"A good move," said Virdius. "You play well. I can tell that."
"By my first move?"
"Your second. First you stopped yourself falling then you changed the field into ice."
And Iduna turned it into water.
Dumarest sank, feeling the warm wetness lave his face, striking out to float as he considered the situation. A game of unknown rules yet he was getting the drift. A point he had to reach and one she would prevent him from making. Difficulties compounded and, if he should be unable to meet each new challenge with a defense, then she would have won. But what now? A boat to rescue him from drowning? A raft to lift him from the waves? To turn the sea into soil? A choice of almost infinite possibilities but once taken it would be her turn to move again and, if he was to play the game, she must be allowed to have it. But he must leave the sea. Like the sand it could hold too many dangers. But a raft could be grounded and a boat could be made to founder.
The log was safer.
It rested beneath his hands, rough, yet the bark not too rough to hold small but vicious insects, slimed but not slimed enough to make footing impossible. To Virdius he said, "In which direction lies the castle?"
"It rests in the place it occupies."
"Obviously. Where is that?"
"At the point where it is."
Riddles, yet the man was supposed to be his guide. Or maybe not. What had he said? "I am to guide you." Guide how? To what? Iduna, it seemed, had a peculiar sense of humor.
And it was her move.
The log rolled a little, began to pitch as a screaming wind suddenly lashed the water to foam. Lightning danced and sent clouds of vapor exploding from where it struck, the roar of thunder, the pounding impact of ceaseless explosions.
A storm which died as abruptly as it had started, to leave calm water and a shore edged with shining-leaved trees.
Trees which sprouted tendrils as Dumarest neared them, weaving coils of menace which changed into drooping fronds masking a rising landscape which turned into a crevassed slope emitting noxious fumes.
Which winds blew away.
Which gave birth to dragons.
Which vanished beneath a pall of snow.
Beyond the crest of the summit ran smooth ground dotted with copses and graced with the silvery thread of a river. A thread which carried the eye up and onward to the loom of somber mountains backing something which flashed like a tumbled handful of sparkling gems.
"The castle," said Virdius. "I said I would guide you."
To the final stages of the game. But the castle was far and it was the girl's move. Dumarest waited for it, confident he could take what she offered and counter it as he had done before. Playing a game no different in basic detail from that played by children everywhere with their verbalized use of objects-rock, paper, shears-each having power over another, each nullified by the correct pairing. A game she must have played often in the past.
When would she make her move?
Virdius said, "There is no obligation on her to make it. And if you move out of turn then you will have cheated and lost the game and must pay the forfeit."
A child?
Dumarest looked at the terrain, noting the greenness of the vegetation, guessing at the swampy nature of the ground it covered. To cover it would take time and effort and always would be the possibility of danger only avoided by his making a "move." And, if he did so, then he would have lost the game.
And?
The girl, sulking, would break all contact and, even if powerless to harm him, would remain beyond his reach. He could stay but to what end? And how long could he hope to survive? He remembered Muhi and how the man had looked while shambling around the compound. Of the others who had turned into distorted masses of wild tissue. Iduna was an exception-could he rely on being another? She had been a young child, her body still growing, able to adapt over the years. A girl, tended and cherished with loving care and given the best regardless of expense. He wasn't in the same category. Even now the Matriarch could be getting impatient and urging the technicians to experiment. How long had he been in the Tau?
He had no choice but to play the game as the girl dictated.
The ground was soft underfoot as he ran down the slope after memorizing the terrain. The softness, if he had judged correctly, would firm into a ridge of higher ground topped with vegetation less lush than the rest. It would take him to a clump of trees and then he had to take his chances to the river. Once he reached the water he would have gained a choice-to swim or walk. A choice he would make when he had to.
Water squelched beneath his boots and mud dragged at his ankles as Dumarest moved toward the higher ground. He was panting when he reached it and paused to rest, scraping rich black mud from his boots with quick movements of his knife. Virdius, unsullied, watched from one side.
As Dumarest sheathed his knife he said, "Are you staying with me all the way?"
"My duty is to guide you."
"And help?"
"To guide."
And perhaps more should Iduna so decide. Dumarest set off along the ridge slowing as he approached the clump of trees. Things could be lurking in the high branches and predators be waiting in the gloom of the undergrowth. To his relief there were neither and he studied the ground leading toward the river. It was thick with lush reeds, more soaring high at the edges of the stream. Stepping from the copse he again felt the soft, yielding suck of mud and freed his boot only with difficulty. Had he marched directly toward the river he would be deep in the bog by now and forced to act to save himself.
"If you consider yourself beaten I can accept your defeat," said the guide. "I doubt if the forfeit will be harsh."
"Don't you know? Haven't others had to pay the penalty?"
"Penalty?"
"Forfeit." A child's term for a child's game-but the punishment, even though decided on by a child, could be far from childish. The young were often savage. "What is the usual?"
"There is no strict rule. It depends on the moment. But you must pay it if you lose and you will lose if you cheat."
"I haven't lost yet." Dumarest dived among the trees knife lifted from his boot. "And I don't intend to lose."
A spur to make the girl use her move-once she did he would give her no chance to make another, but she didn't fall into the trap and Dumarest set to work on the trees. With the blade he cut large sections of bark, some slender poles, thicker branches together with a mass of thinly cut bark which he wove into crude ropes. With them he lashed short lengths of the thicker branches together, forming two frames which he covered with sheets of bark. The rough constructions lashed to his feet, he waddled toward the mud using the poles to maintain his balance. Crude snowshoes which would serve as well on soft ground, the extensions distributing his weight over a larger area.
He was almost at the river when the creature struck.
It was long and low and with jaws parted to show the gleam of serried teeth. A creature with clawed feet and a weighted tail which ripped at the reeds as if it were a scythe. Precariously balanced on the enlarged platforms Dumarest caught the stir of reeds as the thing darted toward him, lifting a pole to stab with it at the sloping head and eyes, to send the tip into the mouth where it tore at the lolling tongue.
To go sprawling in the mud as the beast, snarling with pain and anger, dashed against his leg.
The tail cut the air, jarring against his uplifted forearm, ripping plastic and bruising the flesh beneath the protective mesh. A blow which numbed and could have broken the limb had not Dumarest yielded to it, using his arm as a shield to deflect the blow and send the tail whipping over his head. As the creature raced past he snatched at his knife, feeling the suck of mud as he moved, one hand trapped beneath him, the shoes on his feet hampering his legs. Bark and wood shattered as he drove one against the other, kicking to free his boots, slamming them wide against the soft and spongie ground as the weight of his body drove the mud higher around him.
Moments of furious activity as the beast slid to a halt, to turn on splayed paws, to lunge with jaws gaping wide to close on face and throat. Jaws which closed on the knife which Dumarest thrust into the open mouth, point upward to transfix the palate as the hilt hit the loser jaw, saliva warm and sticky on the hand he kept clamped around the hilt.
Blood sprayed his face as the creature snarled in pain and rage, muscles jerking in his arm as it tore at the blade, the stench of its breath vile in his nostrils. For a moment the mud resisted the strength of the beast and Dumarest gritted his teeth, forcing himself to hold on, to use the beast which had tried to make him its prey. Pain made the animal back, legs stiffening, paws sinking as it struggled to rid itself of the torment in its mouth. Then it heaved, dragging Dumarest clear of the mud as it retreated toward the river, jerking itself free with torn jaws as he rolled over the edge to fall into the water.
To strike out and wash away the mud and blood and stench. To rest a while before following the thread of water toward the mountains and the castle.