"Fortunate art thou that thy trust in this truce was well placed. Else would I simply confine thee here."
"Honor is not a luxury many of us can afford," she said sadly. "Yet in the name of honor, some are fools. Thou wilt not attack us or the Oracle without fair warning. This makes thee ideal for whatever side can use thee." She sighed. "I do not hate thee, Blue. I respect thee. I, too, am true to my cause, and it is a worthy one. Thou art true only to thine honor, and therein lies thy grief. Phaze will never be safe whilst Blue remains. Thus says our enemy the Oracle, and this we do believe. We like it not, but so must it be. Be on thy guard against my kind, Blue."
Stile studied her. The White Adept was no young thing, and she had not bothered with Yellow's type of vanity. She looked old and ugly and careworn. He had encountered her before and found little to please him. But he knew she was a witch and a skilled one; backed by the power of the other Adepts, she was far more formidable than she appeared. Her warning had to be heeded. The Adepts would now be fully unified and coordinated. The veil was off; nothing would be held back. She was giving him the most forceful warning she could, without betraying her associates.
He would have to get away from here in a hurry, the moment the shell opened. Yet where could he escape to? The Adepts could follow him anywhere in Phaze. White's warning, perhaps, was intended to focus his attention on this problem so that he would have a fair chance. His respect for her had been small; now it had enlarged. She had taken pains to give information that he needed, when she really hadn't had to. "I thank thee for thy courtesy, White," he said.
Stile released the spell that enclosed them and stood on guard. If the witch tried to strike against either unicorn, Stile would counter the spell. By the same token, if he started magic against the lurking goblins, she would block it. Since no spell could be used twice, it was sheer waste for Adept to squander magic against Adept. Their special powers would cancel each other out — until the other Adepts oriented — and she had told him they were ready. He was outgunned and would have to move fast so that they could not keep proper track of him.
"We must travel!" Stile cried. "I must stave off magic; you two handle the rest!" He vaulted aboard the nearest unicorn, which happened to be the Herd Stallion.
Clip was now outside the prison, probably having shifted to hawk-form to pass by the bars. That meant he was back in full health. But Stile was happier riding the Stallion, whom he knew to be in full possession of his powers. Clip might tire quickly.
The Stallion blasted out a medley of chords. Goblins had appeared in the passage; they hastily faded back, heeding the warning. Clip went to hawk-form and flew ahead, leading the way. The Stallion launched himself forward.
Stile was only peripherally aware of these details. His attention was on the White Adept. As the Stallion moved out, she started drawing a symbol in the dust on the floor. Stile sang out a spell that was mostly in his head: "Dust — gust!"
The dust stirred up into a cloud, gusting about the cavern. The witch was unable to complete her sketch. Her spell had been intercepted. She could not function any better in this swirl than Stile could when he had been a victim of the silence-spell. She looked up — and Stile saw with surprise that she was smiling. It was as if she were glad to see him escape. She must have spoken truly when she said she did not like this business. She had to fight him, but didn't really mind failing. Some Adepts, it seemed, were not as bad as others.
However, he had to heed her warning about the other enemy Adepts, most of whom he had never interacted with. They would not hold back, once they got around White's tacit obstruction and oriented directly on him.
Meanwhile, the goblins were bad enough. These were their passages, and they were thoroughly conversant with the dusky recesses. The Herd Stallion was retracing the route they had descended — but suddenly a great iron gate slammed into place ahead, blocking the way. The Stallion could not pass and Clip barely squeezed back through the narrow aperture to rejoin them. They were caught in the passage, and a solid mass of goblins was wedging in behind them.
The Stallion played more chords. Clip, answering the command, shifted to man-form and joined Stile on the Stallion's back. He was clothed now, with a rapier. He drew this and faced back, menacing a few goblins who tried to squeeze in behind.
Stile got the idea. He unwrapped his concealed broadsword and sat ready to slice at any goblins who got within range to either side. His main attention was on whatever signs of hostile magic there might be, but he could slash while hardly looking.
The Stallion charged the goblins. They scattered, throwing their spears away in their frantic scramble to get clear. It was not that they were cowardly; it was that a ton of unicorn bristling with horn and two armed riders was a truly formidable thing. Any who tried to stand their ground would be skewered or slashed or trampled. As it happened, a number could not get out of the way in time and were indeed trampled and skewered.
There was a side passage. The unicorn hurtled into this, causing Stile to grab for the mane in order to hold his seat, and thundered along it.
Suddenly there was a ledge. The Herd Stallion could not brake in time. He leaped out over the edge, into the darkness of nothing.
Then Stile found himself riding the dragon. The Stallion's dragon was not large for this type, being perhaps only twelve feet long from snout to tail, and Stile's weight bore him down. Fortunately Stile was not large for his own type, and the dragon was able to spread his wings and descend slowly. Clip, of course, had converted to hawk-form.
Stile still wore his grotesque shoes and turban. Quickly he sloughed these off, lightening the burden on the reptile; but the descent continued.
The dragon snorted fire that illuminated the cavern. They were in a deep cleft whose upper reaches were lit by wan shafts of moonlight. There was their escape!
But the dragon could not make it that high under Stile's weight. Stile readied a spell, felt the questing magic of another Adept, and had to hold back. He could be messed up much as he had messed up White's spell, and in midair that could be disastrous. Also, it seemed the enemies could not quite locate him as long as he remained in the dark and cast no spells. He had to hold off until it was safer. So the dim light above faded, and they dropped down into the deeper depths silently.
There was a detonation of something. Light blazed and metallic fragments whistled by. Someone had fired an explosive amulet or something similar at them. This was blind shooting, hoping to catch the dragon by a random shot; the assailants did not have a perfect fix on Stile's party. Now he was certain that if he used defensive magic, he would give away his location. Better to lie quiet, like a submarine on a water planet, and hope the depth-charges missed.
The dragon tried again to rise, but could not. Stile felt the body heating with the effort. This could not continue long.
There was a pop behind them. The Stallion-dragon turned his head to send back a jet of flame-and the light showed a griffin, an eagle-headed lion, the next enemy Adept sending. "Uh-oh," Stile murmured. "Can't hide from that."
But the Stallion was burning hot from his exertions. He looped about, aimed his snout at the pursuing griffin, and exhaled a scaring shaft of fire.
The griffin squawked as it was enveloped in flame. The blaze of its burning wings lit up the entire cavern. It tumbled down to the water, smoking feathers drifting after it.
But the next sending was another dragon, a big one. Its chest pumped like a bellows, building up pressure for a devastating blast that would incinerate Stile and the Stallion. The enemy was now fighting fire with fire.
The hawk winged at it, too small and fast for the dragon to catch or avoid. The dragon ignored the bird, knowing nothing that size could dent its armored hide. The enormous metal-foil wings beat swiftly, launching the dragon forward.