The Crusading Wizard

CHAPTER 4

“I know that name,” said the general who stood nearby.

“Yes, I know it well,” the Caliph said through stiffened lips. “There is a small district within my empire whose people still speak of Ahriman—but he is not the god they worship, he is the demon they abhor.”

The barbarians stared. “It is no mere invention of this high priest, then?”

“Ahriman is the name they have given him of late,” Suleiman replied. “The old name of this king of demons was Angra Mainyu, and he is the enemy of their true god, Ahura Mazda, the god of light. In times long past, his priests were called ‘magi.’ “

“ Why, even so,” said one barbarian, with a shudder. “Arjasp calls himself a ‘magus.’ “

“They are the oldest of the wizards,” said the general, “and claim that all magic comes from them, for they have given their name to it.”

” ‘Magic’ comes from ‘magi’?” asked one barbarian, wide-eyed. “Then may the heavens defend us, for we are lost!”

“Not so,” snapped an Arab wizard, “for we have learned a great deal since these magi invented their form of magic—and believe me, theirs is only one of many! We know something of theirs, and of others far older!”

The barbarians seemed to be a little reassured by the claim.

“What does this Khan Olgor with those he conquers?” the Caliph asked.

“Say ‘emperor,’ rather,” said one of the Arab spies, “for he styles himself ‘gur-khan,’ which means Great Khan, or Khan of Khans.”

“The audacity of him!” Suleiman fumed, but he could not deny the validity of the claim, for a man who had brought many nations and their kings beneath his sway was indeed an emperor.

But not the only emperor—nor would he ever be, Suleiman swore to himself. “What happens to the peoples of the nations he conquers?”

“Those who join him of their own free will and seek places in his army are honored,” said one barbarian, “and their wives and children dress in brocades, live in tents of silk, and eat meat every night. Those whom he commands to surrender, and who do so without battle, are left to live much as they did before, governing themselves, though their kings must obey the commands of the Great Khan. Their merchants, however, grow rich from trade with all other tribes and nations who have joined the empire.”

“How long has it been growing?” the Caliph demanded.

“Nearly twenty years,” a barbarian answered.

“What of the tribes who fight against the Great Khan’s conquest?” the Caliph asked.

“He butchers all their men,” a barbarian answered, grim-faced, “and builds a pyramid of their skulls to mark where a town was so foolish as to resist him. He makes eunuchs of those males who are still boys, then sells women and children all into slavery. Where there was a city before, there remains only a deserted ruin—deserted until he gives it to one of his wild tribes for their dwelling.”

Even Suleiman had to suppress a shudder. “How much territory has he taken, this Great Khan?”

“His hordes have swept all through the center of the world, O Caliph,” a barbarian said.

Suleiman turned to his Arab agents, frowning. “What does he mean?”

“It is their term for Central Asia, O Caliph,” answered one. “Your empire and Europe sit on the western edge of the world and China on the eastern, with the land of the Hindus on the southern.”

“What lies on the northern?”

“Ice, and people whose hides grow thick fur over everything except their faces.”

In the heat of Persia, that almost sounded attractive. The Caliph nodded and turned back to the barbarian. “How many nations has Olgor taken?”

“We Polovtsi, the Kirghiz, the Kazakhs, the Tartars …”

“The Afghans, the Pathans, the Mongols … “ said another.

“The Uzbeks, the Huns, the Turks …”

Suleiman listened, dazed, as the names of Central Asian nations rolled before him.

“He has even conquered Fu-shien, a Chinese province that spreads beyond the Tien Shan Mountains,” a last barbarian added. “All have fallen before him or joined him with eagerness, beguiled by the promise of loot and empire.”

The Caliph drew breath. “Is there any part of Central Asia he has not conquered?”

One by one the spies shook their heads. Suleiman turned to his wizard, anger gathering. “Have you learned nothing with alI your scrying that these men have not told me?”

“All is as they say.” The oldest and most powerful of his wizards stepped forward. “We can only add that there are pockets of people here and there who have fled the cities that fell to Olgor and taken refuge in mountains, desert oases, and islands in the middle of vast lakes, who hold out against the Great Khan and stay free—but it seems they survive only because he does not think them worth his time when he has a world to conquer.”

“We can say a bit more about the arguments with which Arjasp cozened Olgor,” a middle-aged wizard added. “He told him tales of Iskander’s empire, how that ancient Macedonian brought all the world under his sway, from Greece to the Indus River, in one short lifetime, not even a score of years. But he does not inspire his troops with Greek art and reason—he fires them with orgies and demon-worship.”

The barbarians shuddered, and one pleaded, “Speak not against Angra Mainyu, or he will cast us into eternal night!”

“I shall speak against the demon king and condemn him indeed,” the wizard told them, his face dark with anger, “for he cannot stand against the power of Allah, the One and Only God!”

The barbarians shrank from his words, moaning and making signs against evil.

“So Olgor’s goal is nothing less than the conquest of the whole world,” Suleiman said, brooding, “though how a priest of the magi can preach the worship of Ahriman, I cannot understand. Still, it is not his ultimate purpose that must concern us here—it is his immediate target.” He turned to a messenger. “Send word to Baghdad for all to leave the city and hide in the hills. We shall fall back and make a stand there; it may be that the city’s walls will give us victory over these masses of uncouth horsemen.”

The messenger bowed and turned away.

Suleiman turned back to the spies. “Will he be content with Baghdad, or must he come farther?”

“He will go to the edge of the world,” said one.

Another said, “He means to conquer yourself and all your empire, of course, O Caliph—but he wishes most earnestly to conquer all of the Holy Lands, especially Jerusalem and Mecca, to desecrate them in order to gain power for his demonic lord. He thinks that with the holy places, he will take also the wills to resist of both Muslims and Christians.”

A gasp of alarm echoed from every Arab, shocked at the audacity and impiety of such a thought.

“He may be right,” said the oldest wizard grimly. “The common folk might well think that if God could not save the cities consecrated to Him, He could not also save His people.”

“Such blasphemy,” Suleiman said angrily, “and such falsehood! Allah is the only true God, though I will concede other nations may have other names for Him! None can triumph over Him, and we shall prove that upon Olgor’s body!”

The barbarians trembled, and one screwed up his courage to say, “Know, O Sun of Wisdom, that these are not anti-Christian devil-worshipers, but anti-Muslim demonists. It is not the Christ whom they profane, but Allah.”

“They will blaspheme the Christ soon enough,” a wizard said darkly.

“I do not doubt it,” Suleiman agreed. “Therefore must we make common cause with the Christians to stand against this corrupted khan.”

The Arabs stared at him, shocked by the notion of such an alliance.

“How many of them are there?” Suleiman demanded of the spies.

The barbarians spread their hands, lost for words, and an Arab spy asked, “How many stalks of grass stand upon the steppes of Central Asia, my lord? His hordes are numbered by thousands, his subjects by hundreds of thousands. His warriors darken the plain to the horizon and beyond, and there are at least two camp-followers for each warrior, often more. They devastate the land like a plague of locusts.”

Suleiman’s face turned thunderous, but he only said, “Send word to King Richard in Bretanglia, to King Rinaldo in Ibile, to Queen Alisande in Merovence, to King Boncorro in Latruria, and to all the lesser monarchs of Europe. Send likewise to Tafas bin Daoud in Granada and all others of the governors of my empire, that they may know of this impious invader and send armies to crush him!”

“My lord,” said his chief wizard, “it shall be done.”

“Spoils ‘em, I tell you!” one mule-driver claimed. “Spoils ‘em rotten, both his wife and his children! Why, I hear tell he never even beats her!”

Balkis pricked up her cat-ears, very interested.

“Be sure he doesn’t, Johann,” another driver answered with a grin. “Would you beat your queen and sovereign?”

“Not if he wanted to keep living,” a third said.

Johann frowned and avoided the question. “A man’s supposed to beat his wife a little, Fritz! What kind of life can it be for a man, having his woman boss him around?”

“Come to think of it,” Fritz said thoughtfully, “I’ve never heard of her bossing him around, either. He is a wizard, after all.”

“There was that one time before they were married,” the third driver offered. “The way I heard it, he swore some sort of foolish oath about taking the throne of Ibile from its sorcerer-ruler so’s he’d be worthy to marry her, and the queen locked him up to keep him from going.”

Balkis felt a tremor pass through her deep inside. This Lord Wizard sounded a most romantic fellow!

“Didn’t work, Heinrich,” Johann reminded him. “He magicked his way out and went questing anyway.”

“Yah, but he didn’t take the throne,” Heinrich pointed out.

“No, he gave it back to King Rinaldo. Then he married Queen Alisande.”

“Guess he’d proved her kingdom needed him,” Heinrich said with a grin.

Balkis melted inside.

“But how about his little ones?” Johann demanded. “Kids’re supposed to be spanked!”

“Not royal ones,” Heinrich countered. “Why, I even hear some of ‘em has servants to take their beatings for ‘em!”

“Not Queen Alisande’s,” Johann said with disgust. “I hear that if Prince Kaprin is naughty, she doesn’t let him practice sword drill that day—and if he’s really bad, she won’t let him go riding, either!”

“That’s a punishment?” Fritz snorted.

“It is for a prince,” Heinrich opined. “The royal ones take to swords and horses like most kids take to sweetmeats.”

Johann sighed. “Well, I guess the Lord Wizard can always find a quick fumble with a serving maid. Who’d tell him no?”

“He would, from what I hear,” Fritz said with disgust. “Matter of fact, he laid down the law with all the manservants and the soldiers even before his wife did!”

Heinrich stared. “You mean he won’t even let the men sweet-talk the women into the hayloft?”

“He’s put men out of jobs when he found out they wouldn’t let the maids alone,” Fritz averred.

“Now, that’s going too far,” Johann said with disgust. “Morals be all well and good, but not so many of ‘em! A man’s got a right to try, don’t he?”

“Not if the woman don’t want it,” Heinrich told him, “ ‘leastways, according to the Lord Wizard.”

Balkis decided that Idris had been right—the royal family was the one for her. It sounded as though the Lord Wizard might even be himself that ultimate rarity, a man whom a woman could trust—like her foster father. Besides, as her teacher had said, why not learn magic from the best?

The caravan swayed through the gates into Bordestang, and Balkis had no trouble deserting—the drivers went into the first inn, leaving only one to watch the mule-train. She slipped away, dodging between hooves, and set her course for the castle, high above the town on its hill. She took a few false twists and turns, and had a few bad moments when one of the town mongrels decided she would make a good lunch—but she was able to go straight up the corner of a half-timbered building, leaving the nasty beast barking below in frustration. She had no trouble leaping from roof to roof—they leaned so closely together, scarcely a yard between—but as she went uphill into the richer part of town, the houses grew larger and drew apart. Finally she had to descend to the streets again, and had a difficult time in an alley where a large tom refused to believe she wasn’t in heat. She glanced around, made sure no one was watching, and changed back into a woman. The tom yowled in fright and scurried over the nearest fence without touching the wood.

Balkis turned back into a cat and stayed on the main road. There were no more dogs in the streets—they all seemed to be chained inside the yards of the great houses—so as dusk turned into night, she came unscathed to the broad park that fronted the castle’s lower wall. She felt terribly exposed crossing it, even in darkness, but she came to the wall without incident. She followed it until she came to a wooden gate, climbed it when the sentry was looking the other way, and cat-footed her way along the top of the wall until she came to a cherry tree espaliered against the stones. She climbed down it and sprinted across the garden it contained—and nearly fell into the moat.

She managed to claw her way to a stop, heart thudding, and looked about her in the moonlight, wondering if she might fare better as a girl now. But no one seemed to be about, except for the occasional sentry strolling his rounds, so she followed the moat, reasoning that there had to be a bridge somewhere.

There was, and it was down. All she had to do was wait until the sentries were looking the other way again, then sprint across the wood and into the shadows of the gatehouse. As she was catching her breath, she saw a small portal at the end of the passage open. Half a dozen guards came out to relieve the sentries. Quick as thought, she darted through the portal; it closed half an inch behind the tip of her tail.

She crouched in the shadows by the wall. The light of a torch high above showed her a spiral staircase. She sniffed, drinking in the smells of people washed too seldom, and of rats and mice sneaking about their nighttime business. She resisted the urge to go hunting and fairly flowed up the stone steps.

On the second floor she caught a whiff of a distant but familiar aroma, or a mixture of them, more accurately—cow’s milk, soiled diapers, and sweet soap: the scent of a human baby. Nose twitching, she followed the aroma down halls and around comers until she came to a closed door. The baby-smell coming between the wood and the stone was quite strong, but there was also the scent of a grown woman—a nurse, no doubt. She padded along, identifying the aromas that went with a little boy—twigs and string, and the definite scent of a frog hidden somewhere—then past to a door that smelled of perfume. The one beyond reeked of leather and some sort of herb that evoked a memory from infancy, too evanescent to pin down, and Balkis knew better than to waste time trying, the more so because she saw an open door ahead of her at the end of the hallway.

She darted through it and found it a glare of moonlight. Instantly, her cat-eyes contracted until the light was comfortable, and she looked about her with interest, at a Persian carpet on the floor, oaken table and chairs, and clerestory windows filling a whole wall. She had never seen such a chamber, but had heard of them—it was a solar, a room that would be filled with the morning sun in a few hours, a place where people of the nobility passed their time when they were neither abed nor at work out of doors. The traces of perfume, baby-smell, boy-smell, leather, and that strange herb, told her, as clearly as though she could see them before her, that this was where the queen, the prince and princess, and the Lord Wizard gathered away from the public eye, to relax and be a family for a few hours each day.

What better place for a feline ambush? Balkis looked about her—and froze, astonished at the sight of a set of shelves eight feet wide that stretched to the ceiling, filled with books, real books! She had never seen so many in a single place, never more than a few together, and that only in the parsonage of the forest chapel. Whether they were about magic or not, she felt a sharp desire to read every one.

She would find a way to stay with this family, one way or another.

There were also tapestries hung as high as the bookcase, lower fringes brushing the floor. Balkis crept behind one to hide—and suddenly realized how tired she was. She kneaded the stone floor with her claws as she turned about and about, despaired of the flags growing any softer, and curled up in a ball to wait until daylight, and her chance to enchant the enchanter—or, at least, his wife and children.

Ramon Mantrell gazed fondly at his wife—fondly, and with something more than admiration, enough to make her lower her eyes demurely. “Ramon! Thirty years married, and still you stare?”

“I was only thinking how splendidly Renaissance gowns become you, my dear.”

“And show a bit more bosom than is decent?” Jimena challenged him.

“Never too much,” her husband assured her, “and our daughter-in-law’s solar sets off your brocade perfectly. How many confirmed wives still glow in sunlight?”

Flooded by the sun, the whole room seemed vibrant and alive, as though it resonated with the vitality of the family that passed most of its free hours within it. The books seemed to radiate the spell of great stories, the tapestries almost to come to life, and even the granite blocks to warm with the morning’s light. The wood of the table, chairs, and chest seemed to live in some fashion, and to delight in their part in the living gestalt that was the family.

“And I must say that doublet and hose become you.” Jimena reached out a hand to caress his. “Enough to make me think most ungrandmotherly thoughts. Have you not heard of a grandfather’s only regret?”

“What, that he is married to a grandmother?” Ramon’s grin widened. “There can never be regret, if the grandmother is you.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and voices in earnest discussion, with smaller voices raised in salute to the dawn behind them.

“Hush, now.” Jimena patted his hand. “Here come the children. Behave.”

Their son Matthew and his wife, Queen Alisande, swept into the solar, followed by two nursemaids, a small boy and smaller girl, and a butler and two footmen. The queen was saying, “Yes, it is far away, but the presence of so many barbarians coming closer and closer to Europe concerns me.”

“And if it concerns you, it concerns Merovence.” Matt nodded. “But they’re still far away, dear, and we can take half an hour away from them to enjoy breakfast with our family.”

“Oh, of course!” Alisande said with chagrin, and turned to her parents-in-law contritely. “Good morning, lord and lady.”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Ramon gave a little bow, sure that she would be calling him “Father” in a few minutes.

Jimena didn’t seem disturbed by Alisande’s early morning formalities, either. She clasped her daughter-in-law’s hand and said, “I am so glad you have accepted our custom of the family’s dining together, my dear.”

“It is wise council, my lady mother,” Alisande said, “and I thank you for it.”

They took their seats in hourglass chairs, and two small ones with very long legs, around an octagonal table set for breakfast. Sunlight filled them all with the morning’s glow.

“Some of your fellow monarchs may sneer at our living like peasants in such a manner,” Ramon cautioned her.

“True,” Alisande agreed, “but it will endear us to the common folk, and what are we without their support?”

“A good point,” said Papa, thinking of the last czar.

“Besides,” Alisande said, “when we have so little time to be a family, we must make the most of each minute … Kaprin, your spoon!”

“Yes, Mama,” the little boy grumbled, picking up his spoon and abandoning his dream of fistfuls of porridge. He dug the spoon in and eyed his sister as though estimating the range.

“It’s for putting the food in your mouth,” Matt said quickly, and Kaprin cast his father a guilty look, then brought the spoon to his lips, all injured innocence.

A nurse guided Princess Alice’s hand as she plied her own spoon. The child swallowed, dropped the implement, and picked up her two-handed mug for a swallow of milk.

“She develops well,” Grandma said with pride.

“Yes, and I see that it is good for her,” Alisande said. “She manages well enough with her toy sword, but you were right, Lady Mother—this does require more control.”

“Call me ‘Grandmother,’ dear,” Jimena reproved gently.

“But the children will think that is your name!”

“They will learn to say ‘Jimena’ soon enough, and ‘Grandmother’ is a title of which I am far more proud than the peerage you have granted me.”

“Very well—” Alisande relaxed enough to beam fondly at her mother-in-law. “—Grandmother.”

They finished breakfast, and the butler poured tea, his face screwed into lines of disapproval at the foreign beverage. He couldn’t deny, however, that it c.ost so much as to be worthy of a queen. The nursemaids released Kaprin and Alice from the bondage of their feeding chairs, and the prince ran to the blocks set aside for him under a side table to begin building his first castle of the day. Alice toddled over to join him, but Grandma, sensing an imminent territorial dispute, sidetracked her by picking up a doll and making it dance on her lap. In a squeaky voice, she called out, “A-A-A-A-lice!”

The little girl stopped, turned, looked, and padded over toward her grandmother with a laugh of delight. Unfortunately, her fat little legs became tangled and she sat down rather abruptly. Her face twisted, mouth opening in a wail.

“Oh, dear!” Jimena laid aside the doll and reached down.

Before she could touch the child, though, a tapestry moved and bulged near the floor.

Alisande instantly tensed, hand going to the dagger at her side. “Husband!”

But Jimena beat her son to the song.

But the tapestry lifted, and a small calico cat with outsized ears crept out.

Matt stared. “Where did that come from?”

The baby took one look at the furry stranger and broke off crying, staring in wonder.

The nursemaids gasped and started for the intruder.

Jimena waved them back. “Well, we can be sure it intends no ill, at least. In fact, its entrance is quite welcome.”

“But how did it get here?”

“With a kitchen maid, like as not,” Alisande said, “and crept out of the scullery looking for mice in the night.” She shrugged. “My castle is proof against wolf and lion, army and knight, husband—but not against so small a thing as a mouse, nor she who hunts it.”

The cat stepped toward little Alice, ears forward and alert. The baby gurgled and reached with a hand that hadn’t yet learned to control its strength. The cat shied away, then batted at the little fist with a paw. Alice laughed and pushed up to hands and knees to pursue.

Across the room Kaprin looked up, then came toward the cat, eyes kindling with interest.

“She is only a kitten!” Grandpa cried.

“No, I think full grown,” Jimena said. “I have seen a cat like that before—an Abyssinian, it was, small and with large ears. This one looks somewhat different, not quite of so southern a breed, but has that same air of maturity. She is young, yes, but I am sure the toms think she is full grown.”

The cat neatly evaded a clutch by Kaprin and scooted underneath Alice. The little girl cooed with delight and sat back on her heels, exposing the cat. Kaprin reached down …

Grandma’s hand arrested him. “Gently, Kaprin, gently! They are delicate, you know, and wary. You must earn her trust.”

“Yeah, you have to make friends with them,” Matt seconded. “Cats choose you, not the other way around. Hold out your hand and let her sniff it. Then if she decides to take a chance on you, pet her very, very gently.”

Kaprin reached out a hand. Alice squalled objection—it was her cat, after all—and reached for a tail. But the cat turned back in one lithe movement, tail slipping from between fat little fingers even as they closed, and sniffed at the little hand, then touched it with a cold nose. The baby cooed with delight.

“Sniff me!” Kaprin demanded.

Nothing loath, the cat turned and sniffed at his palm, then gave it a lick. Kaprin chortled with joy, and the little beast turned back to flow under Alice’s reaching hand, forcing an involuntary petting. Alice gurgled with pleasure.

“That,” Matt said, “is one smart cat.”

“She does seem experienced with babes,” Alisande agreed.

Matt grinned at her. “Well, the decision about what kind of pet the family needs seems to have been made for us, dear. Now all you have to do is decide whether you want one or not.”

The cat arched its back as it stepped past Alice, brushing its fur under her chin. Alice crowed and Kaprin turned thunderous with jealousy.

“A bit of string,” Jimena said to a nursemaid.

The woman looked startled, then pulled some yarn from a capacious pocket and broke off a length.

Jimena handed it to Kaprin and said, “Let its end touch the floor and shake it.”

With total faith in Grandma, the little boy did just that. The cat went stiff as a pointer, staring, then crouched down, tail-tip twitching.

“Try to keep it from her,” Grandma told him.

The cat pounced, but Kaprin managed to twist the bit of string out of the way at the last second. The cat followed, batting at the yam, and both children cried out with excitement.

“Is there a decision to be made?” Grandma asked.

“Yes, and the children have made it,” Alisande said with a sigh. “They would be devastated if we took the beast from them now. Only make sure it comes from no evil sorcerer, husband, and carries no pestilence.”

“Just a few spells,” Matt acknowledged. “No problem. We can’t just call it ‘cat’ though—at least, not if it’s going to be a member of the family.”

“If it is Abyssinian,” said Grandpa, ”we should call it Sheba, the biblical name for that land. After all, should not the royal cat be royal herself?”

“Call her after Sheba’s queen, you mean?” Grandma nodded. “A good thought—but let us use her name, not her land.”

“I didn’t know it was ever recorded,” Matt said, frowning.

“Do you not remember your Kipling?” Grandma chided. “ ‘The Butterfly Who Stamped’ ?” “Of course!” Grandpa cried, with a smile of delight. “Balkis, the Best Beloved!” The cat’s head snapped around, staring at them in amazement.