"Take it," the shaman directed.

Luzelle translated, and Girays accepted one of the containers.

"He will draw forth the contents."

Luzelle relayed the message. Lifting the cover, Girays reached into the basket to remove a fist-sized stone. The polished surface was black as despair, sparked with flecks of an almost incandescent crimson. Girays studied the sinister object for a moment, then politely returned it to its owner.

"The G.o.ds have spoken," declared the shaman. Turning briefly to face the attentive Blessed Tribesmen gathered outside the hut, he held the stone aloft and spoke Ygahri in a carrying voice, then informed his Vonahrish listeners, "Their will is known. You are our guests."

"Even so." Luzelle bowed her head gravely. Catching Girays's eye, she mouthed in silence, Guests. Guests.

"Lucky," he replied aloud. "And if I'd chosen the other basket?"

The shaman seemed to understand the query. Lifting the cover, he tilted the rejected container a little to display the contents. Coiled at the bottom of the basket lay a bright turquoise snake with a triangular head and emerald markings.

"Wonderful color," admired Luzelle.

"Isn't it, though?" Girays studied the serpent with interest. "If I'm not mistaken, that's an uaxhui-quite a rare and remarkable specimen. It's one of the most poisonous creatures known to science. A single drop of its venom can kill a grown man within seconds. There is no known antidote."

"Oh!" said Luzelle. She backed away.

"Come." The shaman replaced the basket's cover, hiding the uaxhui from view. "The G.o.ds favor you, but you do not belong to the forests, you are not meant to be here." His companions murmured affirmatively. "We will give you food and speed you on your way."

"We thank you in the name of the G.o.ds," Luzelle returned. "You will guide us back to our boat?"

"No, for we have closed the river pa.s.sages to the vessels of the accursed. The arms of the forest will carry you."

She had no idea what he meant, but judged it best to conceal her ignorance, and nodded solemnly.

"Come."

The three masked figures led the way from the hut, through the staring ranks of the Blessed, across the clearing, and into the jungle beyond. Once again the boughs roofed overhead, and the world sank into green shade.

Girays shot her a questioning glance, and Luzelle advised him discreetly, "They say that the arms of the forest will carry us."

He did not appear enlightened.

On they went until they came to a small grove of dead trees, still upright, their gaunt trunks and branches wrapped with flourishing parasitic vines. Here the group paused, and one of the shamans informed Luzelle, "You stay. We go on."

"You leave us?" she inquired, confused.

"It is not for eyes unblessed to behold the secrets of the wise." He placed a sack on the ground before her. "You are guests, here is food for the journey."

"Thank you. We go on alone, then."

"No. Stay. Wait."

The three shamans melted noiselessly into the jungle, leaving Luzelle and Girays alone among the dead trees.

"We are free, I take it," Girays observed. "We'll have to find our own way back to the boats. We could certainly have used a guide, but I suppose we should be thankful. This way, I believe." He pointed.

"No. Stay. Wait," she said. His brows rose, and she explained, "That's what he told me, that's what they want us to do."

"Why? Wait for what?"

"I don't know."

"How long?"

"I've no idea."

"What did they tell you just now?"

"Virtually nothing."

"We can't wait indefinitely. Do you want to be standing around this place after dark?"

"No, but I believe the wise men have some plan in mind for us. Don't you think we should follow their instructions and wait, for at least a little while?"

"How long? It must be late, the sun will be setting soon, and then what? If we start now, we might still be able to find our way back to the Water Sprite Water Sprite before the light gives out." before the light gives out."

"That makes sense, but-"

The sound of native voices uplifted not far away interrupted her. They-presumably the three Blessed shamans-were half chanting, half singing, their tones impossibly high and pure. The sudden eeriness of the sound p.r.i.c.kled the gooseflesh along her forearms and also stirred her memory. She had heard just such chants preceding the ground tremor that had rocked Xoxo's main square, and having heard, she could never forget.

A similar ground tremor here in this place could send the dead trees crashing down on herself and Girays, but somehow she did not believe that it would happen. She was frightened of the strange force expressing itself through those voices, frightened of a great power that she did not understand, but sensed no malign intent. For a moment she wondered at her own optimism, or trust, then recalled Karsler Stornzof's advice that night in Xoxo: Listen now to your blood and nerves. Listen now to your blood and nerves. She had been doing that, she realized, and her instincts offered rea.s.surance. She had been doing that, she realized, and her instincts offered rea.s.surance.

She glanced at Girays. He was frowning. Their eyes met, and he began, "We'd better-"

The comment went unfinished, for at that moment the air tingled and the surrounding vegetation awoke. With a loosening and shifting of great serpentine coils, the parasitic vines untwined from the surrounding trees. Long runners snaked down from the dead branches overhead to wrap themselves tenderly about the astounded travelers. Luzelle had only time to grab the sack of provisions before she felt herself raised gently from the ground and lifted high, alarmingly high, and unbelievably higher yet, up above the bare dead branches and higher, up to the level of the leafy spreading boughs of the great live trees. Greenery slapped lightly at her face as she ascended, elastic thin branches whipped her limbs, but they did not hurt her, for the vines that bore her aloft knew how to tilt and guide her around obstacles, knew how to keep her from harm, and the only ill that need presently concern her was the churning seasick protest of a stomach outraged at such irregular locomotion.

She curbed the natural impulse to struggle, for the vines that wound about her body clasped her kindly, yet she felt the vast mindless life force capable of driving roots through inhospitable soil, the relentless slow strength able to break through granite walls. No opposing such power, and potentially suicidal to attempt it at such heights, so she lay quiescent in the close green embrace. Turning her face to the side, she saw Girays, bound like a python's prey in looping coils, rising toward the treetops. She caught a flashing glimpse of his face, frozen with astonishment, and then the leaves were back in the way blocking her view, and she saw nothing but greenery for a while.

Up, higher yet, through a region of thin young branches supporting cl.u.s.ters of huge glossy leaves extravagantly bathed in light, home to colonies of pygmy marmosets that watched and chittered in wonder as she pa.s.sed. Up higher, and suddenly she burst through the top of the forest canopy into the full glare of the westering sun. She blinked and squinted against the dazzle, but soon her eyes adjusted and she could look out for miles over the treetops, all the way to the vast glinting brown bend of the River Ygah. A warm perfumed wind blew in her face, and she was filled with a kind of awed joy. She wondered if Girays felt the same; she hoped he did.

What happens now?

She felt herself placed gently among branches strong enough to bear her weight. Her vine released its hold and left her there. For a moment terror chilled her, and then she felt the quiver of arcane vitality in the branches. They curved to enfold her, the tree arched its trunk and transferred her delicately to the branches of another tree, which in turn pa.s.sed her painlessly and efficiently on to another.

Presently she heard a rustling of leaves and branches too rhythmic for the wind's work, and an immense vine reared up before her, swaying like a serpent before its charmer. The vine took her from the tree, bore her on for some distance, then relinquished her to the care of some creepers.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon the wakeful vegetation pa.s.sed her on from one plant to another like a parcel. At sunset, however, their energy ebbed. There was only just time for a pair of trees to weave their topmost branches into a shallow, resilient nest and deposit her therein before darkness fell and the plants sank into immobile unconsciousness.

"Girays?" Suddenly afraid, she called out to him, and he answered at once. She peered through the deepening gloom, and spied him leaning out over the edge of a nest similar to her own, no more than a few yards distant. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Thirsty, though. Have you still got that sack?"

"Yes, just a second." She checked. The sack donated by the Blessed Tribesmen contained two bundles of food and two corked water gourds. She took one of each, then called out, "Girays, I'm going to throw this to you. Ready?"

"Ready."

He sounded so trusting, as if it never crossed his mind that her aim might be off, and that the sole nourishment available to him for hours to come might easily fly off into the shadows to land on the forest floor hundreds of feet below. His face was a pale blur. Praying for accuracy, she tossed the sack.

"Got it. Thanks."

The voice was clear, but the speaker was now all but invisible. Darkness enveloped the Forests of Oorex. Luzelle ate and drank, then composed herself for unlikely slumber high above the jungle. A few yards away, Girays would be doing the same. He was certainly still awake.

It's his turn to talk.

She strained her ears. Nothing from Girays, but the jungle sang, and its melody lulled her to sleep.

At sunrise the vegetation awoke and the journey resumed. Luzelle was shaken from sleep by the sensation of a great vine coiling about her body. She was lifted from the nest. The two trees supporting her through the night disengaged, and the nest was no more. Startled and confused, she cast her eyes around but did not see Girays. She called out his name and heard an answering shout. The vine thrust her up above the canopy into the glory of the morning sun and she saw him. Her alarm subsided.

The vine transferred her neatly to the grasp of a neighboring epiphyte, which in turn presented her to a slithery hydra tree. The hours pa.s.sed and the jungle bore her south toward Jumo Towne.

16.

"I THINK COUSIN OGRON means to invade Vonahr. Perhaps within weeks," opined King Miltzin. He picked a morsel from the kaleidoscopic platter of appetizers sitting on the desk before him and nibbled appreciatively. "You must try one of these little marinated shrimp-scallop-mushroom brochette things, Nevenskoi. They're marvelous. Come, no ceremony. Help yourself." means to invade Vonahr. Perhaps within weeks," opined King Miltzin. He picked a morsel from the kaleidoscopic platter of appetizers sitting on the desk before him and nibbled appreciatively. "You must try one of these little marinated shrimp-scallop-mushroom brochette things, Nevenskoi. They're marvelous. Come, no ceremony. Help yourself."

"I thank you, Sire." Nevenskoi took a brochette, which proved excellent as the king had promised. The deep-fried serpent's knot that followed was just as good, and the cold sliced galantine of duckling was downright exquisite. His pleasure, although keen, was offset by the spectacle of Masterfire reduced to dwarfish proportions and squatting humbly beneath a chafing dish. The most extraordinary, awesome discovery of the age employed to warm the king's spiced dipping sauce! It was demeaning and offensive, but Mad Miltzin deemed the spectacle delightful. Nevenskoi stifled his outrage as best he could, but his creation caught it.

Badness? the small voice crackled under the chafing dish. the small voice crackled under the chafing dish.

We are denied our just due, sweet one, Nevenskoi responded in silence. We are robbed of the greatness that is ours by right. The king does not appreciate us. We are robbed of the greatness that is ours by right. The king does not appreciate us.

Badness? Eat king?

Not today.

Pleasepleaseplease?

No. Dangerous thoughts. Nevenskoi deliberately shifted mental gears. "Your Majesty has received communication from the Grewzian imperior?" Dangerous thoughts. Nevenskoi deliberately shifted mental gears. "Your Majesty has received communication from the Grewzian imperior?"

"Gad no, Cousin Ogron doesn't believe in writing. But the recent convergence of additional Grewzian troops on occupied Haereste means something, wouldn't you say? I think Vonahr's in for it. The Zoketsa thinks so too, and she should know. She's psychic, you see."

"The Zoketsa, Sire? The opera singer?"

"Reigning soprano of sopranos, a G.o.ddess among us. Have you heard her sing sing, man? Have you experienced her performance in the role of Queen Phantina? Such majesty and grandeur-such heights of glorious exultation, such depths of n.o.ble grief! You must see it, Nevenskoi-it will transform your existence as it has transformed mine!"

"I believe her reviews are generally favorable." For the first time since he had entered the king's study, Nevenskoi noticed that the astrological charts lately covering the desktop had given way to leather-bound musical scores.

"Reviews-bah! Her performance is sublime, an education and an inspiration. It has revealed the wonder of a life given over to art and beauty. Her art is her pa.s.sion, Nevenskoi-she lives for it, the creative urge blazes at the center of her being. There is something in such fiery intensity that I find wonderfully stimulating."

"I do not doubt it for a moment, Sire."

"She is so alive alive, Nevenskoi! She lives every moment to the fullest! Each hour is crammed crammed with color and meaning! She allows free rein to her emotions, she is guided by her instincts. She lives in harmony with the cosmos, which perhaps accounts for her psychic powers." with color and meaning! She allows free rein to her emotions, she is guided by her instincts. She lives in harmony with the cosmos, which perhaps accounts for her psychic powers."

"Very likely, Sire."

"She senses things, she feels them in her soul."

"She senses and feels in her soul that Grewzland will shortly attack Vonahr?"

"She does, and such is my faith in her abilities that I should believe her even without the supporting evidence of the recent Vonahrish diplomatic antics. Have one of the creamed snail-asparagus tartlets, my friend. They're superb."

"Indeed, Sire." Nevenskoi tasted, and concurred with the king's judgment. "Majesty, I must confess my ignorance of current diplomatic events."

"That's no wonder, you're buried alive in your workroom most of the time. I'll tell you what it is, Nevenskoi. The Vonahrish president and his congressional flunkies have been pestering me for weeks now. It's the usual plea. They've heard of Masterfire, they see our green friend there as the ultimate weapon of war, and they want him. They're absolutely relentless, and you'd scarcely credit the underhanded methods they employ to advance their cause! They've contrived to slip their wheedling letters into my newspapers, in among the cushions of my carriage-I even found one tucked into the pocket of my dressing gown. Perhaps I'd pity their desperation, had they confined themselves to written importunities, but they've gone much further. They have actually attempted to smuggle their agents into the Waterwitch itself. Three times within the past month Vonahrish trespa.s.sers have been discovered sneaking about the palace grounds. It's outrageous. Oh, but I am persecuted!"

"Truly, Sire." Nevenskoi nodded gravely. He swallowed a bone-marrow fritter, noted the silky texture and inspired seasoning, but did not pause to savor, for his thoughts ran on another track. After a moment he continued, "Your Majesty is indeed abused, but perhaps I can offer a solution. I think the time has come for the king of the Low Hetz to a.s.sert his august will. A small display of royal resolution will surely serve to curb foreign presumption."

"Royal resolution. The term pleases me."

"Set Masterfire to ring the Waterwitch Palace with a wall of green flame," Nevenskoi urged softly. "Your Majesty's persecutors, recognizing the power and greatness of the Hetzian monarch, will venture no further impertinence." And the world will behold my creation at last, and all mankind will marvel And the world will behold my creation at last, and all mankind will marvel, he added silently. Visions of lofty flaming ramparts filled his mind.

Big! I am BIG, I am VAST, I am HUGE, I am EVERYWHERE- Masterfire had caught his creator's thought. Taken off guard, Nevenskoi hesitated a startled instant, then tightened his mental grip.

Too late.

The green fire blossomed, expanding in an instant to cover the desktop, thence streaming down the sides to hit the floor and shoot off in all directions. Momentarily helpless to halt the spreading blaze, Nevenskoi could only enjoin mentally, Consume nothing! Hear me, sweet one-consume nothing! Consume nothing! Hear me, sweet one-consume nothing!

Dancedancedance! replied Masterfire. replied Masterfire.

"Well-another demonstration?" the king inquired without interest. "Haven't you already done this one?"

Demonstration. Yes, that was what it could be, a demonstration to camouflage his temporary lapse. Masterfire, though imperfectly controlled, remained subject to his creator's influence. So far he had consumed nothing. A little additional guidance might constructively channel all of that burning exuberance. Nevenskoi spoke in his mind. Loveliness, hear me. You are bigbigbig- Loveliness, hear me. You are bigbigbig- Big! Bigger! Biggest!

You are great and grand- Great! Grand! Greatgrand!

Now show the king how clever you are. Cover the study walls from floor to ceiling. Consume nothing. Do not touch the door or windows, leave them clear. Go now, frolic.

Wheeeeee!

Masterfire followed instructions precisely. A moment later the study was evenly lined with green fire that did not destroy. a.s.suming an expression of modest satisfaction, Nevenskoi murmured, "If Your Majesty would but deign to visualize just such a wall as this enclosing all of Waterwitch Palace."

"Impressive, I grant." Frowning, Miltzin bit into a miniature frog leg glossed with sauce Jerundiere. "But rather a warlike display, is it not?"

"Purely a defensive measure, Sire."

"And I will not countenance perversion of our Masterfire to such barbaric ends. No, I will find some other way of repelling pertinacious diplomats."

"As Your Majesty wills." Jaw set behind the black-dyed imperial, Nevenskoi bowed his head. Frustration smoldered within him, and the green flames blanketing the study walls crackled in fierce sympathy.