The Dark World | Page 9

stair, I suddenly realized that he had not spoken in English. But I had understood him, as I had understood Edeyrn and Medea.
Ganelon?
We were in a tower room, walled with transparent panes. There was a smoky, sour odor in the air, and gray tendrils coiled up from a brazier set in a tripod in the middle of the chamber. Matholch gestured me to one of the couches by the windows. He dropped carelessly beside me.
"I wonder how much you remember," he said.
I shook my head.
"Not much. Enough not to be too -- trusting."
"The artificial Earth-memories are still strong, then. Ghast Rhymi said you would remember eventually, but that it would take time. The false writing on the slate of your mind will fade, and the old, true memories will come back. After a while."
Like a palimpsest, I thought -- manuscript with two writings upon its parchment. But Ganelon was still a stranger; I was still Edward Bond.
"I wonder," Matholch said slowly, staring at me. "You spent much time exiled. I wonder if you have changed, basically. Always before -- you hated me, Ganelon. Do you hate me now?"
"No," I said. "At least, I don't know. I think I distrust you."
"You have reason. If you remember at all. We have always been enemies, Ganelon, though bound together by the needs and laws of the Coven. I wonder if we need be enemies any longer?"
"It depends. I'm not anxious to make enemies -- especially here."
Matholch's red brows drew together.
"Aye, that is not Ganelon speaking! In the old days, you cared nothing about how many enemies you made. If you have changed so much, danger to us all may result."
"My memory is gone," I said. "I don't understand much of this. It seems dream-like."
Now he sprang up and restlessly paced the room. "That's well. If you become the old Ganelon again, we'll be enemies again. That I know. But if Earth-exile has changed you -- altered you -- we may be friends. It would be better to be friends. Medea would not like it; I do not think Edeyrn would. As for Ghast Rhymi -- " He shrugged. "Ghast Rhymi is old -- old. In all the Dark World, Ganelon, you have the most power. Or can have. But it would mean going to Caer Llyr."
Matholch stooped to look into my eyes.
"In the old days, you knew what that meant. You were afraid, but you wanted the power. Once you went to Caer Llyr -- to be sealed. So there is a bond between you and Llyr -- not consummated yet. But it can be, if you wish it."
"What is Llyr?" I asked.
"Pray that you will not remember that," Matholch said. "When Medea talks to you -- beware when she speaks of Llyr. I may be friend of yours or enemy, Ganelon, but for my own sake, for the sake of the Dark World -- even for the sake of the rebels -- I warn you: do not go to Caer Llyr. No matter what Medea asks. Or promises. At least be wary till you have your memories back."
"What is Llyr?" I said again.
Matholch swung around, his back to me. "Ghast Rhymi knows, I think. I do not. Nor do I want to. Llyr is -- is evil -- and is hungry, always. But what feeds his appetite is -- is -- " He stopped.
"You have forgotten," he went on after a while. "One thing I wonder. Have you forgotten how to summon Llyr?"
I did not answer. There was a darkness in my mind, an ebon gate against which my questioning thoughts probed vainly. Llyr -- Llyr?
Matholch cast a handful of powdery substance into the glowing brazier.
"Can you summon Llyr?" he asked again his voice soft. "Answer, Ganelon. Can you?"
The sour smoke-stench grew stronger. The darkness in my head sprang apart, riven, as though a gateway had opened in the shadow. I -- recognized that deadly perfume.
I stood up, glaring at Matholch. I took two steps, thrust out my sandaled foot, and overturned the brazier. Embers scattered on the stone floor. The red-beard turned a startled face to me.
I reached out, gripped Matholch's tunic, and shook him till his teeth rattled together. Hot fury filled me -- and something more.
That Matholch should try his tricks on me!
A stranger had my tongue. I heard myself speaking.
"Save your spells for the slaves and helots," I snarled. "I tell you what I wish to tell you -- no more than that! Burn your filthy herbs elsewhere, not in my presence!"
Red-bearded jaw jutted. Yellow eyes flamed. Matholch's face altered, flesh flowing like water, dimly seen in the smoke-clouds that poured up from the scattered embers.
Yellow tusks threatened me through the gray mists.
The shape-changer made a wordless noise in his throat -- the guttural sound a beast might