Out of Phaze

Appalled, Bane approached the cell—and felt the presence of an invisible magic barrier. He knew its nature immediately; it was a standard Adept spell that was used to confine animals or ordinary folk. This was a strong one, that could restrain a unicorn despite the antimagical powers of the species. Even with her horn free, Fleta could not penetrate this barrier; she would merely be able to change her form in her cell.

But he knew what to do, now. He had to provide her with a spell for spot nullification without alarm. “What holds me?” he demanded, as if he didn’t know.

“Never mind,” Purple said, and the barrier dissolved. Bane approached the tied animal. He put his mouth to her ear, as if whispering an endearment. ‘This spell, new role,” he sang quietly. “Make horn-sized hole.” And the powerful magic of his will reached out to change the amulet on her horn.

Her near eye widened, showing white momentarily. He knew she felt his spell, and knew that Mach could not have performed magic of this level. She realized that the amulet no longer locked her into her present form; it had been turned to his purpose. She would know what to do, and when.

He turned away. Without a word he walked out of the cell, feeling the magic barrier snap back into place behind him, and proceeded back down the tunnel toward the point of rendezvous.

At the proper place he paused, overlapping Mach and verifying that the robot had done his part. Then he changed his expression. He touched his clothing. ‘Then I be back!” he exclaimed.

“Contact!” the Purple Adept said.

Bane turned to him. “I bear a message from thine other self: Contact be established, and the next move be thine.”

“But that’s the message I sent him!”

Bane shrugged. “He be thine other self.”

Purple’s visage clouded suspiciously. “How do I know thou hast really made the change? Thou couldst be the same one I captured!”

“Perhaps thou willst believe it by this,” Bane said. Then he sang: “Make a funnel to a tunnel.”

The floor of the passage opened up in a circular depression, deepening in the center. It did indeed soon come to resemble a funnel. Below it there was evidently a new tunnel: one leading out from this fastness.

Without delay, Bane jumped into the funnel and slid down into the tunnel. He landed on his feet and started running along it.

But in a moment shapes loomed up ahead of him. Trolls! The Purple Adept had summoned more of his minions, and they were blocking him off.

Bane halted, knowing that he could not pass these nefarious creatures of the underworld. They could tunnel naturally as fast as he could by magic, and they could move more rapidly here than he could. He backed to the funnel, and hiked himself up, scrambling up its slope until he stood again before the Adept.

“Then perhaps this,” he said. He sang: “Let me fare, through the air.”

The ceiling opened, revealing open sky above. Bane spread his arms and sailed up, quickly leaving the structure of the Purple Demesnes. But from the horizon came a monstrous flock of harpies, that quickly converged on him.

Bane looked at the ugly half-birds, and reversed course. He plunged down again, and in a moment stood again before the Purple Adept.

“Or this,” he said. Then he sang: “Make me most like a ghost.”

Nothing changed in appearance—but now Bane walked directly into and through the wall, and on through the rock, as if he had no more substance than a ghost. No troll or harpy could touch him now.

Then something manifested that could touch him. A genuine ghost! It was in the form of a worn old man, but it paced him through the rock, and closed on him, and when the withered old hand closed on his arm, it had the grip and force of the supernatural. Bane was a pseudoghost; he could not stand up against the real thing. Thus he found himself a third time back before the Purple Adept. His attempts to escape by using his magic had been foiled. He was only an apprentice Adept; he was unable to match the power of a mature Adept. He could not get away this way.

Purple nodded. “Aye, I believe thou dost make thy point. Thou art the apprentice.”

But Purple had also made his point: Bane remained captive.

A serf hurried up. “Master—the mare be gone!”

The Adept wheeled on him. “She cannot be!”

“She—one moment she was tied. The next, her harness fell to the floor, and there was only a tiny bird, and it—

The floor of the tunnel opened up beneath the serf. The luckless man fell in, screaming. The floor crunched closed on him. The Adept wheeled and strode back toward Fleta’s cell. Bane followed, keeping his face straight. He knew that the unicorn had acted while the Adept was distracted by Bane’s attempts to escape. She had changed to hummingbird form and used the remade amulet to make a hole in the magical barrier the diameter of her horn—which was just large enough for the hummingbird to squeeze through. She had flown so swiftly and carefully that they had quickly lost track of her.