The Crusading Wizard

CHAPTER 15

Ramon threw in a discreet reminder. “But your husband, the Prince Marudin—why has he not come to interrogate Matthew with you? How is it we have been spared his wrath, which, when coupled with yours, would certainly have leveled this castle in minutes?”

Lakshmi stared at him, stricken, for a long minute. Then she bowed her face into her hands, blasting a wail like a tornado siren that shot up the scale and diminished in volume as she herself shrank, stepping down onto the battlements and diminishing to mortal size to bury her head against Ramon’s chest. Her shoulders shook and her whole body shuddered as she wept out her rage and grief.

Ramon folded his arms around her more or less automatically and stared over her head at his wife in shock and alarm.

All Jimena’s jealousy vanished on the instant, for if Lakshmi had been Ramon’s lover, he would certainly have known how to give the comfort she needed. Jimena gave him a small smile and a nod of encouragement, pantomiming holding a baby and patting its back.

Ramon nodded his comprehension and tightened his arms about the weeping woman. Djinna or not, centuries old or not, she was a beginning mother who needed comfort and reassurance, and he gave what he could. It also occurred to him to wonder where her parents were.

The storm of tears passed, and Lakshmi pushed against Ramon’s chest, moving away a little. Ramon pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks, then let her take it. Jimena stepped forward, and Ramon, knowing his cue after a quarter century of marriage, stepped back.

Jimena embraced the taller woman with scarcely a second’s lapse in hugs. “Poor child, what tragedy is this that has befallen you? Has your husband played the rogue and vanished in the night?”

“No, never!” Lakshmi cried in indignation. “Marudin loves me! I have bound him to me by love—” She blushed a moment. “—of many sorts. He would never leave me of his own will!”

“Then of whose will has he left you?” Jimena looked straight into her eyes.

Lakshmi bowed her head, and the tears gushed again.

Jimena held on, patting her back, crooning, and wondering if djinn babies needed to be burped.

When the worst of the storm had passed, Jimena pressed gently, “Come now, we must know! What vile creature has stolen your husband away, and by what power?”

“By the power of the lamp that once held him!” Lakshmi said, with a hiccup.

“But Matthew dissolved that spell!” Ramon exclaimed.

“He did, but another sorcerer has found a way to weave a new spell around the same lamp.” Lakshmi began a fresh torrent of tears.

Jimena held on and gave what comfort she could. “You poor child, to have your husband abducted, then your children, too! I can see why you thought of Matthew, for who could know better how to reweave a spell than he who had unraveled it? But since we know he did not, tell me—what monster has made you the target of such malice?”

At last the tears slackened, and Lakshmi drew back. “Some vile Eastern sorcerer. More than that I know not, save that his skin is that of any Arab or Persian, and he wears a long robe of midnight-blue and a tapering hat with a rounded tip. Oh, and white whiskers and hair.”

“There is not much there for us to work with.” Ramon frowned. “Where has this sorcerer taken him?”

“To these very barbarians whom you say your son has gone to fight! I have followed, I have espied from on high, I have seen Marudin boil forth from his lamp to smite his old masters the Arabs!”

“Would he not enjoy such revenge?” Ramon asked.

“He would not! Through centuries of serving Muslims, he became convinced of the truth of Islam, and had himself come to the worship of Allah! No, I am sure that every muscle within him rebels at the notion of attacking the sultan’s troops, of fighting against the Faith—but the compulsion of the lamp-spell leaves him no choice.”

“Then his new master is not a Muslim,” Jimena inferred.

“He is a vile sorcerer who serves some corrupted pagan god!”

“Then Prince Marudin most surely acts against the dictates of his conscience.” Jimena’s eyes lost focus. “That would require a powerful spell indeed—but its hold would be tenuous.”

“How did this sorcerer discover Marudin’s lamp?” Ramon asked.

“How?” Lakshmi threw up her hands in exasperation. “How did he ensorcel my husband? How did he steal my—” Her voice choked off, her eyes widening. “How did he steal my babes?” she whispered.

Then the tears poured forth again, and she embraced Jimena. “Oh, forgive me, forgive my rash indictment of your son! Of course the sorcerer who stole my Marudin would also have stolen my babes! For what purpose I cannot guess—but surely the same villain stole all three, and I was very wrong to blame Matthew!”

“He would be the first to pardon you,” Jimena assured her, “and the first to attempt to find and rescue your children.” She looked up at her husband.

Ramon nodded.

“And if he would do it, so shall we!” Jimena said stoutly.

The tears stopped. Lakshmi stepped back, staring in amazement. “Could you truly? After I have raged at you and battered your castle, could you truly help me find my babes?”

“We can try,” Ramon told her.

Jimena nodded. “I must stay here as castell an, but Ramon shall search—and, I think, so will Saul. Be of good heart, my dear. If wit and wisdom can find them, we shall have them back.”

“And your prince with them,” Ramon affirmed.

Jimena looked up at him with an expression that said, Are you sure?

Ramon shrugged. “Why not attempt the impossible twice? Besides, if Matthew and Alisande fight the horde, we must weaken the barbarians in any way we can, and surely freeing Prince Marudin to fight as his heart dictates will weaken them most amazingly.”

“But how can you manage this?” Lakshmi protested.

“We must learn more before we can try,” Ramon told her. “Try to remember, Princess Lakshmi—try as hard as you can. When you came into the nursery and found your children gone, was there—”

Wind hissed and kicked up a dust-devil right there on the battlements, where there was no sand and little enough dust.

” ‘Ware!” Lakshmi pushed Ramon and Jimena back and stepped between them and the shoulder-high whirlwind. “It is no eddy of air, but a sprite come from the desert! Spirit, it is a princess of the Marid who commands! Show yourself, say why you have come—but if you seek to do harm, I shall dissolve you into the air from which you were born!”

The dust-devil coalesced instantly into a humanlike form, but one covered with rough hair and a hump like a camel’s. Its eyes were small and unwinking, glistening with the cover of a nictating membrane; its lower face pushed out into a muzzle with nostrils that opened and closed and long, thin lips that moved and wriggled like a camel’s preparing to spit.

Princess Lakshmi held up a palm and recited an Arabic verse in a tone that threatened doom. The mobile lips stilled, and the sprite swallowed.

Jimena wondered what the princess had threatened.

“Speak!” Lakshmi commanded. “How come you to know of this place, let alone appear on these battlements?”

“I am commanded hither.” The voice was like the hiss of windblown sand over rock, rasping, eroding.

“Who is he that has commanded you?”

“A magus with silver hair and beard, cloaked all in midnight-blue,” the dust-devil answered, and volunteered no more.

Lakshmi’s eyes narrowed, offended by his obstinacy. “Why has he bid you come?”

“To bear his word to that man and woman behind you.” The dust-devil pointed, and Jimena fought the urge to flinch. She glared at the slight creature with a face of stone.

But its words rasped against her granite. “That the queen and her wizard must withdraw from the defense of the city, or their children shall never again on earth be seen.”

Lakshmi’s face contorted with rage. She stepped forward, lifting a hand, and the dust-devil flinched away, eyes wide in shock. It spun about, pivoting faster and faster until its form blurred into a whirlwind again.

“Stay!” Lakshmi snapped.

The whirlwind hopped up into the air.

Lakshmi snapped her arm out straight, forefinger pointing at the dust-devil. It halted in midair, spinning and hissing but going nowhere.

“They are not here,” the princess told the spirit. “They are in the East, fighting the horde.”

“They must be in the city of which the spirit spoke,” Ramon said, “or its master would not have demanded they withdraw.”

“Even so!” Lakshmi said. “Go to that city, spirit, and give your message to the queen and her Lord Wizard. But beware the wizard’s magic, for he knows nothing of his children’s kidnapping and may be enraged.”

“Enraged forsooth!” the rasping voice said from the whirling form. “Can his magic harm a spirit?”

“It can and has! Speak, O Tool of the Wicked! Where are my own babes?”

“Yours?” The spirit sounded shocked.

“Even so! He who has taken the queen’s children has taken mine also! Where are they?”

“I know nothing of the babes of a Marid.” The dust-devil sounded thoroughly shaken. “I know not where the queen’s babes are hid! Spare me, Highness—I know naught!”

“Save what you were commanded to say,” Lakshmi said sourly. “Enough, then! Begone!”

She waved a hand, and the dust-devil leaped high, as though she had batted it away. Its hum rose in pitch to a shriek, and it winked out.

The battlements were silent for a minute or so. Then Ramon said, “Now we know what ransom is demanded.”

“And who has captured your grandchildren!” Lakshmi agreed. “Can you find them from that?”

· “I doubt it,” Ramon said, “the more so because we know who ordered the kidnapping done, but not who actually carried it out—and we certainly do not know the destination to which the kidnapper took the children.”

“It is so.” Lakshmi’s face puckered again. “Nor do we know where my own babes were taken …”

“Oh, do not weep, do not!” Jimena took Lakshmi in her arms again. “We know more than we did, and we shall learn what we need!” She held the taller woman close and turned to Ramon. “Speak with Saul! Find these robbers, and quickly!”

Ramon nodded and beckoned to the Witch Doctor. They went back into the tower, talking earnestly.

Lakshmi lifted her head, wiping her eyes. “Where do they go?”

“To their workroom,” Jimena told her. “Be of good heart, Princess—you have three very powerful wizards to aid you, and what the vision of the djinn cannot discover, the science of magicians shall.”

The Caliph was conducting his royal guest and new ally on a tour of the battlements of Damascus when a shout of joy rose from the western wall. “Muslims! An army of Muslims!”

“What army is this?” The Caliph turned to Alisande, inclining his head. “Your Majesty, shall we go to see?”

Alisande smiled at his eagerness. “At once, my lord. Set the pace.”

Without armor, clad only in flowing silken robes, she was easily able to match the Caliph’s stride. Matt hurried along behind, thinking that if his stint as a galley slave had done nothing else, it had gotten him back into shape.

As they rounded the southwest corner they saw the army. It darkened the plain in a huge wedge of horses and camels, the soldiers so numerous that it seemed they must surely equal the horde. At their head, beneath a canopy held by four riders and astride a snow-white mare, rode a slender young man in the bright robes of the Rif.

“It is Tafas!” Alisande exclaimed. “It is Tafas bin Daoud! The Moors have come to the relief of Damascus!”

“Thanks be unto Allah!” the Caliph intoned, then called, “Throw wide the gates, for these are allies!”

“Surely now we can drive the horde back to Baghdad, my lord,” Alisande said, “perhaps even recapture it!”

The Caliph nodded. “It may be, it may indeed be. With your knights to smash a gap in the barbarians’ line, and Tafas’ lightly armored riders to counter their horsemen and widen that breach, we may well resist their numbers and greed.”

Then the dust-devil boiled up from the stones of the parapet, where there was little or no dust at all.

The Arab soldiers fell back with oaths, making signs against evil. Alisande took a step backward, too, hand going to the sword that was never far from her side, and Matt called up an all-purpose verse for banishing evil spirits. What came to his lips, though, was:

The whirling sand abruptly ceased, grains falling to the stone in a fine hissing rain, and the sprite within jolted to a halt so abruptly that it staggered, barely managing to keep its feet. It recovered and turned slowly, regarding each of the humans with a gaze so malevolent that Alisande’s sword whisked out. The rasping voice demanded, “Who has dared to interfere with my motion?”

“I have!” Matt stepped forward, fists on hips. “Shall I call up a storm to drench and dissolve you, or chant a spell to suck you into a bottle and cork it?”

The spirit’s eyes widened; it shrank away. “You cannot!”

Matt began a singsong chant:

“I shall obey!” the dust-devil cried. “What would you have of me?”

The Caliph stared, then transferred that stare to Matt.

“Truth,” Matt replied. “Who sent you?”

“A magus all in midnight-blue, with silver hair and beard.”

“His name?” Matt demanded.

The dust-devil gave him a nasty grin, recovering some of its confidence. “What magus would give a name whereby to wreak ill upon him?”

“One who lies,” Matt retorted, “one who knows how to keep his true name secret. So he gave you no name at all, and you obeyed him without asking. What magic had he wrought to make you fear him so?”

The dust-devil turned wide-eyed and began to tremble. “Another dust-devil, like to me! He conjured it up, and made it cease to exist with a single gesture, only a couplet of song!”

Matt frowned. “You are of the elements of air and earth. To make one of you cease utterly, he must have wrapped it in a cloud of steam.”

The wide eyes stretched to take up half the spirk’s face. “How did you know!”

“I am a wizard as powerful as he,” Matt said, “and shall banish you as utterly unless you speak truth. Why did the magus send you here?”

“To—To bear a message,” the dust-devil stammered.

“Speak, then!”

The dust-devil cowered, but spoke in a trembling tone. “Your children are stolen away! You shall never see them again unless the queen turns her army about and withdraws from the defense of this city at once, and you with her!” Its voice rose to a wail. “Blame me not! It is not I who stole your babes! I only speak what I have been given to say!”

Matt’s eyes widened, and the stare he gave the dust-devil would have been enough to set a brave man trembling—but the fury that blazed forth from Alisande cast his in the shade. She didn’t speak a word, but stepped closer to the dust-devil, sword rising. Its cold iron might not have hurt an Arab spirit the way it would have burned a European, but the spirk cowered away from her rage and the wizard behind her, gibbering nonsense.

It was the Caliph who spoke, who made some sense of the message. “Who did kidnap the children?”

“I know not!” the dust-devil howled. “I know only that the blue magus commanded me to tell you of it! I know not where they are!”

“So,” the Caliph said heavily, “the high priest of Ahriman will stoop to any means to win his war, the more, evil the better.” He turned to Alisande. “We know who we fight. There is no profit in slaying this impudent creature—it bore nothing but the message.”

“There is no profit in keeping it with us, either,” Alisande said through stiff lips. “Husband, banish me this spirk!”

The dust-devil didn’t wait. With a moan that rose into a howl, it began to pirouette, spinning faster and faster until its form blurred into a funnel-cloud again. With a bound, it rose into the air, sailed out over the wall, and sank to the ground, humming and skittering toward the Moorish army.

Tafas’ chief wizard chanted a verse and pointed a wand at the dust-devil. A huge fat spark exploded at its rim. The funnel-cloud bounced high, shrieking, and went skipping and hopping away from the army, away from Damascus, and over the horizon.

The Caliph turned a somber face to Alisande and Matt, to find the queen pale, rigid, but composed, and her husband hunched and seething, his face dark with anger.

“How then, Majesty and Lord Wizard?” the Caliph asked. “How shall we deal with this news?”

“I cannot chance my children’s lives, my lord,” Alisande said through stiff lips, “I deeply regret, but I must leave your side, and all my army with me.”

“We will be safe in Damascus,” the Caliph assured her, “now that Emir Tafas has joined us.”

“But that doesn’t get us our children back,” Matt said, “and giving in to kidnappers only encourages them to try again.”

Alisande whirled to him, staring as though he had betrayed her. “You do not mean to stay!”

“Of course not,” Matt said. “On the other hand, the message didn’t say how fast you had to return to Merovence, and you don’t have to load everybody back aboard ship. You could just march your army around the Mediterranean.”

“And be nearby if the horde attacks Byzantium?” Alisande asked bitterly. “I would only receive another demand that I forgo the battle!”

“Yes, but if, in the meantime, I have managed to find the kids and rescue them, you’d still be close enough to turn back and join the attack on Damascus.”

Alisande stared at him for a long minute. Then, slowly, she began to smile, the light of battle kindling in her eyes.

“This is a grievous risk,” the Caliph said doubtfully. “Do you truly think you can save your babes?”

“If any man can, he can—and he is right that we dare not leave them hostages to a man so evil,” Alisande told him. “Belike Arjasp will slay them anyway, when he has done with his conquering.”

“Even so,” the Caliph said, “it is nevertheless quite dangerous. Do you not wish them to have every minute of life they can?”

“I certainly do,” Matt said, “and the only way they’re going to live to grow up is if I go find them and bring them out by my magic.”

“It will take great wizardry indeed,” Alisande said with a catch in her voice, “if the magus succeeded in stealing them from your mother and father, and the Witch Doctor, too!”

“Mighty magic, or a traitor in their midst,” Matt said darkly. “Never underestimate the power of human greed, or good old-fashioned violence.”

“Simple solutions are often the best,” the Caliph agreed.

“Nonetheless, whatever watchers Arjasp has sent, they will have to see Her Majesty’s army ride away,” Matt said, “and me with them. Of course, they probably won’t mind if I go off on my own.”

A sudden weight struck his shoulder, and purring buzzed in his ear.

In spite of himself, Matt looked up at the white cat with a smile. “Well, not entirely alone. What’s the matter, Balkis? Don’t like people mistreating kittens, even if they are human?”

Balkis answered with a very emphatic yowl.