The Oathbound Wizard-Wiz Rhyme-2 (51 page)

The field was empty of foemen, except for the dead. There were no enemies wounded or dying--their own knights had slain them as they retreated.

"But wherefore?" Sauvignon's agony of soul was written in his face. "Why would they slay their own men?"

"Wherefore not?" the sergeant said dryly. "These were of no more use to the sorcerer, after all."

"But they might have escaped! They might have gone back to the sorcerer's army!"

"None go willingly to Gordogrosso's armies, I think," Alisande said slowly.

"Belike they would choose to stay and fight for us, if they could surrender."

"Would they slay these men for treachery that they might commit?"

"They would," the sergeant confirmed. "Wherefore give strength to the enemy?

Yet I think 'tis more than that, milord."

Sauvignon turned to him, scowling. "What should it be?" But the sergeant only glanced at him, then glanced away.

" 'Tis their souls, Marquis," Alisande said gently. "If they had not slain them, these men might have repented on their deathbeds and have cheated Hell of a few more souls."

Sauvignon only stared at her, then turned away. The sight of bloody entrails and torn limbs hadn't sickened him, but this did.

"Peace, milord," Ortho murmured. " 'Tis not the speaking that matters, nor e'en the unvoiced words in the mind, but the thought itself, the upwelling of repentance in the single sharp surge that takes but a moment; and such could have come to each of these, in the moment of their deaths."

"And if it did not?" Sauvignon grated.

"If it did not, they have gone where they chose."

"But how if they did not so choose?" Sauvignon rounded on him. "How if many among them would have repented, if they'd known of their deaths--but did not, for the blow that laid them low came from behind! As, look you, it did, for most among them."

Ortho didn't bat an eyelash. "How if they would have repented, if they could have? Ah, my lord!" He heaved a sigh. "Were not most of these constrained to fight, whether they would or no? How many among them did already repent, and secretly asked forgiveness of God for not having courage enough to face the death by torture that would have come of saying no to the sorcerer's press-gang?"

Sauvignon stared at him for a moment, then said, "Well asked. How then?" But, "I know not," was all Ortho could answer. "These are questions for a priest, my lord, not for a poor sexton whose soul was too wild to stay in cloister long enough to become so much as a deacon."

Sauvignon held his gaze, then nodded with gruff apology. "'Tis even so. I thank you for this much hope, at least." He turned to the queen. "Majesty, may we summon the chaplain?"

"We may, my lord, when he is done with the work of his office." Alisande gestured down-slope, and Sauvignon turned, surprised, to see the priest who had accompanied the expedition on his knees in the mud, his vial of blessed oil in his hand, marking the Sign of the Cross on each dead soldier, reciting the words of the last annointing in a quick mutter before he rose and went on to the next corpse.

"They may be damned," Alisande said, "but he, at least, finds room for doubt."

Sauvignon saw, and his eyes gleamed. He straightened, and she could almost see his spirit rise.

Ortho saw, too, and smiled. "The sorcerer may have dominion in this world, my lord, but not in the next."

"Why, then, let us reave him of even that!" Sauvignon clapped a hand to his sword hilt and looked up at Alisande with the lust for battle in his eyes. "Let us march, Majesty! Unleash us 'gainst the tyrant!"

Alisande decided that even the ugliest man might have a beautiful soul.

Submarine Raid

They came back into the great hall, Friar Tuck folding his stole and putting it away, Matt trying to straighten his shoulders and put something resembling a smile on his face.

He didn't do too well, of course.

"Be of good heart, Wizard," Maid Marian murmured, stepping close. "She may yet be thine."

Matt looked up at her, startled. How had she known?

Marian smiled and gave him a gentle punch on the arm. "I have seen your face when you have spoken of the queen of Merovence--and you have told us why you have embarked on this quest. Nay, if a man is a-love, what else can make him so glum?"

Quite a few things that Matt could think of--but he couldn't knock it; the lady had read him rightly. The shock did help pull him out of himself, though. He straightened his shoulders and smiled at the stalwart woman. "Thank you, milady. Let's see about setting a siege now, shall we?"

"No," Robin Hood said. "This venture is mine, with my merry men. We must undertake the risk. You must wait until we have, at the least, begun to take up our positions before the castle, before you go below the waves. Only when the sorcerer is assured that we mean to front him outright, may we hope to surprise him from within."

"But while I'm submerging, you'll be dying! He'll haul out his mightiest spells and pulverize you!"

"We shall place our faith in Tuck, and God," Robin answered. "Be of good cheer, Wizard--and be quick. If you strike swiftly, most of us will live."

"'Most' includes some dead bodies," Matt grumbled.

"How did you say?"

"Nothing--just grumbling."

"He is envious, in that he may not join you in the assault." Yverne laid a hand on Matt's arm. "Go, my lord Earl, and may you prevail." Robin doffed his hat and gave her his most gallant bow, then turned on his heel and strode out of the tower room.

Marian stared after him, her eyes glistening. "He cannot die!"

"Right." Matt nodded. "He can't. He always rises again, doesn't he?"

"He ever has before..."

"Then he will again." Matt turned away to the window, trying to hide his feelings. "Come, ladies, gentlemen. Let's watch for our cue." They looked on in trepidation, waiting, almost breathless, but there was nothing to see--their tower faced the mainland and the castle, and the fishermen were smuggling Robin Hood and his band around behind the forest on the point. They waited, the minutes trickling away until, finally, some spots of green separated themselves from the darker gray-green of the somber forest--Lincoln green, a dozen, a score, a hundred, filing out to take up stands before the castle. They were just a little too far from the walls for crossbow or mangonel to reach them--but not, Matt suspected, too far for Robin Hood's clothyard shafts to strike, driven by longbows.

They were scarcely in position before a fireball lofted from the castle wall. and roared toward them.

Force of habit--Matt started to mutter a fire-quenching spell.

"Nay," Fadecourt rumbled at his elbow. "They shall have to hold off the sorcerer without your aid, Wizard. At the least, wait until you are sure your help is needed."

Matt held the final line on the tip of his tongue in an agony of suspense, aching to say it.

Suddenly, the fireball darkened and slowed. Its flames died, and it crashed into the sere grass of the dusty meadow, well short of Robin's lines. Matt stared.

"What spell was that?" de la Luce asked.

"One I don't know." Matt didn't blame the old don--anything that could quench fire put de la Luce in danger.

"Don't worry, milord--the one who put it out is on our side." Privately, he suspected Tuck had just prayed. Matt could only be glad his desires coincided with the Almighty's.

But then, Saint Iago had blessed this whole enterprise, hadn't he? Now it was his turn to help out.

"They come!" Fadecourt cried, pointing to a file of men trooping out of the forest.

Matt frowned. "So what's so great about that? Those are Sir Guy's people from the castle. We knew they were being ferried out right after Robin's band."

"They are not my stalwarts," Sir Guy said, peering keenly at the distant dots. "Nay, those are peasants' clothes, Lord Wizard, and peasants'

weapons--scythes and flails. They have not the look of those who dwelt with us, and that knight at their head is not one of my friends; I know all their arms, but his are new."

"Another comes!" Yverne pointed off toward the north.

"And another!" Marian called from the southern window. "Yet these are stout burghers, from their look, with tradesmen and the city's poor behind them."

"None such labored with us at the castle." Sir Guy turned to join her, frowning out at the file of men marching up from the south.

"Where are they all coming from?" Matt asked, goggling.

"Why, from all about!" Fadecourt crowed. "Word of your stand has spread, Lord Wizard! These are those with old grievances 'gainst the sorcerer, and good folk who have the courage of their faith! From hither and yon, all about Ibile, have they come, needing but a man of courage to stand against the king! They will rise up in support of such a one, where they would have feared to come singly! Robin Hood and his band will not stand alone in this!"

"Talk about miracles," Matt said, his voice gone shaky. He turned away from the window. "Come on, folks. We've got to do our share in bailing them out." As they came down into the Great Hall, Stegoman looked up, frowning. "Can none talk to this man o' gossamer? I speak, and he doth profess to fail in understanding."

Matt looked and saw the ghost, huddling in the darkened corner, staring at Stegoman with wide, frightened eyes.

"He can't hurt you, you know." Matt stepped over to the ghost. "You're ectoplasm, and he's protoplasm. No interaction."

But the ghost shook his head, eyes still on Stegoman.

Matt frowned. "What's the matter? Does he remind you of someone?" Then a hunch crunched, and he stared. "It was you! You're the one who spread the word to all the people with a shred of goodness left in them! You're the one who brought them out to join the siege!"

The ghost lowered his eyes, and Matt could have sworn he saw a faint tinge of rose to the ghost's translucency. Then the phantom looked up with a smile, gesturing and mouthing words.

"Not just you, but a lot of other ghosts you knew?" Matt nodded. "Makes sense. The specter network. But that's no reason to be afraid of a dragon."

"What, have other folk come forth in aid?" Stegoman waddled forward, scales clashing, and the ghost shrank back. "Nay, be of good heart, faded phantom. Be mindful, dragon folk, too, wish the foul sorcerer haled down, and all his ilk; there will be many fewer hatchling hunters abroad, I promise you! Nay, but send word to the Free Flyers, and I doubt not that a score or more will answer your call!"

"It'll be dangerous," Matt warned, "even for dragons."

"What matter danger to those of stout heart?" Stegoman thundered. "Go to them, ghost! Or send one of your number who fears them not! What--are there no dragons' spirits among your kind? Send word! Or I promise you, they will be wroth to have been cheated of the glory of this battle!"

"Well, we wouldn't want them to feel offended." Matt nodded to the ghost.

"Can you call them?"

The ghost nodded, but he didn't look happy about it. His eyes flicked from Matt to Stegoman and back; then he flicked out.

Matt still found it unnerving, but put a happy face on it. "Great! We'll have an aerial arm."

"If the specter brings word to my kinsmen in time," Stegoman reminded him.

"Good point." Matt frowned. "How fast can a ghost travel, anyway?" Then the thought of another reason for speed chilled him. "The siege can't last long."

"Nay," Sir Guy agreed. "The sorcerer will destroy them ere the sun has set."

"Therefore, let us be quick, that they may live." Fadecourt turned to the demoiselle. "Pray lead us to the castle, milady."

They all turned to follow--and Matt jammed on the brakes. "Now, hold it, Lady Yverne! This is a bit too dangerous for your gentle self!" But Yverne held her place, chin up and firm. " 'Tis my own father that his henchman has slain or imprisoned, Lord Wizard. And, too, I have better reason to risk all with you than you know."

"Or than you can tell me?" Matt shook his head "No, milady. We'd all be breaking our necks trying to protect you, instead of getting that gate open."

"I shall defend myself, Lord Wizard! You need not be afeard for me!"

"Easily said," Sir Guy said gently, taking her hand, "but impossible to do. Nay, milady, I should have no thought for aught but your safety." Fadecourt seemed to bristle, but Yverne looked into Sir Guy's eyes and started to melt.

So the demoiselle intervened. "She must come. Nay, gentles, do not object--there be cause, and good cause. You must all be together in this, or you will be sorely weakened."

Sir Guy and Fadecourt both turned on her, reddening, but Matt leaped into the breach before either of them could say anything. "Well, if we have to, we have to. Don't argue, gentlemen--we're guests, remember? And we mustn't disagree with our hostess, must we? No, of course not. Lead the way, milady." And she did, down and down, deeper and deeper--but it was a route they had all traveled before. Only Stegoman had difficulty, squeezing around the corners, but again he turned out to be more flexible than they had thought he could be. He did start looking a bit nervous, though, and Matt cursed silently to himself. All he needed was to be caught in a tight spot with a claustrophobic dragon. Then they were through, down to the rock pier that ran along the ocean inlet. The demoiselle leaped in with a cry of delight, but the rest of the party regarded it with doubt.

"This takes a little courage," Matt admitted, "especially for those of you in full plate armor." That only applied to Sir Guy. "Just take a deep breath and jump in--and don't worry about getting in over your head. That's when the air supply starts."

To demonstrate the point, he jumped in and hoped the others would follow. He was almost touching bottom before he heard and felt the jolts of the others splashing down. Then his feet touched sand; the demoiselle lightly touched his arm; the water rushed away from his face, then his body--and once again, he found himself walking, his clothes completely dry, down the anemone-bordered path, following the demoiselle. He looked behind him and saw Yverne, wide-eyed and wondering, with Sir Guy marching behind her, his visor open, his eyes flicking nervously from side to side. Maid Marian towered behind him, looking frazzled but delighted, and behind her, Stegoman lumbered, with Fadecourt astride his neck just behind the head. In fact, the row of fins along the dragon's back was hazy, seen through water; the fluid line came down about halfway along his back. Fear seized Matt for a moment, fright that the dragon might have broken the surface tension of the tunnel, and that tons of water might come cascading down on them--until he remembered that surface tension couldn't possibly hold that tunnel of air open by itself. If magic could make a tunnel, it could let that arch be interrupted and still hold out the water--and, sure enough, Stegoman's sinuous neck looped up above the tunnel roof, then back down into it, and his nose and eyes were close enough to the path for him to breathe. The dragon was looking a little wild-eyed, but he was holding steady. Matt didn't blame him. He remembered how he had felt, the first time he had gone flying without an airplane--on Stegoman's very back, in fact. He wasn't especially eager to repeat the experience, considering the evasive maneuvers Stegoman had been running, trying to escape a fiery salamander--but he had survived. So would the dragon.