Robot Adept

“There be other players,” Translucent said. “And ye be committed to a variant. Mayhap there be other experts in that variant. Some among our forces.”

Mach brightened. “I can make a spell to locate the finest available player of Pole Chess.”

He did so. In a moment he ascertained that the Silver Elves dominated this variant also, but that there was one outstanding player among the snow demons. His name was Icebeard, and he was a chief of a White Mountain clan. He seldom played in tournaments, because he could not tolerate any warm location, so his skill relative to that of the Silver Elves was not known, but it was suspected that it was equivalent.

“I will go see Icebeard,” Mach said.

“But the demons eat normal folk,” Fleta protested.

“I can protect myself, now,” Mach reminded her. “And you, if you want to come.”

“Methinks I had better,” she said. “They may be thine allies now, but an thou sleep, it be best to have a guard.”

Translucent nodded. “I will acquaint him with thy situation. But trust him not behind thy back. Our alliance be jury-built. Conjure thyself to the base of the mountain range, then climb them afoot, that they may recognize thee.”

Mach conjured himself and Fleta to the base of the White Mountain range. The White Mountains were as massive as the Purple Mountains of the south, but more formidable because they were cold.

“One thing amazes me,” Mach said. “The frames of Proton and Phaze overlap, geographically; every feature of one is mirrored in the other. Yet Proton is a planet, a sphere, while Phaze is a flat surface. How can this be?”

“Methinks the folk o’ the other frame suffer from illusion,” Fleta replied. “They think their world must be a ball, while we know it for what it truly be, a circle.”

He glanced at her, uncertain whether she was serious. “Proton has a north and south pole, while Phaze has an east and west pole. How can those be reconciled?”

“By playing Pole Chess,” she replied.

He considered that. Pun or wisdom? Then he saw her laugh bubbling up from her belly to her bosom. He grabbed her and kissed her before it could reach her mouth. “Silly filly!” he exclaimed.

And found himself kissing the unicorn. She had changed form, leaving only her lips touching his.

He changed to his stallion form, snorting. If she wanted to play it that way—

She became the hummingbird, her slender bill touching his nose. He became another.

She returned to girlform. “Ah, I forget thou be Adept now!” she exclaimed. “My Rovot Adept! Methinks I like thee better as a helpless man!”

“Tough manure, bird brain,” he said with mock gruffness as he joined her in manform. “I accepted you as a unicorn; now you have to accept me as an Adept.”

“O, sigh,” she said, not sighing. “What shall we name him?”

“What?”

“Has thou not paid attention, sludge brain? Our foal, an we conceive.”

She changed subjects as readily as she changed her form! “Aren’t you counting chickens before—” He saw her laugh bubbling up again, and corrected himself. “Foals, before they hatch?”

“I ne’er yet saw a foal hatch,” she remarked. “An we make a name for him, he will have to step into it. So what be the name?”

She had already decided on the sex, and now was working on the name. He reached for her, seeking another kiss, but this time she eluded him. “Mayhap combine our two names?”

“Mach, Fleta,” he said, considering, “MA, FL. Mafl?”

“That be more like a sneeze!” she protested. “Mayhap the hind ends?”

“TA, CH,” he said. “Tach?”

“That be more like cloth ripping! Mayhap one of each?”

“FL, CH—Fletch or Flatch?”

“Flach,” she decided, pronouncing it with a soft C.

“Rash?”

“Watch thy language, rovot! Flach.”

“Flach,” he agreed, not changing the pronunciation. Then she stepped up for her kiss.

Now they started up the trail that Mach’s magic told him led to Icebeard’s den. They had to approach slowly, so that the demons had a chance to recognize them; it seemed that the demons were suspicious, hostile folk.

Fleta assumed her natural form, and Mach rode her, deciding that he needed to remain recognizable. He kept alert, though; demons were known to like starting snowslides.

Sure enough, they had not progressed far before there was the rumble of an icy avalanche starting.

Mach snapped his fingers. The sliding snow became white fog, that flowed past them without impact. They proceeded as if nothing had happened.

Farther along, five snow tigers appeared, pouncing in unison. Mach made a tiny gesture, and they became five snow birds, who spread their wings and flapped wildly, not understanding what had happened.

They crested the first foothill, and moved on toward the larger range. A horrendous snowstorm swept in, stirring white tornadoes from the drifts, and hailstones the size of human heads began pelting down.