Vodlevile frowned. Now the cutting edges of his teeth showed. “We have ever lived at peace with Red. She never helped us, but hindered us not. I dared not make petition to her for a charm for my son, for fear she would simply claim my son. We hold Adepts in low esteem. Thou art the first who helped. And Yellow, because of thee.” He lifted his hand, and a small bat fluttered down to be caught. “My son,” Vodlevile said proudly.
Stile nodded. “I was glad to do it. May we camp here the night?”
“Indeed. Our resources are at thy disposal. Dost thou wish to join our evening repast?”
“I think not, meaning no offense. Thy ways are not mine, and this is my wedding night, which I must spend alone. Also, I would not wish to cause thy kind trouble with the Adept, should she survive me; best that it be not known I dallied here.”
“Thy wedding night—alone! Thou’rt correct—our ways are not thine! We shall honor thy desire to be alone, and shall see that none intrude on thee.”
So it was that Stile found himself ensconced in a warm cave guarded by bloodthirsty bats. He certainly felt secure here; very few creatures would even attempt to intrude, for fear the vampires would suck their blood. Neysa brought him some fruit she found, then went outside to graze. She slept while grazing at night; Stile had never quite figured out how she did that, but was used to it by now.
Before he slept, feeling extraordinarily lonely. Stile looked up to spy a small bat fluttering in. There was a manner of skulking about it. It converted to a lad about six years old. “Adept, I am not supposed to bother thee—but can I talk a moment?” the boy asked hesitantly.
“Thou’rt the one the potion helped,” Stile said, making an educated guess. “Welcome; I am glad to converse with thee.”
The lad smiled gratefully. “My father would cut off my blood, if he knew I bothered thee. Please don’t tell him.”
“Not a word,” Stile agreed. Children did not take adult rules as seriously as they took the prospect of punishment. “I’m glad to see thee flying.”
“It was Yellow’s potion, but thy behest, my father says. I owe thee—“
“Nothing,” Stile said quickly. “Thy father repaid any favor that might have been owing. He helped me match the unicorn Herd Stallion.”
“Yet thou didst lose, he says,” the lad insisted. “His help was not enough.”
“My skill was not enough,” Stile said. “All I wanted was a fair match, with shame on neither party. That I had. The unicorn was the better creature.”
The lad had some trouble grasping this. “In a pig’s eye—my father says. He says thou dost give away more than can ever be repaid, and dost gain more than can ever be reckoned thereby. Does that make sense?”
“None at all,” Stile said cheerfully.
“Anyway, methinks I owe thee, for that thou madest my life complete. Yet I know not what favor I can do thee.”
“Thou dost need do none!” Stile insisted. Then he saw that the lad was near tears. The vampire child was serious, and wanted to repay his debt as he perceived it.
“Uh, unless—“ Stile thought fast. “There is much I do not know, yet I am most curious about things. Canst thou keep an eye or an ear out for what might be of use to me, and tell me when thou findest it? Perhaps a sick animal I might heal, or something pretty I might fetch for my Lady.” Stile smiled reminiscently, and a little sadly. “Fain would I give my love something nice.”
The lad’s eyes brightened, and his little bloodsucking tusks showed cutely. “I’ll look, Adept!” he exclaimed happily. “Something important, something nice!” He changed to bat-form and zoomed from the cave.
Stile lay down again to sleep, satisfied. The lad would have a happy quest, until he forgot the matter in the press of other entertainments.
In the morning Stile bade the vampire colony parting.
“Thou dost understand,” Vodlevile said apologetically. “We dare not accompany thee to the Red Demesnes or help thee too directly on thy quest. If ever the Adept supposed we had taken action against her—“
“Well I understand,” Stile said. “This be not thy quarrel.”
“Not overtly. Yet when I remember the ogre—“
“Bide a while,” Stile said. “That may be avenged.” Vodlevile looked startled, but said nothing. Stile mounted Neysa, who was well fed and rested after her night of sleep-grazing, and they trotted off south to the Red Demesnes.
The Red Castle looked more like a crazy house. It perched atop a miniature mountain, with a narrow path spiraling up to the tiny hole that was the front entrance. It was obviously the home of an Adept; a faint glow surrounded it, like a dome of Proton.
A magic dome? Of course! This castle was probably situated on the curtain, so the Adept could pass freely across, unobserved, to do her mischief in either frame. That would explain much. The Blue Demesnes had not been constructed on the curtain because the Blue Adept had not been able to cross it.
