Madwand (Illustrated) by Roger Zelazny

“What have I done to you?”
    “Personally, nothing,” Larick answered. “But the evil you would work is so great that everything I have done is warranted. You will learn more of what lies before you by-and-by. Now I must get back to the other initiates.”
    Pol extended one massive, taloned hand to seize him. Larick gestured briefly and the entire limb was instantly paralyzed.
    “What—?”
    “I have complete control of your new body,” the other stated. “I have enfolded you in a series of virtually unbreakable spells. See how I lay my will upon you, totally immobilizing you now? There is also a masking spell. It even compensates for your ungainliness. Only you see yourself as you truly are—a necessary reminder, I’d say. You are now, in all ways, my creature.”
    “And you were so concerned about black magic,” Pol said. “Perhaps you feared competition?”
    Larick winced and looked away.
    “It was necessary, this time,” he said, “to combat a greater ill.”
    “Don’t preach me that line. I’ve done nothing wrong. You have.”
    Larick turned away. Pol screamed at him.
    His cry was cut short as the man turned back and gestured again. Now Pol could no longer speak at all.
    “I’ll come for you last and we will journey to Castle Avinconet,” Larick said, and then he smiled. “Don’t go away.”
    He passed the rocky corner and was gone.
    Pol heard a drop of water fall from a stalactite into a nearby pool. He heard the sounds of his own shallow breathing. He heard the distant voices of the other initiates, doubtless discussing the night’s experiences.
    If magic had bound him, then magic could free him, he decided. But he could not locate the sources of his own power. It seemed as if that part of him were somehow asleep. He brooded over Larick’s words, over the fact that his dreams were apparently a nasty reality to someone else. He sought through his memories for some clue as to why this should be so. He wondered whether his present situation were in any way connected with the attack of the sorcerer Mouseglove had dispatched back at Rondoval. He strained to move, but no movement followed.
    Then there came the sound of a footstep beyond the passage. It seemed too soon for Larick to be returning, but—
    A large man, as tall but wider than Larick, turned the corner and advanced. His face was a constantly shifting thing, as if seen through a multi-phase refracting medium. The eyes drifted, the nose swelled and shrank, the mouth twisted through ghastly parodies of human expressions. But when he opened it to speak, Pol still saw that there was a shining, capped tooth. He tried the second seeing but was unable to penetrate the distortion spell the person wore like a mask.
    “I see that my disguise still holds for your features,” came the familiar voice. “But what have you done with the rest?”
    Pol found that he could not even snarl.
    “Actually,” the man went on, “that is a terrific body. You could wreak all sorts of havoc with it, if you’d a mind to. I suppose you’re rather attached to your own, though, eh?”
    He raised his head, one huge eye and one small one focusing upon Pol’s own, shifting relative sizes even as he stared.
    “Forgive me,” he said then. “I’d forgotten you can’t answer.”
    He raised one hand and slapped Pol lightly across the mouth. It stung for only a moment, and something seemed to be released with the stinging. Pol found that his jaws were unlocked, that he could move his head.
    “What the hell is going on?” he asked.
    “I haven’t the time to tell you, even if I wished to,” the other replied. “It’s a long story and there are other considerations of much greater moment just now. Everything seems to be coming along nicely, though. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
    “You call this ‘nicely’?” Pol said, casting his gaze down over his monstrous form.
    “Well, not necessarily from an esthetic standpoint, if you happen to be human,” the