The Oathbound Wizard

CHAPTER 24 The Maid from the Sea

The old don came back into the room, nodding happily and murmuring to himself. "Oh, very pretty, yes, my little one, very pretty! Yet 'tis so pleasant to have guests, yes, and ones who wish to challenge the king! Ah, I am so concerned for them, little one, yes. Who knows what will become of them, when they approach..." He came within the range of firelight and broke off, seeing his guests. "Ah, my friends! Have you rested, then? Shall we converse?" Then he frowned, peering at them. "Yet something has discomfited you, has it not? Come, tell me! In mine own house! Nay, it cannot be! Only tell me what 'twas, and I will chastise it sorely, nay, even send it away, an I must! Was't a well-wist? Nay, tell me! I know they are slow to forgive, and you did pain them, though 'twas understandable, yes, quite understandable. Nay, tell me, and I'll remonstrate with them!"

"No, it wasn't the well-wists." Matt finally managed to get a word in edgewise. He could understand it—if he'd been alone with no one to talk to for twenty years, he'd probably run off at the mouth, too, when he had the chance. "Nothing you could have done anything about, milord—and nothing that concerns you, really. Our fault—no, mine, I suppose."

"Not concern me? How could it not concern me, when 'tis in mine own house? Nay, tell me, for..." He broke off, his eyes widening; then he began to tremble.

Matt spun about, staring off into the shadows where the old don was looking.

It was gathering substance, still a dim, gauzy cloud, but wavering and fluxing—and its outlines clarified as it pulsed and brightened.

" 'Tis a ghost!" the old don shrieked. He staggered to the wall, pulled down a broadsword, and held it up as an improvised cross. "Shield me, my Lord, from vile and vicious specters who walk by night!"

The ghost's face, newly formed, quirked into a look of horror, thinning as it stared.

"No, my lord!" Matt was up and leaping in between the sword and the ghost. "He's not vile and vicious—he's a friend! And he doesn't walk by night—well, that, too, but he walks by day when he needs to. He just doesn't look his best."

"He will come by daylight?" The old don peered at the misty face across from him, craning to see around Matt's shoulder. "Then he cannot be completely a thing of evil."

"Hardly evil at all. He's been a big help—and he knows what we intend to do."

"Then if he seeks to help you, he must needs be on the side of Good." The old don nodded, his chin firming. "He is welcome, then—though I will confess 'tis the first time I've been host to a ghost. Yet though I may welcome him, he must make his own peace with the other nightwalkers; for there be other ghosts within this castle."

"What respectable castle would be without them? If you wouldn't mind, though, I think I'd better find out why he's here." Matt turned to the ghost. "Good to see you again, friend."

A smile appeared on the ghost's face, tentative at first, then a little more definite.

"You are our friend, I know now," Yverne put in. "Forgive my fright when first I saw you."

The ghost shook its head with a look of distress that as much as said the fault was all his. He pointed at his mouth, opening and closing it silently.

"Ah. You could not tell me, because you cannot speak." Yverne smiled, somehow at her most charming. "Then let me guess. Have you come to warn us of new enemies come against us?"

The ghost shook its head with a wisp of a smile.

"Probably just trying to find us. Our force got split up in a bad fog sent by a sorcerer-duke, and..."

"A sorcerer and a duke!" De la Luce shook his head "How sadly sunk is Ibile, when even men of rank sink to evil magics!"

"'Fraid so. And I expect our friend, here, has been trying to round up the forces ever since...Say!" Matt looked up with sudden hope. "I, uh, hate to point this out, milord, but your castle would make an ideal staging ground for an attack on the king, and—"

"You wish to have your army rally here?" De la Luce answered with a wisp of a smile. "Well, wherefore not, after all? I am secure against attack, and even should the sorcerer batter down my walls—well, I have lived a long life, and will yield it gladly in the service of God and goodness."

"I hope it won't come to that..."

"It will not, if you act quickly. Yet be warned, young man—though you may gather your men here, how will you send them to the king's castle?"

"A point," Matt admitted. "I'll think of something. The early rounds will be magic against magic, after all, and that might be my opening salvo." But he doubted it—he shied at the notion of trusting men's lives to one of his spells. "Well, then, since you don't mind, let's see if I can get the idea across to our ectoplasmic messenger." He turned to the ghost.

"Can he understand you?" Fadecourt asked.

"Who cares? Whether he's reading thoughts or hearing us, he's getting the message." But Matt wished he hadn't mentioned mind reading—now he was wondering just which thoughts of his the ghost was tuning in to. He watched the misty face closely, but its look of intent attention didn't waver. Either it had very good self-control, which didn't seem to go with its genial disposition, or it couldn't hear thoughts—at least, not private ones. "Friend," Matt went on, "we need to get all our people back together. Think you can find them?"

The ghost broke into a smile, nodding vigorously.

"Great! Can you tell them where we are?"

The smile faltered; the ghost frowned. Then it shrugged and made shooing motions with its hands.

Matt nodded, satisfied. "You'll lead them or shoo them, but you'll get them here. Great. Especially since that means they'll be coming by night, when it's easier to get past Gor—the king's sentries."

The ghost frowned and shook its head.

"Oh. Not the supernatural ones?"

The ghost nodded.

"Well, Friar Tuck can shepherd Robin and his band past them—but it would be better if you could get them aboard boats, far enough away so the king isn't too much aware of it, and get them to row over here. Too tall an order?"

The ghost frowned in thought, then shook its head.

"Not too tall an order? You can get them to boat over here?" The ghost nodded.

"Great! Bring them in...uh...Milord?" Matt turned to de la Luce.

" 'Tis well planned," the old don assented. "The most secret point of embarkation is through a small ravine that runs far behind the king's castle, well out of sight of the sentries. Board them at the pier, where the fisher folk will turn their backs at the loan of their boats." His eyes twinkled. "Wherefore should they not? For it seems to me that you may find a score of boats there that belong to no one. Then have them row with feathered oars, and bring your friends in the sea gate, certes, where the tide comes in to turn my wheels. If 'twill do for my sea-maid, 'twill do for your friends."

"Well, they have to come in above the water—but there should be room, at low tide." Matt was beginning to get an eerie feeling about the way the old don talked so confidently of unlikely events—but he definitely wasn't about to ask where that score of boats was supposed to come from. He just hoped the ghost wouldn't count on their really being there. "Okay, ghost?"

The ghost nodded, grinned, and winked out. Matt exhaled sharply and turned to his friends. "End transmission. Now, Milord de la Luce—if we may impose on you a little further?"

"It is no imposition, but my pleasure." De la Luce frowned. "How may I aid?"

"We're going to need whate'er kind of supernatural aid we can get. Could you call up a few of your well-wist friends?"

"To ask them to aid?" The old don stared, then slowly smiled. "Aye, they might indeed ward you as they have me—if you can win them. Nay, surely I will call up such of them as may come." He raised his voice. "By mist and flight and gist and light! Come, friends of mine, and hear!"

Mist seemed to fill the center of the great hall, swirling and coalescing even as it appeared—and three well-wists stood before Matt, humming angrily.

"Yes, I know I offended you." Matt swallowed to fill the sudden emptiness in his belly. "But look at it from my side—we thought you were attacking us!"

The smallest well-wist quivered, and a deep rasping tone scored the air.

"Yes, I know, I know! We had no business being there. You had every right to think we were intruders—especially since we were intruders. We had just escaped from the dungeon of the Duke of Bruitfort, and we were looking for a safe place to hide. We thought this castle was deserted, because it was so close to the king's and didn't show any signs of having an army living in it."

Another tone rattled at him; the well-wist glared.

"You are an army, I know. But you don't leave any of the obvious signs of habitation—troops drilling in the bailey, horses stabled against the curtain wall, haystacks on one side and manure pile on the other. We didn't think we were invading." Matt took a deep breath. "So. I'm sorry. We didn't mean to hurt you."

The well-wists glowered at him, but their chord sounded more like a grumble than an explosion. Then the smallest stepped forward, still scowling, and opened its mouth. A rising tone skewed upward.

"Yes, well, I am going to ask a favor of you," Matt admitted.

"How can you tell what they say?" Fadecourt asked, in the hushed tones of wonder.

"Just good guessing." But privately, Matt wasn't so sure. He reminded himself that he was intrepid and wise, and pressed on. "It isn't anything out of the ordinary, actually—not for you, I mean. After all, you're guarding the castle anyway, aren't you?"

Cautious bleeps answered him.

"Right. Well, I'm just asking you to guard it a little farther away. I mean, if the king is locked up inside his castle, he can't get over here to attack your friend the don, can he?"

The well-wists stared, astounded, and their tones soared in delight.

This was much better. Matt hadn't really thought they'd become enthusiastic about the idea.

Then the smallest frowned and blatted a denial.

"Sure, I know he's powerful," Matt argued. "But I'm not talking about a frontal assault, alone—I'm just asking you to pitch in when the rest of our forces attack. If you can just flit around and confuse things, even, you'll be giving us a tremendous boost."

The well-wists exchanged glances, conducting a quick, private conversation that sounded like a symphony played at tripled speed. Then the smallest turned to the don, sounding an interrogatory tone.

"Yes, I wish this, too, my friends," the old don said. "But mind you, there is danger. The sorcerer-king has fell and puissant sorceries, and might hurt you sorely. Nay, he might slay you, dispersing your substance to the winds."

The well-wists looked at one another, buzzing in dark tones.

The old don nodded. "Aye, even so. He did despoil the land, filling the people with evil by his mere example and his cruelty, and they have tortured the animals and torn at the soil. The malice of the folk has filled the land, poisoning the source from which you sprang. Yet therein lies no reason to go blindly to the slaughter."

The smallest well-wist faced him squarely, emitting a series of angry chords with his companions.

"Why, as you will," de la Luce answered. "The death is not certain, no, and you may well prevail against his sorceries, with the aid of these good folk and their allies—how many did you number, Lord Wizard?"

"Maybe two hundred," Matt answered, "but two of those are wizards, and two more are a dragon and a dracogriff. Also, one of us has the strength of ten or so, and another is the Black Knight."

The smallest blatted back at him.

"Small enough, to challenge a king? Yes, I know—but we're going to try anyway." For himself, he didn't have much choice—and for Yverne and Fadecourt, it was better than going it alone. Sir Guy, of course, was Sir Guy, and ready for any challenge, no matter how overwhelming.

The smallest well-wist flapped its wings smartly and sang a high, clear tone.

"You are allies, then," Don de la Luce said, with a smile of satisfaction. "Gather your forces, Wizard. The well-wists will number amongst them."

The first allies to arrive were Robin Hood's band. Matt and his friends were waiting in the sea cave, shivering in the chill of the salt air and watching the water level drop with each outward rush of water. Then the chamber darkened, and they looked up to see a boat, crammed with men, filling the cave's mouth—and a wisp of a ghost drifting before them.

Fadecourt and Sir Guy let out a cheer. Matt and Yverne managed to join in while it was ringing.

So it was the old don who stooped and threw a rope at the prow of the dinghy. Maid Marian caught it and pulled them in to bump against the rock ledge. An outlaw caught the ring set in the stone at the stern and held them against the rock as Robin sprang out, followed by Little John and Will Scarlet. "Lord Matthew!" He clapped Matt on the shoulder with a grip that made the wizard wince and think about bone doctors. " 'Tis right good to see you again! We had feared you lost, and were lurking about the duke's castle with a thought to breaking through, when we saw the dragon rise with you on his back. You are well, then? And the cyclops and the maiden?" He nodded to Sir Guy, apparently assuming that a steel suit was a sign of good health.

"Came through it almost unscathed." Matt found himself grinning; the man's enthusiasm was infectious, almost contagious. "We were worried about you, too."

"You need not have been." Marian was out of the boat and towering behind Robin. "None could best my lord and dear."

"I don't doubt it. Uh, Maid Marian, Robin Hood, this is our host, the Don de la Luce."

"My lord!" Robin seized his hand and began pumping. "How good of you to take us in!"

"Is it truly the Robin Hood of fable and legend?" Aristocrat or not, the don was staring round-eyed.

"The same, dragged hither by this good wizard to aid the poor against the proud and mighty." Robin was still pumping.

Matt reached out and disconnected their hands; Robin was closer to striking oil than he knew. "And therefore feeling responsible for you, which is why I was worried. Did you have a chance to look at the king's castle on your way?"

"Aye, and 'tis not a fair sight." Robin frowned and was about to go on when the old don interrupted.

"This has the sound of the start of a conference of war, and such should be held seated around a roaring fire with mulled wine, not tarrying on a rocky ledge whiles your men shiver with the chill and damp. Nay, Lord Wizard, conduct them up to my hall. You know the way by now."

"Yes, I do." Matt turned away, then turned back. "But you, milord! Surely you're not going to stay here in the damp!"

"Only for a brief while, I assure you," de la Luce answered. "My sea-maid will come soon, or not at all; 'tis nigh on the hour of the day when she approaches."

Matt gazed at him for a moment, then smiled. "Sure. See you soon, then, alone or in company. Speaking of companies, Robin, shall we go?"

"What maid is this?" Marian asked as they turned the first bend in the staircase.

"A delusion," Matt answered. "The poor old geezer has been alone most of his life, and his subconscious has manufactured a pretty girl who lives in a mysterious underwater castle and comes to visit him now and then."

"That has the sound of Ys," Marian said

Robin asked, "Wherefore do you think it a waking dream?"

That halted Matt for a moment. To him, it had been pretty obvious. He checked back for signs, and said, "For one thing, she stays young while he gets older—and for another, she isn't a mermaid, but just somebody who can breathe either water or air, which is highly unlikely."

"In a world of magic?" Robin asked, with a grin, and Matt started to answer; but Marian touched his arm with a smile of sympathy. "Say no more till I've told you of Ys," she said, "but not here, I pray you. Let us speak of it above."

And they did, around the roaring fire the don had spoken of.

There was a cask near the hearth now, no doubt courtesy of the well-wists, and the merry men dug flagons out of their packs.

Curled up on a few cushions, Marian looked surprisingly dainty, and Yverne was, beginning to look a little jealous. "Ys," the maid said, pronouncing it Eess, " 'twas a city to inspire awe, so legend says—a clustering of towers, with golden streets between, its palaces of jasper built, and jade, and ancient, oh! So ancient! Ys was old when Egypt was young, so legend says, yet vital still."

"Legend says many things," Robin murmured to Matt, "and adds the gloss that fact would scorn."

Well, Matt figured, he should know if anybody should. Nonetheless, he paid close attention to Marian's tale.

"Yet most wondrous of all," the maid said, "was its situation—for Ys stood below the level of the waves."

"How can that be?" Yverne asked. "The sea would have drowned it in an instant."

"Nay," Marian said, "for the sea was held out by a soaring wall, with massive gates. There ruled the king of Ys, over a court of constant mirth, his courtiers dazzling in their finery and glittering with jewelry—yet none shone so brightly as his only daughter."

Allan-a-Dale began to caress his harp, bringing a breath of melody to underscore the maid's words.

But Sir Guy frowned and said, "I have heard something of this demoiselle of Ys. I mind me that she was not kind-hearted."

"Nay, quite otherwise," Marian said, "for she was mean of spirit, froward, shrewd, and cruel. Yet all deferred to her, for the sake of her royal father—and fear of her sorcery."

"Ah, then! She was a sorceress!"

Marian nodded. "A witch of great power—and one who could bend any man to her will. Yet therefore did she disdain all males, regarding them with ridicule and contempt—till she found one who was proof against her wiles, yet loved her for her beauty. Then at last did she become betrothed, and dallied with him a year and more—till love's sweet spell began to wane, and he came to some notion of her true and twisted nature."

"Then she broke him for her pleasure?" The minstrel wrung a discord from his harp.

"She would have, aye, and did brew potent magics against him—but he threw himself on her father's mercy, and the king spread his aegis over the poor wight, commanding his daughter to spare him. She withdrew from the palace, hate and rage commingling in her breast, for puissant though she was, she could not match her father's magic. Yet that night, whiles he slept, she cast a spell of deepened slumber over all the palace and stole back in, to pluck the keys to the city from her father's neck, and she opened the gates to let in the sea."

"Why, I cannot credit this!" Fadecourt scoffed. "Such a one would have valued her own safety and comfort above all else, and would have known that she would perish with her citizens!"

Marian shrugged. "She may have sought to bargain with the Sea King, may even have thought she had compelled his mercy with her spells. Yet if she did, her magic once more could not match a king's, for his sea horses destroyed her."

Matt frowned, trying to pick out the root of fact beneath this tree of legend. A port city, then, that had erected dikes to hold back a rising waterline, but was finally flooded by the sea it had depended on for its wealth—or buried by a tidal wave, more likely, considering the reference to the wall and the gates.

"So perished Ys," the maid murmured, and the harp rippled and was silent.

The merry men stirred, sighing, and began to talk to one another again.

Sir Guy asked, "Does our host, then, think this buried palace lies beneath his own?"

"So it would seem," Matt replied, "and if a legend like that is standard in this countryside, it's no wonder—it would be just the thing for a lonely old man to fasten his imagination to. But we can't depend on dreams to help us now."

"Nay, surely," Robin said with a grin, unaware of his own irony. "How shall we invest this castle, Lord Wizard? For surely, its walls must needs be proof against mine arrows."

"A trebuchet might make some mark upon its walls," Fadecourt offered.

"A mark," Sir Guy allowed, "but no break—scarcely a gouge. No, my friend, that castle has never been taken by force of arms, and never will be."

"Never, by force of arms?" Matt pricked up his ears. "That means it has been taken. The only question, is: How?"

"By treachery," Robin answered, "by a traitor opening its gates from within. Surely, Milord Wizard, we shall not stoop so low!"

"No," Matt said slowly, "but if one of us were able to get in and open the gates, that wouldn't be treachery."

"True," Robin allowed, "yet how shall we achieve that?"

"I might know a friend or two who could do it. Uh, Puck?"

"Aye, Wizard?" The other Robin popped his head out of a joint in Sir Guy's armor.

"A thought," the knight agreed. "Hobgoblin, can you penetrate the castle of the sorcerer-king?"

But Puck shook his head. "I have tested it already, knight, in such wise that none could detect. There are fell and puissant spells that guard that keep, and a miasma of old corruption throughout it. Elves have been slain there, slain wholesale. I have asked of the sprites of this land, and they tell me that, when the sorcerer took the castle, his second act was to annihilate every sprite that was not evil and would not serve his ends."

Yverne and Marian shuddered, along with most of the men. Matt managed to shelve the shudder and ask, "His second act? What was his first?"

"The slaying of the rightful king, and all his adherents."

"Pardon his innocence," Sir Guy told Puck. "He is a man of magic, after all, not of war."

"And you are a man of honor," the Puck pointed out.

"True, and therefore do I ken dishonor and shameful acts. I thank you, elf."

"At your bidding." Puck popped back in to Sir Guy's armor. "Well, that lets one out." Matt sighed. "Max?"

"Aye, Wizard?" The arc spark danced before him, and the whole band drew away with gasps of horror.

"Don't worry, folks," Matt called out. "He's neither good nor bad in himself, and he's on our side."

"How foolish some mortals are, not to know!" the Demon scoffed. "What would you with me, Wizard?"

"Just some information. Do you think you could get into that castle, across the strait, and dry-rot the gates?"

"While rusting the portcullis? Nay. I had felt some strangeness there, and did go to investigate—but the place is wrapped about with some force that contains its corruption into some semblance of form. It is entropy bound, and anathema to me."

Interesting aspect of evil—chaos held together long enough to wreak disaster. Matt sighed. "Okay, thanks. I won't ask the next question—the answer's obvious."

"Should you not test it anyway?"

"Not by experiment, thank you. I only bet on sure things."

"Any number must play," the Demon droned.

"Not in my park. I'll call you when it's time for roulette."

"Baccarat," the Demon snapped, and disappeared.

Robin Hood frowned. "Wherefore would you back a rat?"

"Because he might be able to gnaw through the king's defenses." Matt leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "I'm stonkered, Sir Guy. There may be a way into that castle, but if there is, I don't see it."

"Of course you may see!"

Everyone turned at the sound of Don de la Luce's voice coming from the archway that led down into the dungeons.

The old don stood in the pool of light from the torches that flanked the arch, holding the hand of a beautiful young woman, gazing down at her flawless features with a fatuous smile.

Matt stared. Her green gown had every appearance of being woven of living seaweed, leaves and fronds creating the look of a feathered cloak. Golden rings sparkled on her fingers and a golden coronet in her blonde hair—hair that was not really quite yellow, but faintly tinged with green. Her complexion was pale, but her lips were rubies, and her eyes the deepest green of the sea. She turned to gaze at them, those magical eyes wide and huge, her nose tip-tilted, her heart-shaped face composed and tranquil. Her lips curved with a smile. "They are, milord! Mortals, and not evil! I can feel their wonder! 'Tis a marvel!"

Matt felt an eerie tingling down his spine, and his skin prickled. He stood up carefully and turned to bow to the young lady. "Your servant, mademoiselle. Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"

The girl clapped her hands and laughed with delight. "He is so impatient, this one! Milord, will you introduce us?"

"With pleasure." De la Luce beamed. "Lord Wizard, this is the Lady Sinelle, the maid of whom I told you. Lady Sinelle, this is Matthew, Lord Wizard of Merovence."

Matt looked up at the old man with a stab of panic. Was he out of his mind, disclosing Matt's real identity to someone who might not be sympathetic to their plot!

No. Of course he wouldn't. Matt forced himself to relax; the lady must be on their side.

Her eyes were round and huge as she looked about the hall. "Never have I beheld so many mortals, foregathered in one place! Though 'tis goodly to see this great hall no longer resounding with its emptiness. I had wondered, when you told me of it, my lord. Why do they come?"

The old don started to answer, but Matt beat him to it. "That's an issue that might be answered at some length—but only after you have met the rest of my friends." He took a quick glance, weighing who should be introduced first.

Fadecourt was still sitting dazed, holding the hand of a staring Yverne, both astounded to find that the old man had been speaking the truth. Sir Guy and Robin Hood, though, had recovered in an instant and rose, ready for anything—as usual.

"This is Robin Hood, the rightful Earl of Locksley, currently posing as a forest outlaw because he opposes tyrants," Matt said. "Milord Earl, the demoiselle...uh, Lady Sinelle."

"I am the demoiselle d'Ys, too," the lady said, pressing Robin's hand but withdrawing her own before he could kiss it. "Not she of legend, no, who brought disaster on my poor city, but her descendant. Yet she is dead, and the title has come down to me."

She turned to Sir Guy, and Matt said quickly, "Sir Guy de Toutarien, the Black Knight—the Lady Sinelle, demoiselle d'Ys." The lady inclined her head, but regarded Sir Guy with a smile of amusement. "A simple knight bachelor, you would have us believe? Surely, Sir Knight."

Sir Guy kissed her fingertips before she whisked them away, and regarded her with a steady gaze. "Methinks milady knows more than she speaks."

"As should any wise demoiselle," the lady returned, "or any prudent man, for that matter. My ancestress was not, though she thought she was—yet that was only vainglorious contempt of those around her, in another guise. It was for that pride that she drowned her island and city."

"Surely," Yverne protested, "so many folk did not die for one single woman's pride!"

"There were few enough good folk in Ys," the lady returned, "for my ancestress's influence had been wide-reaching and pervasive. Nay, my grandfather gathered those few good souls together within his castle, so that only they who merited the Sea King's wrath were drowned. We keep a merry court in our castle beneath the waves, where there is never want nor sorrow, for none of us need die, and my grandfather has taught the sea creatures to provide for us. This they do, in return for his protection. Tell your fellows, and beware—this cove is sacrosanct from all who fish or dive!"

"Even so," the don confirmed. "None will fish in my bay, nor in the strait between mine island and the mainland, for dire things have happened to they who have taken living creatures from these waters."

Matt didn't think he wanted to hear what. "You mean you haven't had any trouble with the current king?"

Sinelle made a moue. "Some irritation, when first he took the throne and sought to fish our waters for his supper—but a heavy sea capsized his sailors' boats, and a kraken cracked his ships. Since then, ever and anon we feel the power of his fell magics, like a bit of metal on the tooth, or a tone that grates upon the ear—but my great-father repels him with ease. Yet sea creatures flee to us in fear, and loathsome monsters prowl the waters without our cove, ever testing my great-father's warding spells. It is not in our power to smite this gross kinglet, yet if it were, we should not hesitate."

"Oh, really!" Matt looked a little more sharply at her. "That's our aim, too—and that's why we've gathered here. Don de la Luce is kind enough to grant us his hospitality, though he knows it increases his own danger—and the rest of these brave folk are as determined as I am, though we haven't the faintest idea how to get into the king's castle."

"Are you truly!" The lady stared, then smiled with delight. "Yet there are few enough of you."

"Only a hundred or so," Matt admitted, "but that's more people united against the king than you'll find anywhere else in Ibile."

"True, and well spoke." There was something a little more guarded about the lady now, a bit more wary. "Yet allies should meet and talk. Will you come to converse with my great-father?"

Matt stared, and stood frozen while panic rolled over him. Finally; he shook it off and croaked, "Under water? Uh, thank you very much, ma'am, but I don't breathe liquids too well."

"Nor do I," she assured him. " 'Tis the Sea King's spell that withholds the water from my lungs and lets the air surround me—yet I can extend that spell to anyone I wish, simply by touch." She held out her hand. "Will you come to meet the king of Ys?"

Matt stared, thoroughly aware of the corollary—that all she had to do was let go, and he would drown.

"Wizard, 'tis too great a risk!" Sir Guy exclaimed. "Without you, we are lost, and our cause is dead." He turned to Sinelle. "I shall go in his place, milady."

"You are not asked," she retorted, a merry glint in her eye, "in spite of your hidden station. Nay, Lord Knight, it must be leader to leader here—and valiant though you are, you have not come into your kingdom."

"That's okay, we'd be shot without him, too." Matt nerved himself up and took her hand "But as you say, milady, this is something that I have to do." He raised his other hand to quiet Fadecourt's and Yverne's protests. "Never mind why. I got myself into this, and there's only one way out. My lady, will you walk?"