The Oathbound Wizard-Wiz Rhyme-2 (16 page)

"Not trusting me to take my turn on watch, of course."

"Well, you are a little new to the party." Matt shifted uncomfortably. "But if there wasn't any trouble, I preferred not to cast a spell that might tip off the enemy to the presence of a wizard from the opposing side."

"I shall have to take your word for that." Fadecourt sighed. "I've no experience with the feelings of magic--only with its results. Still, I do wish you would trust me well enough to let me take my turn."

"I'm sure we will, after a few days. Now; how about those pheasants?" After making quick work of dinner, they lay down, Matt bundled in his cloak, Fadecourt sleeping with his soles toward the fire, head pillowed on one arm. Matt eyed Narlh, pacing the circle, and he smiled at the feeling of security the sight of the dracogriff gave him, then closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

A high, wavering scream slashed through his dream and jolted him wide awake.

"Narlh! What the deuce--"

"Not me." The dracogriff stood rigid, facing off into the darkness. "From over there, toward the east. But it might be bait."

"Bait?"

"A ruse, to persuade you to charge out blindly into the night, where you'll have no warding circle." Fadecourt had risen, too. "By your leave, Lord Wizard, allow me to investigate."

"But what if you don't come back?"

"Let us discuss that when it happens, shall we?" The Cyclops stepped over the circle and was gone into the darkness before Matt could say anything. He was back a second later--trying to catch up with the maiden who fled past him, screams of raw terror tearing her throat. So Fadecourt's back was to the forest, and he didn't see what was chasing her--a gauzy white shape, drifting after the woman against the night breeze.

"Hey! Over here!" Narlh called. The woman looked up, saw Narlh, and stopped dead in her tracks.

"He's friendly!" Matt called. "Over here! We're the good guys!" The woman cast a glance back and up at the ghost, turned toward them--and stood, trembling with indecision, and screaming, screaming... Fadecourt caught her up like a baby and pounded toward Matt and Narlh, leaping the circle and setting the young woman down by Matt. She threw her arms around the wizard, clutching him as though he were a tree limb above a hundred-foot drop. Her screams instantly dissolved into sobs. The ghost drifted closer, seeming to flicker, its eyes hollow, its mouth wide in a silent call, waving both arms. As it saw Matt, it began to gesticulate frantically. Matt hardened with alarm--those gestures could be the accompaniment to a spellcasting! Quickly, scarcely thinking, he rattled off:

"If charnel houses and our graves must send

Those that we bury back, our monuments

Shall be the maws of kites. Therefore,

Be gone!"

The ghost's eyes widened in horror; it shook its head, and even Matt could see that the silent mouthings were saying, "No! No!" Then an unfelt wind seemed to hit the ghost like a jet plane, tearing its substance to tatters that faded and blew away.

"It's all right, now. He's gone." Matt couldn't help noticing how nice the young woman felt in his arms, the little hands clutched about his neck, the contours of her body molding into his, their movements as she sobbed...He pulled his mind off the subject abruptly. "There, now, the ghost is gone, and no one's going to hurt you. We're nice guys, here, really, if you don't mind how we look..."

"What's a matter with how we look?" Narlh demanded.

"I haven't shaved in three days," Matt improvised, "and I haven't seen a pool large enough to bathe in for a week. You'll have to pardon us, young woman..."

"Oh, nay!" Finally, she pushed herself away from him and began to wipe at her cheeks with a sleeve.

Matt hauled out a handkerchief. "Here, now, you'll soil your gown." He finally took a quick look at her by firelight and decided that might have been the wrong thing to say; her gown hadn't had a good afternoon, what with the forest brambles and a few stumbles in the dirt. "That must have been horrifying, a thing like that happening when you were alone...you were alone, weren't you?" She burst into tears again. "Oh, aye, so very alone, since Lord Bruitfort took my father's castle! I escaped by the postern, but I've been wandering alone all this day and night! Bless you, kind sirs--but know that I'm pursued!" At a guess, Matt decided the siege was over--not that its ending boded any improvement for the peasantry. "We saw--but the ghost's gone. Take a look, if you don't believe me."

"Oh, not the specter only--the soldiers! And a sorcerer, I doubt not. They'll not let me flee in peace, I assure you! Nay, good sirs, I must away from you, ere you share in my misfortune."

" 'Tis they shall have misfortune," Fadecourt growled, "if they seek to take you from us! Fear not, fair maid--we shall not let them seize you!" Narlh opened his mouth to disagree, but Matt said quickly, "Right! We couldn't abandon a maiden in distress, to pursuers who're trying to ravish her!" The dracogriff shut his jaws with a snap. "Right. No way. Couldn't think of letting a lady go out alone."

Especially not one who looked like that, Matt thought. He finally had a chance to take a good look--and what he saw was riveting. The "creature" had a heart-shaped face amid long chestnut hair held by a hennin. She wore a bliaut of blue and a kirtle of buff wrapped around a figure worth killing for. Matt locked his eyeballs onto her face and held them there by pure willpower--he was an engaged man.

Fadecourt, however, didn't seem to suffer from that problem, though this certainly must have been a moment when he'd wished he'd had two eyes. The one he had was riveted on the young woman, wide open. Matt elbowed him in the shoulder, and the cyclops shook himself out of his hormonal trance to bow gallantly.

"Where we can aid, maiden, we shall delight. What is your plight?"

"And, if you wouldn't mind," Matt added, "would you tell us who we're protecting, milady?" Privately, he wondered just how Fadecourt could be so sure the lady wasn't just bait for another trap. But she was explaining her danger, which did sound plausible--and Fadecourt's instincts did seem to have proved accurate.

So far.

"I am hight Yverne, sirs," the maiden said. "I am the only child of the Duke of Toumarre. The Duke of Bruitfort, whose estates adjoin ours on the north--in truth, a vile neighbor!--did war upon my father. Through treachery of our garrison, he did defeat him and capture him, locking him in his deepest dungeon." The reminder of the day's horrors caught up with her, and she bowed her head, trying to stifle the sobs.

Fadecourt stepped up to clasp her shoulders, murmuring, "There, now, lass,

'twas terrifying, aye, but you are safe now...

When her sobs had slackened, Matt asked gently, "That mention of treachery reminds me--can we trust anybody, in this country?"

"The Duke of Toumarre is a good man, by Ibile's lights," Fadecourt said slowly. "He kept troth so long as his seigneur kept troth with him, and maintained order within his demesne, albeit with cruelty and ruthlessness." Yverne looked up sharply and stepped away from Fadecourt, face tear-streaked but outraged. "He was harsh, mayhap, but did no cruelty for its own sake!"

"Which is not entirely avoidable, in this country?" Matt asked.

"Even so," Fadecourt said. "And it may be that, like many fathers, he wished his daughter to grow into a woman devoid of the vices common to his fellows."

"Which would reveal an inner yearning for virtue." Matt studied Yverne so closely that the maiden blushed and looked away--which could have indicated her being a becoming innocent, or an accomplished dissembler.

A hunch led him to choose innocence. "So what it comes down to is that her father's enemies thought he was weak, because he wasn't depraved enough."

"Aye--and seem to have judged well, by Ibile's lights. Only the wicked are counted strong here."

"Well, let's see if we can't change that notion, shall we?" Matt turned back to Yverne. "I take it this Duke of Bruitfort is trying to catch you for his dungeons, too."

"He seeks to apprehend me," Yverne agreed, "but not for his dungeons. He wishes to take me to wife, whether I will or no."

Fadecourt spat an oath, and Matt felt his blood run cold at the thought of this pure maiden in the hands of a depraved sadist. Even Narlh gave a squawk of outrage. "Go tie him in a knot, Lord Matthew!"

"Well, we can put a hitch in his plans, anyway. How close is this duke, Lady Yverne?"

"I know not--though 'tis but this day since I've escaped from his men." She advanced, hands outstretched in pleading. "Oh, sirs, I beg of you, turn not away from me--for without your kind protection, I am lost!"

"Oh, you're coming with us, there's no question about that," Matt said quickly. "What kind of troops did the duke send looking for you? We confused a couple of knights, but that might not be all that are on your trail." She spread her hands. "I know not."

"She did not stay to see him command pursuit," Fadecourt rumbled.

"Natheless, I would think he has sent at least a dozen knights, and perchance even his sorcerer."

Then the horn sounded behind them.

Matt looked up in alarm and saw a man in a robe standing at the edge of the clearing, gesticulating and, presumably, chanting--but his gestures were lengthened by a three-foot, glowing wand. Matt frowned--this was new. Fear chilled him, but he tried to remember everything he'd heard about magic wands--why they were magical; what they could do.

To either side of the sorcerer stood men in plate armor, seeming inhuman and certainly impersonal behind their iron helms. As Matt watched, they kicked their horses into motion and started down the slope.

"Move!" Matt shouted. "Here come the bloodhounds!" His friends started forward out of sheer astonishment. Then Fadecourt looked back. "Lord Matthew!

You, too, must flee!"

"Be right along," Matt assured him. "I just have to counter whatever our friend in the robe is doing back there."

He found out as his voice slowed, taking several seconds for the last two syllables, and his voice slid down an octave. The sorcerer had thickened the air about them, somehow; his friends could scarcely move through the molasses! And to make it worse, Matt could scarcely get out a single word, let alone a whole poem!

Meanwhile, here came the Knights of Evil, hurtling toward them like express trains...

And grinding down to near immobility, as they hit the perimeter of the spell, where time slowed down to a treacle.

Matt's spirits soared--the sorcerer had almost paralyzed his quarry, but his buddies couldn't get to Matt and his friends any faster than the fugitives could get away! And it might take Matt a long time to get a spell out, but it would take the knights even longer to reach him.

Matt took a deep breath, or at least a very slow one. Now there was time to think up a counterspell.

"Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race!

Call on the lazy-stepping hours, and let them limp in place!

Let minutes blossom, seconds stem,

Let time flow on at normal pace,

But for us only, not for them!"

His friends began to move faster, but the enemy knights were still fighting their way through treacle. All well and good--but the duke's sorcerer would catch on and call off his own spell any minute. He was already staring--at a guess, no one had ever countered that enchantment before.

"Vile thing, I think I hate you!" the sorcerer screamed.

"Evil king, now hark and hear!

Make these rebels quake with fear!

Hear me, mark us, circumspect!

Lend me your aid, your power direct!"

"Beware!" Yverne clutched at Matt's arm. "He calls on his master, dread Gordogrosso! 'Tis the power of the sorcerer-king you now must face!"

"Maybe, but it will be wielded by a journeyman." Matt spoke up bravely, in spite of the shot of dread that trickled through him.

Fadecourt gently disengaged Yverne from Matt's arm. "Let him be, milady. He must think of naught but countering the sorcerer's power." The sorcerer lifted his wand and shouted a spell in the unknown language, then cut the air with his wand overhand, ending pointing it at Matt.

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" Matt shouted. A gout of light sped from the tip of the wand, widening as it neared Matt, breaking into a pack of hyena heads, gibbering with insane laughter as they reached for him with bloody fangs.

Matt realized he hadn't made a rhyme. He added, "From those who with ill charm would rend us!"

Light seared, and a troop of spectral monks was suddenly there between the two-forces--a whole choir, lifting its voices in a hymn. Behind it, the arches and frescoes of a church could be seen dimly.

The hyenas screamed and went tumbling back toward the wand, biting and chewing at each other in their haste. But through the monks, Matt could see the knights and men-at-arms, charging full out. His heart leaped into his throat--he couldn't do anything to stop them! For even as the hyenas hit the wand, the sorcerer banished them with a couplet and a riposte, then shouted another rhyme as he moved the wand slowly back and forth from side to side--and the choir began to waver and thin.

"Stay and sing!" Matt cried. "Thy blessings bring!" Suddenly, he understood that the choir of monks wasn't really here--it was only intervening, lending the power of the hymns it was chanting; it was really in a monastery somewhere in Merovence, and his appeal for help had only sent the defending power of its prayers. But the soldiers charged right through the vision with a howl of blasphemous curses. Fadecourt stood ready, with Narlh beside him, mouthing bad names. But the cries of blasphemy suddenly turned to cries of alarm, and knights and footmen alike plowed up the ground in their haste to stop, gibbering with fear at the sight they beheld. For all of a sudden, the ghost was there again, the same one who had been chasing Yverne, three times as large as he had been--but he was facing away from her now, reaching up and snatching off his head. With one hand, he thrust it out at the soldiers, eyes and mouth filled with fire, the other hand swelling monstrously, fingers flickering out into tentacles as it reached for the soldiers. They screamed and ran, like the proverbial bats. Only their captain actually changed form, though--and he was flying away as fast as his leathery wings could take him. The choir disappeared, its heavenly song eclipsed by the howls of fear. The soldiers barreled back up to the top of the rise, knocking the sorcerer spinning in their flight. He wailed, flailing about for support, and caromed into a tree, clutching the bark with both hands. Then he looked up at the ghost again--and saw it shooting straight toward him. His mouth widened in an unheard scream, and he turned tail and ran, tripping and stumbling over his robe.