A Wizard in Chaos

CHAPTER 20

That evening, Magda’s people celebrated wildly inside their town. She herself held aloof from the drinking and dancing, though, and assigned half her army to stay sober, some to patrol the walls, some to rebuild the gates. Magda walked the battlements to make it clear she was asking no more of them than she was willing to do herself—and if Dirk limped beside her, why, surely that only set all the better an example for her soldiers.

Outside the walls, Cort walked with Desiree between the castle and the encampment of the Fair Folk, their pavilions lighting the night like glowing jewels, the sounds of their merrymaking faint but entrancing.

“What a foolish custom!” Desiree exclaimed. “Must man and woman stay together even if they tire of one another?”

Cort looked up at her sharply. “Will you tire of me so soon, then?”

Her face softened, and she reached out to caress his cheek. “Not soon, my darling, and perhaps not at all—but my people say that life is long, and love is short.”

“My people dream of love that lasts until death parts the two,” Cort countered, “and perhaps after—but maybe that’s because once man and woman really fall in love, they expect to have children.”

“Ah! Well, if everyone were to have children, that might be different,” Desiree allowed.

“You don’t wish to, then?” Cort braced himself for a life without offspring.

“Oh, in silly, childish dreams,” Desiree confided. “I have always yearned to have a child, perhaps two, one of each kind…”

“Kind?” Cort frowned.

“One boy and one girl. But the grown folk assured me that it was only a childish fantasy, and I would outgrow it.”

Cort felt a flood of relief, and a huge stock of tenderness washed in its wake. He stopped and held her hands, looking into her eyes. “You might not have to outgrow it.”

“Oh, but I would,” Desiree said, “for our hill, and every other, has a computer—think of it as a guardian spirit—that advises us. It speaks to us from a console—a little table with buttons—and among the many things it tells us is how many people can live in the hill without hunger or thirst. Simply put, no one can have a baby—unless someone else dies, and surely it is terribly selfish to have more than one, when so many want them!”

“I could bring in extra food and water,” Cort offered.

Desiree tilted her head, smiling merrily. “The duke might countenance that. He seems seized with a sudden desire to open the hill to contact with you Milesians—thank our lucky stars!”

“Thank them indeed,” Cort breathed, unable to believe how her touch still seemed to make him burn with desire.

“But other women tell me that the little creatures can be quite demanding,” Desiree told him, “indeed; that they can wear a woman out so that she even loses interest in lovemaking! Many who want babies sorely and have them, love them for a few months, then wish just as sorely that they had never seen them!”

Cort stared in horror. “Surely not! Children are the second greatest blessing known to Man!”

“What is the first?” Desiree asked, then saw the answering look in his eyes and blushed. “Well, if Man thinks children are so great a blessing, he can help to rear them, and not only in playing with them, but in walking the floor with them and arguing with other parents whose children they anger, and feeding them when all they can do with food is make messes, and…” She paused for breath, then summarized, “…and all of that!”

“Man can,” Cort said thoughtfully. “Man will, if we’re lucky enough to have them.”

“I’m sure the duke would also say that you must rear them in such a fashion that after they were grown, they would go outside the dome to make their ways in the world, so that they did not burden the resources of the hill—and it is you who would have to do that, for I know nothing of the outside world!”

“Yes, that part would fall to me,” Cort agreed. Desiree frowned. “You are a most strange man, to agree so readily.”

“If I didn’t agree readily, you should be suspicious if I agreed at all,” Cort countered, “for how much is agreement about children worth, if you have to argue a person into it? If they do anything, they must do it wholeheartedly, not grudgingly.”

“I can see some truth in that,” Desiree said slowly.

“The world is changing, my love,” Cort said softly. “It will be a better world, but in many ways, it will be a world we don’t know. We will have to change with it, you and I.”

“Some things are hard to change,” Desiree countered. “Remember that among my people, coupling rarely lasts longer than a few months, though a bonding of three or four years is not unheard of. In rare, very rare, cases, two Fair Folk bond for life—but because of this, we have none of your quaint wedding ceremonies, though parties celebrating the beginning of a pairing are common.”

“Can we plan such a party, then?” Cort asked her.

Desiree gazed at him for a moment, then gave him a sultry smile and said, “A week ago, I taught you how to make love to a fairy. How well do you remember it?”

Cort gave her a sizzling smile of his own and answered, “Try me.”

“Twill,” she said, “and if you prove to have learned your lessons well enough, you may ask me again.”

Three hours later, he did. She gasped, “Yes!”

Atop the castle wall, strolling slowly between sentries, Dirk and Magda looked down on the jewel camp of the Fair Folk and talked.

“When you rode away with your soldiers,” Magda told him, “I felt you had deserted me, that I would never see you again.”

“You don’t know how badly I wanted to stay!”

“I think I might.” Magda smiled into his eyes. “At least, I hope that I do.”

Dirk smiled slowly, caressing her hand. “It wasn’t just duty that took me away. I knew that I was a liability to you—that if I stayed, I’d bring the wrath of the Hawk Company upon you. And I was right, though I didn’t know the real reasons.”

“That duty is satisfied now,” she reminded him, “and the danger past.”

“Yes,” Dirk agreed. “You shouldn’t be in danger from me anymore.”

“I hope that I am,” she murmured.

Dirk smiled slowly. “If I endanger your heart, the more lucky I—but I have to tell you the other reason that I rode away: that I knew I had no chance to court you.”

“Why ever should you think that?” she breathed, leaning closer to him.

Dirk didn’t bother answering—he kissed her instead.

When they parted and he caught his breath, he explained, “I knew that I couldn’t possibly be worthy of you.”

Magda nodded, with a self-satisfied smile. “Yes,” she said. “I think that is an excellent way for you to feel. But do not let it grow too strong, sir.” And she kissed him again. Somewhere in the midst of it, as his breathing grew heavier, he began to believe that he might have a chance of courting her, after all.

When they parted, Magda said, “Worthy or not, you should have at least a bit of audacity.”

“So much audacity as to ask for your hand in marriage?” Dirk asked.

Magda tilted her head to the side, considering the question. Then she nodded. “Yes. Perhaps even so much audacity as that.”

Slowly, Dirk knelt, still holding her hands. He hid the wince at the pain of his wound and asked, “Most beautiful Magda, I’m only a poor wanderer, but I’m a genuine knight, and I’ll work as hard at staying as I have at wandering. Will you marry me? ”

“Yes,” she breathed, then helped him stand again so that he could wrap her in his arms for a very long kiss indeed.

Within the Fair Folk encampment, there was some revelry, but it was far more subdued, as though they weren’t sure they had won a victory. Gar had no difficulty hearing the duke’s words as they sat in satin camp chairs under a silken canopy at the door of the duke’s pavilion, with old wine between them on an intricately carved table of dark wood made three hundred years before.

The duke looked up sharply at Gar’s last statement. “Surely you do not believe that the Milesians could ever match our weapons!”

“Not easily or quickly,” Gar agreed. “You and your beam projectors will be a deterrent for a while, able to keep the peace, perhaps long enough for the bosses to begin to like the taste of the prosperity they gain when they don’t have to spend three-quarters of their income on their armies. But there will be some fighting, my lord. Many of the bosses will take your interference in their affairs as a challenge, and will start attacking you. If even one of the Fair Folk is killed in battle, they’ll realize that you are as human as they.”

“So! I had wondered why you felt we must abolish war for them!” the duke said. “I know why I wish it—since we have once come forth in force to judge between armies, they will expect us to do so again. It could become quite tedious, hearing every grievance of neighbor against neighbor, and knowing always that the truth of it is simply that one boss wanted another’s land and people. Far easier to bring forth our beam cannon and blast them all to atoms if they dare to fight one another again!”

“That will do for a while,” Gar agreed. “Do it too often, though, and they will learn that your only strength is your ‘magical’ weaponry. Then the bosses will start trying to develop their own.”

“They cannot!” the duke spat. “They lack the knowledge, they lack even the tools to make the tools!”

“Oh, it might take a hundred years or more,” Gar agreed, “but the knowledge that it could be done would be an amazingly sharp spur, and they’d develop defenses as impregnable as your domes first, then go on to making their own laser weapons. Some of them might even have the old science books squirreled away.”

The duke’s eyes flashed, and he hissed, “I wish I had never listened to your poisoned advice!”

“But you did,” Gar countered, “and it’s too late for you to retreat into your Hills now.”

The duke replied with a spate of curses that Gar either had to admire, or savagely return. Under the circumstances, he chose admiration, and listened to the steady stream of invective, marveling at the duke’s originality and gift for metaphor. When His Grace ran down, Gar said mildly, “I can see that you must be a student of literature, my lord, for it has given you great skill in your use of language. Still, I think you have very little to regret, or to fear. Look at those two couples out there, strolling arm in arm in the moonlight.” He nodded toward the young folk in question.

The duke turned and looked, seeing Cort and Desiree in earnest conversation that ended in a very long kiss, while not too far away, a tall man of the Fair Folk walked with a woman from Quilichen. “She is not so young as all that,” the duke said sourly.

“Nor is your man,” Gar returned. “Of course, this woman is still single, despite her maturity, because she is too tall to attract a husband, despite her beauty—and your warrior is single because Fair Folk seldom wed. Nonetheless, both are taking pleasure in one another’s company.”

“What of it?” the duke snapped. “The Fair Folk have always taken pleasure of the Milesians when it suited them—most particularly of the Milesian women!”

“Then the Fair Folk have always been open to the Milesians in one way at least,” Gar said, “and are the Fair Men completely indifferent to the children they sire outside the Hill?”

“Of course not! If the child is fair enough, mother and babe are brought within the Hill until the child is grown. Then the woman is sent on her way with a gift of gold.”

Gar felt sorry indeed for the Milesian women thus transformed into glorified wet nurses and nannies for their own babies, and probably scorned by their Fair Folk lovers after the first year or so, then cast off without a thought. “What if the baby isn’t so beautiful as to be brought into the Hill?”

“Then the father gives the woman a gift of gold, and now and again goes by night to be sure his child is well treated. Usually, with Fair Folk gold in her pocket, the woman has no difficulty in attracting suitors.”

Again, Gar felt a pang for the women who had probably fallen in love with the tall and charismatic men, only to be virtually deserted even before their babies were born, then condemned to marry men who didn’t love them, but wanted their dowries. “Either way, my lord, and even more in the second, the Fair Folk have concerned themselves with the fates of Milesians for many generations.” Again, he nodded at the tall townswoman. “Can you be sure she is not of the Fair Folk?”

“That one? We know she is,” the duke said. “She is the granddaughter of a Fair Man who is now dead—Geiroln, his name was.”

“Then you even keep track of their genealogy,” Gar said, “yet you tell me you’re indifferent to the fates of the Milesians.”

The duke flushed. “It is one thing to stay aware of the life-progress of individuals, and quite another to take a hand in their governance.”

“There’s really no other way to be sure of their well-being,” Gar said quietly, “and with the Fair Folk openly abroad in the land, I think you’ll find that such bondings occur far more frequently. The Fair Folk can increase as much as they wish now—they no longer need to limit their reproduction according to the capacities of their Hollow Hills.”

“Yes,” the duke said bitterly, “and we will dilute our blood in doing so! You have condemned me to having ugly descendants!”

“Those mortals don’t look particularly ugly,” Gar observed.

The duke looked again and nodded, frowning. “Perhaps … after all, Fair Folk would be attracted to only the best and most beautiful of Milesians…”

“And will find themselves far more concerned with the fates of their offspring,” Gar concluded. “In fact, some Fair Folk might even wish to stay with their Milesian mates for life.”

“Unnatural!” the duke scoffed.

“Only to Fair Folk,” Gar said, unperturbed. “But with so many of your people outside the Hollow Hills, you will have to take a hand in governing the Milesians simply to protect your own—and to make sure no soldier kills a Fair Man.”

“I knew you should have frozen the instant I saw you!”

“So did some of your women,” Gar returned. “But you will have to involve yourselves with the Milesians most carefully, for the bosses will band together against you, and will form their own council to coordinate them in their opposition. If you lead all the free towns in leaguing together, you can outnumber them and outweigh them.”

“But would we be the ones to lead such a league?” the duke asked, frowning. “Or would the Milesian towns lead us, and eventually enslave us?”

Gar shrugged. “The Fair Folk already have a Council of Councils, my lord, though you don’t call it that, and though it never meets face-to-face, and all together. It deliberates by duke talking to duke at the solstice festivals, then discussing the results of those conferences with other dukes at the equinox festivals.”

“Quite true,” the duke said, frowning. “How did you know that about us?”

“I listened carefully to what you told me.” Most carefully; Gar had listened to the duke’s thoughts as well as his words. “That’s an excellent way for your Council of Councils to meet, for if all the dukes were to assemble, it would be a great temptation for a Milesian boss to seek to assassinate them all.”

The duke turned very thoughtful.

“Still, you do have your Council of Councils, your way of coordinating all the Hills—and the free towns do not. You’ll be leading them in that, as in all else; they’ll revere you as their teachers and benefactors. With that kind of initial advantage, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t remain the leaders.”

“We shall, be sure of that!” the duke said, his eyes burning. “But take my curse with you when you go, Gar Pike, for you have tricked us into accepting responsibility at last!”

They all rose late the next day and met later for breakfast. One glance, and Gar knew what was to come, for Dirk looked inspired and determined, while Cort was dreamy-eyed, not quite touching the ground when he walked.

“She said yes, then,” Gar inferred as Cort sat down with a steaming cup.

“She did!” Cort virtually glowed.

“I congratulate you,” Gar said. “When will you wed?”

“We won’t, alas.” Cort seemed to come down a little closer to earth. “But when her Fair Folk return to their Hill, I’ll go with them. I don’t mean to surrender my commission, of course, nor does Desiree want me to—she will take what time she can with me, between battles.”

Gar suspected what plans Desiree had for Cort’s absences, and suspected further that the young woman would be sadly disappointed, for there wouldn’t be anywhere nearly as many battles for the Blue Company as there had been. Nonetheless; the Company would become a political force, and Cort would no doubt be gone from the Hollow Hill often enough, and long enough, to prevent her frustration from mounting. “So Desiree isn’t quite ready to break the Fair Folk custom against weddings.”

“Alas not,” Cort agreed, “and I’ll have to work most strenuously to keep her!”

Gar made a mental note to give him a copy of the Kama Sutra before he left. “I understand that there have been one or two cases where Fair Folk bonding has lasted lifelong.”

Cort nodded. “I have hopes of making it so with Desiree, of being so excellent a mate that she will want it thus.”

Gar hated to prick Cort’s bubble, but he felt the question had to be asked. “What if she doesn’t?”

“If she doesn’t,” Cort said sighing, “I’ll abide by her wish, and go.”

“What if there are children?” Dirk was suddenly very intense about it.

“If we are so blessed, I suspect none shall wish to keep me from taking the children to rear outside the Hill.”

Gar had a notion Desiree wouldn’t object either, so long as she was able to visit the children whenever she wished. “Then for a while at least, you’ll be the Milesians’ man on the inside,” he said, carefully changing topics.

“Man on the inside?” Cort frowned. “Of what?”

“Of the councils of the Fair Folk. If you’re very discreet and very tactful, you’ll probably find the duke willing to listen to your information about how bosses and captains think and act. Play that card carefully, and you’ll work your way into being his advisor.”

“Why would I wish that?” Cort asked, frowning. “Because it’s the best way to insure Desiree’s safety, and that of any children you may have.” Gar waited until he saw the idea register and take root, then launched into a major conference on ways and means of advising and influencing the duke in coping with the mercenaries and bosses. He also hinted that if Cort could become indispensable to the Fair Folk, Desiree might want to keep him around longer. When he was done, and Cort wandered off with his head spinning, Dirk said to Gar, “You don’t mind playing dirty, do you?”

“Not as long as I’m telling the truth,” Gar replied, “and his chances of a lasting bonding are much better if he gains status among the Fair Folk.”

“You have a very cynical view of feminine nature, Gar.”

“Really? I thought it was merely realistic.” Gar hurried on before Dirk could take offense. “Actually, though, I only thought I had a cynical view of all human nature.”

“There is that,” Dirk admitted.

“And my great disappointment is that I’m so often proved right,” Gar sighed.

“Of course,” Dirk said, “you’re really hoping that Cort will become one of the forces for keeping the peace and developing a sort of confederation-style government, aren’t you? And you don’t care what emotional blackmail you apply to get him to do it.”

“Someone has to. But you must admit that I didn’t tell him any lies.”

“No, but you sure told him every reason for him to work his way up the political ladder.”

“I did not,” Gar stated. “I didn’t play on his desire for personal power at all.”

“Only because he doesn’t have one,” Dirk retorted, “or at least not much. That’s why you had to try to kindle one.”

“I only kindled a desire for public service,” Gar. said, with the stiffness that bespoke suppressed laughter. “What about you, my old friend? Are you going to stay and become a politician, too?”