Her eyes traveled to the Lady Blue, who gazed disdainfully away, and back again to Neysa, whose nostrils were beginning to steam. “Yet thine oath forbids, and if it did not, I think others would say nay, or neigh.”

Now a small jet of fire shot from Neysa’s nostril, and the tip of her horn made a tiny motion suggestive of mayhem. “Even so,” Stile agreed, straight-faced. He despised Yellow’s business of trapping and selling live animals, but he rather respected her personally. A romantic alliance was certainly out of the question, as well she knew; Yellow was only teasing the competition. Such lighthearted malice was no doubt more of a pleasure for the men to note, than to the females against whom it was directed.

“Then methinks I will take it on the cuff,” Yellow decided. “Some day, when I am in some minor way in need and call on thee for aid—“

“Agreed,” Stile said. “Provided only that the service violates no ethic of mine, and I am then alive.”

“There is that. Thou hast a veritable stormcloud of a future.” She pondered again. “Then let me protect mine investment, and give thee a potion.” She fished a tiny bottle out of her bodice and presented it.

Stile accepted it, disregarding Neysa’s fiery snort. “If I may ask—“

“No secret, my scrumptious. This elixir renders the wearer less noxious to the Elven folk.”

“Thou vixeni” Stile exclaimed. “Thou conniving wench! Thou wert aware of my mission all the timel”

“Even so, on all counts,” she said. “Though I prefer the term ‘foxy’ to ‘vixen.’ “ She vanished.

“Some company thou keepest!” Hulk remarked appreciatively. “She is foxy!”

“Or bitchy,” the Lady Blue muttered as she and Neysa walked stiffly away.

Stile smiled. “She’s not a bad sort, considering that she really is a hag and a witch. She really did look like that, a century or so ago when she was young.” He considered briefly. “Hulk, I don’t have much time for the probable magnitude of this mission, so I’ll set off for the Purple Mountains this afternoon, as soon as I do some spot re-search to pinpoint the platinum-working elves.”

“I’ll go with thee!”

“Nay, friend! Thy appearance would only antagonize these folk, and I go not to quarrel but to borrow. I need thee to guard the Lady Blue, as thou hast done so ably before.”

Hulk frowned. “I prefer not to do that. Stile.”

Stile was perplexed. “Thou likest it not here? I would not hold thee—“

“I like it well here. That is the problem.”

“Something tells me I am being opaque about something.”

“Aye.”

“Thou dost not get along with the Lady Blue?”

“The Lady is a wonderful person.”

“Then I don’t see—“

“Thou needest an Oracle?”

Stile shook his head. “I must.”

The big man paced the courtyard. “Thou and I strike others as quite different. The giant and the dwarf. Yet we are similar. The same age, the same culture, similar Game skills, similar honor.” He paused. “Similar taste in women.” Stile began to get the drift. “Thou didst like Sheen at the first sight of her, and thou dost get along great with Neysa—“

“Yes. But for their special natures—“ Hulk shrugged. “The Lady Blue is another matter. It befits me not to guard her any more.”

Now Stile began pacing. “Thou knowest she is not mine.”

“She sure as hell isn’t mine!” Hulk exploded. “She may not be thine now, but she is destined for thee and no other. Thou’rt the Blue Adept, the keeper of these Demesnes, and she is the Lady Blue. She is the finest woman I have known. Were there another like her—“

“There is another like her,” Stile said, remembering Sheen’s comment. “And I owe thee for the manner in which thou hast given up thine only Oracle answer to my need.”

The two men exchanged glances, a remarkable notion dawning. “Another—in Proton,” Hulk said. “Of course. Her alternate self. But that one too should be—“

“Nay. Not mine. I can not love two.”

“With all the qualities I have seen, but versed in Proton culture.” Hulk smiled, liking the notion. “Then thou wouldst not oppose—?”

“That Proton-lady sure as hell is not mine,” Stile said, smiling as he echoed Hulk’s expression. “Go to Proton. It is a different frame. Thou knowest thou canst never bring her here.”

“Yet even for brief visits—it is all I could ask.”

“Cross the curtain, talk to Sheen. Her friends will locate the lady for thee.”

Hulk nodded. He stopped before Stile and put forth his hand. Stile shook it gravely, knowing this was their parting. Hulk would not come to the Blue Demesnes again. Stile felt a certain smouldering resentment that the big man had taken an interest in this particular woman, and a certain relief that there was in this case a solution, and a certain guilt for both the resentment and the relief. Hulk was a good man; he deserved the best, and the best was the Lady Blue. Her Proton alternate surely had similar qualities. So this was a triumph of fortune and common sense—yet it bothered him. He was simply not as generous in his private heart as he was externally. He had some growing to do, yet.

Now he had no guard for the Lady Blue. He could not leave her alone for any length of time; whatever enemy had struck down Stile’s alternate self, the true Blue Adept, would surely strike again now that it was known the Blue Adept had been reconstituted. Stile had been constantly devising and rehearsing spells and strategies to deal with such an attack, and felt reasonably confident he could handle the situation. But suppose the enemy took the Lady Blue hostage and used her against Stile? He could not risk that.