The Haunted Wizard - Wiz in Rhym-6 (10 page)

"And I will seek a stray cow," Stegoman said. "You will pay the farmer in the morning?"

"Of course," Matt said. "Airline food always was overpriced. See you when you're finished with the entree."

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"I shall return when I have fed," Stegoman assured. His wings boomed wide; he ran across the field and launched into the air. Matt watched him go, feeling reassured—with a dragon apt to stop back any time, neither of his two companions was apt to try anything against him. Not that he suspected they would, of course—they had the same goal he had, after all—but it never hurt to be careful. Sir Orizhan watched Stegoman climb into the evening sky. "I cannot believe I actually rode upon his back!"

"I can," Sergeant Brock groaned. He had already stripped off his leggins and was busy rubbing the ointment into very sore muscles.

"Not feeling stiff?" Matt asked Sir Orizhan.

"It is not much different from riding a horse," the knight told him. "I only needed to accustom myself to the fear of heights, and the—" He glanced at Sergeant Brock and lowered his voice."—and to the sudden and unexpected ups and downs of it."

"That does take getting used to," Matt admitted. "In fact, I have a breakfast menu that should help a bit."

"That root you gave us to chew?"

"Hey, it helped, didn't it? But we'd better see about getting that fire going, or we won't get dinner, let alone breakfast."

Stegoman had dropped them in a pasture at the edge of a small patch of woods. They turned to explore the grove with no one suggesting it—they all felt the need to investigate. After all, there might be an enemy hiding in it, a bandit or other outlaw. They stepped into the shadow under the canopy of leaves, and all cried out in surprise.

"A cabin!" Matt cried.

"A cottage, at least." Sir Orizhan frowned at Matt. "What is a 'cabin'?"

"A cottage by any other name. Hasn't been used in a while, has it?" That was obvious at a glance. The thatch was moldy and patchy, missing in several places, and the windows and doorway gaped empty. The shutters hung at an angle, leather hinges broken, or lay beneath the window. The door was gone completely, probably chopped up for firewood. The area around the little house was clear, but only because the shadow of the trees was too deep for anything to grow.

"It will give us shelter for the night, though," the knight said. "Come, let us rid the place of any unwelcome dwellers."

He advanced, sword out, ready for anything from badgers to bears. Matt and Brock drew and followed.

They didn't need their blades, though. The cabin was a single large room, empty except for the refuse of years. Bears obviously had lived there in the past, or some sort of carnivore, and lesser woodland creatures had been there before or since. A pallet of musty straw lay against one wall, but there were, of course, no blankets. There was no other furniture. Like the door, it had been chopped and burned by other travelers who had used the abandoned cottage for a night's shelter. The ashes in the fireplace were
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old, though, and crumbled to a bed of soot.

"Empty, but filthy." Sergeant Brock sheathed his sword. "I'll find a dry branch and some green leaves for a broom."

"I shall gather firewood," Sir Orizhan said.

"You've got all the tinder you need right here." Matt nodded at the moldy pallet. "I'll gather up the bones and toss them out."

They went, each to his own task. Matt hauled a double armful of cow and deer bones out to the edge of the trees. When he came back, he found all the old straw stuffed into the fireplace, and three pallets of fresh straw in its place. He was pleasantly surprised, and wondered which of his companions had managed the trick while he was out. Then he pulled his leather camp bucket out of his pack and set off to find a stream.

There was enough dry wood under the trees so that they had a fire burning brightly before it was dark. Dinner was stewed jerky and toasted journeybread. As it cooked, Matt said, "It was really nice of you to bring in fresh straw."

Neither man answered, but each glanced at the other, obviously waiting. Matt frowned. "Okay. Who brought it?"

"I thought it was one of you," Sergeant Brock said.

"And I thought one of you two had done it," Sir Orizhan said, very confused. Matt felt his personal alarm bell ringing all the way up his spine. In this universe, unexplained phenomena usually wound up being explained by magic. What magus was trailing them—and why did whoever it was want him to know about it?

But he couldn't let his companions know, of course. He didn't need to have them staying awake all night waiting for the spell to fall. "Guess I must have wished too hard." He stabbed a piece of jerky with his dagger and offered it to Sir Orizhan. "Think that's tender enough?" It was, and the aroma from the stewpot had revived Sergeant Brock's appetite, sort of. As they ate, Sir Orizhan asked, "How shall we find the trail of this murderer, Lord Wizard?"

"I'll be using what spells I can," Matt said, "but I think he magicked himself back to Bretanglia, and so far, all my own charms can do is verify that." His enchanted compass needle had pointed north. "At the moment, I'm trying to find him from another direction—by figuring out who else was in on the conspiracy to kill the prince, and hoping they'll lead us to our assassin." Sir Orizhan frowned. "But I thought you knew of only the one murderer—the footpad who went out the window, and whom you chased and fought."

"He denied it," Matt said, "though he would, of course. That means I have to prove it."

"If he slew the prince by casting a spell, proving will be difficult," Sergeant Brock pointed out.
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"Right. As it is now, I can't even make a convincing case that he had a reason to do it."

"To draw Merovence into war!" Sir Orizhan exclaimed.

"Well, he did challenge me to try to keep us out of it," Matt admitted, "but that might be only one part of an overall strategy. Could be he was just a hired hand—and if he's something more, what is he?" Sir Orizhan stared at Sergeant Brock and Sergeant Brock stared at him. Then both stared back at Matt.

"Yes," Sergeant Brock said, "what, and who?"

"Do you mean to say this Man Who Went Out the Window is not the only one to have a reason for slaying Prince Gaheris?" Sir Orizhan asked, scandalized.

"It is mean to say it, I know," Matt said sympathetically, "but it's probably true. In fact, he might have been hired by another one of the people who had a reason. Let's start with Brion and John."

"You cannot mean his own brothers would slay him to gain the throne!" Sir Orizhan demanded.

"Yes I can," Matt said, "and so can you; we've heard of it happening in other countries."

"If I did not know Brion to be so honorable, I would say that he might; he would thereby become heir." Sir Orizhan gazed off into space. "John would not gain by it, though."

"He would now," Matt pointed out. "Whether Brion had Gaheris assassinated or not, they're probably both thinking up ways to kill each other this minute."

"Yes, John to gain Brion's place as heir, and Brion to save his own life," Sir Orizhan said. He shuddered at the thought, but pursued it relentlessly. "Even then, Brion is too chivalrous to strike before he is attacked, or to attack by treachery. John though, would gain not only the throne, but Rosamund, too."

"And Rosamund wouldn't like that," Matt said, "unless she has very odd tastes." Sir Orizhan stiffened, eyes glinting dangerously. "Do you accuse my princess of murder?"

"Of course not." Matt backpedaled quickly. "Of course, if she did, she'd be planning the same little surprise for John— but since she didn't, she isn't."

"If she did, I could sympathize with her," Sergeant Brock said darkly.

"Indeed, so could I." Sir Orizhan shivered, the bodyguard gaining ascendancy over the honor guard for a moment.

"The only one of those three princes who was never repulsive in either looks or personality was Brion," Matt said, "and he's so arrogant that I can't say I was surprised when Lady Rosamund showed flashes of irritation with him."

"He is justly proud of his prowess as a warrior and troubadour," Sir Orizhan said slowly.

"But such arrogance might disguise weak self-esteem in other areas," Matt pointed out. "Sometimes the second child feels he can't possibly measure up to the first. Of course, when his mother favors him as
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obviously as Petronille favors Brion, that shouldn't be much of a problem."

"What if his father does not?" Sergeant Brock asked.

"Yes, let's think about Drustan for a minute." Matt turned to Sir Orizhan. "Rosamund didn't seem too happy about his attentions at dinner last night, nor did her fiancee, Gaheris." Sir Orizhan stiffened again, and Sergeant Brock protested, "You cannot mean the king could desire Rosamund for himself!"

"In a country in which noblemen still practice the droit de seigneur, bedding each virgin on her wedding night?" Matt countered. "I'd say it's quite possible."

"But his own son's bride, milord!"

"I do not like to speak of such things," Sir Orizhan grated, "but I have indeed heard of men who have such feelings, and in an unscrupulous king who is accustomed to having whatever he wishes, such lust might be reason enough for him to have his own son assassinated."

"So." Matt looked directly into his eyes. "You've had to protect Lady Rosamund from her betrothed already, haven't you?"

"Young men are apt to be overeager," Sir Orizhan said stiffly.

"Meaning you never left her alone with Gaheris if you could help it. Bet you even used the pretext that a princess has to learn swordplay, too."

"Every woman who will grow to be a chatelaine must," Sir Orizhan countered, "for she must defend her husband's castle in his absence."

"But you couldn't defend her from her new king," Matt said quietly.

"There was no such need," Sir Orizhan grated.

"Only because you made sure there was no opportunity."

"My king is not such a villain!" Sergeant Brock rested his hand on the dagger under his tunic. Matt turned to him and locked gazes for a minute. Then he bowed his head a little. "Of course not. I'm sorry, Sergeant— I was carried away by my zeal for finding Gaheris' murderer." Sergeant Brock stared, completely at a loss; he had never heard a nobleman apologize to a commoner before.

Even Sir Orizhan seemed to be unsettled, and took refuge in duty. "Besides, with Gaheris dead, Rosamund will soon be betrothed to Brion."

"Which, as we pointed out, is a reason for Brion to have Gaheris killed," Matt said. Sir Orizhan threw up his hands. "Why do you not indict Queen Petronille while you are about it?"
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"Not a bad idea." But one glance at Sergeant Brock’s expression was enough to persuade Matt to drop the issue. "Of course, it's possible that the Man Who Went Out the Window did kill Gaheris on his own, and for his own reasons only— but one way or another, we have to be sure."

"Yes, quite so." Sir Orizhan frowned. "At the moment, we do not know if this sorcerer-footpad even committed the murder."

"No, we don't," Matt agreed. "At the moment, though, he's the most likely candidate. Of course, any of the soldiers in that inn could have slipped behind the prince for a few seconds. It had occurred to me that the wound could have been made by a spear point."

"It is the right length," Sir Orizhan said, gazing off into space. But Sergeant Brock shook his head. "I'll warrant that no soldier, Merovencian or Bretanglian, bore a spear or halberd into that inn. We leave them behind when we have liberty."

"Yes, it would be rather cumbersome hauling an eight-foot shaft through the streets," Matt agreed. "I don't suppose a man might have cut a spear point off with a foot of shaft for holding it?" Knight and soldier exchanged surprised glances. Then Sergeant Brock said slowly, "It would have been possible, and such a sawn-off spear could easily have been hidden under a soldier's livery—but it would be quite unlikely."

"So is the killing of a prince, though," Sir Orizhan said. "You amaze me by your ingenuity, Lord Wizard."

"Thank you," Matt said with a wry smile, "but as the sergeant points out, it's more ingenious than probable. Our hypothetical soldier would have had to carry that weapon around every time he went to a tavern on the off chance that the prince might stop by for a brawl."

"No, for some wenching, no more," Sir Orizhan pointed out. "You yourself have shown that the theft of the purse was done deliberately to start the brawl."

"Why, so I did, didn't I?" Matt said in surprise. "And that the murderer waited until the royal family was on Bretanglian soil. Once they checked in at Alisande's castle, it wouldn't take much imagination to realize the princes would probably check out the high life in the continental capital." This time knight and soldier exchanged glances of puzzlement. "Your terms are difficult to understand, Lord Wizard," Sir Orizhan complained.

"You get the gist, though, don't you? Once our murderer knew the royal family was going to visit Merovence, he saw his chance. Sawing off his hypothetical spearhead and taking it along on a night's carousing would have been easy then."

"So was the blow struck by magic," Sergeant Brock asked, "or by a stealthy hand."

"Yes," Matt said, "one or the other. We can't tell which until we catch up with the Man Who Went Out the Window, catch him at a disadvantage, and cadge a few more facts out of him."

"You truly think you can defeat him?" Sir Orizhan asked in disbelief.

"Sure, now that I know I'm up against another magic-worker." Matt spoke with far more confidence
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