Daughter of Magic - Wizard of Yurt - 5 (9 page)

I went back across the bridge and into the castle. The people King Paul had sent to bed a few hours earlier had al reappeared, complaining about the horrible stench of the smoke. They should be glad, I thought, they had nothing worse to complain about, and decided to talk to the Lady Justinia before Elerius arrived.

No time yet for exhaustion. First I stopped by my chambers to wash, change clothes, and check on Antonia. She was sound asleep, lying on her back with her mouth slightly open and her dol held tight to her chest. I touched her cheek lightly with a finger on my way back ‘ out the door. This was the reason I would have died quite cheerfuly if my death had kept the warriors out of the castle.

Justinia’s shiny automaton stood guard before her chambers, a sword at the end of each of its six arms. It stared at me from flat eyes, expressionless but implacable. I was not going to get by unless she wanted me to.

I caled, “You can open the door, my lady! The warriors are gone!” There was a long pause, during which I tried magicaly probing the spels that gave the automaton the semblance of life. It whirled its swords menacingly but did not move away from the door. As I expected, the spels were intensely strange and intensely complicated; it would have taken me weeks to duplicate them, even with a passive automaton before me. At least it did not dissolve in the sun’s rays. But then I would not have expected anything made by Kaz-alrhun to have that land of flaw.

The door swung open at last, and dark eyes glinted at me. I must have looked unthreatening, for Justinia said a quick word to her “servant” and motioned me inside.

Her chambers had been transformed since the day before. She must be planning to stay a while, I thought, for she had unpacked, spreading the flagstone floor with mats and pilows and hanging the wals with silk curtains. The flying carpet lay placidly in front of the hearth. Oil lamps burned in the room’s corners.

Justinia pushed the door quickly shut behind me. “Was it as I feared?” she asked, not succeeding at al this morning in sounding nonchalant about mortal danger. “Have my grandfather’s enemies found me already?”

“I’m afraid so.” I told her about the undead warriors out of nightmare, shaped to advance and to kil but without enough knowledge or wil to stop at the edge of a moat or to try to run from a wizards binding spels.

But partway through the teling, I noticed she began to look first surprised, then disturbed. “But this cannot be!” she broke in. “There is no one in Xantium who would make such soldiers! These magical arts are forbidden!”

I was sure there was a distinction to be drawn somewhere between making warriors of hair and bone and making metalic automatons, but I did not want to get into arcane comparative legal systems. “Are you saying, my lady,” I said in astonishment, “that these warriors, such as have never been seen in Yurt before, invaded the castle as soon as you arrived but have nothing to do with you?”

“Most certainly,” she said, tossing her head imperiously. “Perhaps my uncle the mage chose poorly when he sent me to such a perilous kingdom.” Either she was lying to me, I thought, about the likelihood that her enemies had sent them, perhaps because she was so terrified that she did not dare admit the true extent of the danger even to herself, or else she, with her own unaided magic, had caused this attack.

But there was nothing of magic about her, other than the automaton and its spels, and it seemed unusualy counterproductive for someone to use mindless warriors to attack a castle where one was staying oneself.

“I shal try to see that you are not bothered further by such disturbances during your visit, my lady,” I said stiffly and rose to go. The automaton watched me al the way out.

The courtyard was packed. I turned, highly surprised, to see expressions of delight on every side. Smiling at me were al the knights and ladies, the castle staff led by Gwennie and her mother, and Antonia, stil in her nightgown and trailing her dol.

“Here he is!” cried King Paul. ‘The hero of Yurt!”

A shout rose from everyone there. But I saw now the forced edge to the smiles, the grim realization behind whatever triumph this was supposed to be, that the watchman’s death was the first time since long before anyone could remember that someone-in the royal castle had been violently kiled.

Paul, stil streaked with black from the bonfire and leaning on his sword, had put on the heavy gold crown of Yurt. “He destroyed the invading demons! The wizard has saved us al!” There was another great shout, then an expectant pause as though I was supposed to make a speech.

I didn’t have the slightest idea what to say. Paul had something large and shiny in one hand—some sort of medal or award, I thought wildly, which I most certainly did not deserve. “Wel, thank you, thank you al,” I managed to say, which produced another shout. “But they weren’t demons. And I didn’t realy destroy them. That is—” Whatever I might have added next was drowned out in more hurrahs. “Step forward, Wizard,” said Paul in the formal tone that explained why he was wearing his crown, “and receive the accolades of a kingdom.” I could see now that he held a golden medal at the end of a loop of blue ribbon.

It was at this point that Elerius arrived.

“It’s al right!” I cried as the knights reached for their swords. A castle that has just been invaded by creatures considered demonic does not react calmly to someone shooting down from the sky and landing in the courtyard. “This wizard has come to help me!”

“Came a little late, didn’t he?” shouted one knight with a relieved laugh, and, “Didn’t notice you needing much help, Wizard!” shouted another.

“He’s just in time,” said Paul with a determined grin, “to see his felow wizard honored.” He wiped soot from his forehead with an arm and became formal again. “The Golden Yurt award is given but rarely, at most once a generation. Although I have been your king only six years, I need not hesitate or wonder if someone more deserving may aid the kingdom in years to come. Our Royal Wizard has protected Yurt since before I was born, and now that he has destroyed a host of demons it is clear that this award is long overdue. Step forward, Wizard, and receive the praise of a grateful kingdom!” It was much too late to explain that I had had nothing to do with the warriors’ dissolution in sunlight, or that if anyone was honored it ought to be the dead watchman. To his credit, Elerius restricted himself to only the faintest ironic smile as I stepped resignedly before Paul and let him slide the ribbon around my neck.

The medal itself was engraved with an image of the royal castle and had the heavy feel of solid gold. I turned it over and saw the names of al those to whom it had been awarded in the past. My name was at the bottom; the goldsmith must have worked fast. The last name before mine was the king’s cousin Dominic, with a smal cross to indicate the Golden Yurt had been awarded to him posthumously.

To the repeated hurrahs of everyone, knights, ladies, and staff, I scooped up Antonia, nodded to Elerius to folow me, and retreated rapidly to my chambers, just escaping having to give a speech.

V

Antonia, teling me loftily that she could dress herself, retreated into my bedroom. Elerius asked me nothing about her; he might guess she was my daughter but I did not intend to confirm his guess.

He and I sat in the outer room while I told him about the warriors. He listened in silence, stroking his black beard and folowing me with intent eyes. At least, I thought, with my white beard and the Golden Yurt award now hanging by an attachment spel on the wal next to my diploma from the school, I looked more wise and venerable than he did.

“When I caled you I needed to know how to dismantle them,” I finished, “but now that they’ve dissolved in sunlight al by themselves I’ve realized they probably aren’t the worst threat to Yurt: that wil be whatever comes next.”

"Your success against them,” said Elerius, nodding slowly, “was supposed to give you a false sense of security, so you would be unprepared for whatever does come.” He smiled then. “And of course whoever sent these warriors must have hoped he might win with a single unexpected attack. I am glad you caled me, Daimbert. This looks like the exact sort of case for which institutionalized magic was designed: renegade spels which must be opposed by wizards acting together.”

Elerius and I had disagreed strongly in the past on the purposes and goals of organized wizardry, but I certainly agreed with him here. It struck me that he might be acting so helpful in part to put me into his debt. But the difficulty with mistrusting Elerius’s motives was that he realy did believe he always acted for the best—even if I often thought he didn’t. Besides, I needed him.

“Our best approach,” he said, “is to find out who wants to harm Yurt and why. Otherwise we could end up dealing with a long stream of different magical onslaughts.” I hadn’t needed Elerius to tel me that. And it crossed my mind that, even assuming he himself had had nothing to do with the warriors, he was certainly acting quickly to position himself to take advantage of their attack. But it was hard to resent a faint patronizing tone from someone whom I had begged so desperately for help. “Let’s start with these bones,” I said and lifted them onto the table with magic, not caring to handle them again.

Outside in the courtyard were the sounds of a castle resuming its daily routine, when everyone believes disaster has just been averted and is wondering whether to be worried or grimly glad. I swung my casement windows shut.

Most of the spels that had held the warriors together had disappeared, along with their human shape, in the morning light. But enough of a hint remained that Elerius and I could probe magicaly, stepping into magic’s four dimensions together and communicating mind to mind. Here was a fragment of a spel I thought I recognized from years ago, here a familiar spel given a very unusual twist—

Elerius broke contact and raised peaked eyebrows. “It’s not school magic. It does not even seem like the magic previous generations of wizards used to teach their apprentices, although at first I thought it must be.”

“I think,” I said slowly, with an irrational but deadly cold conviction that I knew exactly what it was, “it’s what they cal the magic of blood and bone over in the Eastern Kingdoms.” The kingdoms east of the mountains had never had a wizards’ school, had never even had the peace that the western wizards had established in their kingdoms after the Black Wars. There the conflicts among wizards which stil persisted even here, even between wizards who had gone to school together, had become part of the constant ongoing wars of the region.

‘This wil be an important project for the wizards’ school in years to come, Daimbert,” said Elerius. “The school has functioned very wel in the past to coordinate magic in the Western Kingdoms, but we wil need next to turn our attention to the wizards east of the mountains.”

But I was not interested in Elerius s plans for when he eventualy became Master of the school. “What this attack must mean,” I said, “is that the Thieves’ Guild of Xantium has overcome their aversion to the forbidden arts enough to hire a very powerful eastern wizard to pursue a princess.” I told Elerius briefly about Justinia’s arrival. “If these warriors were made by her enemies,” I added, “they must be very good and very fast to have found her within twenty-four hours of her arrival in Yurt. I’l have to get her out of here before the next attack.” But Elerius was shaking his head. “I cannot believe that Xantium’s greatest mage would have been so sloppy as to let the princess’s enemies know where she was going even before she left. For they would have had to know she was heading for Yurt to be able to start making unliving warriors even before she arrived.”

I nodded without speaking, wanting desperately to persuade myself that this had nothing to do with the East. From years of experience I knew that I often leaped to unwarranted conclusions, but I also knew that I had a tendency to try to disbelieve things I did not dare face.

“If the Lady Justinia is not the target here,” Elerius continued, “then her best safety wil lie in staying quietly where she is. And if the warriors were indeed made by the magic of blood and bone, I would not be so quick to assume any mage in Xantium would embrace it.”

“I was in Xantium once,” I said in exasperation, “but I don’t understand their morality and laws at al. I would have considered thieves outlaws myself, but there they are an organized guild, with whom the governor negotiates. Who knows? Maybe they realy would be fastidious about any magic different from their native magery. But if those warriors had nothing to do with Justinia, where can they have come from?”

Antonia came out of the bedroom at this point, wearing her blue dress, her shoes neatly laced and tied but her hair thoroughly tangled. “Who’s going to braid my hair, Wizard?” she asked me accusingly.

Elerius smiled and held out a hand. “I’l do it There’s a little princess in my kingdom who’s about your age. Would you like your hair styled like a princess’s?” Antonia stayed put, looking at him in silent suspicion. Undaunted, Elerius said a few quick words in the Hidden Language. “Here, catch.” An ilusory golden bal arched through the air. Startled, Antonia reached up to catch it. But just before reaching her, the bal changed into a golden bird and flew, flapping wildly, up toward the ceiling where it disappeared with a pop. A single golden feather drifted down and dissolved back into air.

Antonia laughed and trotted over to climb on Elerius’s knee. “My wizard does ilusions too,” she said. I thought it nice of her not to mention that I, the winner of an undeserved award, couldn’t do anything that complicated anywhere near as easily. “His name is Daimbert,” she added in explanation, as though Elerius might be unsure who I was. “I’m Antonia.”

“My name is Elerius,” he said, taking her brush. He was good at everything else; why should I be surprised that Elerius was also good with children? “Hmm, it looks like you’ve been trying to do some braiding yourself, Antonia, without being able to see what you were doing.”

‘That’s because my friend Celia left yesterday,” said Antonia.

Celia! With everything else I had forgotten al about sending her to find out about the Dog-Man. It was too early to expect a message from her yet, but I might soon. And might that man, who performed very strange magic tinged with the supernatural, who had persuaded the bishop he wanted to be a priest, be behind the attack on Yurt?