The Crusading Wizard

CHAPTER 20

Matt found himself staring at a slender stick of ebony about fifteen inches long inlaid with gilded astrological symbols. The gold was chipped here and there, the wood looked dusty and brittle, but the stick itself fairly screamed at him to pay attention.

“Ah, I see the sir is interested in this ancient artifact.” The merchant lifted the stick and held it out on his palms. “Rare it is, a relic found in the ruins of Ninevah. So excellent a ware should be worth its weight in gold—but I shall sell it to the sir for a mere ounce of silver.”

With a thump, Balkis landed on the ledge, purring and staring in fascination at the stick.

“Wondered where you’d gotten to,” Matt muttered. “So it called to you, too, huh?”

“Begone, foolish feline!” The merchant waved a hand at the little white cat. “Be off with you to find a fish head!”

Balkis, ordinarily the most circumspect of cats, laid her ears back and hissed. The merchant’s face darkened, and the waving hand balled into a fist.

“Oh, she’s not all that much trouble.” Matt picked up the little cat, who stayed frozen in her crouch, and set her on his shoulder. “Easy enough to get her out of the way. An ounce of silver, you say? It doesn’t look all that fine to me. How about half an ounce?”

Claws dug into his shoulder. Matt winced and tried to ignore them. Didn’t the silly kitten understand that if he didn’t haggle, he’d look suspicious?

Yes. Of course she understood that. But something about this trinket made her abandon her usual caution.

The shopkeeper’s eyes lit with greed, but he said, “Only half? Sir, that could not be a fraction of its worth! Only think, the Emperor of Assyria might once have held this very scepter! Nine-tenths of an ounce, perhaps.”

Matt upped his offer to six-tenths. The vendor launched into loud lamentation of how such a price would impoverish him, taking bread from the mouths of his children and leaving his wife only her single threadbare veil for the marketing. Matt listened with interest—after all, his area of study was comparative literature, and the man’s fiction techniques fascinated him. Finally, though, he saw Lakshmi returning from the well, so he boosted his offer to three-quarters of an ounce.

The merchant pounced on it and shoved the stick into Matt’s hand before he could change his mind.

Matt froze, eyes widening as he felt the power of the ebony stick tingling through his hand and up his arm. The merchant studied his face, beginning to think that perhaps he had settled for too little, so Matt fumbled another Indian coin out of his purse and pressed it into the man’s hand. “Here you go. Keep the change.” He suspected there wouldn’t be any, but didn’t want to have to wait around to discuss the issue. He hurried back to Lakshmi with the stick in his hand.

“What is that?” she asked.

“An excuse to loiter without seeming suspicious,” Matt told her. “Learn anything?”

“Well, the women have at least paid close attention to their conquerors,” Lakshmi told him, “and to the sorcerers and priests of Ahriman most of all, since they seem to be able to hold the soldiers in check if they wish.”

“All Mongol tribesmen?” Matt asked.

“Nay. From what the women say, they seem to be a hodgepodge of tribal magicians of every nation between Persia and China. There are even some taller men who wear clothes like those carved on the walls of the ruins of the ancient cities in Persia, but who speak a language like the merchants who come from India.”

“Antique Persians?” Matt felt excitement kindle. “They would be Aryans from the hills, still speaking the ancient Aveston language! If what I’ve heard about Arjasp is true, he was one of them!”

“Interesting.” Lakshmi’s tone held a promise of slow death. “There was even an Arab among these field sorcerers—an old man with a huge ring.”

“A ring?” Matt pounced on it. “Who lives in it?”

“My thought exactly,” Lakshmi said, “and I asked for all they knew about the man, but there was not much—only that he stays inside the city, leaving the other sorcerers to go out with the army.”

“Sounds like the local high priest,” Matt said. “Where’s he live?”

“He dwells in the mosque, which the invaders have defiled and turned to their own purposes. It is in my mind that we confront the man and learn what he knows.”

“Yes, that could be very profitable,” Matt agreed. “Unfortunately, it could also be very dangerous.”

“Are you afraid?” Lakshmi demanded.

“Frankly, yes,” Matt said, “but that’s not going to stop me. In fact, I’d say there’s no time like the present. Which way to the mosque?”

Lakshmi caught his sleeve in alarm. “Now? In the middle of the day?”

“When better?” Matt countered. “By their religion, midday should be the time when Ahura Mazda is strongest, since the sun is pouring down light.”

“And Ahriman should be at his weakest.” Lakshmi frowned beneath her veil, nodding. “Then, too, most of the army are miles from the city, marching to strike again at Damascus.”

“Which means the guard on this old Arab will be weaker now than when the city is crammed with soldiers.” Matt nodded. “Feel like a little sightseeing, Princess? I should think the central mosque would be a wonder to behold.”

“Let us see it,” Lakshmi agreed. She set down her water jug and walked off toward the minaret. Matt hurried to follow.

The mosque really was a wonder, faced with alabaster, its arches graceful, the geometric patterns of its tiles breathtaking in their beauty, the guards muscular, scowling, and stationed every thirty feet. Matt made loud noises like a hick from the sticks, totally overawed.

“The wonders of the East are breathtaking for a Frank, are they not?” Lakshmi’s tone was condescending.

“Sure are,” Matt said, “and the more I ooh and ahh, the less of a threat they’ll think I am. Sound impressed, Princess.”

Lakshmi stared at him in surprise, then turned back to stare at the mosque. “How tall it is! How pale its stones! Why, never could there have been such a wonder back home in Besuki!”

The nearest guard heard her and struggled to hide a complacent smile. He seemed to relax just the slightest bit.

They walked on around the mosque, exclaiming with wonder and delight, lulling the sentries’ suspicions past amusement and into boredom. Suddenly, though, Lakshmi froze, eyes wide in surprise, then shadowed by fear.

Instantly, Matt lowered his tone. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“He knows I am here,” Lakshmi answered, her own voice hushed and strained. “He knows what I am—and he has set his ring to enslave me! I can feel its power, pulling at me, burdening me, seeking to compel me to obey!”

Matt thought quickly, then said, “Well, you don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?”

Lakshmi whirled, staring at him, appalled. “Do you wish to see me enslaved? More, do you wish to have to do battle with me when that old impostor has me in thrall?”

“Not at all,” Matt said. “After all, I only told you to answer his summons—I didn’t say what you should do once you get there.”

“And will you shield me from the power of his ring?” Lakshmi challenged, but the mere mention of the talisman was enough to give her eyes a faraway look.

“Of course,” Matt said, “if I need to. But instead of the ring capturing you, why don’t you go capture the ring?”

The faraway gaze turned thoughtful.

“Go get it,” Matt urged, “and don’t let anything stand in your way. If anybody tries to come between you and the ring, eliminate them!”

In a trance, Lakshmi turned and glided toward the entrance to the desecrated mosque.

Balkis gave a meow of protest.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be okay—if we do our jobs right.” Matt pried the cat off his shoulder and set her down behind a stone curb in the foundation, then laid the wand beside her. “If this works like other magic wands I’ve seen, it will use any spell you give it—but it’ll concentrate the effects into a small area, not much larger than two or three people. When I say ‘concentrate,’ I mean it’ll make it stronger, too—much stronger—and I suspect this little wand will add a kick of its own. Keep an eye on us and help if we need it.” He laid the veil beside the wand and added, as an afterthought, “You might need this, too. Call it a disguise.”

Balkis gave a plaintive mew.

“Hey, you wanted the wand, didn’t you?” Matt stood up. “Don’t take any chances. Wait until you have a clear shot, snap your spell out, and run! Got that?”

Balkis gave a confirming trill, but she looked doubtful.

“Hopefully you won’t have to,” Matt said, “but if it frightens you, just find a nice safe place and stay hidden.”

“And what shall I do if you do not come back?” Balkis demanded.

It gave Matt a start—she’d been speaking cat so long, he’d forgotten she was bilingual. “Same as you’ve been doing—make friends with the local spirits and keep going. I’m pretty sure we’ll be back, though.” He turned and hurried to catch up with Lakshmi.

He didn’t quite make it. As the djinna came through the portal, a huge hulking guard with a long beard and a hooked nose turned to glower at her. He wore a tall turban, a short open vest over a bare chest with bulging muscles, and loose billowing trousers pegged down to pointed slippers. The guard decided she didn’t have the look of an abject worshiper and stepped forward to bar her way.

It was a bad mistake. Lakshmi had already been under the influence of the ring when Matt told her to eliminate anyone who came between her and it, so she took his words literally. She gave the man a glare and he slumped, unconscious. Lakshmi stepped over his body and glided onward into the mosque.

Matt followed, stomach sinking at the ease with which the djinna had disposed of a merely human adversary.

Several of them. Other guards saw what had happened to their fellow and came running to avenge him, shouting with anger. Lakshmi glared at them, turning her head slowly, eyes burning with anger at the audacity of the mere mortals who dared to bar her from the ring that was calling, calling …

The guards jolted as rigid as though they had run into a wall, then slumped to the floor, limp. Matt snatched a scimitar from one and tried to keep up with Lakshmi. He took one quick glance behind and saw a woman coming through the door, veil wrapped about her from head to foot. She had drawn a fold of her white gown over her head so that it shaded her eyes, and the dark brown veil made an inverted V over the center of her face, disguising the youthful appearance of her eyes. Matt couldn’t see the wand, but he was sure it was under the veil in her hand.

A quick glance only; then Matt turned back to Lakshmi and discovered the djinna had gone farther than he’d thought. She glided zombielike toward the ring, and the old man who wore it.

Four guards stood by him, two before and two behind. He wore the tall bulging-then-tapering hat and robe of his priesthood, midnight-blue. His hair and beard were long and white, his eyebrows bushy and gray, his eyes a faded brown. He sat at the focal point of the mosque’s dome in a throne whose gilding glistened with newness, his elbow propped on one arm to hold up the huge emerald ring that decorated his palsied fist.

“Princess!” Matt shouted. “Close your eyes!”

“Begone, dog!” one guard snarled as he advanced toward Matt, scimitar swinging high. Another guard was only a step behind him.

Matt met the scimitar with his own. Steel rang against steel, and the other two guards came running, just as Matt had hoped. He backed and sidestepped, parrying madly, keeping the first guard between himself and the other three. That wouldn’t last long, but it wouldn’t need to—if his words had penetrated Lakshmi’s daze, and she had heard him and closed her eyes.

If she hadn’t, she’d be the old man’s next weapon, and the guards’ scimitars wouldn’t matter.

One thing at least was working: the guards were so intent on Matt that they didn’t see the small black-and-white cat trotting past them with the stick in her mouth.

Black and white?

The old man was grinning now, beckoning and crooning, “Look at my pretty jewel, Princess. Look upon it, look into it, deeply into it.”

Lakshmi drifted closer and closer, eyes growing wider and wider, pupils shrinking, fixed on the gem.

The guard swung; Matt leaped back, but another guard stepped in from the side, slashing. Matt ducked under the blade, but the knuckle guard struck his head, and he reeled backward, the room swimming about him. He fought to hold his scimitar up, hoping desperately.

Then the old man screamed. Matt’s vision cleared enough to show the guard pivoting away from him in alarm.

A young woman stood beside the priest, wearing a black veil and white under-robe, chanting in Allustrian. She held a wand near the old man’s elbow, and he howled in pain, arm limp, grasping the injured funny bone with his other hand.

The other three guards had whirled to see what was the matter, too. The fourth remembered the strange man barely in time; he snarled and turned back, cutting wildly at Matt, who parried, then swung high. The guard’s scimitar leaped up to parry, and Matt pivoted in to slam a fist into his belly. The man folded, eyes bulging, but still managing to keep his sword up. Matt beat it down, kicked his feet out from under him, and gave him a punch with his hilt for good luck.

Balkis yanked the ring off the priest’s finger and cried, “Look, O Princess! See what I have found!”

Lakshmi looked, and was instantly spellbound.

The old man shouted a curse and reached for the ring, but his arm merely flopped, the nerves stunned. He pushed himself up from the throne to reach with his left hand, but Balkis stepped away, ring still held high, and as the priest tried to push himself out of his seat with both hands, his right hand gave way. He fell back into his throne, cursing.

The guards ran to help him.

Balkis chanted a spell, shouting the last line as a command. Lakshmi’s head snapped back, her eyes clearing. Then Balkis called out,

Matt stepped forward, crying out in protest, but Lakshmi had no such scruples. She raised a hand, the three guards leaped between her and their master, and flame leaped from Lakshmi’s fingers. The guards turned to cinders so quickly that they didn’t even have time to cry out. Then the djinna advanced on the priest of Ahriman, eyes narrowed to slits, hands gesturing.

The old man shrank back in his throne and pointed at her, howling a verse in Arabic. It might have made for interesting study, but Matt didn’t really pay attention—he leaped forward, scooped Balkis up in his arms and ran for the door.