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Copyright ©2003 by Piers Anthony
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First Edition * November 2003
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Chapter 1—Stevia
Havoc was troubled. He had won a great political battle and had been roundly confirmed as King of Charm, but was unable to relax and enjoy it. For one thing, he did not want the office; it had been thrust upon him, yanking him from his pleasant ignorant life in Trifle Village, and he had been balked from quitting by the persuasive threat of being executed for treason. For another, some anonymous but powerful party was trying to kill him. For yet another, the mystery of the changelings remained; he had set out to fathom it, being a changeling himself, but had been balked. But mainly, he was distracted by the mental after-image of the Red Glamor.
He sat on the palace privy pot, not because he had anything really urgent to do there, but because it was one place where he had some privacy to think. As King he was almost always in company, and that grew wearing at times. He was a country boy, considered a barbarian, more at home in the wild forest or teaching martial arts than in the dense city. He would prefer to be alone most of the time, or in the company of one or two trusted friends. Instead he was usually in the center of a deferential group who diligently attended his every need except isolation. So he had to steal moments of solitude, and this was the place.
"Red Glamor,” he murmured longingly. “Where are you?"
The lovely red woman appeared before him, swathed in a faint red aura. “I am here, Havoc."
Startled, he was suddenly aware of his exposure. His pantaloons were down, his posterior bare. “Embarrassment,” he said, trying to cover his exposed crotch.
"What did you have in mind?” she inquired as she sat on his lap. Her red robe became tenuous, so that he felt her warm bare bottom on his thighs, and the curling tresses of her fine red hair tickled his exposed belly.
"Not this!” he exclaimed ruefully. “I thought I was speaking rhetorically when I named you."
She twisted her upper body gracefully to face him. The robe outlined her perfectly formed breasts, so close to his face. “It is as I interpret it to be, Havoc. You desire me."
He could not deny it; she was rapture incarnate. But he knew better than to yield. “Glamor, I beg you—do not take me.” For he could not resist her, he could only plead to be spared.
"I know,” she said regretfully. “You have other business to attend to before I possess you."
"Yes. Otherwise—"
She touched his lips with a finger. It felt like a kiss, sending a ripple of delight through his face and head. “I understand. But I think I will help you, in my fashion. I do not wish you to die before I have my way with you."
"Glamor, you can have your way with me at any time. I am powerless before your magic beauty. But I am unworthy, because I did not believe in you. I thought the Glamors were merely folk tales. So I made up a tale of my own, meaning no affront, because—"
"And therein you named me, evoking my interest. Now comes the consequence of that interest."
"Will you toy with me and discard me?"
"Of course, at my convenience. But for the moment there are other concerns."
Havoc wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, assuming she was serious. “I am at your mercy."
She touched his mouth again, and this time it felt like a slap, though without punishing force. “I will help you to a degree. Not to accomplish your mission, but to do what you believe you need to."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
Her lips made the pretense of a kiss, and his lips felt it strike. “No. Your understanding is limited. But you must follow your course as you see it, until you come of age. This project will give you time."
She was indeed toying with him, and on one level he resented that, but the rapture of her presence was such that he craved more of it. “Lady Red, what do you want of me?"
"What do you want of a fair but innocent girl you encounter?"
Was there hidden meaning here? “Many things, perhaps. But always there is the desire to have her body in love, if she is not otherwise committed and is amenable. I would not seek to hurt her, physically or emotionally, yet I would want to enjoy her if I could. It is the male way."
"And so I with you. But you are otherwise committed."
"I love Gale,” he agreed. His fascination with the Red Glamor was quite apart from that, and did not interfere with it. Love was one thing, passion another.
"That also. You have your missions."
"So you spare me as I would spare a fair girl I could take but should not."
"For now,” she agreed. “Here is the limited help I offer: seek soon and secretly in seven places. First four, then two, then one. The last of them may be the completion of your interest."
"The last? Why not make it the first, then?"
She waggled a cautionary finger at him, and he felt like an errant child. “Clarification: You must seek in all, to obtain what they have. Seven ikons. These will assemble to make the thing we need."
"Apology for my ignorance,” he said, humbled.
"It is charming. The sites are all at volcanoes, seven Chroma."
"At volcanoes! These are dangerous even for Chroma folk."
"Agreement. Do not go alone. Here are the coordinates.” She spoke them clearly.
Havoc's eidetic memory caught the list and filed it. “I will need help to cover such scattered sites soon. May I use my friends?"
"Yes. But you may not take any friend with you personally, for the first. You require the service of one you do not know, who has no known prior association with you. This is true also for your friends."
"But in that case, how—"
She flexed her buttocks, instantly distracting him. “Go anonymously to a random section of the city of Triumph. Ask any you meet there to go with you on a wearing, dangerous, and perhaps futile mission. Take the one who accepts, and tell that person everything, in reasonable stages so as to avoid confusion. Go directly on your mission, bypassing the palace and all who may recognize you."
"But I have secrets I must not betray."
"This person can be trusted, and must be advised, so as to be able to assist you accurately. Similarly for your friends: they must conce
al their missions from all but their selected companions, whom they may inform if they choose."
"A random person? Glamor—"
"Within the hour, Havoc."
"Within the hour! I can't possibly—"
This time she leaned forward and kissed him lightly with her real lips. There was a soft explosion of infinite pleasure that blanked out all the universe. All except her divine mouth on his, her exquisite breasts against his chest, and her phenomenal bottom governing his midsection. Ecstasy was a woefully insufficient term to describe his feeling. He floated in rapture, his body and mind utterly committed to her will, whatever it might be.
When he recovered, the Red Glamor was gone. He was sitting on the pot with a rigid erection. She had obviously had her way with him, but he had not had his way with her.
He would do as she had directed. The potent kiss left him no choice.
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Havoc reassembled his robe, emerged from the privy, and went to his bedroom. He removed his crown, set it on the bureau, and changed to a minstrel's outfit.
There was a flicker in the air before him. He put out one hand and intercepted it. Swale, I need you, he thought.
The presence expanded. In what host? she inquired in his mind.
Not sexually, he clarified mentally. As a courier. Carry this message to Gale: ‘We have new missions, courtesy the Red Glamor. Choose one from among these sites to check yourself, give one other site to Throe and one to Symbol. Set aside three sites for now, and inform me of the one that remains. Have Spanky cover for you and go anonymously within the hour. Return when your site is done, and tell the same to the others.’ And to Berm: ‘Cover for me now.’ You, Swale, serve as liaison between the parties, informing none of the activities of the others, only that they are well or not well. Use your judgment.
What of Ennui? The older woman, his oath friend, had become his most trusted personal secretary and general center of communications. Swale was right to verify her involvement.
Inform her only in general. She must room with a golem for now, as must Chief.
Serving you is hell on relationships.
Hell on my own, too. Sail, succubus.
Sold, she agreed, punning on sail as sale, and was gone.
Havoc completed his change, strapped on his knife sheath, donned his emergency traveling pack, took his staff, and sneaked out his private exit. This was nominally a laundry chute, and indeed it served as such, but also as a secret passage.
He landed in a pile of soft sheets, holding his staff aloft so that it would not bang into anything. His ear buzzed warning. He tossed a sheet over himself and hunched down. He heard the footsteps of a maid. When they passed, he lifted his head. Receiving no buzz, he clambered out of the laundry bin and made his way silently to an exit. Soon he was in the city proper, walking among strangers who took him for a routine entertainer on the way to an assignment.
He paid no attention to the levels and passages of the city of Triumph, deliberately losing himself. When he was satisfied that he had no idea where he was, he commenced the next part of the Red Glamor's assignment.
He spied a young healthy green man carrying a barrel of fresh radishes. “Greeting, laborer."
"Acknowledgment, minstrel."
"I need a companion for a wearing, dangerous, and perhaps futile mission. Will you go with me?"
The man did not bother to critique such a wild request. “Parting."
As expected. The next person was a lovely young silver woman in a revealing cloak. “Greeting, courtesan."
"Parting, minstrel.” She was evidently on business without time to waste. Too bad; she could have been fun to travel with.
The next was a grandmotherly straight human woman. “Greeting, matron."
"Acknowledgment, minstrel,” she replied, interested.
"I need a companion for—"
She laughed. “A virile young man like you can find better companionship than me! I have no money and less desire. Parting."
The fourth person was a slightly heavyset young gray woman in matching peasant garb. “Greeting, maiden."
"Acknowledgment, minstrel."
"I need a companion for a wearing, dangerous, and perhaps futile mission. Will you go with me?"
"Yes."
Havoc was already starting to move on before it registered. She had accepted!
Or was this a flirtatious game? He tried to read her mind, but her thoughts seemed oddly fuzzy. “Immediately,” he said. “Beyond the city. No time for partings from friends or conclusions of other errands."
"There is no need, minstrel. I live alone, and my room is private. I'm thrilled to be asked. I will be understanding if your effort falls short, and will do my best to complete it."
She thought he was soliciting secret sex with a stranger, having suffered some incapacity with his usual partner. “Misunderstanding. My words are literal. This may be a long and difficult trek, suffering privation."
"Better yet.” She took his arm with one hand, as she touched the buttons of her gray blouse with the other. In a moment a full gray breast showed. “I am yours, minstrel, no fault."
And he was obliged to accept her, according to the Red Glamor's directive. Had his mission gone wrong already? He tried again to fathom her thoughts, but was unable to get a focus on them. Either she lacked mental coherence, or there was some kind of interference.
Swale's shimmer appeared. He put out a hand to touch her. The unclaimed mission is a site on an island in a pool in Blue Chroma, among the amorous merfolk. Here are the coordinates. She gave them, and Havoc immediately highlighted that set in his memory. It seems the others do not care for the social aspect. Then she was gone, with a silent chortle. She loved a good sexual joke.
"What was that?” the peasant girl asked, brushing back a gray tress.
"We must be alone before I tell you,” he said.
"That's nice.” She was certainly an amenable type. He tried a third time to read her mind, still with no success. Was he losing his power of telepathy? “This is beyond the city? I see your staff and pack."
"Yes, far beyond. Do you have traveling gear?"
"Of course, minstrel. This way."
So they went to her simple chamber, where she quickly assembled a gray supply pack, obviously the one she had brought from her home Chroma. She was efficient, at least.
They made their way out of the city, catching a shuttle ferry to the land. Havoc looked back at the huge floating wooden pyramid. Here he was just beginning to get used to city life, and he had to leave it for the field. With an ignorant gray peasant girl. Was Red having fun with him?
When they were on the road away from Triumph, the girl spoke again. “Introduction: I am Stevia, of Chroma Gray, orphaned peasant employed in drudgery I long to escape."
What was he supposed to tell her? The Red Glamor had said everything. Havoc sighed inwardly and took it literally. “I am Havoc, King of Charm, in disguise."
She laughed. “That must be a lovely role, minstrel! But please, if I am to go far with you, I would like to know your underlying identity."
Perhaps he should have anticipated this. He tried once more to pick up her mental activity, but the blur remained. There was definitely something about her. “Why do you doubt me?"
"You have no crown."
Oh. “I am in disguise,” he repeated. “The crown would be a giveaway."
"If you say so,” she said, smirking. “And what was that shimmer you touched in the hallway? You said you'd tell me."
"That was Swale, a succubus I know—a traveling spirit without a body. She keeps me in touch with others."
Stevia's head turned to look at him obliquely. Obviously she found this no more credible than his kingship. “A sexual spirit? I thought they only invested women. What does she want with you?"
"I did her a favor, and now she serves me."
"That kind accepts only one kind of favor, and thereafter takes the man's soul. You do not seem soulless."
/>
"I arranged for her to have another body."
She considered that a moment, evidently dubious. “If she comes again, let me touch her."
"Agreed."
"Where are we going?"
Havoc looked around. “I am required to answer you in all things, but I am concerned about being overheard. An anonymous enemy is trying to kill me, and to balk my project."
"All this, and paranoia too!"
"Reality,” he said doggedly. “If that enemy should overhear my plans—"
"You need have no concern about that."
Havoc was slightly nettled. “I assure you, it is a genuine threat."
She smiled at him. “Have you not picked up on my Chroma?"
"Gray,” he said. “The one without magic."
"Not precisely. We have what we need or want. Gray is immune to magic."
"Immune,” he agreed. “So you are unable to practice it, and must depend on other Chroma for magical produce or effects. Yours is the poorest of the major Chroma."
"Approximately true, which is one reason I sought refuge in the great rich city of Triumph. But our effect is not entirely passive. At close range we actually interfere with other magic."
"So I have heard. This makes you unpopular elsewhere."
"So it does. Other Chroma's magic operates only in its own color, or in the presence of concentrated matter such as a gem stone. Ours lacks flash, but operates throughout the Planet of Charm, within or apart from other Chroma. We are unable to escape the effect."
"It is like gravity,” Havoc said. “Considered the weakest of the fundamental forces on the small scale, yet the dominant force in the universe on the large scale, because it extends outward without limit."
She smiled. “I like that analogy. Yet among full humans who have no magic, it has little consequence. This is another reason I came to the Pyramid. But in this case it may be useful to you."
"Useful?"
"Others will not be able to spy on you magically while you are close to me."
Suddenly he saw it. He was unable to read her mind because her Chroma interfered with the magic. If he could not fathom her thoughts, neither could anyone else. This suggested reason for the Red Glamor to have selected her to help him. “Excellent! I apologize for being dense. What is your range of effect?"