Changer (Athanor) (25 page)

“Perhaps it has, but from my first sight of it, it struck me as a corruption of all that is natural.”

Lovern decides that silence is his best reply.  The Head
is
a corruption of what is natural.  That it has expanded his abilities greatly made that corruption acceptable to him.  Still, the revulsion it would spawn if its existence was generally known is partially why he has kept it hidden for so long.

“Will you help me nonetheless?  The knowledge I have stored in Mimir’s Head will help—and I have enchanted it with a gift for prophecy.  It may be able to tell us who our enemies are.”

The Changer narrows his yellow eyes.  “Why can’t you ask it these things with it stored safely beneath the ocean?  Surely you haven’t forgotten how to make an astral journey.”

Lovern flushes.  “I have not.  I am…”  He takes a deep breath.  “I am afraid, Changer.  During the astral journey my soul is connected to my body by only a slim silver cord.  There are magics for severing that cord.  Nimue knows some of these.  Our unknown enemy may as well.”

A small smile of approval that Lovern has been honest curves the corners of the Changer’s mouth.  Almost embarrassed, Lovern feels himself warm at the ancient’s regard.

“Lovern, let me think about your request.  Here comes Vera with Anson.  You would not wish your secrets discussed publicly.”

The Changer loops his daughter’s leash firmly around the door handle next to her, then opens the van’s door from the inside.  Stepping down, he crosses to where Vera walks beside a long, wiry black man with an incongruous little potbelly, his hair bundled into dreadlocks.

“Anson.”

The black man, his dark eyes deep pools of laughter and sorrow, ducks a slight bow of acknowledgment.  “’lo, Proteus.”

“Let me take your bags,” the Changer offers, lifting two hard-sided suitcases from the metal carrier Vera has been wheeling.  “You don’t travel light.”

“Or I travel very light,” the Spider answers, taking the other two bags and leaving Vera to gather the carry-on, “since my luggage contains most of my worldly goods.  Not all of us are as footloose as you.”

The Changer laughs.  “Not so footloose as once.  I have my own worldly bond with me. ‘Ware the pup.  She’s coyote.  She’s prone to nip or pee when she gets excited.”

“Ah!  Vera mentioned something about her.”

Leaving the Changer to assist Vera in stowing the luggage in the back of the van, Anson climbs into the passenger section.  Carefully, he extends a hand, wriggling the long fingers slightly.  The puppy wriggles happily in response, her tail wagging as if she has just met her first and oldest friend.

Vera blinks in astonishment.  “You have quite a way with wild things.”

“Not with wild things, no,” Anson says, letting the Changer take the puppy in his lap, then settling into the seat beside him, “with young things.  They appreciate whimsy in a way that their elders have forgotten.”

Lovern makes a sound midway between a snort and a sigh as he pulls the van out into traffic.  “Thanks for coming, Anson.”

“Hello, wizard.  Here early for the Lustrum Review?  Got to getta word inna King’s ear first, eh?”

“Perhaps,” Lovern says dryly, refusing to be baited.  “Perhaps not.”

“And how’s my buddy, Eddie?”

Vera answers, “Arthur says that he is awake and alert.  There was some fear of brain damage, but that is past.  Arthur is agitating to take Eddie home.  I’m supposed to ask you if you mind tending him on an upper floor—he has a broken leg.”

“Not a problem, Lady Grey Eyes.  I can spin a web and bring him down into the public places if he wishes.  I think he will heal faster in his own rooms—keep him from trying to work too hard, eh?”

“I think so,” Vera answers.  “He’s going to be worried about not pulling his weight while we prepare for the Review.  Arthur has already told me that we need to keep him from fussing.”

Anson A. Kridd chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes the coyote pup lick his fingers and wriggle in delight.  “I think I can do that.  Oh, yeah, that I can.”

The drive back to the hacienda passes quickly as Anson asks after various athanor.  By silent consensus, the others agree to wait to brief him about their secret enemy until the group is all safely returned to Pendragon Estates.

When they arrive, the Changer glances over at Lovern and says a single word.

“Yes.”

Logging off his rebellion website, Sven Trout rubs his eyes and permits himself a feeling of pride.  The postings he has been reviewing for the past hour are so very promising.  His little cadre of monsters and outcasts are ready to agitate for their rights.  It’s almost a pity that he can’t stick to his original timetable and have them descend on Arthur for the Lustrum Review.

Two weeks, though… That’s not much time to make all the arrangements.  No, although he burns with impatience, he must bide until autumn.

Picking up the phone, he taps the numbers for Louhi’s spell.  After a brief pause during which he can imagine the confused computers passing on an improbable signal, he hears two sets of clicks.  Luck is with him.  Half the time, Louhi doesn’t answer the connection.  He suspects that it’s pure cussedness on her part, keeping him on his toes, forcing him to leave a message she can dissect at her leisure.

“When shall we three meet again?” Sven intones.

“How about right now?” Louhi’s beautiful voice is unamused.  “I’ll bring the Head on.”

Sven waits while she does this, her success announced by a new voice saying: “Felicitations, fire born, and mistress of magics.  Your bodiless brother has long yearned for congenial converse.  The hoary-bearded hawk has strangely silent been.”

Sven frowns, his free hand burrowing in a bag of tortilla chips.  “You mean you haven’t heard from Lovern?”

“So said I.”

“Sorta,” Sven mutters.  “Any thoughts why?”

Louhi cuts in.  “I have a few conjectures.  Head, by the spell that you wish from me, I bind you to answer simply…”

“Ever shall I obey thee.”

“How often in noncrisis conditions does Lovern normally contact you?”

“In isolation silent…”

“Just tell me, dammit, if ever you have hoped for a body!”

“Once a week, maybe less often.”

“And during a crisis?”

“Daily, sometimes every few hours.”

“And how long has it been since you heard from him?”

“Three days.”

Sven whistles.  “Well, now, that
is
interesting.  What are your conjectures, Lady Lou?”

He can almost see her scowl at his flippancy, but her chill voice could hardly become chiller.

“If Lovern is refraining from contacting Mimir’s Head, then I suspect that your failed attack has made him fear for his life.  During the long years he was captive to me, he also did not contact the Head.”

“Long years of lengthy, lingering, loneliness encircled the sorcerer’s scion, creeping close as salt in the sea.”

“I’m sure.”  Louhi doesn’t sound particularly sympathetic.  “The spell by which I bound Lovern did not include a restriction against astral travel, but he was aware (having taught me himself) that I knew how to attack an astral body.  Therefore, he protected himself by inaction, much to my dismay.  I had hoped to follow him to the Head.”

“Do you think he knows that you’re in on this?” Sven asks worriedly.

“No, I do not,” Louhi assures him.  “I’m not the only magic worker who knows how to sever a silver cord.  My guess is that Lovern is simply being cautious.”

“Then, dare we hope that he’s going after the Head?”  Sven grins in anticipation.  “How long will he do without access to his most powerful tool?”

“I assume that is a rhetorical question,” Louhi says.  “He can do without the Head indefinitely, but I doubt he will choose to do so.  My guess is that he is planning to retrieve it.”

“The Sea King shall seek to stop him,” the Head says.  “His sea of hatred for the sorcerer’s trespass has not ebbed.”

Sven shrugs.  “Lovern must have a plan to deal with Duppy Jonah.  If his plan fails, then I will negotiate with the Sea King to gain access to the Head.  We have been allies in the past.  However, I would prefer to wait until Lovern has failed.  The Great Durag and I are, by nature, antithetical.  I don’t want to waste what regard he has for me.”

“That makes sense,” Louhi agrees.  “How goes everything else?”

“Eddie is recovering, but Arthur remains at his bedside, so I haven’t been able to get another shot at him.  On the good side, the King hasn’t been home since my little encounter with the Changer.  Anson A. Kridd is en route—he may even be there already—to serve as Eddie’s nurse.  My reporter is slower than I’d like.  I’ll need to toss something else his way.  Everything is on edge, but nothing has fallen apart.”

“Still,” Louhi responds with more kindness than Sven had expected, “this may be all for the good.  Now that we are waiting until autumn to spring our coup, it would not do to have Arthur’s power base disintegrate too quickly.  If it did, we might find ourselves with rivals when we raise the vote of no confidence.”

“I had considered that as well,” Sven says quickly, although, in fact, he had not.  “Yes, the last thing we need is an extra party.  We want people voting for us and against Arthur—not spending their vote on some other candidate.”

“Proteus’s potent blood…” the Head hints.

“Yes, yes,” Sven says.  “I’ll keep trying to get some.  Still, the Changer’s blood won’t do us much good until you are out of your undersea prison.  Don’t worry, I won’t just be sitting on my hands until autumn comes.”

“That reminds me,” Louhi says, “of something I’ve been meaning to ask.  Do you intend to attend the Lustrum Review?”

Sven frowns.  “I hadn’t decided.  What does our prophet advise?”

“And answer simply,” Louhi warns.

“If you are present,” the Head says slowly, “then perhaps you shall be dismissed as the maker of this mischief.”

“I agree,” Louhi says.  “And I shall snub you.  If we are both present, we will be able to hide in plain sight.”

“I can get into that,” Sven answers, “though I really hate the Harmony Dance.”

“You would,” Louhi says dryly, “although being both in Accord and in Harmony is your greatest armor.”

“I know.”  Sven sighs.  “I know.  We will use Arthur’s Accord against him in the end.”

Louhi agrees.  “That is the plan.”

The Head makes a coughing sound, although, not possessing lungs he cannot truly cough. “Within hacienda halls, there are many mansions—or at least sundry suites.  Should one of you reside within…”

“That is a very interesting thought,” Louhi says.  “Unhappily, I cannot imagine that Arthur would be comfortable with Sven’s presence.  He would be certain to set a guard on him.  Lovern would take similar precautions with me.”

“Still,” Sven chuckles, “we are members of the Accord.  He’s going to need to be tactful about assigning guards.  If one of us is there, our mere presence will keep Arthur a bit off balance.”

“True,” Louhi says, as she is reluctant to accept Sven’s point.

“It’s worth the try,” Sven insists.  “Do you want me to try or do you want to?”

“You,” the sorceress says.  “I would love to have the chance, but my mingling with the crowd would be uncharacteristic.  You, on the other hand, are most predictable when unpredictable.”

Sven chortles.  “I shall.  What fun!  I’ve been getting awfully tired of motel rooms.  Arthur’s hospitality should be prime.  Does that cover all our business?”

“For me it does,” Louhi says.

“Yes,” the Head replies simply, mindful of incurring the sorceress’s wrath.

“I’ll check in with you both later,” Sven promises.  He hears two clicks, hangs up the receiver, and stares up at the ceiling.  Then, swallowing a fiendish laugh, he picks up the telephone and enters a new number.

“Pendragon Productions,” says Vera’s voice.

“Hi, pretty lady, this is Sven Trout.  I’m calling to see if I can have a room at Arthur’s place during the Lustrum Review.”

He hears her swallow hard, then the faint tapping of fingers on a keyboard.

“Uh, yes, we have some space.  A single room is all.”

“Great!  I’ll be in on the twentieth.”

“I’ll put you on the list.”

“
Adios
, kiddo.”

He hangs up, as delighted as if the entire thing had been his invention.  Not only is this going to be fun, but with the Changer under the same roof, little problems like acquiring a vial of his blood should be as nothing.

As he stands, rubbing his hands together, Sven’s laughter fills the little room with mirthless glee.