Her Majesty's Wizard #1 (36 page)

   "Enough, enough, Lord Wizard!" The abbot twisted free and clamped his helmet back on. "We'll see them in!" the distance-dwarfed dragon paused; then it charged at the back of the swirling army, a great gout of fire clearing its way. Shrieks came dimly to Matt's ears, and a path opened before Stegoman. He bulldozed through, roaring; but a baron bawled orders, and a knot of soldiers began to form up against danger. Nearer the wall, a sorcerer rose up, arms weaving a spell.

   "Max!" Matt snapped. "Drain that wizard!"

   "Done!" the Demon sang, without even bothering to appear; and the sorcerer tumbled.

   "Great!" Matt shouted. "Now clear a path for my friend!"

   Soldiers and knights began to drop of sudden exhaustion, in a straight line that met the dragon's flaming breath.

   Stegoman plowed on through, waving his head from side to side, cutting a great circle of flame, like a pie with a slice missing,. about him. Pikes and swords rushed toward him, then rushed back as the heat wave hit.

   "I believe he will come to us unharmed!" Alisande cried, gripping Matt's forearm.

   "Well, there's a good chance, at least." Matt frowned, peering down. "What's happening there?"

   A last rally of men had formed, splitting off from the army of sorcery to gather in a skirmish line between the dragon and the monastery gate, just out of bowshot.

   Stegoman bulled his way through the last ranks and paused, glaring at the battle line.

   A baron barked out a set of orders, and the archers bent their bows. But a spark of light danced among them, and the bows snapped, sending the archers staggering back. Soldiers propped pike butts against earth, pointing the spear blade tops at Stegoman's chest height; but Matt could see the bright metal browning with rust.

   Stegoman bellowed and charged.

   Pike points broke against his scaly hide; swords cracked and crumbled at the first stroke. The dragon blasted flame about him, and the soldiers ran screaming.

   "He has triumphed!" the princess cried.

   "Thanks, Max," Matt muttered.

   "'Twas pleasure," the spark sang. "You have irony."

   The dragon charged headlong at the gates, and the abbot cried, "Open! These are ours!"

   The doors groaned wide, and the sorcerers' army howled, seeing their chance. A thousand footmen sprinted for the portal, pikes high, while sorcerers popped up behind them, hands weaving frantic spells.

   "Stegoman! Torch 'em!" Matt yelled, and the dragon slewed to a stop in the gateway, skidding in a full turn. He roared, and a ten-foot bar of flame shot out toward the attackers.

   "Give him a boost there, will you?" Matt said, aside, and Max sang, "Aye, Wizard!" and winked out.

   Stegoman's flame shot out to thirty feet. The dragon's head whipped back in surprise, accidentally charring a careless sorcerer who'd thought he should lead, for a change. Then Stegoman recovered and depressed his aim, turning his head. Flame swept a clear arc around the gateway, and enemy footmen screamed; body armor conducted beautifully. They pulled back-or ran, more truthfully, the ones who were still ambulatory. Stegoman bit off his flame and shifted into reverse, backing up fast. Monks heaved, and the great doors boomed shut.

   A shriek of frustration went up from the enemy lines, and the abbot turned to Matt with a hard smile. "Well done, Wizard. They'll not prevail 'gainst our gates."

   "'Tis a priest, Lord Abbot," a knight called from below, "one near to exhaustion."

   "We ha' known it," the abbot called down. "Bring him up to us."

   "Must he come up?" Sayeesa objected. "Can he not speak from below?"

   "I think it unlikely," the abbot said, frowning. "Did you not hear Sir Pedigraine? The man's nearly spent!"

   Brunel appeared at the top of the steps, gasping, propped up by a knight and a novice. "God be ... praised! I ha' ridden as though ... a demon pursued me this night, in hope ... I would find you!"

   "Welcome, Father." But there was a dubious undertone to the abbot's greeting.

   Matt tried to sound hearty. "Good to see you again, Father! Did you rouse any monks?"

   Brunel nodded, beginning to catch his breath. "The Knights of the Cross, and ... the Order of Saint Conor. And, yestere'en, I rode toward the convent of Saint Cynestria."

   "The convent?" Sayeesa cried. "What business had you there?"

   "There are warriors among them," the priest said simply.

   "Yes, and probably some beauties, too." Matt frowned. "I should think that wasn't too wise, Father-for you."

   The abbot frowned, puzzled and angered; but Brunel smiled sourly. "Secure, I assure you. There may be beauty there, but a man who shows recognition of it might suffer-and harshly. With such knowledge in mind, there's scant chance of desire arising."

   The abbot lifted his head, beginning to understand; and Matt hurried on before the knight could start catechizing. "You only said you rode toward the convent. Did you get there?"

   "To the hill above the plain that surrounds it, aye. But there, in the dark of the moon, I saw an army of Evil gathering about its walls!"

   Alisande gasped, hand covering her mouth, and the abbot swore, "By'r Lady!"

   But Sayeesa gave a short, mocking laugh. "A fool's errand, that! If any, could withstand a fell Hell-host, 'twould be the House of Saint Cynestria!"

   "There is truth in that," the abbot said, frowning, "yet they, too, are only mortal ..."

   "It may be as you say." Brunel avoided looking at Sayeesa. "But there were foul beasts among them and fell things of most unholy sorcery. Still, their walls were unbreached when I turned, and this great dragon and I rode to find you."

   "Siege," Matt mused. "About what hour did you come there?"

   "The fifth, after midnight." The priest frowned. "Does that signify?"

   "Aye!" The abbot's eyes lit. "'Twas midnight when their host round our walls did lessen!"

   "You must go!" Father Brunel blurted. "Do not ask the why of me; still, I know it, and my bones know it, that 'tis yourselves must ride to their aid!"

   "So we shall," Alisande said, with iron resolution. "You are right in this, Father-I am certain."

   That decided the issue, Matt knew. Still... "Uh, with all due respect, your Highness-wouldn't an army do little more good?"

   "What army?" The princess rounded on him. "Those gathered here? If they come out as slowly as an army must, there will be a great battle outside these walls-and, even though lessened, the warriors of Evil outnumber the Knights of Moncaire!"

   "'Tis as her Highness says," the abbot agreed somberly. "A small party can travel quickly; with support from the walls, they might carve a path through this host. But an army could not; there are too many to travel quickly enough to avoid all the blows. Yet I am loathe that ye should depart; for Heaven knows we might have fallen this night past without the aid of this good wizard and his ... spirit."

   Still avoiding the word "Demon," Matt noted. "I wouldn't worry too much about that, milord. You see, Max did a number on their weapons and armor, and set a microorganism on their food supplies."

   The abbot frowned. "What means this?"

   "It means that, by nightfall, their metal will fall apart at the slightest blow." Matt grinned. "And right after dinner, the effects of breakfast and lunch should start showing-abdominal cramps, nausea, diarrhea, and fever. They won't have much stomach for fighting-those who survive."

   The abbot stared, his mouth gaping open.

   Then he grinned and clapped Matt on the shoulder. "Aye, we should live through the night, even without you! Go, then, with good heart! I would I could lead my hosts out behind you. Yet after your spell has done its work, by morning there should be but a remnant of their army still standing. Then may we sally out to cleanse our environs and, after, ride west to meet you at the convent."

   "Great." Matt smiled. "And, uh-I don't want to sound unduly optimistic, but-if the army's gone from the convent when you get there, keep riding west, will you? Be nice if you could meet us in the mountains."

   "Aye; we will have strong need of you there," Alisande agreed.

   The abbot bowed to her. "We will, then, your Highness. At the convent, then, or the mountains."

   "And we will ride to the convent-now." Alisande turned away, toward the stairs.

   Matt could have pointed out a few unpleasant facts, such as the unlikelihood of four people and a dragon being able to help much against an army that included a strong corps of sorcerers; but he knew what the answer would be. This was a public matter, so Alisande had to be right. He sighed and turned to follow her.

   "'Tis my choice also," Sayeesa breathed, cutting ahead of him. "I cannot see Saint Cynestria's walls too soon!"

   "I, too, shall come." Father Brunei started to limp after her.

   Sayeesa spun about, rage flaring in her eyes; but the abbot pulled rank.

   He put out a palm and caught Brunei in the breastbone. "Nay, Father. Methinks you will stay here amongst us; for you are wearied and not fit for travel."

   Father Brunel started to stutter a refusal, but there was the gleam of combat in the abbot's eye, and he did rank a simple country priest. Brunel swallowed his objections and lowered his eyes. "Even as you say, of course, Lord Abbot."

   "Of course," the abbot echoed grimly. "And when you have rested, good Father, I wish to have some converse with you."

   Father Brunel looked up, alarmed. Then he swallowed heavily and looked away again.

CHAPTER 15

   Stegoman shouldered up beside them as they waited behind the great gate.

   Matt looked up, surprised. "You haven't had much sleep."

   "Nor have I need of it," the dragon snorted. "I am easily fit for another twelve-hour chase. Do not seek to dissuade me, Wizard."

   "Wouldn't dream of it," Matt murmured.

   "'Tis well," the dragon said gruffly. "Mount, Wizard."

   Matt climbed aboard, picking his way carefully between pointed fins. "I really appreciate this, Stego--"

   "Loose!" the abbot yelled above.

   A hundred arrows darkened the air, arching high to hail down on the enemy. Shields snapped up all around the gate; enemy soldiers cowered under their shells.

   "Open the gate!" the abbot bellowed.

   "Ride!" Alisande cried, and charged out as the gates cracked open.

   "Don't let her lead!" Matt cried, and Stegoman shot ahead, past the princess's horse. She howled in anger as he cut in front of her, then saved her breath as the dragon's torch lit. He charged out like a flame thrower into Hell, carrying Matt, with Alisande, Sir Guy, and Sayeesa galloping behind. Even then, the sorcerers almost got them. A geyser of fire erupted right under Stegoman's nose, and the dragon pulled back, almost starting a chain collison. Sir Guy and Alisande just barely pulled their horses up in time. Then the footmen charged in from the back with a howl, and the princess and the Black Knight turned to meet them with razor-edged steel. They bought just enough time for Max to douse the volcano and make it re-erupt right under the enclave of sorcerers. While they were busy screaming and running around swatting out flamelets on each others' coattails, Stegoman let loose a fire-blast with a Demon-assist and torched a path through the army. They rode out full tilt, and nobody seemed minded to dispute the right-of-way with them.

   Sir Guy reined his horse back to a walk when the bulk of the western foothills hid the monastery from sight. He opened his visor and yanked off a gauntlet, so he could wipe his brow. "That was hot, heavy work, Lord Wizard."

   "Shoulda shtayed aroun' 'n' burned 'em down t' the' groun'," Stegoman slurred.

   Matt eyed his mount warily, but he seemed docile enough for the moment. The ride was a bit on the bumpy side, though. "Well, we got out with only a few scratches, and that's what matters, Sir Guy ... We are heading west, aren't we?"

   "Aye." The Black Knight grinned. "The dragon did not swerve too badly. We should arrive at Saint Cynestria's convent ere nightfall."

   "Good." Matt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I have a feeling that somehow, without us, they're in heavy trouble."

   "Not unless the army besieging them is far more fell than that which we battled last night," Sayeesa said grimly.

   "Which it is," Matt replied. "I'll lay you long odds on that one. I have a sneaking suspicion the whole situation is set up to guarantee that we have to be there, to give the Cynestrians a fighting chance. Why else would they attack this particular convent?"

   "I think it has to do with our good Sayeesa," Alisande said thoughtfully. "She May have a greater part to play in this war than we ha' known."

   "Yeah.. ." Matt chewed at the inside of his cheek. "The priest who heard our confessions in that country church said something of the sort."

   "Nay, surely not!" Sayeesa frowned. "I am humble and a sinner! I could not have such great import!"

   "Yet still 'twas said," Alisande pointed out. "And if 'tis so, the sorcerer has done all he may to prevent her coming to the convent..."

   "Without much luck," Matt added.

   "That is to your credit," Alisande admitted. "Yet 'ware false pride, Lord Wizard."

   One of these days, Matt decided, Alisande was going to give him a real, full, unqualified compliment-and when she realized she'd done so, she'd probably have a heart attack.

   "So," the princess went on, "if he cannot prevent her arrival at the Cynestrians' gate..."

   "He can eliminate the gate." Matt's lips tightened. "And the convent with it. Sure. But wouldn't that indicate that Sayeesa, herself, isn't vital? Instead, it's her joining with the convent that's a key event."

   "That, I can more readily accept," Sayeesa said. "Yet not fully; for I cannot believe I'd add much power to those iron, holy women!"

   "Some change may overcome you there," Alisande said offhandedly, "transforming you to a greater force than we can think."

   "I'll not hear more," Sayeesa said flatly, and nudged her pony on ahead.

   "But I kinda think she wants to." Matt frowned at the ex-witch's retreating back.

   "There may be truth in it," Alisande mused. "Yet it could be no more than their joining; the two could form a most potent combination. For, look you, Lord Wizard-the Cynestrians accept as novices only women who have sinned, and deeply. All within their walls are therefore penitent, laden with remorse-and, as a consequence, staggering in the intensity of their devotion. They fast and pray both night and day with greatest fervor, seeking to atone. 'Tis said they pray with vengeance-on themselves."

   "Hmm." Matt pursed closed lips. "They could put out a lot of spiritual power, couldn't they? Come to think of it, they'd have to-what else could have held Malingo's army off all night?"

   "If they did succeed in that," Alisande reminded him. "For which, let us pray ... Yet their power is not prayer alone; for there are former bandits in their midst."

   "Women?" Matt's eyebrows shot up. "Female bandits? In this kind of society?"

   "'Tis our ways and customs formed them," Alisande demurred. "They are women who could not, would not, be subjected to a man's command; and in such a land as ours, there is scant space for such unfeminine women."

   Sir Guy nodded. "These Ladies of the Waste could best most men. Nay, I've heard of them. Such a band did gather one short year a small army, they were indeed-bandit-maids and scourers, who did loot and burn throughout these marches. They were, for several months, scourges of the West, lording it over all the borderland."

   "This did begin when Astaulf came to power?" Alisande demanded, thin-upped.

   Sir Guy nodded. "As the king does, so do the subjects; and Astaulf is a bandit king. Yet when these bandit-maids had grown intolerable, the Mother Superior of the Cynestrians swore they gainsaid Nature, in that God made women to protect and care for others, not to sack and slay them. She vowed that she would bring them to repentance, or die in the attempt. Many of her order sought to join with her, but she'd not have them; the hazard was for her, and her alone. Thus she rode singly out to face the outlaw band. She found them, endured their torments and their insults, then began to speak to them of Christ and Blessed Mary. Thus she showed them the estate that they were born to and had spurned; and by Heaven! not a one of them who heard her could stand against remorse!"

   "She brought them out repentant, as she'd said?" Alisande's tone was hushed.

   Sir Guy smiled. "Each and every one. They rode back with her to the convent, turning postulant. If the walls of Saint Cynestria yet stand, your Highness, they are why; they are the ones who bore the brunt of fighting."

   Somehow, Matt wasn't exactly eager to meet the good sister, sat least, not unless they were sure he was on their side. In the afternoon, he had a chance to mention this to Sir Guy.

   "You never shall convince them of it," Sir Guy declared. "They're sure, these bandit-maids, that all that's male conspires against them-save Christ, which is why they're so devoted to Him. Still, if you can bring their Reverend Mother to believe you, her warriors will side with you; for they'll be ruled by her."

   "Hmm." Matt chewed that one over. "Well, I'd better be my most persuasive-but I don't think that means charming."

   "Indeed not," the Black Knight agreed. "She will see through whatever face you wear to your true one; so, best that be the face you wear."

   "Yeah." Matt nodded. "Just my ordinary self."

   "Nay. Your true self."

   Matt turned slowly. "Whaddaya mean? I am my true self!"

   "Then you know that you do hold feelings for our princess that are somewhat more than those of a liegeman for his lady?"

   "Now, hold on! I don't know anything of the sort!"

   "Then the face you wear lacks truth. Nay, do not speak-I've seen it in you. Admit these feelings, Wizard-at least unto yourself. This game you play must cease."

   "Game?" Matt felt anger kindle. "What are you talking about? I'm not playing any game!"

   "Are you not? 'Tis even as I've said-you will not acknowledge it, even to yourself. I pray you, do; yearnings hidden may weaken you-and through you, all of us."

   Matt felt his emotions still and settle into an icy block. "If you're talking about lust, don't sweat it-I'm not exactly hot for her Highness's body ... Well, not usually." He remembered her dance in the Stone Ring; but that had been an aberration.

   Sir Guy turned away, sighing and shaking his head. "Well, I spoke my piece, and hard enough it came. Yet I bid you hearken to my words." He clucked to his horse and rode ahead.

   Matt glowered at his back, coals of resentment smoldering in his belly.

   The sun was low in the sky, silhouetting a low, sprawling building with a steeple rising up from its midst, perched on a low hill in the middle of a valley-the convent of Saint Cynestria. It looked much like the Moncairean monastery.

   Matt wondered about the army that surrounded it. The levies didn't seem to be any more numerous than the host hemming in the Moncaireans; but there were some big holes in the gathering, empty patches of ground with a look of waiting to them, scrupulously avoided by the soldiers. He wondered who-or-what, would be dropping in.

   "How shall we attain these walls, Lord Wizard?" the princess demanded.

   "How indeed?" Sir Guy seconded. " Be wary of your magic, for I see many more midnight robes and a host of gray."

   "Yeah, they do look heavier in the magic arm. Well, sometimes there's nothing like good, old-fashioned violence. Stegoman, can you breathe out fire without letting it flame?"

   "How mean you?" The dragon turned his head back to look at his rider. "I only know 'tis anger that sets flame."

   "Okay, then, imagine you're angry-just pretending. And breathe out through your mouth ... Yeah, that's right."

   The dragon's jaw lolled open; a steady hissing sounded. The horses shied off, and Matt wasn't surprised; he could scent the odor himself. It was faint, but it was also redolent of decay. Methane, probably.

   "Good." Matt nodded. "Just keep it up, now-pump out as much dragon-breath as you can."

   Stegoman sucked in air and exhaled again. Matt recited:

   "The foeman now has little care; Let him have some moving air, Wafting from the eastern trees, With dragon's breath upon its breeze."

   The air stirred about them, then settled into a steady breeze blowing against their backs. Stegoman kept hissing; the wind carried his fumes out toward the enemy. The dragon took time between breaths to demand, "How is this, that I grow not giddy?"

   "It's the flame that does it," Matt explained, not quite accurately; it would take too long to explain what combustion products were.

   "Wizard," Alisande said nervously, "will you do nothing?"

   "Not for a while, your Highness." Matt wished for a wrist watch. "Stegoman's gotta pump out enough breath to cover most of the army between us and the gate." He leaned back, drumming his fingers on Stegoman's fin and whistling through his teeth.

   About ten minutes later, he said, "Max?"

   "Aye, Wizard?" asked the dot of light.

   "Max, by this time, most of the army directly ahead of us ought to be blanketed with a kind of air that burns. Touch off a spark in the middle of it, will you?"

   "Gladly," the arc spark murmured and winked out.

   Matt leaned forward, keying himself up. "Ready, now. As soon as we see the flash, we ride."

   The others looked up, surprised. Then they turned, bracing themselves in the saddles, but not without some trepidation.

   A gout of flame exploded in the middle of the army, enveloping the whole march between the convent and the valley edge in flame.

   "A triumph!" Stegoman roared with a six-foot flame. "Oh, wondroush wizhard!"

   Matt bellowed, "Ride!"

   Stegoman rumbled downhill like a beer wagon. The rest of the party followed out of faith.

   The fire in the air damped and died in seconds, the methane spent; but everywhere it had touched, organics burned-grass, leaves, clothing, and hair. The army was in chaos, men running toward the nearest vat of water or wine, swatting out flames on each others' clothing, and bawling at the sorcerers to do something.

   Into this melee charged a wall of drunken dragon, blasting fire all about him with a grand lack of discrimination. Howls doubled in front of him, and soldiers scrambled back out of his way. Stegoman scarcely had to slow as he cut his way through to the gates. A sorcerer did pop out to try a quick spell, but he seemed to have sudden difficulty moving his arms, and a second later, Stegoman converted him into a torch.