The Haunted Wizard - Wiz in Rhym-6 (16 page)

"Ah, but that was when I meant you ill," the bauchan said, grinning, "to show you what can happen if you seek to be rid of me. If I mean you well, it will be just as striking." The look Matt gave him verged on mayhem. "Don't talk to me about striking."
Page 78

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Nor to me," Sergeant Brock groaned, struggling to his feet. "Why did you not use your magic against them, Lord Wizard?"

"I thought of it," Matt admitted, "but I remembered that they're good plain folk, fighting to defend a friend and his inn. They didn't deserve to be blasted."

Brock looked up at him in surprise. "You're an odd lord, to be so caring about the common folk." That's because I'm really a commoner, too. But Matt couldn't say that out loud. Instead he said, "I'm married to a queen who cares for every single one of her people, Sergeant, and that's one of the qualities that made me fall in love with her."

Sergeant Brock turned away, looking very thoughtful, and helped Sir Orizhan to his feet. The bauchan asked, "What sort of spell would you have used on them, wizard?"

"Oh, one like this," Matt answered.

"Pleasures are like poppies spread—

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;

Or like the snow falls in the river—

A moment white—then melts forever.

Thus let be a bauchan's presence,

Here some minutes, then gone for pleasance."

Buckeye squalled in shock and surprise as an invisible hand caught him up and whirled him into a tiny dot that winked out. They listened to the sudden peaceful susurrus of rainfall. Then Sergeant Brock quavered, "He seemed to stay where he was, yet was also whisked far away."

"Very perceptive, Sergeant That's exactly what happened."

"How can that be, Lord Wizard?"

"Oh, it's not hard. It's just a question of where he was being whisked, and in what direction."

"Where?" Sir Orizhan asked, staring in awe.

"Into another dimension," Matt said, "and as to direction, it was at right angles to the three we know."

"How can that be?" Sir Orizhan asked with foreboding.

"I… don't know," Matt admitted. "Hey, look—I just cast the spells. That doesn't mean I understand

'em."

"How can you not?" Sergeant Brock asked.

Matt shrugged. "It's like driving an automobile. I know how to make it go where I want, but I don't
Page 79

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

know how it works inside—not in detail, anyway."

"Oh." Sergeant Brock seemed to be thinking that over.

"I suppose that makes sense," Sir Orizhan allowed. "But, Lord Wizard…"

"Yes?"

"What is an 'automobile'?"

They found a barn, peeled off their wet clothing and set it to dry, rubbed themselves with hay, then put on their spare clothes and rolled up in more hay to sleep. Sir Orizhan took first watch, and Matt had absolutely no trouble dropping off to sleep. Unfortunately, he dreamed. At least, he hoped it was a dream.

In the darkness of slumber a voice ranted, "Pay attention, blast you! I haven't been shouting at you all these days for my pleasure!"

"Well, then, why have you been shouting?" Matt demanded.

There was a brief silence, but somehow Matt could feel the astonishment in it. Then the voice erupted with delight. "I've broken through! He has heard me! Do you know who I am, Lord Wizard?"

"I haven't the faintest." Matt was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

"I am Gaheris! I am Prince Gaheris of Bretanglia! And I may be dead, but I'm not deaf! I heard you say you would find my murderer! Who is he?"

The bad feeling was proving true. Matt reassured himself that he must be dreaming and said, "Don't you know?"

"Know? How could I know? The villain came at me from behind! I felt the sword go in, felt a pain that seemed to rip the world apart—then all went dark. At last a dot of light broke that darkness and swelled to a hollow. I could see a long way into it, saw it was a tunnel with a sublime light at its end. I thought I heard voices that I knew calling from it, and my heart went cold within me. I turned my back on it with a shudder and fought to sit up, but my body would not answer. I thought I must have fallen asleep, and fought to waken, fought and fought—and bit by bit I regained my senses, but found myself looking down at my own body and hearing folk talking of who had slain me! I snapped at them that I wasn't dead, shouted at them that I wasn't dead, roared and bellowed at them that I wasn't dead—but they did not answer, and my stomach sank as I realized they had not heard me. Then I saw the wound in my own back, and knew that I was dead indeed."

Matt felt rather than saw the shudder. In fact, so far he wasn't seeing anything. "Why did you come to me?"

"I came to everyone! Mother, Father, Brion, John, Sir Orizhan—waking and sleeping, I came to them, ranted to them, howled at them, but none seemed to hear me! Well, I was scarcely surprised when it came to Mother and Father—if they hadn't heard me alive, why should they hear me dead? But I had always been able to rouse Brion's anger, or John's fear—yet now even they seemed not to hear!"

"Why me?" Matt said again.

Page 80

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Because you're a wizard, blast you! And it worked!"

"Sure—all you had to do was catch me when I was asleep. How many nights have you been trying?"

"All day. This is the first night."

"Must be because ghosts are a sort of magic, or related to it;" Matt mused.

"Never mind the why! Only tell me who slew me!"

"I'd love to," Matt told him sincerely. "Even more, I'd love to tell your parents, and rob them of their excuse to attack Merovence. Unfortunately, everybody seems to have had a reason to want you dead—"

"Aye. They all hate me, the jealous sods!"

"—and everybody has an alibi." From what Matt knew of Gaheris alive, jealousy hadn't entered into it. When you try to hurt people, they tend to resent you. "Can you think of any way I can tell who was there that I don't know about?"

"Whom do you suspect?"

"Everyone who was in the inn that night."

"How the devil should I know who was in the inn that night?"

"That's right," Matt sighed, "you were only there. Well, if you don't have a notion who killed you, how can you expect me to know?"

"Because you're a wizard, damn your eyes!"

"I'd be kind of careful with that word 'damn' if I were you," Matt advised. "Has the tunnel appeared to you again?"

"Aye, twice more." Gaheris' voice was hollow with fear. "But I ranted and railed at it, cursed my murderer aloud, and it went away."

"Unfinished business," Matt muttered.

"What did you say?" the ghost-prince demanded.

"Nothing important." Matt had a notion that if he found and punished Gaheris' murderer, the light-tunnel wouldn't go away the next time it appeared. All that was holding the prince's ghost to this universe was his anger at his murderer, and his thirst for revenge. On the other hand, Matt didn't particularly want the ghost to know that. He didn't like being haunted, dreaming or waking, and wasn't about to let Gaheris know he had a way of avoiding the afterworld. "Look, nobody can see you, right?"

"True." The ghost sounded wary.

"Well, then, you can flit around and watch them when they think they're safe and alone."
Page 81

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Who would you have me watch?"

"Everyone in your family, for starters. More importantly, there was a sorcerer in the inn that night—"

"A sorcerer?" the ghost cried. "Of course it was he who slew me!"

"Why? Because he had magic? Believe me, I haven't found the slightest sign that he shoved the knife into your ribs, or made a knife stab you by itself. Besides, he denies it."

"Of course he would, you dolt!"

"Hey!" Matt snapped. "Do you want me to try to find your murderer, or not?"

"Of course I do! How dare you even ask?"

"Because I'm the one who can do it—maybe. You talk to me with respect, or I'm walking off the job."

"You cannot speak so to a prince!"

"I can when I'm married to a queen," Matt reminded him. "In fact, if you want to get technical about it, that makes me a prince, too—and one who's got a bit more power in this situation than you do. Just give me a good reason to drop this investigation and I will."

"If you do, I shall haunt you all your days!"

"You're a little late," Matt told him. "Somebody already got there—a bauchan. You want to cross horns with him over haunting territory?"

Gaheris spluttered incoherently, but there was a definite tinge of fear to it. Matt reflected that the superstition of the Middle Ages could be very useful. Here the prince was, a haunt himself, and he was still afraid of the bauchan!

"Go away," Matt grumbled. "I need my sleep. How can I catch your killer if I'm groggy?"

"You will rue this one day, wizard!" Gaheris blustered.

"I doubt it," Matt snapped, and mentally rolled over and pulled the metaphorical blanket over his head.

"Go away."

Amazingly, Gaheris did—possibly because Sir Orizhan woke Matt for his watch. Half an hour later he decided that after that dream, being awake was very restful.

The army of Earl Salin, the Marshal of Bretanglia, came striding behind its knights along the high road—really high, for the ground fell away to both sides. Ahead, though, it passed through a cleft in the hills.

Atop one of those hills, Sir Gandagin, a knight in his forties, sat on his horse, shielded by a great boulder to either side, and counseled Prince Brion, "We may hold the high ground, Your Highness, but they still outnumber us by half, and Earl Marshal is the most excellent knight in Bretanglia. Saving your presence," he added hastily.

Page 82

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Spare me flattery, Sir Gandagin," the prince said. "Though I might hope to equal a knight of Earl Marshal's excellence in chivalry, I know I cannot compare in prowess with a man thirty years my senior. I own you have sense on your side— but the marshal is all sense and no nonsense, with great faith in the order in which he has drilled his men. If we come upon him like wild Celts, we may do to him as Queen Boadicea did to the armies of Reme when she found they had cheated her of a whole county, by trading it for gems she discovered to be glass. She chewed them to bits, for they knew not how to counter her disorder."

"Soundly planned," Sir Gandagin admitted. "Still, my prince, do remember that Reme eventually brought Boadicea to heel."

"Eventually," Brion reminded him. "I need not win the war—only this battle." Below, the vanguard of the marshal's army entered the notch.

"Out upon them!" Brion commanded, and swung his sword high with the same eerie, ululating battle-cry that had struck fear into the hearts of legionnaires a thousand years before, a battle-cry taken up by five hundred mouths, echoing from both sides of the road as men in half-armor came charging down, spears leveled.

"Close ranks!" the marshal bellowed, and the double file of soldiers pivoted to face outward, shields coming up to present a solid wall that bristled with spears.

But the attackers had spears, too, and were striking downward. They hurled their javelins, and a score of soldiers fell dead. Then they struck into the shield-wall, long spears stabbing down over the tops of the shields. Most of the soldiers snapped their shields up, deflecting the spears and striking back with their own, but a few were slow and fell, blood streaming down over their breastplates. The attackers caught the spears of the shield-wall on their own shields, though another score fell in trying. Then the two forces grappled one another in a desperate melee that filled the road. One by one, men fell and rolled down the sides, defenders and attackers alike.

Through the press rode the knights, hewing and hacking about them as they sought to come to grips with one another. They roared with anger, and footmen stumbled out of their way as quickly as they could, but stumbled and went down as often as they stumbled to safety.

Prince Brion chopped his way to Earl Marshal, blood singing high within him, head filled with visions of the honor of crossing swords with one of the finest knights in Europe. He chopped, he roared, and the marshal turned his steed at the last minute, shield rising to meet Brion's broadsword. Then they hewed and hacked at one another while their warhorses circled about and about until finally the old knight struck a third blow in exactly the same line on Brion's shield, and the metal and wood fell apart. Brion snatched at his dagger, better than no defense at all, but the marshal spurred his horse and struck the prince squarely with his own shield. Brion fell, and the marshal bellowed, "Surrender! Your prince is down!" His knights echoed the cry, and the foot soldiers froze. Then, one by one, the attackers threw down their spears, but kept their shields high.

"Mercy, Lord Marshal." Prince Brion struggled up to his knees, hands upraised.

"Mercy?" The marshal glowered down at him. "Wherefore should I show mercy to a traitor and a would-be parricide?"

Page 83

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Mercy for my men and knights!" Brion cried. "This is no work of theirs! No will of their own has driven them to fight their king, only loyalty to me!"

The marshal towered above him, immobile as a rock, for long seconds. Then he said, "Even so. We shall show them quarter." He turned to his aide-de-camp. "Bid the knights surrender their swords; we shall hold them for ransom."

"It shall be done, my lord." The aide lifted his visor. "What of the footmen?"

"Bind them and march them back to Castle Westborn," the marshal commanded. His footmen lowered their spears. The attackers finally set down their shields and turned their backs; the defenders drew thongs from their belts and tied wrists together. A knight with a dozen men started them back the way the marshal's army had taken, the knight visibly reluctant to miss his chance of glory in the main battle yet to come.