Her Majesty's Wizard #1 (24 page)

   "Naught of which I know," Alisande said slowly. "Naetheless, be mindful-we are besieged, beset upon all sides. Not a step do we take that is not noted by our enemy. And should he catch one among us left alone, he will surely cut him out and cut him down."

   "He can try," Matt said evenly, and immediately wondered at his own brass. "But I'm in a state of Grace now, your Highness, at last. And if I see anything but heather moving, I'll yell loud and quick'."

   "Yet may you be too far for us to reach you." Alisande glanced at Sayeesa and Father Brunel with an agonized look; then her mouth firmed with decision, and she pushed herself to her feet. "Lend me a sword, Sir Guy. If he must needs stroll about, indifferent to his danger, I'll pace beside him."

   "Oh, f' cryin' out unprintably!" Matt burst out. "What do you think I am, a kid who doesn't know enough not to talk to strangers? ... All right, all right! If you don't trust me to take care of myself, I'll take a bodyguard. Stegoman! Whaddaya say?"

   The dragon rose, grinning. He looked back at the princess. "I shall keep him safe. Though I bedoubt me an he will need it. Do not fash thyself, Highness."

   "I shall," she said somberly, and Matt wondered at the sudden trace of hurt behind her flinty mask.

   Then she turned away, closing her eyes, and Matt felt anger seethe as he strode out across the moor. What did she expect of him, anyway? What was she trying to do to him? Or...

   Was he doing something to her?

   For a moment, hope leaped in his chest. Illusion, the monitor at the back of his mind schooled him sternly. Never believe.

   It was true, and the taste of it was like bile in his throat. He reminded himself that he was a commoner born, and Alisande was royalty. True, he was technically a lord now, but it was the birth that mattered. Princesses didn't get seriously involved with anything short of dukes.

   "What troubles thee?" Stegoman rumbled beside him. "I can return, if thou wouldst be alone."

   "No! I'm glad of your company," Matt said quickly. "Stegoman, why were we created male and female? It only makes problems for us."

   The dragon made a low, grating sound that resembled a chuckle. "Problems? Wait till thou hast mated and hast a nest of hatchlings."

   Matt looked up, startled. "You? Ah-I mean..."

   "Thou didst not see me as the family sort? Nay, thou hast the right of it." The dragon's eyes gleamed. "But as an eldest son, I have watched a parent's writhings and compared them with mine own. 'Tis a wretched life, unmated and wanting-or mated and responsible. In either case, wherein lies the sense?"

   "Yeah. As they say in my world, you can't live without 'em and you can't live with 'em," Matt mused. "You never do control your own life. Ever since I came here, I've been slapped about, with no idea of where I'm going or why. Somebody grabs me and throws me to somebody else, who throws me to still another. Now I'm marching across a strange moor with a knight I don't know, a princess without a throne, a priest who shouldn't be, and an ex-witch. I'm getting a little tired of it all. It's time I got back in control."

   Stegoman lifted an eye-ridge. "Thou dost desire power?"

   "Not to control anyone else's life-just mine. I mean, I scarcely know what I'm doing any more-or why. For all I know, I could help Alisande gain the throne, only to see her set up the kind of government I abhor."

   "And what kind wouldst thou not abhor?"

   "Oh-the greatest good for the greatest number, I suppose."

   "Ah, thou dost speak of peasants. And what is their lot now under Astaulf?"

   Matt remembered the burned village and shuddered. "Okay, you win that point. But would Alisande be any better?"

   "Her blood is not corrupted," Stegoman said. "She will therefore rule like her father. I saw his reign the five years I have roamed this land, and always there was food and fuel. The barons knew their rights and duties. And each year, all had a little more than they needed. But now?" His back fins writhed in a shrug. "Hunger stalks, bandits ride, and few fields are planted. 'Twill be a long, hungry winter."

   Matt sighed. "Yeah. So I guess I stick with the princess."

   "Yet still thine assent lacks joy." The dragon eyed him doubtfully. "Mayhap thou must decide the why."

   "Why?" Matt began an automatic answer, then stopped. His reason was no longer obvious. "You're right. Why am I doing it?" He mulled it over. "Maybe because..."

   "Aye?"

   "Well, I guess, back in my own world, I didn't amount to much at anything I tried; and I've tried lots of jobs. But here, things seem to work. Put the two-bit scholar, the so-so poet, the doubtful logician, and the indifferent swordsman together-and you've got a wizard. So now I have this feeling of achievement, and a chance to be a success. All the half-gifts I was born with add up to one big Gift, here."

   "A talent must be trained, though," the dragon mused. "Did then thy studies provide such training in magic?"

   "Well, no," Matt admitted. "Or, wait, maybe they did, in a way. I picked up some training in logic and the scientific method. With them, it's just a matter of figuring out the rules."

   "Rules? But there are no rules of magic! As I have told thee."

   "There must be laws and rules," Matt stated. "You just have to figure them out. Observe several events and find what they have in common; then you can see what proceeds from them. If you know how one proportion changes, you have a good guide to how the other does."

   Stegoman's head performed a loop-the-loop. "I hear thy words, but thy meaning lies beyond me. Dost mean, if I have two gold pieces and wish ten, I've but to write 'two' on a parchment, then change it to `ten', and I'll have ten pieces in my purse?"

   "No, no! The symbol is not the thing. At least ... not in my world..." Matt's voice trailed off, and his eyes lost focus.

   Here the symbol was the thing-or was at least closely enough connected with it. And words were spoken symbols. So it followed that the right spoken words might directly affect things. The problem was to use those word-symbols effectively.

   Well, obviously poetry seemed to work. And apparently rhyme helped. Maybe the voice sounds, when reinforced, set up some kind of magical resonance. Umm, what had that professor kept repeating about poetry? Dense-that was it; good poetry had much greater density than prose. It was heavy in imagery that could have a lot of different referents, not just one.

   So it should follow that better poetry would make better magic.

   Probably it would work still better if it were sung-too bad he didn't have a better singing voice-especially if the pitches were chosen to resonate correctly with the meaning. The most effective combination of melody and words would be those that were written to reinforce each other and their referents.

   It all seemed to fit together so well that Matt wondered why nobody here had been able to see the way magic worked.

   Then a flash of insight supplied the answer. He'd been using linear thinking to analyze things. But thought in this world was not linear-it was gestalt. People didn't break things down into parts; they thought in total concepts and hunches. To them, magic was a thing, not a series of processes. Matt decided he'd have to do some heavy thinking about that, but it appeared that his linear approach should give him a big advantage here.

   Then a nudge against his back reminded him that he was not alone, and he looked up, surprised at how far they had come while he was deep in thought. Behind him, Stegoman stood quietly, his head turned back toward the campsite in a listening position.

   "Hearken!" the dragon urged softly. "dost hear?"

   Almost at once, Matt heard it-a scream, thin and distant.

   "The princess!" Stegoman's head snapped up.

   "Or Sayeesa." Matt ran to the dragon, leaped, and pulled himself up between two fin-plates. "What could be ..."

   Far away toward the camp, a wolf howled.

CHAPTER 11

   Stegoman let out a thundering roar as he lumbered into their camp.

   Sayeesa was crouched back against the boulder was near the campfire. Sir Guy stood in front of her with sword and shield, but obviously had found no time to don armor. Beside him, the princess stood with a sword to guard his back. There was no sign of Father Brunel.

   In front of the knight danced a gaunt, gray wolf, snarling; snapping its jaws, and trying to leap at him from the side, but prevented by the two swords.

   Suddenly, the wolf leaped high, attempting to jump over Sip Guy. The Black Knight's shield shot up, slamming against the wolf's chest, throwing the creature backward. Then his sword flashed downward, opening a long gash in the hairy side. Blood fountained out-but the flow slackened almost instantly, slowed to a trickle, and stopped. The wound began to close.

   Matt's scalp prickled as his hair tried to stand on end. He'd done enough reading of horror stories to recognize a werewolf.

   "I tell you, swords are of no avail," Sayeesa cried. "A silver crucifix, Sir Knight! Naught else will protect us!"

   "We have none." For once, the Black Knight sounded less than amused.

   The wolf gathered itself for another spring, and Stegoman let out a bellow. The wolf whirled. Then it sprang high into the air, straight for Matt's face.

   Stegoman reared back his neck and let out a blast of fire. Flame enveloped the wolf. It screamed, a sound that was almost human. Then the blowtorch cut out as Stegoman hiccuped, and the wolf fell, a crisped and singed hulk, moaning and howling. Matt leaped to the ground.

   "Stay clear of the fell beast!" Sayeesa cried, and Matt realized he'd landed only ten feet from the struggling hulk.

   As he watched, the char fell from the wolf's body, leaving new, pink skin. Hair sprouted and grew. The moans turned into snarls. The wolf lifted its head. For a second, Matt stared directly into its eyes. They looked familiar...

   The wolf floundered to its feet and leaped, slashing at him. Matt sprang back, and Stegoman's head swung down between him and the wolf, jaws gaping for another blast. The wolf sidled back and began to dance around them. Suddenly it whirled and leaped at Sayeesa.

   Sir Guy moved to block its way. The wolf saw the sword stabbing and tried to abort its leap, but the sword laid open its side. It howled as it landed, and blood gushed again, to halt and begin healing at once. Then the wolf struggled to its feet and leaped for Matt's throat.

   Matt twisted aside into a crouch and reached out to catch a paw as the wolf went past. He turned with it and yanked down, then let go. The wolf went flying, somersaulting for ten feet, to land on its back. Something cracked like a brittle branch, and the wolf screamed as it floundered about on the ground.

   "Be not deceived," Sayeesa called. "His back will heal. Work your spell now or not at all!"

   Matt nodded, closing his mind to the wolf's piteous yelps and howls. He reached for his silver ballpoint, taking a deep breath and scrounging mentally for a verse. Then he began chanting the spell.

   "Silver pen that wrote of life, Be a form inscribing death. Change yourself into a knife, Fit for stopping evil breath!"

   The pen twitched and writhed in his hand, but Matt didn't dare look down at it, because the wolf had staggered to its feet and was stalking toward him, stiff-legged, snarling.

   Matt flicked his hand; moonlight gleamed off the blade.

   The wolf froze, staring.

   Then a snarl of rage ripped from its throat as it leaped at Matt, death in its eyes.

   Matt dropped to his knees, thrusting up with the dagger, scoring the wolf's belly. The wolf twisted in mid-air, snapping at Matt's hand, and fell on him. Matt covered his eyes with his forearm as the wolf's weight crashed down. An agonized howl filled his head; claws raked fire along his arm, and teeth stabbed into the hand that held the knife. Matt bellowed with pain and anger and jabbed. The teeth shot fire up his arm, but the wolf gave a choking cough and yanked its head back.

   Then something slammed it aside, and Matt rolled to his knees in time to see Stegoman's huge snout swing like a wrecking ball, knocking the wolf another ten feet. "Wouldsht thou, then, trouble one o' my friendzh?" the dragon slurred, lurching after the wolf, inhaling.

   The wolf scrabbled to its feet, saw the gaping jaws lining up on it, and leaped to the side with a howl as a gout of fire blasted the moor where it had been. It spun, snarling-and saw a silver blade hovering an inch before its eyes.

   "Why do you stay?" Sayeesa cried. "Slay it ere it tears out your throat!"

   But her words rang with despair, and Matt stayed his hand.

   The wolf's head jerked up at the sound of Sayeesa's voice. It leaped to the side with a snarl; but Matt leaped with it, silver blade glinting, and the wolf howled in rage and frustration. It whirled about toward the open moor-and found Alisande blocking its path.

   "Stand away!" Matt cried in panic. "You're not protected!"

   The wolf sprang at her throat, and Matt leaped after it, stabbing. But Alisande fell back and away, to her knees, sword slashing out to open its belly as Matt's knife stabbed its hindquarters. The wolf howled in agony and sprang on past the princess, running out into the night on three legs.