Songs of the Dancing Gods

born in, and am going home to, Terdiera; the lady is of Sachalin origin.”

The soldier nodded, then looked at Irving. “You, young sir, are not of Marquewood, surely.”

“My son,” Joe answered hastily. “I travel a lot in my work.”

The soldier looked at Joe, then the boy, then shrugged. “Apparently so. And from where did you journey?”

“High Pothique, entirely. A well-earned holiday, you might say. Now I am returning to my employer.”

“I see. And who might that be?”

“Ruddygore of Terindell, of course.”

The soldier started a bit. “You work for the sorcerer?”

“Legally, no. But he has first claim on my services.”

The soldier nodded and went to Tiana. “You are of Sachalin?”

“I was born in that city, my lord.”

“And what are you to these two?”

“My lord, I am his slave and mistress,” she responded, pointing to Joe.

The response startled Irving. Hell, she was his wife, wasn’t she? But it seemed to satisfy the guy. Maybe it was an image thing, he decided, or one more of them damned Rules.

“Name and family?”

“My lord knows that upon becoming a slave I gave up my name and family. I am called by whatever name my master chooses, and for now he calls me Ti, after the Blessed Goddess.”

“You were acquired in High Pothique.”

“No, my lord, in Marquewood.”

He nodded, then asked a few specific questions about the far-off city, which she answered perfectly and without hesitation, knowing the place well. He seemed satisfied. “Very well.” He wrote something and handed it to Joe.

“This is your customs entry for the horses and slave,” the border guard told the big man. “She seems to be of Marque-wood and her accent is right, so I will allow her in free of duty. However, if you plan on leaving the kingdom again with her and returning, you should have her fitted with a nose ring to validate her country of origin or you could wind up paying duty.”

Now the borderman walked back to Irving, who had been watching all this with increasing horror. At least he had been properly briefed for his own questions.

“You are not born here?”

“No, sir, first time. I am of age, and my father is taking me to be trained by the one who trained him.”

The border patrolman walked back to Joe. “All seems in order, sir. Left to Terdiera. You are cautioned that most of the route is Royal Preserve—no poaching.”

“Any problems?” Joe asked him. “The last time I was through the Master of the Dead was working down almost past here.”

“He withdrew his forces northward as far as we can tell upon the sorcerer’s return,” the soldier told them. “Your route should be safe, although there are reports of hidden enemy encampments in these parts and occasional bits of nastiness—-cemeteries getting up and taking walks, that sort of thing. Stay on the road and camp only in and around the towns and you should have no trouble. The Majin fairies have been moved in between Hotsphar and Terdiera as they are loyal and have proven resistant to the enemy’s powers, but from a few miles north of here until perhaps the old tollhouse at Grotom Wood there’s been reports of firesprites and possible banshee presence, so don’t camp in there even after dark. Otherwise, no problems.”

Joe nodded, and they moved through the opening to the crossroads and turned left.

“I wonder what that guy considers a problem?” Irving asked no one in particular.

CHAPTER 4 ON CHANGES AND UNCHANGES

Fairy flesh is essentially immortal (except under Sections 7 and 16 and provisos in Volumes IV and VI as amended) and, once fixed, can never be changed in its character. It is outside the purview of magic.

—The Books of Rules, III, 79(b)

The road to Terindell kept getting creepier and creepier as they went.

The road was in excellent shape, and obviously was well maintained, but the landscape quickly became a jungle, with huge trees rising almost too high to see the tops of them, so close together that they tended to block out much of the light and form almost a rooflike canopy over them.

“So this is home sweet home?” Irving asked, looking nervously around. He could believe zombies or almost anything in this place.

“Marquewood’s a huge country, one of the largest in Husaquahr,” Tiana told him. “There are rolling hills and beautiful glades and mountains and river valleys and just about anything you can think of. It’s just that this area, for the next twenty-five miles or so, is swamp and rain forest.”

“Yeah, but it hadn’t occurred to me that we’d be on this route,” Joe said a bit nervously. “I’m never gonna be really thrilled with this region again.”

Tiana dropped back and said to Irv, in a low tone, “It was elsewhere in this region that Sugasto had an encampment. Our souls were snatched from our bodies and taken here and stored there. The changeling Marge was a key to them finding us, but there was no way to tell who was who.”

“Yeah, you told me that. Around here!”

“Farther south, but the same sort of place. What he’d never tell you was that he was placed in the body of a wood nymph and bound by her Rules. It took powerful magic much later to restore him.”

Irv suppressed a loud laugh. “Dad? A girl?”

“Worse. A wood nymph. They are compulsive hussies with the brains of a banana peel. There’s no real memory of our time in the bottles, but he still has nightmares about his time as a nymph. Don’t rub it in.”

Irving felt a shiver creep up his spine. “Man! I hope that don’t happen to me! I don’t never wanna be no girl!”

She stared at him. “Why not? I happen to like it just fine.”

“Yeah? Would you like to be a man instead? Really?”

“No! I like it the way I am!”

“See?”

“What’re you two whispering about?” Joe asked, turning.

“I just filled him in on why you really want to get even with Sugasto,” she told him. At his expression, she added, “He had a right to know.”

Joe shrugged, but he was clearly angry at her for doing it. He was just realistic enough to know that you couldn’t undo something once done.

Irving thought it would be a good idea to change the subject.

“Hey—back there you said you was Dad’s mistress and slave, even. You’re his wife, ain’t you? Why the other line?”

“Not only under the Rules, but under the law, we’re not married anymore,” she explained. “We just consider ourselves married. The one who married him is different from me. Officially, legally, and under the Rules, I’m somebody else. So is he, for that matter. That dizzy nymph ran off in his old body and this one, which looks the way he originally looked, was actually a magical transformation. Under the Rules, I’m of the underclass—the class of the masses, like the people in those towns, and serfs, and slaves. I was not married within my class in proper fashion, but instead I am a dancer who dances before crowds for money. That places me in the same category as a trained animal who performs in the square for coppers for its owner. An animal has no rights at all, let alone the right to marry. An animal can only be wild or owned.”