Her Majesty's Wizard

CHAPTER 18

It had been a low blow, he had to admit an hour later, when everyone was bedded down and only the embers of the campfire lighted the site: When would he learn to control his tongue-and his temper? If Alisande had ever had any notion of admitting any feeling for him, she certainly couldn't now. He'd spoken in anger born of hurt - and now, alone in the dark, looking for the roots of that hurt, he had to admit his care for her was a lot more than he'd wanted to feel about anyone. He'd never permitted himself to want anything beyond the physical level, and that not strongly or often-because he'd known, instinctively, that any physical act would pull emotion in with it. There were people, he knew, who could split themselves so that desires of the body didn't touch the heart-but he wasn't one of there.

He stared out into the darkness, unseeing, trying to blank his mind until he could sleep.

His eyes focused on a spark.

He went rigid, nearly jumping out of his skin. Max - the Demon! What was it doing, out of his pocket?

Then his eyes adjusted to the contrast between the brilliant dot and the face next to it. It was Sayeesa, sitting up with her blanket about her, watching the spark intently - almost, it would seem, happily. The faint humming stopped, and she nodded eagerly. Her lips moved, and he could hear the low murmur of her voice. It went on for awhile; then the spark hummed again. The Demon seemed to be striking up quite a rapport with her.

That worried Matt.

He was still worrying about it an hour later, when the spark finally winked out, and Sayeesa lay down, rolling over in her blanket and drawing the fabric up about her shoulders.

Matt lay still, feeling the tension prickle through him, feeling like a lightning rod just before the lightning struck. What was going on here? He could feel huge forces gathering around him, vast, grinding, groaning, welling up about this valley and the plain beyond, ready to smash in, twisting, rending, destroying anyone who got in their way.

Which force would win? Good? Or Evil? Both were probably really quite impersonal-but not from his viewpoint.

They rolled down over his soul, wrapping him in a thick, unseen, dark cloud. He felt as if he were lying at the bottom of a well of molasses-felt he could almost hear the gnashing and grinding of those great forces, louder and louder...

He sat bolt-upright, staring out into the darkness, heart hammering. He was hearing a huge, slow, grinding sound, like a glacier chewing its way through a quarry.

Then he began to detect a pattern to it, a dipping, swinging, modulation that slowly formed itself into a word:

MMMAAATHHHEEEWWW

The hair on his head tried to jump at the stars. He sat very still, digging his fingers into the grass, trying to hold himself down.

MMMAAATHEWWW! the groaning voice ground out again. W W WIZZARRDD MMAATHEW W !

He looked around him wildly. The rest of the company was asleep - and he should know better than to go out alone at night. Something bad always happened when he did. But...

He shook his head and slowly climbed to his feet, knees trembling. Whatever it was that was calling him, he had to find out. He picked up his helmet, fastened it on, picked up his shield, and turned away toward the sound of the voice with one hand on the hilt of his sword.

He was walking toward the Plain of Grellig.

The call was not quite to the plain itself, he found, as he toiled up the slope that led to a ridge between the two peaks. The voice was coming from the southern peak. He turned, following it, his footsteps slow, though the sound of his name was coming faster now, in a low, rumbling voice that shivered through his bones. He forced himself onward, step after step, till he came to the bottom of a forty-foot rock outcrop.

He peered up into the starlight and saw that the top of the peak was rounded off into a very craggy dome. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he thought he could make out pocks and crevices whose shadows gave the appearance, very roughly, of a brow ridge, nose, and a slash of mouth.

"You come," the mountain grated. "At last you come. Have waited, Wizard, waited years by hundreds."

Matt tried to speak - had to try again. "Who... who are you?"

"Am Colmain."

Matt couldn't move. He was rooted to the spot. This was the end of the long chase, then - this great slab of granite with the voice of the earthquake.

But it seemed wrong, somehow. He'd expected more from a giant with Colmain's reputation - illogically, of course; giants weren't even really human. "How do you know me?"

"Know ye? Summoned ye, Wizard!"

"You? You're the power that's been backing me all this time?"

"Aye, aye!" the great voice rumbled. "Hundreds of years, sought through worlds while body stood here, seeking sphere where wizards learned changing of substances."

"Transmutation? Lead into gold?"

"Aye. Only wizard from world where can change lead to gold could change stone back to flesh! So summoned ye!"

"Well, you called the wrong wizard. I'm from the right universe - but I don't know anything about transmutation. My study is words and the things men make of them."

"What else is wizard?" the giant bellowed. "Knowing ye, or not have called ye! Wizard, change to flesh!"

Reluctance crystallized, and Matt balked. "We're planning on it in the morning. At the moment I'm worn out from a long day in the saddle. If I tried to do it now, I might botch it."

"Try!" the granite thundered. "Must try! Must do-and now! Sorcerer-force comes! Army of Evil nears! Ye feel their coming?"

So that was the sense of great powers gathering that Matt had felt. "Uh... yeah, I've felt it."

"Then why nay-say? Hurry! Do now! Ere sorcerer blasts stone to gravel, and not waken ever!"

Matt stood immobile, hung on a decision.

"Do!" the cliff face bellowed. "Now! Or Hell takes!"

He was right. Malingo was gathering his powers, both physical and magical; and the forces of Good were approaching in response. It had to be done-and done quickly.

"All right. But I've never done anything on this scale before. It may take me a few tries to get it right."

"Once only!" the giant thundered. "Or lose life!"

Matt looked up, irritated. The giant wasn't in much of a position to threaten - or was he? If he had pulled Matt to Merovence...

He turned back, knowing he was going to try; overbearing or not, the giant was necessary. But how the hell was Matt going to work this miracle? Sure, he'd managed to turn Stegoman back from stone to flesh. But that had been a small job compared to this, and the change to a statue had been too recent then to have had time to set. This had been resting for centuries.

Still, maybe the theory was the same. In changing the giant to rock, the carbon must have been converted to silicon. That would cause a complete change in chemical bonds, resulting in a whole new set of molecules. If the silicon could just be turned back to carbon, maybe the process would reverse and the whole structure would come alive again.

He gathered pebbles into a small mound, added a handful of sand, and mixed grass into it. He really needed flesh, but he'd eaten it all for dinner. Still, what counted was having carbon in organic compounds.

But how was he going to put enough power into his verse? Maybe he'd better avoid specifics and stick to generalities. He had to indicate a change, a reshuffling, a turning ...

The yin-yang symbol slashed vividly before his mind's eye, turning, endlessly turning.

"Now the Wheel forever turns,

Yin for Yang, until it burns.

Silicon, now yield your place

Unto carbon's rings of grace."

He'd also better throw in some mythical references.

Now there was one thing he knew could be transmuted-and fast. He'd better throw it in for luck and power. He needed a whopper of a heavyweight spell.

An explosion rocked the peak. Matt leaped back, arms wrapped around his head. The earth heaved once under him. He looked up to see huge shards of rock flying from the cliff and turned, running.

Someone else was running - toward him. Long blonde hair waved in the moonlight. "Wizard! Reverse the spell!"

Matt skidded to a halt, dread gripping his entrails.

"Change him back!" Alisande screamed. "'Tis not Colmain!"

There was an avalanche-roar as the giant shook free from the cliff, gloating and laughing. "Ballspear!" The creature broke away a ten-foot shaft of rock for a club. "Ballspear, poor believing man. Now pay for folly!" He turned, lumbering toward them in twenty-foot strides. The huge rock swung down.

Matt yanked Alisande aside, diving. The great club smashed into the earth two feet away. They rolled back up and ran, with giant feet slamming the ground behind them.

The ground roared away from Ballspear's foot. The giant bellowed as he sprawled full-length into the huge pit. A roar of fury shook the earth, and a huge hand shot up over the edge, pulling until thirty feet of giant emerged, freeing him to the kneecaps. The ten-foot club slammed down at the end of a fifteen-foot arm.

"Go!" Matt shouted, shoving Alisande away. She took off, outdistancing him in his armor. The great bludgeon slammed down a foot behind his heels. Ballspear climbed out of the pit.

Ballspear lurched off-balance as his right foot sank a fathom deep. He fell to his knees, roaring with fury, and the huge club slammed down. Matt leaped aside. The club gouged the ground beside him. He kept running.

Alisande turned to wait for him, and he howled, "No! If you die, we all do!"

Ballspear rumbled interest, pulled his feet out of the mire, and waddled toward Alisande, ignoring Matt.

"Go!" Matt shouted furiously, and Alisande went.

Ballspear pounded into a run, club on high.

"Max!" Matt shouted. "Do something!"

"What?" The arc dot hummed with interest, zipping out through a chink in his armor.

It had to have orders! "Break his club!"

"How?"

"Weaken the molecular bonds!" Matt shrieked, turning to follow the princess.

The dot of light streaked toward the giant. The huge club hurtled down at Alisande-and exploded like a grenade.

Grenade! Matt made a frantic dive, caught Alisande right in the back of the knees, and leaped up to crouch over her, shielding her with his armor. Something clanged against his back, then another gong crashed through him, knocking out his breath. His elbows slammed into the earth, and Alisande cried out beneath him. He struggled back to. his knees and saw Ballspear coming towards him, face huge and hideous with anger, like a broken mountain.

Matt staggered to his feet, yanking Alisande up with him, and ran. Great hands clapped together just behind him; something struck him a glancing blow, wobbling his stride for a few leaps.

Then they slammed into a cliff face.

They spun about, panting, plastering themselves back against the rock, and saw the great hands groping for them, with a leering, six-foot face behind.

Then thunder blasted the night in a bellow of rage. "Turn, foul monster, and face your doom! Colmain comes!"

Another giant strode from the northern mountain, forty feet tall, bearing a thirty-foot spear of rock in his hand. He had dark hair over a broad forehead, deep-set eyes, a curly beard, and was dressed in bearskins. His footsteps thundered as he advanced on Ballspear.

"Something - I know not what - roused me from slumber. I see 'twas timely, for now you die, vile Ballspear!"

"Praise Heaven!" Alisande gasped. "But ... how?"

"My spell!" Matt cried, insight electrifying him. "I didn't say which giant!" He'd thrown all his power into it and gotten overkill, or over-wake. But, weakened by distance, it had taken longer to act.

Ballspear snarled and reached up to rip loose another club of rock. Whirling the bludgeon above his head, he charged Colmain, who ran to meet him. The club lashed out, but Colmain leaped aside, catching Ballspear's arm as it came down and pulling sharply. Ballspear stumbled, thrusting his club down at the ground for support, and whirled about to see Colmain's spear stabbing at his eyes. He swung the club up fast to knock the spear aside, whirled it around, and lashed out to smash into Colmain's breastbone. Colmain staggered, tripped, and fell. Ballspear brayed savage laughter, swinging the club above his head two-handed. Colmain stabbed upward with the spear.

Ballspear saw it coming and leaped back, but the spearpoint laid open his side with a sound like a monstrous rasp against boilerplate. He shrieked and stepped back to press one hand against his ribs. Colmain scrambled to his feet, holding the spear across his body like a quarterstaff.

Alisande yanked on Matt's arm, pointing. "Yonder!"

Matt looked up and saw, atop an eastern cliff, a gaunt, robed figure silhouetted against the rising crescent moon.

"Malingo!" Alisande cried. "He seeks to strengthen Ballspear and weaken Colmain. Quickly, Wizard, stop him!"

Easier said than done! But Matt had to try.

Ballspear crowed vindictively as his club smashed forward. Then his voice became a shriek, and the club went flying over Colmain's head to slam into the ground and sizzle, sending up smoke from burning vegetation. Ballspear licked his hands and moaned-

Matt looked up to see Malingo's hands snap tight as the sorcerer ended a spell. Colmain bellowed in agony, falling to his knees, dropping his spear to clutch at his ankles.

"Hamstrung!" Alisande gasped. "Heal him, Wizard!"

Matt tried:

Ballspear ran to his club and yanked it from the earth with a howl of triumph. He whirled-to find Colmain rising to his feet, grinning, his spear darting forward. Ballspear swore, and his club began whirling between them to form a flickering shield. Colmain snapped the spear down and drove it up at Ballspear's belly.

Malingo's hands wove a continuous serpentine symbol.

Even as the spear darted forward, it began to twist and writhe, and Colmain clutched a threshing python. He roared with disgust and threw the snake into Ballspear's face. The granite giant howled and leaped back, dropping his club to tear the looping python from his head.

Colmain leaped forward to seize the club and hurl it a thousand feet away from them. Then he bellowed with joy and strode for Ballspear. The granite giant turned to run, and Colmain sprang after him.

A mound of earth heaved up before him, extruding two huge, grasping hands that seized his ankles. Colmain's whole body jerked; he slammed into the ground like a liner striking a reef. Ballspear whirled with a savage roar, aiming a kick at Colmain's head.

Matt yelled:

Ballspear screamed in pain as his knee folded under him. Colmain shoved himself upright, kicking the earthy hands away with a snarl, and strode toward Ballspear.

Malingo, of course, was obligingly mending Matt's damage, but that gave Matt a slight edge in time. As Ballspear began to get his feet under him, Matt improvised a quick adaptation from Act V of Macbeth:

Ballspear rolled to his feet and ran to the southern cliff. There he wrenched loose a boulder the size of a truck and whirled about, slinging it straight at Colmain and following it at a lumbering run. Colmain caught the boulder like a medicine ball and whirled it around in a great circle, to drive it into Ballspear's belly. The granite giant folded over the rock. Colmain dropped the boulder and caught Ballspear before he could fall, slamming a haymaker to his jaw.

On his cliff top, Malingo sawed the air frantically - to no effect. But he might regain his magic at any moment. Matt needed a way to make him cave in permanently.

Cave in... "Max!"

"Aye, Wizard." The Demon danced before him.

"Concentrate gravity under the cliff!" Matt stabbed a finger at Malingo. "Bring him down!"

"I go!" The Demon streaked off toward the sorcerer.

Again Colmain's fist slammed into Ballspear's jaw, and the huge head snapped up with a crack like a cannon shot. Then Colmain lifted the other giant over his head and threw him hard against the cliff. The whole area heaved. Ballspear bounced once and lay still. Colmain bent over the figure, then stood up slowly, rubbing his hand on his fur-clad hip and nodding. "It is dead."

Thunder cracked as a huge crevice split the cliff where Malingo stood. It shattered with a roar, crumbling and falling like solid rain. For a moment, a flailing silhouette poised in mid-air, before thinning, fading, and vanishing.

"'Tis done, Wizard," the singing dot informed Matt.

"Yeah - and well done, Max," he growled. "Confound the man! What reflexes! With absolutely no warning, he still projected himself away before he could hit bottom!"

"What was the thing which fell and did not strike?" a huge voice rumbled.

Matt turned to see the giant stalking toward them. "The sorcerer Malingo. The one who brought this all on us."

"He has returned to his armies," Alisande stated with total conviction. "He will approach us now only in the fullness of force."

Colmain peered down at her, his eyes widening. "I know that tone - in my bones, I feel it. The blood of Kaprin and now his heir!" Slowly, ponderously, he knelt, bowing his head. "You are the queen - and 'twas in your service I fought but now!"

Alisande drew herself up with regal presence. "I thank you for it, worthy Colmain. May all my enemies fall as did he!"

"They shall, do you but command it!" Colmain fixed her with burning eyes.

"Out upon them, then!" Alisande seemed to grow in stature. "But call me not queen. I stand here uncrowned."

"Yet still the rightful queen. My blood does clamor it!" the giant scowled. "Yet how is this? A queen uncrowned? Explain the way of it, for I cannot fight what I do not know."

"'Tis thus." Alisande took a deep breath and launched into a freewheeling account of all that had happened. Matt listened as names and events flashed by. They were up to his entrance on the scene in a few minutes; after that, his awe grew. Had they really done all that in so few days?

... and early this even, as I lay awake, I saw the wizard rise," Alisande continued. "Mistrusting his intent, yet loathe to wound him by my presence, I followed at a distance. I saw him work a spell to wake a mountain. But as I came closer, I could feel 'twas not aright and called to him - too late. Yet what he did, he did undo--" She turned to Colmain. "-by waking you."

"And aiding me against vile sorceries," the giant said. "Howbeit, much of this tale yet troubles me. The greater part of a year has passed, and the murder of a king is still unavenged? This must not be! Let us turn upon them and wipe them from the earth!"

"Aye, let us that!" a cheery voice called.

Sir Guy came riding up, with Sayeesa and Stegoman at either side, and Father Brunel behind.

"Why stare you so to see us?" He grinned. "You were scarcely over-quiet." He looked up at Colmain, who was staring at him fixedly, and some quick sign seemed to pass between them.

The knight swung down from his horse, to kneel before Alisande. "Hail, Highness and commander! The smell of warring magics lies heavy o'er this field. The time, then, draws nigh?"

"It does," Alisande answered, staring at him.

"Then do I kneel for commands, my Princess! In war, knights must act under orders. Command me, then; for in this coil, you are my mistress!"

Matt saw Colmain nod with understanding. Of what? Something strange underlay all this...

A long-drawn hail echoed from the eastern slope. They looked up to see the gleam of early moonlight on polished armor, with huge horses bearing riders.

"What knights are these?" the giant rumbled.

"The Order of Saint Moncaire," Alisande breathed, eyes glowing. "They have come to us in time!"

"And behold!" Sayeesa pointed to the southeast pass, where a line of white coifs and bibs floated above ponies' backs. "Yonder come my sisters!"

The nuns rode toward them in a long, straight line.

"Heaven be thanked that you have come!" Alisande cried as both groups drew near. "Yet what sent you by evenlight?"

The abbot swung down and knelt to her. "I cannot say, Highness - save that, as sunset neared, anxiety possessed me."

"And me." The abbess dismounted slowly. "I felt a sense of urgency and knew we must hurry." She glanced at Matt, her expression speculative. Then she looked at Colmain, and awe filled her eyes. "What is this mountain in manlike form?"

"The giant Colmain," the abbot answered, his face taking on a glow. "Nay, now we shall not die, but triumph!"

"Will we?" Matt asked the princess. "Does your infallibility tell you that much?"

"This battle cannot be avoided," she told him; but her gaze failed to meet his eyes. He felt prickles up his spine; she was sidestepping a full answer. Apparently, Divine Right wasn't working - or she was refusing to admit what it told her. And that could mean...

She turned and pointed. "But see - more come!"

A long file of men, some horsed, more on foot, came down the pass and across the valley. Pike heads glittered above them.

"Our loyal barons," the abbot said with pride, "and their stouthearted men."

Sir Guy had been staring at the nuns. "How is this, Mother?" he asked. "Your ladies have no armor over their habits."

"Nay, they wear chain shirts beneath, and steel skullcaps." The abbess looked at Alisande and sighed. "But we have none for her, I fear."

"There is an answer to that," Sir Guy said. He turned away toward the northern mountain, pursing his lips, and whistled an eerie, warbling tune that slipped around definite pitches.

"What does the knight?" Sister Victrix asked. Alisande shook her head. Then her eyes widened, and she pointed.

Silently, a huge war horse, armored and caparisoned for battle, came down from the mountain. On its saddle was a glinting package, securely bound. When it reached the knight, he stroked the great head, then cut loose the bundle and held up a steel helmet and a knee-length mail shirt.

The princess took it and measured it against herself; its size matched hers. "A haubergion," she marveled. "How many years have gone since men wore such as this?"

"Centuries," Sir Guy answered. "Yet 'twill protect you, as this war steed will serve you."

Alisande wriggled into the haubergion with the delight of a teenager putting on her first formal.

Matt tore his gaze away and turned to Sir Guy, a question on his lips. Then he changed it for the one that had been bothering him for some time. "Who's writing the script for all this? Don't you find all the sudden coming together at just the right time too coincidental?"

"Nay." The knight shook his head firmly. "'Tis ever thus. When the time comes that matters must be settled beyond doubt, then all who fight do gather together, though they must come from the ends of the earth. When that time arrives, both Good and Evil muster their strengths to meet."

A neat arrangement, Matt decided. But he could wish his side had done a lot more recruiting and mustering.

"Ho! Wizard!" a great bear-voice roared from the southern ridge.

Matt whirled about to see a file of huge figures sliding and slipping down the slope. They came pounding up to him. They were hideous burlesques of humanity-pop-eyed, furry, barrel-muscled, and bandy-legged. There were a score of the ogres, led by Breaorgh.

They ground to a halt ten feet from Matt, armed with five-foot war clubs and war axes with six-foot blades. Breaorgh dropped to one knee. "Hail, Lord Wizard. I have come, in keeping of my word. Keep ye now yours."

"My thanks, Breaorgh." Matt swallowed heavily. "My thanks to all of you. Fight for us, and I'll do my best to change you back to normal. Understand, I'll try, but...

"Aye. We know," a pig-faced ogre growled. "Yet had we known who companied ye, we'd have come without promises." He whirled to kneel before Colmain. "Hail, great one!"

The other ogres also turned to kneel. The giant nodded, a smile coming to his lips. "Hail, small ones. Welcome to our force. And know that at bottom you are human."

He turned to Sir Guy. "Four hundred knights, a hundred nuns, fifteen hundred of barons and their men, and twenty ogres, each worth ten normal men. Two thousand and some. How many are we like to face?"

"Five thousand, at least," the knight said promptly.

"Then we shall need more men." Colmain turned to face the southern mountain, smiling, and his voice lifted into a shout. "Come out, all you who live by stone! You must fight for me now, or Evil will enfold these mountains, and all your treasures, aye, even your lives - will be wrested from you."

In the moonlight, rocks heaved and rolled aside from secret cave mouths. Stunted three-foot men came out, pulling together into a ragged troop as they neared the army. Their legs were short, but their beards were long. They were thick-muscled and massive, dressed in leather tunics. They carried maces, axes, and great broadswords.

More emerged from the northern mountains and still more from the eastern peak. They straggled across the valley to mass before Colmain. One in the front rumbled, "Ye have summoned us, Lord of Rock. What coil brews, that ye hail us out by the power of the ancient compact?"

Colmain looked over the five hundred dwarves. "You are summoned to hoist your weapons against a sorcerous army that would enfold us all, and to fight for your true queen!"

The heads turned to study Alisande. Then the leader nodded gruffly. "Aye. We live by stone and earth, and you stand for the land, Majesty. We will do your bidding."

Colmain was doing his sums again. He sighed and shook his head. "Two thousand, five hundred. Doughty warriors who will make the enemy buy victory dearly - but victory will be his. We need more to face the teeth within the sorcerer's maw."

"Teeth!" Matt snapped his fingers.

Alisande glanced at him warily. "What mean you, Wizard?"

"I mean to get a thousand more," Matt cried. He whirled to Stegoman. "Hey, can I have your tooth?"

The dragon's head snapped back. "My body's part? Wizard, what-?" Then, reluctantly, his neck lowered. "Aye, or all my body. I have sworn."

"Thanks, Stegoman. You won't be sorry." Matt untied the leather bag, shook out the tooth, and knelt with it between his hands.

There were two teeth, then four; then they spilled over and mounded up into a huge pile of dragon's teeth.

With all eyes on him, Matt whipped out his sword, gouged it into the ground, and ran, digging a long trench. He turned and ran backwards, repeating until he had six such channels. Then he scooped up an armload of teeth and began to cast them into the furrow, about eighteen inches apart. After a moment, Father Brunel caught up a heap of teeth in his cassock and began sowing. Then Sayeesa joined them, while Matt recited:

Seedling blades poked up from the earth behind him, surging upward with leaf-shaped spear blades for eight feet before horsehair crests led Greek helmets into view. Grim Greek faces appeared, then breastplates, armored kilts, and greave-covered shins. As the three finished sowing, a long line of soldiers surged up behind them. Within a few minutes, the last tooth had reached full growth. The Greeks looked about, turning to stare at the first. He nodded and stepped forward, snapping out a question.

Matt's two years of Greek studies had seemed useless - an endless business of the strategos riding his hippos to the potamos and archaic military maneuvers. But now, surprisingly, he understood that this strategos was asking what was going on.

Matt took a deep breath, remembering bits of Aeschylus, and cried out, "Heroes, Hellenes, I call upon you to defend freedom, as you've ever done and ever shall do!"

The leader looked startled to hear Greek-however mangled, from the lips of this steel-plated alien, but he nodded. "What enemy falls upon us now?"

"An evil magus," Matt replied, "with a horde of armies"

"Persians!" they bellowed as one man, and the leader shouted, "As did our sires at Thermopylae -- form hup!"

When the dust settled, Matt found himself facing a phalanx, bristling with fourteen-foot spears. The leader stepped out and bawled, "Ready for battle, sir!"

Matt nodded, poker-faced, wondering if he were really doing this. "Stand at rest, Strategos, but ready. The enemy may advance at any moment."

The spears sagged as the Greeks settled down in place, sitting on their heels, waiting patiently at ready.

Matt nodded and turned to the giant. "Three thousand and five hundred now, Colmain."

"And twenty ogres." The giant surveyed Matt with respect. "Can you summon more?"

Matt cursed silently. It could as well have been two thousand or more from the tooth. but he'd let his own unthinking prejudice trap him into the first round number that came to mind. Now it was too late. He shook his head bitterly. "No."

"Well, battles have been won against great odds before." Colmain sighed. "We can but hope. 'Tis not always the number of the men, but the skill and spirit that they hold."

Matt turned away, then remembered one other contribution he could make. He slapped his breastplate. "Hey, Max!"

"Aye, Wizard?" The Demon zipped to him from a knot of nuns. Matt eyed the cluster and saw Sayeesa among them. He frowned - but there was no time to worry about it.

"Look, we're expecting a battle any minute now. So do me a favor, will you?"

"If 'tis in my power."

"This is. Just flit around the field wherever the whim takes you, concentrating gravity - about four gees should be enough, under groups of enemy soldiers. Keep it random, so they can't figure out where you'll be next."

"Wisely planned," the Demon hummed judiciously. "If they knew where I might next be, their sorcerers night circumvent me."

Matt nodded. "Right. You're not to cause damage so much as to create confusion."

"Create? I? 'Tis near an insult!"

The moon came out from behind clouds. Now they could see a forest of pikes and spears rising up from a mass of men and horses across the valley. A figure in bright armor was at its head.

"Astaulf!" Alisande made the name an obscenity.

"He didn't strike me as intelligent," Matt said nervously.

"Mistake not, in battle he has few equals." her voice rose to command. "Master Colmain, command the right flanks with your dwarves and ogres. Sir Guy, take the left flank with the Moncaireans and their good barons and host of foot. Reverend Mother, let your ladies ride near me, for I'll command the center. And Lord Wizard, command your dragon-teeth men behind us in the center." She took a deep breath and bawled, "Commanders, to your commands!"

Sir Guy's blank shield snapped up far to the left, and the Moncaireans rode around the rear toward him. Sayeesa stood up in her stirrups, waving. The nuns homed on her and the abbess beside her.

Matt turned and called, "Spartans! Bring up your phalanx! March behind the black-clad ladies!"

The Greeks came to their feet and snapped into position.

It didn't make too much sense to Matt to put most of the cavalry on the left flank and the rest in the center. But maybe Alisande knew her troops better than he did. Anyhow, it gave him an excuse to stick near her; he had big worries about what Malingo might try to do to her.

He looked at the army of sorcery flowing across the valley; Sir Guy's estimate had been far too conservative. "Do we charge now?" he asked Alisande.

"No! If there is no battle, 'tis better for us. We'll march back eastward, gaining strength with each mile."

"They know that, of course?"

Alisande nodded. "And cannot permit it. There will be battle tonight. But let them begin it."

And win it? Matt noticed that she was still not claiming victory by infallibility. He studied the hosts of Astaulf again, worrying. And there were the spells of Malingo ...

Maybe he could do something about them. He began shaping the verses in his mind. It would need power-more power than he had called on in waking the giants. He built the lines in his mind slowly and carefully.

Then something touched his thoughts - a feeling of dark evil intruding. Malingo! The sorcerer was already working to disable him! And there was no time now for his spell. Desperately, Matt cried out the only lines he could think of, sure they would not work, but forced to try.

A wind seemed to sweep across his mind, and the dark presence weakened, seeming to rise, struggling, to hover over him. Stalemate between himself and Malingo? If so, at least Astaulf's armies would not be able to invoke major magic.

And halfway across the valley, Astaulf kicked his horse into a gallop as he swung his sword overhead with a bellow. His whole army broke into a run with a vast shout.

Alisande sat her charger, waiting tranquilly, while the tail of Astaulf's army still flowed down over the ridge and until Matt could make out every detail of the usurper's armor.

"Now!" Alisande bawled. "Charge!"

Her army broke into a gallop with a shout of joy, thundering across the valley to meet the enemy.

As they charged, Sir Guy rose to stand in his stirrups, and his voice sounded above the battle, directed toward the foe with a pounding melody in archaic words. From his right, Colmain echoed it, hammering the meaning through:

There was magic in the words, a weird magic that beat through Matt's head and drummed in his blood. And it was a magic for which Malingo was not prepared.

Pockets of Astaulf's army slowed, seeming suddenly reluctant. Their captains bellowed, lashing at them with the flats of their swords. The pockets swelled as they stopped, balking. The captains cursed and swung with the edges, lopping off heads.

With a roar of fury, whole battalions turned on their commanders, laying about them with their pikes and shouting: "Lord, forgive me!" ... "Jesus, I do repent each blow I've struck for my foul master!" ... "Die, devil! Heaven claim my soul!"

In a matter of minutes, almost a third of Astaulf's army had turned against him. That quickly, Sir Guy had changed the odds to a somewhat more even match.

"For God and Saint Moncaire!" Alisande cried, swinging her sword high as the two armies crashed together. She and Astaulf traded blows; then a horde of battling footmen surged between them, and they were lost to one another's sight.

On the left flank, Sir Guy mowed down soldiers; chanting war songs, with the Moncaireans following to bind the sheaves of dead. On the right, Colmain bent low, slapping knights from their horses and slinging them behind him for the dwarves to finish, while the ogres spread out to either side of him, crushing skulls.

Both flanks slowed as reinforcements surged toward them, stalling the advance by sheer weight of numbers. The battle settled down to personal combat and immediately degenerated into chaos, as repentant queen's men fought those whose greed outweighed their fear of Hell or of their sons' contempt. Knots of struggle formed all along the line.

Matt laid about him with his marvelous sword, catching blows on his shield and slashing in return. The air was filled with the roars of the berserkers and the shrieks of the dying. Pikes pressed in upon him from all sides. He had no time to try magic, even if the countering spells were gone. But they seemed to endure, since there was no sign of magic from Malingo, either.

An ancient Greek battle song roared in his right ear, and his left was filled with a battle hymn from Sister Victrix's band; he was caught between the classical and the medieval. He had lost sight of Alisande; he'd lost sight of everything but Colmain, Stegoman beneath him, and the swords and lances that stabbed at him from all directions. Here and there, above the clamor, he heard metal crashing together as Max pulled down pocket after pocket of enemy troops. Hoarse male screams filled the air.

Then a chorus of screeches came down from the sky. Matt looked up in alarm and saw a horde of harpies plummeting down toward the battle; in front of them came twelve-foot flying snakes, bat-winged and breathing fire.

"Firedrakes!" someone screamed nearby. "Lord defend us!"

Hell-spawn had joined the battle. Apparently the stasis on spells was wearing thin. The enemy roared with relief and waded in.

"To me!" Stegoman bellowed, lifting his head above the crowd.

Matt caught a blast of fire from a drake upon his shield and swore as the armor conducted heat to his skin. He rose in his stirrups to chop out full-length, slashing a firedrake in half. Liquid spattered as the two halves went flying, still writhing and snapping. A drop hit Matt's shield; in a few seconds he was staring through a hole the ichor had eaten.

"To me!" Stegoman bellowed again, and a chorus of roaring answered from the skies. Matt risked a quick glance up, and saw a hundred dragons diving down from the heights, a shoal of fire before them - Glogorogh and the volunteers.

The harpies shrieked and flapped frantically upward, sheering off.

"Captains!" Alisande's voice came clearly above the lull in the battle the aerial combat had created. "Regroup your forces!"

They had time, because the dragons plowed into the firedrakes with bellows of fury and billows of flame. A score of younger dragons scoured the skies for harpies, sailing into a cluster of monsters and lashing fire about them, slashing out with claws and teeth. The harpies shrieked, ganging up on the dragons by dozens and scores; but the dragons were in full rage and in no mood to argue numbers. Charred harpies crashed down in the midst of the armies; manic women's heads went flying.

Lower, just above the soldiers' helmets, older dragons chewed up the fire-snakes.

The armies cowered under their shields as fire and acid rained about them. The allied commanders bawled commands at their troops, cajoling and bullying them into order again.

The rain of fire began to slacken. Matt risked a peek around the edge of his shield and saw only a few harpies, trying to flutter away toward the east, with the dragons in hot pursuit. There were no firedrakes, though snake bodies writhed upon the ground, splattering acid blood about them.

"Now," Alisande called, somewhere ahead, "hew a road for me to the usurper! Ladies, to me!"

The nuns howled, and the Greeks bellowed behind them, hammering into the churning enemy battle line.

Far away across the ranks, the moonlight revealed Astaulf, laying about him with the flat of his sword, knocking his own men aside to clear a path to the princess. Behind him rode a robed figure with a tall, pointed cap-Malingo, preoccupied with sword and shield.

The commanders surged toward each other, while dragons danced over the enemy, roaring blasts wherever they could make the most confusion.

Sister Victrix and her nuns formed up around Alisande - now only half their original number, but still laying about them with their swords, catching blows upon their shields, and chopping a way through the ranks for their princess, like a black arrowhead driving toward Astaulf.

Then a surge of the enemy broke through. A long knight's lance caught Alisande in the midriff, knocking her off her horse. She disappeared in the crush of fighting.

Matt screamed, "Forward, Stegoman! Torch them away! Plow through to the princess!"

The dragon roared, blasting fire straight ahead. His own men saw the dragon coming and leaped aside. A tiny spark sprang into Stegoman's flame, and it roared out an additional ten feet.

"Thanks, Max!" Matt laid about him like a maniac, chopping through any enemy in his way.

But the troops still loyal to Astaulf, greedy for goods and careless of their souls, saw their chance to gain great kudoes by downing the enemy wizard and pressed in, howling for blood.

Matt chopped them away, noticing them only as obstacles. The monofilament-edged blade sheered through armor and bone. Soldiers died, yet more pressed in to delay him. But knight and dragon plowed through to the knot of nuns who were formed into a hollow circle, fighting valiantly against a crush of enemy. They battled bravely, but they were heavily outnumbered and went down, one by one, killing three men for each of them. They died, until only a score of them remained to guard their princess.

Matt, twenty-five feet away and high on Stegoman's shoulders, could see Alisande in their center, trying to struggle back to her feet with the aid of a spear, but with one leg badly twisted beneath her. Matt's heart seemed to lurch; he hewed about him frantically. He was fifteen feet from her, then ten. But now the nuns all lay dead or senseless, and only two black-clad figures stood between the princess and the enemy, Father Brunel, with a shield on his arm and a steel cap on his head, roaring like a wounded bull and laying about him with the strength of a gorilla; and Sayeesa, with two slender swords in her hands, stabbing at chinks in enemy armor.

Knights loomed up over them, with battle-axes raised high ...

Stegoman bulldozed through the last few pikemen and leaped up to Alisande with a roaring blast of fire, white-hot to melt armor, turning his head in a long, slow arc to sweep the field clean. Max was still adding to the blast. Knights screamed and beat their way backward. Brunel and Sayeesa dropped to huddle low against the dragon's forelegs while white fire roared out over their heads.

Matt leaped down next to Alisande and fell to one knee, catching her up in his left arm, crushing her against his armor, his shield covering her back. She went rigid, staring up. He flipped up his visor. She recognized him and threw her arms around his neck in a hug that slammed the jaw of his helmet down onto her shoulder. "My wizard! You've come! I thought you had left me to perish!"

"No way, Lady." He braced himself and straightened, pulling her up, with him. "Come on, now. Get your leg under you. Back on your feet!"

"I cannot. The leg is broken," she gasped, her eyes closing as the pain of the leg shot through her. "Do not leave me, Matthew!"

"Not until you're healed and back on your feet again. I'll make it fast-very fast!"

"Nay, do not leave me! Never leave me!" She hung on his neck, weighing him down. "Swear you'll not leave me-ever!"

"You're the princess-the heart and head of this battle." Matt pulled back against her weight, studying the leg. "I've got to try healing you-right now!"

"Swear!" she cried.

"Quickly, Wizard!" Stegoman rumbled. "They mass upon us, now-a hundred knights to encircle us. By their numbers, they'll wear me down." He loosed another blast, sending the knights back again-but not far enough.

By now, Matt hoped, the two counteracting spells should have mostly dispersed-enough for at least magic on a personal level. He risked a glance again at the threatening knights, then decided to make his verse short and direct:

Alisande gasped, her eyes startled. She leaned her weight on the leg tentatively, then stepped away, to stand straight and proud again. But her face was frozen, and she avoided looking at Matt.

"Aye, Lady! 'Tis even so!"

Matt turned to see Sayeesa toss her sword aside. There was a bitterness on her face that chilled him to the bone. She nodded grimly. "Aye, that did I seek, not knowing it - the fullness of love, not that of the body alone or the mere glamour of the forbidden. Thus I sought; thus was it denied." Her eyes sought Matt's for a moment; then she lifted her chin, her face resolute. "Yet even without it, I'll lend meaning to this life of mine. Spirit!"

"Aye, mistress!" A dot of light danced beside her.

"Come, then! Enter, and draw within me the power that is yours to sway!"

Her full lips parted, and the Demon darted into her mouth. She closed her lips and stood a moment, seeming to swell with power. Then she ripped off her postulant's habit and chain-mail shirt and cast them aside, revealing a sheer, short shift. Her body seemed to glow.

The knights froze, staring at her. So did Matt. She'd planned for this, somehow sensing it in her future!

Father Brunel shuddered, turning his eyes away. Sayeesa spared him a contemptuous glance, then moved toward the armored knights, her allure building with every step. Slowly, lazily, hips shifting in a magnetic rhythm, she strolled toward the wall of living steel, her eyes an open invitation to an army. She seemed to burn with desire. Matt felt an urge build in him and forced his eyes away.

A groan started somewhere in the ranks of the knights. One ripped off his helmet and tore at the fastenings of his armor, to be followed by another and another, until the air was filled with armor parts. They started toward her.

But her gaze strayed past them, seeking out a face toward the back of the press, pale and bearded, with a tall cap rising above the helmets. Malingo's eyes were riveted to her body; staring and sweating, he swallowed convulsively.

"Come!" she cried.

The sorcerer hung back a moment, torn between dread and desire. But he had kept himself from women too long to withstand Sayeesa, even in the midst of battle. He moaned and whipped out his sword, cutting at his own knights, slamming at them, roaring, "Fools! Churls! Garbage under my feet! Away! Let me to the woman!"

Startled, they pulled back, and Malingo surged toward Sayeesa.

She turned to Brunel. "Come, dog! We're alike enough for me to know. Your life, like mine, is fit only for atonement!"

The priest lifted his head, and Matt stared at him, shocked. The head that Brunei raised was only half human; ripples seemed to move through it as he fought the moonlight and the urge of his body. Then he saw Malingo hewing a way toward Sayeesa and understanding flooded his changing face.

With a howl, he flung off his cassock. His body shrank, and he fell to all fours, sprouting fur. Nose and mouth ran together, swelling out to a muzzle; his ears slid upward, growing points. A bush of a tail sprouted from his spine as his body contracted, writhing. Then it stilled, and a wolf leaped forward, snarling.

The enemy knights in the front rank gathered themselves suddenly, realizing it was a race between Malingo and them. They jumped toward Sayeesa, unarmored, hands reaching ...

The werewolf smashed into them, snarling in fury, leaping, whirling, and slashing at throats, crazed and berserk. Hardened knights screamed and drew back, arms over their faces. The wolf churned through their ranks, a tornado with teeth, clearing a lane to Malingo.

Sayeesa ran down that channel to the sorcerer, arms wide. She passed the wolf. It leaped to keep up with her.

Malingo reached for her hungrily. She slammed into him, and his arms closed around her, hands tearing at her shift. Her lips locked on his for a very deep, long kiss. Then she thrust him away, stepping back with a wild, mocking laugh.

Malingo stared, dumfounded. Then he went for her again.

The wolf howled and leaped for his throat.

Malingo drew out a curved knife that seemed to writhe in his hand, its blade glinting silver. But his movements were curiously slowed.

The wolf shocked into his chest, bowling him over, snarling and reaching for his throat. With obvious effort, Malingo drove the flickering knife into its chest. It leaped back with a groan, falling huddled to the ground, blood welling from its side, struggling to rise.

Malingo snarled and fumbled in his sleeve, pulling out a flaming sphere. He heaved it toward Sayeesa, crying, "Die, traitoress! What enchantment have you flung on me?"

Sayeesa stood, laughing in mockery. The fireball struck and exploded. Flames leaped high about her writhing figure as she fell.

Malingo labored to heave himself to his feet, then tottered and collapsed again. The werewolf began crawling toward him, moaning deep in its throat with each labored effort.

Malingo hefted the knife as though it weighed a ton. "My deathcurse upon him who stole my power! Yet I still have the power of hate, and I heap it upon him! May his flesh rot with pox, and his soul burn in Hell!"

Then the wolf struggled forward the last few inches and fell upon his chest. Malingo cried out, holding the knife so that the wolf landed upon its point. But the great jaws closed on his throat, tearing and ripping. The sorcerer's cry turned to a gurgle as his blood fountained out. Then the gurgle ceased, and the blood slackened to a trickle.

The wolf lay on his chest, slowly changing back into the figure of Father Brunel.

The field was quiet. Knights and footmen stared, horrified,

The Demon had done it, Matt realized. When Sayeesa had passed it into the sorcerer with her kiss, it had drained Malingo's power-drained every bit of his energy. And the wolf had killed him. .

Then far away, but swelling close in an instant, came a wild, exultant screaming. The sky was suddenly filled with leather wings, glinting red scales, and wild, manic laughter. A horde of demons plunged down toward the sorcerer's body, screaming: "He is ours!" ... "He is carrion now for Hell!" ... "Claim his soul!" ... "Carry it to white fire, never dying..."

They churned down to engulf the body. But one scream of total despair rang louder than any of theirs, a human cry - the soul, realizing its doom.

The first demon touched the corpse, ripping it open.

Earth and sky boomed with titanic thunder. A vast, foul cloud boiled out of the body, stinking of sulfur and evil, to tower over the field, overshadowing all.

Matt felt his soul shrink gibbering into the middle of his being, trying to pull him in after it. Every human being on the field shrank down cowering, seeking to hide where there was no cover.

A voice boomed out of the cloud. "Bow, vermin, to a high lord of Hell!"

Above the armies, a huge devil began to form from the cloud. And its voice thundered about them.

"'Twas I made blood-contract with this puling sorcerer. My power was his in return for his soul and his willing acceptance that I dwell within him. Now I am loosed! Now I am master! Fall down and worship me, vermin, or die!"

A compelling impulse surged up in Matt, beyond his conscious control. He lifted his head and shouted,.

"Aid us now, preserving Power,

Lest we die within the hour!

Ancient patron, Kaprin's guard,

Save us now, our only ward!"

"Who speaks?" the demon shrieked. "Cease those words!" A huge, shadowed tentacle extruded from the roiling cloud, arrowing down toward Matt.

A voice crashed through the valley. "Be still in your evil!"

Ail eyes snapped to the top of the northern cliff. There, glowing brightly, stood a stocky figure in a gilded chasuble, with an archbishop's cope and miter. He stood in a circle of light, but Matt made out the face.

"The priest who confessed me and Sayeesa!"

"Nay," Alisande gasped. "'Tis Saint Moncaire!"

"Who seeks to sully God's mead?" the saint thundered. "Go down whence you came! Vile demons, I have come to counter your power! Now I command you, by Him Whom I serve, to be gone!"

The cloud shuddered and quaked, then erupted in screaming imprecations in languages older than humanity's knowledge. The valley floor began to tremble.

Saint Moncaire held up his hand and began to chant in sonorous Latin. Flames pricked up all about the valley, rising, expanding, and dancing. Men shrank back, moaning in fear. The shrieking, ancient tongues rose to a piercing screech; but the Latin thundered over them, building and rising. The saint grasped his staff in both hands, lifting it above his head. Then he thundered, "In Nomine Domine!" and the staff snapped down to point at the demon. A ray of dazzling light lanced out into the depths of the Hell-cloud. It exploded with a roar that shook the valley.

Then, slowly, the light faded, and Matt's eyes adjusted until he could make out the field of huddled, trembling men. He looked out to see the tangled armies as they had been when the sorcerer died.

But in their midst was only a great, blackened ring with the crumpled, charred bodies of a man and a woman at its center.

With a despairing cry, Astaulf flung down his steel helmet and threw his sword into the charred ring. "Save my soul! Do what you will with my body, but grant me first a priest to shrive me!" He huddled on his knees, hands clasped, head bowed. "Never did I truly believe in Heaven or Hell until this moment! Now I know, and know the full foulness of my deeds! Draw and quarter me if you will; only allow me the Sacraments ere you deliver me up to the death I have earned!"

He buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

It was too abrupt, Matt thought - until he remembered that the influence of Evil was gone from the field and the presence of Good still lingered.

"Kill me, but save my soul from Hell!" a baron cried, casting down his sword and falling to his knees.

"Let me die in the Church!" another begged,

Matt stood watching as enemy after enemy surrendered, until the whole army of foemen was kneeling, heads bowed.

"Will you accept their surrenders, Lady?" Sir Guy asked gravely from beside Alisande.

She glanced at the Black Knight, then looked at the enemy, nodding. Her back straightened and her chin lifted. "Your surrenders are accepted," she called. "Dwarves, gather their swords!"

A single, joyful shout of triumph rose from the allied army. Then the dwarves scuttled over the field, gathering weapons.

"You must pronounce sentence upon them now, Highness." The abbess stepped up to Alisande, her gaze severe. "You have won the day. Prounounce their fates."

"Nay," Alisande answered, with equal firmness. "I have not the right. I am not yet crowned queen, and none here has the authority to serve me so."

"But one has," Colmain rumbled. He strode across the field toward Sir Guy.

"To be sure. One has." The knight skipped aside from the giant's path and lifted his head. A single name seemed to ring from his lips across the valley. "Moncaire!"

"Aye, Sir Guy de Toutarien." The voice spoke from above, and Matt turned to see the saint again standing atop the cliff, lambent in his halo. "'Tis meet that the princess should be crowned queen. Let the princess ascend to me. And do you, Sir Guy, attend and aid."

Alisande took the arm that Sir Guy offered, and together they began moving across the field. As Matt stared, he saw that a trail, steep but climbable, ascended to the top of the cliff. Had it been there before? He could not remember. But with the help of the knight, the princess began climbing, until she stood before the saint.

Moncaire's voice was deep and resonant, though he seemed to speak quietly. "You will serve as witness, Sir Guy. And who has the crown?"

For once, the knight's face registered total surprise. He stared about helplessly. Then his eyes turned to the Lord Wizard.

Matt saw that the saint was also looking at him, and he nodded, hastily shaping words into a spell:

Sir Guy grabbed at the object that appeared in the air. The crown shone brilliantly clean in the light of Moncaire's halo.

Saint Moncaire faced the forces on the field, and his voice lifted to reach the farthest man. "This night it is granted to me to give you a queen." Then he spoke to Alisande. "Kneel, daughter."

Poised now and certain, she knelt before the saint, while Sir Guy held up the crown for all to see. The soldiers were silent, eyes locked on the golden bauble. Then the knight gave the crown to Moncaire, who blessed it and turned to the princess.

"Do you, Alisande, swear to guard this land, to rule it for the welfare of all people within it? And do you swear to rule for Good and God, abhoring Evil all your days?"

"I so swear," she answered. "And may God strike me dead if I forget my vow!"

The saint set the crown gently on her head and stepped back. "Then rise and rule, Queen Alisande of Merovence!"

The soldiers shouted their acclamation as she rose, and the saint retreated farther.

A moment later, when Matt turned to look for him, there was no sign of the saint.