Wizard Of Rentoro

Chapter 12

Blade awoke in a canopied bed large enough for six people, under a pile of quilts thick enough to keep him warm at the North Pole. Every muscle in his body was complaining and he was bruised and scraped all over, as if he'd taken a quick trip through a cement mixer.

None of this was enough to keep him in bed. Blade rolled out of bed and did a few exercises. If it came to a fight, he would do well enough. Anything less than a strong force of Wolves in top shape was going to get badly mauled if they tried anything.

With an effort, he forced himself out of this bloodthirsty mood. Why assume he was going to have to fight again, when he didn't know what orders the Wizard had given? He now realized that the Wolves had taken him prisoner, when they could have easily chopped him to pieces and fed him to the castle's watchdogs. They'd taken him with their bare hands, and some of them had been killed doing this. He'd been allowed to reach the end of his long journey alive, well, and fit to meet the Wizard. Quite probably the Wizard of Rentoro didn't want him killed.

His mind settled on this point, Blade began to inspect his room. It was one of those rooms that made him wonder if he was a guest or a prisoner. The walls were hung with tapestries, the floor covered with fleeces and furs, the bed and the other furniture richly carved out of some pale hardwood. In one corner was a silver watertap and a wooden stand with two jeweled cups, in another corner a marble toilet.

There were also bars on the one high narrow window, iron rings hanging from the walls, and a door of solid iron, heavy enough to stop a tank. He was going to be quite comfortable in this room-but he was also going to be staying in it, whether he liked it or not, until someone outside let him leave.

After three days without food or clothing, Blade began to wonder just how comfortable he was supposed to be. He'd heard and seen nothing to suggest the castle was even inhabited. He knew it was, but he now knew as well that the Wizard and his men were ignoring his existence.

Maybe they hoped to weaken him by hunger, but they wouldn't find that easy. It would be another week before they could hope to find him seriously weakened. Until then, he would be both willing and able to put up a fight. His original bloodthirsty mood was beginning to return, stronger than before.

After another three days without food, Blade's stomach shrank down and its angry rumblings stopped. Blade's mood was more savage than ever. He was about ready to kill the first person who stepped through the door, then tear him apart, roast him over a fire of tapestries and furniture, and eat him!

Blade laughed at the vision this thought conjured up. In a few more days, his situation would no longer be a laughing matter. He would start losing strength, until he would be an easy victim for even one Wolf, let alone half a dozen. Eventually he would start losing his willpower and self-control. Then what? He might not actually go mad, but he could become horribly vulnerable to whatever the Wizard might do to him. He was more vulnerable to hypnosis when his system was depressed by drugs, fatigue, illness, or hunger. Would he also be more vulnerable to the Wizard's mental powers? Would the Wizard be able to strip his mind of all defenses, extract its contents like the meat from a coconut, and turn him into a helpless puppet? Would the Wizard-

Whatever the Wizard might do, he, Richard Blade, would spend no more time worrying about it. The six days of hunger must already be working on him, if he could let his mind spin horrifying fantasies this way.

The Wizards of Rentoro might once have been telepaths. In fact, Blade was prepared to believe they had been. But what about the present Wizard? Everything about the way he wielded his power over Rentoro could be explained without telepathy. Even the trances of the Wolf leaders could be nothing more than a ritual of meditation. With enough men loyal to him, the Wizard could give the appearance of having all the «magical» powers of his ancestors.

Still, telepathy or not, if the Wizard did not come within the next week, he would find Blade helpless, physically and perhaps mentally. What would happen then, Blade didn't care to guess, and firmly put any further wild fantasies out of his mind.

That night Blade enjoyed his best sleep since reaching the castle. He woke with a memory of strange dreams, to hear an almost equally strange sound. It was an iron key, turning in the lock of the door.

Blade sprang out of bed as the door opened. He crouched behind the bed as five Wolf leaders in full armor clanked into the room. Then he rose to face the man who followed the Wolves into the room.

His journey was really over. At last he was in the presence of the Wizard of Rentoro.

The man had to be the Wizard of Rentoro. It was hard to imagine anyone else being escorted about the castle by five Wolf leaders. Nonetheless, the man's appearance was something of a surprise.

Blade hadn't expected a Hollywood version of Merlin the Magician-long robe, high pointed cap, long flowing white beard, staff with mysterious carvings on it. Neither had he expected anything like the man who stood before him, arms crossed on his chest and dark face set in a tight, formal smile.

The Wizard seemed to be about Blade's own age-no longer young, but still in the prime of life. He stood just under six feet, barrel-chested, heavy-boned, with large powerful hands and legs like tree trunks. Large dark eyes stared at Blade over a hooked nose. The massive chin appeared even heavier due to a square-cut black beard, oiled and faintly perfumed. The Wizard wore a black velvet tunic with slashed and puffed sleeves, skin-tight hose with one leg green and the other white, red leather shoes with long points, and a sash of gilded metal links. A long dagger with a silver hilt in the shape of a wolf's head was thrust into the sash.

The man had an air about him that Blade found hard to define. There was no single word to describe it, there was only a list of the qualities that seemed to be in the man. Ruthlessness, alertness, determination, and sheer strength were all part of him. Blade suspected that right now the Wizard could be more than his match in unarmed combat. The more he looked at the Wizard, the more the man made him think of some great nobleman of the Italian Renaissance-perhaps a mercenary captain who'd fought his way up to rule a city, a man who could admire an exquisite statue one day and order a dozen men out for execution the next. Even without any telepathic powers, this man would not be easy to either fight or deceive.

Then the Wizard spoke. He spoke in the Rentoran language, with an accent that reminded Blade of something from Home Dimension. He was trying to remember what it reminded him of when he heard the Wizard's last words:

«-so I am pleased to bid you welcome, Richard Blade.»

The shock of hearing his name from the Wizard jerked Blade's attention back to the man standing in front of him. It was just in time. A moment later Blade sensed a message passing into his mind, filling it like an echoing shout in a cave.

«Open your thoughts to me,» was the message. «Open them, and let me know them. I am not your enemy.»

Fortunately Blade had been warned that he might be facing telepathy and other paranormal powers. So he was not caught unprepared or ignorant of what was happening, and that saved his mind if not his life.

The Wizard gave Blade no more than a few seconds to consider the request and reply to it. Then he struck with all the power of his mind, and Blade felt in that blow the anger of a proud man who takes the slightest resistance as not only a crime but a personal insult. The Wizard was as jealous of his supremacy over the inner world of the mind as he was of his supremacy over the outer world of Rentoro.

Blade knew that he had to resist. The Wizard was hardly likely to stop with merely reading Blade's thoughts. He would go on to plant his own, until there was nothing in Blade's mind the Wizard hadn't put there-or at least nothing to keep the Wizard from controlling all of Blade's actions.

Blade knew he had to keep his mind totally occupied with his own thoughts, so there would be no room for the Wizard to plant any of his deadly messages. He would also have to fight this battle entirely on the defensive. He hoped he could keep the Wizard's thoughts out of his mind, but he had no chance of pushing any of his own thoughts into the Wizard's mind.

All this ran through Blade's thoughts in seconds. Then he settled down to his mental duel with the Wizard.

His first thought was a defiant shout against the Wizard's call, «I am not your enemy.»

You are a liar! Blade mentally shouted.

You are a liar!

You are a liar!

Blade hurled that thought through his mind over and over again, more and more intensely as he felt the Wizard trying to interrupt him. If he'd been saying the words, he would have been shouting them at the top of his lungs.

You are a liar.

You must not fight me. I am not your enemy, the Wizard replied.

You are a liar.

You must not fight me. I am-the Wizard repeated.

And on and on, more intense, more savage with each exchange.

In time Blade sensed that his own thoughts were coming more slowly and knew he would have to find some new defense. So he shifted to problems in calculus. He'd always been competent rather than brilliant at mathematics. To do any problem in calculus in his head took total concentration. As the numbers began to dance across his mental vision. he felt the Wizard driven back-and also felt his growing anger.

In another moment, Blade could no longer read the thoughts the Wizard was using to try breaking through his own mental smokescreen of equations. Perhaps he was winning, or at least holding his own. He decided to test the idea. He thought of taking a step backward, then of raising both hands high over his head and lowering them. His muscles told him that his legs and his arms were obeying his mind. His mind and body were still his own, not the Wizard's.

The moment's break in Blade's mental defenses gave the Wizard his chance for a physical act. He took two swift steps forward, one arm shot out, and a heavy hand pressed itself against Blade's temple.

Blade jerked his mind back to the equations, but he felt the attack against him double its strength. He still read anger in that attack, but also curiosity. A mind as hard to penetrate and control as Blade's was clearly something new and mysterious for the Wizard.

That might be good news, if it kept the Wizard reluctant to kill him. It would also make the Wizard more determined than ever to break into his mind and find out what made it tick! This fight wasn't going to be over for a long time.

Suddenly the Wizard hurled his thoughts with total concentration and tremendous force at Blade. Blade's defenses started to collapse, slowly but inevitably, like a falling wall. He knew they were collapsing, knew that the Wizard was about to enter his mind. Images of London, of the computer room, of his apartment flashed across his mental vision instead of the equations.

This time it was Blade's chance to use his body. With all the willpower he had left, Blade forced his right arm into movement. His hand closed around the hilt of the Wizard's dagger and plucked it from the sash. He raised the sharp steel, holding it well out to one side so the Wizard could not grab it easily. Then he concentrated totally on an image of himself and the Wizard lying on the floor. The Wizard's throat gaped open, while Blade lay with the dagger buried up to the hilt in his chest. Both were as lifeless as the blood-drenched stone under them.

The Wizard jerked his hand away from Blade's temple as if it had suddenly turned red-hot and leaped backward. He made no effort to grab the dagger. Instead he dropped into a wrestler's crouch and raised one hand to send the Wolves into action.

The Wolves took two steps forward. Then Blade raised the dagger and held it with the point almost touching the bare skin of his chest. At the same time he formed in his mind another image-his dead body sprawled on the floor, with the Wizard and the Wolves standing around it, gaping helplessly.

The Wolves took another step forward. Blade gulped in air, realized that he'd bitten his lips hard enough to draw blood, and forced out words.

«No,» he said. «No, Wizard. Stop them where they are, or you'll never get anything from me. I can be dead long before they reach me.»

The Wizard stiffened for a moment, then nodded. The hand went up again and the Wolves stopped. The Wizard straightened, his eyes narrowed, and Blade knew he was gathering his thoughts for another mental attack.

«No,» said Blade again. «Stay out of my mind, too. I don't like that, any more than I like the Wolves. Leave me unharmed and free, both in mind and body, or see me dead in front of you.»

«You wouldn't dare,» was the thought that came clearly from the Wizard.

Don't risk it, was Blade's reply. It seems that I have something you value. You will not get it or anything else if I die, and I will die if you touch either my body or my mind again. Do not doubt this for a moment.

Blade was not bluffing. Death might be worse than whatever the Wizard had in store for him, but he doubted it. In any case, he could do nothing to affect the Wizard's behavior once he lost control of his mind. He couldn't risk leaving himself at the man's mercy.

It was literally and brutally a case of liberty or death.

The two men stood glaring at each other for a minute that seemed like an hour. Neither moved an inch, or paid any attention to the five Wolves. The men were blinking and shuffling their steel-shod feet, certain that something was badly wrong, equally certain they didn't know what it was or what they should do.

Then the Wizard let his breath out in a long sigh and lowered his gaze to the floor. His hands dropped to his sides and Blade noticed that they were visibly shaking. His olive face had gone pale and sweaty, while his eyes blinked furiously.

At last he got control of himself and again met Blade's eyes.

«Who are you?» he rasped. «Who are you, Richard Blade? Where did you come from, and when did you come from?»

Blade found it hard not to gape stupidly at the Wizard. The questions made no sense at all. He wondered if the strain of the mental duel might not have temporarily muddled the Wizard's mind.

«Do you know who you are?» said the Wizard. «Do you remember, or have you forgotten?» He was impatient, but there was also a pleading note in his voice. Blade could no longer doubt that this was a desperate man in front of him-but desperate about what? The man's questions still made no sense.

«Who are you?» he shot back. «Tell me, and then I will know if it is safe to tell you who I am.» The Wizard's face twisted, but Blade raised the dagger again. The Wizard swallowed, then took a deep breath.

«I am Bernardo Sembruzo, Conde di Pietroverde,» he said. «I was a nobleman of Milan and a captain in the service of the Visconti. I fought against Florence. After the death of the great Gian Galeazzo, I retired to my estates. There I explored the secrets of the world around us and also of the world within our minds. I explored too deeply, and one day I passed from my castle to-here, Rentoro.»

The Wizard said all this without stopping for breath. Now he gulped in air and repeated, «Where did you come from, Richard Blade, and when did you come from there? I came from my castle, north of Milan, in the Christian year 1410. When did you leave Earth, Blade, and come to Rentoro?»