The Oathbound Wizard-Wiz Rhyme-2 (17 page)

"Amazing!" Fadecourt stared after them. "You are indeed a doughty wizard, Lord Matthew!"

Matt shook his head. "Not that much. Oh, I called up the choir, sure--but the ghost came entirely on his own!"

"I had feared he had come to seize me!" Yverne shuddered.

"Nay, not a bit, lady!" Fadecourt protested, reaching up to clasp her hand with both of his. "He did protect us, not prey upon us! Ne'ertheless, an he did chase you, I doubt not the Lord Wizard would banish him."

"Looks as if he already did," Narlh growled.

"Huh?" Matt looked up. "Hey, wait a minute! I didn't mean..." But the ghost was gone. Completely.

"Well, that's a puzzle." Matt scratched his head, frowning. "Whose side is he on, anyhow?"

"Ours, at the moment," Fadecourt answered.

"Yeah, but don't be too quick to think he's a good guy," Narlh growled.

"Could be he just wants the sweet and tender thing all to himself." Yverne shrank back at the gleam in the dracogriff's eye.

"Oh, don't worry, I don't eat your kind," Narlh snorted. "You don't even smell good."

Yverne stilled, conflicting emotions warring in her face. Matt could sympathize--after a line like that, he wouldn't know whether to feel reassured or insulted himself.

Then a nasty suspicion seized him. He stepped out over the talcum circle, carefully, prowling into the night.

"Hey!" Narlh leaped to catch up with him. "Where you goin' ?"

"To make sure that scouting party really did run," Matt snapped. "They could just be hiding over the top of the rise, waiting for us to follow."

"Yeah, sure, and you're walking right into their hands if they are! No way, human! Wait for your guardian monster, y' hear?"

Matt slowed and waited, smiling. "Very reassuring, y' know?"

"Don't get mushy," Narlh warned. "Okay, up to the top, now--but only the top! Right?"

"Only the top," Matt agreed. Together, they stomped up to the top of the rise and looked down the other side. The moonlight glinted on an empty glade.

"I didn't think they looked as though they were about to stop," Narlh grunted.

"I'm delighted they didn't," Matt assured him. "That was the first taste I've had of Ibile's sorcerers--and I don't like the flavor."

"Oh?" Narlh looked down at him. "Different from the bad guys in Merovence?" Matt nodded. "There's a--slimy feeling about this one, somehow. As if he'd been soaked in evil for a few years."

"Try a few centuries."

"I think he did. Besides, he used a wand."

"You don't?" Narlh stared, shocked. "That's right, you don't! Better get one fast, bucko. They all use 'em, here."

"They do? What for?"

Narlh just stared at him. Then he said, "If you don't know, then we're all in trouble. Do me a favor, huh? See if you can take a few lessons."

"I don't think they'll be in any mood to teach me," Matt said slowly.

"Besides, if they were, I'm not sure I'd want to learn. C'mon, I saw a knife one of those soldiers dropped. That'll do me more good, I bet."

The queen called down her nobles all, being careful to leave the ones who had suffered while the usurper ruled her Merovence.

"But, Majesty!" protested the Duke of Montmartre, "what reward is this, for the loyalty of our service? Are we to have no share in the glory of this campaign?"

"You shall have the greatest share, esteemed Duke," Alisande answered, "for you and your fellow lords must bide, and ward this land of Merovence from the evil raptors who must surely pounce as soon as I am gone to the war, with the lords whom I trust only to follow their own self-interest."

"How shall you be safe, with such beasts at your back!"

"Such men as the Earl of Norville cannot be beasts, milord," Alisande explained, "or they would have been elevated, and given power, by the false King Astaulf."

"And would have died with him, I doubt not, as the Duke of Lachaise and Count Ennudid," Montmartre muttered. "Yet most of the others were numbered in Astaulf's army, Majesty, and fought against you at Breden Plain."

"As they were constrained to do," Alisande replied. "Only yourself, and the handful of lords who accompanied you in your dungeon cell, did refuse to march."

"Whereupon Astaulf took our armies and marched with them, in spite of us."

"Aye, but thereby did I know you for my most staunch adherents."

"Yet we should therefore guard your back in battle!"

"As you shall, my lord--for my royal city of Bordestang is my back, and Merovence is the rest of my body. My arm will be weakened, if you ward me not." The duke capitulated with a sigh. "As you will have it, Majesty. Yet who will guard your person? For God forfend that a hair of your head should be touched!"

"I thank you, Lord Duke," Alisande said, smiling, "though I have hairs a-plenty. Yet be of good cheer--I will take your erstwhile cell mate, Baron D'Art, to command my bodyguard."

"Take also my eldest son, Sauvignon!"

Now it was the queen's turn to capitulate. "As you will have it, my lord," she sighed. "Though I think his fiancée will thank me not."

Technical Wizardry

It was a problem, Matt had to admit; in fact, it gnawed at him, hollowing him out with an ache he hadn't realized was there, as he gazed at Yverne's blanket-shrouded but shapely form glowing in the light of the camp fire. Was he really a heel to find Yverne attractive? Or was that just a normal, and unpreventable, reaction?

He was engaged to an equally beautiful woman--but the "engaged" part was what made him feel like a monster. Though you have to admit, his amoral self insisted stubbornly, that your beloved can be a little intimidating. Which was true--especially since, being his sovereign, she could have his head chopped off any time she wanted, and he couldn't ethically do anything about it.

So the hell with ethics?

Not quite--that had led him into more than one bind, in this world where magic came from either Good or Evil. He had a notion, though, that if it came to disobedience or execution, he wouldn't stick around to find out how sharp the headsman's axe was. Not that he would strike back at Alisande--he felt a stab of alarm at the mere thought. But he could go off on his own.

Come to think of it, that was just what he had done.

Stubbornly, his maverick side asserted itself again. He was enjoying this, blast it--except for the dangerous parts; and only Gordogrosso had really been a threat,--so far. All in all, he liked the feeling of being back in control of his own life again. Alisande was, when you got right down to it, a very domineering sort of female.

But wasn't that what you would expect in a queen?

A strange, sick gargling noise sounded.

Matt sat up, frowning, looking about him into the night. What kind of creature was in trouble? And what kind of trouble? He glanced at Yverne again, to make sure she was all right--and she wasn't.

Fire?

Yes, she looked as if she were too close to the fire. Matt sat bolt upright. It couldn't really be!

It was. Her form had begun to soften and grow lumpy, like wax left too close to a flame. Her outline began to flow, and Matt watched, shocked into inaction, while the cold realization diffused through him that a sorcerer was trying to destroy Yverne. Was he determined that, if he could not have her, no one would?

Or was the lady a more important figure in the power struggles of this kingdom than Matt knew?

He was frozen, appalled, sitting in mute impotence as her form grew more and more fluid, slowly sinking as if it were a jelly figure on top of a radiator. Her substance was being sucked away; she was being taken from him, just as his friends and his world had been...

The thought jolted him out of paralysis. This, he could do something about; he wasn't being held by dependence. He rolled upright onto his knees, chanting,

"A-roving, a-roving,

Roving will be your ru-aye-in!

Oh, go no more a-roving,

Will you, fair maid?"

Yverne's form didn't grow any stronger--but it didn't melt any more, either. A strange sensation seemed to emanate from her, like waves from a pebble; Matt felt it, and more--he sensed it with every nerve his body had. It was like a touch of slime all over him, a reek in his nostrils, a discord in his ears. He had to pull her loose from it. That last one hadn't been much of a verse, anyway--and it was progress, at least. Matt drew a breath, wiping sweat from his forehead, and intoned:

"But come ye back, for summer's in the meadow,

And all the land is green, and bright with morn;

It's I'll be here, in sunlight or in shadow,

Oh maiden, do not leave me all forlorn."

Yverne's form grew a little stronger, feminine contours coalescing from the flowing wax--but only a little. Matt gasped for breath and wiped his forehead; he could feel an ominous pressure all about him, two opposed magical "fields" gathering about him and Yverne, and they were growing stronger. The chill ran through him once more, at the thought that one misspoken word might trigger some huge release of energy--and what would happen then?

He looked about him wildly. If only he could see the enemy sorcerer, he might be able to make the magic field recoil on him. But all he could see were tree branches moving in the moonlight, up the slope on the other side of their camp, away from the stream...

There! On the side of the slope. A dark figure, silhouetted against the lighter gray of the sky, blocking the stars--and waving a glowing baton. Matt caught his breath--it was another wand-wielder! And as he watched, a ball of fire seemed to blossom from the tip of the wand and shot rolling down the hill, straight toward Yverne!

No doubt the wicked one thought that a visual symbol would strengthen his melting spell--and he was probably right, too. Matt had to think quickly.

"Thou the stream and I the willow,

Thou the current, I the wave;

Thou the ocean, I the billow,

Thou the fountain..."

It worked! A jet of water shot up from the soil, just at the edge of the ring. The fireball bounced into it, then on through it--but only a sopping cinder rolled up near the half-melted figure by the fire.

Narlh lifted his head, growling and blinking sleep out of his eyes--and Fadecourt sat bolt upright, staring about him.

He saw the half-melted form and bellowed anger. But Matt couldn't spare him any attention; he was too busy working on his counterattack. He called out,

"Bend and turn, and form a curve,

Be a circle, quickly swerve.

Turn yourself into a coil-Then hiss and strike, his spell to spoil!" The wand suddenly began to flex, coming alive, sprouting a head, and turning back on its owner. He dropped it, waving his hands--and Matt took advantage of the lull to ready another spell.

"The fire seven times tried this,

Seven times tried that effort is,

That once more goes amiss..."

Almost at the end, Matt wondered why the enemy sorcerer didn't run--until he saw the man bend down and pick up a straight wand again.

Matt didn't delay. He chanted the last line: "Earth may quake, and so will this!"

The earth beneath the sorcerer's feet trembled and caved in. He fell sprawling. Matt grinned and started on another verse.

"There be fools alive, I wis,

Silvered o'er, and so was this.

Take what wife you will to bed,

I will ever..."

Suddenly, he couldn't say another word. He just stood there, mouth open, staring at the enemy sorcerer, who had picked himself up and was pointing his wand straight at Matt--and Matt couldn't lift a finger. He strained, trying to move his tongue, wiggle a little toe, move his...foot, anything--but that glowing wand tip held his gaze, seeming to grow and grow like an expanding ball, swelling, filling all Matt's vision...

He heard an angry roar beside him and saw a small boulder sailing toward the glowing ball...

Then, suddenly, the ball was gone, somebody was howling from where it had been, Narlh was racing past him and hurdling the guarding circle, out into the darkness--and Matt could move again. "What...how...?"

"A rock from the fire ring," Fadecourt said, gloating. "Betimes, Wizard, you workers of magic cease to be mindful that good, old-fashioned physical violence can take out an enemy as well as a spell. I caught him in the midriff, even as I'd aimed. He'll be meat for our monster ere he can do more." Apparently, the sorcerer thought so, too. He saw Narlh coming, gave a howl of horror, leaped to his feet, and went limping away.

"Well, the hip," Fadecourt amended. "I missed not by much, at least."

"Hardly at all." Even as Matt watched, the running sorcerer suddenly erupted into flame. Narlh put on the brakes, just managing to skid to a stop before he was singed. The flames died down as abruptly as they'd flared up, and the night was dark again.

"What..." Matt stared. "They sure do make spectacular exits around here, don't they?"

"Aye." Fadecourt frowned. "If he did go." Matt turned. "Why, what else could he have done?"

"Naught--but his master might have done it for him," Fadecourt explained,

"in punishment for his having failed." Matt stared, horrified. Then Narlh came panting up beside him. "Nothing...left of him. Not even an ash."

Somehow, Matt felt better about it, though he knew that didn't prove anything.

Then he remembered what the fight had been about. "The maiden--quick! We'd better get her back together, before it's too late!"

"Aye!" Fadecourt spun about, to kneel by the half-melted form. "Quickly, Wizard!"

What did you say to a half-melted lady? That it was just supposed to be a metaphor? Matt collected his wits and chanted,

"Pygmalion, Pygmalion,

Who turned cold marble into flesh,

Let your hand and eye now mesh!

A sculptor's art you must employ,

For a thing of beauty's a lasting joy!"

The wax softened, then remolded itself, pulling back into the contours of Yverne's body, separating its colors into those of her gown and her face and hair. Her chest began to rise and fall again.

Fadecourt knelt by her, touching her hand, almost shyly, and murmuring,