A Wizard in Chaos

CHAPTER 19

Dirk bowed to the Fair Man, who stood easily a foot and a half taller than he. The duke grinned down at the smaller man. “Do you truly believe you can best a duke of the Fair Folk?”

“You don’t seem all that fair at the moment,” Dirk retorted. “Where I come from, I’m not exactly what people call a true believer—but I do think I can fence you to a standstill, yes.”

“Then be on your guard!” the duke cried, and drew his sword.

But Dirk’s blade was shorter, and cleared the scabbard first. He only held it on guard, but everyone could see his sword leveled as the duke’s came up, and knew he could have lunged and brought first blood. The duke reddened and tapped Dirk’s blade to open the duel, then instantly circled and thrust.

Dirk parried and counterthrust without riposting. He aimed for the duke’s shoulder, but the tall man was quick enough to pull back so that Dirk only grazed his knuckles. Still, a line of blood showed on the duke’s hand, and the crowd burst into furious comment, amazed that a mortal should draw first blood after all.

The duke sprang back, eyes narrowing, sword and dagger up to guard, lips pressed against the pain in his left hand. Then his rapier began to whirl in a mad figure eight, and he sprang in.

Dirk gave way, and gave and gave, parrying madly as the duke’s blade sprang out of its whirl to slash at him, then sprang back into its spin. Again and again he struck, slamming through Dirk’s defense to score the shorter man on cheek, hip, ear—none more than a scratch, but enough to leave his opponent bleeding. Once Dirk didn’t leap back quite far enough, and the duke’s point ripped his doublet. Redness welled through the cut, and Magda screamed, but Dirk fought madly on, crying, “Only a scratch, Lord Duke! Can’t your long arms strike farther than that?”

The duke reddened and threw himself into a lunge. Dirk hopped nimbly to the left, pressed the duke’s sword down with his own, and stabbed his dagger into the duke’s shoulder. The duke cried out and went pale with the pain, nearly dropping his blade, and Dirk leaped back, sword and dagger up to guard, then quickly leaping in with a double thrust.

But the duke sprang back and managed to hold his sword securely enough to parry Dirk’s dagger while he caught the rapier on his own poniard. Dirk leaped back good and far, and the duke took advantage of the pause to switch blades, his dagger now in the weakened right hand, his rapier in the left. Then he came after Dirk, blood in his eye, sword whirling just as deftly in the left hand as it had in the right, and the crowd murmured in awe; true switch-swordsmen were very rare.

Dirk gave ground, wary of the ambidexter, unused to the sword coming at him from his right. He parried it well enough, though, and caught the duke’s dagger-stabs on his own shorter blade. The duke was clumsy enough to give him several openings; but Dirk couldn’t take advantage of them, because the sword was on the wrong side. Seeing his discomfiture, the duke grinned and thrust straight for his belly. Dirk leaped aside, but the left-handed blade sagged and sliced across his thigh. Dirk’s leg folded.

The duke cried out with triumph and leaped in, blade darting downward. But Dirk parried with his own sword, forcing himself to his feet—and the duke pivoted in, dagger plunging straight toward Dirk’s eye.

Swordsman the duke may have been, but not a black belt. Dirk ducked under the dagger and thrust his own upward. He was inside the duke’s guard, and his blade jabbed deep into the duke’s triceps. His Grace howled with anger and pain, leaping away, and his dagger dropped from nerveless fingers.

The crowd roared.

Dirk followed up the advantage, limping after the duke, but the taller man held him off lefthanded, rapier weaving an incredible pattern as it beat off first sword, then dagger, then sword again. Apparently thwarted, Dirk gave ground again, but the duke followed him closely, thrust—and Dirk’s blade spun in a tight circle, then away, and the duke’s sword went spinning through the air.

Then Dirk ducked and swung back in, once more inside the duke’s guard, sword edge swinging up to press against the duke’s throat, dagger poised before his eyes. The duke froze.

Dirk waited while the crowd went wild.

The duke’s glare was pure venom, but finally he moved stiff lips enough to say, “I yield me.”

Dirk leaped back, lowering his blades. The duke’s dagger arm twitched with the urge to run him through, but honor won out; he reversed his weapon, and held it out hilt first to Dirk.

Dirk took it and bowed. Then his right leg crumpled under him again. The duke tensed, ready to spring, but he had yielded already. Besides, Dirk held both daggers and his own sword, still up to guard, his glare still alert. Muscle by muscle, the duke relaxed.

Cort stepped forward, offering his arm, and Dirk took it, pulling himself up, as Gar stepped between the two combatants. He bowed and asked, “My lord duke, is honor satisfied?”

“It is,” the duke said, though each word cost him dear.

The Fair Folk erupted into shocked and furious denunciations. The duke held up a hand to stop them. “It was fairly fought, and fairly won!”

Dirk stopped and turned back. “Thank you, Your Grace, but I had an advantage—I was shorter.”

In spite of himself, a thin smile tugged at the corners of the duke’s mouth. The Fair Folk fell silent, staring in amazement.

“You were a worthy opponent,” the duke replied, calling out so that everyone could hear him. “Never have I seen a Milesian who fights like one of the Fair Folk.”

Dirk only bowed in mute acknowledgement of the compliment—and nearly fell. Cort hauled up on the shoulder and snapped, “Inside the gates and lying down! Now!”

“Go, worthy adversary,” the duke said, managing to regain both his poise and his air of authority.

Dirk bowed again, but not so deeply, then turned to limp with Cort toward the gate. A dozen men of the Blue Company came running out to meet him, scooping him up, hoisting him to their shoulders, and carrying him through the gateway in triumph—where they instantly lowered him, and Magda ran to him with a cry of anguish, then tore his hose off, crying, “Hot water! Soap! Bandages!”

“Brandy,” Dirk croaked. Magda glared at him, and he explained, “For the wound. You’re the only intoxication I need.”

She melted, her eyes misted over, and she caught him up in her arms for a kiss that lasted until the bandages came.

On the battlefield, Gar said, “A word in private, if I may, lord duke?”

“Only if you can explain how a Milesian bested a duke of the Fair Folk,” the duke snapped.

Gar smiled and stepped close, speaking softly. “Easily done, Your Grace. To you and your people, fighting is only a game, a matter of skill in competition, but these whom you call Milesians are bred to war; to them, it’s a way of life.”

The duke’s face darkened with anger, and he started to speak.

“More politely put,” Gar said quickly, “the Fair Folk have only trained themselves for individual combat of a sporting kind, but the Milesians are trained to fight as armies, and to them, it’s anything but a sport. They will do whatever they must, in order to win.”

The duke knit his brows in thought.

“Can you imagine,” Gar asked, “what a troop of professional mercenaries could do against a troop of Fair Folk, if superstitious fear didn’t stop them? And I assure you, they would lose their awe of your lasers very quickly.”

The duke stared, horrified at the image Gar’s words conjured up. Shaken, he protested, “Enemies could never break into the Hollow Hills!”

“True,” Gar agreed, “but the Fair Folk would thereby be imprisoned in their domes, never to ride in procession again, nor to visit one another’s hills. Moreover, if the Milesians lay siege to you, and you dare open your portal for any reason whatsoever, they’ll find a way to jam it before you can close it.”

“We shall burn them by the hundred with our lasers!”

“And a thousand more will come streaming in, when your power supplies are spent. They have what you have not, lord duke: numbers.”

The duke stared off into space, his attention on the inner picture, shaken to his core. Then he frowned, turning to Gar again. “You do not tell me this out of concern for my welfare. Why do you strive so to convince me? What do you want me to do?”

“The only thing you can, to assure the safety of your people,” Gar said, “for your only true defense is to come out of your hills and go among the Milesians, taking your rightful places as wise people and councillors, teaching them the ways of peace—while your people can still intimidate them with the force of legend.”

The duke glowered, but turned to look out over the field, then gave a reluctant nod. “You have chosen the right time and place to speak of this, for we have cowed these armies, and if ever this process of our leading is to begin, it must be now. I shall call a council of the dukes who have brought their people here. What measures do you suggest I take with these recalcitrant warriors for the moment?”

“To establish your authority,” Gar said carefully, “I would insist they resolve this war without bloodshed.”

The duke spat an oath and asked, “How shall they do that?”

“They have all come because the Boss of Loutre stirred them up,” Gar explained, “but Loutre has come because his steward Torgi has persuaded him to do so. Torgi, though, spoke not out of concern for the bosses’ welfare, but for his own selfish reasons: he wanted myself and a merchant named Ralke slain, because we know that he has been cheating his boss by mistranslating when he talks to the merchants, telling the boss the prices are higher than the merchants are really asking, and keeping the difference for himself.”

“Treachery!” The duke’s eyes glittered. “Yes, that they will understand, and will turn their anger away from this town and direct it toward the swindler! But what evidence shall we bring?”

“My own statement, and that of the merchant, who is sheltering here,” Gar said. “There is also the testimony of a sergeant of the Boss of Loutre, who was the first to accept payment from Torgi to kill us, and the captain of the Hawk Company, whom Torgi hired to catch and slay us—and I’m sure the Boss of Loutre will want to know where his steward found money enough to hire a whole company.”

The duke’s thin, smile widened. “What punishment shall I suggest?”

“They will want to hang him at the least,” Gar said, “but may also want to draw and quarter him first. However, it would increase the prestige of the Fair Folk if you demanded the privilege of punishing him yourself, taking him back to your hill for a lifetime of servitude, never to be seen by mortal folk again.”

“You hint at some other fate,” the duke accused. Gar nodded. “It occurs to me that you might place a sumptuous meal before him, watch till he falls asleep, and place him in one of your cryogenic chambers. Then, if the Milesian leaders grow too arrogant, you might find use for a mischief-maker who could ingratiate himself into court after court and foment dissension, setting the Milesians against one another, until only the Fair Folk could resolve their disputes and restore order again.”

The duke glared at him. “Are you always so devious?”

“Only when I’m inspired, my lord.”

“Then I trust you will find yourself inspired to leave our world quickly, as soon as you have seen that we have done as you suggest.”

“I know you will do whatever is best for the Fair Folk,” Gar returned. “If by some accident it is also best for the Milesians, I’m sure that’s none of my concern.”

“No, now that you’re done with it. Very well, I shall talk to my fellow dukes. Do talk to the captains, and to the castellan of this town.”

Gar took that as a dismissal. He bowed, then straightened and turned away.

“Oh, and Milesian!” the duke called.

Gar turned back, his expression all polite inquiry. “Yes, my lord?”

“How did you send that wizard into my dream?” Gar fought to keep his smile from becoming too broad. “Only a favor between friends, my lord.”

“You know this wizard, then?”

“As well as I know myself, my lord.”

The captains and bosses came reluctantly to the council commanded by the Fair Folk, but under the muzzles of six beam projectors, they did come. The duke had commanded a dais be placed and a canopy raised above it, to shelter himself and his retinue, a dozen of the Fair Folk in their most lavish finery. Those whom the scowls of the tall men did not intimidate were charmed by the beauty and grace of the fairy women. The Milesian leaders came and satin the semicircle of hourglass-shaped chairs, richly carved of glossy dark wood, facing the dais and the gilded chairs in which sat the Fair Folk. Magda sat with Dirk beside her, holding tightly to his hand and not caring who saw. On her other side sat Captain Devers, then the other captains, and beyond them, the bosses. Behind all of them stood their bodyguards, but none wore weapons, for the mighty beam projectors frowned on all of them.

The duke sat in front of all the other Fair Folk, glaring down sternly at the Milesians through his bulging dark goggles. “I shall tell you what you will do,” he declared, bluntly and brutally.

Milesian faces darkened; captains and bosses shifted in their chairs, anger warring with superstitious fear—but none spoke.

“Good. You understand that you shall obey, if you wish to live, and your people with you.” The duke left them no room for pride. “You will return to your strongholds and castles straightaway, with no attacking of one another on your journey—and be sure that Fair Folk eyes shall watch your every step! Once home, you will never war upon one another again without permission of the Fair Folk!”

Now, even among the watching officers and bouncers, faces darkened with anger, and several of the bosses and captains reached for their swords, on the verge of rebellion.

The duke touched his medallion, and his words broke over them like thunder. “Do not even think to disobey!”

They all jumped in their seats and gripped the arms of their chairs, eyes wide and backs chilling with terror.

The duke touched his medallion again, and his voice was normal once more. “Know that this whole war on Quilichen is misbegotten and misguided! You think you come to destroy a threat to your established order, but you have been deceived and cozened into fighting a baseborn knave’s cause!”

The bosses stared, then turned to one another in furious question.

“We knew this from the beginning,” the duke lied, “and laughed at your folly, at how easily you let a liar lead you by the noses! But when so many come against one on the word of a cutpurse, the Fair Folk are filled with such outrage that we can no longer be still, nor let you tear one another apart!” He gave them a thin and nasty smile. “After all, it amuses an idle hour. Know, then, that this whole campaign is due only to the selfish intriguing of the steward Torgi!”

The bosses and captains turned to one another with astounded questions. Behind the Boss of Loutre, Torgi looked wildly from one side to another, but grim-faced bouncers stepped up on his left and on his right, and he could only stand trembling.

“He has cheated the Boss of Loutre by misinterpreting merchants’ prices, then keeping the difference between what they charged, and what his boss paid!” the duke snapped. “He has practiced this deception for years, but two weeks ago, he tried it once too often! The merchant Ralke came before him with a guard who knew both the language of the merchant and of the boss!”

He had to wait for more furious babble to quiet, watching the Boss of Loutre turn to demand the truth from Torgi, and to see the steward shake his head in a panic of denial.

“Be sure that he did!” the duke thundered.

The crowd fell quiet, whirling to face him, and he spoke normally again. “The guard, Gar Pike, now a sergeant of the Blue Company, will bear witness to this, as will the merchant! Worse, though—to hide this evidence of his crime, the steward hired his own boss’s brute to take a squadron of boots to kill the merchant and the guard! They failed, so Steward Torgi hired the Hawk Company to slay Gar Pike and Merchant Ralke! When they failed, and the merchant and his guard took shelter in Quilichen, Torgi twisted a cable of lies to bring both his boss, and Quilichen’s neighboring bosses, to besiege the city with the aid of the mercenaries they hired! That is the tale of how you have come here today, and why even the Fair Folk, in our amused dispassion, could not stand by and watch the comedy of your mutual annihilation!”

The crowd burst into a torrent of talk, and the bosses turned to unleash their rage and humiliation on the hapless steward. Torgi fell to his knees, hands upraised in pleading.

The duke sat back and waited.

Finally, the crowd quieted, and the Boss of Loutre rose. “Lord duke, we must insist that this miscreant be brought forth to trial and your charges proved, for we find it difficult to believe that any steward could be guilty of such perfidy!”

“And because they need to save their faces,” Dirk muttered to Magda.

She nodded, not looking at him, but murmuring back, “They’ll raise this siege and go to their homes, but they must prove that they had reason not to fight the Fair Folk.”

“He is the Boss of Loutre’s man,” the duke told them. “Therefore, it is fitting that Loutre preside over his trial.”

He gestured to Cort, who stepped forward with two Quilichen archers. They lifted the boss’s chair and set it before the duke, facing the other bosses and captains, but on the ground below the dais. The Boss of Loutre stared for a moment, then stepped up, swelling with the self-importance of being designated by a duke of the Fair Folk. His fellow bosses bristled with envy, but had to sit and watch.

The duke watched, too, but somehow his whole posture told all the watchers that he was there to make sure Loutre did it right.

The boss sat, lifting his head high with all the dignity he could muster. “Bring forth the accused!” His bruisers hustled Torgi out in front of his boss, and threw him down kneeling before Loutre. “You are accused of treachery and theft from your own boss,” Loutre intoned, then lifted his gaze. “What evidence is there against this man?” Gar stepped forward. “I am the guard who caught him out in his mistranslation.”

“Yes, I recognize you,” Loutre said slowly. His jaw squared with determination not to be intimidated by Gar’s sheer size. “Tell us what happened as you saw it!”

Gar told, carefully naming all the other witnesses in his testimony. There followed a small parade, with Ralke, then the brute, then the captain of the Hawk Company stepping up to tell their tales. When they were done, the boss turned to Torgi, face swollen with rage. “What have you to say for yourself?”

Torgi had a great deal to say, a chain of rationalizations and excuses that might have deceived his boss at any other time, but now only sufficed to make him even angrier. “Enough!” he finally exploded, and a bruiser stopped Torgi’s babble with a backhanded slap. Loutre lifted his gaze to his fellow bosses and the mercenary captains. “You have heard the witnesses, and his defense. What is your verdict?”

“Guilty!” they all cried, then elaborated: Torgi was guilty of treachery and incitement to war, and should be hanged, drawn, and quartered. Loutre smiled vindictively and opened his mouth to pronounce the sentence.

But the duke of the Fair Folk stepped in again. “The verdict is sound and the sentence just, but I find this rogue so nefarious that I claim him as my own.”

Furious babble erupted again, and Loutre whirled about to protest, but the duke only raised a hand, as though in promise. This time, he let the clamor run its course. One by one, the watchers noticed the locked stares of boss and duke, and quieted.

When all was silent, the duke assured them, “We shall see that this perfidious steward receives just punishment for his crimes, as only the Fair Folk can mete it out.”

Everyone in the crowd, even the bosses and captains, remembered gruesome tales from their childhoods, shuddered, and subsided, convinced that Torgi would fare far worse with the Fair Folk than with any punishment the Milesians could devise.

“Take him away,” the duke commanded, and two men of the Fair Folk stepped down to haul Torgi off, as though they’d been expecting to. The crowd relaxed, falling into a buzz of talk. The duke sat back, letting it run for a while, then suddenly, thundered, “Be still!”

The people fell silent, all eyes upon him.

“I do not wish to be troubled so again,” the duke snapped, voice still amplified. “It is high time you Milesians put your own house in order!”

A buzz of trepidation, went through the crowd. “Apparently you do not know how to manage your own affairs,” the duke went on, “so we shall have to teach you! To that end, all you seven leaders, and all other bosses, captains, and squires within a hundred miles of my Hollow Hill, shall assemble in the plain about that hill to meet with me on the forty-fifth day after Midsummer! There we shall discuss issues of concern, and shall hear and decide disputes between you, captains, squires, and bosses alike!”

A roar of incredulous talk went up from the crowd. The leaders remained silent, though, glowering up at the duke, but not daring to defy him. Magda alone fairly beamed.

“Be not affronted,” the whip-crack voice commanded. “All other dukes of the Fair Folk will expect gatherings of the same sort within their own districts. Emissaries of the Fair Folk shall go among the bosses and captains and squires throughout the land, summoning all to assembly, and woe betide the boss who refuses, for lightning shall break and crush his walls, and his enemies shall swarm into his town to loot as they will, at the command of the Fair Folk.” Then, before the talk could start again, “Go now! Strike your camps and march out of this valley, and do not even dream of disobeying me, for Fair Folk shall watch your every step, and lightning will strike the man who dares to rebel against my words! Go home to your towns, and let each boss send forth messengers to other bosses and squires, spreading word throughout the land that the Folk of the Hollow Hills will no longer tolerate war!”

He turned and strode away. His retinue followed him, hauling the hapless steward with them, and the crowd stood, riveted in silence, as the Fair Folk marched back up to the duke’s pavilion on the hillside. He went through the door—and a storm of talk burst forth in the valley.

Cort helped Dirk to rise, and supplied an arm for him to lean on, asking, “Why a month and a half after Midsummer?”

Magda explained, still beaming. “It will give him time to make sure report of this day is sent to all other Hollow Hills.”

“Midsummer is one of their festivals, when they travel to one another’s hills,” Gar explained. “It’s the perfect opportunity for each hill to send troupes of messengers to other hills. Word will spread through them all quickly enough, and they can capture Milesians and send them home with their summonses to the bosses and captains and squires.”

“What sort of issues shall they discuss?” Magda asked, frowning.

“They’re all so cussedly independent that I don’t think there’ll be any shortage of quarrels,” Gar answered, “but I’ve put a bee in Master Ralke’s bonnet. He’s going back to Loutre, to point out to the boss how much money all the bosses will have saved by not fighting, and how much more they could make if all the men left alive spent their time farming and making trade goods, instead of taking up valuable farmland for mass graves. He’s going to tell the boss about the profits that can come from protecting merchants and increasing their trade, but taxing them only a little—especially if each boss is a silent partner with each merchant.”

Cort stared, amazed, then slowly smiled, and Magda turned very thoughtful. “If each boss has an interest in his merchants’ profits, he will have an excellent reason for maintaining peace.”

“Merchants do much better with stability,” Gar agreed.

“And with money from a boss, or even a squire, to invest in goods to trade, he could reap golden profits indeed! I think I shall have to see to greater support of my own merchants.”

“See how good ideas catch on?” Gar asked Cort. To Magda, he said, “When the assembly of rulers meets, perhaps you can talk them into guaranteeing safe passage for merchants—if those merchants pay a hefty tariff, a tax for bringing goods into or through a domain. That way, each boss’s merchants will receive safe-conducts from all the other bosses—and will pay the same tariff.”

“Why should they bother?” Magda asked, frowning. “Surely the tariff you pay will cancel out the tariff you collect!”

“Perhaps, my lady, but the taxes your own merchants generate can be very impressive—especially since the money they will bring in will come from your neighbors. Besides, you’ll benefit from their goods.”

“I have benefited well enough already.” Magda caught Dirk’s good arm, smiling into his eyes. Dirk returned the smile, his face softening amazingly.

Cort watched them with envy, then turned to Gar with sudden hope. “Do you suppose the Fair Folk will stay in this valley a while?”

“They have to make sure none of the bosses tries to come back,” Gar mused. “Yes, I’m sure she’ll stay—or rather, they will, at least for this one night.”

Cort turned to bow to Magda. “By your leave, my lady, may I be excused?”

“I don’t think she heard you,” Gar said with a smile. “Yes, by all means, go.”