all other prophecies are null; we then shall have no onus against thee, and thou canst govern in Phaze.'
'Thou art asking me to betray a - a consciousness that trusts me,' Stile said, disturbed. 'That has never been my way.'
'Agreed. Thou hast ever been honorable, Blue, which is why I trust myself to thy power here. It is no fault in thee that causes us to oppose thee; it is only that it is in thy power to save or finish Phaze. Save our land and suffer our gratitude; try to destroy it and suffer our opposition; or vacate the frame so that we have no need to fear thee. These are thy choices, Blue. Thou knowest our determination; we are fighting for our lives and world. We are not limited by thy scruples, and our massed magic is stronger than thine. Thus united, we
It was a fair ultimatum. But Stile found he could not take the easy way out. 'I love Phaze,' he repeated. 'I want never to leave it. In addition, I am now a Citizen in Proton, with considerable wealth. I shall not sacrifice my place in both frames by forever departing the planet. That leaves me with two choices: join thee or oppose thee. I know nothing of these prophecies thou dost speak of. Why should I try to destroy a device that has done me no harm?'
'No harm!' she flared, her white hair seeming to darken and melt with the heat. 'Thou trusting fool! That device killed thee once and imperiled thy life again by setting us against thee.'
'That last I perceive,' Stile agreed. 'Yet the business of the Oracle is making prophecies and being correct. If I am to be the leader of the forces of destruction of Phaze by helping this computer to return to Proton - though the reason remains opaque as to why it should wish ill to Phaze or how it could harm this frame from Proton - and someone inquires about that, the Oracle can but answer truthfully. Naturally that imperils me, and I like it not - but neither can I fault it for that answer. Truth is often unpleasant. Rather should I inquire in what way I am to do a deed whose nature appalls me. Were I sure the Oracle would destroy Phaze, I would not help it, and surely it is aware of that. There must be circumstances I know not and that you other Adepts know not. Better that I at least talk with the Oracle to ascertain the rationale.'
'Of course,' she said. 'That is thy sensible response, and surely the machine is expecting thee to come to it. That makes it possible for thee to destroy it.'
'Or to help it to destroy Phaze,' Stile said wryly. 'At the moment I intend to do neither evil, and can not see what rationale would sway me either way.'
'Then consider this, Blue. It was the Oracle who hinted at the doom of the Red Adept and started her mischief against thee. She killed thine other self and attacked thee in Proton - but it was the Oracle who motivated her. If thou dost seek vengeance for the murder of the Blue Adept, seek it at the source - the infernal Oracle. This is no sweet contraption like thy golem mistress, Blue. It plays the game savagely.'
'But all its predictions were true!' Stile protested, experiencing a trace of doubt. 'I can not blame it for fulfilling that role!'
'Fool! dost thou not realize it was a self-fulfilling prophecy? Red attacked thee because the Oracle fingered thee, no other reason. The Oracle knew what would happen. It alone generated that murder - and knew that also.'
Stile was shaken. He was conversant with the bypaths of logic. White was right; the Oracle had initiated the campaign against him. A lesser entity might have made a mistake, but the Oracle had to have known what it was doing. It had murdered Stile's other self, caused Stile's knee misery, and set him on the horrendous path he had followed on the way to Phaze and to vengeance against the Red Adept.
Yet he remembered also that the original Blue Adept had accepted his own murder. Why?
'But why should the Oracle do this to me?' he asked plaintively, seeking to resolve this part of the mystery. Maybe if he knew the Oracle's motive, he could fathom his alternate self's strange acquiescence. His mind was, after all, identical.
'I suggest thou dost go ask it,' White said. 'Ask also why it should seek to use thee to destroy Phaze. Then must thou do what thou shalt see fit to do.'
It all did seem to add up, at least to this incomplete extent. He had to settle with the Oracle. 'I will go ask the machine and then do what I see fit to do.'
'I meant that facetiously,' the White Adept said. 'We do not believe the computer will allow thee to approach it unless it knows thou wilt side with it. I have made our case to thee, but thou hast not reacted with proper fury.
Something we know not of has influenced thee against us.
The knowledge of his other self's acquiescence - that was the influencing factor. 'Of course I am not with thee!' Stile exclaimed. 'I am not with anyone who kidnaps and dehorns my steed. Thy methods make thy side suspect.'
'And the methods of the Oracle make it not similarly suspect?'
Stile spread his hands. 'I admit I know not the final truth. I will seek the Oracle.'
'I did not think thou wouldst join us. But I undertook to make the case. Hadst thou accepted honestly-'
'I have done nothing dishonest!'
'Aye. So we must destroy thee. Yellow will not like that, but it must be done. When we leave this bubble, it will be war between us. The other Adepts have massed their power, and the goblins are ready.'
'Fortunate art thou that thy trust in this truce was well placed. Else would I simply confine thee here.'
'Honor is not a luxury many of us can afford,' she said sadly. 'Yet in the name of honor, some are fools. Thou wilt not attack us or the Oracle without fair warning. This makes thee ideal for whatever side can use thee.' She sighed. 'I do not hate thee, Blue. I respect thee. I, too, am true to my cause, and it is a worthy one. Thou art true only to thine honor, and therein lies thy grief. Phaze will never be safe whilst Blue remains. Thus says our enemy the Oracle, and this we do believe. We like it not, but so must it be. Be on thy guard against my kind, Blue.'
Stile studied her. The White Adept was no young thing, and she had not bothered with Yellow's type of vanity. She looked old and ugly and careworn. He had encountered her before and found little to please him. But he knew she was a witch and a skilled one; backed by the power of the other Adepts, she was far more formidable than she appeared. Her warning had to be heeded. The Adepts would now be fully unified and coordinated. The veil was off; nothing would be held back. She was giving him the most forceful warning she could, without betraying her associates.
He would have to get away from here in a hurry, the moment the shell opened. Yet where could he escape to? The Adepts could follow him anywhere in Phaze. White's warning, perhaps, was intended to focus his attention on this problem so that he would have a fair chance. His respect for her had been small; now it had enlarged. She had taken pains to give information that he needed, when she really hadn't had to. 'I thank thee for thy courtesy, White,' he said.
Stile released the spell that enclosed them and stood on guard. If the witch tried to strike against either unicorn, Stile would counter the spell. By the same token, if he started magic against the lurking goblins, she would block it. Since no spell could be used twice, it was sheer waste for Adept to squander magic against Adept. Their special powers would cancel each other out - until the other Adepts oriented - and she had told him they were ready. He was outgunned and would have to move fast so that they could not keep proper track of him.
'We must travel!' Stile cried. 'I must stave off magic; you two handle the rest!' He vaulted aboard the nearest unicorn, which happened to be the Herd Stallion.
Clip was now outside the prison, probably having shifted to hawk-form to pass by the bars. That meant he was back in full health. But Stile was happier riding the Stallion, whom he knew to be in full possession of his powers. Clip might tire quickly.
The Stallion blasted out a medley of chords. Goblins had appeared in the passage; they hastily faded back, heeding the warning. Clip went to hawk-form and flew ahead, leading the way. The Stallion launched himself forward.
Stile was only peripherally aware of these details. His attention was on the White Adept. As the Stallion moved out, she started drawing a symbol in the dust on the floor. Stile sang out a spell that was mostly in his head: 'Dust - gust!'
The dust stirred up into a cloud, gusting about the cavern. The witch was unable to complete her sketch. Her spell had been intercepted. She could not function any better in this swirl than Stile could when he had been a victim of the silence-spell. She looked up - and Stile saw with surprise that she was smiling. It was as if she were glad to see him escape. She must have spoken truly when she said she did not like this business. She had to fight
