Songs of the Dancing Gods

this morning. You know, I had the oddest dream last night… “He looked around at the still forest, and let his mind run free for a moment; somehow, in the larger stand nearby, he sensed friendly presences. Or maybe not a dream, he added to himself.

“I should have taken the watch,” she said flatly. “That, too, is part of my job. If anything had happened to us last night it would have been my fault.”

“No,” he responded enigmatically, looking at the grove, “we were okay. Don’t ask how, but we were well defended.”

She wanted to get elaboration on that cryptic comment, but she sensed that she’d get no more out of him.

Irving arose in the same lethargic fashion characteristic of his father, and said, “Well, I guess we made it, huh?”

“Yeah, we made it,” Joe replied. “Let’s finish off what’s still edible and hit the road.”

They finished it off and tossed what was left into the brush, then packed up the last stuff to go. Ti had very little trouble talking Irving into the loincloth, and she managed to get it so that it stayed. It did look more like a giant diaper on him than the romantic he-man image it gave his father, but she didn’t make the comment, and Joe seemed to understand and kept his mouth shut, too.

They mounted up, and Joe took one last look around, then focused on the small grove and mentally said, “Thank you,” in their direction. And from them, although it might have been the wind in the trees, he thought he heard, “Any time. ”

If it wasn’t a dream, if it was real, then their information was reliable as well. The dangerous creatures of faerie were mostly of the night, at least around here, but if there was an outpost Sugasto’s people maintained with zombies protecting it, they were a threat any time. He wouldn’t feel reasonably secure until they passed the tollhouse at the edge of Grotom Wood.

He couldn’t help thinking about his old enemy. “I wonder why Sugasto stopped?” he asked aloud. “Nobody was able to hold him off for long, he had an endless supply of new recruits from among his own victims, and he had enormous power.”

Ti shrugged. “Possibly he had something more important to attend to first,” she suggested. “Or, perhaps he was ill. Perhaps he still doesn’t feel he’s a match for Ruddygore. Who knows? It is enough for me that he did stop.”

They came upon the old tollhouse, now a roofless stone ruin encrusted in moss, lichen, and creeping vines, looking like some sinister gateway to Hell, and almost immediately the countryside started to change its character and things brightened considerably. Now there were rolling hills and fields with farms and forests that looked more charming than threatening. To Joe, it felt like home.

By midmorning they reached Hotsphar, a small town built on a thermal region, with hot springs and hissing holes in the ground the locals used for everything from cooking to bathing. The idea of a hot bath in one of the small bathhouses was irresistible, particularly when it cost only a few coppers. They were running pretty low on money, but they no longer had that far to go.

They had the place almost to themselves. “The nearby wood still frightens many good folk in these troubled times,” the proprietress explained. “And, of course, it’s the off-season.”

The bath in the crystal clear water of the hot springs was wonderful, and the thermal-heated sauna not only relaxed but did a nice job of drying out the clothing and blankets. Ti was methodical in getting them washed and even combing their hair. After, she was even able to borrow some scissors and thread and make a decent loincloth for Irving. She was quite pleased with her handiwork and the praise it invoked.

The change that had come over her was remarkable, Joe thought. She not only had completely stopped nagging and complaining about things, but she actually was doing a lot of stuff on her own initiative that, not long before, she would have thought beneath her. She was solicitous, cheerful, and even deferential. That last was hard to get used to, since it went a little against his grain, but he went with the flow. He felt rotten about feeling the way he did, but, the fact was, he liked it. He just kept telling himself that, if the situation had been reversed, with him the slave and she the mistress, she would have liked it, too.

They blew the last of their money on a hot meal and some basic snacklike provisions. It was now nearly certain that they would get to their destination by nightfall. Joe was anxious to see Ruddygore again, in any event. The master sorcerer would know the situation on Sugasto and maybe have a job or two for him. He also had another little matter to take up with him in private.

In the very late afternoon, they passed the trail to the upper ferry and reached the bridge over the Rossignol, a major tributary of the Dancing Gods, at Terdiera. Beyond, overlooking both the town and the confluence of the two rivers, could be seen the massive spires of Castle Terindell.

It was a troll bridge, of course, and Joe suddenly realized that they were flat broke, and that even the town was across the river from them.

Irving stared fearfully at the trolls, who seemed to be all big, glaring eyes and sharklike teeth, sort of like Muppets from Hell, but the lead troll recognized Joe.

“Ah! You are prepaid, barbarian, and your company,” he growled. “Lord Ruddygore’s cadet came down three days ago. Until you showed up, we thought we’d gotten a freebie.”

They were delighted to hear it, but puzzled- “You say they came down and paid three days ago? But they didn’t even know we were coming!”

“Obviously they did,” the troll responded. “They know most everything hereabouts before anybody else does.”

The town looked pretty much as he remembered it, but they didn’t linger there, instead heading straight on up the one additional mile or so to the castle on the point. Joe couldn’t help but think back many years ago to the first time he and Marge had come through these huge outer walls and gates and across the drawbridges. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Like most castles of the region, Terindell was actually a series of buildings, one inside the other, and the interior contained a hollow, rectangular courtyard. Tiny brownies tended to the elaborate gardens that encircled the open area, and elf grooms appeared to help them down and take their horses.

Irving was awestruck by it all, gaping at all and sundry, but unable to say a word. They walked up to the main entrance as the sun set. Before they could knock, the huge wooden door opened, revealing a slender, dangerous-looking fairy dressed in a gray robe with golden tassels. He was nearly six feet tall, and there was something at once cold and menacing about him. That was the mark of the Imir, one of the few warrior races that the faerie had.

“Hello, Poquah,” Joe greeted the creature.

“Jeez! Mister Spock!” Irving muttered under his breath. “What next?”

“You’re late!” the Imir snapped. “It’s about time you showed up!”

“I didn’t know we had an appointment.”

“Humans!” the Imir sniffed. “You probably still think you just got the idea to come here. You were summoned!.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Oh, nothing much,” the Imir responded a bit sarcastically. “Only that the Dark Baron slipped our leash and is free once again and that, perhaps not coincidentally, Sugasto seems to be getting his act together once more.”

Joe shook his head in wonder and returned a wry smile. “Back to normal,” he sighed. “Nice to see you, too, Poquah.”

CHAPTER 5 PLOTS GO WRONG, AS USUAL

Anyone, whether hero or villain, human or fairy, whose life or death would in any way change the course of destiny, shall always be given a way out, no matter how certain the doom or absolute the trap.