was proficient. He stood awaiting the onslaught of the wolf with enhanced confidence, though he was by no means comfortable. He did not relish the idea of blood shed, even in self-defense.
But the creature drew up short and metamorphosed into a woman. This one was older; in fact, she looked grand motherly.
Clef was catching on to the system. 'You - thou art the werewolf the unicorn summoned?'
'Aye. I am the werebitch available, man-creature. I have seen weddings enow; since my old wolf died I care not overmuch to see more. I will guide and guard thee to the Elven Demesnes. Put thou that blade away.'
'It is not a blade; it is a rapier,' Clef said somewhat primly. But now it was neither; it was the Flute again. 'Neysa told you all that in one brief melody?'
'Aye. She was ever economical of speech. What is thy name, man?' the bitch inquired as she walked east.
'Clef, from the frame of Proton. And thine?'
'Serrilryan, of Kurrelgyre's Pack. We range mostly southeast of the Blue Demesnes, up to the Purple Moun tains. Good hunting here.'
'No doubt,' Clef agreed dryly.
'If thou art walking all the way to the Platinum Demesnes, thou wilt have to step faster, Clef-man. We have forty miles to go.'
'My legs are already tiring, Serrilryan.'
'We can help that. Take thou a sniff of this.' She held out a little bag of something.
Clef sniffed. The bag emitted a pungent aroma. 'What is this?'
'Wolfsbane. For strength.'
'Superstition,' he muttered.
'Have ye noted how fast thy walk is now?'
Clef noticed, with surprise. 'I'm almost running, but I don't feel winded at all!'
'Superstition,' she said complacently.
Whatever it was, it enabled him to cover distance with wolflike endurance. Serrilryan shifted back to canine form to pace him.
Still, they were only partway there as night came on. The bitch became the woman again. 'Do thou make a fire, Clef-man. I will hunt supper.'
'But - ' But she was already back to bitch-form and gone.
Clef gathered what dry wood he could find, along with bits of old moss and straw. He formed a neat tepee, but had no idea how to ignite it. Presumably the denizens of this frame could make fire with simple spells, or perhaps they borrowed fire-breathing dragons. Such resources were not available to him.
Then he had a notion. The Platinum Flute had become a rapier when he wanted a weapon; could it also become a fire maker?
He held it near the tepee. It had formed into a clublike rod. From the tip a fat spark jumped, igniting the mass. He had discovered how to use this thing! He was almost getting to like magic.
When the bitch returned with a freshly slain rabbit, the fire was ready. 'Good enough,' she said gruffly. She roasted the rabbit on a spit.
This type of meal was foreign to Clef, but he managed to get through it. Stile had warned him there would be privations. But he was ready to suffer anything to obtain legitimate possession of the Platinum Flute, the most remarkable instrument he could imagine. Only the Little Folk could grant that; it was their Flute.
Serrilryan showed him where there was a streamlet of fresh water, so that he could drink and wash. Out of deference to his human sensitivity, she refrained from lapping her own drink until he was sated.
Now all he had to worry about was the night. He really wasn't equipped to sleep in the wilderness. 'Serrilryan, I realize that for your kind this is no problem, but I am not accustomed to sleeping outside. I am concerned about bugs and things.' Though in fact no bugs had bothered him here; perhaps the reek of the wolfsbane kept them away. 'Is there any domicile available?'
'Aye,' she said. She brought out a small object. Apparently she could carry clothing and objects on her per son even in wolf form, though none of it showed then.
Clef looked at the tiling. It appeared to be a tiny doll's house. 'I'm afraid I don't quite follow.'
'It is an amulet,' she explained. 'Invoke it.'
'Invoke it?' he asked blankly.
She nodded. 'Set it down first man.'
He set it on the ground. 'Uh, I invoke thee.'
The amulet expanded. Clef stepped back, alarmed. The thing continued to grow. Soon it was the size of a dog-house, then a playhouse. Finally it stood complete: a small, neat, thatch-roofed log cabin.
'Well, I never!' Clef exclaimed. 'A magic house!'
Serrilryan opened the door and entered. Clef followed, bemused. Inside was a wooden table with two chairs and a bed with a down quilt. Clef contemplated this with a certain misgiving, realizing that there were two of them and only one sleeping place. 'Um - '
She phased back to canine form and curled herself up comfortably on the floor at the foot of the bed. That solved the problem. She needed no human props and would be there if anything sought to intrude during the night. Clef was getting to appreciate werewolves.
He accepted the bed gratefully, stripped away his un gainly clothing, lay down, and was soon asleep.
Stile's consciousness returned as Clefs faded. Sheen was still stroking his hair, as tireless as a machine. 'I never realized he would have so much trouble,' Stile murmured. He told her of his dream. 'I'm used to Phaze now, but it was quite an adjustment at first. I forgot all about Clef, and I shouldn't have.'
'Go back to sleep,' she told him.
'That amulet - that would have been fashioned by the Red Adept. She's gone now, because of me. I really should see about finding a new Adept to make amulets; they are too useful to be allowed to disappear.'
'I'm sure you will,' Sheen said soothingly.
'Phaze needs amulets.'
She picked up his head and hugged it against her bosom, smotheringly. 'Stile, if you don't go to sleep voluntarily-'
He laughed. 'You're a bitch.'
'A female werewolf,' she agreed. 'We do take good care of wayward men.'
They did indeed. Stile drifted back to his dream.
Next morning Serrilryan brought some excellent fruit she had foraged. They ate and prepared to resume the march. 'This cabin - can it be compressed back into its token?' Clef asked.
'Nay. A spell functions but once,' she said. 'Leave it; others may use it after us, or the Blue Adept may disman tle it with a spell. Most likely the Little Folk will carry it to their mountain demesnes.'
'Yes, of course it shouldn't be wasted,' Clef agreed.
They walked. His legs were stiff from the prior day's swift walk. The wolfsbane had worn off, and Serrilryan did not offer more. It was dangerous to overuse such magic, she said. So they progressed slowly east, through forest and field, over hills and through deep gullies, around boulders and huge dense bushes. The rugged beauty of the natural landscape was such that it distracted him from his discomfort. What a special land this was!
In the course of the day he heard something to the east. Serrilryan's wolf ears perked. Then he observed a column of thick, colored smoke rising from the sky. There had been a bad explosion and fire somewhere.
'That is Blue fighting Red,' the bitch said knowingly. 'She killed him; now he is killing her.'
'I realize this is a frame of magic,' Clef said. 'Even so, that does not seem to make an extraordinary amount of sense.'
'Adept fighting Adept is bad business,' she agreed.
'How could they take turns killing each other?'
'There are two selves of many people, one in each frame,' she explained. 'One self cannot meet the other. But when one dies, there is a vacuum and the other can cross the curtain. Blue now avenges the murder of his other self.'
'Oh, I see,' Clef said uncertainly. 'And must I avenge the murderer of mine other self?'
'Mayhap. Where wast thou whelped?'
