Castle for Rent

Twenty-five Pennsylvania

The temperature rose a bit as they drove farther west and crossed a weather front, but it was still chilly. The sky was cloudless, spangled with cold winter stars. The road wound through dale and over hill, farmlets sleeping to either side. An occasional dimly lighted window alleviated the darkness, the loneliness.

“Do you know exactly where Ferne’s estate is?”

“I’ll be able to pinpoint the gateway,” Trent said, “which amounts to the same thing.”

Incarnadine looked out into the darkness. “Bleak,” he said.

“What do you expect for the wilds of Pennsylvania on a winter night?”

“A roaring fire, a bottle of good wine, some good music.…”

“Sounds nice. Want to bag out of this and go and get some of that good stuff?”

“I could hardly do that.”

Trent shrugged. “Let the gods-damned castle go to the devil. Choose a world and live in it, never leave.”

“I’ve often considered it.”

“Do it. Let Ferne have the old rat trap, let her be Queen of Creation.”

Incarnadine took a long breath. “What you said about going to the devil — it’s looking more and more as though that might be literally true.”

“Well, that demon semi back there wasn’t Ferne’s style, if that’s what you mean.” Trent flicked on the high beams, and the trees along the road loomed like tall gray specters. “Do you really think it’s the Hosts of Hell?”

“I have no doubt. Naturally they’ll be laying for me — us — at the portal. We’ll need all the magic you can muster. Otherwise, we’re sunk.”

“Well, I hope I’ll be able to summon the portal when we get close to it. Going to be rough, though. They’ve got it nailed down pretty tight on this end.”

“Do you think proximity will make any difference?”

“Hard to say. All I know is that doing it from New York was impossible.”

They came into a small town, turning left at a junction with another highway. Now and then, pairs of headlights came at them, receded into the night.

“Getting close?” Incarnadine asked.

“Yeah. It’s off on your side somewhere.”

A turnoff to the right came up and Trent took it. The road took a slight dip directly off the highway, then bore gradually uphill, a split-rail fence running along its right side. They passed a very large and very imposing stone barn, then a few other outbuildings.

“Some big farms around here.”

“Gentlemen farmers, it looks like,” Trent said. “The country estates of the super-rich.”

Other farms rolled by. Trent took a side road to the left that arched over a hill, then ran along a winding valley, crossing a stream via a stone bridge. Then it twined upward through stark, bare-limbed trees. They went by the entrance to a gravel-paved side road that was barred by a steel-pipe gate. A mailbox stood off to one side.

A quarter mile farther down the road, Trent said, “That was it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Want to try a head-on assault?”

“No. That gate looked pretty sturdy. Let’s see if we can’t find a hole in their perimeter defenses.”

The road branched and they bore to the right. The road wound through forest, a chain link fence paralleling it on the right.

“This looks like the back end of the property,” Incarnadine said.

“That fence doesn’t seem like much,” Trent observed. “Not even barbed wire along the top. Electrified, maybe.”

“I doubt it.”

“Then they must be confident of their magical defenses.”

“One would tend to think so, if that big ghostly rig was any indication.”

Trent pulled off the road, parked on the narrow cinder-strewn shoulder, and turned off the motor. He doused the headlights. Quiet fell, save for the sound of a cold wind through the treetops.

“Want to try it right here?”

“Well, not in the car.”

They left the Mercedes and walked to the chain link fence. Trent raised his arms and traced small circles with his index fingers, looking off, as if testing.

“This is going to be difficult.” He looked around. “Hate to do it in the open like this. If somebody comes along … ”

“They’ll be mighty suspicious but will probably drive on. Let’s give it a try.”

Trent nodded, then began to trace elaborate patterns in the air. After a time, thin suspended filaments of light appeared, taking their shape from the path of his fingers, forming a luminous grid that hung between the two brothers.

“Nope.” He lowered his arms and examined the pattern. He was not satisfied. “No. It won’t work. They have it anchored too firmly. They own the door, Inky. And they have the key. We’ll simply have to go in there and crash it down.”

“So be it. Are you ready?”

With one finger, Trent drew a diagonal slash across the pattern: the Stroke of Cancellation. The luminous design faded quickly. “As ready as one can be to die, which is what the upshot of this enterprise is likely to be. But first, let me deal with this fence business.”

Trent waved out a simple pattern, and the fence took it upon itself to give up a few of its chain links, to the accompaniment of much clinking and snapping of metal. A section of steel mesh split down the middle and fell away like a torn curtain.

“Neat,” Incarnadine admired.

They walked through the gap and into the woods, following a winding deer trail. About fifty yards along they encountered a clearing. In the lead, Trent stopped.

“One other thing I can do is give us some power. We’re going to need a shitload of it. I’m going to tune it so that you can channel it for any weapon or defense you see fit to use. So just wish, and it shall be done. Think you can handle that?”

Incarnadine smiled crookedly. “Two days ago I couldn’t even spell ‘magician.’ Now I are one.”

Trent stepped back and again began to make motions with his hands. At length the pattern became visible. It was wondrously complex, comprising red, blue, and green filaments. Arcane geometric figures decorated with elaborate filigree took shape within it, along with subtle curves describing arcs of mathematical precision and elegance.

A high-pitched, agonized yowl, as from a strange, half-human creature, came from somewhere ahead. Various grunting and snorting sounds arose from the woods.

“The natives are having nervous breakdowns,” Incarnadine muttered.

After a time, the filaments all turned bright blue, growing brighter as the seconds passed. Trent worked furiously, eyes caged on his work, his pale brow furrowed, fingers flying. Incarnadine took a step back as the pattern began to emit great waves of heat. The filaments turned blue-white and kept increasing in luminosity. Finally they became stark, blinding white, humming and crackling with energy.

Finished at last, Trent staggered back, flinching from the intense heat. “Gods!” He wiped the film of sweat from his forehead.

“I’m impressed,” Incarnadine said, studying the pattern. “That’s the hairiest-looking Power Grid I’ve ever seen. Three-dimensional, too! How the hell did you execute all those icosahedrons so quickly?”

“I nearly burned my damn face off doing it.” Trent exhaled slowly, straightening his clothes. “But she’ll hold for hours.” He glanced around. “It’s rained recently, so there isn’t much chance of a fire unless we overload it.”

The roar of some great, hellish beast rent the night.

“That is a distinct possibility,” Incarnadine said, looking off into the darkness.

“The only thing that will save us,” Trent said, “might save us, is that they will be dealing with the same unfavorable conditions, with respect to magic in general, as we. On the down side, they seemed to have learned very quickly.”

They left the anomaly blazing behind them like an overloaded Art Deco neon sign. The deer trail continued for another twenty yards, debouching into a hayfield that slanted up a low rise. They struck out into the open, crushing dry, brittle grass underfoot. Light came from over the rise, outlining the top of the hill.

“We should stick to cover,” Trent said.

“I suspect they know exactly where we are. Whoever or whatever we have to face, we might as well face them in the open.”

Weighty footsteps sounded just over the hill, along with a deep-throated growl. Then a ferocious saurian head appeared above the line of the hilltop, its fiery eyes sweeping the field below. The rest of the monster came into view as it topped the rise. At least twenty feet tall, it vaguely resembled a Tyrannosaurus rex, but differed chiefly by virtue of its fully prehensile, thickly muscled upper limbs, at the ends of which sprouted huge curving talons. Its eyes glowed like yellow beacons, and faint red flames shot from its mouth as it took each whistling breath.

“On second thought,” Incarnadine said.

They dashed off in opposite directions, both heading for woods on either side. The monster swung its gaze between them, pondering which quarry would make the tastiest morsel.

Then it made its decision and sprang forward to give chase.