The Oathbound Wizard

CHAPTER 8 The Sophisticated Cyclops

Matt didn't remember sleeping that night, and certainly didn't go anywhere, but his mind made a major expedition. It roved here and there from one thought to another, touching on idea after idea but never considering any one for very long. All in all, he should have waked exhausted, but when he finally saw the sky lightening with dawn and gave up, he was surprised to find himself feeling fully rested and craving action. He put it down to one of the many minor miracles that are continually happening and never really noticed much.

On the other hand, maybe the episode with the angel had been a dream. Or was the distinction academic?

Over a breakfast of very well-done venison, he told Narlh, "I've changed my mind."

"Keeps it clean." The dracogriff took another bite of haunch and asked chewing, "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Going into the heart of Ibile," Matt answered. "Eventually to the castle of the sorcerer-king, I suppose."

Narlh nearly choked on his venison. Then he started coughing, and Matt jumped up, pounding between the beast's shoulder blades. Narlh took a long gasp, then bellowed, "Are you crazy?"

"Probably," Matt conceded.

Narlh swallowed the offending venison and demanded, "Just what the hell do you think you can do in Orlequedrille?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Matt admitted. "But I'll know by the time I get there."

"Yeah, 'cause you'll get there in pieces! Or trussed up and ready for the torture chamber, if you're lucky! King Gordogrosso doesn't waste perfectly good captives by chopping their heads off, y' know—he kills them as slowly as he can, and with every last ounce of pain, 'cause he loves watching it!"

Matt shuddered and had second thoughts. Then he had thirds, and shook his head with adamantine resolve. "I'll have to chance it. There are too many people who'll go on suffering if I don't."

"And too many monsters who'll start suffering if you do!" Narlh scrambled to his feet. "Not me, Wizard! That's too dangerous for any decent man or beast!"

"I won't try to talk you into it." Matt worked at keeping his tone level. "I can't ask anybody to commit suicide with me—especially if it's going to be slow."

"Good! 'Cause I know a nice little valley, no men, no dragons, no ugly little sorcerers looking for monster blood! You go your way, and I'll go mine! Good-bye!"

"Good luck," Matt called after Narlh's retreating tail. He watched the dracogriff waddle away for a few minutes, then sighed and knelt to throw dirt on the flames. When the camp fire was dead out, he turned, wishing he had a pack to shoulder, took up his staff, and started away downhill, with the sun at his back.

It would have been nice to have company, he mused—especially since he was beginning to get a very cold feeling inside. He sent up a quick plea to Saint Iago, to lend him some strength—and was surprised to feel warmth spreading through him, and confidence, and serenity. He was even more surprised to realize that he was beginning to think that if he died, he died—but at least he'd know he had tried his best. And this life didn't really matter much, measured against the next. Here in this world, he might not have become all he could, but at least he would have died trying.

Which meant, of course, that he'd enter the afterlife still trying to become greater of heart and soul. It began to make sense, that martyrs became automatic saints...

"On the other hand, that's probably where the bad men are that made my hatchling-hood hellish."

Matt nearly jumped ten feet in the air. "Yiiiii! What in the name of..." Then he realized that Narlh's huge nose was just beneath his elbow and heaved a sigh of relief. "Did anybody ever tell you that you move very quietly?"

"Not so mousy as that," the dracogriff returned. "If you can't pay any better attention, boy, you're going to be fried."

"Lesson noted." Matt glanced at the monster. "I thought you were going to a nice, quiet valley."

"Yeah—until I remembered I've still got a sorcerer on my tail. For a while, at least, I just might be safer with you than without you."

"Besides, you might find the men who made you miserable?"

"I was kinda thinking about that. If I do, see, they're bound to be trying to destroy you, 'cause they're evil, and you're not—so I'd have a great excuse to fry them."

Matt frowned. "Don't plan on revenge, Narlh. It's just as likely to destroy you as them."

"What're you, a preacher all of a sudden? Besides, I know that! Anybody in Ibile knows that! Try for revenge, and you put yourself into the hands of the Evil One—and the king and all his henchmen are the Devil's agents! No, revenge in Ibile just sets you up as a victim—unless you're one of the top sorcerers."

Matt frowned. "Then, why..."

" 'Cause if I'm defending you, I'm not trying for revenge." The huge dragon head grinned at him. "But just sort of along the way, I bump off the ones I've got a grudge against. Neat, huh?"

"Very," Matt said slowly, "except that your real motives might weaken your case a little."

"Not if I'm acting as an agent of Good. Look, what changed your mind all of a sudden, huh?"

Matt took a deep breath and said, "An angel."

"See what I mean?" Narlh started making the weird sound that passed for his laughter again. "I got 'em knocked!"

"I see." Matt sighed. "And I have to admit I'm glad of your company. You realize, of course, that we stand a very good chance of going down in flames."

"As long as it's not hellfire." Narlh shrugged. "With that sorcerer on my tail, I'm likely to be drained, anyway. But with a wizard to help, the odds are a little better."

"Yes, except that I'm leading you into greater danger," Matt said. "Still, look on the bright side—I might have strong enough magic to make them kill us quickly, in self-defense."

"There you go!" Narlh agreed. "Of course, if you decided to turn back, I wouldn't object."

"Be a little disappointed in me, though?"

"No, not really." The dragon head turned toward him, frowning. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I would be." Matt turned his face downhill. "Well, let's march. Looks like it's going to be a long day,"

They'd only been on the road an hour or two before Narlh grew impatient with the slow pace and flew back to the campsite to pick up the saddle. Matt climbed aboard, and the dracogriff set off at what was, for him, a comfortable pace. Actually, it wasn't bad for Matt, either, once he got used to the notion of leaning forward in the saddle, to prevent the whiplashing that came from the monster's long, lazy leaps, and caught the rhythm of the slight posting he needed. Not much, though—Narlh's gait was like a horse with innersprings.

"I take it flying wouldn't be much faster than this?"

"Oh, some," Narlh allowed, "but I hate flying. Still, if you insist..."

A suspicion formed in Man's mind; he remembered how close to the ground the dracogriff had stayed when last they'd flown. It hadn't been all that obvious, on a mountain hillside when they were chasing a rolling rock—but now, on a road with a much gentler slope..."If you would. Just for a little way—I want to stay used to the rhythm of it, in case we need to take off in an emergency."

"Oh, all right," Narlh grumped, and lit out in a long, flat run, faster and faster, wings spreading wide to the sides...

Then they were airborne. Matt looked down and saw the ground sinking away...

But not very far.

"Uh—you can go higher than this if you have to, can't you?"

"Don't worry," Narlh snapped. "If I see a tree, I'll loft over it." He took a quick glance at the sky behind him, then turned back to face front.

It gave Matt a chill. What would have happened if that tree had shown up while Narlh hadn't had his eyes on the road? "I...take it you'd prefer not to go higher if you can help it."

"Oh, I can help it! You can be sure of that." Narlh turned back to scowl at Matt. "What're you getting so nervous about? Who's doing the flying, anyway?"

"Me! So would you mind keeping your eyes on the road?"

Narlh snatched a quick glance at the sky, then turned back to front, muttering something about the people in back always having to have things their own way.

Matt gave up. "Okay, that's enough for an air drill. You can go down now."

"Thank heaven!" Narlh huffed, and slowed down to a long gallop as he hit the ground. Matt was reminded of an albatross, with that need for a long runway—only this time, he was hanging on to its neck. It was a rough landing, but all in all, Matt decided it was safer than flying with Narlh.

It was afternoon when they spotted the refugee family. The father was pulling a handcart, slogging away, keeping the cart going mostly by throwing the weight of his body against it. The mother was carrying a baby, and the children were fussing, protesting with every step.

Matt's heart went out to them.

Then the mother saw Narlh. She gave a cry of alarm, and suddenly the cart was standing in the roadway by itself, as the family headed for the roadside brush.

"Hey! Hold on, there! Doggone it, I'm a nice guy!" Narlh roared, and leaped after them.

Matt just barely managed to hold on. "Uh—it might help if you didn't charge them, Narlh."

"What's this charge business? I'm just trying to catch up with them!"

"Yes, but to the uninformed, it might look as though you were chasing them. And you did sound kind of angry."

"Angry? Of course I'm angry! How would you feel if people ran whenever they saw you?"

"I wouldn't like it. And I didn't, either." Matt was thinking about a couple of girls he'd been attracted to in high school. "But believe me—it works better if you sit and wait for them to come to you."

Narlh dug his claws in and jammed to a halt by the cart. "Says you! Me, I'll try the old-fashioned method." He jammed his snout into the brush. "Yoo-hoo! Where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

There was a scrabbling noise, moving away from them.

"Aw, come on now!" Narlh said, exasperated. "I'm not gonna eat you, for crying out loud!"

"I think that might be just what they were worrying about" Matt slid off his back and stepped into the center of the roadway, calling, "Really, folks! He's got a nasty temper, but he's got a heart of gold...plate," he added, in case any sorcerers were listening. "And I'm a wizard, from Merovence. We really don't mean any harm. Why don't you come on out and chat awhile?"

Narlh frowned at him as though he were crazy, but kept quiet.

Finally, a man's voice answered, with a strong peasant burr, "If ye truly mean us no harm, strangers, ride on, I beg of ye."

"But you look really tired," Matt protested. "I was kind of thinking we could guard you while you take a good rest."

There was a pause, then a quick, whispered consultation. It ended, and the father waded out of the brush—but not very far. "Good day to you, then."

"God be with you," Matt answered.

There were multiple gasps and a quick flurry of whispers from the brush.

"If you speak the name of God," the father said, "you must be a good-magic-worker, if you are one at all."

"I am." Matt didn't mention that the man himself had spoken the name, with no apparent ill effects. "But what brings you onto the road, goodman?"

The man heaved a sigh, and what little starch was left in him seeped out. "Soldiers, sir. They were ransacking other cots not distant from ours, so we took what we could and left on the road."

Sobbing sounded from behind him, and he looked up, then turned away. He brought his wife out a moment later, drying her eyes and forcing a smile. " 'Tis naught of your care, sirs."

"I know." Matt tried to look sympathetic. "It's hard to leave a home."

" 'Twas well we did." She bit her lip. "From the hilltop, we looked back and saw the soldiers firing our cot." She turned back to weep quietly on her husband's shoulder.

Someone small peeked out from behind her skirts, and a larger edition stepped up boldly to inform Matt, "They drove off our pig and our sheep! And set fire to it all!"

The wife let out a wail.

"Shhh, silly!" A sister added herself to the tribe. "You'll only make Mama cry!"

The boy looked startled, then abashed.

Narlh snorted.

They all turned—to see the smaller boy whirling to flee, bawling. His sister caught him and made soothing noises.

Matt frowned. "Don't pick on the kid!"

"I didn't," Narlh snapped. "I was trying to be friendly."

The tears cut off, and the tyke turned to look back, wide-eyed.

"That's 'friendly,' for him," Matt explained. "Not quite the same as it is for you."

"Hey! Watch whose reputation you're slurring!"

"I thought I was improving it."

The bigger boy took a daring step toward the monster, then another, and another.

Narlh looked down his nose at him, then deliberately turned away.

The boy reached out and touched his flank.

Narlh ignored him.

The boy began to stroke the leathery hide, tiptoeing closer and closer to the front, a step at a time.

Narlh looked back, one beady eye transfixing the boy. The lad froze.

Narlh snorted and turned away again.

The five-year-old shrilled with delight.

Big brother sneaked another step or two forward.

Matt turned away from the game of peek-a-boo. "I didn't know he had it in him."

"He is very big," the wife said nervously.

"Yes, that's why I thought we might do well on guard duty. Why don't you folks just sit down and have a bite while we watch for you?"

"Bless you, kind sir!" The wife tottered toward the cart and sank to the road beside it, cradling the baby in her lap.

"Uh, I had in mind off the road," Matt said, eyeing the dirt strip as though he expected a Sherman tank to come clanking up. "Just in case, you know."

"Aye, aye." The husband reached down to help his wife up. "Just a few more steps now, Judy, there's my lass. Some open grass there, off the road a pace, aye."

Judy sighed, managed to rise, and tottered off toward the shade of a tree, leaning on her husband's arm.

There was an explosive snort followed by a trio of delighted shrieks behind him. Matt swung about, alarmed, but saw Narlh turned back frontward, nose in the air, too lofty to be concerned about what was going on around his tail. Matt smiled and turned to the cart.

From the tongue he had to lift and pull, he gathered the soldiers had gotten the family donkey, too.

He pulled the cart off the road and near the tree, where the wife was nursing the baby. Narlh ambled along, nose in the air. Matt wondered if he was really watching for an aerial attack. "Bless ye, kind sir!" The wife had a real smile on.

"My pleasure, I'm sure." Matt folded up cross-legged, facing the husband. "So you're bound for Merovence?"

"Aye, if I can come to those mountains!" the man said, exasperated. "They seem so close, yet ever do they retreat from me!"

"It's the clear air—it magnifies them so that they seem closer. I'd say you're still about two days from the pass at the top."

"You have come from there?" the man said, wide-eyed.

Matt nodded. "And I'd plan on lightening your load, if you can—some of that road is very steep, and it's all uphill."

The wife bit her lip again, and the husband said quickly, "We have brought little enough. What we have are things too dear to part with."

Matt just couldn't understand why married people seemed to acquire so many things that they couldn't bear to part with. Maybe it was because there were so many more of them.

He pushed himself to his feet. "Rest while you can. I'll send the kids over." He turned away to shoo the children from Narlh back to Mama. As they ran for the picnic, he muttered to the monster, "Never knew you were soft on kids."

"Hey, I think they look yummy!"

"Come off it. You were having as much fun as they were."

Narlh shrugged, with a rattle of wings. "Look, I missed out on it when I was a fledgling. A guy can try to make up for lost time, can't he?"

"I couldn't agree more." Matt glanced back over his shoulder—and saw the father carving a ham. His mouth watered. "They, uh—came well provided."

"Huh?" Narlh looked over, then turned away with a snort.

"Well, I thought it looked pretty good!"

"Each to his own," the monster said.

"Just what's wrong with it, anyway, huh?"

"It's not bleeding."

As he paced the circle on sentry duty, Matt reflected that Narlh must prefer his food still moving. When he said he liked fresh meat, he meant it. He gave the family about an hour, by the sun, then turned back to nudge the father. "Sun's past noon. You might want to get back on the road."

"Aye." The man sighed and forced himself to his feet. He reached down to help his wife up and called out, "Jorge! Cecile! Rampout!" The children left off playing hide-and-seek and came pelting back.

"Bless you for your kindness," the wife said, smiling, then suddenly dewy-eyed. " 'Tis good to know a few souls still act with charity."

"More and more where you're going," Matt assured her.

"I must trust in that." The father sighed. "We have no money and will have no farm. We must depend on kindness, now."

"No money?" Matt lifted his head. "Say...maybe we could strike a deal."

"Deal?" The father was instantly wary.

"Yes. I'm living off the land, see, and it's not exactly fat here."

"Aye." The wife blinked away tears again. "The soldiers..." Then she suddenly realized what Matt was saying. "You must take some food! We have more than we'll need to come into Merovence!"

"Judy," her husband said, uncomfortably, "we shall not find food in plenty, just for crossing the mountains..."

"Right," Matt agreed. "I couldn't let myself just take food from you—you're too apt to need it. But I could give you some Merovencian coins, and you can buy fresh food with that. Lightens the load going over the mountains, that way, you see—and cuts down on spoilage."

The husband looked interested, but Judy protested, "We could not take money from one who has done us kindness..."

"I assure you, you'll be doing me a kindness, just by selling me some supplies! Here, now..." Matt reached into his purse.

A few minutes later, he and Narlh headed downhill as the family toiled away uphill again, their cart lighter by two hams, half a bushel of grapes, a bottle of homemade wine, half a wheel of cheese, and a loaf of bread.

"Sure you don't mind carrying all that?" Matt asked.

"So what are you going to do, get squashed by lunch?" Narlh snorted. "Be real, okay?"

"I keep trying..."

"As you will." The dracogriff snorted. "But don't you think two gold pieces was a little much for these provisions?"

"Well, maybe..."

"You could have bought it all for two coppers."

"True." Matt shrugged. "But how much good are coins with Alisande's picture going to do here in Ibile?"

"There's some truth in that..."

"Besides, that family can put them to good use. Basic supplies—"

"Supplies! For two gold pieces, they can buy a small farm!"

Matt nodded. "You know, I suppose they could..."

They hadn't made much progress by sunset. Narlh could travel by leaps and bounds when he had to—but not for very long at a stretch; it was tiring. Besides, Matt was in continual danger of whiplash, and traveling braced against Narlh's bounding was tiring for him. So they went, at Narlh's normal pace, which was about as fast as a tired man could walk.

The good side was that, when evening came, Matt wasn't tired—at least, not terribly. He still had plenty of energy to set up camp and do whatever magic might prove necessary.

Preferably as little as possible; he felt as if he were lighting a beacon any time he worked a spell. No, if he could set up camp without magic, so much the better. Matt found a tree with a fork and wedged the butt of a fallen limb into it.

"What's that supposed to be?" Narlh demanded. "A bear trap?"

"No, a people shelter." Matt pointed at the sky. "We might have rain tonight."

"Good; I could use a bath."

"True, true..."

Narlh reared his head back. "Well! If you're going to be that way about it, I'm going to find some dinner!"

"You'll be amazed at the improvement when you get back," Matt called.

"You mean you're going to have a bath, too?" Narlh humphed, and waddled on out of sight.

Matt smiled, shaking his head, and turned to pick up the sack with the food in it. The comment about the bear trap had reminded him about the problems of night visitors—the natural kind. He wished he had some rope, but wasn't about to risk a spell for such a small item. Instead, he found a broken branch dangling from a nearby tree and hooked the sack onto a twig.

Not as good as it could be—any passing bear could knock it down, and a wolf might even be able to jump up to it—but at least it would protect the provisions from raccoons, or whatever the local equivalent was. Badgers, probably.

Then Matt went back to cutting branches. He draped them angling between the ground and the limb, to make a serviceable imitation of a pup tent. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, thought of starting a fire and fixing dinner, then decided to check out the neighborhood while there was still a little twilight left. He'd noticed a small hill when they'd been surveying for a good campsite; in fact, he would have set up there if there had been any cover. But it was just a grassy knob on top, and he was a little shy about being overexposed.

Still, it would do nicely as a lookout. He climbed up, then stood looking around at the landscape, feeling an oddly pleasant glow. The countryside lay quiet in the gloaming. It still sloped, overall, but they were down into deciduous trees, and every so often, the trees opened out into farmsteads.

But the farmhouses were burned out, the byres and sties were empty, and the fields lay in stubble—or churned to baked mud by horses' hooves. Kipling's lines came unbidden to Matt's mind:

Kipling had been talking about soldiers putting down bandits, of course—but here, the soldiers were the bandits. Matt turned away downhill, trying to keep his good mood from evaporating completely.

"I say! Fell beast! Put me down!"

Matt looked up, jolted out of his reverie.

"I am innocent! I am a poor wayfarer, seeking survival! Release me this instant!"

A furious growling answered him.

Matt started running. He recognized that growl—it was Narlh.

And there the monster came, plodding toward him—with something big in his mouth. Big, and squirming. Matt peered through the gloaming, and could just make out a human form. Not very large, percentage-wise, but still human.

"This is completely outrageous! I meant no harm—therefore, neither should...Oh!" The stranger looked up and saw Matt. "Greetings, kind sir! Could you persuade this beast to let me go?"

Matt had a bit of a shock—the man had only one eye. Not that he'd lost one—he'd been born that way. It was right smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

Poise above all. Matt tried a half smile and said, "That depends on why he picked you up in the first place."

"Absolutely no justifiable reason! There was simply..."

Narlh drowned him out with a muffled roar.

"My friend seems to disagree," Matt pointed out. "How about a solemn promise not to run away, if he puts you down? Until we sort out exactly what you've done, at least."

"I've done nothing! I...Oh, very well. I give you my solemn promise."

"Ptooey!" Narlh put the little man down with an exhalation that sounded more like spitting. The cyclops rolled and came to his feet, while Narlh was still working his jaws and exclaiming, "Phew! What a flavor!"

"Well, no one asked you to have a bite," the cyclops said indignantly. "Always thought myself a man of good taste, actually."

"Yeah, with a taste for our foodstuffs!"

"You caught him stealing?" Matt asked.

"Not a bit! I haven't touched your food!"

"No, but he was sure trying!" Narlh said. "Had a big long stick, and he was gonna knock your food bag down!"

"That's not exactly friendly," Matt pointed out.

The cyclops sighed. "I know, and I'm quite sorry. But really, I haven't had a bite to eat for two days—the birds fly at the slightest sign of me, and the rabbits won't let me come near. I haven't even found any berries! I would have asked, of course, but there was no one by, and I was so very hungry..."

Actually, Matt didn't think the cyclops looked all that lean. Pretty bulky, in fact, though none of it was fat. It was easy to see, because all he wore was a sort of fur kilt. He was very muscular, particularly in the arms, shoulders, and chest—though his legs looked to be borrowed from a rhinoceros. In fact, he was a pretty good picture of what Matt had always thought a Neanderthal would look like, from the neck down.

From the neck up, of course, he was quite well formed, if you could overlook the ocular arrangement. Handsome, in fact—if Matt imagined him with two eyes. Also, of course, he wore a pretty heavy beard. That could hide a lot.

All in all, he looked pretty trustworthy.

"You're softening," Narlh pointed out.

"Why not?" Matt sighed. "I've been hungry enough to steal, myself—though I never had the opportunity. We'll stand you to a good meal, stranger. Or trade, rather." He smiled at a sudden idea. "Maybe you can tell me a bit about the countryside."

"Why, gladly, sir! By the by, whom have I the pleasure of addressing? As for myself, I'm called Fadecourt."

Matt caught the use of the phrase "I'm called." Apparently, the cyclops wasn't about to tell his real name. Wise, in a world where magic worked by words. "Pleased to meet you, Fadecourt. I'm Matthew Mantrell."

The cyclops' eyebrow rose. "The Lord Wizard of Merovence?"

"The same." This guy was a bit too quick for Matt's liking.

"Well! I am honored!"

"You don't say." Matt wasn't sure he wanted allies who were impressed with him—but a little kindness never hurt. "We were just about to start supper. Know anything about camping?"

"A smattering," the cyclops said, with a touch of irony. "I've done a great deal of it in the recent past."

"And not entirely willingly?" Matt led the way back to the campsite. "Any particular reason?"

"Oh, a few minor things taken from me, such as my station and my home." Fadecourt was trying to sound casual. "And a small matter of soldiers all over the kingdom apparently having been told to be on watch for me. I've only to step into a village before there's a hue and cry—and from some of the missiles coming my way, I gather I'm outside the protection of the law."

"Oh?" Matt looked up, interested. "There's law in Ibile?"

"To be sure—the king's will. Or whim, I should perhaps say. Still, Gordogrosso does seem to regard the taking of human life as his prerogative; it's forbidden to most other people. From the zeal with which I'm pursued, I gather he's decided to exercise that privilege, in my case—but at second hand."

Matt winced at hearing the king's name spoken aloud, and waited for an answering stir of the magical field—but none came. He relaxed. "I'm enough of a marked man as it is, Fadecourt. I'm not sure it's all that much in my interest to have a companion with a price on his head." Then another aspect of the issue hit him. He cocked his head to the side. "Just what did you do to get the king down on your case, anyway?"

"Oh, just the usual sorts of crimes—you know."

"Not in Ibile, I don't. Enlighten me."

"Well, the common run of things—saving virgins from evil lechers, slaying hideous giant snakes that were preying on villagers, protecting the weak from the strong—that sort of thing."

It made sense, Matt decided. Actions that were good deeds in Merovence would naturally be crimes here—especially if the lechers were in good with the king, and the snakes had been sent to punish the villages that had somehow offended him or his nobles. Matt made a decision and called back over his shoulder, "You might as well go hunt, Narlh. I think we'll be okay here."

The dracogriff mumbled something along the lines of sneaking back-stabbers, but he prowled off into the night.

Fadecourt looked after him in surprise, then turned back to Matt. "I appreciate your confidence."

"You've got the right enemies." They'd come into the campsite. Matt reached down the sack of provisions. "What's your preference—ham, or venison?"

"Anything!"

Matt pulled out the half haunch of game and handed it to him. The cyclops all but fell on it, slavering.

"Easy, easy!" Matt called, alarmed. "You'll give yourself a bellyache!"

Fadecourt froze. Then he said, "My apologies. Hunger is no excuse for bad manners. If you don't mind, though, I will have a few more bites."

"Sure, sure! Just don't overdo it, okay?" Matt turned away and began prowling around the clearing.

Fadecourt swallowed and called, "What do you seek?"

"Stones," Matt called back, "for the fire pit."

Fadecourt put the deer leg down—a major act of will—and came to join Matt. "This much, at least, I can do! There's one that would be good." He bent down and picked up a two-foot boulder. Then he saw another one, a little larger, so he shifted the first one into the crook of his elbow and scooped up the second boulder with his other hand. "Where did you want them?"

"In—in the center of the clearing." Matt pointed.

"Right-o." Fadecourt stepped lithely over to center and set the first stone down gently, then the second. "Leave this to me, old chap. You scout up the kindling, eh?"

"Yeah...sure." Matt just stared. Each of those boulders had to weigh a hundred pounds, at least—and they weren't exactly carved for ease of carrying. Matt might, just might, have been able to carry one of them with both hands, if he'd absolutely had to. More likely, he'd have rolled it—with the aid of a lever.

He turned away to hunt up kindling, wondering if he should maybe have asked Narlh to put off the hunting a little longer.

He laid the kindling, shaved a fuzz stick, and struck a spark with flint and steel, then breathed it alight.

"Will you not light your blaze with magic, Wizard?"

Matt shook his head. "Spells are like money—you shouldn't spend them unless you have to." For some reason, he was a little reluctant to tell this stranger about the problem of attracting sorcerous attention by using magic.

He pulled out a ham, drew his knife, and started to cut a slice—then stopped, amazed. It was like cutting wood. He struck it with his knuckles, and heard a definite knock.

"You might want to boil it," Fadecourt suggested. "It's dried, you see—and quite salty."

"I suppose I'll have to use a spell, then." Matt sighed. "I don't happen to have any pots with me."

"Come, sir! Have you never made a bark bucket?"

Matt looked up, surprised. "No, can't say that I have."

"Only the work of a few minutes! I'll be back in a jiff." The cyclops uncoiled, ending up standing, and prowled off into the night, slipping a flint knife from his belt.

Matt watched him go, pleasantly surprised—he'd expected the stranger to be panting with eagerness to see Matt work a spell. Apparently, he didn't have too many doubts about Matt's powers.

Or didn't it matter to him?

Matt shrugged, and rummaged around among the firewood he'd collected to start lashing together a tripod.

A long throat cleared itself off to his left.

Matt looked up, surprised, then smiled. "Thanks for the warning, Narlh."

The dracogriff came up and dropped a wild boar by the fire. "Why you humans can't hear a guy making a racket coming through the brush, I'll never know."

"Small ears," Matt answered. "How come you can find game when nobody else can?"

"They don't seem to want to stay hid when they see me coming." Narlh walked around a half circle, letting his hindquarters lie down and ending with his front section recumbent, too. "You might want to turn your back a little—I'm not big on table manners."

"Might help if you had a table." But Matt did hike himself a little way away.

"Where's the uninvited guest?"

"Oh, I took care of that—I invited him. He's off making a bark bucket for me, so I can boil some life back into this ham."

"Trying to butter you up, huh? Look, if you want some pig meat with the juice still in it, hack off a slice!"

Matt turned back, overcoming revulsion, and took out his knife. "Don't mind if I do, thanks." He skinned a hindquarter and cut off several foot-long wedges of meat. Then he skewered them on green sticks and hung them over the fire. "I appreciate it."

"I'll never miss 'em."

"Oh! I see you've managed!" Fadecourt came up to the fire, hauling a bucket.

"Yes, but we can fry the ham for breakfast—if we can make it chewable." Matt reached up, took down the bucket, and hung it from the tripod. "Thanks for filling it."

"Don't mention it." The cyclops folded himself and eyed the pork hungrily. He took up the hindquarter of venison, cut a strip, and munched.

The fact that he made some try at table manners impressed Matt more than the bucket.

"If you'll excuse me." He got up, went to rummage in the provisions sack.

"Certainly." Fadecourt's gaze followed Matt as he lifted out the can of talcum powder and went to the limit of the firelight, shaking out a white stream as he went backward around the camp fire, completing the circle, then making a second one. When he finished, he put away the powder and came to sit down by the fire again. "Just like to have it ready if we need it, you see."

"But of course." Fadecourt looked a little puzzled.

Trees whipped in a sudden wind Matt shivered and pulled his cloak over his shoulders. "Looks as though we may be in for a wet night."

"Ah, yes. The advantage to my sort of raiment is that it dries out rather quickly."

"Why not keep it from getting wet in the first place? A brush hut isn't that hard to cobble."

"So I see." Fadecourt eyed Matt's shelter. "I just may imitate you in that."

"Be my guest. I take it you were heading for Merovence, to get away from being chased?"

"Yes, but only until I had gathered the wherewithal to return."

"And what would that be?"

The cyclops' shoulders sagged. "I haven't the foggiest, really. I'm not in a position to hire an army—and I don't really imagine too many citizens of Merovence would be ready to march against the sorcery of Ibile. I suppose the best I could find would have been a wizard, who might have been willing to teach me some spells."

Matt definitely didn't like the sound of that. "It takes time to learn enough magic to protect yourself in this kind of country, you know."

Fadecourt heaved a sigh. "Well, if years it takes, then years I must give to it—but I'll not forsake my fellow citizens in their extremity!" He looked up at Matt. "And how do you come to be in the middle of a tearing wilderness on such an ugly-seeming night?"

"I'm questing. You know—it's really in fashion."

"No, I don't." The cyclops frowned. "Certainly not in so hazardous a place as a mountainside in Ibile, in the company of a dracogriff—deuced prickly, the beasts are."

A snort answered him from behind Matt.

"No offense," the cyclops said easily. "I'm in something of the same position myself, d' you see."

"Being very prickly?"

"No—being engaged in a search. It's a quest, in its way. A lost article, you might say."

"Oh." Matt frowned. "Where was it lost?"

"At the king's court," the cyclops said. "I had word of it from a friend who has some acquaintance there."

Matt remembered that he might be the target of an effort to impress, and automatically demoted the "acquaintance" from a courtier to a servant. "I gather the party who lost it will reward you handsomely for its return?"

"Oh, quite! Or, rather, he'll reward me rather unpleasantly if I return with no chance of retrieving it." Fadecourt gave him a toothy smile. He had very large, very even, very white teeth.

"I see," Matt said with great originality, trying not to think about those teeth. "Is it of intrinsic, sentimental, or aesthetic value?"

"Oh, of only sentimental and practical value, I assure you." The cyclops' eye took on the gleam of delight that comes from recognizing a kindred soul—and, just possibly, a good conversation. "At least, I don't believe anyone would pay more than a few coppers for it."

"I take it," Matt said, "that if you discover its whereabouts, it might be rather dangerous to go after it."

"It might that, yes. You see, I've little magic and less sorcery."

"Is that all?" Matt stared, frankly amazed. He recovered quickly and managed a smile. "I'd think you might have a problem with, um, guards, if there are any."

"Oh no, not a lick! I mean, yes, there probably will be men-at-arms, but I'm not at all concerned about them. Strength of arms, don't you know."

"No," Matt said, taking in the nearly naked form before him, "I don't know. You don't have a weapon on you, except for that little flint knife."

"No, I meant my actual arms—limbs, do you see."

"Oh, yes." Matt remembered how Fadecourt had collected boulders for the fire ring. "But don't overestimate your strength. Sheer lifting power won't help you against armed guards."

"There's a bit more to it than you've seen. Have a look." The cyclops rose and turned in one lithe, fluid motion, then stepped away to a four-foot boulder that must have weighed half a ton. He didn't even set himself, just took hold under the curve on both sides, hefted it up over his head (Matt ducked aside, panicked by the backswing), and tossed it off into the night.

Matt just stared, gaping.

There was a long hiss behind him—Narlh, with eyes glittering.

Somewhere out in the darkness, there was a faint crash.

The cyclops turned back to them with a shrug. "That's the way of it."

"Very impressive," Matt murmured, eyes glazed.

A little too impressive, in fact—not the kind of display calculated to win you a welcome to a stranger's fireside. From the sound of him, the cyclops must have been able to realize that; did he really think he was so engaging that Matt would chum up to him when he'd just proved he could probably tie Matt's guardian dracogriff in knots?

Or did he think Matt needed his strength badly enough to strike an alliance?

He just might have been right on that one.

"But that's all." The cyclops sat down again. "I can knock down any army, if need be. Of course, I'd rather not hurt the poor chaps, but I can if I have to. Or knock a hole in a castle wall, for that matter. But if they send the most junior of apprentice sorcerers after me, I'm lost."

"And," Matt said slowly, "you've taken the notion that I can counter a sorcerer."

"Quite. You do have something of a reputation in wizardry."

"But I could be lying—you don't know that I'm really the Lord Wizard." Matt frowned. "What gave you the idea I might really know something about magic?"

"Partly the fact that you're riding a dracogriff, a beast so scarce that any sorcerer would quite willingly kill for its blood—kill not just it, but anyone nearby."

Matt heard the long hiss behind him again, and a rustle of wings. "This makes you want to get near it?"

The cyclops shrugged. "I'm not afraid to, if that's what you mean."

Because he knew there was a wizard along? Or because he was too stupid to be scared?

Matt had a notion Fadecourt was anything but stupid. "Anything else that might make you think I'm a wizard?"

"Well, apart from the fact that you're sitting inside a magical guarding circle on a hillside in a country devoted to sorcery—no, not really."

"Just a few little simple facts." Matt nodded.

He straightened up and cleared his throat. "Ever do any painting?"

"Eh?" The cyclops stared, startled. "Why, yes, actually—quite a bit. What made you think so?"

"Just a wild guess. What instruments do you play?"

"The double flute and bassoon." The cyclops frowned. "How could you know that?"

"Just going by your general ambiance. What's your favorite book?"

"I would have to say The Odyssey," Fadecourt said slowly, "though I know it would be more politic to refer to the lays of Hardishane, in this part of the world."

Matt tried not to show his surprise. "Where did you find a translation?"

"Oh, I couldn't, of course. I had to learn Greek in order to read it."

That, Matt noted silently, was more than he had done. "How about the Necronomicon?"

"Never heard of it." The cyclops frowned. "Is it good?"

"Sheer madness—evil, too, I hear. Never read it myself, of course. Have you heard about the Cabala?"

The cyclops shook his head. "Not my cup of mead. Only interested in tales and histories, I blush to say." He wasn't reddening noticeably, but then, Matt was only seeing him by firelight.

"Histories? Say, I've always wondered—when was Hardishane crowned?"

"In the year of our Lord 862, and he died in 925, rich in virtue and still mighty in arms. While he lived, he drove the forces of Evil back from all these lands of the middle realm, and they basked in the light of goodness and order."

"Even Ibile?"

"Even here," Fadecourt confirmed. "Before his coming, the land was held by a people made brutish by sorcery—but he, and the good emperors of his line, held the land so clearly in the light of goodness that, within two generations, the folk of Ibile were courteous, peaceful, and cultured."

"While Hardishane's heirs ruled over the Empire." Matt frowned. "But the last Emperor fell, and the kings came again."

"Quite so—in 1084."

Matt looked up in surprise. "They held Europe united that long?" In his own universe, Charlemagne's empire hadn't really lasted more than a generation after his death, though it had continued in name down to the eighteenth century.

"They did, but Lornhane, the last reigning Emperor, was foolish and weak."

Matt noticed the qualifier. "The last reigning emperor?"

"Indeed. Tradition has it that Hardishane's line endures, and that his descendants still wander Europe, awaiting the time when the Empire must be reestablished, or all the lands fall to evil and sorcery."

Matt nodded slowly—he had heard the legend. In fact, he had met the current heir. He traveled under the name of Sir Guy Losobal, and he was spectacularly reluctant to seek dominion. "So Lornhane did not die childless."

"No, but his heir was carried away to be reared in secrecy—which was well, for he doubtless would have been haled down and slain when his father died—for Lornhane's last years were made miserable by the chaos that reigned within his empire. However, he did have the wisdom to appoint kings to Ibile, Merovence, Allustria, and all the Northern Lands and Isles, to quench the feuding of the barons and establish some echo of Hardishane's order within their domains, by the time Lornhane died."

"And that line of kings endures in Merovence," Matt said slowly.

"Yes, though the forces of Evil nearly toppled them. I understand the queen's return to her throne was largely your own doing."

Matt waved away the flattery. "That's a bit of an exaggeration. I just did what I had to do. Not given much choice, in fact."

"Enough to have betrayed her and devoted yourself to Evil, had you wished." Fadecourt's eye glittered. "A worker of magic always has that opportunity, ever-present before him."

"Yes." Matt's voice hardened. "It's a constant temptation—and it must be constantly resisted."

"Of course," the cyclops said quietly, but Matt had the eerie feeling that he had just passed some sort of test.

He shifted uneasily. "How long did the line of kings endure in Ibile?"

"Oh, the line endures to this day, though none know where the rightful heir may be," Fadecourt answered, "and I assure you that the strongest sorcerers have exerted their greatest efforts to find him."

Matt lifted his head. "That must be some spell that's guarding him!"

"It must indeed. For myself, I fancy it was the doing of Saint Moncaire—that he crafted the spell to protect all of Hardishane's descendants, no matter how tenuous their relationship."

"But if he's hiding, he's not ruling." Matt frowned.

"Quite so. The reigning king was betrayed and slain some two hundred years ago, and a foul usurper seized the crown."

"And his grandson rules now?"

Fadecourt shook his head. "Such orderly succession is not the way of sorcery. The usurper Yzrprz was in his own turn assassinated, and the throne seized by the more-evil sorcerer Dredplen. His reign was long, though filled with terror—yet he died at the hands of a sorcerer more foul than he: the tyrant Gordogrosso, whose descendant reigns in the city of Orlequedrille still."

Matt winced. "Do me a favor, okay? Don't say the king's name aloud—it might attract his attention."

Fadecourt shrugged. "He cares naught—I am too insignificant."

"I might not be, though."

Fadecourt stiffened. "Quite true! My apologies, Wizard. Yet be assured, he knows not that I am with you."

"Yet," Matt said.

"Aye." The cyclops seemed unnerved. "Even the land may report your presence to him! Daily, his corruption widens, and may some day include even plants and rocks."

"It just gets worse as it goes along," Matt said, feeling numb.

"It does, and it will—until some man of good heart arises to overthrow this vile king." Fadecourt gave Matt a singularly penetrating glance.

Matt returned it, trying to reach a decision. He couldn't trust a total stranger, could he? For all he knew, Fadecourt might be a spy, just trying to get him to trick himself into saying he was planning to overthrow the king, so that some true testimony could be used at his trial. The cyclops might yell for reinforcements as soon as Matt said it, and he could find himself on his way to a hanging court before he knew it. Not that King Gordogrosso needed actual evidence, really, though it did tend to make things neater.

But the doggone stranger practically knew...

Then it occurred to Matt to relax and listen for guidance within him. Divine guidance, hopefully, though he'd settle for a good word from Saint Iago. He relaxed suddenly, smiling, and tried to feel some kind of nudge within his mind. In his own universe, some might think that such a method of decision making would be the height of stupidity; but here, it should be foolproof...

He felt the impulse. Desperately, he hoped it was right. "Well, now that you mention it, that just happens to be my quest."

"What?" Fadecourt looked up with glowing eye. "The freeing of Ibile?"

"Good way to phrase it." Matt nodded. "Yes, I like your words better. Can you give me any idea what I'm up against?"

"Gladly, good Wizard! There will be some that you will rejoice to hear, but much that you will deplore."

"You're so encouraging," Matt murmured. "Tell me something good."

"Well, the best part of it is that Gordogrosso has not left his castle since he took power."

"Agoraphobia?" Matt looked up, interested. "Or is he just too paranoid to trust his advisers?"

"I cannot say—but he has not come out these fifteen years. You shall not, therefore, need to concern yourself about meeting the sorcerer in person."

"Until we come to his castle." Matt raised a finger. "I'm afraid that's part of the plan."

Narlh growled.

"Brave man!" Fadecourt cried. "And what will you do when you've come there?"

"Think fast," Matt said. "Actually, I hope to have come up with some sort of strategy by then. But you don't think we'll have any trouble getting there?"

"Oh, I did not say that! For look you, Gordogrosso's evil has so deeply taken hold of the land that only a few attempt any degree of goodness, and they must hide it."

"So. Every man's hand is turned against me, huh?"

"And every woman's. Each day, such few good folk as are left seek to flee the land—and are more often than not cut down in their flight."

Matt thought of the family he'd met earlier in the day, and was glad he'd found an excuse to give them a little help. "I suppose he's got a pretty good spy network."

"He has no need of it—for 'tis as though the very ground, the leaves of the trees, are so permeated with his corruption that he can see where any person is at any time. If some event is to happen, he can view it."

Matt felt his scalp prickling. "What? The land has become an extension of his nervous system? He just knows?"

"Well, not so bad as that," Fadecourt allowed. " 'Tis said he spies by means of a magical mirror—so he must look ere he can see. Moreover, he must know that a person exists, ere he can spy upon him. Indeed, 'tis certain there are places even Gordogrosso cannot peer into—though no one is sure where they may be."

Matt's skin crawled as though he could feel someone peering down his back. "This isn't exactly building an overwhelming enthusiasm in me for this job."

"Oh, you must not give it over!" The cyclops leaned forward, reaching out toward Matt. "You are the best hope Ibile has had in a generation! Nay, valiant Wizard, I beseech you! Leave not the people of Ibile to toil in misery and sorrow! Come, and come quickly, to their aid! Defeat Gordogrosso and his evil sycophants!"

"Well...I...I'd be glad to," Matt managed, "but I'm only one man. Conceited though I may be, even I don't think I can take on the magic and might of a whole country, and win!"

"You shall have aid, every iota that we folk of Ibile can bring you! I myself will stand at your right hand and do all that I can to cast down your enemies! Only do what you must to save our land from corruption and Hell—even if you must take the crown yourself, to do it!"

Well! Matt couldn't have asked for a better invitation. Not that he had given up on the idea of winning a kingdom for himself, mind you, and thereby winning Alisande—but it certainly helped to be invited. Politics being what it is, it strengthened his position to have some shred of legitimacy to his claim. Probably helped his position magically, too, since magic here was based on right and wrong. "All right," he said magnanimously, "I'll give it a try,"

After all, the angel hadn't said he couldn't, had it?