Chapter 2: ExamChapter 2: Exam

he errand child was breathless as he ran into the village. "King's men!"

he cried. "Coming soon!"

There was a flurry of activity. It was summer, and most of the folk were at work in the fields or communal buildings, but they reorganized rapidly for this emergency. The men charged in, the women sought their houses, and the children were released from their classes and shelters.

Havoc suspended his martial arts class. "You know what to do," he said tersely.

The students scattered, running to their homes to hide their key supplies. Havoc himself went into the central street, stood for a moment, then walked slowly toward the forest side of the village. Gale, nigh seventeen and lovely, fell in beside him, whistling a particular tune.

The nubile girls of the village, including some under 12 but pretty, ran to join them, forming a line. So did some of the younger and fairer wives. By the time Havoc reached the path leading into the forest, there was a train of a

dozen appealing women.

Havoc stepped aside, and Gale took the lead. She stepped with exaggerated care so that the others could follow her precisely. Her route became T

52 Key to Havoc

tortuous, but the line of women matched her step for step, wending their way into the forest. They knew that this path was deliberately awkward and even dangerous for anyone who was not familiar with it, such as a marauding tax collector.

Then Havoc walked to a pile of dry sticks that lay near the path. There was always a pile there for him, so he could cover the exit of the precious girls

when raiders came, without being obvious. He checked it carefully for en-croaching stinger vines, then looped his own cord around it and began to haul it toward the village. It was heavy, and progress was slow; before he had gotten far, the king's men had arrived. Havoc stayed clear of them; strong young men could be in danger from such visitors too. He watched carefully, without gazing directly at the little party of villagers who went to meet the king's men. The Village Elder would be very polite and obliging--and slow, giving others the maximum possible time to prepare.

There were four in the visiting party, wearing the dull tan cloaks and boots of their ilk: tough men of indeterminate age. One carried a bow and quiver of arrows; another had an ironwood club; a third wore a short sword together with several sheathed knives; and the last carried a weighted net.

Combat veterans, obviously; Havoc would have been able to tell just by the way they moved. Dangerous men, accustomed to having their way, as they had to be, to serve the king. Best to stay clear of them, though Havoc knew he could handle them if he had to. He had trained with and against all of those weapons, and knew their weaknesses as well as their strengths. Also, at almost age eighteen, he was at his physical prime, and could surely move and react more swiftly than those older men. But balking a king's man was a beating offense, and injuring one could mean imprisonment and slave service. So Havoc wanted no unnecessary trouble with them.

An errand child ran from the group down the street. "Havoc!" he called.

"They want you."

Bad news! "By name?" he asked.

"Yes, by name."

"What for?"

"Didn't say."

Normally a slave recruiting mission didn't have names; they just collected bodies, male and female. So that might be a positive sign. But how had they gotten his name? He had been careful to do nothing to draw attention to himself in any way that might spread news beyond the village. Mentor had taught him that: the greatest safety was in anonymity. As far as the king was concerned, Havoc was just another village lout.

Piers Anthony 53

"Did they ask the name of the man hauling wood?"

"No. They already had your name."

So they had come seeking him. Very bad. But he could not slip away without being guilty of a balk. He would have to see what they wanted, and hope that it was only a message being delivered. But that hardly seemed likely,

as a message should go first to the senior resident.

"Now," the boy said. "They said right now."

The king's men did not like to be kept waiting, and they could be brutal in their enforcement of even the most trivial preferences. Havoc let go of one end of his rope, drew the loop free of the wood, and wound the rope around his waist. He walked with the boy toward the waiting party. He saw that beyond it, at the edge of the village, was a closed coach marked with the king's insignia: a ten pointed crown. The same image was stitched onto the front of the cloaks of the four men. There was no question of their authenticity.

Havoc stopped a few steps from the king's party. "Greeting."

The net man took one step forward. "Honor to the king. I am Throe, king's servant." With typical arrogance, he was ignoring country manners.

"I am Havoc," Havoc responded, refusing to honor the hated distant monarch.

"Havoc, you are to report for immediate examination at the Capital City of Triumph."

Havoc did not have to pretend bafflement. "Examination?"

"That is the order. Please enter the coach. We will transport you there."

It would not be expedient to refuse, but neither did he want to let these ruffians take him away. He looked at the coach. "There is no hauling animal."

"We will move it," Throe said. "Please board." His left hand touched the net at his waist, and the three others assumed ready stances. This second request was definitely a warning.

"I have business here in Trifle. I can't go far away."

"You have no business before that of the king. Enter the coach." This time it was a direct order. The swordman and clubman lifted their weapons.

But Havoc knew it was a bluff. The dragon seed was not buzzing in his ear. If he really was supposed to go to the capital city, they would not risk injuring or killing him. The dangerous man was Throe, who looked entirely unprepared for action--but Havoc recognized him as an advanced martial artist. Such a man was most dangerous when seeming least so. His hands would be very fast and hard, and Havoc knew better than to tackle unknown 54 Key to Havoc

competence unless he had to.

"If that is the way it must be," he said with resignation. He stepped toward the coach, passing between the swordman and clubman. The bowman opened the small coach door.

Havoc dived under the coach, rolled to the side, scrambled out beside a rear wheel, and launched himself toward the forest.

Throe was there already, blocking his way, his net flinging out. He hadn't been fooled. He had circled the coach while Havoc passed under it, and neatly intercepted him.

But Havoc knew about nets. They could envelop an unwary man or animal, but could be balked. His right hand reached out to catch the oncoming forward upper edge of the net, then hauled it down to join the other edge.

He yanked it closed, and with almost the same motion flung it back at the king's man. He whirled to the side--and there was Throe again, blocking his escape. The man was good!

Meanwhile the swordman was coming around one side of the coach, and the clubman around the other. Havoc was boxed in.

He ducked down, then launched himself again, this time up onto the coach. With a few choice handholds and footholds he clambered to the top of it. Then, as the bowman on the far side gaped, Havoc leaped over his head, somersaulted, landed on his feet, and bounced onto the side of the road. In a moment he was into the forest, stepping where only he knew to do.

The king's men could not follow; no one who was not familiar with the safe foot spots could. He was free.

He made his way to the manna tree where he knew the girls would be.

Gale was there, with the others. "Havoc!" she said, not loudly. "What happened?"

"They want to take me to Triumph for an examination."

"But you might never return."

"Yes. So I declined to go."

"You will have to hide," she said. "And so will I." She did not have to say why: as his fiancée she could be punished in lieu of him, and that would surely begin with rape. The king's men always had an eye for the girls, and she

was acknowledged as the loveliest in the village, and in the surrounding villages.

"Yes. I am sorry. But maybe they will give it up as a bad job. They must have others to collect."

"We had better wait here until they go," she said.

He nodded. "Have the girls fed the tree?"

Piers Anthony 55

She smiled. "Good point. You go elsewhere for half an hour, and I'll instruct them."

Havoc followed another path out. He understood why the girls would not want him there at this time. They were camped by a manna tree, and it was one of the special plants of Charm Planet. Long ago, he understood, people had cut down trees freely, but they had discovered that some sections of forest thereafter died out. In time they caught on that the key was the manna tree: kill it, and the entire neighborhood followed. Not immediately, but at the next climatic crisis. So they learned to leave those particular trees

alone, because there were many useful and some essential plants around the manna. They did not know what made the manna a keystone species, just that it was.

The dragon Mentor had clarified that for Havoc and Gale. The climate of the planet was irregular, even after allowing for the differences in the five

seasons. When Vivid was large in the sky, as everyone knew, the weather was generally warm and calm. But when Void was large, it was cold--except when Void flared. Then it suddenly could be hotter than summer, for a day or for several, and the weather could go crazy. There could be severe storms, or drought, followed by rapid freezing. The forest would not be able to take it, except for the manna. The manna was not exactly a tree, but a complex of several types of plant. One type heated the air around it, warming the forest when it was cold. Another type cooled the air, similarly alleviating the heat.

Another type emitted chemicals that caused creatures to lose their taste for violence; in fact they were unable to kill or even fight. So when diverse creatures came, the predators did not attack the prey; they coexisted in temporary peace. That made this a safe haven, preserving all creatures who came to it.

The manna itself produced food, extruding a cheesy substance from its trunk that could be eaten by almost any kind of creature. It wasn't very appealing, and few creatures, including humans, ever ate it voluntarily. But when they were clustered around the manna, escaping the extremes of weather, they could not hunt or forage, and would starve, except for the manna. When they got hungry enough, they ate it. As soon as conditions improved, they left, eagerly returning to the more palatable food elsewhere. Thus both plants and creatures owed their long term survival to the manna complex, but did not ordinarily depend on it.

When creatures came, and the manna formed, the tree needed sustenance of its own. So, as with the cycad, creatures normally made offerings of bodily refuse. Though in this case they were not fleeing the weather, they were using the shelter of the manna, so ought to contribute to its welfare.

56 Key to Havoc

The elder girls, however, would not be eager to do this in the presence of a young man. They preferred to pretend that they had no natural functions other than sex appeal. So Havoc departed for a time.

He came to a glade, found a safe place, and lay on the ground. He wasn't tired, but wanted to work things out in his mind. Why had the king's men come for him, seeking him by name? Why had they wanted him so badly that they had sent a competent martial artist? He knew he would not have escaped, had they not been constrained not to hurt him. The bowman could have put an arrow in his back as he fled. Throe--there was a man who really knew his business. There were little ways of competence that could be recognized in retrospect. Havoc realized now that the man could have beaten him in a fair fight. It had not been fair; Havoc had taken risks to escape, and Throe had not risked Havoc's welfare to capture him. Even so, it had been close; had he not surprised the man with a dangerous maneuver, he would have been caught. So evidently this examination was important. The dragon seed had not buzzed when Throe spoke--but Throe had not given any reason for the examination. The absence of a lie did not necessarily mean that the truth was known.

Havoc lay on his back and stared up at Mystery, Charm's companion world. It looked huge in the sky; his fist, extended at arm's length, barely covered it. It was many colors, in irregular splotches--exactly the way Charm was supposed to look, could it but be seen from a similar distance. The pattern changed often, and sometimes it was possible to see a volcano erupting, spreading its color in a crude circle around its pinpoint cone. So Mystery

was surely magic, like Charm. It turned slowly, its edges changing, and the curving line of light that crossed it vertically picked out new highlights and masked old ones. Mystery was usually dark in day, and bright at night, because Vivid illuminated them both and could do only one side at a time. This was mid afternoon, which made it mid-morning on Mystery, in its fashion; three quarters of it was light.

Were there human beings there? Was there another Havoc staring back at him and wondering what life was like on Charm? It was impossible to know. How could they travel there? Mystery was out of reach. Yet in the stories folk told by firelight, Mystery was populated with people, good, bad, and weird. Everything the human mind could imagine existed on Mystery, according to popular fancy. Havoc longed to know the truth, as did every living person, but no one knew it. Not even Mentor, who was just as curious.

It was endlessly tantalizing.

Enough time had passed. No girl would be caught with her bottom Piers Anthony 57

bared, unless she delayed purposely after completing her business, in order to vamp him. Sometimes girls did that, knowing that even if inclined, he could not express any interest while in Gale's presence. In this manner, in the past year, he had been tacitly advised that should things ever not work out with Gale, there were willing alternatives. Sometimes the exposure was just teasing, and both parties would pretend to be embarrassed, having accomplished an informal Peek. He had discovered that there could be as much delight in being Peeked at as in Peeking, for both male and female. But the present situation was no game, and no one would be doing any teasing. Havoc got up and picked his way along the path back to the manna tree.

"Havoc!" Gale said. "Tiptoe came. You must go back." Tiptoe was an errand child, the only one who knew the path here besides Havoc and Gale.

"Are the king's men gone?"

"No! Havoc, they are beating your mother!"

"What?" For a moment he could not assimilate this.

"They have tied her naked to the whipping post, and are whipping her once every five minutes until you come."

"I'll kill them!" he swore.

Gale shook her head. "You can't. More king's men would come, and burn the village, and put every person into slave labor. You know that."

He did know that. He could not attack the king's men, even if they did not fight back, because his entire village would be hostage to his behavior.

He

had to go.

He kissed Gale. "I will take that examination, then return to marry you."

"Yes, of course." Her voice was carefully steady.

Yet more had to be said. "If I do not return, don't wait for me. Marry your best prospect." They both knew that those taken by the king's men seldom returned. They surely were not killed, because no one but nature killed a human being without reason, but they were usually not heard from again.

"Yes." But the tear in her eye gave her the lie. She loved him, as he loved her, and she was not prepared to be practical in this respect.

"Parting."

"Ak--" But she couldn't get the word out. Instead she kissed him again, suddenly and hard.

He released her, then turned quickly and moved along the path to the village as rapidly as possible. The errand boy followed. The girls would return to the village when word came that it was safe for them. They were not yet sure of that.

58 Key to Havoc

"Did the king's men say anything more?" Havoc asked as they traveled.

"No. Just that they were sorry this was necessary."

"Who was sorry?"

"The leader, with the net."

Throe. Highly trained and competent--and ruthless in the manner of all king's men. There were dreadful stories about villages that had resisted the

tax collectors, and Havoc had no reason to doubt them. No one defied the king's men with impunity. But this was odd; Havoc had never heard of a king's man expressing any regret about what he did. Was it irony? Regardless, if Havoc ever had a chance to kill Throe without implicating his village, he would do it. Stripping and beating his innocent mother? That was a ploy Havoc had never anticipated.

They arrived at the village. There in the center was the awful sight: his mother, naked, bound with her hands high, welts on her back. She had not cried out, refusing to give the king's men that satisfaction, but she was hurting.

Havoc ran up to her. No one interfered with him; the king's men were letting him understand the nature of the alternative to his surrender. He brought out his small knife and cut her hands free, then wrapped his jacket about her. "Mother--"

"I know," she said. "Go, my darling, and return when you can."

"I want to--"

"You can't. Forgive them, Havoc. Not for them; for you." She kissed him on the chin, for he was substantially taller than she, and turned away.

Havoc faced his father. The man nodded grimly. Havoc knew that his father had been unable to prevent the atrocity the king's men performed, and that he did not blame Havoc. It was just the way it was. The king's men were one of the natural calamities of the planet. He should not have tried to escape; that had been foolish. He had been impetuous, and his family had suffered the consequence. He would be more careful next time.

His father handed him a knapsack. "Your things."

"Parting," Havoc said grimly. He donned the knapsack.

"Acknowledged."

He turned and walked to the waiting coach. The bowman opened the door, and he climbed in. There were two seats inside, facing each other, with room for two people to sit on each. Havoc sat on one.

Throe got in after him, and took the opposite seat. Havoc could tell from his posture that he was on guard; any effort to escape would be instantly countered. The bowman closed the door. The coach began to move.

Piers Anthony 59

"There are two ways we can travel," Throe said. "You can be bound and gagged and uncomfortable, with witnesses to your every act of assimilation or elimination, and without awareness of the route. Or you can be free of body and informed of mind, with privacy of functions. Choose now."

The man wanted him to give his word not to try to escape. He did not want to give it, but knew that if he did escape, the king's men would return to

his village and make more people than his mother sorry for his intransigence.

Unless he killed them all and hid the remains, so that the disappearance of the

king's party would be a mystery. Except that those who had sent this party would make a thorough investigation, and if they drew on magic, the truth would be known. He suspected that he would never be given the chance to make a break, if he were bound; Throe obviously know what he was doing.

But if he gave his word, he would not even try to escape.

He temporized. "How can you trust my word?"

"I can see that you have had training. You can see that I also have had it.

Where is martial art without honor?"

"Nowhere," Havoc replied. "But I will not swear."

"If I do not deliver you to the examination on schedule, I will be punished. Part of my punishment will be the requirement that I punish your village in such a way as to make it unlikely that it ever again opposes the king's

will. I do not wish to do that, but I will if so required. I would prefer that there be no question of your safe and timely delivery."

This was negotiation. Havoc was surprised that the man offered it, but was ready. "If you die before delivery, you will not have such a concern."

"But your village will. There will be no questions and no answers, merely obliteration. The villagers will survive, but they will be scattered across the

planet in separate slavery. The site will be resettled by others."

"Even without proof of complicity?"

"Especially without proof. The king does not like mysteries."

"So if outlaws attacked the coach, and killed all of you, and I alone escaped, I would still have to report to the examination and tell all I know, to

protect my village?"

"Yes. Only if your village were convincingly exonerated of complicity would it escape harsh measures."

It seemed tight. "Then it seems you do not need my word."

Throe smiled. "I would rather live than die, regardless of the fate of your village. I would rather relax than be on constant guard. You are too clever for comfort."

So he knew that Havoc's given word would be more binding than any 60 Key to Havoc

physical bonds they could apply without hurting him. That there were ways around almost any constraint, if a person searched hard enough. Also, Havoc had the odd impression that Throe liked him, and wanted to get along with him. Just as Havoc found himself liking this man, despite what he had done.

His mother had said to forgive. It seemed he would have to do that.

"I will trade my word."

Throe did not pretend any confusion; he knew what angered Havoc. "I apologize for what I did to your mother, and confess candidly that I do not necessarily like the way of the king. I did what I was required to do. She suffered five lashes. You may without consequence lash me similarly." He bent down and reached under the seat, bringing up a whip.

Such a statement was never rhetorical. Havoc could indeed lash the man five times, while the others watched, and suffer no retribution. The offer was as painful to make as the physical aspect would be, and sufficed as apology.

Havoc paused, then surrendered. "Accepted." That was it; by accepting the offer, he both waived the need for the physical part, and gave his word to make no effort to escape.

"We are about to enter a Red Chroma. We shall indulge our privacy first." Throe pushed open the door, and the coach stopped moving. He got out, and Havoc followed.

Now it was apparent that the three other men had been moving the coach. Two hauled on cords attached to the front, and the third pushed on a bar behind. It was well sprung, so that the bumps on the road had hardly been felt inside, and evidently moved well.

The four men walked into the brush in different directions. This was a dry region, with stunted vegetation that was easy to avoid; no special care was

required to protect the feet. Havoc hesitated, then realized that his freedom was now complete; they were not watching him at all. He spied a small cycad with clear access, so walked to it and urinated at its base. He liked cycads, and

did them favors when he conveniently could. Then he walked around it, paused out of sight of the coach, and resumed motion, returning. He was merely verifying that they trusted him.

"Do you prefer to haul or ride?" Throe inquired.

Surprised again, Havoc considered briefly. He had already ridden, but was accustomed to hard work. "To haul."

The swordman and the clubman climbed into the coach, while Throe and Havoc took their places at the front. The cords formed simple harnesses, so that the body rather than the arms did the pulling. They leaned forward and started walking. The coach moved with surprising ease; it was Piers Anthony 61

well oiled and balanced.

"You may find travel in a Chroma interesting," Throe said as they walked.

"Are you familiar with the Chroma?"

Havoc had agreed not to escape, but that did not require him to be candid about other matters. He preferred to play the ignorant country boy--

which he was, essentially. "In Trifle we don't know much about them, but I understand they are magic colors."

"Then let me give you a summary, so as to avoid confusion. The planet of Charm is entirely covered with volcanoes, each of which erupts its particular color, called Chroma. These are formally classified in ten variants, though actually there are more, and many shades and combinations. There are five types within each Chroma: air, earth, fire, water, and void, though the

Black Chroma is itself a void. In short, a remarkable variety whose full extent

may be known by no man. Each facilitates magic, which is operative only in its own color. That is, a person of Chroma Blue can not perform magic in Chroma Red. Is this clear so far?"

This paralleled what Mentor had taught Havoc and Gale, so was clearer than the man perhaps thought. But ignorance remained the best ploy, so he kept it simple. "I can't do magic at all. Will I be able to make magic in a Chroma?"

"A qualified no. You will not be able to perform magic directly, but you may be able to do it indirectly. That is, by using a magic object or invoking a

spell. None of us natural folk are magical. That is why we have to move the coach by hand."

"But Chroma folk could move it magically?"

"Yes. And they will do so, soon. But they can do so only within their Chroma. Beyond it, they are as magically helpless as we are."

"As I said, I have no experience with magic," Havoc said. "But if it is what I think it is, it is a way to do things other than by hand. How can nonmagical people control magical ones?"

"We can't, directly. But Chroma folk have villages too." Throe paused, letting the relevance sink in. Just as the king's men were getting Havoc's unwilling cooperation, they could get the cooperation of magical people.

Because every person had a village, with siblings and parents and friends who could be hurt. So if they used magic to fight back, they could be made to pay.

"Still, if they have powers the king's men don't--"

"Man to man, they do. But on a planetary scale, they don't. Because the king's men can go anywhere, retaining what abilities they have, while Chroma folk are effectively limited to their territories. That mobility is part of it.

62 Key to Havoc

There is more, but that should show the way of it. You may not have the strength of a large animal, yet you can control that creature by the use of your

intelligence. The principle is similar."

Havoc began to see it. Many plants had abilities he lacked, yet he could handle them because he was mobile and smart. "What else about the Chroma?"

He tried to make it sound as though his interest were moderate, but in fact he was fascinated; Mentor had not been able to give him the human perspective on this subject. Throe was emerging as a surprisingly informed person, rather than a king's thug.

"Though there is debate about whether the Chroma represent different types of magic, or merely different applications for similar magic, it is generally accepted that they do fall into a number of broad categories. The ten recognized Chroma are equivalent in power. One is White, which is otherwise known as Science."

"As what?"

"Science. It is that variety of magic concerned with sophisticated exten-sions of natural principles. It's hard to describe, but impressive when practiced by experienced Chroma Whites."

"Meaning I'll have to see it to believe it?"

"Yes. Another Chroma is Green, which relates to plants."

"But there are plants all around."

"True. But Chroma Green can do magic derived from plants, and affecting them, in ways that would not ordinarily be seen. Chroma Yellow is Fire. Again, there can be impressive effects; it is by no means as simple as making flame appear in air. Chroma Invisible is Air, which includes Illusion.

You might think that a magic with no substance would have no value, but this is not the case; it can be extraordinarily useful."

Havoc remembered the way Mentor had pointed out the seeming rock by the pond, which had turned out to be illusory. That had been useful to conceal an underground tunnel. Mentor had not gone into detail, but now Havoc's curiosity returned. What other ways did illusion function?

"I know I'm slow about this," Havoc said, continuing to play the ignorant barbarian. "But I don't see how illusion can be useful. When a girl has the illusion she's beautiful, but she isn't, everyone else knows."

Throe smiled. "With Chroma Air, she would be beautiful. The illusion would clothe her face and form, making her beauty apparent to everyone.

The most beautiful women of the planet are Air, when they choose to be."

That was an interesting qualification. "But the moment you touched her, you would know."

Piers Anthony 63

"Illusion can be of touch as well as sight."

"Oh." He was learning.

"There's something else about Air, but I will leave that to you to discover for yourself. I suspect you will find it amusing."

"Maybe." Havoc was not finding much about this forced trip amusing so far.

"Chroma Brown is Earth, with its special powers, such as conjuring and golems. Chroma Translucent is Water, with its liquid properties and its governance of rivers and lakes, as well as mind reading. Chroma Black is Void, including Death, but that is hardly the whole of it."

"It seems like enough."

"Chroma Red is Blood, or demonic, healing, ectoplasm--there are bewildering and devious aspects, as there are, really, in all Chroma when you study them. Chroma Silver is Electrical, again difficult to describe properly, but very versatile. And Chroma Blue relates to Animals."

"You're right: this is a lot to learn." But Havoc understood a fair amount, thanks to Mentor's grounding. He was filing it away in his eidetic memory, so that it would be available at need; he didn't have to understand the whole of it

at this time. It was clear that Throe was telling the truth, apart from the silence of the dragon seed, because it correlated with what Mentor had described, wherever it overlapped.

"Yes. It is general policy to keep the outlying villages ignorant about the full ramifications of magic. But I think you deserve to know at least the basics before you enter the examination."

The examination: that was another thing to learn more about. But first he wanted to get the rest of Chroma. "You said we are entering Chroma Red?"

"Yes, you can see the color starting." Indeed, the plants here were predominantly red, and so was the exposed dirt beneath them. Just as was the case at the village, where the land shaded into yellow, green, and red, depend-ing on the direction. "We'll turn directly into it just ahead."

So that aspect would take care of itself, soon. "This examination--"

"That I can't tell you about, specifically. There are many examinations, for many people. Anyone who wants to work for the king has to take them, and they determine what position he gets."

"I don't want to work for the king!"

"Some don't. But some are required, nevertheless. I think the king tries to select workers from a wide variety of regions and situations."

"Suppose I report there, but refuse to take the test?"

64 Key to Havoc

"I would not advise that."

"Then suppose I take it, but do poorly?"

"I would not advise that either."

"Then suppose I do well, but decline the position to which it leads?"

Throe glanced at him. "Havoc, you do not tell the king no. His word is absolute. You have a choice only if he gives you a choice. Your experience with this collection mission should suggest the way of it. Your best course is to take the exam, do your best, and then do your best in whatever position it leads to. The higher positions offer certain significant privileges. For example, administrators above a certain level are entitled to choose their own mates. If there is a girl you wish to marry--"

Throe had not seen Gale, but evidently knew about her. "Point made."

They made the turn, proceeding directly into Chroma Red. The color intensified, and swirls of red haze appeared. Chroma Red is Blood, or demonic, healing, ectoplasm--there are bewildering and devious aspects. That was what Throe

had said. Demonic? Could there really be demons? If so, were they the bits of haze? Havoc had not seen those before, but of course he had never before been this far into Red.

"One more thing," Throe murmured without looking at him. "Don't let a Red Spirit pass through your head, if you can avoid it; they can take your thoughts, or give you others. Don't be obvious, but keep your head clear."

Mentor had warned him similarly: that magic could sometimes read thoughts. In fact Mentor himself could read human minds. Many plants were also receptive to projected thoughts. Havoc had labored diligently to develop a thought shield or mask, and in due course had succeeded to the blue dragon's satisfaction. Now he started his mask song, playing it in his head so that it covered his mental secrets.

A red wisp floated toward Throe's head. Throe ducked, and it drifted past. Then it came toward Havoc. He moved his head out of the way, avoiding it. The thing did not seem to be able to maneuver well, so avoiding it was not hard to do.

"That's the thing," Throe said. "Usually they are just curious, but sometimes mischievous."

"What kind of mischief?"

"Such as triggering a paroxysm of nausea, an obscene vision, or planting a strong desire for sex with the nearest other male."

"Point made," Havoc said again.

Suddenly a red man appeared before them. He was completely red, including his skin, hair, and eye pupils, as well as all his clothing.

"Welcome,

Piers Anthony 65

king's coach," he said.

"Thanks, Redman," Throe said. "We shall appreciate your assistance in transporting us to the vicinity of Chroma Blue."

"Board your vehicle."

They let go of the harness cords, which drew elastically back into the coach, and went to the door. "Bowman, get on top," Throe said to the man behind. Then he and Havoc got inside, taking the two free seats.

Throe touched the side, and a panel slid back, revealing a window. He reached across to open another on the other side. Now they could see out.

Havoc looked out of his window. He saw the red trees with their red leaves, with red bugs in them. Everything was a shade of red, yet differenti-ated; Havoc was surprised by how clear the scenery was. It might be that the inhabitants of this region did not even notice the lack of color variety; monochrome was their natural habitat. There were even flowers with very pretty tints of red. Then those trees sank down, along with the ground. The coach was floating. It rose above the treetops, then sailed across the red land, gaining speed.

"Yes, this is magic," Throe said. "A fine way to travel."

Havoc was fascinated. This was flying--without wings! He felt no wrenching or gut twisting; it was as though the coach were floating on water, blown rapidly across the surface. He had never seen a pool of such size, though in the stories such bodies of water existed. Yet there was no water, just air.

Chroma Invisible is Air, which includes Illusion. Did that mean no flying? No, he could not be sure that flying through the air was not part of that magic.

Certainly this was impressive. He would have been twice as amazed, had Throe not prepared him somewhat. He had thought that travel always had to be by foot or on a wagon. How little he had known.

He saw that the window was a transparent pane, in a frame that could be pushed out on a hinge to let in air. He opened it, and smelled the freshness.

This region was red, but it was alive.

Peering down, he saw that the coach did not follow the contours of the land, but remained even. When the land dipped, the coach maintained its level. So there was not a somehow invisible giant supporting it as he ran along the ground. But neither was there any water filling in below. Somehow the magic supported it evenly throughout.

Then the coach slowed and descended. It came to rest near the edge of the red zone; Havoc saw blue in the distance ahead. So this was the transfer point.

66 Key to Havoc

They got out of the coach, and the bowman jumped down from the roof. "Thank you," Throe said to the red man. "We will move on now."

The red man nodded. "Parting," he said, and vanished.

"Where did he go?" Havoc asked, surprised. When the red man had appeared, he had assumed that he simply hadn't been watching as the man walked up, but this time there was no doubt: he had not walked away, but faded out.

"He conjured himself away," Throe explained. "After supervising our flight. We will have similar treatment in Chroma Blue. But we have to move ourselves there."

Havoc understood: the magic worked only within its color. That was its limit. But this seemed to be a broad expanse of red, much larger than the territory used by the village of Trifle. If all the people could fly like this, or

conjure like this, they surely had easy lives.

Still, it was confusing. "I thought you said that the Brown Chroma was for conjuring," he said. "So how can a Red Chroma man do it?"

Throe smiled. "It does seem inconsistent. The answer is that though each Chroma has its specialties, all of them can do several basic types of useful magic. That is, specialists can; only those who train for it in Chroma Red can conjure, while every child in Chroma Brown can conjure, and do it better. So we have to be on guard against mind reading in every Chroma, though that is a specialty of the Water Chroma. Your best basic rule is to be ready for any kind of magic in any Chroma, just in case."

Havoc nodded. "And maybe he didn't conjure himself away, but simply used a bit of cheap illusion to make it seem that way."

Throe was surprised. "You're right. Illusion is cheap magic, much easier for any Chroma to manage. So it could be. However, the really fancy illusion is done in Chroma Invisible; you have a treat coming, when you see that."

"Isn't one kind of illusion much like another?"

"By no means. Not any more than one kind of woman is just like another. Some are common; some are royal."

Havoc dropped the subject, but the subject of illusion was coming to intrigue him more. He had, he gathered, seen the common kind; what would the royal kind be like?

They resumed their hauling of the coach. Now it was clear why the coach was here: it gave them a "boat" on which to float. Otherwise, it would have been easier just to walk.

The red faded, becoming purple. The plants became stunted, not able to flourish without consistent magic. Then the purple merged into pale blue, Piers Anthony 67

and this intensified into full blue. The chromatic effect returned, only now all

the shades were blue rather than red.

A blue man appeared. "Welcome, king's coach."

"We are on our way to Triumph, Blueman," Throe said. "Please convey us to the rim of Chroma Brown."

"Are you in a hurry?"

Throe looked at him. "We have a schedule. Is there a problem?"

"The direct route passes over the volcano, and it shows hints of activity at the moment. We doubt that an eruption is imminent, but there could be awkward effects."

Throe considered. "Skirt the volcano, without passing directly over the cone. If there is any sign of eruption, move us out of the way."

"As you wish, king's man. Board your vessel."

They got on and in again, and the coach took off. Havoc saw no swirl of dust or leaves to indicate any down-draft of air; apparently it floated without

disturbing the environment. It rose to treetop height, then continued gaining at a shallow angle, because the ground was rising. They were approaching the blue volcano. Havoc was glad they would pass close, because he had never seen such a cone up close, and might never have the opportunity again.

He poked his head out the window and looked ahead. There was an enormous blue bird flying, with a harness connecting it to the coach. This was the Chroma specializing in animals, so that made sense.

The volcano was magnificent. It was a massive blue mountain with a hole in the top, from which wisps of blue vapor rose. The thing was somber, but awesome in its semblance of power. It was not just that it could blow them out of the sky with just a bit of its blue breath. There was an aura of force about it, a shimmering of the air, as if a mighty furnace were close below.

The dragon seed in his ear buzzed.

Havoc glanced at Throe--and saw that the man's hair and brows had turned blue. So had his fingernails, and an aura of blue fire played about the tips of his fingers. The same was true of the swordman and bowman, and surely of Havoc himself. "I think we're too close to the volcano," he said.

Throe had been looking out the other window, evidently as intrigued as Havoc was with the mighty cone. He glanced at the three others and reacted immediately. "Blueman!" he snapped. "Move us away."

There was no immediate response. The men's hair lifted and spread out wherever the helmets allowed. Havoc's own spread out in a crown of spikes, tingling. He tried to stroke it back down with his hand, and a blue spark 68 Key to Havoc

jumped.

"Now!" Throe shouted.

That evidently got someone's attention. The coach shifted direction, but not smoothly. There was a jerk, as of a harness snapping. Then it plunged.

Havoc felt himself rising out of his seat, weightless. "I think someone dropped

us," he said.

There was a scream from outside. That was surely the bowman, losing contact with the coach as it fell.

Havoc reacted instantly. He pushed the window farther open and jammed his head and arm out. He saw a flailing arm. He reached up and caught it as the man floated free of the coach. He hauled it in, getting a tight grip, suspecting what was coming.

It came: the coach abruptly ceased falling. Its float had been restored; the big bird must have looped back and caught it. But the bowman was no longer on it, and the flotation magic did not apply to him. His body plunged past the coach--and stopped, as Havoc's grip brought it short. The shock was considerable, but he had been braced for it. He hauled the man in, grap-pling him close to the coach, until the magic floated him too. Only then did Havoc relax.

"Put your arm in the window," he told the bowman. "Hold on until we land."

The man brought his other arm around and wedged it into the window as Havoc withdrew back inside the coach. Then he discovered what had prevented him from being yanked out of the window by the weight of the bowman's body: Throe had a bear-hug on his legs.

"Thought I was trying to escape?" he inquired.

"Thought you didn't want to suicide," Throe said, letting go.

Havoc had tried to anchor his legs inside the coach, but the whole window might well have torn out, pitching him after the bowman. Throe had made sure it didn't. "True."

The bowman, looking in, tried to flex his right arm, and winced. "I think you broke my arm," he said. "Thanks."

"This is not irony," Throe said. "You surely saved his life."

"And I don't even like him," Havoc said. For it had been the bowman who wielded the whip on Havoc's mother.

The bowman looked at him. "No one would have blamed you if you hadn't acted."

Havoc shrugged, not having a good retort.

But Throe did. "That was the arm that wielded the whip. Shall we call it Piers Anthony 69

even?"

Havoc hadn't thought of that. There was a certain fitness to it. "Yes."

"It's not even," the bowman said. "I would have died."

"Maybe the blue man's bird would have caught you before you hit the ground," Havoc said. He did not want this man's gratitude.

"I owe you anyway."

"With luck we'll never meet again, once I am delivered to the examination."

"But if we do, I owe you."

"As you wish." Havoc didn't care to argue the matter. He just wanted to be rid of it.

The coach drifted to the ground. The blue man appeared. "There was a flux that interfered with my control. I regret bobbling it for a moment."

"We were aware," Throe replied dryly.

They got out, and the bowman got in. His arm did not appear to be broken, but it had received a considerable wrench and was evidently painful.

"Here is a healing pad," the blue man said, presenting a blue cushion.

"Thanks." The bowman accepted it and put it against his shoulder. His pain-tight features relaxed. "That helps."

"It will not last long beyond Chroma Blue," the blue man warned. "If you wish to wait for a healer--"

"We have a schedule," Throe repeated.

Blueman nodded. "Parting."

"Acknowledged."

They took hold of the cords as the blue man went to his perched blue bird, climbed onto its back, and flew away. The two of them hauled from the front, and the clubman pushed from behind. The coach rolled forward along the trail.

Soon the blue became muddy. There was a section of what Havoc considered normal terrain; then it turned brown. They were entering Chroma Brown.

This time there was an enormous man: a giant golem, who picked up the coach and carefully carried it across the terrain. When it came to a sizable lake, it paused at the near shore, then suddenly was on the far shore. It had conjured them across. They had felt no jolt inside the coach.

Thereafter it became relatively routine. Each Chroma region had similar magic to make the coach move, but it could never go magically between Chroma. So the magic was varied, but also similar, in colored patches. The powers and limitations of Chroma were apparent.

70 Key to Havoc

Then they came again to Red.

"Did we get turned around?" Havoc asked.

"No. There are many volcanoes of each color. We are entering a second Chroma Red enclave."

Oh, of course. The volcanoes were scattered all across the globe, just as he could see they were on Planet Mystery. Two green volcanoes could be adjacent or far apart, or a small red area might be actually inside the circle of

a large white one. So it should have been no surprise that they would have to pass through more than one red region when on a long journey.

As the day waned, they approached the capital city of Triumph. Here there were no volcanoes; it was a "natural" area. Havoc understood that it was the largest and most stable such region on the planet; that was why the capital had been set here. If a volcano ever manifested nearby, the capital would be moved.

This meant a long haul for the coach. But now they had help. They stopped at a station where horses were kept, and the six legged animals were hitched to the coach. They hauled it rapidly along an increasingly competent road toward the city. Havoc and Throe rode inside, while the others rode more of the animals.

Triumph was big. Outlying fields were huge, and there were a number of satellite villages. There were many loaded wagons being drawn by horses.

The road divided, so that two lanes of traffic formed, one going, the other coming. Houses filled in along the sides, until the fields disappeared and there was nothing but houses.

"Welcome to the big city," Throe said. "We shall deliver you to the examination station, and then we shall see you no more. I wish to say that you have acquitted yourself with honor, and I hope that you do well in the examination. I am required to make a comprehensive report on the expedition, but it will not reflect adversely on you."

"You did what you had to do," Havoc said.

"Yes. And so will you."

"All I want to do is return to my village and marry the woman I love."

"That would be Gale."

Havoc was not easy with this. "You know of her?" For she had not been named before.

"I know what I need to ensure that I can deliver you on schedule. The king does not suffer excuses gladly."

So probably it would have been Gale they stripped and whipped, had they caught her, instead of Havoc's mother. "We are at truce, and I will not Piers Anthony 71

give you trouble. But I think I am free to speak. I realize you must obey the king's orders, but--"

"You are free to speak, but here there is no privacy."

Fair warning. "Others can hear us?"

"The king's servants can, if they wish. There is some private magic, enabled by special Chroma gems. They may also hear your unspoken thoughts; I am not certain what hidden magic there may be in this area. I mention this knowing that no man can stop himself from thinking, so I am not betraying my mission by advising you. Yet spoken thoughts affect others, and the king does not appreciate open rebuke."

This was more than fair warning: not only should Havoc keep his mouth shut about the king, he should not even think bad thoughts about him. So Throe had stopped him from possibly getting into unwitting trouble. And maybe he suspected that Havoc could mask his most private thoughts, and was warning him to do so. This could be construed as a significant favor.

Why was the man rendering it?

The answer seemed clear enough: loss of a man during the mission would have reflected ill on the leader. Havoc had prevented the bowman from falling to his likely death. Throe appreciated that, so was tacitly returning a favor.

Perhaps he was offering more.

As it happened, there was a favor Havoc wanted. "Do you also know what happens to a woman who loses her intended marriage partner?"

"All men and all women must marry before they turn eighteen," Throe said. "This is universal, by the king's decree. Should you not return to marry her before she turns eighteen, she will be required to marry another man, or be exiled from her village. But the requirement will the same wherever she goes. I understand that she is exceedingly comely."

Havoc ignored that understatement. "I am soon to turn eighteen. If I live, I will return to marry Gale. If I do not live, my wish would be that she be

informed, so that she can orient on another good man before he is taken elsewhere. This could make a fair difference to her life."

"It is more likely that you will live, but be assigned elsewhere, and be unable to return to her. In any event, she will surely be informed."

That was evidently as much of a commitment as the man could afford to make. It would do.

Havoc looked out the window. They were now riding along a ridge, with the land falling away on either side. The city was rising higher yet, with structures as tall as trees. Beyond them, now visible because of the fall of the terrain, were broad fields whose crops he recognized, as they were similar to 72 Key to Havoc

those of Trifle, but on a far grander scale.

"You may want to look ahead," Throe said. He touched the coach wall behind him, sliding aside another panel. Now there was a window overlook-ing the backs of the horses, with a view of the road they were traveling.

Havoc peered down it, and saw in the distance a pointing crag. "We're going to a mountain?"

"That is Triumph."

"Then what is this huge city around us?"

"The outlying service area. Triumph is the largest city on the planet, and its needs are formidable."

Havoc was frankly amazed. "You mean that all this is like a storage shed outside the village?"

"Even so."

"I really am a country boy," Havoc said. "Is there anything else I should know before we get there?"

"I think you already appreciate that though your village is in a non-Chroma region, and Triumph is in another, you will have trouble traveling between them afoot. It may be possible, but would surely take far more time than you can afford."

"So I will need help getting home."

"Yes. So it may be best to cooperate with the king's men, and satisfy them, so that they will facilitate your prompt return."

That seemed to be the case. "I will do so."

"Those who please the king are rewarded. The king is pleased by those who do well in the various examinations. I have no notion what kind of examination you will encounter, but the king seems to have gone to some trouble to bring you to it. This suggests it is not routine. I encourage you to

treat it as the most important event of your life."

Again, Havoc had the feeling that there was more here than was obvious. The dragon seed was silent, so what Throe was saying was true, if perhaps exaggerated. But it hardly seemed to need saying, unless this really was the most important event of his life.

"Could this be like facing a dragon alone?"

"This is likely to be more of a challenge than that."

"Then maybe I should prepare myself by resting."

"You will have an hour before arrival, and another before delivery time.

I will protect your repose."

"Thank you." Havoc relaxed, closed his eyes, and sank into sleep. It was an ability he had cultivated, for in the wilds sleep had to be taken where and Piers Anthony 73

when it was safe, and occasions could be limited. The discoveries of this day had been intellectually tiring.

He did not dream, for emergency sleep was too deep for that. It recharged him, restoring him physically and mentally. The trip itself had not been arduous, and the things he had learned now seemed interesting rather than baffling, with the exception of the reason for his summoning to the examination. He woke ready for whatever might come.

The coach was swaying with a different rhythm. He looked out, and saw water.

"I thought we were going to a mountain."

"Look ahead," Throe said.

There was the mountain, rising out of the lake: a monstrous triangle pointing into the sky. Its sides were smooth, of some polished metal. He had never seen anything like it.

"Where is the city? On the other side of the island mountain?"

"That is no island, or mountain. It is the city. It is a large hollow pyramid anchored to the floor of the lake so that it floats in one spot.

Technically

it is a tetrahedron, a four sided triangle, a very large houseboat or raft.

Easier

just to call it Triumph."

This was too much to assimilate, so Havoc just watched as the ferry boat moved onward. He saw horses on treadmills connected to huge circular paddles; these were what pushed the craft across the water.

They reached the sloping side of the metal mountain. A panel slid aside, and a ramp folded out. It splashed into the water and floated, its edges high enough to hold back the water. The ferry touched it, and men secured it by cables. Then the horses hauled the coach onto the ramp, and into the pyramid.

They followed a broad passage inside, and men drew the ramp up behind them and closed the panel. There were lamps set at intervals, so that it was not unduly dark. There were other passages intersecting. This was a huge complex.

They turned onto a side passage, and this one spiraled upward. The horses strained, drawing it up the steep slope. Havoc wasn't sure how high they went, but it did seem to be well above ordinary treetop level. Then they entered a broad avenue, and stopped.

"This is where we part company," Throe said. "Here is the door you must enter shortly. You must do so exactly when I tell you, and it will close after you. Thereafter you will be on your own. I suggest that you take nothing for granted, and trust no person completely. I do not know whether 74 Key to Havoc

honor exists there. I wish you well."

"Appreciation." Havoc considered, then offered his hand. This was a mark of respect, an invitation to extend their acquaintance amicably, should they ever meet again.

Throe took it. So the feeling was mutual. They could likely have been enemies, but this seemed better.

"One other thing," Throe said. "I forgot that you don't know. All examinees enter naked. No clothing, weapons, tools. Your things will be returned to you after the exam, if you need them."

Havoc shrugged and stepped out of his tunic and sandals. He put them on the ledge provided. Then he removed the belt-cord that supported his knife and bag of bread and nuts. He was not hungry anyway.

"Face the door," Throe said, glancing at the band on his left wrist. "Step through--now."

Havoc pushed open the door and stepped through. "Parting," he said over his shoulder. It was dark inside, but light from the hall showed a passage

leading on in. He walked down it, and the door closed behind him.

There was light ahead. He walked toward it, and the dragon seed did not buzz. He wondered whether it counted as clothing or weapon. It didn't matter; he had never removed it in the five years since Mentor had given it to him, and did not intend to now. It had become part of him.

He stepped out into a large chamber. Quick glances to left and right showed others emerging similarly, also naked. Judging from the curvature of the wall and the spacing of the entrances, there would be ten or twelve people entering. Now the reason for the exact timing was evident: they came together, so no one had an advantage. This must be a competitive examination.

The center of the chamber was open, with a number of islands of low counters. Each contained wares such as might be on display at a bazaar, attended by one man and one woman. The attendants were interesting: each was nonChroma, well formed without being outstanding, and wore skin-tight suits that concealed no significant aspect of their bodies. The suits were diagonally striped black, white, and gray, with the pattern continuing for their

caps and slippers. The people did not move about; they merely waited in place.

Havoc approached the closet counter. "A greeting," he said politely.

"Appreciation," the two attendants said almost together. But they did not volunteer anything farther.

He looked at the wares. They were edged weapons: swords, knives, daggers, straight, curved, twisted, long, short, large, small--every variety.

They

Piers Anthony 75

looked competent.

"May I check a weapon?" Havoc asked.

"You may," the two said, again almost together.

Havoc made a show of examining the weapons, though he had assessed them the moment he first saw them. He was actually watching the people at the other nearby counters, trying to get some clue what was expected or permissible. Was this to be a combat arena? But the other counters did not seem to have weapons. Some had clothing, and the other contestants were evidently most interested in getting clothed first.

He picked up a knife. It had nice heft, and was clearly well made. One side of the blade was straight and sharp; the other side was serrated--and sharp. The hilt was curved to protect the hand that wielded it. This was a deadly blade, particularly for one who knew how to use it, as he did.

But he was not eager to advertise his competence with such a weapon.

"May I take this knife?"

"You may," the two said.

"Is there a sheath for it?" he asked the woman. "A harness, so I can wear it without holding it?"

"Yes." She bent down to reach under the counter, her striped breasts accentuating. She brought out a belt and sheath and presented them to him.

"Thank you," he said, setting down the knife, taking the belt and sheath, and putting them on. Then he put the knife in.

"Will you answer a question?" he asked the woman.

She met his gaze. "Yes."

"What is the purpose of this setup?"

"This is an examination established by the king. I can say no more on that subject."

But he needed to know more, and the ready availability of deadly weapons made the matter potentially urgent. "What is your name?"

"I have no name, for this assignment. All of us in costume are interchangeable."

And therefore anonymous. He was not easy with that. "What is your purpose here?"

"My purpose is to serve the needs of any player who requires them."

That was too vague. He needed to know the limits of the service, and he did not want to waste time. "Suppose my need is sexual?"

She did not balk. "You may handle me and use me as you wish, provided you do not harm me. My costume is permeable."

The dragon seed did not buzz, indicating that this was true. He could 76 Key to Havoc

use her, without objection or danger. In some other circumstance that might have been tempting. But Havoc knew that danger could come from seeming innocence. "I think my next need is for clothing. Where can I obtain it?" He already knew, but preferred to mask his ready observation.

"I will show you." She walked around the counter and led the way around the edge of the chamber.

He followed, noting the play of her striped buttocks. Interesting indeed.

But any distraction could be dangerous.

She brought him to a counter bearing clothing. A woman was there, evidently another "player", for she was already wearing a green tunic. There were other tunics of many colors, with matching sandals and caps, but each was a single color, not striped. Havoc selected a blue outfit, remembering Mentor, the blue dragon. The woman from the knife counter helped him adjust it; her touch competent.

"I also need something to eat," he said to her. He was not yet hungry, but did not know how long this examination would endure, so was checking things early.

"I will show you." She walked again, bringing him to a counter stocked with breads, fruits, nuts, dried meats, and cheeses.

Havoc lifted a piece of cheese to his mouth. The dragon seed did not buzz. So the food was wholesome. But the mystery was growing. What was the point of all these gifts, and what was the nature of the examination?

Maybe some of the other players knew. He could tell from their mannerisms that they were not barbarian hicks like himself, but soft city folk.

All

of them were dressed now, but only a few were armed. Several had gathered around a nearby counter where beverages were served.

He could not figure this out on his own, and the striped servants would not tell. He would have to make the acquaintance of the other players and ascertain what they knew. So he walked across toward the beverage counter.

Then he paused, looking back. The woman from the blades counter was standing where he had left her, evidently unmotivated in the absence of any player directive. But she might still be useful. "Come here," he said.

She came to him and stopped, waiting for his next command. "What is the nature of these drinks?" he asked her.

"They are alcoholic. Beer, wine, mead, whiskey, liqueur--"

"Are there non alcoholic drinks?"

"Yes."

"Lead me to them."

She turned and showed him to another counter stocked with pitchers of Piers Anthony 77

water, milk, fruit juice, and vegetable juice, together with empty cups.

"Have some yourself."

She poured herself a cup of water and drank it.

"If I asked you to drink from the alcoholic counter, would you do so?"

"Yes."

"But I would not need to get you intoxicated to use you sexually, as you will do what I ask regardless."

"Yes."

He seemed to have learned about as much from this woman as was available. "Thank you. Return to your original station."

"Parting."

"Acknowledged."

She walked away, doing his bidding without question.

Havoc took a cup of blue fruit juice and sipped it carefully, watching the other players. They were already loosening up, with the help of the alcohol.

One man was stroking the body of a striped woman, and she was facilitating rather than resisting. One woman was putting one jeweled bracelet after another on her wrists, trying to acquire as much seeming wealth as she could carry. Another man was gorging on sweetbreads.

Then something changed. Havoc noticed it because he was watching for anything suspicious. The counters were slowly descending. The striped servants were cleaning them off, putting their wares out of sight--and disappearing behind the counters themselves.

Havoc walked to a counter and looked behind it. It had closed up, wares, personnel and all, and was sliding into the floor. At the same time, other structures were rising from the floor. They seemed to be small steps or platforms. What was going on?

The dragon seed buzzed. There was danger.

The other players became aware of the changes. They looked around, as baffled as Havoc. The scene was changing, but what did it mean?

The last of the counters disappeared into the floor, and it became level and tight, with hardly a crack showing where counter-top now was floor.

Some nice engineering there. The elevated platforms stabilized.

Then fluid slid across the floor, gushing from a vent across the chamber.

It coursed toward the players, foaming. The dragon seed buzzed again, more insistently.

Havoc leaped for the nearest platform, landing on it just before the fluid got there. There was just room for his two feet. He caught his balance and watched the others.

78 Key to Havoc

They were scrambling for the other platforms, thoroughly alarmed. They were fortunate: each was able to reach a platform and get on it before being overtaken by the fluid. Except for the man groping the striped woman. He was too busy to notice.

The fluid caught up to the two of them, surging around their feet. The woman did not react, but the man suddenly screamed. "My feet! My feet are burning up!" Indeed, something like smoke was rising from them.

The man screamed again, shoving the woman away. She caught her balance and stood in place, no expression on her face. Her costume seemed to protect her from the fluid. But the man was clearly in terrible pain. He charged to the outer wall of the chamber, to one of the entry passages. But the fluid was there too, and rising.

It was acid, and it was dissolving flesh. The man's screams were continuous as he struggled to get free of it. But there was no escape; all the platforms were taken, and in any event he wasn't paying attention to them.

He was just blindly running.

Until he stumbled and fell headlong into the liquid, which was now knee deep. His screams cut off as his face went under. He thrashed for a moment, then lay still as foam boiled up to engulf his body.

But Havoc was watching the striped woman, who was also trapped here.

Would her skintight suit protect her completely from dissolution? If so, a key to survival would be to get the clothes of a servant. No; she merely threw herself down into the acid and disappeared in the rising foam. There was no smoke, and she did not even scream.

Then the acid started to subside. It flowed away, carrying the froth with it. The floor reappeared. More fluid gushed from another pipe, but this seemed to be mere water, washing the floor clean.

The platforms quivered and descended. Havoc and the others jumped off. The siege was over.

There had been ten players. Now there were nine. Now they understood the nature of the examination. It was for survival.

The counters rose out of the floor. They opened, and the striped servants emerged. They set out their free wares. They acted as if nothing had happened.

Havoc considered. He thought he saw the pattern: ten players, nine platforms, no help from the servants. Next time there would be eight platforms, and another person would get dissolved in acid. So it would be smart to stay near a platform, and to guard it from others.

But everyone would have the same idea, and there would be a fight for Piers Anthony 79

the last one. The free availability of weapons ensured that the fight would become deadly. What did it matter whether one person dissolved in acid or died in combat? The others would survive.

Havoc was fairly sure he knew how to fight better than any of the others. None of them had the martial artist's ways about them. Still, he was not sanguine about his prospects. The moment he showed his capacity, the others would know, and gang up on him. He might have to kill several to escape.

But he did not want to do it. Human life was sacred, to be taken only for very special reason or dire necessity. Was there any other way?

He wasn't sure. The king had set up this terrible "examination" and surely had made it tight. It would proceed until a certain number of players had been eliminated. Those who remained would get good assignments, having demonstrated their fitness. Havoc objected to the criterion, but he was stuck with it.

Better to get an ally who might know more than he did. Then if that failed, he could still defend a platform. His greatest need at the moment was for information.

There might not be much time. He walked up to the closest other player, a man in a yellow tunic. "Greeting," he said.

"Get away from me!" the man snapped nervously, and the dragon seed buzzed. This was not a good prospect.

He approached another, a lovely young woman in a red tunic. "Greeting."

She frosted him with a glance. "Go after a striper," she said. "I am not for touching."

He tried another man, with no better success. These people were frightened and isolated, and did not care what he had in mind. There was no point in trying to persuade them; he needed someone with an open mind and reasonable perspective.

He approached an older woman. She looked to be about forty, thin and wan in a gray tunic, and was somewhat reticent. She eyed him nervously, but held her ground.

"Greeting," he said formally.

"You're a barbarian!" But the dragon seed did not buzz.

"I am from a far village, yes. I do not know the ways of the big city. Or of magic."

"I am afraid of you."

"I mean you no harm. I need someone to tell me the ways of the city."

"What will it matter, if you die in acid?"

80 Key to Havoc

"I do not mean to die here."

"Exactly! You're a barbarian, good with weapons. I will be easy to dispatch, and you will survive. I just am surprised you are so open about it."

There was a certain logic to her fear. The dragon seed remained silent.

This was not a perfect indicator, but it suggested that he could trust her. "I will not dispatch you, or hurt you. I want your help. How can I convince you?"

She considered. "You barbarians value your given word, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then make me an oath of friendship. I will believe that."

That was a serious matter. But still the dragon seed did not buzz.

"I do not know you. I have made the oath of friendship only twice, and one of those I mean to marry."

"Precisely. I am nothing to you, and next time the acid flows, you can throw me in it. I don't trust any of the other players, and you least of all."

She started edging away from him.

The dragon seed buzzed. There was evidently danger in letting this woman go.

"I'll make the oath!" Havoc said quickly.

She paused. "Maybe it doesn't count, when it's under duress."

"I would not give it under duress."

She emulated laughter. "Circumstances can be duress. This exam is duress."

She was right. He had oathed Mentor under duress, too: that of their dire mutual need to trust each other. This seemed similar. "Yes. I think I need your help, and you may need mine, if either of us is to survive this examination. Do you understand the significance of the oath?"

"Oh, yes, barbarian. I can cite historical examples. Give me your oath, and I will trust you absolutely."

"Then give me yours."

She smiled, briefly. "Don't test me, barbarian. Such oaths are not one sided. They are like love: they are mutual."

"Love isn't necessarily mutual."

"But friendship is."

She did know. He had to act, for the next surge of acid could come at any time. "Then we must know each other's names. I am Havoc, a man of Village Trifle."

"I am Ennui, a woman of Capital City Triumph."

"I am called a martial artist."

Piers Anthony 81

"I am called a clerical researcher."

"I proffer to you my Oath of Friendship."

"By this token, I accept it." She extended her right hand.

He reached out and took it, squeezing it briefly. "We are friends."

"Well, enchant me into a mouse," she said. "I didn't think you'd do it."

"We must get better acquainted," he said. "But I think we have little time. Say my name."

"Say mine." She must have researched barbarian ways.

"Ennui."

"Havoc."

"Now you need have no fear of me, Ennui."

She smiled. "Suddenly I am getting to like you, Havoc."

"First we must reserve two pedestals. Take this knife." He reached under his tunic to bring out the knife.

"I can't use one of this things," she protested. "I'm a clerk."

"Then hold it for me." He thrust the hilt into her hand, and ran toward the weapons counter to get another.

But he was already too late. The counters had closed up, the servants were gone, and the pedestals were rising.

He turned back. There were three pedestals close by. "Get on this one,"

Havoc said, pointing.

She obeyed. He stood between it and another.

A man ran toward the one Havoc wanted. "That one is mine," Havoc called.

"That's what you think," the man said, waving a sword.

Havoc turned to Ennui, lifting his hand. She understood, and threw the knife to him, underhanded. It turned end over end, but he caught it neatly and whirled back to face the man, who was almost to the pedestal.

"Get on that, and I will put this blade into your face," Havoc called, cocking his arm. This was a partial bluff, as this was not a throwing blade, but

he could hurl it accurately enough if he had to.

The man hesitated, then dashed for the third pedestal, which was free.

No one else was close. Havoc strode to his pedestal and stepped onto it.

The acid surged onto the floor. There was a commotion across the room as two men fought for a single pedestal; one shoved the other away and jumped on, but the other returned to tackle him and hurl him sliding into the acid. He screamed as the vapor puffed up around him, and then was silent.

Now there were eight, standing on their pedestals. Five men and three women. Howmanymorewouldbeeliminatedbeforetheexaminationwas done?

82 Key to Havoc

As the acid cleared, Havoc jumped down and ran to the clothing counter.

He swept up a green cloak and ran back to Ennui. "Take this," he said. "Next time, if someone comes at you with a weapon, throw it at his head."

"Good idea," she agreed. "This I can do." She stepped away from the vanished pedestal.

"Now we must talk. I am new here, and have no idea what this examination is for. Do you know?"

"No. But I can guess. Most of the supervisory positions are determined by competitive examinations. These can be verbal, written, or active.

But I have never heard of one like this. People are not supposed to kill each other. The very idea is frightening."

"This was my impression. Could this be punishment for some crime?"

"I committed no crime. Did you?"

"I don't think so."

"So let's assume that it's not punishment, but an elimination for some position. What kind of position would require access to free clothing, food, sex, and weapons, and at the same time be deadly dangerous?"

"Leadership," he said.

"High leadership," she agreed. "I surmise the king needs someone for a special mission of great responsibility and danger and autonomy, that requires apt judgment and the ability to act ruthlessly on short notice."

Havoc nodded. "You have made sense of it for me."

"Have I? Then how does it explain me? I have the courage of a chicken, the muscle of a baby, and I may be about to faint from stress."

Judging from the way the others were reacting, they were hardly better qualified. Havoc had been assessing them peripherally, and could see that none of the men were either leaders or warriors. "Could the selection of candidates be random?"

Ennui smiled. "And that makes sense of it for me. Yes, that seems likely. Some functionary could have thrown darts at a listing of all the people

of Charm, and sent out summonses for those ten, whoever they were. But this process hardly seems likely to produce the best person for an important mission."

"Maybe they don't know what's best."

"So they let chance and combat and luck decide it," she agreed. "Maybe it's a mission to a region that's largely unknown or repulsive, so regular criteria

of leadership don't apply."

"This seems apt. I did not even know the king knew my name. Suddenly this morning the king's men came for me. How did you get here?"

Piers Anthony 83

"I am a research clerk, as I said. I was hopelessly bored with my job, and at age forty, with my four children grown and my husband dead, I did not want to remarry and go through it all again, even without more children. I crave at least a little novelty in my dull life. So I petitioned for release from

job and marriage, thinking I might be sent to teach history to distant barbarian children or something like that. I thought they were granting me a qualifying exam for such a position. Instead--I am here, in peril of my inadequate life."

The tables descended, and the pedestals rose. "Stand on this one," Havoc said. "I will guard you until you are safe."

"Thank you." She stepped on it and rode it to its level.

A man charged toward it. "Out of my way, bitch," he cried.

Havoc intercepted the man with a body check, sending him sprawling.

But the man was still too close, so Havoc remained near. "Find another pedestal," he said. He saw that no one had tried to take the one he was saving for himself.

The man got to his feet, saw the acid sliding toward them, and lumbered for another pedestal, though it was occupied. Now Havoc leaped for his own. As he reached it, he saw the man charge at the one who already stood on it. The other whipped out a long knife, swung clumsily at him, lost his balance, and fell off the pedestal. The man below grabbed on to him as the acid arrived. The two rolled together into it, and screamed together as it foamed up around them. The pedestal remained unoccupied.

Six left. Would the next siege be a reprieve, with pedestals for all? Havoc didn't count on it.

As the acid receded, he jumped down and rejoined Ennui. "I've been thinking," she said. "The way that serving girl dived into the acid. She never screamed."

"She did disappear."

"It doesn't make much sense that they would kill so many, so randomly.

Human beings are too valuable, and there's no justice in dying here. And what I know of acid--it shouldn't completely dissolve a body that fast."

Havoc remembered how some plants dissolved their kills. It took hours or days. "Yes. What does it mean?"

"It may mean that this carnage is more apparent than real. That the losers are losing, but not dying. That acid may hurt and foam, but not be lethal."

"Then we have less reason to fight through at any cost."

"Unless they want a winner who understands this, yet fights on anyway."

84 Key to Havoc

"It does seem better to win than to lose."

The lovely woman in red approached Havoc. "Reconsidering: a greeting."

Havoc didn't need the buzz of the dragon seed in his ear to distrust this.

"You are now for touching?"

"If you wish." She opened her tunic to reveal her fine breasts. "But do it quickly, before the next surge of acid."

"I have already made a liaison."

"With a woman old enough to be your mother?" Her contempt was evident.

"Yes."

She frowned. "What, then, is your price for assistance?"

"None. Go deal with another man."

She realized it was futile. "We do pay for our mistakes," she remarked as she turned away.

"You could have had her," Ennui said. "She's beautiful."

"You were not concerned?"

"We exchanged an oath. It wasn't for sex."

"It was for trust. She is not to be trusted."

"None of them are, in this situation. But a healthy young man like you could have enjoyed her without trusting her. And what do the two of us do, when one of us must lose?"

"I don't know." That did bother him. He was supposed to try his utmost to win, but he had made an oath of friendship with her, and would not break it.

"I think it will not be a problem."

He did not know what she meant by that, but had no time to ponder, for the next siege was upon them. He guarded her on her pedestal, and watched his own pedestal. Only five came up; the management had taken note of the extra elimination. Again, two men fought over one pedestal; this time one prevailed. But the other splashed through the acid and leaped for the pedestal occupied by the woman in green. She screamed as he shoved her off, but could not hold her place. Five survivors: Havoc, Ennui, the red woman, the man with the sword, and one other man with blistered feet.

When the acid receded, Havoc tried another ploy. "If we cooperate, we may be able to break out of here," he called. "We can take swords and cut open a door."

"You cooperate," one of the men said. "I'm sticking to my pedestal."

Havoc looked at the other. "You?"

"If we got out, where would we go? You don't beat an examination by Piers Anthony 85

leaving it."

And the women would not be up to the effort. So it was useless.

"If you two men go after the barbarian, you can eliminate him," the woman in red said. "Then the woman in gray would be easy to eliminate.

That will save two of us."

"You bitch!" Ennui exclaimed.

"But she makes sense," man with the sword said. "Otherwise the barbarian is the likely winner."

"Yes." The other man ran limpingly for the weapons table and picked up a barbed spear. Then both turned on Havoc.

"I can take you both together," Havoc said warningly, showing his knife.

"With that little knife?" the swordman asked. "I think not."

"I would rather cooperate in escaping," Havoc said.

The swordman charged him from one side, and the spearman from the other. Ennui screamed.

Havoc leaped toward the spearman, ducked under the spear, caught the man by the elbow, and guided him into the path of the swordman. The two collided, their weapons flying out and clattering across the floor. Cursing, they struggled with each other, trying to extricate themselves. Havoc gave them no reprieve; he jumped to them and knocked each on the head with the hilt of his knife. They lay still.

"I knew you could do it," the woman in red said. "Now we are three."

The room was changing. Havoc went to his pedestal as the two women mounted theirs. By the time the two men recovered consciousness, the acid was upon them.

"That doesn't seem to leave you in a very good position," Ennui said.

"It eliminated two, either way."

"I wonder who is next."

The woman doffed her tunic and threw it in the acid. It bubbled into froth. "I wonder." She stood there in full nudity, perfectly formed.

"Who are you?" Havoc asked, interested in the view. "What brought you here?"

"My name is Futility, of this city. I am a dancer. But I got tired of catering to lustful males, and asked for the most challenging examination available. This one is somewhat more than I bargained on, but I'm giving it my best effort."

That was apparent. She had shown her complete lack of heart. In the stories troubadours told, such women were called ice maidens. They were inevitably highly desirable and dangerous.

86 Key to Havoc

"Your name may signal your fate," Ennui said.

"Perhaps." Futility caused her torso to ripple suggestively. She was good at body motions, unsurprisingly.

"I can't compete with that," Ennui said.

"You don't have to," Havoc said.

"And who are you?" Futility asked.

"I am Havoc of Village Trifle."

"I am Ennui, of Triumph."

"Let's rehearse the next siege," Futility said. She shook out her hair so that it fell in lustrous red hanks to her back. "When it comes, you, Ennui, will

mount your pedestal. I will go to displace you there. Havoc will come to stop me from doing that. Then his body and mine will be in close contact. Do you think he will throw me away? Or will he throw you away?"

"That will be for him to decide, won't it?" Ennui looked at Havoc as the acid receded. "You had better take her now, because there won't be time when the next siege commences. I'm sure she'll let you."

"Of course I will," Futility agreed.

Havoc remained wary, for more than one reason. "I have a fiancée."

"But she's not here, is she?" Futility asked rhetorically. "Either you will survive this examination or you won't. If you don't survive, whatever you do here becomes irrelevant, and you might as well get what you can. If you do survive, you can have a significant memory. I am not making any demand for commitment, merely offering you an inducement."

"She's making sense," Ennui said. "I have seen a good many women in my time, and she is the best formed. You can have her, then make your decision when the siege comes."

"She's just trying to make me desire her, so I won't bar her from a pedestal."

"Of course," Futility agreed. "Is it working?"

"Desire, yes. Pedestal, no."

"Then I suggest that you accede to the first, and see how you feel about the second thereafter. Possibly this examination requires two winners, so that the second case will become academic."

"No."

The floor cleared, and the pedestals descended. Futility walked toward him, with her dancer's grace and allure. The dragon seed buzzed.

"I have no use for you," Havoc said. "Stay away from me."

But she kept coming. "You must deal with me one way or another. I want a pedestal. You can give me that. You must accept me, or reject me."

"I reject you."

Piers Anthony 87

Now the servants, male and female, were back, and watching the proceedings.

"You must touch me."

"No."

"Then I will touch your friend." Futility whirled and ran toward Ennui.

Havoc launched himself after her. He caught her by the waist and lifted her away from Ennui. Futility was marvelously lithe. "Stay away from her."

He knew that Ennui would be no physical match for this healthy, unscrupulous creature.

"I told you you would touch me," Futility said, rolling smoothly close.

The dragon seed buzzed again. Oh, yes, she was dangerous.

He tried to push her away, but she slipped free of his grasp and pressed herself against him. Her breasts slid across his chest and her thighs nudged the nether folds of his tunic.

Then his hands got firm holds on her hips. He lifted her and flung her outward. She landed gracefully on her feet, turning in place, as if this had been a dancing maneuver. "But can you do that again, when the acid comes?"

she asked over her shoulder.

"Yes." But she was making more an impression on him than he cared to admit.

"We shall see." She walked away.

Havoc went to Ennui. "Do not let her get close to you. She's strong and trained and without conscience."

"I can see that." She smiled. "I am glad we share that oath, though that will end soon enough. I know you will not act against my interest. That's why I tease you about her."

"You seem to understand the ways of women with men. Why don't you want to remarry? No woman is allowed to be single long, even after four children."

"I have been there and done that. I think I am, may be, possibly--" She looked down at the floor. "That woman--I think her body interests me as much as it does you, though in a different way."

Havoc's jaw dropped. "You like women? I thought that sort of thing was a myth."

"Like them? Not really. I know too much about them. But their bodies do appeal to me. In the sense that I envy them. Even in the flush of my youth, I was never like that woman."

"Oh. The way I envy a man who is better with a weapon than I am."

Actually it had been a year since he had encountered any such, because he had 88 Key to Havoc

made it a point to learn from the best.

She smiled, somewhat wanly. "That may be a good analogy. Obviously my equipment worked sufficiently well. But somehow I wish I could have dazzled men the way she can. I feel I have missed out on some good experience, and I don't care for any more of the indifferent experience."

"This is not something I am familiar with. But if you are suggesting that I sacrifice you in order to have Futility, I will not."

"Perhaps I was. But I want you to understand that I don't begrudge you what sexual opportunities you may have. I really am, in this respect, a friend.

I don't want to participate, but neither do I object."

He lanced sidelong at her. "This hardly seems reason to throw your life away on a gamble like this examination."

"You are young and robust and bold, with plenty of future to look forward to. I am none of these things. I know that my attitude toward life and family is not socially acceptable. My name is not facetious; I never felt very excited about life, and I am weary of it now. Perhaps it is simply depression."

"Depression? What makes you sad?"

"Nothing. It is merely my nature."

"This is beyond my experience."

"Naturally. Depression is socially forbidden. It is not allowed to manifest in the outlying villages. Or, really, in the big cities. Not openly. But I am

sure I am not the only one. I tell you this because I don't expect to live very

much longer, or if I do, it won't be in your company. I want you to know my secret, just because-" She shrugged. "Just because."

"I will keep it," he said, shaken. It had never occurred to him that any person could be tired of life. "It does not affect our oath."

"Thank you. But when I lose my existence, at least you will know it is not a great loss. This brief experience with you has been perhaps the most interesting of my life, and I thank you for that."

The room began to change. The next siege was upon them. "Get to your pedestal," he said.

Ennui went. Futility strode toward it also. Havoc ran to intercept her. It was proceeding exactly as rehearsed, for there were only two pedestals rising.

Someone had to be denied, and it had to be Futility. But he dreaded touching her again.

And he wondered: was she another secretly depressed woman? Her name suggested it, as did her presence here. If so, she was more like Ennui than she seemed.

Ennui stepped onto the pedestal. Futility charged her. Havoc plunged Piers Anthony 89

between them, catching the woman about the waist and whirling her around, so as to hurl her away.

But again she negated that. She was no martial artist, but she was physically proficient, and had moves that surprised him. She slid inside his grasp, turning under his hands. Suddenly she was up against him, inside his opening tunic, her smooth breasts pressing in, her mouth jammed against his, kissing him savagely.

He had to get rid of her. The acid was flowing toward them. But she was wrapped around him, her arms and legs embracing his torso under his tunic. Feelings cascaded through his awareness: she was infernally appealing, and sexually provocative, and he did desire her despite his loyalty to Gale and

his knowledge that there was no sincerity in this seduction. He realized that she was not biting him, though that would have been easy to do; she was fully kissing him. Surely to distract him--but from what?

He staggered toward his pedestal as the acid washed toward his feet, carrying Futility. He was trying to pull her off him, but she was locked on.

He could not get enough leverage to pull her off, and he had no time to waste.

No time at all: he felt the acid touching his slippers, and felt the heat as they

burned.

Then he had an idea. He stopped trying to get hold of Futility, and tickled her instead, right on the ribs under the armpits. Tickle without Peek.

Caught by surprise, she screamed and released him, dropping to the floor.

Smoke boiled up from her slippers.

"You turd!" she hissed, her hands going to her head. The dragon seed buzzed.

Havoc caught her right arm as it sprang out from her head. She had a stiletto. Now the precise nature of her treachery was revealed. She must have concealed it in her hair, saving it for her key opportunity. For a man distracted by her seeming passion, or perhaps actually engaged in sex with her.

But for the dragon seed, that could have been him.

He twisted her arm, forcing her to turn in place and drop to the floor as he leaped to the pedestal. Had the tickle really stunned her, or was her reaction merely to provide a pretext for moving her hands to her head? Did it matter? The acid caught her hands and knees and splashed up against her body and face. She screamed again, this time in pain. She tried to get to her feet, but the acid seemed to have gotten into her eyes, disorienting her, and she staggered away from the pedestal. She fell, in deeper acid, and a cloud of vapor rose up around her. She thrashed desperately, splashing more before she fell flat. In moments she was gone.

90 Key to Havoc

Havoc stood on the pedestal, shaking. He had never actually killed a person before this day, and never fought a woman until this moment. The fact that she had been beautiful made it that much worse.

"You had to do it, Havoc," Ennui called. "She tried to stab you, so she could take your pedestal. Then she could have dispatched me readily enough during the next siege."

It was true. Futility had been much of what a man desired, but as dangerous as a poisonous spider. If she had won the contest that was this brutal examination, and gained the choice position awaiting the winner, what fate would have awaited others who had to work with her? It was best that she be eliminated.

But as the acid retreated, Havoc remembered that the examination was not yet over. Next time the choice would be between him and one with whom he shared an oath of friendship. He would not fight Ennui for that final pedestal.

"Now we are two," Ennui said sadly. "Soon to be one. I thank you, Havoc, for the brief friendship we have had; I think it is a fitting climax to an

otherwise dull life. The finale is yours; I give it to you gladly."

"I can't just let you die," he protested.

"I ask of you just one favor," she continued inexorably. "Render me unconscious, so that I will not suffer the agony of the acid. Give me a kind demise."

"No!"

"This is beyond choice, Havoc. You are fit to live and thrive; I am not.

We both know that. But I am weak in courage as well as in body. Please--

take me in your arms, embrace me as if I am your mother, and press a nerve to stun me--I'm sure you know how--and lay me down neatly for the end.

This is as lovely a death as I can imagine in the circumstance."

"I can't do that." He stepped toward her.

She shied away. "Then I must avoid you. Stay near the pedestal, Havoc, so that you can reach it in time. I will not go near it."

He knew she meant it. The striped servants had reappeared, with their counters. He ignored them and charged Ennui. She tried to avoid him, but her bodily agility was only a shadow of his. He caught her and held her close.

"No."

She did not resist, physically. "Please, Havoc," she repeated. "I would have no use for victory, and my ineptitude might bring mischief to many.

You must take it."

"Not this way." Yet what she said was true: there would be only one Piers Anthony 91

pedestal, and he surely had better use for the future than she did.

"You are being unreasonable, and that does not become a leader. Touch me or let me go. I am at your mercy in this respect, but I will not take that pedestal. This is one thing you can not make me do, I think."

There had to be another way. Havoc stood, still gently embracing her while the servants watched without reaction. He could neither sacrifice her nor give her victory. What else was there?

How different it had just been with Futility, when he had to cast her away. She had clung to him almost until the end. Ennui was asking him to put her down, and he couldn't.

The room started changing. The sieges were coming faster than before.

He had to act--and there was no act he was willing to take. He could not accept the rules of this engagement.

Then suddenly it came to him: change the rules! Mentor had taught him that. Never passively accept a situation just because it was given; always look

for the key change that makes it better. Sometimes the mere act of interpretation changed it entirely.

"Do not oppose me," he told Ennui as the acid slid across the floor toward them.

"Never," she agreed. "Act now, please." She closed her eyes.

He put his left arm down and caught her behind the knees. He picked her up and charged toward the lone pedestal. He stepped on it and caught his balance.

"Havoc--" Ennui said, surprised as her eyes popped open.

"I am taking you with me," he said. "Don't unbalance me, or we both will lose."

She stared at him. "Oh, barbarian, I hope you have not thrown yourself away. This can't be legitimate."

"This is both of us in victory. This rule was mine to make, and I made it. I will not let an oath friend go."

She shrugged, not protesting further. The acid surged around the pedestal, surrounding them. They were alone in that awful sea. "Oh, Havoc,"

Ennui murmured. "This, too, is marvelous experience."

The acid receded. The floor cleared. But this time the counters and servants did not come up. Instead a far door opened and a richly garbed man entered, carrying an ornate chest.

Havoc set Ennui down and checked for his knife. "Stay behind me," he murmured.

"Havoc, the exam is over. You have won. No one will attack you now."

92 Key to Havoc

She knew more of these things than he did. "Then what is the business of that man with the box?"

"I don't know what he's carrying, but that looks like the king's herald. I can tell by his uniform. He must have news of your assignment."

The herald came to stand before them. "Havoc of Trifle, you have passed the qualifying examination and have thereby won the position which it marks. I bring you the mark of your office. I may not touch it; you will have to take it yourself." He stood expectantly.

"What is it?" Havoc asked, mistrusting this though the dragon seed did not buzz.

"Havoc, just open the chest and take it," Ennui murmured. "It must be the emblem of your new assignment. The king's herald would not deceive you; he speaks for the king, publishing the king's will. This must be very important."

"I haven't accepted any new assignment. I just want to go home and marry Gale."

The herald stood unmoving, holding the chest.

"Havoc, you can't turn down the king's assignment. And maybe it doesn't conflict with your return home. Open the chest."

He knew her advice was good. He stepped forward and put his hands on the decorated lid of the chest. He lifted the simple latch, then raised the lid.

Inside was a massive gold crown with ten spikes, each a different color.

The thing was beautiful and daunting, surely worth a fortune. Ennui made a little shriek of amazement.

He glanced at her. "What is this?"

"Havoc, that's the king's crown! There's no other artifact like it."

He realized it was true; he had seen that crown modeled on the uniforms of the king's men. "Then why isn't the king wearing it?"

"King Deal died yesterday morning," the herald said. "You are the new king. All power to you, King Havoc. If you please, take and wear your crown."

Havoc stepped back. "Is this a joke?"

"It can't be," Ennui said. "The king's herald speaks for the king. Havoc--

you are the new king!" She seemed about to faint.

Havoc laughed. "It is a joke. I hate the king. Certainly I don't want to be the king."

The herald was unmoved. "King Havoc, if you please, take up your crown. You will need no other identification."

"Get out of here with that thing! If it's fake, I'm not laughing. If it's Piers Anthony 93

real, I'm not taking it."

"Havoc, you can't decline," Ennui said, sounding frightened. "They'll kill you."

"Let them try. I'm getting out of here." Havoc dodged around the herald and headed for the open door.

The door closed. The circular wall rose. Behind it stood an array of military archers, their bows drawn, aiming at Havoc.

He paused. One well aimed arrow he might dodge or block, or even two. But there were about fifty archers, completely circling him. If any missed,

their arrows would fly across the room to strike those on the opposite side.

But they wouldn't all miss. In fact, if they were competent--and they surely were--none would miss. Escape was hopeless.

"Havoc--King Havoc--please," Ennui said, in tears. "You must do this. Believe me."

He turned and walked slowly back to her. He took her in his arms, comforting her. "You I believe. You say I have no way out of this short of death?"

"No way," she agreed. "That's the king's law. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone but this barbarian," he said ruefully. "Stay with me, Ennui; I need you. I don't know anything about the king or this city."

"Anything you wish, of course, Sire."

"What?"

She seemed embarrassed. "Sire. That's what we call the king in person.

Please, just take the crown, and I will tell you more in private. If you wish, Sire."

Reluctantly, he believed. He had won the crown of Charm. He would have to take it, and then find out how to get rid of it.

He faced the herald. He put his hands inside the chest and took hold of the crown. He lifted it out. And stood there, holding it.

"Put it on," Ennui whispered. "Please, Sire."

Havoc raised the crown over his head, lowered it, and set it on. It was heavy in his hands, but surprisingly light on his head, fitting snugly. It seemed

to become part of him. There was an aura about it, and that aura extended through and around Havoc. He felt abruptly charged. That in turn made him nervous. This crown was distorting his judgment. "Is this magical?" he asked.

"Yes, Sire," she said. "It protects you from all threats."

"Then why is the former king dead?"

"Sire, I don't know."

Havoc turned to the herald. "I have put it on. Are you satisfied?"

94 Key to Havoc

"Yes, Sire. Do you wish me to die?"

"What?"

"Sire, these men and I threatened you. Our lives are forfeit at your will, unless you forgive us this necessary trespass."

The archers had lowered their bows. Now they kneeled on the floor, their heads bowed.

His mother had told him to forgive the king's men. It had paid him to do so. He looked at Ennui. She nodded.

"I forgive you," Havoc said curtly. "All of you. Now get the hell out of here. Except you, herald. What am I supposed to do next?"

"The king would normally be expected to repair to the royal suite at this time. However, Sire, neither I nor any other person would presume to tell you what to do at any time. We exist only to serve your will."

Havoc was feeling increasingly uncertain, despite the effect of the crown.

This was too much of a change. Instead of fighting for his life, he was in command of the lives of others? He needed to be alone for a while, to get himself settled and decide where to go from here.

"Herald, you know I am new at this. I need time to organize. I don't even know where the royal suite is. Can you get me there without meeting any other people?"

"Certainly, Sire, if you authorize me to clear the way. You do not wish an honor guard?"

"I just want you and me and this woman to get there alone, as quickly as possible."

"Then, at your implied behest, Sire, I will clear the route and return shortly. If it pleases you to wait here--"

"Yes! Go do it."

Still the man hesitated. "It may be considered offensive to turn one's back on the king."

"Turn your back!"

The herald turned, still carrying the chest, and walked quickly out of the chamber.

Havoc turned to Ennui. "This is confusing me no end. Maybe you had better give the routine directives until we get there, so I don't look any stupider."

"Yes, of course, Sire." She was pale, and looked unsteady.

"Are you all right?"

"This--is too much change for me, too fast. I'm not used to it. I almost passed out before, but necessity kept me going. Now--I'm sorry, Hav--

Piers Anthony 95

Sire." She collapsed.

He leaped to catch her before she hit the floor. He got his arms around and under her, and picked her up, as he had before. He had been looking to her for help, but now he would have to handle it himself.

He stood in the center of the room, holding the unconscious woman, waiting for the return of the herald. It did not seem like an auspicious beginning for the reign of King Havoc.

96 Key to Havoc