Her Majesty's Wizard

CHAPTER 12

Ten miles later, Matt pulled up beside the Black Knight. "Sir Guy! Any idea where we are?"

"Far to the west of where we were," the knight told him: "Where else, matters little."

"We have tended much toward the north," Alisande added. "Saving that, we can say little."

Matt glanced behind; and, sure enough, there was the wolf, chugging along just this side of the horizon, loosing an occasional frustrated bay.

"'Ware!" Sir Guy cried, and Matt swiveled back, eyes front.

A long, dark line stretched across the forward horizon, sweeping away out of sight it either direction. It grew larger as they moved nearer; he began to make out masses of leaves and trunks gleaming silver in the moonlight. "A forest! Any idea where we..."

"Aye," the princess said grimly. "'Tis the Forest Maugraime and it runs away a score of miles to either side of our path."

Matt nodded. "I take it there's no point in trying to go around.''

"I would say not."

"Okay." Matt sighed, heaving himself up for the haul. "Anything particular I should know about this place. Enchanted, or anything like that?"

"You have named it." Sir Guy's teeth flashed in the moonlight, and Matt almost shuddered. Bad things seemed to happen when the knight grinned. "'Tis a place of weird power, Lord Wizard spells strung 'tween the branches of the trees. 'Tis old power here, but not always unfriendly."

Matt frowned. "Who runs it?"

Sir Guy shrugged. "Many, or none. This forest was spellbound before ever men came here, Lord Matthew; 'twill like as not hold enchantments when we are fled."

That Matt definitely didn't like. If the spirits that ruled here had been here before men, they were elementals, or close to them - embodiments of the forces of nature. Earth spirits and the like.

Then the companions were in among the branches, and it was too late to consider the matter.

Matt caught his breath in admiration. Silvered trunks surrounded him; festoons of long, black-and-silver leaves draped down, like Spanish moss. There was a hush to the wood, filled only with a faint, distant murmur of breezes ruffling leaves. They rode in close silence; the thuds of the horses' hooves seemed to strike right next to Matt's ear. The forest swallowed up sound.

Branches brushed by them; then, as they trotted further down the deer-trail, the branches stiffened, and the brushes became swats. Not good, Matt thought. It would definitely slow them down. A branch clutched at his sleeve; he brushed it away. The wolf, having a lower profile and pads instead of hooves, could make greater speed through the underbrush than they could.

Sayeesa screamed behind him. Matt tried to turn - and couldn't. Those clutching branches were really clutching. Something jerked hard on his arm, almost yanking him out of the saddle. Small twigs on the end of a branch had wrapped themselves around his arm; it felt like the clasp of a skeletal hand. Something yanked at his other arm. He looked and saw two more leafy hands clasping his other arm and thigh.

Alisande shouted in anger, and Sir Guy bellowed. Matt craned his neck around and saw the knight and the ladies clasped by a score or more of leafy hands. Sayeesa had been pulled up two feet off the back of her mare. She screamed, more in anger than in fear, lashing out with her feet at the nearest branch. A twig-hand caught her ankle and started pulling.

"Lord Wizard!" Alisande shouted. "Enchant a spell, I implore you! We cannot free our swords. If you cannot save us now, we will be bound up in bark!"

It was nice to be appreciated. "Stegoman! Light up!"

The dragon reared back its head and loosed a blast, raking the trees with flame, and Matt chanted:

Then he added--

Something tickled his eardrums - a high-pitched sound, almost too high to hear; but somehow, he knew it was screaming, filling the forest all about them: Stegoman swiveled his head around, blasting back high over Sir Guy's and the ladies' heads. Flamelets leaped up on branches, met, and grew, licking high along the limbs, running on back toward the trunks. Groaning filled the wood, echoing all about them, below the high-pitched screaming. The trees began to rock from side to side, as if a gale were blowing through the forest. Here and there, a great taproot yanked free of the earth-then another and another, until a tree actually pulled up its roots and began to walk backward. Another followed it, then three more, then a dozen, until the whole lane of trees was moving backward on its roots, like great, splayed feet, away from the dragon. Twiggy hands loosed their holds, dropping the humans. Sayeesa fell back on her horse; it jarred an imprecation out of her.

Overhead, branches whipped at other branches, trying to swat the flames out.

"Above you," Sir Guy warned softly.

Matt looked up. Tiny figures filled the branches, foot-high humanoids, wearing shaggy tunics of green and brown and cross gartered bias-hosen, throwing shot-glass-sized buckets of water on the flames.

"Elves!" Matt cried. "There's intelligence here to reason with!"

"Dost'a wish to parley, then?"

Matt whipped around and found himself facing a slightly larger elf, poised atop the head of Sir Guy's horse. A circlet of gold bound his brow; he fixed Sir Guy with a glittering stare.

Sir Guy lifted his visor in respect. "You are the king?"

"Headman only," the elf said impatiently. "In your terms, perhaps a duke. I beg you, let not your beast inflame our trees again! If they die, we die! Call them back, the great Barked People! Let them not all flee us! Leave us these, our trees!"

"Yeah, sure," Matt murmured. Then louder, "Sure, anything, you say! If you call the trees off..."

But the duke didn't even seem to hear Matt. He dropped to one knee, pleading hands upraised to the Black Knight. "I beg you, Sir Knight! Let the flames depart! Call our trees to halt and set their roots again enduring!"

Sir Guy glanced at Matt, then back to the elf. "Assuredly, Lord Duke, if you rebuke your trees, instructing them not to harm us and to allow us passage."

"We will; 'tis done!" The elf leaped to his feet and shot straight into the air, landing on the nearest branch. "Old ones!" he shouted. "Ancient people! Speak you to your trees! Make clear to them that these mortals will leave off a-hurting them, if they hold fast, forebearing to molest the mortals!"

A murmur of talk, like the buzzing of a thousand bumblebees, filled the forest. The trees hesitated in their backward push:

"Douse the flames," Sir Guy said quietly to Matt, "and we'll have peace here."

"More hunterzh! I need more!" Stegoman growled, glowering about him. "Couldn't be these tiny ones; a dragon hunter towers high above a hatchling..."

"There aren't any dragon hunters here, old boy," Matt soothed. "Calm down; we're getting something resembling peace here, or at least a stalemate." Then he threw his head back, and called to the sky:

Fitting the symbol to the word, he uncapped his wine-skin canteen and poured a few drops on the ground, then spat for good measure. After all, if it worked for the Indians ...

The forest was suddenly filled with the patter of raindrops, pouring above, but gentled by the time it reached them. Steam hissed as flamelets were doused, one by one.

Matt turned with a sigh of relief and saw Sir Guy. He frowned. "You just paraphrased me, when you talked to the elf-duke; you said the same thing I did! How come he listened to you?"

Sir Guy looked embarrassed, spreading his hands helplessly. "'Tis the nature of this land, Lord Wizard. You are..."

"... Not a knight." Matt nodded, with irony. It was asinine, but he was getting used to it.

The trees had quieted, though their branches still moved in a slow susurrus. But one shuddered, giving off a groaning that seemed to fill the glade. Matt frowned and looked up at the elf-duke. "Hey! Your Grace! What's the matter with that one?"

"Can you not see?" the duke asked grimly. "Behold how greatly that poor trunk doth bulge!"

Matt frowned. It did look like a case of advanced pregnancy ... His eyes widened as a memory tickled his brain. He took a breath and recited, editing:

The tree's groan rose into a growling, splitting crackle. A great rift appeared in the trunk, lengthened to six feet, widened, and rolled back. A nut-brown girl stepped from the trunk with a caroling cry of joy. She threw her arms up, back arching in a long, luxurious stretch, and Matt's eyeballs bulged. Her figure was full and voluptuous, and she moved with a grace that made her part of the trees and the woods. Lush, tumbling hair of green cloaked her shoulders; and her brown skin was whorled, like the grain of knotty pine. She wore a tunic that fitted her like a coat of paint, leaves fastened together, edges forming fringes, revealing and accentuating every contour, though it covered her from the tips of her breasts to the tops of her thighs.

She lifted her face to Matt, eyes widening. They were huge and long-lashed. Then the lids drooped, and full, wide lips curved in a lazy smile. She undulated toward him, breathing, "A wizard! Surely, a wizard he must be, to free a dryad from a tree! My gratitude is deep, unbounded!" Her hand touched his foot, slid up along his leg, upward, coaxing, cajoling, urging him down. "I'll show you how deep, once you're..."

"What is this creature?" Alisande's voice was frigid.

Sayeesa answered. "A dryad, Princess - neither good nor evil, truly, but a nature-child. She does whatever Nature dictates. Avaunt thee, wench! For Nature may not rule us, here!"

The dryad looked up at her. "Be chary of your words; you stand within the forest! Who are you, to speak so to me?"

"One who yielded to the impulse, as you seek to, and knows the sorrow of it! Nay, beware - if you traffic with a mortal, you shall sin against that very Nature that does guide you!"

The dryad stepped back, eyes widening in horror.

"Back, away!" Alisande commanded sternly. "For all things natural must accord to mortal order, or they suffer! Your trees have lately learned this; would you, also?"

"Ladies, ladies!" Matt held up both hands. He swallowed with some difficulty and much regret before turning back to the dryad. "I'm complimented by your gratitude, Lady of the Wood; but I'm afraid our customs are a little different from yours. And besides, I'm afraid we're a little rushed just now - we're being chased by a werewolf."

Her eyes widened as her desire diminished. "Nay, I know that kind! Most foul beasts are they, that cross the mortal order with the natural!"

"As you sought, even now, to do," Sayeesa said dryly.

The dryad gave her a narrow look, and Matt hurried in to fill the breach. "So if you're really wanting to return a favor, Lady, find some way of slowing down that werewolf, will you? And get us through to the western edge of this forest before daylight, if you can."

The dryad looked up at him with lazy, questioning eyes, and Matt felt the attraction of her drawing him. He licked dry lips. "Please. It's a matter of survival.".

The dryad sighed and turned away, shaking her head. "As you wish, then, Wizard. Ho! Duke of Elves!"

"What wish you, Lady?" The noble elf hopped over to her, doffing his golden circlet.

"Long has it been since I have seen you." Warm greetings were in the dryad's eyes; she smiled as she lifted the miniature duke on her hand. "Do you hear what these mortals have said?"

"Aye," the elf admitted, "and they have shown us some courtesy, which I fear we must repay."

"Then do repay it, I beseech you! Guide them through this dark, dense wood, to its western edge! And wing their heels; show them the fleetest of the ways - for they must be from this wood ere day!"

"'Fore the daylight should be hard." The elf almost seemed ashamed. "Yet still we shall endeavor the quickest footpath to discover. Mortals, come!" He leaped from her hand to the ground, and a host of Wee Folk leaped down with him. They trotted away into the night.

Matt nudged Stegoman, and the company started up behind him. He called back to the dryad, "Don't forget the werewolf!"

"I do not." Her back was turned to him; she frowned back over her shoulder, then turned to the nearest tree, murmuring in a language that sounded like the rustling of midnight leaves.

Matt tore his eyes away from her and focused on the golden circlet of the elf-duke, which had almost disappeared into the forest's gloom already. The trees seemed to pull back, leaving a clear way. They rode down it through the night.

"The word is sped."

Matt looked down, surprised to see the dryad trotting along beside him, apparently not even feeling the effort of keeping pace with a hurrying dragon. "I have spoken to the trees, and they will speak to the bushes and to thorns. The wolf shall find his progress slowed; for underbrush shall catch his coat, thorns shall prick and clutch at him and, ever and anon, a patch of wolfbane shall rear its leaves within his path, to fright him. His route shall be circuitous and long. Be certain, he'll not come upon you in this forest."

"I thank you, Lady." Matt was a little surprised at her efficiency. "Your communications seem to be quite efficient."

"All here are one." The dryad seemed pleased with the compliment. "We are bound together by the earth, from which we draw our substance, and to which the nourishment of our bodies returns when life is done. What one knows, all know."

A nice thumbnail summary of ecology, Matt decided. "How did a nice girl like you get into a place like that? The tree, I mean."

She sighed and turned away. "'Twas an evil sorcerer in this forest that bade me to his bed and pleasure. I did refuse, for he was ugly, and there was that about him that did reek of carrion death. Indeed, I mocked him for his pains. Yet on a sudden, half a year agone, comes he to me with a grin, and quotha, 'I have thee now, wood wench. Come thee to my bed, or suffer ever loss of liberty.' Yet how should I have known his power had grown? I laughed and mocked him, as ever I had. Then turned he upon me, crying fearful imprecations, and bade the tree to swallow me, with many a croaking cant in ancient tongues I did know not of. And, foul amazement on me, his enchantment worked!"

"Yes," Matt said grimly, "the balance of power in the land had shifted. The old king had been slain, and a usurper had taken the throne, with the powerful sorcerer Malingo behind him to enforce his orders."

"Malingo?" Her eyes went wide. "Of him I've heard! A full fell thing is he, that does befoul the rivers with the caustic wastes of evil brews, and does fill the air with noxious fumes. A vile thing is he, that wrenches power from the land, returning only poisons! Is he behind this coil, then?"

"He is. And the sorcerer who enchanted you-is he still here, in the forest?"

"Nay," a nearby elf piped up. "He is fled, we know not where. A bramble heard him muttering, as he left, a curse upon the master who did command him hence."

Matt nodded. "Sounds like Malingo again. He called in all the minor sorcerers, to give him a sort of sorcery squadron." He turned to the dryad. "You see how it is, Lady-this wolf that's chasing us has the same gripe against Malingo that you have. In daily life, he's a priest."

The dryad stared, shocked. Then her lips formed the words: "But how is this Malingo's doing?"

"He took the throne, or took it for Astaulf, his pawn. That strengthened the forces of Evil in the land; and just as your local sorcerer grew stronger, Father Brunel grew weaker-morally, that is. It all stems from Malingo having stolen the king's throne. The man who rules the land is corrupt and wicked, and the people mimic their king."

"Aye, but 'tis deeper than that," the dryad said, brooding. "For look you, the king's the symbol of the land."

"Oh?" Matt looked up keenly; he was more sensitive to symbols these days. "Saying the king's the symbol of the land is going a bit far, don't you think? He's the symbol of the nation - the people who live in the land."

"Can you divorce the people from the land?" the dryad countered.

Matt started to answer and caught himself. These people still thought industry just meant good, hard work. To them, the whole earth, the wind, the trees, the streams, and all the elements were so inextricably intertwined with them that if the land's harmony was broken, so was theirs. "No," he said softly. "No, of course not. Here, the people aren't divorced from the land at all, are they? They're bone and fiber of it."

"They are," the dryad agreed, "and when they die, they return their bodies to it, as their forefathers have done for a thousand generations. The people are the land, or nearly; and if the king's the symbol of them, then he is the symbol of the land itself."

"Then," Matt said, frowning, "the whole land's befouled because a false king's on the throne."

"Yes." The dryad nodded, and cold fire flickered at the backs of her eyes. "Aye, that he is - an abomination and defilement upon the Royal Chair."

Matt stared, shaken by her vehemence.

The dryad looked up suddenly. "The dawn is lighting; sunlight stripes the land beyond the verge. And we are scarcely to midforest."

Matt looked up, startled. He gazed about him at the dark, deep gloom that shadowed all the trees. "How can you tell? It still looks like midnight in here."

"The topmost leaves do feel the sun's light; thus, so do we. Come quickly; we must find a quicker route." She hurried ahead, passing Alisande and Sir Guy to catch up with the elf-duke in the lead.

The princess dropped back beside Matt. "Well done, Lord Wizard. You have wrought mightily for me this night."

"Uh?" Matt looked up, startled. "How? I mean, Malingo's not all that apt to try to bring an army through this forest."

"True, but he'll march through the land. And 'tis even as this dryad says, all the forest is one. Yet further still, Lord Wizard, all the land is one; and the forest is tied to it, as thoroughly as its roots run out into the meadowland to mingle with the roots of grasses. What the forest knows, the moorland knows, and all the mountain pines. Nay, you have raised the forest for me and, in doing so, have raised up all the land. The very soil will mire Malingo's army for our cause."

The dryad was arguing with the elf-duke. A few words of vociferous debate filtered back to Matt; then it ceased, and he gathered the dryad had won her point.

They made very rapid progress after that. The dryad led, and it seemed as if the forest opened up to make a highway for them. The trees began to go backward past them, faster and faster, till they were almost a blur. They were making very good time, even though they were turning and twisting so many times that Matt began to wonder if they were following a snake with a twitch. Somehow, he suspected magic.

It was full dawn when they stepped out of the trees into the meadowland. Matt looked out over the long grass that blurred and faded into morning mist: The shadows of the great, gnarled trees stretched out ahead for a hundred feet. Beyond them was golden mist, but so thick that Matt couldn't see where shadow left off and sunrise began. All he could tell was that sunlight filled the meadow.

He turned back to the dryad. "I thank you, Lady of the Wood, and I wish I could have come more quickly, to free you from your bondage."

"Tush, sir!" The dryad turned coy. "Your advent was timely as it was. Yet when affairs cease to press you, I pray you, come this way again."

Matt felt his face heating and swallowed quickly. "Uh, thanks," he said, reaching down a hand. "It's already been a pleasure."

The dryad frowned prettily at his hand. "What novel custom's this?"

"Oh, just an idiosyncrasy of my people." Matt swallowed again. "Open hand, no weapon. It's our custom to clasp hands with friends."

"Oh ... I most certainly wish to be your friend." Her clasp was firm, her hand dry and smooth, like polished wood. Her fingertips wriggled with a subtle pressure that sent heat coursing up his arm to his glands. "Do come again," she breathed.

Then she spun away toward the forest, leaving a laugh that merged with the whispering of the morning breeze in the leaves, as the shadows claimed her, and she was gone.

Matt took a deep breath, sitting upright on Stegoman, shaking his head to clear it. "Well! A most ... interesting encounter."

"It was indeed," Alisande said, with an implied promise of incipient mayhem, "and I trust one was enough. Reflect on what was said, Wizard, on the crossing that's against all nature."

Matt gave her a reproachful look. "You still don't trust me. Should I be complimented?"

Alisande swung her horse about, face burning, and rode out into the meadow.

Sir Guy laughed softly behind him. "Come, Lord Wizard. Let us ride."

They cantered ahead. The mist turned deeper gold, thinning, showing them a swath of meadow. Matt saw a sheet of sunlight, laid out upon the waving grass, its near edge cut as sharply as a knife-edge by the shadow. He drew in suddenly, ten feet short of the shadow line.

"What troubles you?" Sir Guy frowned.

"I just remembered what this whole shenanigan was about." Matt swung down off the dragon. "You two ride ahead slowly with the ladies. And try to keep your neck hooked up, Stegoman, so no one can see I'm not with you."

"What hast thou in mind?" Stegoman blinked painfully against the sunlight.

"About what you'd expect. Try to make sure you keep in sight of the forest, and be ready to come a-runnin' if you hear a ruckus."

Stegoman turned his head slowly, doubtfully; but Sir Guy only asked, "What of yourself?"

"I'll stay here."

"A moment.'' The dragon blinked at him, frowning. "If the wolf should hap upon thee..."

Matt held up the silver dagger. "I'm ready - though I hope I won't have to use it."

Sir Guy frowned down at him a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away. "Come, Free Dragon! This is his fight, when all is done."

Stegoman went along, though he didn't look happy about it.

Matt stepped a few feet to the side and lay down in the long grass. The stems hid him from his companions, but also from the forest behind. He waited.

He didn't wait long.

A howl ripped from the verge of the forest.

Matt snapped his head up, looking backward, waiting.

A heavy, black form shot through the grass to his left, not five feet away. Matt leaped to his feet, just in time to see the great, gaunt wolf charge out of the shadow into sunlight.

It felt the warmth and howled, slamming on the brakes, leaning backward, clawing at the turf. It flailed about, wailing.

Hooves thudded as Sir Guy and the ladies came charging back toward it.

Then it rose up from the grass, already a grotesque and formless thing with half a face and half a muzzle, no longer a beast, not yet a man, struggling back toward the shadow line.

Matt ran forward, the silver knife out. The amorphous thing saw him coming and lunged forward desperately. But Matt leaped and landed on the terminator a half second before it.

It wailed miserably and rolled to the side, sheering off from the silver blade. It fell lengthwise, twitching, its whole form blurring, stretching out, elongating, paling - and Father Brunel scrabbled naked in the grass.

He rolled over onto his belly, face buried in his hands, sobbing in full despair.

Matt knelt, clapping his shoulder. "Calm down, Father. You're human again."

"Slay me!" The priest grabbed the front of Matt's tunic and yanked his head down. "I begged you before; I adjure you now! Slay me! End my shame!"

"No." Matt felt his face turn to flint again.

"Heed me!" The priest shook Matt like a rat, his face contorting with fury. "You would not heed me in the depth of night; look what has happed therefore! Take the silver blade and kill me!"

"Again I tell you, no!" Matt looked directly into the priest's eyes with a cold, hard stare. "I-will-not-send-your-soul-to-Hell."

He chopped down with his forearm against Father Brunel's elbow, knocking the priest's hands aside, and stood, glaring up at Alisande, daring her to disagree. But the princess only nodded judiciously.

Surprised but relieved, Matt turned back to the priest again. "Your cure is penance, Father, not death."

The priest glowered up at him; then anger faded, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head.

"Come, sir!" Sir Guy said sternly. "Hope's not fully fled! Come, on your feet, and be a man again!"

"There's no help for it, Father," Matt said, more gently. "We're not going to let you out of it. Take up the burden of humanity once again."

The priest lay still a moment longer. Then he groaned and shoved himself to his feet again-or started to. He made it to his knees, then suddenly remembered his condition and sank back, shooting an appalled, appealing glance at Matt.

"Oh, good Heaven!" Sayeesa ripped a strip of cloth from her robe in disgust and tossed it to the priest. "Gird your loins, and have no fear-the princess and I shall turn our heads."

She turned her horse, and so did Alisande; but Father Brunel only knelt, staring down at the wide grey strip in his hands, and muttered, deep in his throat, "I should not touch your garment."

"'Tis not my garment more!" Sayeesa cried, exasperated. "'Tis separate from me now, as you shall ever be! Now gird yourself!"

Alisande stared at her in surprise, then turned away, brow furrowed in thought.

Matt looked up too, amazed. Then he sighed and turned back to Brunel.

The priest was on his feet, finishing tying the loincloth into place with a twist of skeined grasses. He looked up at Matt, face grave. "'Tis better thus. I am not fit to wear a cassock."

"Will you quit wallowing in self-pity!" Matt snapped. "Haul yourself out to the arid land of manhood! Or do you think a cassock would make you neuter?"

The priest glowered down at the ground. "I could wish that it did."

"Yeah, yeah! We could be such damn fine men, if we just didn't have to cope with women! They wouldn't even distract us, if we just didn't have glands for them to lead us by! We could win every time, if we just never had a challenge! Come off it, Father! Glory comes from keeping on trying when you're losing, not from giving up!"

Brunel's head snapped up in indignant anger - and, for a moment, he almost seemed to have a man's due pride again.

Then he lowered his head, eyes still on Matt. "Aye, there's truth in what you say: despair's illusion. I, a priest, should know that. No matter how I've sinned, there's always hope I will not sin again. 'Tis deeper shame that a layman must remind me of it."

Matt nodded slowly, almost with approval. "Then be a priest, Father, and thereby be a man."

The priest frowned at him a moment longer; then he turned away, planting his fists on his hips and staring at the ground. He looked up, nodding. "I thank you, Wizard. Now stand away from me I must be gone."

Matt lifted an eyebrow. "Quite an about-face. Where are you heading?"

"To the nearest church," Brunel answered. "Where should I go?"

"Why, with us, good Father," Sir Guy said cheerfully. "Let us find this church together."

"No." Brunel shook his head. "You must ride to the West, and quickly; and I would slow your party, as I've done already."

"Well, that's a matter of opinion." Matt looked back at the forest. "I'd say we made pretty good time, last night. About sixty miles."

"Yet you will concede, I did not aid you," the priest said, with a dark smile. "Nay, I'll go my ways. I would be liability to you, and --" He glanced up at Sayeesa, then away: " -- and you to me."

Sayeesa's head swung around, eyes wide in hurt - but only for a split second; then her face was an impassive mask again.

Matt tugged at his lip, frowning. "There's some truth in that, but you're in this now, Father. You can't just sit back and watch the big guys fight it out."

"Can the people ever sit back thus?" Brunel asked drily. "You forget, Lord Wizard, that knights may lead the charge, but the greatest part of war is for the footmen. And the battlefield is farmers'. trampled corn."

"Quite truly said." Alisande nudged her horse up to the priest, neck stiff, looking down at him. "What soldiers shall you bring to aid us?"

The priest looked up, taken aback. Then his brow furrowed.

"I had not thought of that. Yet what better army could you have in this fell war than a troop or two of monks?"

Slowly, the princess nodded. "What better force, indeed?"

"Uh..." Matt tugged at an earlobe. "Isn't there something a little bit paradoxical about that? I mean, men of God, out there with swords and pikes?"

Father Brunel turned to him with a wry smile. "It has been known before, Lord Matthew. Still, I had not such in mind. The weapons I would bid them bring are rosaries, scapulars, holy water, and the relics of the saints."

Matt caught the scoffing answer on his lips and shoved it into his cheek with his tongue. The weapons the priest had mentioned were all symbols, and very, very powerful ones. Given the rules of this universe, they were apt to do at least as much good as crossbows and a catapult or two.

Brunel straightened, squaring his shoulders. "Aye, this much I can do; and I see I must. Stand aside, Lord Wizard, let me by. I must find a church and robe, and every monastery that I can, while trooping westward." He turned back to Alisande, and something of the fighting man kindled in his glance. "Where shall I meet you, Highness?''

"In the western mountains." Battle joy sparked in Alisande's eyes. "In the foothills north of Mount Monglore, hard by the Plain of Grellig."

"That's a ways to go, and you need to make good time." Matt looked up at Stegoman. "Mind splitting off from the main part? He needs rapid transport."

"There's some truth in that," the dragon said slowly, "yet would I misdoubt me of thy safety, Wizard."

"So would I, but I'd worry for Brunel's even more. He's got to have a companion he can't hurt, if he goes were - and who can keep him from hurting anybody else."

"Rest assured, I'll not turn wolf again," the priest said grimly.

Matt nodded in deference. "With all respect, Father, I've had some experience with good resolutions. Stegoman, I think I'll be a bit more effective if I don't have to worry about the good priest."

"Oh, as thou dost wish," the dragon grumbled, waddling over to the priest.

Brunel hesitated, glancing up at Alisande. She nodded slowly, and he sighed, turning to climb aboard the dragon. He settled between two great dorsal plates and looked back at the princess.

"At Grellig, then. I cannot pledge how many I will bring; but I think a good round hundred may take up your banner."

"I'll need each separate man, and a princess' thanks unto them. Your blessing, Father."

"You'll have it when I'm shriven," Brunel answered, with a rueful smile. "Come, good beast! Away!"

Stegoman turned his head and lumbered out into the meadow and the tatters of the morning mist, angling off toward the south. He turned back once to catch Matt's eye; the wizard waved; but Brunel kept his gaze riveted on the south. Stegoman turned back to the southwest trail and was swallowed in the mist.

"Pray God that he'll be safe," Sir Guy murmured, "for his sake, and ours."

"Be of good heart," the princess answered. "I do not think that he shall die till Grellig. Then, who knows?"

"Praise Heaven we are rid of him," Sayeesa said. "Now we are safe." But there was a lonely, haunted look about her as she gazed off toward the southwest.

Matt turned to Alisande. "The sorcerer doesn't make too much hay while the sun shines, does he?"

The princess puzzled over his meaning, then shook her head. "By daylight he must work through human beings, which lessens the danger to us. 'Tis night we must-fear, when he can raise up foul embodiments of Evil."

Matt nodded. "Then we'd best be riding. There're at least fifty miles more of this moorland, but we've got some fourteen hours of daylight. We can cover a lot of miles."

"That we can not, Lord Wizard," Sir Guy said firmly. "Already our poor beasts have been ridden too long. I have spoken with the elfin duke. He tells me there is an outcropping of rocks and a spring, but six miles ahead. There we can rest in the shadow of the rocks while our mounts graze upon the dry grasses about."

"Okay," Matt said reluctantly. After all, the horses were not like the autos or motorcycles of his experience. "I guess we'll just have to find other shelter when we make later stops."

"Then mount and ride!" Sir Guy cried, swinging up onto his horse. Suddenly, as he looked down at Matt, his face showed embarrassment. "My apologies, Lord Wizard. I forgot."

Matt smiled up at him. "I do need something to ride on, don't I? Well, fortunately we have a good supply of sticks."

"Sticks?" Alisande frowned. "How will you ride sticks?"

Matt made no answer. He'd found what he was looking for a six-foot stick with a sharp bend in the end, like a giant check mark. With twine twisted out of grass, he lashed on other sticks to form legs, shoving them into the ground to stand firm. With a bunch of dried grass tied on for a tail, Matt had a very rough semblance of a horse.

He stepped well back from it and chanted:

In an area around the mockup, haze began to thicken. It turned impenetrable and began to boil upward, mounting far above Matt's head. An elephant would have been lost in it, and Matt frowned. But then it began to clear - and was suddenly gone. Where it had been stood a great chestnut stallion, its neck arched proudly. The horse turned its aristocratic head and looked at Matt.

But for Matt's needs, he saw that his enchantment was still incomplete. And two others in the party were riding bareback, which was hardly the ideal. He frowned and cobbled together another verse:

He blinked and saw that the horse stood bridled, with a western saddle on his back. Matt breathed a sigh of relief; at least he could ride in comfort for a change. And he saw that the other mounts now all had saddles, though not in the western style.

The chestnut walked up to Matt, nickering softly, and butted his head against Matt's chest.

"Yooo, big fellow!" Matt stroked the warm neck, feeling a strong affection for the beast. They'd get along together.

"With mine own eyes I saw it," Sir Guy breathed. He'd been staring speechlessly for the past few minutes. "Else could I never have given it credit."

"Just as well; I'm overdrawn." Matt swung into the saddle, amused at the Black Knight. Sir Guy had seen him make a fairy castle vanish and cause trees to pull up their roots and walk, and the knight had scarcely lifted an eyebrow. But conjure up a horse, and he was awed. Nothing like professional interest ...

They found the rocks and spring, as the elf-duke had said. And there Matt received a quick lesson from Sir Guy on caring for his horse, before taking the rations handed him and finding a shadowed place to eat them. He found he was missing Stegoman. The stallion was friendly and willing, of course. But the dragon could care for himself, and Matt needed his hard-headed realism to bounce his own ideas off.

"You may sleep now."

Matt looked up, surprised to see that Sayeesa had joined him. He shook his head. "Thanks, lady - but first guard shift is mine, and you'd better take your sleep while you can. You'll need it by the time it's your turn."

She shook her head. "I find I'm not inclined toward sleep. And 'tis folly for two to be waking. Take your rest."

"I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not sleepy yet, either," Matt told her. Silence fell awkwardly between them. To break the pause, he asked, "Am I wrong, or have you and Alisande grown more friendly?"

Sayeesa frowned, turning away. "Dislike is fading ... I had thought she loathed me, but I see now I mistook. In some strange manner, she sees something of herself in me and thinks she has no right to even small contempt." She looked back at Matt. "Yet there can never be true friendship. She is, after all, a princess, and I a peasant's daughter."

"Class barriers!" Matt bit down on a surge of anger. "Why does that nonsense have to foul up a friendship?"

"You speak with more force than the matter warrants." Sayeesa smiled. "Do you wish to be friends with her?"

Matt swallowed. "Well, of course! We've got to fight together, so we should be on friendly terms, don't you think?"

"You scarcely seem enemies."

"I wouldn't exactly call us bosom buddies, either. You weren't there right after I got her out of jail. She was very warm toward me then - almost respected me, I think." He rolled his eyes up. "Why can't women take us as we are - human, with normal weaknesses?"

"When did her aspect change?"

"Right after-well..."

"Do not seek to spare me." Her voice was gentle. "When she saw you within my palace, was it not?"

"Yeah. What did she expect me to be - a plaster saint?"

"Nay." Sayeesa looked directly into Matt's eyes. "But was it your weakness that cooled her toward you then? Or my presence?"

Matt looked up, startled. Then he turned slowly away, his eyes losing focus as he gazed out over the plain. "That's pretty farfetched, isn't it?"

"Why should it be?" .

Matt's lips tightened in exasperation. "I'm not of noble blood. She can't let herself be interested in anyone who isn't potential royalty."

"Nay." Sayeesa smiled gently. "She might not allow an outcome of such interest - but the interest itself? No woman born can bar its rising."

Matt looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "I see. When you put it that way, it almost makes her have to be cool to me, doesn't it?"

Sayeesa's smile broadened as she got up to leave him. "It may be that you're not completely a fool."

Matt brooded on the idea through his guard shift, then kept himself awake until Sir Guy's was finished and it was time for the princess to take over. After all, any hypothesis should be tested.

He approached her with more certainty than he felt. "I think I'm beginning to make some progress toward learning your ways, your Highness."

"Indeed?" Her voice was more brittle and aloof than it had been previously. But the others were asleep now, and he was effectively alone with Alisande. That, he decided, might account for her manner.

"That dryad wasn't exactly repulsive," he said. "But I thought I bore myself pretty well with her."

"Did you that?" Alisande turned on him. "Then tell me - how is it you understood the priest so well?"