The Oathbound Wizard-Wiz Rhyme-2 (54 page)

"I can leap with ease, if I have room enough to land," Stegoman answered.

"But yon dozen paces is nowhere nearly enough. Open the door, Wizard, and all of thee go through it; then I'll have room enough indeed, and shall be with thee straight."

On the word, Fadecourt turned and lashed a huge kick at the lock. Metal snapped, and the door slammed back.

There was darkness behind it. They stood in silence, waiting, until they heard distant voices calling.

"What sound was that?"

"The door, fool! Belike the warders bring another luckless soul to join us!"

"Or," a third, and nervous, voice said, "have they come to take one of us away to the gibbet?"

" 'Tis the dungeon," Maid Marian breathed, "and no guards."

"Surely," Sir Guy agreed. "Wherefore would they ward a door that has not opened in hundreds of years?"

Matt frowned. "You'd think somebody would have remembered."

"Their guards were on this side of the door," Yverne pointed out. "If such a monster as this failed, what use would be human guards?" She definitely had a point. Matt thrust the torch out and stuck his head behind it, inspecting for booby traps, then leaped through the door, just in case--but no nets fell, no barbs sprang out. "It's safe. Come on, friends." They filed through. Then, with a whoosh, a huge thud, and a scrabbling of claws, Stegoman shot through the door and skidded to a halt, jolting against the far wall. Matt glanced at the floor; the dragon's claws had gouged grooves in the granite. "Glad you're on our side. Now--where do we go?"

"Yon." Fadecourt turned, pointing, then strode ahead. He seemed very sure of himself. Matt wasn't about to argue--but he did wonder. He followed the cyclops while he wondered, though.

They followed a sloping floor up, where the rock was no longer quite so rough-hewn. They tried to walk as quietly as possible, but as they neared a door of planks, a low voice called through its small grate, "Who brings light in the darkness?"

They stopped, all looking at Matt. He swallowed and answered, "A friend. What are you doing here?"

"I performed pantomimes in village squares, and mocked the king," the voice answered dryly. "And you?"

"We have come to help those who deserve it." It was a justified gamble--Gordogrosso punished only goodness, not evil Matt nodded to Fadecourt, who laid hold of the latch and shoved. There was a crack of breaking metal, and the door swung open.

There was a minute's silence.

Then a middle-aged man, with hair almost white, crept out of the cell, blinking in the torchlight. "You...you would not mock me?" Then he saw Stegoman; his eyes widened, and so did his mouth.

Maid Marian clasped a hand over his lips. "Softly, goodman--he, too, is a friend."

"I am not a-hungered," Stegoman rumbled. "Even if I were, I prefer my food clean."

The man looked indignant, so Marian removed her hand and he growled, "I'll have you know I was most fastidious, till I was locked down here!"

"I understand," Matt sympathized. "They don't exactly provide running water." But a thought was hatching. "Think you can tell us who's down here for what?"

"Nothing easier," the actor said with confidence. "In the cell next to mine is a tax collector who let some poor folk, who could not pay, escape the whip. Next to him is a farmer, who sought to prevent the soldiers from taking his daughter. Farther on--"

"That's fine," Matt interrupted. "Tell us about them as we come to them. You go first."

The actor was only too glad to go, partly because Stegoman was bringing up the rear. He gave them a running commentary, and as they came to each door, Fadecourt bashed in the lock and let out the prisoner. Matt and Sir Guy herded them along in front, though Sir Guy gave Matt a questioning glance. Matt only gave a short shake of the head in answer.

It was very simple, really. He didn't want possible criminals coming behind his back--and he didn't mind letting them have first chance at the guards. He felt a little guilty at the idea that he was throwing the prisoners to the wolves, but he reminded himself that it was a better chance than they ever would have had otherwise--but the stab of conscience made him warn them, "Take up whatever weapons you can find. We're apt to have to do some fighting, if we want to get out of here."

The prisoners were only too glad to cooperate, wrenching table legs loose in the few well-appointed cells--the ones that contained more than moldering straw. Fadecourt took to yanking chains out of the walls in cells that had them; as they neared the door to the castle, half of the prisoners were armed with links. There were also a lot of them--fifty or more, and others had begun clamoring for release, in the distance.

It gave Matt an idea. "Hold on! Don't hit that door--stand back!"

"Wherefore?" One of the prisoners glared at him as if suspecting treachery. Matt couldn't blame him for a little suspicion. He explained quickly, "Your fellow prisoners are making a fair amount of noise. If there's a jailor on duty..."

"There is."

"He could be coming through that door any second." The portal slammed open, and a hulking, barrel-shaped man, who would have given Quasimodo a beauty prize, came shambling through, with a squad of soldiers at his heels. "What clamor is this? What ails the fools? Have some..." Then he saw the prisoners, and his eyes went wide. The guards began to lower their pikes-With a yell like a dam breaking, the prisoners swamped the guards. There were a few horrified yells and the dull, sick thud of steel against skulls; then the doorway was still, and the prisoners rose up, grinning.

Suddenly, Matt knew what was coming next, and tried to stop it. "Quietly, now! And slowly! We--"

They ignored him. Very loudly, they ignored him. With a shout of triumph, they ignored him and poured out through the dungeon door, howling for revenge--and freedom.

As they came out of the forest, relaxing and beginning to think the danger of ambush was over, the roof fell in.

Or at least Gordogrosso's soldiers did. They fell from overhanging branches and leaped out of the underbrush like living bushes, but ones with spear points. They made no sound, though, other than the scrape of metal and the clash of steel. They would have taken the queen and her men completely by surprise, if Sauvignon hadn't been watching, suspicious of magic.

He let loose a yell that could have waked the dead and whipped his sword out. Startled, Alisande looked up, saw a man leaping toward her, shouted,

"Above!" and whipped out her blade as she kneed her horse aside. Behind her, her men looked up, too, then let out a fearful shout as they crowded into clumps, trying to avoid the living projectiles.

So, of course, some of the enemy soldiers fell right atop the clumps. Ugly cracking sounds came from their landings--before the broken ones' mates stabbed down with a bellow of anger. Other ambushers fell on the road, and the few that survived the fall were dazed and easy meat for Alisande's pikemen. But the road before them filled in with mounted men, behind three ranks of foot soldiers.

"Retreat!" Alisande cried. "Back, in good order! We will come at these in another fashion!"

Emboldened, the enemy knights roared a command and rode slowly down the roadway behind the running ranks of their men.

Alisande set a good example by chopping down a few in the front rank even as she urged her horse backward. Behind her, grudgingly, her men gave way--save for a few who ducked around her to stab at the enemy. Still, foot by foot, the forces of Merovence retired, but thinned the ranks of their attackers as they went.

At the rear, Sauvignon bawled orders, and the more-alert footmen began to climb the trees.

Ten more paces, and the enemy army halted, seeing Merovencian soldiers perched up high among the branches. One or two of the climbers were hefting stones experimentally.

Ibilian men went scurrying up the trunks again, and the Army of Evil withdrew, slowly.

Alisande's footmen roared with delight and leaped in pursuit.

"Hold!" she bellowed. "That way lies death!" Unconvinced but obedient, her men came to a surly halt.

"Retire to the edge of this wood," Alisande ordered, "for we cannot pass the night here."

"But, Majesty!" a sergeant protested, "we shall lose what we have gained!"

" 'Tis better than losing our lives," the queen rejoined. "Take your men and go."

The Ibilians drew back out of sight--but Alisande had no doubt they were there, crouched and ready.

As her men came back into the little meadow before the woods, Sauvignon bawled orders to pitch camp. Reluctantly, they turned to obey. Everyone knew right where to go--to the buried embers of last night's fire.

"How shall we dislodge the enemy from these trees, Majesty?" Sauvignon asked.

"Why, by sending rangers above, to find and strike down at them," Alisande said wearily, "and all the footmen to follow them. Then, when we have taken the heights, may we bring the horses through."

" 'Tis well." Sauvignon grinned beneath his visor. "Myself, I think I shall become a footman anon." And he turned to spread the good word. Alisande watched him go and felt a pang of regret as she watched his athletic, mail-clad figure moving among the men. She turned away, murmuring,

"Ah, Matthew! Wherefore could you not have been well born?" It would be so easy if he were only here--or did it just seem that way? No, surely her Matthew could have wrought a spell that would have sent these hedge sorcerers packing, and would have made the Ibilian soldiers fall from their trees like ripe fruit before her army, ready for the gathering.

"Where are you now, my love?" she murmured, gazing off toward the woods and Orlequedrille. "Of what do you speak?"

Or to whom?

She felt a stab of panic at that--had he met another woman, one softer and more compliant? She had not forgotten how completely Matt had fallen victim to the charms of the lust-witch Sayeesa, nor how she had needed to hew her way in to rescue him. Even then, it was only his oath of fealty that had saved them all, not his love for her.

"What a fool I was," she swore, "not to make sure of him whiles I could! Ah my love, my love--an I find you again, be certain I shall wrap you quickly to an altar and a priest, ere you may make your escape from me again!" But her heart sank at the very words. Did he truly think of his quest as an escape? Given his free choice, would he really choose her?

And would his choice be free? Would he, himself? Or did he, at this moment, languish in the dungeon of the sorcerer-king? Had he been put to the torture?

Her heart began to race as she pictured him on the rack--though Heaven knew he deserved some pain, for abandoning her so!

But it was Heaven's doing after all, was it not? If Heaven had not wished him to sally forth against Ibile, surely his foolish oath would have had no effect.

Could Heaven strengthen him enough, against Ibile's sorcerers?

What blasphemy even to think it! If Heaven wished to scour the land of sorcery, assuredly it had the power...

But did the people wish it? The common folk, and the sorcerers who led them?

For surely, God had given people the power to choose their own destinies, wisely or foolishly, and would not compel folk to choose well.

As Heaven would not constrain Matthew to choose wisely.

A stab of pure panic pierced her. Could her Matthew have wearied of virtue?

Could he have fallen prey to the temptations of carnal pleasure and worldly power? For he was, surely, in a land where they who worked magic held dominion over all their fellows. Could Matthew have succumbed?

But no, he did not seek power...

Or did he?

All her old suspicions welled up again. Did Matthew want her because he loved her, or because he loved her power? Did he seek a love match, or a throne?

If only he had been well born, like Sauvignon!

Or, said the nasty voice of conscience, like Duke Astaulf? Duke Astaulf, who had usurped her father's throne, then slain him. His soul toiled in Purgatory now, though it had wrought enough evil here on earth, in its time. Surely birth could yield as much ambition as its lack. Nay, more, for it had an easier channel for its striving.

Might Matthew, then, have sought the easier channel? Might he, perish the thought, have joined with the sorcerers in their government of evil?

"Heaven forbid!" Alisande whispered with a shudder, and drew her cloak more tightly around her as she sent up an earnest prayer that her love would still be free when she found him, still devoted to God, Good, and Merovence... And to Alisande, of course. Pray Heaven he had not found another woman!

Offensive Defenses

They burst out into the keep, a mob of filthy skeletons in tatters, wide-eyed and howling.

"After them!" Matt shouted. "There's still a chance!" They charged up the dungeon stairs, nearly tripping in the dim light of the sconced torches, but by the time they reached the top step, it was too late. The huge oaken doors were broken; two mangled guards and a dying prisoner lay on the floor. The ground floor was an armory, and the prisoners were catching up weapons and turning on the guards like maniacs--which many of them probably were, by now. More guards came running, from the upper stories and from the courtyard.

"They blew it," Matt groaned. "What can we do for them now?"

"See that their sacrifice is not in vain." Sir Guy gripped his shoulder.

"Use the diversion they have given you! Outside, Wizard! To the gate!" Matt pulled himself together and stepped out into the armory. In the center of the huge room, guards were flailing at the riot of prisoners. Matt beckoned to his crew and sidled along the wall, heading for the main door. They made it without a hitch, swinging around the side of the great portal--and coming face-to-face with a huge captain who was just running up with a dozen guards at his back. He put on the brakes and shouted, "Seize them!" The soldiers dived for Matt and his people.

Maid Marian brought around her quarterstaff, the others raised their swords, and Fadecourt prowled forward, arms out to grab--but Matt shouted, "Hold, good guardsmen! Is't not enough that your king has scourged us forth with derision?