Her Majesty's Wizard #1 (42 page)

   A hand touched his arm.

   Matt started-and looked up to see a maroon robe, with Sir Guy's anxious face above it. The knight's voice seemed to come from a great distance. "Are you well, Matthew?"

   With infinite reluctance, Matt pulled himself back to reality, letting himself feel the stone of the floor and hear the echoes of Sir Guy's voice, until he was again immersed in the moment and life was real once more.

   He looked down at the armor. It lay as it had fallen, not in the neat bundle he had first seen: And the great sword lay to the side and a little behind him.

   He looked up at Sir Guy, smiling slowly. "I'm very well."

   Relief lighted Sir Guy's eyes, but his face didn't move. He nodded, a smile coming to his lips. "And your watch?"

   Matt grinned and stretched luxuriously, rising to his feet. "Well. Now I know what I believe."

   Sir Guy's face registered a flood of joy. "Then you have it, Lord Matthew. Come, bear the armor out."

   Matt frowned, not quite understanding. But he shrugged, bent down, and scooped up the pile of plate. It weighed at least a hundred pounds, probably much more; it felt heavier than that.

   But he didn't even stagger under the load. Something had changed his body during the night, he thought, giving him unexpected strength. Or was that also faith? He followed Sir Guy out into the great hall.

   The light had brightened. Somehow, there was a sense of anticipation in the air; the ancient knights were waiting for something big to happen. What was up? He turned to Sir Guy. "How long was I in there, anyway?"

   "Only the night," Sir Guy answered. "Ten hours."

   "Ten?" Matt stared. "I could have sworn it wasn't more than two or three."

   "Nay, it was ten." Sir Guy watched him, with a slight smile. "And do you feel wearied?"

   "Well, a little, maybe-but refreshed, at least in my head."

   "But the body was tired. Might I suggest a bath?"

   "A bath?" Mitt's eyes lighted. "Hell, yeah! I haven't had a bath in a week!"

   "Remove your clothes, then."

   Matt squatted, setting down the armor, then straightened and peeled off his tunic and hose. He was faintly surprised to see they still folded.

   Then Sir Guy led the way to the "tub". It was halfway to Hardishane, under the noses of two of the dead knights. A section of floor had been removed, revealing a pool in the rock. Natural, probably-spring-fed. Just looking at it, Matt shivered:

   "Enter," Sir Guy murmured.

   Matt sensed that he was on trial again. He bit down on a surge of irritation and stepped into the water. Icy chills shot up his legs as his feet went in. He stifled a curse, took a deep breath, and ducked under.

   He almost shouted with agony, under water or not. Liquid ice wrapped around every cell of him. Was this how the knights had been preserved-by cryogenics?

   He surged back up, breaking water like a volcano, sucking in air that seemed very warm. A faint, approving murmur echoed through the hall; at least he'd done something right. He cupped a palmful of water and began scrubbing. Sir Guy had gone-for a towel, Matt hoped.

   A voice in his left ear snapped, "What is the first duty of a knight?"

   "To his lord," Matt said automatically, looking up in surprise.

   A grim old knight sat there to his left; dead or not, Matt was sure he was the source of the voice. "Then to his lord's lady."

   "And what of the king?" snapped a voice to his right.

   Matt ladled water over his shoulder and shuddered. "A knight is loyal to the king, of course-but that loyalty goes up through the chain of vassal and suzerain to his lord, and his lord's lord, on up to the king."

   "And if the king wars with the knight's lord?" demanded a third voice.

   What was this, the oral exam for his doctorate? "Then the knight must side with the right. But if his lord is wrong, and the king is right, the knight must go to his lord and formally remove himself from the lord's service. After that, if there's anything left of him, he can go offer his services to the king."

   "Well answered," a fourth voice approved. "What is the first rule of battle?"

   Matt scowled. "Offensive or defensive?"

   "Correctly asked," the voice applauded. "In offensive, what is the first concern?"

   It went on like that for what seemed hours, while Matt shivered in the icy water. Sir Guy came back, bearing some cloth folded over his arm, and stood listening respectfully as the knights threw question after question at Matt. Sometimes his response was wrong, and the asking knight corrected him sternly. But his study of history gave him the right answers at least nine times out of ten. That should have been enough, but apparently wasn't for these dead knights. They must have been saving their questions for centuries.

   At last, Hardishane spoke. "Enough! He knows the rules of chivalry as well as any knight. Withdraw him!"

   Sir Guy bent down, holding out a hand. Matt caught his wrist and clambered gratefully out of the pool. The dark air of the hall felt almost hot by comparison. He bit down to keep his teeth from chattering, then began a vigorous toweling of his legs to keep his knees from knocking. When he got up to the waist, Sir Guy took the towel. Matt started to protest, but the Black Knight started drying his back, and Matt realized he was up against ceremony.

   "All that you have spoken is truth."

   Matt looked up toward the voice and saw a grizzled old figure with a bush of white beard. It didn't move, but its voice crackled around Matt. "Yet we have spoken here of chivalry only; we have not talked of magic. Now I shall do so. Beware Malingo, Lord Wizard. He is worse than he seems, for he is more demon than man. Yet therein lies his weakness."

   Matt looked up, startled; but he didn't have time to think about it, because Sir Guy was handing him a set of hose-clean! Matt pulled them on; they fitted perfectly. Next came a tunic, then a quilted surcoat that went down to the top of the thigh. He was just finishing belting it when Sir Guy picked up a piece of armor and began buckling it onto him.

   "Hey, wait a minute! I'm not supposed to wear a knight's armor!"

   "Wherefore not?" Sir Guy picked up another piece and kept buckling.

   "Well-isn't it against union rules, or something?"

   Sir Guy shrugged. "You cannot deny you shall have need of it. We go to battle, Lord Wizard."

   Matt gave up and, let Sir Guy finish encasing him. It did seem irregular-but who was he to argue?

   The armor fitted perfectly. It was beautiful-and heavy! Matt took a step and almost fell down. This would take getting used to.

   "Keep your back absolutely straight," the nearest knight advised. "You must bear the weight on your shoulders, till you're horsed."

   "And move slowly at first," another put in. "Let your body have time; it must learn anew how to balance and shift."

   They went on advising, and Matt walked experimentally at their direction. They were patient teachers, which was rather surprising, after that cross-examination. During the instructions, Sir Guy disappeared again.

   When the knights finally let Matt pull out his sword and directed him in the fine points of chopping when his arm felt like lead, he guessed he'd passed another examination. Just about then, Sir Guy came back, wearing his own lobster shell. "Come, Lord Wizard."

   "Time to hit the road again, huh?" Matt faced the nearest bunch of knights, managed a shallow bow, and, even more surprisingly, managed to straighten up. He turned to the other row of knights and bowed again. "I thank you, sirs and lords, for your instruction and counsel."

   An approving murmur moved through the ranks, but the nearest knight said only, "Go with Toutarien."

   Sir Guy caught his arm before he could answer and turned him toward the Emperor. Matt's eyes went wide, but Sir Guy was striding down the aisle toward Hardishane, and Matt had to follow suit.

   He wished someone would tell him what was going on.

   Sir Guy stopped about five feet from the Emperor and muttered, "Kneel."

   Kneel? Matt had barely managed a bow!

   But Sir Guy was the only one in the room who wasn't looking at him. How the dead knights could watch with their eyes shut, Matt didn't know, but he knew they did-and it made him feel very spooky indeed. Put it out of your mind, he told himself sternly and bent all his concentration on bending his knee. Slowly, very awkwardly, he knelt. Firmly established with one knee touching the floor, he tried looking up.

   The dead Emperor towered over him, vast and golden.

   "Will you now," the giant intoned, "swear fealty to me and all my line, to bear me service, answer my call, and be loyal to me and all I adhere to, defending me and mine with your body and life, if need be?"

   Matt stared up at the golden giant, seized suddenly by the realization that this man was the embodiment of all that had ever been good in army or aristocracy, and that the centuries had left nothing evil or weak to purge from him. "I so swear, and gladly; I am deeply honored, Majesty. Without let or reservation, I am your man."

   "Well spoken," the voice approved. "Bow your head."

   As Matt inclined his head, he saw Sir Guy step up to Hardishane and lug out the giant's great broadsword, staggering under the load. Then all Matt could see was the floor; but he felt the great sword lowering down, to rest on his shoulder.

   "With this sword," the Emperor rumbled, "I dub you knight."

   Matt froze.

   Then, slowly, he lifted wide, incredulous eyes to the great, golden Emperor-and he began to curse himself for a fool, not to have realized what was going on, not to have been willing to admit it to himself when he'd begun to suspect.

   "Rise, Sir Matthew," the Emperor commanded.

   Matt rose, feeling totally humbled and amazingly exalted at the same time.

   "Now I counsel you," Hardishane boomed, "beware of fell illusions and glamours; above all else, beware the works of Evil that manifest themselves in complaints of purposelessness; for we, have ever purpose, if 'tis only to abide, to wait, and to insure that one waits after us, against the day that Evil shall arise; for only by awaiting thus, in readiness, can we forestall it."

   "I shall remember, Majesty," Matt mumbled, head bowed.

   "And do not bow your head, not even to me," the Emperor rumbled. "Stand tall and proud, for you are a knight of Hardishane's."

   Matt snapped to attention.

   "Now go, with this command." The Emperor's voice hardened. "Destroy the-sorcerer Malingo; hale down his pawn, corrupted Astaulf. Restore this land to cleanliness and to God!"

   "I shall so endeavor, Majesty."

   Sir Guy turned back from sheathing Hardishane's sword and stepped up to Matt, muttering, "Turn and leave."

   Matt stood a moment, startled. Turn his back on an Emperor? Then he shrugged-or tried to, in his steel weskit. He bowed, straightened, and turned away with Sir Guy.

   As he did, his gaze swept across an empty chair at the Emperor's right, one only slightly smaller than Hardishane's throne, with gilded carvings traced over the surface. For whom was that? A knight who'd died in some way that left no remains, or one who was missing at the moment? He shivered at the thought of one of the bodies walking. about the land. Then he put the puzzle aside for later consideration.

   He and Sir Guy marched between the files of dead knights, while Matt seemed to hear a faint, distant choir intoning a triumphant hymn. And as they passed each ancient warrior, a word of advice sounded in his ear-a one-sentence summary of the wisdom of a lifetime:

   "Never fight until your right cannot be questioned; then delay not to strike."... "Never fear to claim a higher place, for when you've reached your proper height, you will know."... "Never be too far from arms, for all men have the blood of Cain."... "Never seek more power than God gives, for He will match it to your tasks." ... "Know yourself and always question what manner of man you have become..."

   It continued until Matt's mind seemed to ring with the tambour of iron men's experience. Then they were entering the low tunnel that led to the outside cave. They turned the corner, and the misty cavern was lost to sight. Matt felt a pang of regret.

   They came into the outer cave, and a humming spark of light dropped down from the ceiling. "I thought to warm the water for you, Wizard. But I forebore."

   Matt nodded numbly. "You were right," he said. "Very."

   Stegoman flew down from a nearby mountain peak at Matt's hail. Sir Guy was looking about as if searching for something. Then he put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. A few minutes later, his horse came trotting up. Apparently the nuns had released the beast, and it had found its way here, as the knight had said it would.

   They rode up further into the mountains in the golden light of early morning. Matt was silent, riding with his eyes on the sky, head filled with the glory of the pageant he'd just lived through, ears ringing with the distant echo of broadswords clashing in ancient, fabled battles.