"Mad? You are a berserker, then?"
"No, no!" I closed my eyes, then looked up at him with a forced smile. "I meant 'angry.' I knocked down a couple of them, and the knight decided to flatten me—but his horse crumpled underneath him, and the fall knocked him out."
"Sheer happenstance?" The commander frowned. "I trust it not. What spirit wards you?"
That brought a chill trickle of familiarity through my vitals, but I shrugged and said, "Just the usual guardian angel, as far as I know."
"Then it must have been something you said," the commander mused. "Are you a wizard?"
Again, that cold trickle—I couldn't think why. "Not as far as I know." I didn't bother mentioning what had happened to Sobaka; surely that must have been my guardian angel at work. Or my hallucination...
Hallucinations that happen to somebody else?
"It may be that you have an inborn talent for magic," the commander said, brooding. "If so, walk very carefully! The merest misstep might cast you into the power of the Evil One—for folk who have such gifts draw either on the power of Satan, or the power of God, though they know it not. Beware, lest you evoke a power you wish not to worship."
That got my back up. I wasn't about to worship any source of power, no matter where it came from. After all, who'd worship Niagara Falls, just because it produced electricity? "Thanks for the advice," I said, though. I've always tried to be polite, but at the moment, I had extra reasons.
" 'Tis scarcely a matter for astonishment, that you had so ill a greeting," he said, "since you were coming out of Allustria. In truth, I am amazed you could walk through that benighted land with no more unpleasantness than such as they gave." He stopped by a stack of leather buckets and handed me a couple. I braced for another scene, but he picked up two himself and started walking toward the stream that was gurgling nearby.
Mollified, I followed. "I wasn't in Allustria very long." That much, at least, was true.
He nodded. "You came through the Balkans, then?"
I didn't want to tell a real lie, so I said, "I wasn't about to ask for hospitality there." I looked up sharply at a sudden thought. "Wait a minute! That's why you insisted on that wrestling match, wasn't it? To see if I'd pull any tricks!"
"We did test you," he admitted. "Think not harshly of us, I prithee. You were coming from Allustria—we marked you as soon as you came forth from the pass—and you wear outlandish garments. Who knew but you might be a sorcerer come amongst us?"
I stopped, frowning. "How do you know I'm not?"
"Why, a sorcerer would have used foul magics to best his opponent, before ever the man had struck him—or, at least, would have used foul blows and no slightest mercy. You accorded your opponent first strike and did what you could to lessen the impact of his fall."
So he had noticed why I'd held on to the kid's arm. I nodded slowly; for the first time in my life, starting with a fight made sense. Almost.
Suddenly, I felt bad about deceiving him, especially if I was going to accept his hospitality. What had happened to my obsession with truth? "Actually," I said, "I didn't go into Allustria by my own choice. I was in my homeland, thousands of miles away, and a very large spider bit me. I blacked out, and when I came to, I was on the other side of that mountain." I gestured behind us.
The commander stopped in his tracks, staring at me. "Were you truly? Then you have been transported hither by some great magical power!"
"One that works through spider bites?"
He glanced to either side and lowered his voice. "I have heard of such—of a Spider King, whom no one knows to be either good or evil."
Instinctively, I liked this arachnid autocrat. "Where can I find him? Maybe he can send me home!" Could I dispel the hallucination by working through its own terms?
"None knows, nor do I think he would send you hence, for he must have brought you here for a purpose of his own." He frowned down at me for a few seconds, then forced a smile. "Still, be of good cheer! It may be you were transported here by a saint!"
I shuddered, deciding that, saint or Spider King, I was dealing with superstition.
That was what this whole scene was, of course. Was that what was really underneath my rationalist mind—a superstitious subconscious?
The commander turned away and started walking again. "Still, if you waked in Allustria, whatsoever it was that brought you must have work for you there. Mayhap you should not be fleeing that benighted land."
"Or maybe I should," I gritted. "After all, I didn't apply for the job. I wasn't even consulted."
"We do not always choose our paths." He knelt by the river and filled each leather bucket with a single swing of his arm, then stood again.
"Have you?" I asked. "Chosen your path, I mean."
He nodded slowly. "We have chosen to go into Allustria, no matter the risk. There do be yet a few good folk there, who strive to maintain their virtue in a sink of absolute corruption. The sponsor of our order, Saint Moncaire, came to our abbot in a dream a fortnight agone, to reveal the plight of one such poor family, who hold by God and goodness, though they dare not do so openly..."
I felt the anger of outrage ring through me. Superstition or not, people have a right to worship as they please, without having to hide it. "But they've been careful, so they haven't been bothered?"
"Oh, nay! They were gentry, but over the span of generations, they suffered again and again, because their rulers sought to rob them of their faith by driving them into despair—first by taxes, then by spells."
"But how'd these rulers know about them?"
"Because the good souls of this household never left off doing good for their neighbors and aiding those who were poor or beset. Thereby did the witches and warlocks who were given jurisdiction over their parish know them for what they were and seek ways to bedevil them."
"Sounds like some petty bureaucrats I know." I nodded, with a bad taste in my mouth.
"Now," the knight said, "they live without land and are tenants on the acres their ancestors owned—for they were squires, and their holdings held a whole parish within their boundaries. All its people, following the example of this family's goodness, forsook their dog-eat-dog ways and persevered in the face of all the harassments and abuse their masters did heap on them. Those harassments have grown more and more frantic as the decades have passed, for such fortitude and perseverance in virtue is bound to attract the attention of the queen, who will no doubt punish her henchmen for failing to drive these virtuous folk into sin. Therefore they will harry this family out, root and branch—for they persevere in their faith and charity, even though they are poor and must ask aid of others, which none dare grant. One child is dead of poor food and chill; another is ailing. They are at wits' end and near to despair. Therefore hath our abbot sent us forth, to win glory by bringing these poor folk out of the land of spiritual misery, and into the light of Merovence."
"That could be dangerous," I suggested, "if there really are so many evil sorcerers around—and even more, so many evil knights."
"Most dangerous indeed, and 'tis quite possible we shall lose our lives in the attempt." His jaw firmed and his eyes flashed. "Yet 'tis for us to seek to ward the godly, unheeding of the peril—and if we die, we die. Spending our lives in so worthy a cause, we shall surely not linger long in Purgatory, and it may be that we shall even be accorded the crown of martyrdom."
I winced; I wondered how many people had been lured into unnecessary suffering and early death by that promise.
" 'Tis not death we should fear," the commander said, "but that we might fail in the attempt—for we must bring that family out right quickly, ere they despair and are subverted and dishonored, or slain."
"Should fear," I said softly. "But what you really do fear is the evil that you have heard is in that land. Right?"
"We should be fools if we did not." His whole body tightened so much that I knew it was closer to terror than fear. Privately, I gave him credit for being either a hero, a saint,
or a fool. I didn't think he could really qualify as a saint, since he was using a sword—so, all things considered, I strongly favored the last option: a fool. Not that I was about to say so, of course.
So I accepted their hospitality for the night, helped with the camp chores, and joined in the sing-along on the less-religious songs—I always did like "Amazing Grace," but I wasn't too good on the Gregorian stuff. I was a devoutly agnostic Protestant, and the God I didn't believe in was Calvin's, so I didn't do too well on the Latin—only one year in high school, and it didn't sound much like theirs. Different dialect, no doubt.
Then I bedded down at their fire, helped with the morning chores, hauled a bucket of water to help douse the fire, then held up an open hand in salute. "Well, it's been fun. Thanks a lot for your hospitality, Sir Monk—but I gotta be going now."
"Assuredly you will not ride alone!" He seemed to be genuinely dismayed. "You are not yet past the reach of Queen Suettay. Wizard or not, a lone man is a marked man; you will be easy prey for whatever evil forces she may send against you!"
"I've managed okay so far," I objected.
He sighed. "You have indeed—yet you slept among armed monks last night. How many other nights have you spent in Allustria?"
I swallowed thickly, remembering what superstition claimed about nighttime. "None," I admitted. "Only one day."
"Even so." He scowled. "And in that day, you did work magic?"
"Well, I wouldn't have said so, but..."
He chopped off my comment with a sideways sweep of his hand. "What you would say matters little; what you did, is all. Be assured that Suettay knows of your presence—or that her underlings do."
That, I could believe, whether or not magic really did work here. Sobaka's boss was bound to notice she was missing, sooner or later—and if she were at all efficient, it would be sooner. First thing I knew, I might have bloodhounds on my track, and I had a notion that in this world, the emphasis was on the blood. "I'll be okay," I protested.
"You mean, 'well enough,' " he interpreted, "and in Allustria, there is no such state. You are either holy enough to withstand the assaults of the satanic, or you will succumb to their temptations and become yourself an ally of evil."
"No way!" I glared up at him. "I don't buy it, Captain! You don't have to be either a saint or a devil—you can just be yourself, human and humane. A man can stand alone, and I intend to! I refuse to commit myself!"
"Mayhap that is true in the land from which you came, but it is not, in Allustria." He clapped and beckoned. The knights and squires looked up in surprise, and he pointed at Gilbert, the guy I'd wrestled yesterday, then beckoned. The kid dropped his horse's reins and came over.
"This foolish wizard seeks to ride alone, still within Queen Suettay's reach," the commander explained.
The kid went wide-eyed, staring at me as if I had just volunteered to be the main course at a state dinner.
"It's not really that bad," I protested.
"Nay, it is!" he said. "You will be corrupted or slain ere you see another dawn!"
My stomach sank, but I stood up a little straighter and said, "Look, I'm not the superstitious kind, but I'm no fool, either. If I see trouble coming, I'll hide, and if it won't pass by, I'll fight."
" 'Tis praiseworthy to die fighting," Gilbert admitted, "yet foolish to spend your life needlessly."
The commander nodded. "Buy some advance in grace, at least, if you must give up your life. Nay, I cannot let you ride fully unguarded. Gilbert, do you ride with him, as his shield and buckler."
The kid stared at him as if he'd been wounded. "But, my general! To lose my chance for glory in our quest—"
"Is what I require of you." The commander's tone was iron.
Gilbert flushed, then slowly bowed his head, but his back was ramrod-stiff.
" 'Tis not so vile as it may seem." The commander's tone softened. "I have had a dream that has shown me that this man is a hinge—upon him will turn great events, and if he can be held to the path of goodness, I doubt not he will aid greatly in the overthrow of the evil queen, and the establishment of the reign of goodness in Allustria."
Gilbert looked startled, then glanced at me.
"Don't look over here," I said. "It's news to me, too."
"A stalwart man with a rugged face did speak to me as I lay sleeping," the commander said. "He wore kingly robes, and a cap with leaden images of saints all about its rim. He told me that this man Saul will be the lever that topples the throne of Allustria, even as the disciple Paul was transformed from the sword that slew the early Christians, to the share that plowed the field of Gentiles." He turned to me. "You are fortunately named."
I wasn't about to disagree with him, but I did think his metaphors were a little odd. "Who was this saint you saw in your dream?"
But the commander shook his head. "Some holy man of Allustria's age of virtue, belike, who lived in humble obscurity and died unknown; not all the saints were famed, or even known. He was none of whom I have ever heard. Yet his face did not shine, so he may be a blessed one, not a saint."
I frowned. "How do you know he isn't a devil masquerading in disguise?"
Everybody in hearing range looked up with a gasp, and the commander stared, offended. "Why, for that I am in a state of grace!"
"Uh, sorry." I swallowed and forced a smile. "But even in a state of grace, you could be tempted."
"Mayhap," he said slowly, "but a devil would not wear saints' medals on his hat."
I gave it up. He was so certain about it that he couldn't even consider being wrong. "But look—I really don't need an escort. This young man has important work to do."
"My work is what my captain commands," the kid assured me, "and if he says that accompanying you is of greater import than our quest, he must be right."
That grated. Faith is all well and good, but so is skepticism.
But the commander was nodding. "Import there is, and the danger will be no less—mayhap greater. Nay, there will be great chance of gaining glory in this mission... and, win or lose, you will gain your spurs."
The kid's eyes fired.
"Dead or alive," I muttered.
"How do you say?" the young man asked me courteously.
"That this really isn't necessary," I snapped. I had to admit that I liked the idea of an armed escort, but I have this thing about close and continued contact with people I don't know well. "Look, I really appreciate the offer, but I travel alone." I grabbed his hand and pumped it. "Nice wrestling with you. Have a good trip." I dropped his hand, gave the commander a curt bow. "Thanks for your hospitality, Sir. I wish you well on your quest—and goodbye." Then I turned on my heel and strode away.
Behind me, I heard him call, "God be with you, too, Wizard," and to somebody else, presumably the squire, "Why do you wait, Gilbert? Take sword, buckler, and horse, and go with him!"
I walked faster. If the kid had to pack, I had a few minutes to get lost, at least. There was a line of evergreens ahead; if I could make it to the trees, I could hide well enough so that he might miss me.
I was about ten yards away from the first fir when I heard the hoof beats behind me.
CHAPTER FIVE
Look, I hate jocks—or, well, not jocks as people, just jocks as a class; and you couldn't have any better example of the jock-ocracy than medieval knighthood.
"Ho, Wizard!"
I sprinted.
The evergreen boughs closed around me. I heard a blundering behind me, and a cry, "Wilt thou not wait?"
No. I wouldn't. At least, not if I had any choice. I dodged to the left, since he'd probably be expecting the right, and plastered myself behind the largest trunk I could find.
"Wizard? Wizard!"
I tracked his voice and, as he moved forward, I sidled around backward, trying to keep the tree trunk between us. I must have succeeded, because he blundered around for an awfully long while, coming up with all sorts of swear words that had to be so clean they were almost antiseptic—thing
s like, "By blue!" and "Bones!" and "Blood and iron!" I resolved to remember them if I ever had to cure an infection. When he was far enough away, I sprinted to a little thicket I had seen and crawled in. He kept crashing around, coming up with an amazing variety of expletives that had absolutely no need to be deleted, while I tried to stifle my laughter.
Finally he gave up, blundering back out the way he had come, lamenting his failure loudly and at great length. I felt sorry for him, a little, then reminded myself sternly that he was probably better off with his buddies—and in any case, this was my chance for a getaway. I crawled out and started walking fast, heading downhill. Twice I struck a trail wide enough for a horse, but I sheered away from them; that was exactly the kind of road he'd be likely to take, if he hadn't given up looking for me yet. They angled across my path, instead of going straight down, which I figured was a plus.
Finally, I came out onto a clear road, wide enough for two horses side by side. It was still trending downhill, but at an angle opposite to the trails I'd seen, and I decided to chance it. The kid had either given up by now, or passed me by. I kept a wary ear tuned as I went down the dirt track, walking fast, alert for the slightest sign of him. So the first time, Gilbert saved my bacon without even being there—because I was listening for him, I heard the sudden rustle in the leaves just behind me, and had already leapt forward before I heard the thud on the ground. I whirled, chopping at the point where a guy's neck would be if he were crouching. I was a little high; I caught him on the side of the head, and he yelled as he went sprawling.
I whirled back to the front, having a hunch he wouldn't have dared jump an able-bodied man if he were alone. Sure enough, another specimen was just coming out of his crouch from having dropped from the branch ahead of me, as four of his buddies stepped in from the sides, two with battle-axes, two with arrows drawn.
Let me tell you, these were not the nice, clean boys from Sherwood Forest—or, rather, if there really was a Robin Hood, this is probably what most of his merry men really did look like. Their clothes were patched and filthy—I could actually see the dirt—and the only one of them who shaved had been neglecting that art for several days. The others looked as if their beards got trimmed once a year, and that had been January first. Their grins showed rotten teeth, and they smelled to high Heaven.
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