Why was he fooling with all these incidental spells, when he could solve the whole thing by simply abolishing the Red Adept herself? Maybe he had held back at the notion of killing a human being, despite his oath. But he thought again of the way Hulk had died, and his resolve firmed. “Red be dead!” he sang.
There was a kind of soundless implosion and explosion centering on the woman. Her clothing burst into smoke. But in a moment she stood naked—and alive. “Fool!” she spat. “Knowest thou not that no Adept can be destroyed readily by magic alone? Only the unguarded and vulnerable succumb.”
“But thy amulet killed the Blue Adept!” he protested.
“It never would have worked, had he been properly paranoid. He was a trusting fool. Even so, I am surprised he did not save himself; methinks he could have had he tried hard enough.”
As Stile had saved himself from the same spell, by fighting hard enough. He should have known it could not be that easy to abolish her. Otherwise, he could simply have uttered his spell from the sanctity of the Blue Demesnes, and let Red die in her sleep. Many things were difficult against a person on guard. One stab with a knife could kill—but if that person were alert, the knife would never score, or would be turned against its wielder. Also, the White Adept had said his spells could not really hurt her. He had thought that mere bravado, but evidently it was not. Still, with the local amulets clearing out of the way, he had another option.
Stile drew his sword. “Then shall I slay thee without magic.”
Quickly she snatched a similar weapon from its place on the wall. “Thinkest thou I am untrained in such arts? Look to thyself, midget!”
They engaged. She was proficient, and she had a longer reach than he. She was in superb physical condition, and had a fiery will to win. Yet this was the broadsword. Stile’s preferred weapon. In this he was more than proficient; he was expert. He fenced with her, foiling her attacks readily, setting up for his proper opening. He could take her. Red realized this. Suddenly she stepped back into an opening behind the couch and disappeared. Stile plunged after her. But a panel slammed across, blocking him off. He hacked at it with his sword, and wood splintered—but by the time he cleared it, the Red Adept was gone.
CHAPTER 11 - Trap
Now was the time to use his magic. “Trace her place!” he sang, and a new light appeared, leading the way into the passage. “Fret the threat,” he added, to abate whatever nasty little surprises lurked along the passage. This wouldn’t stop them all, but it should help. A little alertness should do the rest.
Stile charged into the passage, following the light. Then the light stopped. But the Red Adept wasn’t there. Baffled, Stile retraced his steps. He squinted at the glow from one side and the other.
“The curtain,” Neysa said. She was back in girl-form. Now he saw it—the faint shimmer of the curtain across the passage. What a neat device! No enemy confined to Phaze could follow her there.
He had little time if he was to catch her. “Neysa—I must go through. I—“ He could not find the words to tell her what he had to: his gratefulness for her vital help and support right up to this moment; his continued need of it; but the impossibility of having it in Proton-frame. Unless she could cross in girl-form—but then she would be fixed in that form, unable to revert to natural status, and highly vulnerable in the unfamiliar world. No, he did not want her there! So he simply grabbed her and kissed her. “Make a spell for me to follow,” she said. Good idea! In fact, why not put tracers on both himself and the Red Adept? If this device worked, he could check with Neysa every time he lost track of his enemy, and receive guidance. That would ensure his success. His magic was more versatile than Red’s; he might not be able to abolish her by a direct spell, but he could at least track her. Maybe.
The present glow-tracker was designed to follow where Red had gone; it was balked by the curtain, so hovered there helplessly. Stile hesitated to step through at the same spot; no telling what Red had in store there for the un-wary.
A small demon-animal blundered down the hall. One of the animated amulets, running late. Stile and Neysa flattened themselves against the wall and let it pass. The thing wandered on past the curtain, never perceiving it, seeking escape from the Red Demesnes. It turned the far corner—and there was an explosion.
“Methinks she set a trap for us,” Stile murmured. Probably his counterspell would have protected him, but he could not be certain. Following too closely after the Red Adept was dangerous! “Take me to safe ground while I ponder new spells,” he said.
Neysa took him by the hand and led him, while Stile concentrated fully on the task at hand. Soon they were standing on the ground outside the Red Castle, and he had what he needed.
