Iduna

A new game she wanted to play and play it immediately with the arrogance of one unaccustomed to waiting. Or perhaps she wanted to show him something as a child would demand attention before displaying a scrawled painting or other adults to watch as a trick was performed. And it seemed, always, she hated to be alone.

The battlement was thronged with soldiers, attendants, Shamarre watching silently from her station, the beast at her side. Colors and brightness and figures which moved and faces with eyes and mouths which talked and yet all was nothing more than an extension of the castle, the battlement, the curtain walls, the triple arch and the turrets. Props to bolster a play.

And the thing screaming in the mist?

It had been real and he had seen it; of that Dumarest was certain. A glimpse into something ugly behind the glittering facade. A part of the castle, perhaps, for castles contained dungeons and not all prisons were below the ground. Yet it had changed in a flash into something else. A room harmless enough and one to be expected behind the door he had opened.

A glimpse of hell in paradise.

'Iduna!' She turned as he called and he saw her face illuminate with pleasure. 'What is it? What are you going to show me?'

'You guessed!'

'No, but am I right? Is there something you want me to see?'

For answer she lifted her arm, pointing and, in the distance he could see wheeling shapes against the sky. Birds or things shaped like birds then as they came closer he could see things of nightmare, shapes elongated, distorted, set with tormented faces and disjointed limbs. Objects which keened as they wheeled.

'I made them,' Iduna said proudly. 'Shamarre!'

The beast at the woman's side sprang to the battlements and stood for a moment on a crenellation, its body sharply etched against the sky. A moment only then it sprang into empty air, to hang as if suspended for a moment, then to fall as wings sprouted from his shoulders. Wide, curved, fretted pinions which caught the air and gave the beast mastery over the element as it swept to the attack, paws extended, claws gleaming like sickles. Talons which ripped and tore as the beast closed with the flying horrors and sent their blood flying in a carmine rain.

A brief and savage conflict which sent the nightmare shapes to litter the ground as the beast, jaws, muzzle and paws smeared with gore, came to rejoin Shamarre. She patted it as it crouched at her feet, busy washing itself, the wings vanished from the smooth, tawny hide.

'Earl?' Iduna was looking at him, the smooth, round face smiling, changing even as he watched, to betray something feral. 'You like that, Earl?'

'Why?'

'Why?' A frown ruined the smoothness of her forehead. 'Why what? What do you mean?'

'Why the display? The butchery?'

'The combat, you mean.' Dignity stiffened her voice, the offended pride of one who has never been questioned as to her motives. 'It was sport. The chase.' Then, as he made no comment, added, 'Don't you like to hunt?'

'No. Neither do I like to see others kill for pleasure. There was no need. Those things didn't threaten you in any way. They-' He broke off, remembering. The things had been created with a thought and had no greater reality than the castle, the beast which had killed them, the attendants and guards standing now on all sides listening to the argument. He must not display his condemnation. It would serve no useful purpose and would alienate the girl. He said mildly, 'I am sorry. You tried to please me.'

'In my castle,' she said stiffly, 'all guests are entertained. And within my walls you are safe from the dangers which wait outside. You were foolish to have wandered away from the protection I offer. Those things I made and had destroyed, they were modeled on things which live in the outer marches. It is fatal to be caught by them at night.'

Night?

Dumarest glanced at the sky seeing the same, flame-shot expanse he had seen before. But it had changed more than once and was changing again, growing darker and seeming to hold menace as it did so.

'Come,' Iduna ordered. 'It grows chill.'

A thin wind gave truth to the statement. Dumarest saw others shiver, a servant draping a cloak around Iduna's shoulders, felt a sudden bite in the air. Things which made the castle seem a greater haven. As the gloom thickened flambeaux cast a warm and flickering light from cressets set on walls and turrets.

'Come,' said the girl again. 'Earl, you will have time to bathe before dinner.'

A servant guided him to his room, a soft-eyed woman with a crest of fine, blonde hair and round eyes of vivid blue. Her thin garment was of silk and lace and did little to hide the smooth curves of what it covered. Her arm when Dumarest touched it was warm, the creamy skin gilded with a fine fuzz of hair.

'My lord?'

'What is your name?'

'Irenne, my lord.'

'How long have you been here?'

'Here, my lord? Why, all my life. It is an honor to serve Her Majesty.' Her eyes met his, unswerving. 'And any who are the guests of the Queen.'

'Do you have many? Guests, I mean. Can you remember names? Nerva? Charles? Fhrel?' Names Gustav had given him. Those belonging to the volunteers who had gone before.

'Muhi?' He thought he saw the flicker of her eyes. 'Muhi? Do you remember him?'

'No, my lord. Your bath is beyond that door. Is it your wish that I attend you?'

'No.'

Alone Dumarest examined the bathroom. It was what he had expected. A sunken tub fashioned of marble, the taps and appointments of gold. Fluffy towels hanging on a warming rack. Soap and lotions dispensed by crystal containers. The light was a soft amber and the air reeked of perfume. Walls, floor and ceiling were unbroken mirrors.

Lying in the water Dumarest looked at his reflection. His face seemed younger than it had, small lines vanishing and marks of old stresses gone to reveal a smoother visage. The scar tissue was gone beneath the line of his hair and the scars of other, older wounds were no longer to be seen.

His doing?

Iduna's?

Was he as she saw him or as he wanted to be? A question he pondered while lying in the steaming water enjoying its liquid caress. She had created the castle and everything in it and he was now in the castle. He thought of the servant, Irenne. She had seemed real and warmly human. Her body had radiated a feminine warmth and had certainly been made of flesh and blood. A real woman with a life of her own and memories which were wholly hers and loves and hopes and ambitions too, perhaps. As Shamarre was a real woman copied from memories of her mother's guard, one who could have acted as a nurse at times. A figure of known and trusted strength.

Did the others also model those she had known years ago? Guards and attendants and servants all duplicated here in the Tau to continue familiar duties?

Riddles which could wait. Solving them would solve nothing for the real problem remained. How to restore Iduna to the real world where her mother waited to take her into her arms. Where his own body now lay helpless among those who had no cause to concern themselves over his welfare.

How long had it been!

Time had lost all meaning, lost in an eternal day now, for the first time, broken by night. A darkness induced by Iduna's whim or a natural part of her universe. A time of potential danger when it would be comforting to be behind thick walls patroled by trusted guards. Not all pleasures were things of silken comfort.

And yet could danger, real danger, exist here?

Dumarest stretched and watched the run of water over his arms and chest, little rivulets which traced individual paths as they broke from the main flood. Water which felt and tasted and acted as if real. Which was real-and if real then a man could drown in it.

But what was reality?

If a thought could make a thing then was that thing more than thought? In the world of the Tau nothing was tangible and how could intangibility affect the same?