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"It seems to eat my spells and excrete refrigeration," I said.
"This has been noted by others," Rhanda responded.
Even as we spoke, it torqued its body, moving that awful mouth to the top, and it lunged at me. I thrust my blade down its throat as its long legs clawed at or caught hold of me. I was driven over backwards as it closed its mouth, and I heard a shattering sound. I was left holding only a hilt. It had bitten off my blade. Frightened, I felt after my new power as the mouth opened again.
The gates of the spikard were opened, and I struck the creature with a raw force from somewhere in Shadow. Again, the thing seemed frozen as the air about me grew chill. I tore myself away from it, bleeding from dozens of small wounds. I rolled away and rose to my feet, still lashing it with the spikard, holding it cold. I tried using the blade to dismember it, but all it did was eat the attack and remain a statue of pink ice.
Reaching out through Shadow, I found myself another blade. With its tip, I traced a rectangle in the air, a bright circle at its center. I reached into it with my will and desire. After a moment, I felt contact.
"Dad! I feel you but I can't see you!"
"Ghostwheel," I said, "I am fighting for my life, and doubtless those of many others. Come to me if you can."
"I am trying. But you have found your way into a strange space. I seem to be barred from entering there."
"Damn!"
"I agree. I have faced this problem before in my travels. It does not lend itself to ready resolution."
The guisel began to move again. I tried to maintain the Trump contact but it was fading. "Father!" Ghostwheel cried as I lost hold. "Try--" Then he was gone. I backed away. I glanced at Rhanda. Dozens of other shroudlings now stood with her, all of them wearing black, white, or red garments. They began to sing a strange, dirgelike song, as if a dark soundtrack were required for our struggle. It did seem to slow the guisel, and it reminded me of something from long ago.
I threw back my head and gave voice to that ululant cry I had heard once in a dream and never forgotten.
My friend came.
Kergma--the living equation--came sliding in from many angles at once. I watched and waited as he/she/it--I had never been certain--assembled itself. Kergma had been a childhood playmate, along with Glait and Gryll.
Rhanda must have remembered the being who could go anywhere, for I heard her gasp. Kergma passed around and around her body in greeting, then came to me and did the same.
_"My friends! It has been so long since you called me to play! I have missed you!"_
The guisel dragged itself forward against the song of the shroudlings as if begi
_"Then I must solve it for us. Everything that lives is an equation, a complex quantum study. I told you that long ago."_
"Yes. Try. Please."
I feared blasting the thing again with the spikard while Kergma worked on it, lest it interfere with his calculations. I kept my blade and spikard at ready as I continued to back away. The shroudlings retreated with me, slowly.
_"A deadly balance,"_ Kergma said at last. _"It has a wonderful life equation. Use your toy to stop it now."_
I froze it again with the spikard. The shroudling's song went on.
At length Kergma said, _"There is a weapon that can destroy it under the right circumstances. You must reach for it, however. It is a twisted blade you have wielded before. It hangs on the wall of a bar where once you drank with Luke."_
"The Vorpal Sword?" I said. "It can kill it?"
_"A piece at a time, under the proper circumstances."_
"You know these circumstances?"
_"I have solved for them."_
I clutched my weapon and struck the guisel again with a force from the spikard. It squeaked and grew still. Then I discarded the blade I held and reached--far, far out through Shadow. I was a long time in finding what I sought and I had a resistance to overcome, so I added the force of the spikard to my own and it came to me. Once again, I held the shining, twisted Vorpal Sword in my hands.
I moved to strike at the guisel with it, but Kergma stopped me. So I hit it again with a lash of force from the spikard.
_"Not the way. Not the way."_
"What then?"
_"We require a Dyson variation on the mirror equation."_
"Show me."
Walls of mirrors shot up on all sides about me, the guisel, and Kergma, but excluding Rhanda. We rose into the air and drifted toward the center of the sphere. Our reflections came at us from everywhere.
_"Now. But you must keep it from touching the walls."_
"Save your equation. I may want to do something with it by and by."
I struck the dormant guisel with the Vorpal Sword. Again, it emitted a bell-like tone and remained quiescent.
_"No,"_ Kergma said. _"Let it thaw."_
So I waited until it began to stir, meaning that it would be able to attack me soon. Nothing is ever easy. From outside, I still heard the faint sounds of singing.
The guisel recovered more quickly than I had anticipated. But I swung and lopped off half its head, which seemed to divide itself into tissue-thin images which then flew away in every direction.
"Caloo! Callay!" I cried, swinging again and removing a long section of tissue from its right side, which repeated the phenomenon of the ghosting and the flight. It came on again and I cut again. Another chunk departed from its twisting body in the same fashion. Whenever its writhing took it near a wall, I intervened with my body and sword, driving it back toward the center and hacking at or slicing it.
Again and again it came on or flipped toward the wall. Each time my response was similar. But it did not die. I fought it til but a tip of its writhing tail moved before me.
"Kergma," I said then, "we've sent most of it down infinite lines. Now, can you revise the equation? Then I'll find sufficient mass with the spikard to allow you to create another guisel for me--one that will return to the sender of this one and regard that person as prey."
_"I think so,"_ Kergma said. _"I take it you left that final piece for the new one to eat?"_
"Yes, that was my thinking."
And so it was done. When the walls came down, the new guisel--black, its stripes red and yellow--was rubbing against my ankles like a cat. The singing stopped.
"Go and seek the hidden one," I said, "and return the message."
It raced off, passing a curve and vanishing.
"What have you done?" Rhanda asked me. So I told her.
"The hidden one will now consider you the most dangerous of his rivals," she said, "if he lives. Probably he will increase his efforts against you, in subtlety as well as violence."
"Good," I said. "That is my hope. I'd like to force a confrontation. He will probably not feel safe in your world now either, never knowing when a new guisel might come a-hunting."
"True," she said. "You have been my champion," and she kissed me.
Just then, out of nowhere, a paw appeared and fell upon the blade I held. Its opposite waved two slips of paper before me. Then a soft voice spoke: "You keep borrowing that sword without signing for it. Kindly do that now, Merlin. The other slip is for last time." I found a ballpoint beneath my cloak and signed as the rest of the cat materialized. "That'll be $40," it said then. "It costs 20 bucks for each hour or portion of an hour, to vorp."
I dug around in my pockets and came up with the fees. The cat gri