The Feline Wizard (5 page)

“I suspect it was too late by dawn,” Matt said in as reassuring a tone as he could manage. “The sorcerer had struck a blow for his people that more than justified his stay in Mara-canda. Why should he stick around?”

“Why, to be caught.” Prester John gave him a wry smile. “I thank you, Lord Wizard. Indeed, my niece was gone before any of us wakened, and the sorcerer gone an hour later, belike.”

“Likely indeed,” Matt agreed, “not that you were about to stop looking, of course.”

“Indeed not! I sent for you straightaway, for I knew that you were at least as well acquainted with Balkis as I, having traveled through hazardous realms and faced many perils with her. I know something of battle, Lord Wizard, and of the kinship engendered by undergoing hardships together and standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the face of danger. Then, too, you were her teacher, and I presume that her learning your methods and techniques has engendered in you a magical affinity for her.”

“I'd say there's something of a bond there, yes.” Matt didn't mention that watching Balkis in spellcasting action had probably given him a greater understanding of the workings of her
mind than an endless succession of banquet conversations. “You didn't wait for me before you started hunting, did you?”

“Indeed not! My wizards have searched the ether night and day for a trace of her. I have joined them whenever I could spare the time, but there is no sign of her upon this earth.”

Matt nodded, knowing that John was a more powerful wizard than any other in Central Asia. “But you didn't find anything?”

“Not even the most vagrant and fleeting fragrance,” Prester John said, chagrined. “While we have searched with magic, though, I have assembled a force often thousand men and a dozen wizards, though it has taken two more days to equip them and see them ready to march. Tashih shall lead them through the length and the breadth of the land, wherever the wizards find the slightest hint of Balkis' presence!”

Again Matt bit back the urge to ask if the wizards were any more apt to trace Balkis on the road than here, where she had been cat-napped. However, he did say with as much delicacy as possible, “I am sure Prince Tashih is quite skilled at leadership, Your Majesty, but perhaps it is less than wise to put him in charge of the princess' recovery.”

Prester John frowned, storm clouds gathering around him almost visibly, the sheer power of his personality suddenly visible. “He must have an opportunity to prove his loyalty and his willingness to reconcile with her, Lord Wizard!”

“If you say so,” Matt sighed. “However, I can't help but wonder if that is the wisest idea, since Sikander seems to have thought Prince Tashih intended the kidnapping. Certainly he stood to gain by Balkis' absence, at least in his own mind.”

“In Sikander's, you mean! My apologies, Lord Wizard, but an accusation is not a verdict. I cannot suspect a man who reported the abduction to me as soon as he learned of it.”

“I hope you're right,” Matt said wearily.

“I trust my son implicitly.”

Matt reflected that Caesar would have said the same about Brutus, but also realized the wisdom of keeping his mouth shut. “Still, I might point out that ten thousand men marching down a highway isn't exactly the most subtle of approaches.
Anyone who does know anything about Balkis would be apt to run for cover as soon as he saw them coming.”

“There is something in that,” Prester John said with a frown, “but surely that is the minimum number necessary to guard a prince.”

“He won't find out much, with that kind of ruckus announcing his presence. I must admit, though, that if Prince Tashih is leading a couple of armies through the northern provinces, anyone hiding her in the south is apt to breathe a sigh of relief and stop trying so hard to be invisible—and might not notice a lone traveler nosing around.”

Prester John's frown turned meditative. “There is some merit in what you say. You, I assume, would be that lone traveler?”

“Well, almost alone.” Matt could see Prester John's over-protective instincts swelling and hastened to reassure him. “I'll take my dragon friend along, of course. He'll stay hidden but near at hand, except when I need to travel from one city to another.”

“There could be fewer guards who would be more effective,” Prester John admitted.

“Except my own magic spells,” Matt reminded him. “I've gotten rather good at crafting passive defenses—they don't hurt anybody unless I'm attacked.”

“Then how much pain do they inflict?”

Matt shrugged. “As much as my attacker is trying to inflict on me. Sometimes more, if I'm feeling nasty. Depends on what I set 'em for.”

Prester John managed a smile—faltering, but a smile. “Well thought, Lord Wizard. Very well, we will try your style of investigation for a few days. But where will you search, and where shall Prince Tashih march with his army?”

“Give me a few minutes alone with Sikander, then with Corundel,” Matt told him. “Then I'll need a quick trip to the apothecary's shop. After that I should have some idea of direction.”

The world whirled, a myriad of colors that swirled around her. Balkis had been through this before when Matthew had taken them magically from one place to another, but had never
been suffering from being drugged at the time. Nausea churned within her, clambering up farther and farther. She held it down by a frantic effort of will, afraid that in this kaleidoscopic whirlwind it would drown her.

Then the rainbow kaleidoscope stopped whirling, a solid surface steadied beneath her knees, and the malaise would be contained no longer. Balkis was violently sick. Even in the throes of regurgitating, she remembered to lean forward, to keep her robes clean.

The spasm passed, and she sat back on her heels, gasping for air. Now she could look about her, and years of fending for herself as a cat made her put aside her misery long enough to learn her surroundings. She obviously wasn't completely steady yet—the ground still seemed to be tilting.

Then she realized that it really was tilting. She was on a hillside, kneeling in brown frost-covered grass—and those huge four-legged shapes coming to investigate her were cows.

But the smell of her must have been alien to them, for they began lowing to one another in a more and more urgent tone. Her stomach sank as she realized they were egging one another on, working themselves into a herd frenzy to attack the intruder. They were coming faster and faster, and here and there one broke into an ungainly run, then more, then all, charging at her in a thunder of hooves, heads down, horns aimed at this strange and somehow threatening human.

Balkis' every instinct told her to flee, but she knew that in her weakened condition she couldn't possibly outrun a stampede. One thought struggled up through the dizziness of her concussed brain, though—smaller objects were harder to hit. She fought down panic and tried to imagine what these cows would look like if they were six times taller, if the meadow grass about her ankles were up to her shoulders, if the meadow were alive with scents, if she stood on four legs instead of kneeling on two …

The old, familiar sensations claimed her, and the cows swelled to become ten times larger, the grass shot up shoulder-high about her, the world became a wonderful symphony of smells, but bleached of most of its color. She knew she had
become a cat again—and, wonder of wonders, her headache was gone!

The cows slowed and bawled to one another, confused by the strange human's shrinking away and disappearing—but their momentum carried them to her and beyond. Trotting hooves still flashed around her, and she danced, trying to avoid them, head whipping from side to side as she tried to keep track of each, but there were too many moving too fast, and the lowing and bawling all about her was too confusing. A hoof cracked into her head, making her wobble; then another hoof lifted her high, to carom off the side of another cow, who promptly turned, bawling, to see what had hit her, and trod on Balkis' tail. She yowled. The sound surprised the cows enough so that they pulled back and away from her a little.

Head whirling, Balkis nonetheless recognized opportunity when she saw it. She streaked through the suddenly open space, zigzagged between hooves, and darted into the shelter of a clump of small twisted pines.

The cows ignored her; they milled about, lowing to one another in confusion, trying to find the woman whose appearance had startled them.

Under a pine tree, Balkis curled herself into a fluffy ball of misery. The blow from the hoof had brought her headache back, pounding at the inside of her skull until unconsciousness mercifully claimed her. She didn't even notice the long rip in her side that a sharp-edged hoof had opened, nor the blood flowing from it that began to clot in her fiir.

The key groaned in the lock, and Sikander looked up dull-eyed to see the jailer ushering in a man with a face so pale that he wondered what illness had beset him. Then he saw the prominent nose and round eyes, and stared.

The stranger gave him a sardonic smile. “Where I come from, it's rude to stare.”

Sikander blinked and tore his gaze away. “Your pardon. It is only that I have never seen a Frank before.”

“Only part French ” Matt corrected. “The rest is Spanish and Cuban. Mind if I sit down?”

Sikander stiffened with sudden anger. The man was only a commoner! Oh, his buflf-and-brown traveling clothes were of stout cloth and excellent cut, but a single glance showed they were certainly not those of a courtier.

The man seemed to read his thoughts. “I'm traveling incognito, but I'm really Matthew Mantrell, Lord Wizard of Merovence and consort to the queen of that land.”

Sikander stared, then leaped to his feet. “Sit, certainly, my lord, and forgive my impertinence!”

The stranger sat down on the cell's only stool, then frowned up at Sikander. “I didn't mean to reverse things. Sit down, courtier!”

“You—You do not mind?”

“Hey, it's your cell.”

Sikander sat slowly on the edge of the bunk, his mind in a whirl. Had this wizard come out of mercy, or to make him suffer for his wrongs? He could think of no other reason for his presence.

“I need to know everything I can about the night you stole Princess Balkis away,” the Lord Wizard explained.

The mention of the princess' name linked with that of the Lord Wizard, and Sikander blurted, “You were her master!”

“Teacher, maybe,” Matt qualified. “Traveling companion, certainly—but don't worry, I haven't come to skin you alive. I'll leave that for her to do, when she gets back.”

Sikander's heart sank at the thought of confronting an enraged wizard-princess. Then it bounced back up as he realized that for Balkis to seek him out, he would have to be alive when she returned. “Am… am I to live?”

“Oh, you'll go on living for a while,” Matt said, “at least ten minutes, probably ten days, maybe ten years—possibly even the rest of your life. Exactly how long I can't say—that's up to Prester John. But I have a notion it will have something to do with how helpful you are about finding the princess.”

“I shall help! Ask me what you will!”

“Fair enough.” Matt grinned. “Now, we know you had help from a lady named Corundel…”

Sikander's face closed.

“Don't worry, I'm not trying to trap you,” Matt said. “A lady named Chrynsis happened to mention that Corundel had filled in for her on the bedtime committee, and the other courtiers put two and two together.”

“Have they indeed!” Sikander's face was still a mask at the thought that Corundel might yet betray him and paint herself as his victim and unwilling dupe. “How interesting. What fable has she told you?”

Matt smiled, amused. If courtiers knew one thing better than any, it was how to lie—but this one wasn't very intelligent. After all, you had to be pretty dumb to commit a kidnapping on spec. “All Corundel told us was the name of the shaman who arranged the kidnapping with you—but for her to know that much, she had to have been in on the whole operation. In fact, she had to have been the one who set the whole thing up.”

This last was more a guess than a deduction, but it worked. Sikander said angrily, “It was my idea as much as hers!”

Pride, or a last ditch attempt to shield a lady? Matt gave the man credit for a scrap of gallantry and said, “No point in trying
to protect her now. We know the outline of what happened. You might help undo some of your damage, though, if you told us the details.”

Sikander deflated with a sigh and started singing like a star tenor. Matt encouraged him with understanding noises and monosyllables, keeping the information flowing. When Sikander ran out of words and sat slumped in dejection, Matt said, “Well, I can't deny that you made a pretty thorough mess of things, but there's a chance we might be able to straighten them out. Did the horseman say anything at all about where the shaman was sending Balkis?”

Sikander shook his head. “He said little but ‘thank you’ and ‘good-bye.’ I would guess he was openly a hireling.”

“Sure,” Matt said. “Why should the shaman risk getting caught with the princess in his own hands? A lot easier to pay somebody else to do the dangerous stuff.”

Sikander looked up, startled, wondering if he had been someone else's dupe. Perhaps the prince had wanted Balkis to disappear after all.