Split Infinity

“Sure,” Hulk agreed awkwardly, taking the hand. He seemed to be having some trouble believing the trans-formation he had just seen.

“Hulk is from the other frame,” Stile said quickly.

“My bodyguard. He doesn’t talk much.” And he flashed Hulk a warning glance. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I fear I wronged thee inadvertently,” the werewolf said. “I returned to my pack, but could not kill my sire without first explaining why—“

“You killed your—“ Hulk began, startled.

Kurrelgyre turned, half-shifting into wolf-form.  “Thou addressest me in that derogatory mode and tone?” he growled.

“He knows not our ways!” Stile cried. “Even as I did not, at first, and thou didst have to set me straight. He meant thee no offense.”

The werewolf returned all the way to man-form. “Of course. I apologize for mistaking thy intent,” he said to Hulk. “It remains a sensitive matter, and in a certain respect thou resemblest the type of monster that—“

“He understands,” Stile said. “We all make errors of assumption, at first. Why shouldst thou not explain to thy sire? It was the kindest thing thou couldst do for one already ill to death.”

Hulk nodded, beginning to understand. A mercy killing. Close enough.

“I came to my sire’s den,” Kurrelgyre said grimly.  “He met me in man-form, and said, ‘Why comest thou here? This place is not safe for thee, my pup.’ I replied, *I come to slay thee, as befits the love I have for thee, my sire, and the honor of our line. Then will I avenge mine oath-friend Drowltoth, and restore my bitch to prominence in the pack.’ Hardly did he betray his dignity, or yield to the ravage of distemper I perceived in him; in that moment he stood as proud as I remembered him of old. T knew thou wouldst thus return in honor,’ he said. ‘How didst thou come to accept what must be done?’ I told him, ‘A man persuaded me, even as the Oracle foretold.’ And he asked, ‘Who was this good man?’ and I replied, ‘The Blue Adept,’ and he asked, ‘How is it that an Adept did this thing for thee?’

I said, ‘He was dead, and his double comes from the other frame to restore his demesnes.’ Then my sire looked beyond me in alarm, and I turned and discovered that others of the pack had come up silently during my distraction, and overheard. Thus the pack knew that the Blue Demesnes were in flux, and the word spread quickly. And my bitch spoke, and said, ‘Of all the Adepts, Blue alone has been known to do good works among animals, and if that should change—‘ “

“But that will not change!” Stile protested.

“I tried to tell them that. But mine own kind doubted, and when the unicorns learned that Neysa was prisoner at the Blue Demesnes—“

“Prisoner! She’s not—“ But Stile had to stop. “Is she?”

“We know not. But the unicorn stallion is of imperious bent.”

“Well, if she is a prisoner, that will cease the moment I get there. But thou hast not finished thy story.”

“It is simple enough,” Kurrelgyre said. “The pack leader came, and my sire said, ‘It is time.’ We changed to wolf-form, and quickly and cleanly I tore the throat out of my sire, and knew then that I had done right, and never did I see a wolf so glad to die. I then whirled and challenged the pack leader while yet my sire’s corpse lay steaming, and my right could not be denied before the pack. The pack leader was not so eager to die. He fought, and perhaps he injured me.” Kurrelgyre smiled briefly, touching the stump of his ear. “His throat I did not tear; that were too honorable a demise for such a cur. I hamstrung him, spiked both his eyes, tore out his tongue, and drove him with bitten tail into the wilderness to die lame and blind among the monsters. It was an excellent reckoning.”

Stile concealed his reaction to this savage tale of vengeance. Perhaps he would have done something similar, in a similar circumstance. “And thy bitch is well?” he inquired, glancing at the female wolf who stood nearest.

“As well as one might be, following exile of her stud, slaughter of his oath-friend, and forced heat to the pack leader. But she will recover. I am now pack leader, and she remains my chosen; all other bitches whine before her.”

“A fitting resolution,” Stile said, hoping that Hulk had now grasped enough of the situation to avoid any further errors of manner.

“Yet she is marked,” Kurrelgyre continued. “She it was who made me see that the mare needed support.”

“Neysa,” Stile agreed. “But I assure thee—“

Now the bitch shifted to woman-form. She was pretty enough, with a wild orange flare of hair, but did look peaked. She must have had as hard a recent life as the Lady Blue, and survived it as toughly. “What mode of man art thou,” she demanded of Stile, “to trust thy female friend to the power of thy wife?”

“The Lady Blue is not my wife,” Stile protested.

“Perhaps not so long as the mare lives. I know somewhat of these things.” Surely an understatement!

“When the mare is dead, thou wilt be freed of thine oath, and practice magic—“

“No!” Stile cried.