Part 23 (1/2)
”Let us gamble a little more time and strength upon the two-seater.”
”Your decision.” Girays's own private decision cla.s.sified the Grewzian as peculiar, perhaps a trifle unbalanced.
The trek resumed. Another half hour pa.s.sed, and the creeping daggers were thicker than ever, strangling the trees and clogging the clearings. The road cut its way between sharp, sheer granite cliffs, and the rock faces were invisible behind leafy green curtains pocked with scarlet.
Girays's stomach rumbled audibly. It was sudden and unaccountable, for he had lunched adequately, and not so long ago. Nevertheless, his belly was making its wishes known, and it seemed to him then that he caught the faint fragrance of grilling meat carried on the spring breeze. The breeze s.h.i.+fted, and the scent was gone. Imagination? His stomach did not seem to think so. On they trudged, the two-seater clanking between them, until Stornzof halted, freezing into abrupt immobility in the middle of the road.
Peculiar.
”Shall I take over the two-seater for a while?” Girays offered.
No answer.
Beyond peculiar.
”Are you ill, Stornzof?”
Still no answer, and the overcommander wore an oddly distant look, as if he listened to voices from another world. Perhaps he did. Controlling his impatience, Girays waited, and presently the other's trance broke.
”There is something here,” Stornzof announced.
He spoke with such conviction that Girays cast an involuntary glance around him. He saw muddy, empty road, rocky outcroppings, and an endless, impenetrable tangle of creeping daggers. Nothing more.
”I sense an influence at work,” Stornzof continued.
”What influence?” Girays could not forbear asking.
”That which is often termed 'magical,' or 'sorcerous.' It is quite unmistakable.”
”Indeed. Sorcerous.” Girays's brows rose. ”But how colorful.”
”Ah, you are skeptical. That is to be expected. Perhaps I can convince you.”
”Scarcely necessary. Do not trouble yourself. Let us say you are correct. I am willing to concede the possibility. May we move on now?”
”Not yet. The matter demands investigation. Perhaps this is what we seek. I suspect that it is.”
”Really. Another feeling that you have?”
”Sometimes they are difficult to ignore. If you would be so good as to take the machine-”
Girays grasped the handlebar, and Stornzof moved at once to the base of the nearest cliff. He advanced several paces, paused to stretch forth a hand to the creeping daggers, and promptly drew the hand back.
”Real,” he reported.
”Real what? What are you doing?” Ridiculous to humor this Grewzian eccentric's fancies, but Girays found that he could not repress the queries. ”What are you looking for?”
”We are very near it, I am certain,” Stornzof insisted.
”Near what? If you'd tell me what you're looking for, perhaps I could-”
”Silence, if you please,” the Grewzian enjoined absently.
Girays swallowed a disgusted retort. The fellow was definitely unbalanced.
Stornzof, lost in his delusions, wandered alongside the creeping daggers, now pausing to finger the thorns, now to consult inner voices. Girays trailed irritably, and as he went, the idea took hold that he might free himself at one stroke of ruined two-seater and crackbrained Grewzian demiG.o.d alike. He could strike out on his own and probably do better. He was hovering on the verge of certainty when his companion halted with an air of finality.
”Here,” Stornzof declared. He stood before an expanse of vine-covered granite cliff, indistinguishable from any other section of the cliffs lining this stretch of the Aeshno-Eynisse Road.
Girays wheeled the two-seater forward for a better look. Proximity failed to improve the prospect. He saw granite, vines, and scarlet-tipped thorns. For a moment the smell of grilling meat filled his nostrils. He wondered where it came from, and then it was gone again.
”Well?” he asked.
”Here,” Stornzof repeated. ”Here is the site of the disruption.”
”Disruption. Quite. Listen, Stornzof, I've given this matter a good deal of thought, and it seems to me that it might be better if the two of us were to go our sep-”
”The energetic concentrations are quite distinct, and unmistakable,” Stornzof continued. ”The source is near at hand.”
”What are you talking about? Never mind, it doesn't matter. I was saying that I think the time has come for the two of us to-”
”Now is not the time to suggest a separation. Not now, when we are likely to have the machine repaired within the half hour.”
”What makes you think so? Don't tell me it's a feeling that you have.”
”I believe I mentioned once that I learned long ago to detect the convolutions of force regarded as 'magical.' No doubt you discounted the claim, but I did not exaggerate. I sense the magical distortion of normality here, now, and it is visual in nature-that is to say, an adept of some sort has created an illusion.”
Purest gobbledygook, but Girays's interest sparked nonetheless, for the power of illusion resonated within Vonahrish minds, particularly those of formerly-Exalted configuration. Family legends extolled the so-called magical prowess of his own v'Alisante ancestors, and he had never really believed such tales, but they caught his imagination all the same.
”Improbable,” he murmured with a shrug, but could not resist asking, ”You search in hope that the author of this supposed illusion possesses not only magic, but a hammer as well?”
”It is not an impossibility. I ask another moment only of your patience.”
”Certainly.” Girays's courteous air masked irritation, incredulity, and hopping curiosity. It was absurd, but he found himself hooked.
Stornzof was at it again, fingering those vicious thorns, prodding at the vines and cliffs, squandering time with such an air of grave diligence that his folly somehow a.s.sumed an air of intelligent purpose.
Ridiculous. Girays smiled slightly, amused at his own puerility. For a moment he had actually expected to witness something extraordinary, something-for lack of a better word-magical. At his age.
”Ah. I have found it. Here.” Karsler Stornzof's right hand, wrist, and forearm up to the elbow disappeared into the ma.s.s of creeping daggers.
The Grewzian was mad. Those thorns would pierce him to the bone.
The arm withdrew unscathed. There was no mark on the bare hand, no trace of blood. Girays stared.
”Come. Here is the way,” Stornzof directed. His companion said nothing, and he added without condescension, ”The barrier is quite unreal.”
The creeping daggers, the granite ramparts-unreal? It was like something out of an old Vonahrish tale spun for children, but he would keep an open mind. Girays wheeled the two-seater forward, and soon the front tire b.u.mped vine-covered rock.
”Unreal?” he inquired.