Andre
deCourteney.”
“Andre? Why’s
Andre going south?”
“To bring the
sword Blazetongue back to its rightful owner, as I told you he would. He insists
Blazetongue has important consequences in the struggle against Salamá. He and a
small party are leaving within days,”
“How many?”
“A minimal
number. He, too, knows no men can be spared, but requires few. There are a
number of borders between here and Veganá, where he’s going. Foreign
governments would respect Coramonde’s letter of transit, but they’re hardly
likely to permit a large armed force to enter their territories. Andre wants no
regular soldiers; he could not take enough to guarantee safety, only enough to
insure conspicuousness.”
Gil had
missed that angle. He saw now that any large group would make travel harder.
“Smart. But would Andre go out of his way and check out Death’s Hold?”
“Not before he
delivers Blazetongue. He is adamant. But he is as eager to break and hinder Bey
as you are. If you accompany him, he will probably be more than ready to
investigate Death’s Hold afterward.”
Gil sorted it
out. If he couldn’t use a large escort, the next best thing was Andre
deCourteney. No one in the Crescent Lands had a more formidable constellation
of skills and experience.
“Okay, quit
shoveling. It’s a deal. Where’s Andre? I’ll give him the pitch.”
Andre
deCourteney had appropriated Yardiff Bey’s abandoned sanctum sanctorum, at the
summit of Earthfast, to examine its contents and learn what he could from them.
He still hadn’t replaced the door that had been bent back on its hinges by the
reptile-man Kisst-Haa.
Gil knocked
on the frame, and went in to find the wizard at a puzzling piece of apparatus.
The American sat on a bench to watch. The room was filled with jars, bottles,
scrolls, astrolabes and star charts. Blazetongue, the huge onetime Sword of the Ku-Mor-Mai, rested against the bench.
“I have plumbed
a riddle here, I think,” Andre said, “but it has generated another. Behold.”
He lit a
flame under each of two retorts. The liquids in them boiled, one forming a
yellow gas, the other a red. Opening two petcocks, he let them blend. A faint
orange mist rose from a nozzle at the top of the equipment.
“Now, see.”
He held a piece of parchment into the orange flow. It was old, with a ragged
edge as if it had been ripped from a book.
Andre fanned
the sheet in the orange vapor, which began to peel a covering from the
parchment in flakes. Soon there was a little snowdrift of them on the
work-table, and a page-within-a-page was revealed. Andre held it up proudly.
Gil politely applauded.
“Andre, I
thought science projects are Van Duyn’s line.”
“This is of
interest to me because it was important to Yardiff Bey.” He held up the binding
from which the page had come. It was richly embossed, encircled by a wide
metallic strip. A thick, raised seal was impressed on the strip, filled with
runes and sigils, in wax the color of burgundy. Bey had apparently removed the
pages somehow without disturbing it.
“This is the
cover from Rydolomo’s Arrivals Macabre,” Andre explained. “It survived
the Great Blow. There are not more than two or three copies in existence;
Rydolomo was an arch-mage and premier thinker. Bey is, by appearances, under
the impression Rydolomo left some in one of his books. The sorcerer
circumvented its guardian seal somehow.” The page he held was blank, but Gil
understood. Somewhere, a book of Rydolomo’s had something Bey coveted, hidden
within.
A servant
appeared at the door frame. Andre went, and accepted a blanket-wrapped bundle.
It was a baby, a chubby girl.
“Recognize
her? She’s the one we brought back from the Infernal Plane, the one the demon
Amon had been holding.”
Gil inspected
her from a distance, not used to children. Andre began tickling and chucking
her under the chin, making senseless, happy sounds. “Isn’t she the charmer? Oh,
come on, Gil;
deCourteney.”
“Andre? Why’s
Andre going south?”
“To bring the
sword Blazetongue back to its rightful owner, as I told you he would. He insists
Blazetongue has important consequences in the struggle against Salamá. He and a
small party are leaving within days,”
“How many?”
“A minimal
number. He, too, knows no men can be spared, but requires few. There are a
number of borders between here and Veganá, where he’s going. Foreign
governments would respect Coramonde’s letter of transit, but they’re hardly
likely to permit a large armed force to enter their territories. Andre wants no
regular soldiers; he could not take enough to guarantee safety, only enough to
insure conspicuousness.”
Gil had
missed that angle. He saw now that any large group would make travel harder.
“Smart. But would Andre go out of his way and check out Death’s Hold?”
“Not before he
delivers Blazetongue. He is adamant. But he is as eager to break and hinder Bey
as you are. If you accompany him, he will probably be more than ready to
investigate Death’s Hold afterward.”
Gil sorted it
out. If he couldn’t use a large escort, the next best thing was Andre
deCourteney. No one in the Crescent Lands had a more formidable constellation
of skills and experience.
“Okay, quit
shoveling. It’s a deal. Where’s Andre? I’ll give him the pitch.”
Andre
deCourteney had appropriated Yardiff Bey’s abandoned sanctum sanctorum, at the
summit of Earthfast, to examine its contents and learn what he could from them.
He still hadn’t replaced the door that had been bent back on its hinges by the
reptile-man Kisst-Haa.
Gil knocked
on the frame, and went in to find the wizard at a puzzling piece of apparatus.
The American sat on a bench to watch. The room was filled with jars, bottles,
scrolls, astrolabes and star charts. Blazetongue, the huge onetime Sword of the Ku-Mor-Mai, rested against the bench.
“I have plumbed
a riddle here, I think,” Andre said, “but it has generated another. Behold.”
He lit a
flame under each of two retorts. The liquids in them boiled, one forming a
yellow gas, the other a red. Opening two petcocks, he let them blend. A faint
orange mist rose from a nozzle at the top of the equipment.
“Now, see.”
He held a piece of parchment into the orange flow. It was old, with a ragged
edge as if it had been ripped from a book.
Andre fanned
the sheet in the orange vapor, which began to peel a covering from the
parchment in flakes. Soon there was a little snowdrift of them on the
work-table, and a page-within-a-page was revealed. Andre held it up proudly.
Gil politely applauded.
“Andre, I
thought science projects are Van Duyn’s line.”
“This is of
interest to me because it was important to Yardiff Bey.” He held up the binding
from which the page had come. It was richly embossed, encircled by a wide
metallic strip. A thick, raised seal was impressed on the strip, filled with
runes and sigils, in wax the color of burgundy. Bey had apparently removed the
pages somehow without disturbing it.
“This is the
cover from Rydolomo’s Arrivals Macabre,” Andre explained. “It survived
the Great Blow. There are not more than two or three copies in existence;
Rydolomo was an arch-mage and premier thinker. Bey is, by appearances, under
the impression Rydolomo left some in one of his books. The sorcerer
circumvented its guardian seal somehow.” The page he held was blank, but Gil
understood. Somewhere, a book of Rydolomo’s had something Bey coveted, hidden
within.
A servant
appeared at the door frame. Andre went, and accepted a blanket-wrapped bundle.
It was a baby, a chubby girl.
“Recognize
her? She’s the one we brought back from the Infernal Plane, the one the demon
Amon had been holding.”
Gil inspected
her from a distance, not used to children. Andre began tickling and chucking
her under the chin, making senseless, happy sounds. “Isn’t she the charmer? Oh,
come on, Gil;
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