The Feline Wizard (43 page)

“If we are to continue to sacrifice the freedom of the air, we will want strong covenants from you!”

“And we from you,” Ginelur said. “Who among you has learned to read? For this covenant must be carved in stone for all to learn!”

They'd made faster progress than Matt had expected. Seemed he wouldn't have to nudge them too hard after all.

He came up to the two dragons and said, “Balkis and Anthony have decided to go on home on foot.”

“Have they indeed!” Dimetrolas exclaimed with a knowing look. “She wants him to herself for a while longer, does she?”

“I think that's most of it,” Matt admitted. “Certainly she's not ready to tell him she's a princess.”

“She is?” Dimetrolas looked at Stegoman with astonishment.

He nodded. “The niece of Prester John.”

“Truly!” Dimetrolas looked at the young lovers. “No wonder you deemed it worth your while to search her out!”

“No, her worth is that of a friend,” Stegoman said, nettled. “What are emperors and kings to me?”

“Or to her, from the look of it,” Dimetrolas pointed out. “She is as besotted with that farm boy as she would be with a belted knight!”

“Well, she may be a princess, but she didn't find that out until a year ago,” Matt explained. “Before that, she grew up in a cottage as a woodcutter's daughter.”

Dimetrolas stared at him in surprise. “How strange are the ways of you human folk!”

“Don't expect me to argue,” Matt said grimly. “Still, I'm glad I only said ‘your uncle’ to her when Anthony was around—and not his name. I think she wants to make sure he's as besotted as she is before she breaks the news. Why
else would she want to spend their quality time on the road, instead of in a chamber fall of luxuries?”

“There is sense in that,” Stegoman said, musing. “Still, are they certain they wish to chance the journey? Have they any idea what manner of dangers stand between them and the capital?”

“None all that bad, as I remember from the trip down here,” Matt said. “Certainly they've already survived worse. After all, Balkis is a pretty accomplished wizard already, and it turns out her young man has some talent along that line, too.”

“Does he indeed! Ought you not stay and teach him the use ofit?”

“Somehow I don't think the two of them want company just now.”

“I am not sure that we do, either,” Dimetrolas said, with a glance at Stegoman.

“We must know each other better ere we spend too much time unchaperoned, sweet chick,” Stegoman said, his eyes glowing. “After all, it is only this day that we have begun to talk as friends—more than friends, but not yet close enough for a sweet and fragile creature such as you to entrust herself to a gnarled old beast such as myself.”

“Gnarled and old, forsooth! You are no more aged than I am fragile!”

Matt noticed that she didn't deny the “sweet” part, though, and thought that was promising. “Just give me a lift back to Maracanda, okay? Then you two can go off and find a nice isolated mountaintop where you can get to know each other in detail.”

“How many days to this Maracanda?” Dimetrolas asked.

“One at the most,” Stegoman answered. “With a tailwind, less.”

“Oh, well, I can spare you for that long,” Dimetrolas grumbled.

Stegoman gave her another saurian smile. “Mayhap I shall not wish to be spared.” Before she could answer, he turned to Matt. “How soon shall we sail, then?”

“Well, I'd better help them put their treaty into words.”

Matt glanced at the dragon/human conference. “They might need a neutral party at that point. By then it'll be night. How about taking off at first light?”

“Done,” Stegoman agreed. He turned to Dimetrolas. “Thus can we ensure at least one night of peace between your tribe and the humans.”

“They are not mine!”

“They are even if they have disowned you.” Stegoman gazed deeply into her eyes. “Deny your origins, and you deny yourself, weakening the core of your being—this I know from bitter experience. Then, too, you are their savior now, and an example to them of what dragons were once and can be again, once they are freed from the tyranny of sorcery.”

Dimetrolas stared at him, speechless.

“I think that they shall acclaim you as one of their own again,” Stegoman finished.

“Shall I want it?” Dimetrolas erupted. “After the shame they have heaped upon me, should I not scorn them?”

“You would have every right,” Stegoman said grimly, “and I doubt that you would feel welcome if you tried to stay—but you must make your peace with them for your own sake.”

“And theirs?” Dimetrolas challenged.

“And theirs,” Stegoman acknowledged, “but it is far more obvious that they would gain by your presence, than that you would gain by theirs.”

“It was not so years ago, when they cast me out!”

“It was not,” Stegoman agreed, “but they weakened themselves by letting the humans manipulate them into rejecting you, and they have learned that today. Nay, sweet chick, show mercy, and humiliate them further by your kindness— acknowledge them as your own, even though you do not choose to stay.”

Dimetrolas raised her head slowly, neck forming an S-curve, looking toward the dragon-cotes with pride, even arrogance. “Perhaps I shall…”

Stegoman had certainly learned human diplomacy over the years, Matt reflected, and far more about the soul's need than he had realized. “I'll just tell Balkis the plan, okay?” he said.

“Do,” Stegoman agreed, “and see if you can sound out that young man, to learn how much he has of the gift of magic.”

Matt glanced at the peace conference in time to see Gine-lur, then Lugerin, hold up a palm, and Brongaffer press his taloned paw against it. Then all three started back to their respective halls.

Matt caught up with the humans in a hurry. “Made progress?”

“We have hammered out the bones of an agreement,” Lugerin said, his hostility barely veiled.

“Now we must put flesh on those bones.” Ginelur hid her resentment a bit better; it only showed in flashes. “We must ask our people for their approval, and for their suggestions and additions.”

“Then meet with Brongaffer again and negotiate the details.” Matt nodded. “You are going to stipulate that you'll ask strangers their business before you attack them, aren't you?”

“Unless they are clearly a war party, yes.” Lugerin's gaze was pure hatred. “If they come in peace, we shall let them pass unmolested—if they pay us tribute.”

“Call it a toll instead of a tribute and I don't think you'll have much argument,” Matt said. “I predict that within a year word will get around among the travelers, and you'll start having caravans coming through. Give them a discount for having a lot of people in one party and they'll make it a regular stop.”

Ginelur looked at him in surprise, then gazed off into the distance, her expression calculating. Lugerin didn't get past surprise. “You offer us advice to make us prosper when you have only now defeated us?”

“Hey, if I'm going to insist you let your slaves go, I've got to show you some way to come out ahead, don't I?”

“Why do you think you can insist on anything from us?” Lugerin demanded, his rage an inch below the surface. “Without your dragons you are nothing!”

“No, without my dragon friends, I'm the Lord Wizard of Merovence.”

Both leaders stared at him in shock.

“You haven't heard of Merovence, I expect,” Matt said. “It's a kingdom far to the west, but between its warrior queen and myself, we've held it secure against half a dozen invasion attempts.”

Lugerin was having second thoughts. Nonetheless, he blustered, “You could be lying!”

“I could,” Matt agreed. He looked around the village and saw a huge boulder filling the space between two houses. “You ever think about getting rid of that rock?” He pointed.

Lugerin turned to look. “Aye.” His smile turned vindictive. “None can move it, of course. We must build around it.”

“Well, you never know,” Matt said. “Erosion can wear down a mountain.” He drew his wand, pointed at the boulder, and started chanting.

He hoped Tennyson's ghost wouldn't object. After all, it was in a good cause—clearing living space in a congested area.

The boulder started to vibrate. With sounds like gunshots, cracks appeared at its top, then ran down its sides until the whole mass was segmented like an orange. All at once it fell in on itself with an avalanche's rumble. Where there had been a huge boulder, there was only a heap of tumbled blocks.

The humans poured out of their houses to gaze in amazement.

Lugerin and Ginelur could only stare, thunderstruck.

“Those blocks will need finishing, of course,” Matt said, “but they're basically squared off. Should make fine building stone.”

The two leaders turned to him with awe and fear. Beyond
them, their people glanced at the stranger in terror, then looked quickly away.

“So you see, I really am a wizard,” Matt explained. “The young lady who cast the spell that freed your dragons was my apprentice, but she learned everything I could teach her in a year. I'm sure she'd be glad to come back here for a visit if I asked her. So would Stegoman and Dimetrolas, for that matter.”

“How would you know what passes here?” Ginelur asked through stiff lips.

Time to bluff. “I have a dozen ways, of course. I'm sure you've heard of crystal balls and ink pools. Then there are animal sentries, supernatural spies, and … well, I won't bore you with the list.”

They weren't bored. Lugerin glared defiantly, but Matt could see in his eyes the certainty that he was boxed in. Ginelur, on the other hand, was clearly aware that Matt might be bluffing—but it was even more obvious that she didn't dare call him on it.

“Not that my insisting would be necessary, of course,” Matt said. “I'm sure your people will realize the good sense of these ideas. You may have to explain it a bit, but they'll see the wisdom of it.”

“No doubt they shall,” Lugerin said in a monotone. He looked down at Ginelur. “Let us tell them the plan to which our colleague Brongaffer has agreed.”

They went on toward the biggest building, which Matt was more sure than ever was a meeting hall. He smiled to himself as he turned to go back to the young couple.

“You told me a wizard should never make an exhibition of his powers,” Balkis accused as he came up.

“An
unnecessary
exhibition,” Matt reminded her. “In fact, as I remember it, I said not to be a show-off—don't go working magic without a good reason.”

“And your reason was to make clear to these dragoneers how little choice they had in agreeing to your terms?” Anthony asked.

Matt nodded. “Some people never get beyond thinking that a law only exists if it's enforced. I just showed them that Prester John has a long arm when it comes to his laws.”

Balkis' eyes widened in surprise. “Why, my—” She bit back the word “uncle” and went on. “—emperor has outlawed slavery and banditry, has he not?”

“For a century or more, I'm sure,” Matt said, “and this valley is well within his jurisdiction. They just thought they could do as they pleased because they were so far out of the way from him.”

Anthony's gaze turned distant. “I had not thought of wizards as enforcing laws.”

“Magic can be used for good or for ill,” Matt explained, “and the temptation to use it selfishly is always there, as these bandits demonstrated by enslaving dragons and people with the spells their ancestors' shaman worked out.”

Anthony frowned. “It is well I'm not a wizard, then. I might not prove equal to the temptation.”

“You would use your powers for naught but good.” Balkis clasped his upper arm with both hands. “I can think of few men I would trust with such power as readily as I would you, my love.”

He looked down into her face, drank deeply of the glory of her eyes, and smiled. “With you to strengthen my will, I could.”

“Well, let's find out if you have any power to speak of.” Matt sat down on a big rock, as Balkis moved away, to afford them privacy. “Now, here's a little spell that comes in handy on rainy camping trips; it's for starting a fire …”

Half an hour later Anthony had learned a dozen verses, each on the first try, and was cheerfully making rocks move into fire rings, lighting small blazes, and conjuring up three-foot-wide storm clouds to put them out. Worse, he had managed to come up with improvements on three or four lines in each spell.

“Where did you develop such a quick memory?” Matt asked.

“ Whiling away long winter evenings making up new verses for old stories, with my brothers,” Anthony told him. “The first line I crafted was: 'Thus Alexander's sword swung high to slice the ropes clean through.'”

“Your very first line?” Matt stared. “How old were you at the time?”