"If she disliked Gaheris as much as everyone else does, and feels at all protective toward Rosamund, I would say it is quite possible," Papa said softly.
"I think that is too much for any mother to consider," Mama said firmly, "even one so vindictive as Petronille."
"Let us trust so," Alisande said with a shudder. She rose. "So! Any of them might have hired an assassin, or none of them—but in any event, I must prepare for war." She looked up at Matt. "I thank you for counseling me to build a navy, husband. We may have only ten ships thus far, but they will do to harry the coasts of Bretanglia—and may distract Drustan enough to prevent his invading Merovence."
"Be nice if we had the English Channel in this universe," Matt said.
"You have told me of that." Alisande frowned. "A twenty-mile-wide stretch of water between the Bretanglia and Merovence of your own world, is it not?"
"In our version of this universe, yes—only we call them 'England' and 'France' there, and they speak two different languages."
Alisande nodded. "I can see how the speech would have drifted apart, if Bretanglia were an island. There would have been far less coming and going between the two lands."
"Yes, Bretanglia was part of Hardishane's empire here, wasn't it? After all, he could just march in and conquer."
"As he did in Ibile, Latruria, and Allustria," Alisande said, "overcoming evil kings who were devoted to sin and Satan. He even conquered far beyond, well into the lands of the Rus. It is small wonder we all speak the same language."
"No wonder at all." Matt frowned. "But there was never another invasion of Bretanglia, was there? After Hardishane's empire broke up, I mean."
"Well, the Danes and Vikings harassed their coasts," Alisande said, "and even carved out their own kingdom in the eastern counties, to both sides of the wall built by great Reme's soldiers."
"Truly?" Mama asked. "The Vikings held land in both England and Scotland?"
"There are Scots in the northern part of Bretanglia," Alisande acknowledged, "and it was a separate land until the Vikings came. They married into all the noble families, and Drustan's father welded them together into one kingdom. This Drustan, his son, is the sixth of his name, and still rules all one land."
"Does he have a Viking fleet?" Matt asked.
Alisande smiled. "The Vikings ceased sailing two hundred years ago, husband. I think Drustan may have a few warships, but nothing more. What need of them has he, when he can ride into Merovence at will?" She turned somber. "Now, though, I fear that he will come riding in earnest, with all his armies, and with fire and sword."
"I think I might be able to find some way to keep him from invading," Matt said slowly.
Alisande looked at him with misgiving. "I would welcome that, but not at the price of danger to you."
"We're in danger already, love. Besides, there shouldn't be all that much peril in this method of distracting him."
"Which is?" Alisande asked, misgiving yielding to dread.
"Gaheris' murder was definitely no simple tavern brawl," Matt told her. "Okay, maybe the Man Who Went Out the Window stuck the knife in Gaheris himself, but I suspect someone hired him to do it. In fact, there just might be a whole conspiracy underlying it."
Alisande's eyes lighted. "If you can learn who has wrought this conspiracy and what its goal is, you may set Drustan and Petronille to rooting it out so earnestly that they forget to attack Merovence!"
"Right." Matt nodded.
"But if there was no conspiracy?" Mama frowned. "If the murder was only the work of this Man Who Went Out the Window, for whatever reason he may have had?"
"That's even better," Matt said. "If the murder wasn't the product of intrigue, handing the assassin over to Their Majesties should bring the armies to a grinding halt, especially if he's Bretanglian."
"I see." Papa smiled. "No Merovencian to blame for the murder means no war."
"Right." Matt nodded. "Of course, after they've hanged the traitors, they'll remember that they wanted to conquer Merovence."
"But if the assassin proves to be a man of Bretanglia, Drustan and Petronille will have no cause to attack." Alisande smiled. "They shall have to discover a new one."
"Excellent!" Papa cried.
But Mama frowned. "How shall you go about discovering this conspiracy, my son?"
"Well, that is the knotty part," Matt admitted. "They've gone back to Bretanglia now. I'll have to follow them if I'm going to be able to track down who's doing what."
"No!" Alisande cried.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Now I say nay!" Alisande threw her hands up, turning her back. "I have waited before while you have gone into peril, and have lived with the threat of doom hanging over me every day you were gone! You cannot ask me to do that again!"
"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." Matt stepped around in front of her, eyes sad, hands reaching out for hers though not touching. "But it's the only way I see to protect you from war, darling—you, and our children, and all the country."
"That is unfair," Alisande whispered, "to extort my consent by reminding me of the threat to my children and my people!"
"Very unfair," Matt agreed, "but also very true, and unavoidable. There's no way around it, dear. I have to go."
For a moment the wife warred with the mother and the monarch inside Alisande. Then she gave in and let herself fall into Matt's arms. Face against his chest she said, "Go, then! But oh my darling, take care, take care!"
"I will," Matt murmured into her hair. "I have a lot to come home to."
Mama and Papa exchanged a fond glance and quietly slipped out of the room.
"You must not go alone!" Alisande commanded, still in Matt's arms. "I shall send that knight of Toulenge with you, Sir Orizhan—he knows the land somewhat, at least! And that Bretanglian sergeant! Both have their honors to save, and will no doubt strive mightily to aid you!"
"Yes. Very good idea." But the thought chilled Matt—he wasn't entirely sure he could trust either man behind his back. It was better to have them where he could keep an eye on them, though, rather than here in Bordestang, where they might try another assassination—say, of Alisande.
"If you must go, then, go." But Alisande still made no move to leave his arms. Instead she tilted her face up, eyes suddenly burning. "But first, come to my bed, for it may be a month or more until I see you again!"
All things considered, Matt was very glad his parents had left.
The sun wasn't up yet when Matt gathered Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock and set them to packing for the journey. It didn't take long—both men were used to traveling light on campaigns, and both, as Alisande had guessed, were very determined to clear their own names, to atone for what they saw as a failure in their duty—to protect Prince Gaheris.
But Matt knew that earnestness could have hidden another kind of determination—to keep from being found out. Either man could have been the murderer himself—and if so, what better place to be than with the man who was trying to prove their guilt? If he came too close, the murderer would be right there to kill him, too. Matt didn't really think it was terribly likely, since both had been fighting to protect the prince when someone else stuck a sword in his back, but he resolved not to sleep too soundly. Just to be on the safe side, though, he sent out a carrier pigeon to call in a friend.
Inside the castle, Mama and Papa braced Alisande with determination. "My dear, my husband and I have decided to go with our son."
Alisande stared. "Mother Mantrell, it is bad enough that I must hazard my husband! Must I risk you, too?"
"Why, I thought you would prefer that he have protection," Mama said in surprise.
"He has Sir Orizhan and the sergeant! But if it is protection, surely Father Mantrell would be enough!"
"To protect Matthew against a sorcerer, yes," Mama said, "but to help him discover this conspiracy he suspects? A woman may learn things a man may miss, my dear, especially where a princess is concerned."
"You speak of Rosamun
d? Surely she is of little concern in this matter! But I, I am greatly concerned, for if Drustan marches before Matthew can prove who murdered Prince Gaheris and why, I must take my armies to meet his, and who will protect my castle and children while I am gone? Much worse, who will protect them should I not return?"
"Why... there is Saul, the Witch Doctor," Mama began.
"I should not tear him away from his researches and his family again! I pray you, Mother Mantrell, stay and help me ward my kingdom. Stay to guard your grandchildren!"
Mama glanced at Papa. He nodded—they both recognized an appeal for moral support when they heard one. Mama turned back to Alisande, reaching up to embrace her. "Of course, my dear, we will stay. We had thought to relieve your worries about your husband, but if you will fret less because we are here when he is not, we must certainly be by your side."
"Oh, thank you!" Alisande hugged her, doubly glad because they had not pushed the issue to the point at which she had to command them as their sovereign. "It means much to me that you will stay only because I ask it!"
"I am sure that it does." Mama touched her cheek lightly. "Just as it means much to us that you invited us to stay when we had lost our home. Now that we have a home again, and the daughter for whom I always longed, how could we leave unless you wished it? No, of course we will stay."
"Then we must tell Matthew goodbye," Papa said. "Let us hurry; he may be mounting even as we speak."
"I have said my farewells already," Alisande said, tears in her eyes. "I would rather not say them again—but go, by all means go, to give him a mother's and a father's blessing."
"We shall be back in a few minutes, then." Mama gave her a brief smile as they left the room.
Matt was checking the straps on his pack when they came out. Mama halted, staring. "Peasants' clothing? All three of you?" Then she lifted her head, understanding. "Of course! You go to track a murderer who may well be a peasant! But what if he is a knight or lord?"
"We're bringing a change of clothes." Matt tapped his pack. "I don't really expect to need them, though. Even peasants can ask shelter in a castle, and we can learn more from the servants than from their employers."
Mama glanced at Sir Orizhan, whose face was as impassive as a slab of rock, and at Sergeant Brock, who looked somewhat grim. She turned back to her son and stretched up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Go with God, Matthew, and may He bring you back to us in safety."
"Amen to that." Papa stepped forward to clap a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "May the Lord shield you with His wings, and may you walk through danger unscathed."
"Thanks, folks." Matt gave them each a quick embrace, then stepped back. "Do two things for me, will you?"
"Of course," Papa said.
"I didn't get a chance to question Pargas and Laetri—they're the prostitute and her pimp who were, ah, present, at the crime."
His parents understood on the instant; both their faces darkened. Mama said, "I wondered at Prince Gaheris dying while committing so chivalrous an act as defending a maiden. Have no fear, my son, I shall discuss the event with the woman."
"And I with the man." Papa had a very stern look about him. "We shall attend to it, be sure."
"Thanks," Matt said. He smiled, then turned to look up at the solar window, where a lone figure was silhouetted against the candlelight. He blew a kiss to her, then turned, away toward the gate. "Come on, guys." He waved over his shoulder at his parents.
"What is a 'guy'?" Sergeant Brock asked Sir Orizhan.
"I have heard it used as a man's name, but not as a word by itself." Sir Orizhan shook his head and sighed. "I fear that is only the first of many strangenesses we shall encounter as we travel with the Lord Wizard, Sergeant. Let us go."
They came to the second strangeness half a mile beyond the town wall, as the sky was lightening—or rather, it came to them. They were passing a woodlot when a huge shape loomed out of it and into the roadway. Sir Orizhan leaped back with a shout, reaching for the hidden sword under his cloak, and Sergeant Brock whipped his staff up to guard. Matt only grinned, though, and raised a hand in greeting. "You got my carrier pigeon, then."
"Yes. It was delicious," the huge shape rumbled. "I could not resist so tasty an invitation."
"Even so, that was fast flying, Stegoman. Thanks for coming."
"Did you think you could go gadding about and leave me behind again?"
"Not really, no. Stegoman, these are my traveling companions, Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock."
"I greet you." The dragon bobbed his head. "I see from the plainness of your garb that you are setting forth on a mission of some danger."
Sergeant Brock only stared, but Sir Orizhan managed to find his voice. "So the Lord Wizard informs us, Master Stegoman. I am pleased to meet you."
"You are very courteous," the dragon said, "but a very poor liar. Please be assured that I do not regard knights as my natural enemies, no matter what manner of silliness you have heard in that regard."
Sir Orizhan couldn't help smiling. "Only the usual minstrels' exaggerations."
"Storytellers are to be blamed for many misunderstandings, I fear," the dragon sighed, a sound like a blast furnace. "May I inquire as to the nature of your quest?"
"Surely you outdo most knights in your courtesy!" But Sir Orizhan's face clouded. "Know, then, O Gracious Beast, that this sergeant and I were both set to guard a prince, and in spite of our caution, he was slain while we sought to ward him in the midst of a brawl."
"The prince was the heir apparent to the throne of Bretanglia," Matt explained, "and his parents have declared war on Merovence because he was assassinated on our soil, presumably by one of our people."
"So that is why the Witch Doctor has asked Narlh to fly over that land and discover what he can!"
Sir Orizhan frowned. "Who is Narlh?"
"A dracogriff," Matt explained, "a magically encouraged hybrid between a dragon and a griffin. He flies, but he doesn't like it. His best friend is Saul, the Witch Doctor." He turned back to Stegoman. "So Alisande called him in? I thought she was going to try not to."
"From what Narlh said before he left our rookery, I gather that Master Saul discovered the matter by himself," the dragon said. "So it is to be a war of retaliation, and you go to seek the murderer in hopes of stopping the war?"
"Yes, and before it starts, if we can."
"And you," Stegoman said to the knight and his sergeant, "go to redeem yourselves, and to recover lost honor."
"We do," Sir Orizhan admitted.
"Then I will be pleased to travel in your company, since you go in the name of chivalry," Stegoman said. "Will you ride?"
Both men fell back a pace, staring in alarm.
"That's the other reason we didn't take horses," Matt explained. "It's really quite comfortable, once you get used to it—his vertebrae make natural saddles, and it's a lot faster than walking."
With obvious effort, knight and sergeant screwed up their courage and stepped forward.
They climbed down much more stiffly, when the sun had fallen near the horizon and Stegoman landed by a small grove of trees. Sergeant Brock virtually fell off, and kissed the ground while he was down. Then he shoved himself to his feet, groaning. "How long will it take to become used to this manner of riding, Lord Wizard?"
"You'll feel fine once you get over this first set of aches." Matt took off his pack and pulled out a bottle. "Better rub your legs with this, or we'll have to lift you out of your blanket roll tomorrow."
"I thank you," Brock said, taking the bottle, then turned to bow to Stegoman. "I thank you, too, great beast, for carrying me this day."
"My thanks also," Sir Orizhan said, also bowing.
"I was pleased to have your company," Stegoman said gravely, "and honored by the presence of men of such courage."
"Yes, you were really very good about not looking down," Matt said, "and you got used to it very quickly, both of you. It'll be better tomorrow, Sergeant—I'll bet you won't turn
green at all. You might even be able to eat lunch."
"And what is the matter with being green?" Stegoman intoned.
"It's not easy," Matt explained. "About eating, though. I'd better light a fire and get a kettle going."
"And I will seek a stray cow," Stegoman said. "You will pay the farmer in the morning?"
"Of course," Matt said. "Airline food always was overpriced. See you when you're finished with the entrée."
"I shall return when I have fed," Stegoman assured. His wings boomed wide; he ran across the field and launched into the air. Matt watched him go, feeling reassured—with a dragon apt to stop back any time, neither of his two companions was apt to try anything against him. Not that he suspected they would, of course—they had the same goal he had, after all—but it never hurt to be careful.
Sir Orizhan watched Stegoman climb into the evening sky. "I cannot believe I actually rode upon his back!"
"I can," Sergeant Brock groaned. He had already stripped off his leggins and was busy rubbing the ointment into very sore muscles.
"Not feeling stiff?" Matt asked Sir Orizhan.
"It is not much different from riding a horse," the knight told him. "I only needed to accustom myself to the fear of heights, and the—" He glanced at Sergeant Brock and lowered his voice. "—and to the sudden and unexpected ups and downs of it."
"That does take getting used to," Matt admitted. "In fact, I have a breakfast menu that should help a bit."
"That root you gave us to chew?"
"Hey, it helped, didn't it? But we'd better see about getting that fire going, or we won't get dinner, let alone breakfast."
Stegoman had dropped them in a pasture at the edge of a small patch of woods. They turned to explore the grove with no one suggesting it—they all felt the need to investigate. After all, there might be an enemy hiding in it, a bandit or other outlaw. They stepped into the shadow under the canopy of leaves, and all cried out in surprise.
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