The Oathbound Wizard-Wiz Rhyme-2 (13 page)

Matt heard the long hiss behind him again, and a rustle of wings. "This makes you want to get near it?"

The cyclops shrugged. "I'm not afraid to, if that's what you mean." Because he knew there was a wizard along? Or because he was too stupid to be scared?

Matt had a notion Fadecourt was anything but stupid. "Anything else that might make you think I'm a wizard?"

"Well, apart from the fact that you're sitting inside a magical guarding circle on a hillside in a country devoted to sorcery--no, not really."

"Just a few little simple facts." Matt nodded.

He straightened up and cleared his throat. "Ever do any painting?"

"Eh?" The cyclops stared, startled. "Why, yes, actually--quite a bit. What made you think so?"

"Just a wild guess. What instruments do you play?"

"The double flute and bassoon." The cyclops frowned. "How could you know that?"

"Just going by your general ambiance. What's your favorite book?"

"I would have to say The Odyssey," Fadecourt said slowly, "though I know it would be more politic to refer to the lays of Hardishane, in this part of the world."

Matt tried not to show his surprise. "Where did you find a translation?"

"Oh, I couldn't, of course. I had to learn Greek in order to read it." That, Matt noted silently, was more than he had done. "How about the Necronomicon?"

"Never heard of it." The cyclops frowned. "Is it good?"

"Sheer madness--evil, too, I hear. Never read it myself, of course. Have you heard about the Cabala?"

The cyclops shook his head. "Not my cup of mead. Only interested in tales and histories, I blush to say." He wasn't reddening noticeably, but then, Matt was only seeing him by firelight.

"Histories? Say, I've always wondered--when was Hardishane crowned?"

"In the year of our Lord 862, and he died in 925, rich in virtue and still mighty in arms. While he lived, he drove the forces of Evil back from all these lands of the middle realm, and they basked in the light of goodness and order."

"Even Ibile?"

"Even here," Fadecourt confirmed. "Before his coming, the land was held by a people made brutish by sorcery--but he, and the good emperors of his line, held the land so clearly in the light of goodness that, within two generations, the folk of Ibile were courteous, peaceful, and cultured."

"While Hardishane's heirs ruled over the Empire." Matt frowned. "But the last Emperor fell, and the kings came again."

"Quite so--in 1084."

Matt looked up in surprise. "They held Europe united that long?" In his own universe, Charlemagne's empire hadn't really lasted more than a generation after his death, though it had continued in name down to the eighteenth century.

"They did, but Lornhane, the last reigning Emperor, was foolish and weak." Matt noticed the qualifier. "The last reigning emperor?"

"Indeed. Tradition has it that Hardishane's line endures, and that his descendants still wander Europe, awaiting the time when the Empire must be reestablished, or all the lands fall to evil and sorcery." Matt nodded slowly--he had heard the legend. In fact, he had met the current heir. He traveled under the name of Sir Guy Losobal, and he was spectacularly reluctant to seek dominion. "So Lornhane did not die childless."

"No, but his heir was carried away to be reared in secrecy--which was well, for he doubtless would have been haled down and slain when his father died--for Lornhane's last years were made miserable by the chaos that reigned within his empire. However, he did have the wisdom to appoint kings to Ibile, Merovence, Allustria, and all the Northern Lands and Isles, to quench the feuding of the barons and establish some echo of Hardishane's order within their domains, by the time Lornhane died."

"And that line of kings endures in Merovence," Matt said slowly.

"Yes, though the forces of Evil nearly toppled them. I understand the queen's return to her throne was largely your own doing." Matt waved away the flattery. "That's a bit of an exaggeration. I just did what I had to do. Not given much choice, in fact."

"Enough to have betrayed her and devoted yourself to Evil, had you wished." Fadecourt's eye glittered. "A worker of magic always has that opportunity, ever-present before him."

"Yes." Matt's voice hardened. "It's a constant temptation--and it must be constantly resisted."

"Of course," the cyclops said quietly, but Matt had the eerie feeling that he had just passed some sort of test.

He shifted uneasily. "How long did the line of kings endure in Ibile?"

"Oh, the line endures to this day, though none know where the rightful heir may be," Fadecourt answered, "and I assure you that the strongest sorcerers have exerted their greatest efforts to find him."

Matt lifted his head. "That must be some spell that's guarding him!"

"It must indeed. For myself, I fancy it was the doing of Saint Moncaire--that he crafted the spell to protect all of Hardishane's descendants, no matter how tenuous their relationship."

"But if he's hiding, he's not ruling." Matt frowned.

"Quite so. The reigning king was betrayed and slain some two hundred years ago, and a foul usurper seized the crown."

"And his grandson rules now?"

Fadecourt shook his head. "Such orderly succession is not the way of sorcery. The usurper Yzrprz was in his own turn assassinated, and the throne seized by the more-evil sorcerer Dredplen. His reign was long, though filled with terror--yet he died at the hands of a sorcerer more foul than he: the tyrant Gordogrosso, whose descendant reigns in the city of Orlequedrille still." Matt winced. "Do me a favor, okay? Don't say the king's name aloud--it might attract his attention."

Fadecourt shrugged. "He cares naught--I am too insignificant."

"I might not be, though."

Fadecourt stiffened. "Quite true! My apologies, Wizard. Yet be assured, he knows not that I am with you."

"Yet," Matt said.

"Aye." The cyclops seemed unnerved. "Even the land may report your presence to him! Daily, his corruption widens, and may some day include even plants and rocks."

"It just gets worse as it goes along," Matt said, feeling numb.

"It does, and it will--until some man of good heart arises to overthrow this vile king." Fadecourt gave Matt a singularly penetrating glance. Matt returned it, trying to reach a decision. He couldn't trust a total stranger, could he? For all he knew, Fadecourt might be a spy, just trying to get him to trick himself into saying he was planning to overthrow the king, so that some true testimony could be used at his trial. The cyclops might yell for reinforcements as soon as Matt said it, and he could find himself on his way to a hanging court before he knew it. Not that King Gordogrosso needed actual evidence, really, though it did tend to make things neater.

But the doggone stranger practically knew...

Then it occurred to Matt to relax and listen for guidance within him. Divine guidance, hopefully, though he'd settle for a good word from Saint Iago. He relaxed suddenly, smiling, and tried to feel some kind of nudge within his mind. In his own universe, some might think that such a method of decision making would be the height of stupidity; but here, it should be foolproof... He felt the impulse. Desperately, he hoped it was right. "Well, now that you mention it, that just happens to be my quest."

"What?" Fadecourt looked up with glowing eye. "The freeing of Ibile?"

"Good way to phrase it." Matt nodded. "Yes, I like your words better. Can you give me any idea what I'm up against?"

"Gladly, good Wizard! There will be some that you will rejoice to hear, but much that you will deplore."

"You're so encouraging," Matt murmured. "Tell me something good."

"Well, the best part of it is that Gordogrosso has not left his castle since he took power."

"Agoraphobia?" Matt looked up, interested. "Or is he just too paranoid to trust his advisers?"

"I cannot say--but he has not come out these fifteen years. You shall not, therefore, need to concern yourself about meeting the sorcerer in person."

"Until we come to his castle." Matt raised a finger. "I'm afraid that's part of the plan."

Narlh growled.

"Brave man!" Fadecourt cried. "And what will you do when you've come there?"

"Think fast," Matt said. "Actually, I hope to have come up with some sort of strategy by then. But you don't think we'll have any trouble getting there?"

"Oh, I did not say that! For look you, Gordogrosso's evil has so deeply taken hold of the land that only a few attempt any degree of goodness, and they must hide it."

"So. Every man's hand is turned against me, huh?"

"And every woman's. Each day, such few good folk as are left seek to flee the land--and are more often than not cut down in their flight." Matt thought of the family he'd met earlier in the day, and was glad he'd found an excuse to give them a little help. "I suppose he's got a pretty good spy network."

"He has no need of it--for 'tis as though the very ground, the leaves of the trees, are so permeated with his corruption that he can see where any person is at any time. If some event is to happen, he can view it." Matt felt his scalp prickling. "What? The land has become an extension of his nervous system? He just knows?"

"Well, not so bad as that," Fadecourt allowed. " 'Tis said he spies by means of a magical mirror--so he must look ere he can see. Moreover, he must know that a person exists, ere he can spy upon him. Indeed, 'tis certain there are places even Gordogrosso cannot peer into--though no one is sure where they may be." Matt's skin crawled as though he could feel someone peering down his back.

"This isn't exactly building an overwhelming enthusiasm in me for this job."

"Oh, you must not give it over!" The cyclops leaned forward, reaching out toward Matt. "You are the best hope Ibile has had in a generation! Nay, valiant Wizard, I beseech you! Leave not the people of Ibile to toil in misery and sorrow! Come, and come quickly, to their aid! Defeat Gordogrosso and his evil sycophants!"

"Well...I...I'd be glad to," Matt managed, "but I'm only one man. Conceited though I may be, even I don't think I can take on the magic and might of a whole country, and win!"

"You shall have aid, every iota that we folk of Ibile can bring you! I myself will stand at your right hand and do all that I can to cast down your enemies! Only do what you must to save our land from corruption and Hell--even if you must take the crown yourself, to do it!"

Well! Matt couldn't have asked for a better invitation. Not that he had given up on the idea of winning a kingdom for himself, mind you, and thereby winning Alisande--but it certainly helped to be invited. Politics being what it is, it strengthened his position to have some shred of legitimacy to his claim. Probably helped his position magically, too, since magic here was based on right and wrong. "All right," he said magnanimously, "I'll give it a try," After all, the angel hadn't said he couldn't, had it?

The Siege Parlous

The soldiers had burned out the village and left the bodies to rot. Most of them had been so thoroughly charred that there wasn't much left to decay, but the positions of the blackened bones, and of the few intact but putrefying bodies, made clear what the soldiers' idea of fun had been.

It sent Narlh into a towering rage. "Where did they go? Evil! Corrupted!

Back-stabbing, treacherous, wanton lumps of decay! Show me their trail! I'll hunt 'em down! I'll fry 'em all! I'll tear 'em apart and roast the pieces!"

"Easy, Narlh, easy!" The dracogriff's sudden rage had Matt more than a little frightened. "They did this a week ago, or more. They're far away now. It wouldn't do any good to..."

"It would do me a lot of good!"

"Revenge will not aid these poor souls now," Fadecourt said.

"Killing those two-legged monsters would keep them from doing this to any other women! They did that to females of their own kind! It's bad enough when males do it to females from another species--but their own?" Now Matt understood--the evidence of rape reminded Narlh too strongly of his own begetting. "Well, then, don't stop with killing off one band, Narlh. Kill off their king, the one who allows his soldiers to do this in the first place."

"Allows?" Fadecourt scoffed. "Nay, encourages! Exhorts! That none will dare turn their hands against him. Save your anger for the one who sets the example that these vicious underlings follow!"

"Vicious isn't the word for them! Look at those bodies! Even the men! Rape wasn't enough for them--they had to torture these poor people, too! And what'd they do to deserve it, huh?"

"Served a lord that the king disliked," Fadecourt answered, "whether they would or no. Nay, the long and the short of it is, there was none to defend them from the soldiers' decaying taste in amusements."

Narlh turned a baleful glare on them. "Your kind is twisted! Warped! Vile!"

"No argument," Matt muttered. "Come on, let's get out of here while I'm still more angry than sick." He picked up the pace, trying not to look either right or left until they had passed out of the village.

"Men can be good, dracogriff," Fadecourt was saying as they emerged. "What you have seen is what men can become, when they let their baser desires free."

"And when someone encourages them to be cruel and decadent," Matt growled.

"When someone starts telling them that hurting other people is fun, and it's okay to have fun at somebody else's expense. The worse they get, the worse they find themselves wanting to be."

"Aye," Fadecourt rumbled. " 'Tis when someone tells them that good is bad, and wrong is right."

"I'll flay him!" Narlh growled. "I'll tear him apart!"

"People can be twisted so badly that they enjoy hurting other people, Narlh," Matt said. "It's called `sadism.' "

"Sad? It's horrible! Do they have to do it?"

"No. It's a strong drive, but it only gets to be a compulsion in the worst of them. Most people can keep it in bounds, because by the time they've grown up, they've learned it's wrong. But these people have grown up with a king who tells them cruelty is right, as long as there's a good chance they can get away with it."