Her Majesty's Wizard

CHAPTER 15

Stegoman shouldered up beside them as they waited behind the great gate.

Matt looked up, surprised. "You haven't had much sleep."

"Nor have I need of it," the dragon snorted. "I am easily fit for another twelve-hour chase. Do not seek to dissuade me, Wizard."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Matt murmured.

"'Tis well," the dragon said gruffly. "Mount, Wizard."

Matt climbed aboard, picking his way carefully between pointed fins. "I really appreciate this, Stego--"

"Loose!" the abbot yelled above.

A hundred arrows darkened the air, arching high to hail down on the enemy. Shields snapped up all around the gate; enemy soldiers cowered under their shells.

"Open the gate!" the abbot bellowed.

"Ride!" Alisande cried, and charged out as the gates cracked open.

"Don't let her lead!" Matt cried, and Stegoman shot ahead, past the princess's horse. She howled in anger as he cut in front of her, then saved her breath as the dragon's torch lit. He charged out like a flame thrower into Hell, carrying Matt, with Alisande, Sir Guy, and Sayeesa galloping behind. Even then, the sorcerers almost got them. A geyser of fire erupted right under Stegoman's nose, and the dragon pulled back, almost starting a chain collison. Sir Guy and Alisande just barely pulled their horses up in time. Then the footmen charged in from the back with a howl, and the princess and the Black Knight turned to meet them with razor-edged steel. They bought just enough time for Max to douse the volcano and make it re-erupt right under the enclave of sorcerers. While they were busy screaming and running around swatting out flamelets on each others' coattails, Stegoman let loose a fire-blast with a Demon-assist and torched a path through the army. They rode out full tilt, and nobody seemed minded to dispute the right-of-way with them.

Sir Guy reined his horse back to a walk when the bulk of the western foothills hid the monastery from sight. He opened his visor and yanked off a gauntlet, so he could wipe his brow. "That was hot, heavy work, Lord Wizard."

"Shoulda shtayed aroun' 'n' burned 'em down t' the' groun'," Stegoman slurred.

Matt eyed his mount warily, but he seemed docile enough for the moment. The ride was a bit on the bumpy side, though. "Well, we got out with only a few scratches, and that's what matters, Sir Guy ... We are heading west, aren't we?"

"Aye." The Black Knight grinned. "The dragon did not swerve too badly. We should arrive at Saint Cynestria's convent ere nightfall."

"Good." Matt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I have a feeling that somehow, without us, they're in heavy trouble."

"Not unless the army besieging them is far more fell than that which we battled last night," Sayeesa said grimly.

"Which it is," Matt replied. "I'll lay you long odds on that one. I have a sneaking suspicion the whole situation is set up to guarantee that we have to be there, to give the Cynestrians a fighting chance. Why else would they attack this particular convent?"

"I think it has to do with our good Sayeesa," Alisande said thoughtfully. "She may have a greater part to play in this war than we ha' known."

"Yeah.. ." Matt chewed at the inside of his cheek. "The priest who heard our confessions in that country church said something of the sort."

"Nay, surely not!" Sayeesa frowned. "I am humble and a sinner! I could not have such great import!"

"Yet still 'twas said," Alisande pointed out. "And if 'tis so, the sorcerer has done all he may to prevent her coming to the convent..."

"Without much luck," Matt added.

"That is to your credit," Alisande admitted. "Yet 'ware false pride, Lord Wizard."

One of these days, Matt decided, Alisande was going to give him a real, full, unqualified compliment-and when she realized she'd done so, she'd probably have a heart attack.

"So," the princess went on, "if he cannot prevent her arrival at the Cynestrians' gate..."

"He can eliminate the gate." Matt's lips tightened. "And the convent with it. Sure. But wouldn't that indicate that Sayeesa, herself, isn't vital? Instead, it's her joining with the convent that's a key event."

"That, I can more readily accept," Sayeesa said. "Yet not fully; for I cannot believe I'd add much power to those iron, holy women!"

"Some change may overcome you there," Alisande said offhandedly, "transforming you to a greater force than we can think."

"I'll not hear more," Sayeesa said flatly, and nudged her pony on ahead.

"But I kinda think she wants to." Matt frowned at the ex-witch's retreating back.

"There may be truth in it," Alisande mused. "Yet it could be no more than their joining; the two could form a most potent combination. For, look you, Lord Wizard - the Cynestrians accept as novices only women who have sinned, and deeply. All within their walls are therefore penitent, laden with remorse - and, as a consequence, staggering in the intensity of their devotion. They fast and pray both night and day with greatest fervor, seeking to atone. 'Tis said they pray with vengeance - on themselves."

"Hmm." Matt pursed closed lips. "They could put out a lot of spiritual power, couldn't they? Come to think of it, they'd have to - what else could have held Malingo's army off all night?"

"If they did succeed in that," Alisande reminded him. "For which, let us pray ... Yet their power is not prayer alone; for there are former bandits in their midst."

"Women?" Matt's eyebrows shot up. "Female bandits? In this kind of society?"

"'Tis our ways and customs formed them," Alisande demurred. "They are women who could not, would not, be subjected to a man's command; and in such a land as ours, there is scant space for such unfeminine women."

Sir Guy nodded. "These Ladies of the Waste could best most men. Nay, I've heard of them. Such a band did gather one short year a small army, they were indeed - bandit-maids and scourers, who did loot and burn throughout these marches. They were, for several months, scourges of the West, lording it over all the borderland."

"This did begin when Astaulf came to power?" Alisande demanded, thin-upped.

Sir Guy nodded. "As the king does, so do the subjects; and Astaulf is a bandit king. Yet when these bandit-maids had grown intolerable, the Mother Superior of the Cynestrians swore they gainsaid Nature, in that God made women to protect and care for others, not to sack and slay them. She vowed that she would bring them to repentance, or die in the attempt. Many of her order sought to join with her, but she'd not have them; the hazard was for her, and her alone. Thus she rode singly out to face the outlaw band. She found them, endured their torments and their insults, then began to speak to them of Christ and Blessed Mary. Thus she showed them the estate that they were born to and had spurned; and by Heaven! not a one of them who heard her could stand against remorse!"

"She brought them out repentant, as she'd said?" Alisande's tone was hushed.

Sir Guy smiled. "Each and every one. They rode back with her to the convent, turning postulant. If the walls of Saint Cynestria yet stand, your Highness, they are why; they are the ones who bore the brunt of fighting."

Somehow, Matt wasn't exactly eager to meet the good sister, sat least, not unless they were sure he was on their side. In the afternoon, he had a chance to mention this to Sir Guy.

"You never shall convince them of it," Sir Guy declared. "They're sure, these bandit-maids, that all that's male conspires against them-save Christ, which is why they're so devoted to Him. Still, if you can bring their Reverend Mother to believe you, her warriors will side with you; for they'll be ruled by her."

"Hmm." Matt chewed that one over. "Well, I'd better be my most persuasive-but I don't think that means charming."

"Indeed not," the Black Knight agreed. "She will see through whatever face you wear to your true one; so, best that be the face you wear."

"Yeah." Matt nodded. "Just my ordinary self."

"Nay. Your true self."

Matt turned slowly. "Whaddaya mean? I am my true self!"

"Then you know that you do hold feelings for our princess that are somewhat more than those of a liegeman for his lady?"

"Now, hold on! I don't know anything of the sort!"

"Then the face you wear lacks truth. Nay, do not speak-I've seen it in you. Admit these feelings, Wizard-at least unto yourself. This game you play must cease."

"Game?" Matt felt anger kindle. "What are you talking about? I'm not playing any game!"

"Are you not? 'Tis even as I've said-you will not acknowledge it, even to yourself. I pray you, do; yearnings hidden may weaken you-and through you, all of us."

Matt felt his emotions still and settle into an icy block. "If you're talking about lust, don't sweat it-I'm not exactly hot for her Highness's body ... Well, not usually." He remembered her dance in the Stone Ring; but that had been an aberration.

Sir Guy turned away, sighing and shaking his head. "Well, I spoke my piece, and hard enough it came. Yet I bid you hearken to my words." He clucked to his horse and rode ahead.

Matt glowered at his back, coals of resentment smoldering in his belly.

The sun was low in the sky, silhouetting a low, sprawling building with a steeple rising up from its midst, perched on a low hill in the middle of a valley - the convent of Saint Cynestria. It looked much like the Moncairean monastery.

Matt wondered about the army that surrounded it. The levies didn't seem to be any more numerous than the host hemming in the Moncaireans; but there were some big holes in the gathering, empty patches of ground with a look of waiting to them, scrupulously avoided by the soldiers. He wondered who-or-what, would be dropping in.

"How shall we attain these walls, Lord Wizard?" the princess demanded.

"How indeed?" Sir Guy seconded. " Be wary of your magic, for I see many more midnight robes and a host of gray."

"Yeah, they do look heavier in the magic arm. Well, sometimes there's nothing like good, old-fashioned violence. Stegoman, can you breathe out fire without letting it flame?"

"How mean you?" The dragon turned his head back to look at his rider. "I only know 'tis anger that sets flame."

"Okay, then, imagine you're angry-just pretending. And breathe out through your mouth ... Yeah, that's right."

The dragon's jaw lolled open; a steady hissing sounded. The horses shied off, and Matt wasn't surprised; he could scent the odor himself. It was faint, but it was also redolent of decay. Methane, probably.

"Good." Matt nodded. "Just keep it up, now-pump out as much dragon-breath as you can."

Stegoman sucked in air and exhaled again. Matt recited:

"The foeman now has little care; Let him have some moving air, Wafting from the eastern trees, With dragon's breath upon its breeze."

The air stirred about them, then settled into a steady breeze blowing against their backs. Stegoman kept hissing; the wind carried his fumes out toward the enemy. The dragon took time between breaths to demand, "How is this, that I grow not giddy?"

"It's the flame that does it," Matt explained, not quite accurately; it would take too long to explain what combustion products were.

"Wizard," Alisande said nervously, "will you do nothing?"

"Not for a while, your Highness." Matt wished for a wrist watch. "Stegoman's gotta pump out enough breath to cover most of the army between us and the gate." He leaned back, drumming his fingers on Stegoman's fin and whistling through his teeth.

About ten minutes later, he said, "Max?"

"Aye, Wizard?" asked the dot of light.

"Max, by this time, most of the army directly ahead of us ought to be blanketed with a kind of air that burns. Touch off a spark in the middle of it, will you?"

"Gladly," the arc spark murmured and winked out.

Matt leaned forward, keying himself up. "Ready, now. As soon as we see the flash, we ride."

The others looked up, surprised. Then they turned, bracing themselves in the saddles, but not without some trepidation.

A gout of flame exploded in the middle of the army, enveloping the whole march between the convent and the valley edge in flame.

"A triumph!" Stegoman roared with a six-foot flame. "Oh, wondroush wizhard!"

Matt bellowed, "Ride!"

Stegoman rumbled downhill like a beer wagon. The rest of the party followed out of faith.

The fire in the air damped and died in seconds, the methane spent; but everywhere it had touched, organics burned-grass, leaves, clothing, and hair. The army was in chaos, men running toward the nearest vat of water or wine, swatting out flames on each others' clothing, and bawling at the sorcerers to do something.

Into this melee charged a wall of drunken dragon, blasting fire all about him with a grand lack of discrimination. Howls doubled in front of him, and soldiers scrambled back out of his way. Stegoman scarcely had to slow as he cut his way through to the gates. A sorcerer did pop out to try a quick spell, but he seemed to have sudden difficulty moving his arms, and a second later, Stegoman converted him into a torch.

"Hoy!" Alisande stood in her stirrups, waving at the top of the wall. "Open! Travelers seeking sanctuary! Ho! I cry the hospitality of the house!"

A black-robed figure leaned out from the battlements, long veil flowing down across coif and shoulders, white band across the forehead. Then it disappeared; a moment later, the gates swung open. "Enter!" a voice commanded; but Stegoman was already in, and the others halfway through. The gates swung shut behind them, and the company found themselves in a narrow tunnel, with slit-windows in the walls. Barbed steel points bristled from the slits, and another gate walled them off ahead.

"Who called for sanctuary?" demanded a harsh, stern voice; it sounded like an old-maid schoolteacher.

Alisande tossed back her long blond hair. "I am Alisande, Princess of Merovence. My companions are Sir Guy Losobal; Matthew, Lord Wizard; and the penitent Sayeesa, who wishes to try her vocation in this House of Cynestria!"

"The vile witch of the moor?" The unseen speaker had nothing of censure in her voice; she sounded excited.

Sayeesa nodded. "So I was, till these good folks broke the enchantment that enslaved me and brought me to a priest. I repent my former ways; I reject Satan and all his works. Knowing my own poor, weak nature, I wish to shelter within your walls for the strengthening of my resolution."

"Attend a moment," the voice commanded. "We must speak to one another's faces."

Sayeesa sat waiting as if she were about to enter a throne room, seeming to strain toward the inner gate as if her saddle were holding her back from flying.

The gates swung open, and huge chains clanked as a portcullis rose. Three nuns waited, the tallest a step in front.

Sayeesa touched her heels to her horse's flanks, rode up to the portcullis, and swung down to kneel before the tall old lady.

"What seek you here?" the abbess demanded severely; but delight underlay her gorgon mask. She was tall and slender, with a long face that tapered to a pointed chin, a thin blade of a nose, and large, black, snapping eyes. Her mouth was a thin line amidst a net of wrinkles. Matt could find the traces of great beauty still lingering; but the beauty itself was dust, and any tenderness that might once have accompanied it seemed to have been burned out of the gaunt old frame.

"What seek you here?" she demanded again; and Sayeesa answered, "To try my vocation among you, Mother."

It was a repetition, but necessary; before, it had been for information; now, it was spiritual.

"Hold up your head!" the crone commanded, and Sayeesa's head snapped back as if a string had been pulled. Her face was humbled, filled with remorse - and a loneliness of a kind Matt had never seen before.

The abbess scanned Sayeesa's face intently; but if she found anything there, her own face gave no sign of it. "Why should you think you have a vocation?"

"I have sinned," Sayeesa answered in low and quavering tones, "so deeply that all folk of any conscience shun the sight of me. I have repented and been shriven. I've wandered, lost, alone, and near despair, though tended by these three good people. Yet when I saw these walls rise up before me, my heart turned glad; I began to feel that all my life led to your gates."

The abbess seemed halfway satisfied with that answer. "So you found your vocation when you saw our walls. And how came you here?"

Sayeesa's voice was scarcely audible. "I was sent here."

The old woman stiffened. "By whom? Tell me the manner of it!"

Sayeesa hesitated.

The abbess's voice softened amazingly. "Nay, child, speak, and fear not to say the whole of it. None will blame or sneer, for there's not a one of us within these walls that could not tell a tale to sicken your heart with loathing."

Sayeesa looked up, her eyes filling with tears. The abbess waved the other nuns away; they slipped back into the shadows beyond the portcullis. Then the abbess knelt before Sayeesa, caught her hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. "Now, speak!"

Sayeesa began to tell it in a low and trembling voice, a phrase at a time at first, then more freely, till she was pouring her heart out. The abbess knelt like a stone, hands clasped tightly around Sayeesa's, her face grave. Matt couldn't hear what passed; but finally Sayeesa sank back on her heels, head bowed low, hair fallen forward to hide her face, a sob shuddering through her frame.

"Nay, come, come!" The old nun's voice was gentle. "There is no shame in that; many sisters here would say the same. All new penitents think their sin the greatest ever done and therefore feel ashamed to look upon a sister's face." She hooked a finger under Sayeesa's chin, prying the face up; and she almost smiled as she said, "Come, child! You must know the silliness of that; 'tis foul pride's hidden side! There, you knew it ere I said it, now, did you not?"

Sayeesa gulped and nodded, a smile beginning to glimmer through her tears.

"Oh, your tale was harrowing enough," the abbess admitted. "Yet I've heard worse. Take heart, child; embrace God's Grace. You, like all amongst us, can yet atone... So." Her face became stern again. "A priest confessed you; and, in company with these good people, you came unto our door. On that journey, you were sorely tried, yet still held free from sin."

"But I came so near..."

"Yet still held clear! How near you came, child, matters not; you resisted, thereby gaining grace and strength. Aye, the priest was right to send you to us. I doubt not you are sincere in penitence and surely need our sanctuary for a while."

"Only for a while?" Sayeesa cried, almost in panic. "Mother! May I not stay as novice?"

"I cannot say, child." The abbess's face softened. "Though, Heaven knows, I would you could; for I sense a great reserve of strength within you, power I would most dearly love to have amongst us here. Yet withal.. ." Her eyes drifted from Sayeesa's face, losing focus. "I sense a weakness, too, a weakness that could bring great danger..."

She stood, with difficulty, and hauled Sayeesa to her feet. "Stay amongst us, then, awhile, and we'll discover your true nature. There, then - go within."

The two junior nuns stepped forward out of the shadows to escort Sayeesa into the convent.

The abbess turned to Alisande.

The princess swung down from her horse and stepped up to the abbess, her face neutral, but with something in her bearing that spoke of readiness for conflict.

"You honor our house, Highness," the abbess said formally. "Indeed, I rejoice at your presence; having you within shall strengthen my daughters' hearts this night."

"I thank you, Reverend Mother." Alisande half relaxed. "And my companions?"

The abbess gave Matt and Sir Guy a brief glance, which had nothing of friendship in it. "If they are yours, they are welcome; but men may not enter in this House. We have a guest chamber in the gate tower."

Stegoman got to stay in the courtyard, with a haunch of beef; apparently the injunction against males applied only to humans. The men's chamber was at the top of a long, narrow set of winding stairs, with a very large lock, and the abbess kept the key.

Sir Guy looked definitely unhappy. "I mislike small, closed spaces, Lord Matthew - especially when the door is fast."

"Yeah, it'll be fast enough." Matt knelt to peek into the keyhole. "A Boy Scout could go through this one - and if I can't spell my way out of this bind, I don't deserve to pass grade school."

"Eh?" The knight turned in surprise; then he grinned. "Aye, I had not thought! Certes, you'll open this latch when we need it. My thanks, Lord Matthew; you've set me at ease."

"Well, glad I'm good for something." Matt strolled over to the window and looked down at the ramparts, seeing a black-robed sentry every fifty feet. There was something in the way they stood that resonated with his mental image of the abbess. "I could be wrong, Sir Guy, but I think what we've got here is one of the most concentrated doses of fanaticism I've ever seen."

"Remorse has that effect." The Black Knight sounded as if he spoke from experience. "Be mindful, Lord Matthew, that every woman within these walls has been hurt most shrewdly by men and has hurt them in return-and the Devil's picture is of a male."

Matt turned, slowly lifting his head. "I see. It's a sin to hate your fellow humans-but it's okay to hate the Devil and his agents. Nice bit of sublimation."

"There's little of the sublime about it," the Black Knight snorted., "I wondered that they did not exile your dragon for his maleness and his fiery breath."

"Fire being associated with Hell?" Matt smiled bleakly. "Well, this is the West. I assume they've had dealings with dragons before, since we must be near dragon country."

"Aye, you speak aright. And dragons are strong allies in war. Yet sometimes I misdoubt me of the worth of our good Stegoman."

"Yeah, a drunken dragon's not the world's most reliable. There's a chance of curing him, of course, but..."

"Indeed? How might that be done?"

"I've got a pretty good idea of what's wrong with him," Matt said slowly. "But I'm no expert. If I'm wrong, I could leave him worse off than he is now."

"So you'll not attempt it?"

"Not unless it's a serious emergency. Then I might use a spell or so I've thought of. They might work, since he's full grown now."

"Why, how is this?" Sir Guy frowned. "Think you his malady began in childhood?"

"Before. that - in infancy. From the few things he's let drop, I gather dragon parents lay eggs, but leave them alone to hatch. When they do, the hatchlings are on their own till they find their parents."

Sir Guy nodded. "Aye. And I've heard 'tis then that cowardly men seek to slay them, for even infant dragon's blood is powerful in magic."

"And he has a thing about hatchling hunters. Let's suppose one chased him up onto some high place. When he tried to fly down, his wings were too weak, so he fell. When he landed, it hurt a lot. That left him scared of heights. Maybe, later when he'd learned to fly, something attacked him and made him fall painfully again. So deep down, he figures flying is dangerous. But with his background, he can't admit that to himself-so he gets high, which makes his fellow dragons ground him. Shameful, but nowhere nearly as bad as being thought a coward." Matt wandered over to the window again. "It's night, and they're lining up on the battlements. "There's the abbess. And - Good Lord! It's Sayeesa!"

The ex-witch came a pace behind as the abbess mounted the steps. She wore a plain gray gown with a small white bib. A short gray veil hid her hair, and the coif was only a strip of white across her forehead-the habit of a postulant.

The abbess spread her hands, and Matt could hear her voice clearly. "Hear me, daughters! Be mindful of what befell us last night! You will be attacked again with all the evils they have. You will be racked with fevers, cramps, and nausea. Your limbs will turn to water; your flesh may fester and erupt in boils. These things, though real, are like illusions-let your mind be filled with God, and all these plagues will lose their power over you and vanish. But if you cannot clear your mind and heart of all but Him and the deeds you must do in His name, then lay down your weapons and retire to the chapel to pray, that you may strengthen those who remain upon the wall. There is no shame in such retreat, my daughters-only in failure of your resolve through reluctance to retire; for thus would you weaken those who remain."

She paused, looking from face to face. The sisters watched her, faces grave. The abbess nodded, satisfied. "And be wary of your greatest hazard-the urge to hate the things that come in forms of men!"

A low, harsh mutter passed along the wall. It made Man's hackles rise. He felt himself trying to shrink into the stonework.

"You have all suffered at the hands of men!" The abbess drowned out the mutter. "You came here hating, until you stilled that hatred through prayer. Yet that, of all your urges, can most easily be reawakened. Be mindful that the sins of hate and lust for vengeance are our worst temptations. The men who shamed you were but tools of Satan and his minions, and all the creatures you may see before this wall tonight are but minions of his minions. They are enemies, but undeserving of hate or anger. The arrows that you loose against them will lose all power, if they're released in hatred or anger. Strike to save our sisters and those without these walls;, strike to save men from temptation to hurt women; but strike not in hatred or for vengeance. If you cannot forego those, lay down your weapons and turn away this moment to the chapel."

Sir Guy grunted in surprise as a handful of nuns began moving toward the stairs, their heads bowed in prayer. A chill crawled up Matt's spine. If they didn't feel capable of striking without hatred after a speech like that, how deeply did their hatred burn?

Another handful of nuns came up the stairs-reinforcements from the chapel. The abbess turned away and began talking earnestly with Sayeesa and Alisande. Then a cry went up from the far end of the wall. A nun was pointing out into the darkness. The sisters set arrows to bowstrings.

Sir Guy raced Matt to the front window. They jammed into it together, looking out over the valley. There the front rank of the enemy was charging in with scaling ladders to begin the battle.

The nuns seemed unworried. The bandit-maids had brought their armory with them when they took the cloth, so they had a plentiful supply of bolts and arrows. After all, they'd been under seige for only one night and day, not for three-quarters of a year.

Thirty nuns triggered their crossbows, then stepped back while thirty more stepped up in their places, to loose and retire, while a third rank in turn shot and stepped back. Then the first rank, cocked and reloaded, came forward.

"Whosoe'er trained those ladies knew more than a little of warfare," Sir Guy observed.

The enemy soldiers ran into a steel storm as soon as they were in range. They howled and either died or retreated. A doughty few pressed on another fifty feet before they went down.

The former bandit-maids shouted their triumph.

"They may not need our help," Matt said hopefully.

Sir Guy disagreed. "The battle is scarcely joined, Lord Wizard."

The enemy took time in getting the next act together. Then a ram-tunnel came worming its way out of the line, forty feet long, with many pairs of feet showing below.

A big bandit-maid called, "Maud! Let in some light for them!"

"Certes," a nun called from above the door across the way. "We cannot have a centipede near our house. Turn, sisters, and lower the front a mite."

They had a small catapult, mounted to swing both horizontally and vertically. "Gently," Sister Maud cautioned. "Aim not where 'tis, but where 'twill be ... Now loose!"

With a deep thrum, a boulder the size of a basketball leaped out over the field. It arced high, then swung down. The ram-tunnel captain saw it and bawled a command to back pedal. But the wooden centipede barely got into reverse when the stone crashed into the middle of the roof. The tunnel broke into two halves and beat a hasty retreat. Hoots of laughter followed it from the battlements.

Sir Guy shook his head in admiration. "Thus may we see the strengths of amateurs."

"Amateurs?" Matt looked up, startled. "I'd say those girls were pretty good."

"Aye, but they've had small training in defense. They know not that a catapult's only for attacking a castle. They've but heard of it as a siege engine; so they've mounted one on their wall for a siege - and it has succeeded!"

A cry went up along the wall. "Malvoisin! Malvoisin!"

A fifty-foot structure loomed darkly in the first rays of the moon, four hundred feet out.

"It's not moving," Matt noted.

Sir Guy grinned. "Our doughty ladies have proven the efficacy of their catapult. The enemy dares not bring his engine within range. How then will he deal with this?"

The answer came quickly as Matt noticed tendrils of fog beginning to curl around the battlements.

"They wish to shroud us!" the abbess cried, and her hands began to weave symbolic gestures, while she chanted in Latin. Whatever the spell or prayer, the fog lifted before it had fairly started.

Matt gave a low whistle. "This abbess knows some magic!"

But it was hardly enough. The enemy tried a dust storm next. It hid the battlements completely before the abbess managed to dispel it. When the air cleared, the malvoisin was well within catapult range. Sister Maud and her girls swung the catapult to bear - and got hit with a plague of gnats.

Shrieks of distress filled the battlements. Through the dense, buzzing cloud, Matt could just barely make out the abbess, clutching Sayeesa's arm. Dimly he could hear the words of chanting. Sayeesa was using magic again - white magic, this time.

While they chanted, Alisande ran among the ex-bandits, shouting and exhorting them. Heartened by the princess they were fighting for, the bandit-maids bent to their tasks and peppered the malvoisin with crossbow bolts. The ladies at the catapult drew aim, while the gnats sickened and fell to the ground all about them. Then Sister Maud shouted and the catapult arm lashed out. The stone ball arced high and fell, tearing off the top of the malvoisin. It retreated hastily out of range.

For a time, the enemy was quiet.

"They make me nervous when they're still," Matt complained. "What's the hour?"

Sir Guy looked up at the sickle moon. "Midnight, Lord Matthew. When the forces of Evil are strongest. Now the real battle shall begin."

It started with an auxiliary army scuttling from the enemy lines toward the walls - cockroaches, three feet long. The battlements filled with oaths of disgust. Bolts riddled the insects, but they kept coming. The first ones began climbing the walls in spite of the chants of the abbess and Sayeesa.

It was definitely time for some technological aid. Matt began reciting:

A mist sprang up where the wall met the earth of the moat. The upcoming cockroaches keeled over, kicking, then stilling. But some of the first ones had already climbed up onto the battlements.

Most of the nuns were backing away from the giant insects, shrieking. Some were lifting their skirts and seeking heights away from the horrors.

"You do not flee such creatures," Alisande shouted. "You slay them!" She whacked at a thorax for emphasis. A few of the bandit-maids with stronger stomachs leaped to help her.

"Down to the battle!" Sir Guy ordered. "We must aid!"

Matt spun to the door, chanting:

He knocked. The lock groaned, and the door clanked open. Matt barreled through with Sir Guy a foot behind.

They clanged out onto the battlements. The Black Knight gave a joyful shout as he laid about him with his sword. Matt leaped for a roach just before it sank its mandibles into the habit of a nun, and performed a quick vivisection on it. "Slay them!" he shouted. "They're only flesh!"

The matter was debatable. At that size, their armor was almost as good as Sir Guy's. But a monofilament edge worked wonders, and Matt knew where to probe for weak places. He and Sir Guy sliced up cockroaches right and left.

"See how they fare!" Alisande cried. "Will you let mere males outdo you, then?"

With a roar of expletive negatives, the nuns waded in. A few were bitten; but in a few minutes, the roaches were dead. Matt joined Sir Guy in the disgusting task of shoveling the corpses over the wall. He finished and turned to confront a basilisk-faced abbess.

"This was your work, was it not? The fog that banished most of the monsters?"

Matt swallowed, feeling like a schoolboy caught writing on the wall. "Yeah. It seemed like a good idea."

"It was, indeed," she 'said grimly. "Though I mind having bidden you to the gate tower. Nay, then. Abide here amongst us this night. We will be glad of your aid. Yet stay apart from my daughters, insofar as you are able."

Matt nodded in relief at his dismissal and turned to where Sir Guy and Alisande were trying to repulse men who had sneaked up with scaling ladders while the roaches distracted those within. For a time, it was hot work, but no more magical manifestations appeared.

He stepped back at last, wiping sweat from his brow and catching his breath. Beyond the walls, a thick fog had appeared, but now was clearing.

A shout went up. Matt turned to see the malvoisin again emerging from the thinning fog. A hundred pale, fish-belly-colored bodies slogged ahead, pulling it along, plodding like machines and looking at nothing.

Thirty crossbows hummed with a single voice. Leather-vaned bolts sprouted in the pallid chests, but the marchers kept coming.

"Zombies!" Matt shouted. "The walking dead! Max!"

"Aye, Wizard?" The spark hummed beside him.

"Fire," Matt directed. "Burn them. They're long overdue for a funeral pyre!"

"I go," the spark sang, and winked out. A moment later, a sheet of flame erupted around the zombies. The stink of charred flesh drifted to the battlements. Each zombie was a living candle, but they kept moving until they fell as burned skeletons and the bones broke apart. The malvoisin caught fire and began burning fiercely. The abbess began a prayer for the dead, and voices joined in, until the whole parapet was filled with Latin.

Matt blew out a long, shaky breath. "Reverend Mother, how many hours till dawn?"

"Two," the abbess called back.

Matt nodded. "And probably the worst still to come." He looked up at Sir Guy. "What will they try next?"

The knight shrugged. "They may attempt anything, Lord Matthew. If 'tis foul or fell, they'll essay it."

Fifteen minutes went by without any sign of action. Matt brooded. His foreboding must have been contagious, because the warrior maids began to stir and mutter restlessly.

Then it appeared, fifty yards out and glowing - a naked incubus in a somewhat locally exaggerated form of Father Brunel.

Total silence fell as the nuns stared, shocked. Then they erupted into clamor.

"Sorcerer, appear!" the biggest bandit-maid shouted. "You who summoned this vile form, show yourself that I may sally out to skewer you through your entrails!"

There were no takers. The sorcerer might have been vile, but he wasn't that stupid - though he'd been a fool to think the sight of such a naked male would weaken this garrison. All he'd done was to get the women fighting mad.

Wait a minute ... Anger...

"Hold your tongues!" The abbess's voice cut through the uproar, and the clamor lessened. "Check your anger! Hold it in abeyance, or Evil will gain some measure of power o'er you and weaken the strength of your bolts!"

"But Reverend Mother," the big nun cried, "how can we suffer-"

"You need not. Fire at the enemy-but loose your bolts in self-defense, not wrath. And let each bolt sink home!"

The abbess had countered the sorcerer's plan neatly; as long as the nuns felt themselves to be defending themselves, all their curdled, pent-up feelings were cleared for use.

Here and there, one still raged, mouthing insults and loosing bolts as fast as she could. The abbess came up behind one of them and coldly put her hand on the nun's shoulder. The nun whirled, staring up at her, then fell silent.

"Get you to the chapel," the abbess said, sternly but kindly. "Pray there for us."

The nun laid down her bow and turned toward the stairway, hands clasped, head bent, while the abbess moved to the next berserker.

Altogether, a dozen or so retreated to the chapel-the biggest loss they had suffered that night.

"See the price of anger, child," the abbess said to Sayeesa. "Let not--" She broke off, staring at the ex-witch.

Sayeesa stood frozen, her hands clenched tightly until the knuckles showed white, and her lips trembled.

"It has the semblance of one she knows," Matt explained.

"Aye, I know him!" Sayeesa fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands. "To my shame! Brunel, can I never be free of you?"

The abbess's face was a dam against anguish. "This, then, was the weakness I sensed. Nay, child, be not shamed. Each of us has failings. Get you to the chapel, there to pray with all your heart and soul!"

As Sayeesa turned away, the abbess's head swung about. "We are not yet cleared! Someone here hides a weakness fully as grave! Daughters, search your souls! Whosoever harbors faults that sight of men can raise, get hence, ere you weaken us in time of crisis! Go now to the chapel!"

But each nun stood fast, glancing at her neighbor out of the corners of her eyes. None moved to the stairway.

Then the incubus was gone-but another walked in its place, its movements fluid, sensuous. Something glimmered near it and grew into a pulsing shape that coalesced to a succubus, dancing with the incubus, moving its body in a rhythm that left little to the imagination. As the figures turned, Matt stiffened in horror. The incubus wore his face! And the succubus's hair was long and blond!

"How dare they!" Alisande shrieked. "What arrogance is this?" Her words whipped the nuns into action. Bolts leaped from the battlements, each nun firing with anger chilled to a sense of mission.

Alisande raved on. "This comes near blasphemy, to see my form in such a show! This pairing's past obscene. It is--"

"Enough!" The abbess touched her shoulder, and Alisande stilled, her eyes widening. The abbess spoke with full censure. "You knew this weakness lay within you, yet you remained here with us, imperiling all. Such overweening pride's unworthy of a peasant; how much more demeaning is it in a princess! What would you, Lady - that your people all succumb to Evil, through the braggart's pride you show in your sureness of your soul's power?"

Abruptly, the abbess swung to Matt, who was staring in disbelief. "Do you stare like the mouse that sees the snake? Then must I think her Highness is not alone in this. I should have chained you in the tower, Wizard." She turned back to Alisande. "Nay, methinks there's no sin, but there's occasion of it. You harbor desires that could lead to sinful action, but will not acknowledge them, even to yourselves. You and your wizard must pledge your love or end it; for until you do, 'twill weaken you and all about you. To the chapel, Lady, and pray for guidance, that God send you understanding of this hot surge within your blood, and the course of action you must take."

Alisande stood immobile for a moment more, then slowly turned away, head bowed, toward the stairway. Matt stared after her, a typhoon of emotions boiling within him.

"I would dispatch you also to the chapel," the abbess told him, "save that you would cause more trouble there than here."

"Yeah, either way I'm not exactly an asset." Decision crystallized in Matt. "Thanks for your hospitality, Reverend Mother, but I think I'd better be moving."

"You speak nonsense!" the abbess snapped. "Magic rules this battle, Wizard. We cannot do without you!"

"I think you can. Max!"

"Here, Wizard!" the Demon hummed beside him. The abbess stared at the dancing spark, paling.

"Skip around the battlefield," Matt directed. "Speed up the aging rate for every mortal out there. Let every man there be well into senility by morning."

"I hear and go!" The Demon winked out.

"Serves them right," Matt growled. "I got the idea from one on their side who threw an aging spell against me. I countered it - but only by using Max. They don't have him to call on, and this should take them days to undo, if they can. I think your ladies can clear the field before then. So you won't need a wizard to help ... What's the matter?"

"What was that creature?" the abbess whispered.

Matt hesitated, rephrasing his answer carefully as he saw her face. "An elemental of sorts, dedicated to neither good nor evil, but serving my intentions for the moment."

"I still mistrust it," she whispered, making the Sign of the Cross, staring at the battlefield where a spark skipped about, glimmering first here, then there.

"No," Matt agreed. "Don't trust elementals - nor wizards!" He pivoted to the inner wall. "Stegoman!"

He ran down the rampart until he was right above the dragon, set a hand on the wall, and dropped. Stegoman's head swung up under him. Matt managed to muss a jagged fin tip and landed hard astride the dragon's shoulders. Stegoman flexed his legs, absorbing some of the impact. Matt gasped for breath and rasped out, "Head for the gate!"

"Hold!" Sir Guy called, running down the stairway. "You'll not desert me, surely!"

The Black Knight made a prodigious leap and somehow managed to land behind Matt, grunting as he struck. "I've no time for my horse, it seems. But the noble beast will surely be released to find me later. Nay, Lord Wizard, if you must flee to adventure, I'll guard your back."

"You will not!" the abbess shouted. "You'll not live past fifty paces! Daughters, guard the door!"

She was too late. Seeing the dragon heading for them, the nuns had yanked the gates open and ducked out of the way.

"Fools! You ride to your deaths!" the abbess shouted. "Cowards, fearing women's scorn more than lances!"

Then Stegoman was through the doors and thundering down the passage toward the outer portal. A nun yanked it aside at the last moment. They shot out and down the talus slope, while the gate boomed shut behind them.

"Ride, brave heroes!" the abbess was shouting. "For your lives, brave fools! And may God go with you!"

Matt grinned. "I always did like a woman who was on your side, no matter what."

The first rank of footmen saw them coming and planted their pike butts on the ground, points slanting outward. Stegoman crashed into the line like a steamroller. For the next few minutes, all Matt could hear was the roar of voices and the clash of steel.

He laid about him like a maniac, slicing through pike shafts, armor, and helmets with fine impartiality. An enemy loomed up with a huge battleaxe swinging down. Matt leaned to the side; the axe hissed by him, and the big soldier stumbled after it, off balance. Matt marked the joint of helmet and back-plate and swung. He didn't look at the effect, but turned to check on Sir Guy. The Black Knight was busy slicing. They hewed away until the enemy drew back, daunted by an animated blowtorch, a monofilament edge, and a human slicing machine.

Stegoman spotted a reasonably clear lane through the foe and waited not upon the order of his going. His legs pumped furiously, and the distance widened.

Then a howl rent the air, and the army of sorcery disgorged a pride of monsters-winged serpents dripping poison, long lizard things with crowns on their heads, and a host of vampire bats. At their sides ran four-foot hounds with blazing eyes and steel teeth.

Stegoman leaped into a bone-jarring gallop. They rode pellmell into the foothills, with the howls and chittering growing louder behind them. The Black Knight cast a glance backward. "They are closer, Wizard, and will catch us ere the sun can rise!"

"What are our chances against them?"

"Ill. We would wound them sorely, but, being spawn of Hell, they heal instantly. They'll drag us all down to death."

"Aye," Stegoman growled. "I know these winged snakes. One touch with those fangs and even I must die."

"We cannot stand against them," Sir Guy asserted. "Now, methinks, 'tis kill or cure, Lord Wizard. The time is past, for mere conjecture."

"That's what I was afraid of," Matt said. At least this time he had his verse already figured out.

Leather boomed as fifty-foot wings caught the breeze and the dragon soared aloft with a hawk-screech of joy.

"Free!" Stegoman cried out as he spiraled upward. "Oh, bless a wizard who is mindful of his promise!" He roared out fire in exultation.

Matt leaned forward as the dragon banked into a swooping upward turn. "Stegoman! Level off!"

"Wozzhat?" The dragon looked back over his shoulder, pie-eyed.

"Level off! And don't breathe fire for a while, huh?"

As Stegoman started to obey, Matt relaxed. Then the knight was clasping his shoulder and pointing. "Look-in front!"

Ahead of them, dropping down toward them, came a flock of harpies, flapping stubby wings furiously to support their bloated vulture bodies. Matt could just make out stringy blonde hair, wasted women's faces, long, pointed noses, and lips twisted in homicidal grins around pointed teeth. They giggled gleefully as they swooped toward Stegoman.

The dragon stiffened, staring up in horror, and Matt remembered his blasting an owl and shouting about harpies that attacked hatchlings. Once in battle, spouting flame through the skies, Stegoman's drunken mind would hold no thought for the two who rode him.

There was no time to weigh Freudian theories. Matt began reciting the second of his prepared dragon-curing spells:

Stegoman came alive to roar out a ten-foot flame. He soared up in a widening spiral, bellowing his rage. The harpies began screeching in fury, trying to beat their way up the sky to their escaping quarry.

The quarry leveled off, drew a bead on them, and went into a power dive, roaring and flaming. He swept through the flock of harpies, turning his head- from side to side, sweeping the whole flock with flame. They screamed and whirled, trying to escape. But Stegoman made a second pass, catching the stragglers. Then he was sweeping upward again, leaving a flaming mass behind. Wreckage began to fall apart into separate burning fragments, blazing toward the earth.

"I have done it!" the dragon cried. He reared his head back and began climbing, gouting out fire as he bellowed, "The hatchling killers are dead! I have purged them from the skies!" He reached the top of his climb, blasting and roaring. "Who thinks he can defeat me, let him come against me! He who thinks he can best my breath and claws, let him rise up to try me!"

He was wildly euphoric-but he didn't slur a syllable.

Then, a match flared ahead. It swelled to a torch, became a bonfire - and a creature seemed to stir within the blaze. It was long and serpentine, with stubby legs. The flame seemed to draw back into its body, leaving its outline etched in fire, while flamelets danced around its grinning jaws. "Nay," a thunderous voice rolled forth, "what fool is this who thinks to defy the elements that give him life?"

Sir Guy's steel fingers bit into Matt's shoulder. "What fell beast is this?"

"A salamander." Matt felt his hair trying to rise. "An elemental of fire. Someone must have summoned it against us."

"Small and crawling lizard!" the salamander boomed. "Pit your braggart's might against the true master of that element which fills you!

"Flee!" Matt urged the dragon. "Fly away! You can't fight that thing. Believe me!"

Stegoman's answer was to jab his head down, flick his tail up, and dive. Matt wrapped his arms around a fin and hung on.

Stegoman streaked toward the earth at a sixty-degree angle. Behind him, a huge laugh shook the sky, and a streak of fire followed him. The ground shot up, and Matt heard the Black Knight singing a dirge behind him. Then they were slamming to a braking halt over water. Stegoman slewed and rolled over on his side five feet above the surface, bellowing, "Leap!"

Matt leaped. Water slammed into him and shot up around him. He went under, kicked out in a breast stroke, and broke to the surface just in time to hear the splash as Sir Guy's armor went in. Armor! The knight could never swim in all that weight. Matt dived again as leather wings boomed above him and the dragon shot skyward. Then the water all around turned orange as the salamander dropped down into the space the dragon had just vacated. Matt kicked hard, diving deep, feeling the water grow warm behind him. His hand brushed a metal arm; he seized it, hung on, and began exerting all his efforts to drag the knight with him. Sir Guy helped some-his thrashing was at least directional. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, they moved back toward the surface.

Matt's feet struck ooze. He sank in up to his ankles-but it was a place to stand, something to push against. He waded through the stuff and realized, with a surge of relief, that he was toiling upward, hauling some three-hundred-odd pounds with him. His back creaked and his arms screamed pain at his shoulders-then his head broke through the water. He sucked in one long, rasping breath as he shoved hard, taking a giant step-and the weight suddenly went off his hands. A moment later, Sir Guy's helmet broke water with an exploding gasp like a whale blowing. Matt dropped the arm, caught at a shoulder, and hoisted the Black Knight upright. "Okay, now?"

Sir Guy nodded, blowing and sneezing. "I ... let me die, but ... never by water."

"Me, too ... How's Stegoman doing?" Matt craned his neck back, peering up anxiously.

The salamander had shrunk to a flaring point of light again, bright against the night's last darkness. Stegoman had disappeared.

Then a pencil of fire licked out, as the dragon dove at the salamander. His flame hit the beast, and the salamander brightened a little as its huge laughter rumbled through the night. Stegoman's flame winked out; Matt could just barely see him by the salamander's light, shearing off. But the salamander lashed out with its fiery tail, and Stegoman bellowed in pain.

"Wizard, to your left!" Sir Guy shouted, and Matt turned to see a huge rubbery tentacle swinging down at him. He whipped out his sword and chopped through it in one quick swipe; but two more poised in the air above him.

"Lord Matthew!" choked a muffled voice, and Matt pivoted to see a tentacle wrapped around Sir Guy's helmet. He leaped forward with an overhand swing; the tip of his sword scored through the, rubbery arm, and it fell loose from the knight; but Matt felt a horrible, slimy coldness wrap itself around his leg, sucking, while a rope slapped itself around his waist. He howled, chopping at his foot, slicing through the tentacle. It loosened, green slime pumping out of it into the river; but the one on his waist yanked him off his feet, dragging him toward deep water. Matt shouted, flailing about him; then the pulling stopped, dumping him unceremoniously into the water as the tentacle fell off, dripping ichor. He looked up at, Sir Guy, who stood with his sword at the ready, gasping. A thin green line of slime coated the edge of the blade.

"Thanks for keeping me around." Matt struggled to his feet with an anxious glance at the sky, just in time to see the pencil of flame dart down at the salamander again. It hit, and the salamander puffed out into a fireball, engulfing the dragon. Matt heard a shriek of pain, then the salamander's booming laughter. "I've gotta help him!"

"Help yourself!" Sir Guy snapped. "You're afire!"

Matt looked down, startled, and saw a coal glowing through the fabric of the purse hung from his belt. Hope surged, and he yanked the purse open.

"Wizard," said the dot of light inside, "your wish is filled: the sorcerer's army ages apace. The youngest of them now is fifty, and still they age."

"Max!" Matt almost crumbled with relief. "Thank Heaven! Another job for you, quick! Get up there into the sky, and cool that salamander's ardor!"

"Salamander?" the Demon sang with delight. "Eons has it been since I have seen one. Well did I choose when I began my travels with you!" Max sprang into the air like a skyrocket.

"'Ware!" cried Sir Guy, and Matt whirled to chop at a tentacle, then another two, then a fourth. He heard a startled, choking oath and whirled back just in time to see two more ropy arms dragging Sir Guy under. He splashed over to the Black Knight and sliced into the muck. A green stain rose, and Matt leaned down to flail in the water till his hand met steel. He locked his grip around at and leaned back, lugging hard; Sir Guy surged up and out like Neptune, spouting bilge. He shook his head, gasping for breath. "We've bested them ... again..."

"Yeah, but how about our boy?" Matt looked up just as a startled squawk shredded the night. The salamander had dimmed amazingly, to a pulsing glow. With a joyful roar, the fire-pencil swooped down on it.

"Flame out!" Matt cried. "Idiot! You're aiding and abetting the enemy!"

But Stegoman had some good sense; his torch winked out, and Matt could just barely make out his form by waning moonlight as he struck the salamander with teeth and claws.

He's sober, Matt realized, with a surge of relief. He had to be, for that much thinking.

Stegoman shot past the salamander, raking long furrows in its side with his natural sabers. The elemental filled the night with its steam-whistle screech, flailing at the dragon with a short, stubby leg, ripping scales loose; then Stegoman was turning, flipping over to gouge a bite of the salamander's hide as he passed. The fire-spirit screamed and darted upward; but Stegoman swooped upward faster and dove down at it again, jaws gaping wide. The elemental boomed its terror and fell like a stone. Stegoman roared triumph and followed, crowding the salamander closely, herding it as it tried to dart to one side, then the other. Too late, the fire-spirit saw the river shooting up at it. It slewed to the side, but Stegoman half folded his wings and plunged down like a hawk, landing with all four feet in the salamander's back, claws out. The beast screamed and twisted free-straight toward the river.

Then the salamander was poised ten feet overhead, bleeding fire from several gashes and a long rip along in its side. It reared back, clawing at Stegoman, bellowing in agony and horror. The dragon hovered just out of range, taking his time, setting himself; then he shot downward and slammed into the salamander. The fire-beast bounced into the water with a shriek that seemed to fill the earth, a terrible scream that raked along Matt's spine and nerves, paralyzing him.

Water slammed up against his back. He splashed about, thrashing, trying to get back to the sand bar-especially when he realized the water was heating up. An explosion rocked the river, and the waters glowed lurid orange. Steam seethed and hissed, and the water got downright hot.

"Stegoman! Get us outa here! Before we're poached!"

The dragon came, huge wings slamming air down in a gale. "Seize my legs!" he bellowed.

Matt's foot found muck; he leaned his weight on it, sheathing his sword, then jumped to catch the dragon's ankle. He saw Sir Guy hanging onto another leg as the dragon lifted slowly, laboring against the uneven burden, as the water began to boil. It drifted away under their feet; then dry land was beneath them as Stegoman lowered them gently. Turf hit Matt's feet with a jarring shock; he bent his knees. Sir Guy fell, rolling, with a clank and clatter, and rolled up to his feet, gasping, "'Tis done!"

"Aye," Stegoman rumbled, settling to earth beside them, folding his wings with a minor thunderclap. "Aye, 'tis done." He turned his head toward Matt, eye still lit with battle-glow. "I have won! None can best me in the skies-or can they?"

He was definitely sober. He wouldn't doubt his own prowess if he were drunk.

"Nay, speak and tell me, Wizard!" Stegoman commanded. "How could I best the monster that is the master of my breath?"

"You had a little assistance," Matt admitted. "I decided it was an unequal battle - and Max happened by just then."

The Demon hummed by his ear. "The salamander's fire now has cooled, and it is dead. The river boils for a mile."

"Well, the peasants will eat well in the morning," Matt sighed. "I hate to think of all those dead fish, though."

"Better them than I," the dragon growled, "or the knight, or thine own self." He turned to the dancing spark. "Demon, I thank and praise thee for weakening mine enemy."

Matt looked up at Stegoman, studying the dragon intently. "You do think you'll be safe flying now, don't you?"

Stegoman stilled, his glowing eyes burning into Matt's. Slowly, he nodded. "Aye. I am safe in the skies. Wizard, may good fortune shower on thee for returning me my wings!"

"I'll settle for a lift. The enemy's behind, for the moment, but I don't think it'll take them long to catch up. Are you ready for another trip?"

The dragon's wings stirred, but stayed folded. "I am," he said judiciously, "though mayhap I should rest.. ."

"Yeah, you do have a few burns there." Matt frowned at the long streaks of crimson he saw on the dragon's flanks. "And that salamander had claws."

Stegoman nodded. "Though he was unskilled in their use."

Matt fumbled in the purse at his belt, singing under his breath:

a stumbling thing; but now I am what a dragon should be. Lasting fealty do I swear to thee! As long as I live, I shall serve thee and thine heirs."

"I ... uh... " Matt untied a quick knot in his tongue. " I ... accept. With great and humble thanks, I assure you."

"Now to your rest, Wizard," Sir Guy said. "And I to mine; for I think that most of the blows I will bear for your sake will fall on us in a very few days."

Stegoman turned away, spreading his wings, and rose into the sky. His call floated back: "When thou dost call, I will come. Sleep well."

Matt gazed after him, blinking, trying to remember what he was supposed to do now. Sir Guy took his arm again, turning him away toward the hillside. "Come, then. We must find haven."