My Son, the Wizard

Chapter Fifteen

“Go with God, and good luck ride with you!” Sir Gilbert clapped each man on the shoulder.

“Thank you, sir,” each said. Then the postern gate opened, and Marl, Hode, and Doman led their horses out into the night, mounted, and sped away under the stars, with Bordestang and its castle between themselves and the Moors.

At the foot of the slope they came to a crossroads. Hode rode to the left, to join the river upstream, following it away from the Moorish army. Doman turned to the right, riding toward the distant bulk of the forest, and Marl rode straight ahead, down a road that would curve east, then south toward the mountains.

Marl rode through the night, rested in the morning, then rode through the afternoon. He slept that night, then rode out again at sunrise. The Pyrenees were a dark line on the horizon ahead when he came to the fork in the road, and the Moorish patrol emerged from behind a roadside thicket to surround and imprison him.

Hode rode along the river through the night, kept riding after dawn, then dismounted, hid, ate, and slept the afternoon. He began his ride again in the evening, and came to the forest as the day was breaking.

He slept in a thicket at the edge of the trees and woke at sunset. He came out of the thicket, leading his horse, and found the boat waiting. He froze in surprise, and the soldiers stepped out from behind trees to surround him. One look at their conical helmets, and he knew he had failed.

Doman rode through the night but when the sky lightened, drew off to find a hiding place, chewing hardtack as he searched. He slept in a barn and woke at dusk, saddled his horse, and rode on through the night, munching his hard biscuits on horseback whenever he grew hungry.

He rode around the forest in the dark until he came to a road that led east, and followed it till dawn, when he hid and slept again. When he woke, he heard hooves approaching, and had just time enough to soothe his horse Bubaru and hold its mouth shut while voices spoke in foreign words outside the cave in which they’d hidden. When the hoofbeats faded into the distance, he came out and rode again. The third night found him in the mountains.

He was climbing a mountain path scarcely four feet wide when a giant rat came scuttling out of the rocks ahead. Bubaru shied from the creature, and only hauling savagely on the reins and kicking with the off side spur kept him from going over the edge. Then the horrible rodent ran at them, baring long, slimy teeth, reaching high to bite the horse’s side, Doman’s leg, whatever it could reach. Again Doman spurred frantically to keep from going over the edge while he drew his sword and plunged it down the rat’s throat. The beast screamed, scrambling, but was dead as it fell over the cliff, almost dragging Doman with it… but he had the presence of mind to let go of the sword at the last moment. He felt horribly vulnerable without it, but he was alive.

Bubaru took a deal of calming, but finally they went on their way. Doman still trembled. Were such rats native to the mountains? He’d never heard of any. Or had a Moorish sorcerer set it to guard the passes? If so, did that sorcerer now know where Doman was?

“You’re borrowing trouble,” he scolded himself, and tried to shut off his thoughts as he rode on up the pathway through the night… but he couldn’t help thinking that he might switch to daytime riding now.

By the end of the week, an army of thirty thousand Moors was camped around Bordestang, with more arriving every day. Gilbert and Mama stood with Saul on the castle battlements, looking down over the capital at the new city of tents that had grown up past the frame houses beyond the wall. To their right, a dozen ships lay moored, having just disgorged their cargoes of men and horses. They would sail with the morning tide. “They will stage their assault soon,” the young monk-knight said, “perhaps even tomorrow.”

“It’s a wonder they haven’t attacked already,” Saul said. “They were wary,” Gilbert told him, “because we did not resist their coming ashore.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” Mama said “They fear a trap, do they not?”

“When they come and find the docks deserted, and all the houses outside the walls too? When they find their moorings ready and their quarters swept and waiting? Yes, I would be wary, too.”

“Which explains why they set up their tents instead of moving into the empty houses.” Saul nodded.

“Too bad… we had some nice booby traps planted. So what makes you think they’re going to attack tomorrow?”

“It is in the air. Can you not feel it?”

“I can,” Mama said. “Their fear has faded. They know now that we cannot meet them in the open field, but must wait upon their siege.”

“And their scouts can find nothing to fear, no traps or spirit-weirs,” Gilbert agreed “Spirit-weir?” Saul looked up, interested “What’s that?”

“A sort of trap for men’s enthusiasm.” Gilbert sounded surprised “There is also a trap that gathers in ghosts, to loose them upon an enemy. I am astonished you did not know of these, Master Saul.”

“Hey, I’m always willing to learn.” Saul turned to watch the last fingernail of sun slip below the horizon.

“You sure they’re going to attack tomorrow?”

Trumpets sounded in the distance. Deep-voiced drums rolled. The Moorish soldiers came riding to assemble in the plaza where the boulevard debouched onto the docks. “I was mistaken,” Gilbert said.

“They attack tonight! Beware sorcery, Master Saul. Why else would they charge at dusk?”

The first riders trotted into the boulevard as others were coming up from the plaza, while a steady stream of riders poured into it from the camp. The army rode up toward the town wall, four abreast.

As Doman rode down to the foothills, dirt and dust suddenly boiled in front of him Bubaru shied, whinnying fear, and Doman clutched at his empty scabbard, heart racing. Then the dust cleared, and a huge man floated there before him, bare-chested, bearded, and turbaned, with legs tapering into a wisp.

“Queen’s man, where do you go?”

“To… to join my queen,” Doman stammered.

“What message have you for her?”

Doman thought fast. “That I am well at last, and able to fight with her troops!”

The genie drifted closer, looming over him with menace, glowering, and Bubaru shied again. The genie put out a huge hand that grew and grew on an arm that stretched around the horse’s rump to hold the horse in place as he demanded, “Empty your pouch!”

Doman stretched his arms wide, heart thumping, overwhelmingly glad that Lady Mantrell had entrusted the word’s to Doman’s memory and not to paper. “I bear none!”

“Your saddlebags, then!”

Doman took out journeybread and cheese, then turned the pouches upside down to show there was nothing more “Even so, why should I take a chance?” The genie scowled like a thundercloud. “Each soldier less is one more who cannot slay a Moor!”

Doman raised a hand to ward off any blow that might come and cried out the verse Lady Mantrell had given him, though the words made no sense to him.

The chant had its effect, though… the genie halted and stared. “What good can the Queen’s Wizard do you? He is far from here!”

A gust of wind blew past Doman’s ear, and a huge but somehow feminine voice commanded, “Leave the boy, djinni!”

The genie stared up, awed. So did Doman, for he found himself gazing up and up past gauzy trousers that grew from a point to hint at perfectly tapering thighs swelling into the alluring curves of hips. He stared, astounded, past a magnificent bosom to a face that awed him with its beauty… and with its anger.

He wondered why he felt not the slightest ounce of desire.

“As you command, my princess!” The genie bowed and, bowing, disappeared. The huge djinna glared down at little Doman. “Who bade you summon me with that verse?”

“The… the Lady Mantrell!” Doman stammered “His wife?” The djinna stared… then frowned. “Perhaps she knows more than a Christian should.” The huge face turned brooding for a moment. “Or a Muslim, for that matter… especially a spouse.” Then her eyes snapped as they focused on Doman again. “Begone, wretch! Do not recite that verse again… and tell no one that you have seen me!”

Gilbert grinned. “Their mounts will do them no good, in a narrow street facing a city wall. What do they think to do… stand on their saddles and leap to the top of a thirty-foot wall?”

All along the city ramparts, archers nocked arrows to their bowstrings. Other soldiers readied small catapults, while still others stood by with forked sticks to push away scaling ladders. Spears lay ready to hand in case some Moors actually managed to reach the battlements.

“A snake of fire!” Gilbert pointed toward the river. Mama and Saul spun to look A trail of flame ran along the surface of the water, blossoming into a fence of fire. “It cannot be!” Gilbert cried. “Water cannot burn!”

A moan of fear went up from the soldiers on the battlements. Men crossed themselves. “Water can’t burn, but something floating on that water can!” Saul grabbed the knight’s shoulder, pointing “Can’t you see where it’s going?”

Gilbert gave a shout of delight, fear forgotten. “Toward the Moorish ships!”

The trail of fire expanded, mushrooming into a blazing lake that swallowed all the anchored ships. The few that were moored at the docks stood unscathed… until each exploded into flame. “The Moors are burning their only escape!” Gilbert cried. The sound reached them, and the town shook with the soft basso roar of the explosion. A cry of fear went up from the Moorish army, and the advance stalled as all men turned to watch the fire. “No, it was not their doing,” Mama said “They will blame us!”

“Hey, cool.” Saul grinned. “Let ‘em think we’re that much more powerful, and that much more ruthless.

The truth would just make them cocky.”

“There is truth in what you say,” Gilbert said, frowning, “but who did set that blaze?”

The Moors poured onto the docks. Buckets appeared, and they formed chains to try to drown the fire, each charred ship meant fewer reinforcements. A brisk breeze sprang up, fairly sopping with humidity.

Mama and Saul stared in surprise as storm clouds gathered over the burning ships. Then Mama cried,

“The Moorish sorcerers! They seek to drown the blaze with rain!”

“Son of a gun!” Saul exclaimed in admiration. “Would I ever love to have those boys handy in a Nebraska summer!”

Mama frowned, concentrating, making shooing motions while she chanted. The clouds stopped moving together, hanging motionless. They darkened, and the rain-breeze freshened, sharpened. The first drops began to fall.

Mama scolded them sternly in Spanish, waving her hands, palms up. The raindrops froze in midair.

More and more fell, but held firm at an invisible line. “Witch Doctor!” Gilbert caught Saul’s shoulder with one hand and pointed with the other. “Look! At the edge of the crowd, there in the plaza!”

Saul looked, and saw, here and there, a Moor clutching his chest and falling from his horse. Their friends didn’t seem to notice… everyone was too busy trying to save the ships. “Who’re the snipers on our side, Gilbert?”

“None of our folk are down there, unless it be some householders who seek to protect their dwellings!”

But the Battle of the Fireships claimed Saul’s attention. He saw Mama clenching her fists, arms curved as though she were holding up a barbell. Drops of perspiration began to appear on her forehead. Saul realized what she was doing “You can’t hold a ton of water all by yourself, Lady Mantrell. We’d better slope the line, make it a roof.” He propped his fingers together like a rooftop and tried to think of a verse. But Mama beat him to it. Her voice turned sonorous as she chanted in Spanish. Saul managed to pick out the words for “forbidding” and for “rain.” It gave him an idea.

The water began to flow down, running at an angle until it splashed into the river… fifty feet to each side of the ships. The flames started to die down anyway. “They are quenching the blaze by commands alone!” Mama cried. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that,” Saul said, grinning, and recited,

The fire billowed higher. For a split second, Saul saw a face in the flames, a familiar face whose eyes widened in amazement as it recognized Saul, then it was gone. The Witch Doctor cried out, then muttered to himself, “No, can’t be! He’s not a magus!”

The Moors seemed to have forgotten that the ships weren’t going to take them back, they churned into a shouting mob, pouring bucketful after bucketful onto the wharfside ships. Saul grinned and chanted,

The ships exploded into flame, and the Moors staggered back with cries of distress, certainly never noticing that more and more of their mates lay dead on the fringe of the crowd with crossbow bolts in their chests “That’s not just a few outraged citizens, Gilbert,” Saul said, frowning “I think we have some unexpected allies “

“Yes, but can we afford allies we do not know?” Gilbert asked nervously. “I know what you mean,” Saul said grimly. “I’ve had people pitch into a fight to help me out, but I wouldn’t have wanted to know them if I hadn’t been distracted at the time.” Then he noticed that the ship fires were starting to gutter. “I think you can let the rain come down now, Lady Mantrell. The ships have burned down to the water-line.”

Mama dropped her hands, trembling with relief, and gasped for air. “That was a heavy burden indeed!”

“Heavy, but very effective,” Saul assured her. “I just hope we like the guy who started those fires.” He frowned. “Can’t be who I think it is.”

A moan swept the Moorish ranks as they saw that their transportation was charcoal. They began to mill about, and the sound rising from their ranks was angry. “Here we go.” Saul tensed. “Payback time.”

A howl of rage went up, and the mob surged toward the boulevard. “They’ve found the dead bodies.”

Saul said, leaning on a crenel to look, every muscle tense. “They’re chasing somebody!”

Shouting, the mob streamed into the boulevard, most of them on foot. The few horsemen couldn’t make much headway among all the infantry. Light gleamed off scimitars and spears, but the Moorish footmen could only come twelve abreast in the boulevard, and the whole front rank suddenly fell with crossbow bolts in their chests. The second rank tripped over them and went sprawling, then the third rank and the fourth. The mob stalled, milling and trying to sort themselves out with angry cries at one another.

A black horse burst from an alleyway and galloped uphill. A score of dark-clad men burst from the alleys and ran after it.

The Moors howled and scrambled over their fallen comrades. The second-rankers struggled frantically to their feet. Finally the whole mob was charging again.

By that time, though, the black horse was almost to the gates. The dark-clad rider waved and shouted.

The officer on the wall shouted back, raising his arm.

“It is him!” Saul cried.

“Who?” Mama demanded.

The gates groaned open, and the rider reined in, dancing his horse to the side of the road. His sword flashed in the light of the fires as his men streamed past him.

The mob saw the open gate and belled like hounds sighting a fox. They actually crowded aside to let a few riders pass, and half a dozen horsemen charged uphill. Arrows flashed, but fell short of the dark-clad men.

On the wall, the officer shouted and swung his arm down. Catapults snapped, and fireballs arced through the air.

The Moorish horsemen shouted and pulled up sharply. The fireballs crashed into the street before them, breaking apart into shards of blazing tow. The Moors hurdled them, rode between them, and charged uphill again. The footmen streamed after.

The officer on the wall bawled again, raising his arm and chopping down. A flight of arrows sprang out, arcing toward the Moors. They saw in time and tried to back away, but the men pushing behind them prevented retreat, and half a dozen fell. So did two horsemen; the others bellowed in rage and charged at full gallop, hanging their bows on saddle hooks and drawing scimitars.

The last of the dark-clad men ran through the gate, and the huge portals began to swing shut. The officer shouted and chopped with his arm again. Another flight of arrows sprang out. The Moors reined in, cursing, and the arrows fell short. They waited for the rest of their army to catch up… and another flight of arrows shot up. The Moors retreated beyond bowshot, but the dark-clad men scrambled up to the wall and loosed a hail of crossbow bolts. Two more Moorish horsemen fell; the others retreated farther, commanding the mob to halt. Reluctantly, they did, milling about, shaking their fists at the defenders, and cursing in Arabic and Berber.

The black horse trotted up toward the castle, two knights of the guard escorting him.

“Now we will learn who our unexpected ally is,” Mama said. “Can he really be the one who burned the ships?”

“Only if he knows about Greek fire,” Saul answered.

“I have heard of it,” Sir Gilbert said, “and if he is a knight, he may have, too. He may even know the making of it. He could be our firestarter, Lady Mantrell.”

“How?” Saul challenged. “The line of fire came from the breakwater, not the docks.”

“He is mounted,” Sir Gilbert said. “He could have set the flames, then ridden to join his men in the alleyways.”

A cry of delight went up from the gatehouse, and the soldiers cheered as the black horse came riding into the bailey… a black horse with a knight in black armor.

Saul stared. “It is him!”

“Who?” Mama demanded. “May not I know him, when even your soldiers seem to?”

“They do indeed,” Gilbert said, grinning from ear to ear. “Heaven be praised! I need no longer command this garrison! But how he knew of our plight I cannot guess.”

“He knows everything that goes on in Europe, especially if it’s dangerous,” Saul said. Then, as the rider came trotting up below them, he told Mama, “Let’s go downstairs… I want to introduce you. This is Sir Guy Toutarien, the Black Knight, and one of your son’s strongest allies.” He started down the stairs, calling, “Hail, Sir Guy! Come on and meet the family!”

The Pyrenees loomed high in front of the army by the time Doman caught up with them. One sentry ran ahead to tell the queen of his coming; two others escorted him in.

“Well done, faithful servant!” she said, and the soldier glowed with praise from his sovereign. She asked, “Was your passage dangerous?”

“I went as secretly as I could, Majesty,” he answered, “but by sunset of my first day, they were on my trail… how, I do not know.”

“A rider coming from Bordestang and following my army would be cause enough for their concern.”

But her brow creased with concern of her own. “What manner of hounds did they set on your trail?”

What could Doman say? A giant rat wasn’t a hound. Of course, there had been hounds of a sort, and … Doman shuddered at the thought of the huge things, heads tall as his horse’s shoulder, with eyes glowing red as fire… but with dark green scales instead of fur, and beaks instead of muzzles. They had run on all fours like dogs, but huge leathery wings had unfolded from their backs as they had sprung into the air to search for him. He had taken cover at the first sound of their strange cries, half bay and half crow, and lay huddled in a thicket holding Bubaru’s nose desperately closed. The horse kept trying to tug its head free, eyes wide and rolling with fear, but Doman hung on with a death grip. He was very glad that he had waded a hundred feet down every stream he’d come to.

Bubaru jerked its head, frightened by the strange creatures… Doman wondered if it could smell them, or if it was taking fright from sight alone. Certainly that was horrifying enough. If the horse whinnied, they were lost…

But Doman kept firm hold over its muzzle, and the horse gave only a grunt or two. The lizard-hounds didn’t hear; they banked away and flew off into the night, their strange cries dwindling behind them.

And, of course, Doman remembered the beautiful spirit and her command to tell no one of their encounter… so when the queen seemed concerned about his journey, all Doman could say was, “It had its worrying moments, Your Majesty, but I am come safely to bring you the message that Lady Mantrell sends.”

Alisande frowned at the title… it reminded her of an oversight… but said, “Speak.”

“Your castle stands,” Doman recited, “but hundreds of Moorish ships have come sailing into Bordestang’s harbor, bringing thousands of soldiers to besiege your city. More come every day.”

“A siege!” Alisande stared, thunderstruck, and in an instant the strategy was clear to her. “They waited till my army and I were gone, then struck!”

She didn’t ask how the ships had come so far without hindrance… she saw that clearly, too, and knew with bitter certainty that she must build a fleet, and quickly.

But if the Moors’ strategy was clear, so was her own, and her obligation to her countrymen. Her heart twisted within her as she realized what she must do, and that she must leave Matt and his father to fend for themselves.

Her face became a granite mask. “Turn the army! We must march back toward Bordestang, and quickly!”

“Return to Bordestang?” Her aide, Lord Gautier, stared. “Why, Majesty? Surely the castle can hold long enough for us to put paid to these Moors!”

“They are doughtier soldiers than you know, my lord, and there are very many of them,” Alisande replied. “They might occupy us for a very long time… but that is of little consequence. What matters most is that, by returning, we may catch one army of Moors between the city and our ranks.”

Her aide’s eyes widened. “Why, so we may! Surely King Rinaldo can wait a few days longer for our rescue!”

Again, foreboding shadowed Alisande. It was excellent strategy on the Mahdi’s part, to prevent her from coming to Rinaldo’s aid. She wondered if he might really manage to conquer northern Ibile while she countermarched to save her capital, and if his armies might then prove too strong for her.

Her face stayed frozen while she told Lord Gautier, “Our obligation is to Merovence first, and our more important foes are those already on our own soil. Time enough to keep other enemies from crossing the Pyrenees when we have routed those already here.”

“Of course!” her aide cried. “Why did I not see it? We may strike down tens of thousands of them, and there will be that many fewer to fight in Ibile!”

“We cannot let the chance pass us by.” Sudden anxiety twisted Alisande’s heart again. “But O, my husband! How shall he fare?”

“The Lord Wizard?” Lord Gautier stared. “How could we help him, Majesty? He has gone to face the paynim with only his magic for his strength!”

“But he may be relying upon my army to rescue him, if he encounters magic too strong for him!”

“Magic too strong for the Lord Wizard?” Lord Gautier exclaimed in disbelief. “Majesty, he has always been able to spell his way out of any trap into which he has fallen!”

Alisande’s anxiety abated a little. “There is some truth in that… “

“Great truth, be sure! Lord Matthew has a knack of summoning up whatever sort of magical friend he needs, to face any given crisis.” He smiled. “Rather, ask how we will manage without his aid!”

Alisande wished he hadn’t brought up that point. “We can, at least, send a messenger to tell him what we do! See that this courier who brought the news is given meat, ale, and rest, then send him after the Lord Wizard!”

“Majesty, I shall.” Her aide bowed. “I know it is useless to tell you not to be concerned for your husband, but I shall say it anyway. No matter what his danger, the Lord Wizard shall prevail.”

“I hope you are right, my lord,” But Alisande wondered just what kind of predicament Matt would get himself into this time. Considering that his goal was to meet the Mahdi, she was more afraid of his succeeding than of his failing.

“That’s the Mahdi’s camp?” Matt stared down, appalled at acre after acre of campfires.

“Surely you are not surprised!” Lakshmi boomed. “You knew his armies were mighty, did you not?”

“Yeah, but not so close! I mean, this is just on the other side of the Pyrenees!” Matt glanced back at the bulk of the mountains, looming huge in the darkness, black against the stars. “I didn’t know they’d marched this far! Weren’t they supposed to be attacking the north?”

“They did, then gave over that campaign quite suddenly, to march east to this camp. Did you not know all of Ibile is theirs, save the northeast?”

“Only the northeast, now? I thought it was the whole north! So the whole point of the attack was to secure this base, huh? But why?”

“Perhaps the Mahdi is more concerned about the Queen than the King of Ibile,” Papa offered.

“Really reassuring,” Matt growled. “I’m beginning to have a very bad feeling about this.”

“I shall leave you and be done!” Lakshmi declared. “Where would you stand?”

“Well, facing the Mahdi, of course!” Matt said. “That’s what we’ve come for, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps just outside his tent,” Papa suggested, “so that his guards may announce us.”

“Announce you? They would slay you on the spot!” Lakshmi told him. “If you would meet the Mahdi, then meet him you shall!” She caught them to her and began to spin around and around, chanting a verse in Arabic, becoming translucent, then transparent, then a whirlwind. Matt shouted in protest as the wind that had been Lakshmi whirled him about and about, and the whole world became a blur of darkness streaked with orange light.