A Wizard and a Warlord

by Christopher Stasheff

  For a moment, Gar's eyes gleamed with admiration and desire; then the look was gone, hidden under the mask of his constant courtesy, leaving Alea shaken, relieved, and disappointed all at the same time. She gathered anger to hide her confusion. "Never mind. I don't know if I want to gamble with you of all people."

  "I'm not usually a betting man," Gar told her, "and I meant it more as a figure of speech than a serious wager. Still, I'll settle for the loser admitting the winner was right."

  Alea's anger focused into indignation that he would even ask such a lessening of her pride-but she remembered it might be he who applauded her good sense. "I'll take that bet." She wondered what stakes had been his first impulse-a kiss, or more?and felt a wave of regret that he had bitten back the words. Still, that regret was mingled with relief, but also amazement that he had shown some feeling for her other than friendship and admiration.

  Well, little good would it do him, and if he ate his heart out watching her, so much the better! She lifted her chin and said, "You don't fool me. You're hoping the priests and priestesses will turn out to be a government dressed in ceremonial robes."

  "A theocracy? Yes, the thought had occurred to me," Gar confessed. "It wouldn't be the first time a church has taken up the functions of a government when there was none." 'He looked up at the sky. "There isn't all that much of the night left, but I confess I'd like to sleep while I can. Shall we go back to Bartrum and Celia's cottage?"

  Bartrum was waiting up nervously and was massively relieved to hear that Orgo was well and would be as good as new, but that he would have to stay at the temple for a day or two until the priestess was sure the illness had run its course. He cobbled up a late supper; then everyone went back to sleep again.

  They all woke late, by farm standards-it must have been an hour past sunrise at least-and ate a leisurely breakfast with their host. Celia arrived home while they were eating, worn but happy. Bartrum fussed over her, making sure she joined them to eat, and wouldn't leave off until he was sure she felt somewhat restored. Then he turned to Gar and Alea with an apologetic smile and explained, "My friends won't blame me if I come late to the plowing this morning."

  "Is it your turn to work in the fields, then?" Gar asked.

  Bartrum glanced at Celia; she shrugged and said,

  "Bartrum doesn't mind the plowing much. I hate it. I go for the sowing, though."

  "We do take turns during hoeing season," Bartrum told them, "and of course we both go to the reaping-all of us, in fact."

  "So it's up to each family," Gar summarized.

  "Of course." Bartrum frowned. "Isn't that how they do it in your country, friend?"

  "More or less," Gar said. "I've never really thought of it much."

  Alea gave him a quick glance. Never before had she heard him say anything about his station in life on his home world-not that she could trust what he was saying when he was trying to draw out his hosts, of course.

  "It's just something we all do," Gar said, "just the way it's done."

  Bartrum nodded; he could understand the dictates of custom. "Among us, each couple decides for themselves," he said. "No one minds so long as each household does its share of the work."

  Gar didn't have to ask what happened if they didn't. He knew what social pressure was-that didn't take a government.

  When they were about to leave on the northern road, Bartrum warned them, "Go warily. We've been hearing more reports of outlaws these last few months."

  "Outlaws, not just bandits?" Gar turned to him, fairly glowing with interest.

  "Well, of course they're both," Celia said, puzzled at his eagerness.

  "I haven't heard any talk of laws here," Gar said. "What are they?"

  "Oh, the laws everyone knows," Bartrum said. "You must respect your elders, mustn't start a fight, mustn't steal or lie or cheat."

  "You shouldn't want more than you need," Celia added, "and you mustn't try to make other people do things they don't want to do-and of course, you should honor the gods."

  "As many as that?" Gar asked, wide-eyed. Only Alea could hear the irony in his tone and perhaps even she only detected it because she was picking up his emotions.

  "Only that," Celia concurred, "but - simply because we know the laws doesn't mean the outlaws honor them. Be careful, friends!"

  "Be careful," Bartrum seconded, "and remember that if you ever need anything, you have only to ask it of your friends here."

  Alea hugged Celia impulsively while Gar clasped Bartrum's hand. "Thank you for this timely warning." He turned to Alea. "Perhaps we should stay awhile; profit does us little good if it's stolen."

  Alea understood that the remark was only a show for their hosts' benefit. "How else would we live? Or are you ready to settle down and farm?"

  Gar glanced out at the fields and Alea was startled to see a sort of hunger in his eyes-but he said slowly, "No, not yet."

  "Then we had best be on our way," Alea said briskly, and hugged Celia again. "Thank you ever so much for your hospitality!"

  "Thank you ever so much for my son's life," Celia returned "Oh, take care, my friends! Take care!"

  When they were too far away for the couple to hear, though they were still waving good-bye, Gar said, "We shall certainly take care--unlike General Malachi, who will take everything he can!"

  "At least they've had the good sense to declare him an outlaw," Alea said.

  "That is hopeful," Gar agreed, "and common law is better than none. Interesting to see that they've developed eight of the Ten Commandments and a variation on the Golden Rule."

  "Ten Commandments? What are those?" Alea asked, frowning, and when Gar explained, she admitted, "My people only had seven of those but quite a few others besides. Still, those seven must be so vital that no nation could last without them!"

  "I shouldn't think so," Gar agreed. "After all, if you don't have a law forbidding murder, what's to keep your people from killing each other off?"

  Alea shuddered but said bravely, "And if you don't insist that it's wrong to steal, neighbors can't trust one another."

  Gar nodded. "Strange that they don't have a law against incest, though. If people marry their first cousins for too many generations, the whole society falls apart from madness and idiocy."

  Alea glanced at him sharply. "How do you know that?"

  Gar shrugged. "The only societies that are alive and well are the ones that prohibit inbreeding. Any that ever permitted it have died off as I've said."

  "So your evidence is that there isn't any evidence?"

  "No, a bit more than that," Gar said slowly. "There have been quite a few royal families that insisted on brothers marrying sisters and first cousins marrying first cousins so that the magical royal blood would be kept within the family and not contaminated by commoners-until the last kings were so weak and stupid that they became easy prey to ambitious outsiders."

  "That makes sense." Alea frowned. "My ... Midgard's laws forbid murder, incest, and theft, but of course they don't apply to slaves, or to dwarves or giants."

  "Of course not," Gar said. "In Neolithic societies, the laws usually apply only within your own group. It's perfectly all right to go stealing from that tribe over the hill-in fact, it's a virtue, if you don't get caught."

  Alea smiled bleakly; thinking of her homeland saddened and angered her, as it always did. "My people do insist on honoring the gods, though, or at least paying them lip service."

  "A Neolithic god is a model for living," Gar agreed. "You try to be as much like the god of your choice as you can, live the way he or she lived."

  Alea smiled sourly. "If that's the case, General Malachi should be inventing a god of thieves and a god of warriors."

  "Why not?" Gar shrugged. "Other Neolithic societies did."

  If General Malachi had invented a thieves' god he must have been praying to his homemade deity, because Gar and Alea encountered his soldiers again in midmorning. They were approaching a stand -of trees where the road made a bend.r />
  "Men talking on the other side of that curve," Gar said. "They're taking a rest from riding. They could be ordinary plowmen, or they could be one of Malachi's patrols."

  "Let's not take chances," Alea said. "Into the trees."

  "Forests are friendly," Gar agreed, and they stepped off the road, pushed their way through underbrush, and came into the green and leafy spaces. They moved through the woods carefully, making very little noise, cutting across the bend to come up behind the men. They could hear their loud talk and raucous laughter a hundred yards away and stopped at fifty feet, peering through the screen of brush to see whether or not the men wore General Malachi's uniform.

  "Whatcha lookin' at, half-wit?" snarled a gravelly voice, and a boot caught Gar on the side, tumbling him over with a startled cry.

  9

  Alea spun in alarm, trying to strike with her staff, but she didn't have room for a proper swing and the man caught the stick in one hand while he caught her wrist in the other. Grinning, he said, "Don't just watch, sweetheart," and shoved his face forward for a kiss.

  His breath reeked. Revolted, Alea kicked as hard as she could. The man yelped and let go to catch at his shin, hopping about.

  "Ho, Arbaw! Hold her!"

  Alea looked up in alarm. The soldiers from the roadside were running toward them, weaving in and out among the trunks. She blessed-the trees for slowing them down even as she turned and ran.

  But Arbaw snarled and caught her arm as she went past. She kicked at his other shin, but he managed to put the injured foot down in time to sidestep-and his weakened leg almost folded. Alea helped it, chopping her heel into the back of his knee. Arbaw howled and fell, but he dragged her with him. He had delayed her long enough. The other bandit-soldiers burst from the trees with howls of glee. "Well caught, Arbaw!" one called. "Answer a call of nature, and see how Nature answers!"

  Gar roared as he surged up charging. He slammed into one soldier, knocking him into another, then both into a third. But the remaining two men swerved and fell on him with bellows of outrage, pulling daggers from their belts. Gar shook off his attackers and spun away from the fallen men to kick and punch with a most un-idiotic skill and grace. One soldier fell back clutching his stomach, mouth open to gasp; the other flew through the air, and so did his dagger.

  It landed three feet from Alea. She plunged, snatched it up, and turned to find Arbaw's blade hovering inches in front of her eyes. "Put it down, sweetmeat," he grunted, "or I'll give you another mouth." Alea twisted to the side as she kicked him in the sweetbreads. Arbaw rolled away, clutching at himself and howling. Alea rolled the other way, pushed herself to her feet, caught up her staff, and swung it at the back of the head of one of Gar's attackers. It cracked against his skull and the man fell. There were still two more worrying Gar like rats on a terrier; she jabbed one in the stomach with the butt of her staff. He folded as Gar slammed a huge fist into the other's face.

  "Run! " Alea shouted, and turned to flee through the woods. She heard feet pounding right behind her and looked back in a panic, but it was only Gar.

  Finally they slowed and stopped, leaning against trees and gasping. "They're not ... following. . ." Gar wheezed.

  "How come ... you missed ... Arbaw?" Alea asked.

  "Sloppy," Gar said with a grimace of self-disgust. "Very sloppy. I was ... too intent on ... the others. "

  Alea could understand that; she had missed Arbaw, too, though she had the excuse of being a novice mind reader.

  She finished catching her breath and straightened. "Two patrols is too many."

  "You're right." Gar nodded. "Scaring the daylights out of one and beating up the other means they're going to remember us."

  "And be looking for us," Alea agreed. "No=-me," he corrected. "They didn't get close enough to realize how tall you were, but both patrols will remember the half-naked idiot who turned into an ogre. They'll be looking for that idiot. If I change disguises, they won't recognize either of us."

  "Well, I like that!" Alea said indignantly. "So I'm not worth noticing, am I?"

  He stared at her, his gaze warming with admiration. "No man who's alive and healthy could keep from noticing you-but saying that a woman is beautiful isn't enough of a description for a patrol to recognize."

  "But they'll recognize you, is that it? Because you're the important one?"

  "No, because I'm the obvious one," Gar explained.

  Alea reddened with increasing anger and snapped, "Are you really being as conceited as you sound?"

  "Not a bit," Gar assured her. "People remember ugliness more than beauty!"

  "You're not ugly!"

  "Why, thank you," Gar said softly, "though I suspect you're the only one who would think so."

  This wasn't going the way Alea wanted. "And I'm not beautiful."

  "You're entitled to your own opinion," Gar said politely. "I'm afraid I don't share it, though."

  "All right, you might notice me-but what other man would?"

  "Too many, if the patrols we've found are anything to go by."

  "Only because they're starved for women! The villagers only see me as a storyteller."

  "How do you know," Gar asked, "when they're all noticing you?"

  "You know very well how! A woman can tell the difference!"

  "But she won't listen," Gar returned.

  Alea's lips thinned. "They can all see I'm too tall for them, way too tall! And that's what the patrols will remember!"

  "Not when they see you beside me," Gar said. "They can only judge our heights by each other, after all, and when they see you coming down the road with me cringing beside you, they assume you're of normal size."

  "Until they get close!"

  "When they come that close, they're more interested in making fun of the idiot."

  Alea stared, catching her breath, then said, "You really are an arrogant cuss, aren't you?"

  "It might seem that way," Gar admitted, "but it's really only camouflage."

  "Camo-what?"

  "Camouflage," Gar repeated, "fading into the background. Camouflage and misdirection, like songbirds."

  Alea stared, completely lost. She took a breath and said, in as reasonable a tone as she could manage, "Gar-what are you talking about?"

  "It's like birds," Gar explained. "The male has bright colors so that the cats will attack him and not notice the female."

  Alea lifted her head slowly, bridling. "Surelybecause males don't really matter!"

  "That's right, because males can't lay eggs or bear offspring," Gar said with a sardonic smile. "As far as evolution is concerned, we're more expendable than you."

  "So that's why you adopted such an odd disguise, is it?"

  "One of the reasons," Gar admitted, "but I think it's time to change. I'm going to age remarkably, Alea."

  "Do you really think that will make a difference?" Alea snapped.

  "Wait and see," Gar told her. "Then you judge."

  The man was old and stooped, back bent under the weight of his pack, leaning heavily on his staff as he hobbled along the road. His snowy beard was long, his hair a white fringe around the felt cap that fitted his head like a helmet but his rough-hewn face really didn't have all that many wrinkles. His limbs were probably gnarled and wasted, but no one could tell under the long dark blue robe he wore.

  The woman who held his arm was a complete contrast, straight and tall, glowing with youth and health, her head a little higher than his.

  The farmers looked up as they passed, saw the packs, and cried, "Peddlers!" The shout passed from one to another all across the fields. They came running with their hoes and mattocks, crying,

  "Welcome, travelers!"

  "What wares have you to trade?"

  "What news have you? What happens in the wide world?"

  The next morning, they left the village with cheery good-byes and waving hands-and several beautifully wrought little items of gold and silver in their packs. As they turned to the road ahead, Alea said, "I can se
e that being a peddler in this- land could be very profitable, even if they don't have money."

  "We haven't had to pay for dinner or lodgings once," Gar agreed, "but we're not much richer in information than when we began. I still haven't heard Anything about a government."

  "And every time we bring up the subject of banditry, all we hear about is General Malachi," Alea sighed, "but never anything we don't already know."

  "If he were as successful as his reputation," Gar grumbled, "he would already be king!"

  "He'd rule this whole world," Alea agreed, "but is he really that bad, or is there just so little else to talk about?"

  As they were leaving one village that lay within sight of the trees of a forest, though, the villagers were a bit more direct.

  "Don't go through that woodland by yourselves," one woman warned them. "Wait for a larger party if you've an ounce of sense."

  "Sense?" Gar asked in his rusty approximation of an old man's voice. He glanced up at Alea and asked again, "Sense?"

  "I know, old fellow," a man sympathized, "if you had any sense, you wouldn't be walking the roads at your time of life anyway. But we have to make a living, don't we?" He transferred his gaze to Alea. "You might think of settling down someplace, lass, so that he can rest in his old age."

  "I will if I find a town that wants me, and if I can persuade him to stay in one place for more than a week," Alea said, smiling.

  "Till then, though, you'll have to do the thinking for your father." A woman blinked tears away. "Oh, do be wise and wait for other travelers!"

  "That could be a month or more," Alea answered.

  "What can they take from us if we have nothing to steal?"

  "Nothing but your bodies and your lives," the villager said darkly.

  "You would be forced to serve General Malachi's bandits." The woman shuddered. "Beware of that man, sister! If ever there was an ogre from out of the old tales, it is he!"

  The patrols were still on the roads, but Gar heard their thoughts before they came into sight, giving himself and Alea time to hide-and they didn't try to spy on the soldiers as they went past any more, but concentrated on the soldiers not spying them.

  Their welcome in the next village was as joyous as ever, but Gar decided to be a smart old man instead of a foolish one and drove bargains with every bit as much zeal as Alea. They traded the porcelains of their first village for uncut gemstones, though they had to add a few wedges of copper to make their hosts happy.