him, but didn't really mind failing. Some Adepts, it seemed, were not as bad as others.
However, he had to heed her warning about the other enemy Adepts, most of whom he had never interacted with. They would not hold back, once they got around White's tacit obstruction and oriented directly on him.
Meanwhile, the goblins were bad enough. These were their passages, and they were thoroughly conversant with the dusky recesses. The Herd Stallion was retracing the route they had descended - but suddenly a great iron gate slammed into place ahead, blocking the way. The Stallion could not pass and Clip barely squeezed back through the narrow aperture to rejoin them. They were caught in the passage, and a solid mass of goblins was wedging in behind them.
The Stallion played more chords. Clip, answering the command, shifted to man-form and joined Stile on the Stallion's back. He was clothed now, with a rapier. He drew this and faced back, menacing a few goblins who tried to squeeze in behind.
Stile got the idea. He unwrapped his concealed broadsword and sat ready to slice at any goblins who got within range to either side. His main attention was on whatever signs of hostile magic there might be, but he could slash while hardly looking.
The Stallion charged the goblins. They scattered, throwing their spears away in their frantic scramble to get clear. It was not that they were cowardly; it was that a ton of unicorn bristling with horn and two armed riders was a truly formidable thing. Any who tried to stand their ground would be skewered or slashed or trampled. As it happened, a number could not get out of the way in time and were indeed trampled and skewered.
There was a side passage. The unicorn hurtled into this, causing Stile to grab for the mane in order to hold his seat, and thundered along it.
Suddenly there was a ledge. The Herd Stallion could not brake in time. He leaped out over the edge, into the darkness of nothing.
Then Stile found himself riding the dragon. The Stallion's dragon was not large for this type, being perhaps only twelve feet long from snout to tail, and Stile's weight bore him down. Fortunately Stile was not large for his own type, and the dragon was able to spread his wings and descend slowly. Clip, of course, had converted to hawk-form.
Stile still wore his grotesque shoes and turban. Quickly he sloughed these off, lightening the burden on the reptile; but the descent continued.
The dragon snorted fire that illuminated the cavern. They were in a deep cleft whose upper reaches were lit by wan shafts of moonlight. There was their escape!
But the dragon could not make it that high under Stile's weight. Stile readied a spell, felt the questing magic of another Adept, and had to hold back. He could be messed up much as he had messed up White's spell, and in midair that could be disastrous. Also, it seemed the enemies could not quite locate him as long as he remained in the dark and cast no spells. He had to hold off until it was safer. So the dim light above faded, and they dropped down into the deeper depths silently.
There was a detonation of something. Light blazed and metallic fragments whistled by. Someone had fired an explosive amulet or something similar at them. This was blind shooting, hoping to catch the dragon by a random shot; the assailants did not have a perfect fix on Stile's party. Now he was certain that if he used defensive magic, he would give away his location. Better to lie quiet, like a submarine on a water planet, and hope the depth-charges missed.
The dragon tried again to rise, but could not. Stile felt the body heating with the effort. This could not continue long.
There was a
But the Stallion was burning hot from his exertions. He looped about, aimed his snout at the pursuing griffin, and exhaled a scaring shaft of fire.
The griffin squawked as it was enveloped in flame. The blaze of its burning wings lit up the entire cavern. It tumbled down to the water, smoking feathers drifting after it.
But the next sending was another dragon, a big one. Its chest pumped like a bellows, building up pressure for a devastating blast that would incinerate Stile and the Stallion. The enemy was now fighting fire with fire.
The hawk winged at it, too small and fast for the dragon to catch or avoid. The dragon ignored the bird, knowing nothing that size could dent its armored hide. The enormous metal-foil wings beat swiftly, launching the dragon forward.
The hawk dived, zeroing in on the dragon's head. Stile could only watch with dismay, knowing Clip was throwing away his life in a useless gesture, a diversionary effort that was not working. He could not even think of a preventive spell on this too-brief notice.
The dragon opened its monstrous mouth to take in the tiny missile - and Clip changed abruptly to unicorn- form. He struck horn-first, piercing the dragon's head, his horn passing from inside the throat right on between the eyes and out, penetrating the little brain on the way.
The strike was so unexpected and powerful that the monster simply folded its wings and expired. It plummeted to the water, while Clip changed back to hawk-form and flew clear. 'Well done!' Stile cried, amazed and gratified.
Now for a time there were no more sendings. But Stile knew worse attacks were in the offing. His party had to get out of the chasm - and could not. Already they were close to the nether water. He had to relieve the Herd Stallion of his weight - yet was sure that the one enchantment the enemy Adepts would have blocked would be a personal transport-spell. They were trying to force Stile to use it - and launch himself into oblivion.
The Stallion sent forth more fire, just enough to light the way. The dark water below reflected with slight iridescence, as if oily. Stile mistrusted that. He didn't want the Stallion to fall into that liquid. He would have to risk magic. Not transport, of course; something unexpected.
The hawk had been circling. Now he came back, squawking news. Over and over he cried it, until Stile was able to discern the word. 'Curtain!' Stile cried. 'The curtain is ahead?'
That was it. Now Stile had a better alternative. 'Fly low, Stallion, and I'll pass through the curtain. Then thou and Clip can fly up and escape in the night. They want thee not, only me, and soon thou canst return to thy herd. I'll climb up on the Proton side, where magic can't reach me.' Of course there would be other problems across the curtain, but he would handle them in due course.
The Stallion was in no position to argue. He glided low - and there in the dark was the scintillation of the curtain, crossing the chasm. 'If there's any sort of ledge - I don't want to drop too far.'
There was no ledge. It would have to be the water. They intersected the curtain, and Stile spelled himself across.
?10. Force (SF)
He fell a few feet - or rather a meter or so - knowing he was through the curtain only because he no longer had dragon support. He splashed into the water, feeling the instant shock of cold. He was, of course, an excellent swimmer; no top Gamesman neglected such a sport. But the water was polluted, stinking, and perhaps contained harmful acids; the Citizens of Proton cared nothing for the planetary environment outside the domes. He didn't want to stay here long!
The air, too, was foul. But here in the depths, it was thicker than above and seemed to contain more oxygen. He did not enjoy it, but he could survive longer on it than anticipated. Still, he had another resource.
He swam back to the curtain, which passed right down through the water. He organized himself, then willed himself through and said: 'Bring nuts and dried fruit, scuba and wetsuit.' And the spell, shaped by his imagination, clothed him in a warm, flexible body swimming suit complete with flippers, breathing apparatus, and a bag of mixed nuts and bits of dehydrated fruit.
Something formed in the water near him. It was huge and toothed, and it threshed its way toward him with powerful flukes. Stile hastily spelled himself back across the curtain. He had done the unexpected and escaped the enemy Adepts without using a transport-spell, but they remained alert for him.
