Krull by Alan Dean Foster
"Love is fleeting," the Beast replied. "An abstract notion that humans have clung to for far too long. It cripples you, makes you susceptible to the manipulations of others. Only power is eternal. You must learn to rise above such childish notions. You must grow."
"One who rises beyond love has no soul."
"One who has power need not worry about such superstitious nonsense."
A clawed hand sprang to light in the darkness. As Lyssa stared, it became a ball of flame and leaped at her. She closed her eyes, expecting death. Instead, she found herself witness to a graphic demonstration of the Beast's power.
The flame slammed into the wall behind her, cracking and scorching the material while leaving her cool and untouched. It backed off the wall and enveloped her for a bright orange instant before she felt herself rising in the chill flame's grip. It held her suspended for a moment, then set her down as gently as it had picked her up, and finally shrank to become a tiny, intense globe of drifting energy.
The fireball crawled up her leg, across her side and arm, and as she stared at it curling and rippling in her palm, became a freshly opened rose, its petals damp with dew. Behind her the wall smoked and gave off strange thick smells.
"Such is my power," the Beast rumbled, its voice echoing around the chamber. "It can be yours. What are infantile notions of love compared to this? You can command an army of men to do your bidding. All you have to do is desire it."
"I already command an army of men."
There was the fleeting image of a great arm moving through an arc in the darkness. "I see no army."
"Set me free and you shall see such an army as Krull has not seen in a hundred years."
"Ah, that I will not do. Consider, Lyssa. I offer you power far greater than any you can imagine."
"I don't want your power. I don't want anything that is a part of you, anything you have touched, anything you have made. I want nothing to do with anything that has your hand in it."
"Is it my form that frightens you? Is that what keeps you so set against the sharing I offer? That is easily remedied."
As she watched, the great reptilian eyes blurred, seemed to drop nearer the floor. The pupils became rounded, as did the eyes themselves. They advanced toward her. Soon they were near enough for her to see that they looked out at her from Colwyn's face, and she could not repress a gasp. Save for the red that shone deep within, she could not tell that the eyes regarding her were not Colwyn's.
"I can assume any form I wish. Whatever pleases you I can become. It is an art my people have practiced for a long time. Think. Any form at all. If you would prefer a cat or a watchful dog, I can become those as easily. Any form you wish, Lyssa of Eirig."
"What about an ant? Could you become an ant?"
"I am no infant. Do not think to toy with me. I can punish as well as reward. I would expect you to choose this form."
"There is no love in that form. There is nothing you can become that will hide what you are. There is no love in one who murders and destroys for pleasure."
"I do not deny that the activities of my Slayers provide me with amusement, but you are wrong if you think there is no more to it than that. There is purpose as well." The voice remained that of the Beast, for all that it issued from Colwyn's mouth.
"You still think love better than power? You think there is love in your boy-king? You are as naive as any of your people. Behold."
The figure turned and gestured at the wall. It split, to reveal night and tall trees instead of the glowing corridor outside the chamber. As she watched, it seemed that they moved closer, until she was standing just to one side of a towering forest giant.
Figures stood there, one that she recognized instantly. Colwyn was leaning back against the shaggy bark. She had no doubt that it was the real Colwyn, her Colwyn, and not some false image conjured up by the Beast to deceive her.
But who was the lithe young woman who clung so tightly to him, and whose embrace he did not reject?
She whirled to confront the Beast. "It's a lie! You say you can assume any form. I have heard of how you manipulate faces and bodies as easily as a sculptor plays with clay. Why should I believe that that"—she gestured at the image before them—"is any more real than the form you cling to now? You are as full of lies as a solicitor. You think to fool me with clever prevarication, but I am not so easily swayed."
"Indeed you are not, for you refuse the evidence of your own eyes. These walls do not lie. I have no reason to deceive you now, not when the truth works for me. Your Colwyn will betray you."
"He will not!"
"Then he will die," said the Beast calmly. "Either way, you will be rid of this silly, immature human infatuation. It will simplify your future."
Lyssa turned back to the image, unable to tear her eyes from it. Go away, she shouted silently! Vanish, disappear! I don't want to look upon you. But the image did not vanish, and she continued to stare at it.
The woman in Colwyn's arms was crying. Lyssa noted out of the corner of an eye that the Beast seemed to be observing the scene with equal interest. Even as she stared, the pale blue of the woman's eyes turned to black. Lyssa would have screamed save that she knew her warning cry would go unheard. Black eyes—as black as those of the Slayers, nearly as black as those of the Beast. The woman was something other than she appeared, and Lyssa had no way of alerting Colwyn.
Vella clasped the man tightly against her. She could sense that he was wavering, but still he resisted. "I have not held a man in my arms since my lover was swallowed up by the sea. It is good. You are a strong man, Colwyn. Lend me some of that strength."
"I know how painful it is to be far from the one you love," he murmured uncomfortably. "We share a common pain."
"Then, comfort me for one night, and let me comfort you. Share your strength with me, Colwyn. Have pity on me."
"Would that I might, but I can't betray my bride."
"One night is no betrayal. None need know what transpires in this place. I have listened to your men talk, and they say you are not truly married yet."
"It is true the ceremony was not finished."
"Then how can you speak of a betrayal?"
Colwyn's hand moved to touch first his chest, then his forehead. "Betrayal is more than a word. It is a thing that lies here and here. Not in the loins. I could comfort you as you desire, but you are wrong when you say none would know of it. I would know. That would be betrayal enough. I feel sorrow and sympathy for you, but I do not put aside a great trust so easily. Nor love. I can't take comfort with you when my true love has none."
"You will not, then?"
"Vella, in another time, another place, another existence, I would gladly lie with you. But that would be a different Colwyn, and you would be a different Vella. I cannot."
"Truly, I would be a different Vella," she whispered. Her right hand was behind him. It blurred, distorting. The fingers extended and the soft flesh turned to a horn-tough, scaly substance.
Lyssa could not stifle the useless scream in her throat, but Colwyn could not hear her as the claw rose toward his neck.
It stopped there, hesitating. "My master told me," Vella muttered with difficulty, as though talking to herself unwillingly, "make him betray her. If he will not, kill him."
Colwyn frowned down at her, his eyes telling him one thing, his ears another. But he'd already learned that where possible manifestations of the Beast were concerned, it was best to trust nothing, least of all one's own senses. He jumped away from her, his hand reaching toward the dagger at his belt, ready to cry out and alert his companions.
Yet still, sweet little Vella stood before him. Not even the inhuman claw she showed him changed that image, though his mind knew better.
"Yes," she said tightly, "he is my master. These talons were a heartbeat from your throat. I could have killed you in an instant."
"Could have." He did not draw the dagger, though his fingers hovered near the hilt. "You're still crying. Are those tears ma
She wiped at her eyes and her voice was confused and angry. "They could be, but they are not. Nothing is as I was told it would be, nothing is as it seems. Uncertainty rules all. I long for the comfort of chaos." She smiled at him and her expression was distorted and torn. Her face seemed to blur as he looked at her.
"I am his creature that he fashioned too well. To tempt you he had to make me human, and in making me human his hold strayed. Now I am neither human nor his. I am a cruel joke, a pitiful jest." The smile broadened, giving her face a lopsided look. "I have had an hour of life, an hour of love, and this is better than all the days I have spent as his creature. That love is life for you but death for me. The last joke is on him, and that is best of all. I cannot comfort you, Colwyn, nor you me, but neither will he be comforted. Remember me."
In the Fortress Lyssa turned triumphantly to her jailer. "It is you who are betrayed, by a thing of your own making. Power is fleeting. Love is eternal. You cannot even control your own creature. Do not think to control me."
The Beast's only reaction was to wave a hand at the opening in the wall. The pulses of light from his body increased in frequency and intensity. The gap closed, shutting out the scene in the distant woods, but not before Lyssa had watched the unwoman Vella crumple and die. Poor thing, she thought. Neither human nor monster, but stuck somewhere pitifully in between. Better to die than live a pawn's life. She wondered if she'd have had the strength to make Vella's decision.
"Show me Colwyn again. Show me his reaction." There was no response from the Beast. Could it be that his powers to bring distant scenes near was limited? It must be, else Colwyn would have no chance to approach undetected. His lack of response encouraged her.
Then she was backing away as the false Colwyn shuddered and expanded. The red eyes bulged and rose. Once more the Beast confronted her in its true form.
"You are ignorant in the ways of power, Lyssa of Eirig. There is power such as shattered the wall behind you, power such as that which initiated and ended the brief existence of that slave—and then there is the power to withhold the use of power.
"Consider then this power. If you consent to join with me and be my human queen, I will halt all the attacks of the Slayers. It is in your power to stop the killing and burning. Each hour you delay, more people will die. Think hard on what I offer you. No more fields sent up in smoke, no more villages destroyed, no more children trampled underfoot. Delay and a little more of Krull perishes. Consent and guess how many more will live. An interesting game, is it not?
"Take all the time you wish. You cannot escape from here, nor can your lover save you, for he cannot even find this place. Relax and consider the number of deaths that can occur in an hour, in a day. You might even save his life, for at your consent I will call back all the Slayers.
"It is better, Lyssa, to exercise power than to abjure it. Better to be a god than a martyr. I leave you now to idle contemplation." The red eyes turned away from her. She could not see a far door open, could not hear one close behind her captor, but she sensed that she was alone once again, sealed in the room that could be marriage chamber or tomb, according to her own wishes.
She made certain he was gone before she buried her face in her hands. Pressing her back against the wall, she slid slowly down until she was sitting on the cool floor. She sobbed softly and steadily.
Hurry, Colwyn, she thought. You've already proved him wrong once this day. Now hurry and do so again, my love, because this pain is too much for me to bear.
XI
Colwyn regarded the stain on the earth that had only a few moments earlier been the beautiful young woman he'd held so tenderly in his arms. There was nothing left to indicate that she'd ever been.
He knelt to touch the ground. It was already turning cold.
You were wrong, Vella, he thought to himself. You didn't die an inhabitant of some nether region between humankind and Beast-thing. You died as a woman. I would have been proud to have been your lover.
Vella's final scream had awakened Torquil. As he arrived to confront Colwyn, his eyes took in the stain on the ground, the absence of the peasant girl. He looked questioningly at his leader.
"She was something of his," Colwyn explained sadly, "but only until the end. She died Vella, a young woman of Merith's village. I would have her remembered that way."
Torquil's glance traveled down his friend's form. "She didn't harm you?"
"Only in my heart, and I forgive her for that. She only did her master's bidding." He raised his eyes to the trees towering overhead, half wishing that the Beast would appear before him in human form.
Torquil thought a moment. "Another changeling, like the one that took the place of the emerald seer."
"Yes, like the seer," Colwyn agreed, "only even more perfect, if such a thing is possible."
"Such magic must take a great effort, even for one as powerful as the Beast. She seemed as human as Merith."
"In some ways more human, I think."
Torquil studied the woods as if at any moment they might produce still another lethal deception. "He extends himself to produce something so perfect. I think maybe he's a little worried about you, Colwyn."
"Why?" He gestured at the earth. "Because I was able to survive this latest attack?"
"Because of that, yes. Believe it, Colwyn."
"Difficult to imagine, but a good thing to think of. I'd like to believe he's worried about us, yes. With luck we'll do more than worry him." He turned to glance back toward the mountain. "I wonder at Ynyr's absence. He should be back by now."
"How can we judge his needs? To penetrate the dangers of the web may require much time."
"Ynyr has little time left to spend, and less strength." He started toward the dark cliff that bulked sharply against the star-filled sky. "I'm going after him."
"He said that we were to wait here for his return."
"He also said that he'd be back soon. It is past soon. Stay and explain to the others."
"Is that the thanks I get for the help I've given you this far? I'm coming with you."
Colwyn glanced back, grinning. "I'd hoped you might."
"What, did you think I'd let you go on alone?"
"It had occurred to me."
"Well," the bandit leader said sheepishly as he lengthened his stride, "it had occurred to me too. Now we can forget about it."
Colwyn nodded, increased his pace to match Torquil's.
At the base of one of the forest giants, Titch lay sound asleep in the fragrant grass. The puppy that snuggled tight against him lay on its back, all four legs in the air. Every so often its nose twitched, as though checking the air for unfamiliar smells even as it slept.
Across the dying campfire Rell leaned on his trident, his single eye half-closed. Sensing movement, he looked toward the mountain. Two men stood close together, whispering. Together they turned and started toward the distant slope.
Rell straightened, stretched, and yawned as he considered the peaceful camp. Wisps of smoke rose aimlessly from the coals left behind by the fire. Wheezes and grunts came from sprawled, somnolent figures. He was part of this troupe and yet he was not. He made his own decisions.
Holding the trident at the ready he tiptoed through the sleepers and followed silently in the wake of the two who had departed.
The path down the mountainside was fit only for sharp-eyed goats and the darkness made matters worse. Ynyr staggered downward, his tired old eyes intent on the trail and the rocks that hid in wait to trip him. He knew that he must not fall. If he went down he was certain he would not be able to rise again. His breath came in long, painful gasps, each lungful the result of an agonizing battle his chest waged with the air. He gave silent thanks his course was all downhill.
Night creatures scampered clear of his legs or emerged from their hiding places to watch curiously as he stumbled onward. He could feel his strength leaving him even as the grains of sand trickled through his cl
How much farther could it be? He'd had the forest in sight for some time now, but mountain air and distances were ever deceiving, the more so on this night because of the size of the trees that formed the giant woods. He could feel the energy ebbing from his body. Despite the nearness of death he was calm. He'd been looking forward to greeting that old fakir for a long time.
But not until he'd imparted to Colwyn the vital information obtained at so high a price.
His legs felt rubbery and twice he nearly stumbled. I'm not going to make it, he thought sadly. Everything's been for naught: Lyssa's sacrifice, my own, the long journey from Eirig, all the old plans and hopes. But I have to make it. Colwyn's got to know.
Suddenly there were strong arms, young arms, supporting his own, easing his pale, trembling body to the ground. He blinked away the sweat, saw Colwyn standing over him staring anxiously down into his face. The thief Torquil stood nearby.
A good man, that Torquil, he mused. Strange how life forces both good men and bad into narrow corridors from which only extraordinary circumstances give them any opportunity to escape. If not for chance and accident, he and Torquil might have exchanged places in the scheme of things.
But not Colwyn. Colwyn's place had been carefully chosen.
He thought he detected a third figure lurking in the background but he couldn't be sure. It was growing darker by the minute. Even the stars were fading. He reached up and clutched Colwyn's jersey.
"At sunrise . . . at sunrise the Fortress will materialize in the Iron Desert. It will stay there until the following sunrise. You must reach it by then."
Colwyn looked to Torquil. The bandit leader was shaking his head sadly. Colwyn had studied his geography well, while Torquil had much practical knowledge of it. Both knew they could not possibly cover such a distance in a single day and night.