A Wizard in Chaos

CHAPTER 12

Some things the colonists had held onto from old Earth, as curiosities if nothing else, and their descendants had taken them up again—among them military titles, ranks, organization, and the bugle. They had also held onto “Taps,” presumably because of the sheer beauty of its simple melody. The Blue Company soldiers stood in the midst of their hosts, all with helmets off, as the bugle played the haunting farewell over the two new graves in the Quilichen churchyard.

The bugler lowered his instrument, the sextons took up theirs, and the soldiers turned away, mercenaries mixing with yeomen in muttered thanks and good-byes.

“I shall care well for your wounded,” Magda promised Cort, “and send them back to you when they are healed.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Cort bowed over her hand, but didn’t kiss it. “Your hospitality to them shall allow us to fare much better in evading our enemies.”

Magda turned to Dirk. “I trust you are no worse wounded than when you came, sergeant.”

“More filled with life than ever I have been, my lady.” Dirk bowed over her hand, too—but he did kiss it, and a bit longer than was really polite.

He straightened, and Magda retrieved her hand, reddening somewhat. “I think you had better go now. You have far to travel, after all.”

“Even so.” Gar nudged Dirk aside and bowed over Magda’s hand, the very picture of punctilious politeness. “I thank you for your hospitality, my lady, and hope that someday I may return your generosity.”

“Then I shall send for you when next we are besieged,” Magda said, smiling with relief. “Good day to you, gentlemen, and safe journeying.”

They mounted, waved with a chorus of farewells, and rode off without a backward glance—except for Dirk, who kept turning around for one more look. His heart leaped each time, to discover that Magda still stood, hand raised, eyes haunted.

They went into the woods, and Dirk sighed with regret, turning to look ahead, knowing that he couldn’t see the beautiful castellan again.

He was riding at the tail end of the dozen men, so he didn’t hear Gar say to Cort, “A very bad case, I think.”

Cort glanced back. “You’re right; he’s already sunken in gloom.” He frowned, turning somber himself.

“I wouldn’t think that to be a problem,” Gar replied, “in view of the looks she gave him.”

“Yes,” Cort said thoughtfully, “assuming she doesn’t give such glances to every man who comes within her sphere.”

Gar looked up, eyebrows raised. “You think she may be one of the ones who delights in winning the heart of every man she can?”

“There is that,” Cort said slowly, “especially if she’s truly devoted to her people and as much aware of her beauty as I think she is. She might try to sway every stranger to her, to help protect her town.”

“That could be,” Gar admitted, “but from the way she looked at him as we rode away, I think she may be having as much sadness now as our friend Dirk.”

“Maybe,” Cort allowed. “I’d certainly like to think so.” His face darkened even more. “For his sake, I hope so indeed.” He shrugged, his face clearing. “It really doesn’t matter, though—she’d have better sense than to marry him when she knows she’s barren.”

“What? Unable to have children?” Gar looked up, startled. “How do you know that?”

“It’s plain, isn’t it? She was married for most of a year, but when her husband died, she was’ still without child.”

Gar answered with a smile tight with irony. “Considering that they probably had fewer than thirty nights together, I scarcely think that proves much. She barely had time to conceive.”

“There is that,” Cort admitted. “Still, it’s the custom.”

“You mean there have been thousands of women down the centuries who might have had loving families, but were denied the chance because they hadn’t managed to conceive with their first husbands?” Gar stared, horrified.

“Well, there are always some whores who do bear children,” Cort admitted, “though never many.”

“That’s because prostitutes learn ways to prevent conception, lieutenant!” Gar shuddered. “Those poor women! You mean if a man dies without leaving his wife pregnant, she has to become a prostitute?”

“Usually, yes.” Cort eyed Gar warily, wondering why the man was so upset. “Of course, there’re always those beautiful enough to become bullies’ mistresses or bosses’ concubines. Then, too, gentlewomen, like the Lady Magda, may have fathers or brothers who’re willing to take them back into their homes.”

“I don’t suppose the wife could inherit her husband’s property.”

Cort shrugged. “How would she hold it? The neighboring bullies would attack her in an instant, and if she proved unable to lead her boots in battle, she would be captured and made to serve her conqueror.”

“And there’s no law to stop him,” Gar said, anger gathering in his face. “This is what anarchy comes to!”

“Of course, a woman of enough beauty might be able to persuade men to fight for her, and to lead her troops,” Cort offered. “In fact, that may be why the Lady Magda made her way into Sergeant Dirk’s heart.”

Gar shook his head. “If that had been her reason, she would have gone after the lieutenant, not the sergeant—and she certainly wouldn’t have sent him on his way so easily; she would have tried to hold him.”

“There is that,” Cort admitted. “ Still, a barren woman is a poor wife for any man who wants heirs.”

“I’m not sure that Dirk does.” Gar remembered a few of his friend’s more bitter comments about the nature of human life. “It could very easily be that he wouldn’t care about that little problem.”

“Let him leave this world with none to come after him?” Cort exclaimed, scandalized. “No, my friend! If you care for your companion at all, you’ll try to keep him out of a marriage where he would be so woefully used!”

Gar turned to him with a frown. “Not too fond of women, are you?”

Cort turned away, face turning thunderous. “Let’s just say that I’ve finally come to realize how treacherous they are.”

“Very recently, too, by the intensity of your emotions.” Gar’s tone was sympathetic. “Either that, or you’ve been jilted more than once.”

“Only the one time,” Cort growled, glaring at the road ahead, “but that was enough. I’ll not give it the chance of happening again.”

“The hurt is very recent, then,” Gar said softly. Cort gave him a short nod.

“I know it’s too soon to be saying much about it, lieutenant,” Gar went on, “but I will remind you that one goose in a flock of swans doesn’t lessen the beauty of the rest.”

Cort frowned up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That one woman who’s too young to know her own heart is no proof that you won’t find other women who are mature enough to be true,” Gar said. “It would be a shame to deprive yourself of joy only because of the risk of pain.”

Cort’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “And yourself? I didn’t notice you making overtures to the beauty!”

“Touché.” Gar nodded, mouth a grim line. “I’ve taken hurts enough in my time, lieutenant, but they don’t drown the hope that some day I’ll meet a woman who will make me forget all the pain, make me think only of the joy of her presence.”

“A child’s tale,” Cort scoffed, “one that the old wives tell to beguile young boys into yearning to grow up to be husbands. After all, why should a healthy young man go to waste when he might be earning a living for a woman?”

Gar sighed, lifting his head. “I know it seems so to us now, lieutenant, when grief makes us bitter. We have to try to remember that a woman has a right to change her mind, though—a right, and a duty, too, to us as well as to herself, because no heartbreak can be so bad as being condemned to be bound for life to a person you don’t love, who will gradually come to despise you.”

Cort felt anger surge, the more because he recognized the truth in Gar’s words. He demanded, “Why haven’t you married, then, if you have so high an opinion of women?”

Gar shrugged, his face bleak. “I’m still waiting for the right one, of course, lieutenant: the one with whom I fall in love, and who falls in love with me—and I’ll wait for her half my life, or all of it, rather than marry the wrong one.”

Empathy stirred in Cort’s breast, and the anger faded. He studied his new sergeant’s profile, brooding on the senselessness of feelings. “What if she never comes, sergeant? What if you never find her?”

Gar shrugged. “Then I’ll take what joy I can from life, lieutenant: the solid satisfaction of seeing the few people I can help better off than when I met them; the delight of watching children play; the inspiration of a sunrise on a clear, chill day.”

“Is that all?”

Gar shrugged. “Measured against the lifetime of grief I’d receive from the wrong woman, and the constant pain of knowing I’d made her miserable? I’d count the small, quiet joys to be quite a lot, yes.”

“What of roistering?” Cort demanded. “Most men count their lives rich if they can swill and whore to their heart’s content.”

“I’ve already learned that physical pleasure doesn’t bring joy,” Gar told him, “or bring happiness that lasts any longer than the pleasure itself. I don’t intend to spend my life running from one sensation to another to try to forget my sorrow. I’ve seen people who did that. They became bored with their pleasures, and had to search more and more frantically, for ever more extreme sensations. As each pleasure lost its ability to distract them, they had to rush after the next, until some of them were actually amusing themselves with pain.” He shuddered. “None of that for me, thank you. The quiet pleasures last, and lead you steadily to greater and greater delights.”

“If you say so,” Cort said, rather doubtfully. “If I understand you rightly, you’re saying that the pleasures of women never pall, as long as you don’t touch their bodies.”

“Unless you’re in love with one, yes.” Gar nodded. “They’re wonderful, charming creatures, and just being near them can be a pleasure.”

“You’re too much the sage for me,” Cort sighed, and wondered why the big man laughed, and why his laughter was so sardonic.

At noon they had come down from the slopes into flat land, and came near the river that marked the boundary of Quilichen. Cort halted their little column. “The Hawks have probably had the good sense to withdraw,” he told his sergeants, “but they’re still between us and our headquarters, and if I were them, I’d be waiting in ambush not very far past the stream just far enough to lull our suspicions.”

Sergeant Otto nodded in approval of his pupil. “Very likely, lieutenant. Shall I scout out the territory?”

“No, let’s leave that to our newest recruits.” Cort turned to Gar and Dirk. “Sergeants, it’s your turn. Reconnoiter.”

“Huh?” Dirk came out of a brown study. “Oh. Yeah, sure, lieutenant. I mean, yes, sir!”

“We should be back in an hour or two,” Gar promised. He gestured at the meadow across the river. “After all, it’s so flat over there that there isn’t much place to hide.”

“They could be crafty,” Cort warned. “Think like a sneak.”

Gar grinned. “That should be easy enough. Come on, Dirk.”

The two rode away.

“Why them, lieutenant?” Otto asked, frowning. “Because they’re used to faring on their own,” Cort explained, “and they don’t have Blue Company livery yet. Besides, if they only joined us out of expediency, this gives them their chance to get away from our danger.”

The other reason, of course, was to give Gar a chance to talk with Dirk alone. Love was all well and good, but a man moping about like a sick cow wasn’t going to be any use to Cort when his unit was in such danger.

Gar wasted no time. Even as he and Dirk rode across the bridge, he said, “I thought love made a man feel better, Dirk, not sunk in gloom.”

“Huh?” Dirk looked up, startled, then frowned, thinking it over. “Yeah, I guess I am in love.”

“Worst case I’ve ever seen,” Gar assured him. “So why aren’t you happy?”

Dirk heaved a sigh. “Because I can’t see her, Gar, and probably won’t, ever again.”

“Stuff and nonsense! As soon as peace breaks out, you can ride back there for a visit. You aren’t put off by this nonsense about her being barren, are you?”

“Barren? No. I’ve got it too bad for that to worry me much.” Dirk smiled suddenly, a sardonic contraction. “Besides, there’s no chance I could marry her, anyway.”

“Why not?” Gar asked, frowning. “I admit I usually think of you as an ugly young cuss, but she obviously doesn’t. In fact, judging from the number of women who have flirted with you on four planets now, I’d have to say you were reasonably handsome.”

“Thanks for small praise,” Dirk said sourly. “But a wonderful, beautiful, intelligent woman like that? A born leader, a natural philanthropist, a…”

“Spare me the list.” Gar held up a hand. “It’s good to see you start looking lively again, but I have a feeling you could go on for an hour. I’ll grant she’s beautiful and wonderful. All the more reason why you should court her.”

“All the more reason why she’d turn me down! I could never win Magda’s love, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have a chance of a successful marriage!”

“Any particular reason why?” Gar asked, frown deepening to a scowl.

“I’m a churl, man! Born as low as any of these bullies’ serfs, and she’s a gentlewoman by birth, a squire’s daughter, the equal of a baron on any world where they remember the old aristocratic titles! How could I possibly make a solid marriage with a woman so far above my station?”

Gar stared at him in disbelief. At last he said, “You may have been born a churl, Dirk Dulaine, but you have grown into something far more.”

“I am what I am,” Dirk said stubbornly.

“Yes, but that means you’re also what you have become. The rebels of your home planet took you offworld and gave you a modern education, for starters.”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t know the manners of her people, the social graces.”

“No, you know the social graces of the galaxy! You’re quite well schooled in etiquette, and if they don’t have as many pieces of silverware as you know how to use, that certainly doesn’t leave you deficient!”

“But I don’t know the local manners.”

“You’ll learn them,” Gar said, with full assurance. “That’s the biggest gain from having an education: you’ve learned how to learn. Besides, the spirit of etiquette is far more important than its details.”

“Yes, to avoid giving offense, and that’s mostly a matter of consideration and respect for the people about you,” Dirk said, frowning. “You’re right—I could learn the local details.”

“Of course!” Gar began to feel that he was making some progress. “There’s not a shred of doubt that you’re far better educated than she, and at least as cultured.”

“Well, yeah, but what good does that do? I don’t know her culture, do I?”

Gar sighed. “Even if you count all the local lore she knows as being equal to the best works of the Terran Sphere, you’re still very sophisticated in critical standards, and you’ll learn the local arts quickly enough. As to their history, we’ve already guessed most of it—you just need it confirmed. Certainly you’re way ahead of any of the local men in both.”

“Nice of you to say so, but if you’ll pardon the observation, we haven’t really had enough local experience to judge.”

“We’ve both managed to get to know a pretty good cross section of the people here. Believe me, I’ve met one of the local bosses, and all he knows is war. In fact, I’d say you’re more than a match for Lady Magda in learning and culture—and social station. After all, you’re both a knight and a wizard, in local terms.”

“I haven’t seen any wizards,” Dirk retorted. “Neither have I, but I’ve heard enough about their sages.”

“I don’t know Taoism that well,” Dirk protested. “But you know enough science to be able to work the wonders they dream about.”

“That doesn’t make me a sage. As to being a knight, you know I’ve never been knighted.”

“But I have been.” Gar dismounted and turned to Dirk, drawing his sword. “Kneel down.”

Dirk eyed him warily. “Is this supposed to be some sort of a joke?”

“I don’t joke about knighthood,” Gar snapped. “I’ve seen you in action, in war and in peace, and I know full well that you’re an expert in fighting, and live the code of chivalry far better than most men who profess it. Kneel down!”

He actually seemed to be getting angry, and that was rare for Gar. Dirk decided to humor him. Slowly, he dismounted, then dropped to one knee, facing Gar.

“Do you swear to defend the weak against the strong and wicked?” Gar demanded.

“I do.” Dirk was seized with a moment of dizziness, a feeling of unreality.

“Do you swear to defend the Right and prosecute the Wrong?”

“I do.” After all, how could he refuse, when Gar phrased it so broadly?

“Will you defend the root ethical principles of all humanity that allow them to exist as social units, instead of trying to tear one another apart?”

“I will.” Dirk wondered how Gar had developed that oath.

The sword lowered, touching his right shoulder.

“Then I hereby dub thee knight!” The sword crossed to touch his left shoulder, then drew away. Gar stepped in and, with great calmness and precision, clouted Dirk on the side of the head.

Dirk went sprawling, and anger roared up in him. He started to scramble up, then heard Gar saying, without the slightest trace of humor, “Arise, Sir Dirk Dulaine.”

The anger fell away as suddenly as it had come; Dirk realized that his friend was actually trying to do something good for him. “I don’t remember that punch from the stories.”

“It’s the older form of the accolade, and I choose to use it with the newer, to remind you of the trials you’ll have to endure in the name of chivalry,” Gar said sternly, then thawed and admitted, “I may have overdone it a bit. Your pardon, Sir Dirk—I was carried away with zeal.” He reached down and caught his friend by the arm, hauling him to his feet. “I assure you, it’s real. I was knighted by a king. You really are a knight, and entitled to all the rights and privileges of that rank—as long as you fulfill its duties.”

“From what you say, I’ve been doing that already.” Dirk frowned, then looked his friend in the eyes. “Have I really?”

“You have,” Gar assured him. “Why else would you keep throwing yourself into the middle of a fight that could get you killed, just to help a lot of people you don’t even know and never will?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“I do,” Gar said firmly. “I should have done this long ago—as soon as we left your home planet, in fact. But you’re so patently my equal that it frankly never occurred to me.”

Dirk felt a warm glow spreading through him. “I don’t know if I can ever be that, Gar, but I’ll work on it.”

“Don’t,” Gar told him, “because you’re there already. From now on, just work on being as good as Lady Magda.”

“Thought you told me I already was.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you believed me.” Gar turned to his horse. “Mount up, Sir Dirk—we still have a hidden enemy to find.”

Dirk mounted, then rode beside Gar across the plain and into the forest. He didn’t even notice that he scarcely said anything, and Gar wisely didn’t interrupt his meditation, for Dirk was still glowing, intensely excited at the idea of being worthy of Magda, of being able to win her.

And, of course, since he wasn’t really very alert, he was slow coming out of his rosy haze when Gar snapped, “Ambush!”