Phaze Doubt

As night came he assumed his bal form, and used sound to track his course north. He snapped up night bugs as they offered, for though he had magically assumed the form, it didn’t fly by magic. It needed food energy. What he ate as a bat would sustain him in his other forms too, if he consumed enough. Since he could feed without pausing in this form, it behooved him to stuff himself for the next day. He was not a natural bat; he had adopted it as an alternate form, completing the normal unicorn roster of three. Thus this one also was neutral, because it was the unicorn way, and would not make a splash. The nonsplash forms were repeatable, while individual magic was not. Once a unique spell was done, it was finished; if the same thing needed to be done again, it had to be by a different spell. So even Adepts were careful not to waste magic. Fortunately, human ingenuity could devise many spells, so the limitation normally didn’t squeeze.

He had mastered other forms, however, extending his unicorn range. Grandpa Stile had trained him for this, making him the Unicorn Adept. This ability had enabled him to hide from the Adverse Adepts for four years, making a critical difference in the contest for control of Phaze. Now he hoped it made a similar difference, in this contest for the survival of Phaze.

As dawn approached, he shifted to wolf form, and ranged on through the diminishing forestland. He was making excellent time, but he was tiring, for all the forms required rest and sleep eventually. He hoped the ice demons were hospitable, so that he could get some rest there.

Being in wolf form reminded him of his Promised, Sirelmoba. What a fine little bitch she was! He almost wished he had not made the commitment to her, because once they came of age and mated, they would separate and never mate with each other again. If he had taken some other bitch as his Promised, and exchanged name syllables with her, then he would have been free to establish a permanent liaison with Sirel. But of course he wouldn’t have come to know her so well then. The wolf way was a good way, but sometimes hard. And, he had to remind himself, he was not really a wolf; he had joined the Pack when in hiding, but he was more truly a unicorn, or a man.

Finally the great White Mountains loomed beyond the scrub. Now he was glad he was moving rapidly, because even in his furry wolf guise he would have had some trouble with the cold here. Natural wolves got acclimatized, but he had spent his life in the temperate zone and was soft. Also, he lacked his full growth. In the necessary alignment of things, the unicorns and werewolves and vampire bats lived the same ages as humans; a nine-year-old human boy was as young in proportion as a ‘corn or wolf or bat. It had been a job, carrying Lysan! He had had to use supplementary magic to lighten the load.

He came to the base of the mountains. Grandpa Stile had told him of one of the tribes of snow demons he had come to know, because he had played chess against the demon champion, Ice-beard. Even demons loved good games! They had been on opposite sides in the Adept struggle, but demons did not take human altercations too seriously. In any event, they should all be on the same side now: the side of Phaze.

He found the pass leading to the demon caves. He started up, his paws feeling the ice. Soon he would have to change to boy form and invoke a spell of warmth.

A snow demon appeared, and roared a windy challenge. “Away, wolf, ere ) bury thee!” It was no bluff; the creature could set off a snowslide in a moment.

“I be friend!” Flach called in growl-talk. Not all creatures understood all languages, but there was some interaction between wolves and snow demons. With magic he could do for himself what he had done for Lysan: make their languages compatible.

“Demons have no friends!” The demon made ready to start the slide.

“I be grandpup to Adept Stile, come to see Icebeard.”

The demon paused. That name was known here. “Prove it.”

Flach assumed his unicorn form, then his boy form. He made a minor conjuration of clothing, lest he freeze. “Dost see the resemblance?” For he did have a family resemblance to his grandfather, one he had cultivated from pride.

“Aye,” the demon said grudgingly. “An thou dost be faking it, we shall make o’ thee a statue o’ snow.”

“As would be proper.” Flach agreed.

The demon led him on into a cave farther up the pass. Soon he stood before the demon chief, who was a fearsome figure. He was made entirely of ice, with wild icicles for hair and of course matted ice for a beard. He gazed coldly at Flach. “Thou claimest to be the ‘Corn Adept?” he demanded, his breath a freezing fog.

“Aye. An thou wishest, I will perform small magic.”

“Why small? An thou dost be he, thou canst make big magic.”

“And have our enemy spy my location.” Flach replied. “That were not kind to thee or me.”

Icebeard considered. “Dost play chess?”

Flach laughed. “Aye! But I be far from Grandpa’s league—or thine.”