They were doing just that—he was aging even as I watched. The black magic that had kept him alive and relatively youthful was gone, now that he had rejected his bargain with Satan, and his debt of years was pressing to be paid.
"Find that priest," I suggested, "and quickly, while you still can."
"I shall!" He scrambled back onto his horse and clutched at the pommel grimly. To his men, he said, "Get thee back to my castle, with word that I shall never return! Say also that even my witchcraft succumbed to that of this stranger! I bid thee repent, for the hegemony of evil is passing!"
Frisson, pale-faced, pressed another slip of parchment into my hand. Surprised, I gave it a quick once-over, then nodded emphatic approval and muttered,
"He is a sinner, I know full well,
And yet his death is not God's will.
But his return to live and dwell
Until a priest has seen him, still
Bitten by sin and doing ill.
One thing is certain, that life flies—
Yet can be slowed for he who tries
To seek the solace of his faith,
And find the peace repentance buys!"
That last one sounded like something out of The Rubaiyat, but I wasn't about to criticize.
The reeve looked up, startled. "What did you say?"
"Nothing to worry you," I answered. "Better get on your way. Who knows? Suettay might appoint a new reeve before the day's out."
The erstwhile reeve shuddered at the thought and turned his horse away. "Aye, 'tis even as you've said! Farewell, stranger! I withdraw my curse on you; I bless you instead, for the agony of conscience you have wrought will save my soul. But beware the queen, for she never had a conscience, ever, so no spell can give her one!"
"Thanks for the warning." I exchanged a worried glance with Frisson. "Hope your trip is smooth."
"If it were rough as rapids, I could not complain of injustice. Farewell!" He rode away into the woods—but I noticed that he went clockwise around the circle.
His men groaned and turned back the way they had come, riding fast.
I turned back to my friends. "Let's just cut across the circle—what do you say? And get under the trees fast. I don't think we want to linger."
The trees petered out in late afternoon, and we found ourselves on an open tableland with occasional straggling lines of undernourished scrub to show where there was a watercourse. We camped by one of them just as the sun was sinking, ate a meal of journey rations that tasted like cardboard and hot water, then turned in. At least, Gilbert and Frisson did, and Gruesome curled himself up into a very large ball. But Angelique didn't sleep, of course, and I took first watch; I was too restless to doze.
So were Angelique and Frisson, to judge by all the whispering that went on for the next hour—but Gilbert corked right off like the seasoned campaigner he was, so I woke him up for the second watch, sometime in the wee hours.
I couldn't sleep, of course. Suettay's threats were too much on my mind.
Gilbert looked up in surprise to see me wrapped in my cloak against the night's chill, but still sitting by the camp fire, staring into the glowing coals. He came over to say, very softly so as not to wake Frisson, "Will you not sleep, Master Saul? You shall need your rest on the morrow."
"I don't doubt it—but I've got much on my mind. I'm trying to meditate, Gilbert."
He frowned. "Do you speak of prayer?"
"It's like praying," I hedged. "In fact, prayer can lead to meditation, and vice versa. Either way, it's a good way to relax and get the worries of the day off your mind."
"Ah." He nodded, satisfied, and stood. "Then I shall leave you to your holy thoughts, Master Saul. Good night."
"Good night," I answered, and went back to gazing at the coals, reciting a mantra.
At first I thought it was doing no good—the coals just reminded me of Hell, which reminded me of Suettay, which reminded me of danger. So I gazed down at my cupped palms instead, trying to imagine the sound of one hand clapping, and it was just beginning to work when there was the faintest of whispers beside me, and Angelique murmured almost in my ear, "Why are you so sad, Master Saul? Can I aid?"
Now, that was exactly what she was not doing. Maybe she didn't have a body, but she certainly still looked as if she did, especially at night, when her form glowed its brightest, complete with all her curves, which certainly were not in the slightest conducive to a tranquil state of mind, and definitely not the holy one Gilbert was hoping I'd have.
"I'm not sad." My voice was more gruff than I intended it to be, and she drew back a little, hurt. So I amended my statement and tried to soften my tone. "I'm troubled, yes—worried about the queen's being after us. But I'm trying to calm down and put her out of my mind."
"Mayhap I can aid." She reached up to touch my forehead with her hand, and insubstantial though it was, a breath of coolness seemed to touch my skin. I shivered, but not with the chill, and reached up to push her hand away with what I hoped was gentleness. "Your touch would inspire anything but tranquility. Might distract me from thoughts of the queen, maybe, but it sure wouldn't put me to sleep."
She frowned. "I do not understand."
I just stared at her, then nodded. "Good. I think it's better that way."
Then I unwound myself to my feet. "You'll have to pardon me. Just sitting isn't doing any good, so I think I'm going to have to take a walk."
"Oh, beware!" Concern replaced the hurt that had been briefly in her face. "The world is not safe for good folk, at night!"
"Then I shouldn't be in any trouble." I turned and went away quickly, before the sight of her made me feel any less good. I glanced back briefly as I restored the guarding circle, behind me, and saw that she was looking hurt, which made me feel wretched. But what could I do? And don't give me any guff about spiritual union—under these circumstances, it would have been highly unsatisfying.
I strode out into the long grass, walking fast, trying to work out the sudden spurt of energy her presence had given me. I kept telling my hormones that ghosts can't emit pheromones, but my glands weren't listening.
There were too many longings in my body to let me relax enough to put the witch-queen out of my mind. Besides, Angelique's presence reminded me that Suettay knew my weakness, and that weakness was entirely too beautiful, even as a wraith, for my peace of mind—and far more appealing than she knew. I hoped.
But Suettay knew it, I was sure. I wondered if Angelique was safe back there, with only Gilbert and Frisson to protect her if the queen tried anything again—but I decided that, at the least, they'd manage to call me if anything went wrong. I turned back to see just how far I had come, then stared, shocked. The coals of the camp fire were only a glow in the distance, and I couldn't even see any of the bodies around it. I had come entirely too far. I started back.
A cloud of green smoke erupted ten yards ahead, a silent explosion in the moonlight.
I dropped into a defensive crouch, whipping out my clasp knife. Adrenaline slammed through my veins.
The green smoke thinned and drifted away in the night breeze. A squat, bulging shadow stood black against the moonlight, a floor-length robe blending its outline into a monolith. A low, mocking laugh came from the silhouette. "Come, novice! Do you truly think you can defend yourself from me by force of arms?"
I recognized the voice: Suettay, gilded by moonlight.
I straightened slowly, folding the clasp knife and putting it away. "No... but then, I don't really need weapons, do I?"
But my heart was hammering, and the adrenaline of fear was flowing. I had faced Suettay and won, yes—but that had been with friends beside me, including a squire who was as skilled as any knight, and a poet whose talent verged on genius. How could I stand against her alone?
Not that I was about to let her know it, of course.
"Ahhhhhh, insolence!" the sorceress breathed. "You have gained arrogance since our last meeting, Wizard Saul!"
"Oh, so now I
'm a wizard, am I?"
Suettay laughed, a noise like a nut grinder. "Certes! 'Tis what the common folk call you. Did you not know? I assure you, I did. Naught could happen in my kingdom that I would know not of, for if anything transpires, my ministers and their clerks tell me of it! Though there was no need for such offices in this instance; yourself was enough."
"Enough?" I frowned. "You mean just by living, I give myself away?"
"There is something to that," Suettay wheezed; I think she meant it for a laugh. "You should not think so hard about magic—it makes you quite conspicuous, to those with the Sight."
"True, but you've been watching me all along anyway. How come you didn't just send another of your minions tonight? Figure you're ready to take me on personally now?"
"The audacity of the slave!" Suettay breathed, almost in admiration. "Indeed, I have your measure—and you'll be like a child's toy to my power! I am sure of your strengths and weaknesses and know best how to use them!"
Illogically, I felt a flow of confidence that spread a grin across my face. "Sure of yourself, eh? Is that why you've bushwhacked me out here in the middle of nowhere, away from Gilbert and Frisson?"
"Perhaps," Suettay sneered. "They are, indeed, part of your strength—and you are shorn of them now. You are quite at my mercy."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow in polite skepticism. "Mercy? Do you have any?"
"None to mention," Suettay snapped, and her arm swung down like the arm of a catapult, a fireball leaping from her fingertips.
I dodged, but the fireball swerved to follow me and exploded against my chest in a soft fountain of sparks. A huge, mushrooming pain answered from inside my chest, an instant of unbearable agony, then...
Nothing. No sensation at all.
The night seemed to darken about me, and strength ebbed from my legs. As I fell to my knees, I realized, with horror, that my heart had stopped. Panic thundered in, but I threw it back with a wrench. Think fast, or die!
And my mind chilled into total clarity, with an icy lack of emotion that almost frightened me in itself. There was, after all, no time for panic—scarcely time for a single sentence. I rasped it out with what breath was left in my lungs:
"Life ebbs now in full retreat,
Till once again begins the beat—
Heavy, steady, short, and hard,
Beats the never-ending heart!"
Pain wrenched my chest again, but blood roared in my ears and a jackhammer yammered inside my ribs. I breathed in against its beat thankfully. As the haze cleared from my eyes, it cleared from my mind, too: This wasn't going to be a trial of strength, or any other limited form of conflict—Suettay was playing for keeps. If she could kill me, she would.
Could I bring myself to try to kill her?
The sorceress came into focus as my heart slowed and steadied. Suettay's hands were weaving, her lips moving. Then the sorceress froze, and I realized she'd finished another spell while I was trying to restart my pump.
Suddenly, the air was filled with darting, whirling streaks of silver—a thousand knives spinning toward me. I threw myself to the side, but the knives followed me, swooping. I whipped out my pocket knife, swinging it in a frantic figure eight as if it were a rapier, chanting,
"I, the spirit master,
Can fend off all disaster.
Multiply my slight stiletto
A thousandfold, by whirling ditto!"
There was one slant rhyme, and the meter wasn't exactly constant, but it worked. The air was suddenly filled with a thousand whirling clasp knives. They buzzed out at Suettay's daggers, and I grinned as I watched each of the poniards collide with one of the pocket knives and fall to the ground.
Then the grin slipped as I caught sight of Suettay; I realized I shouldn't have taken time out to watch the show. The sorceress' hands were weaving air again, stringing a pattern of forces. My face tightened grimly, as I realized the nature of the fight. Working a spell took time, so while I was chanting my counterspell, Suettay was working up her next attack. That meant that I was going to stay on the defensive, unless I could figure out how to jump a spell.
I had to, or I was dead. Sooner or later, I'd tire—and if I was late on just one counterspell, I was had.
Dust writhed, and a hundred serpentine heads lifted up around me, spreading cobra hoods.
It threw me back to my childhood, and Kipling's stories.
"Let us have a mongoose plural
From an Indian village rural,
Skilled at fighting snakes, and glad to—
A hundred mongeese, fighting mad, too!"
I carefully did not watch as the dust boiled alive about me; I didn't have time. Suettay's arms were weaving, and I took the offensive:
"Let a dust storm boil up from the plains of the thirties,
Filling the sky; and before the next word she's
Trying to speak, let it blow in and under—
A real Kansas dust storm, sudden as thunder!"
I didn't even get to the chorus before the tableland was filled with a howling wind, laden with dust. It swept between the sorceress and me, blocking us from each other. Far off, I heard a roar that just barely penetrated the thunder of the churning dust wind—Gruesome, letting out an unbelieving, horrified bellow.
Yes, my mascot was out in this, too. He must have waked, seen I was gone, and realized I was in danger. I felt an instant panic—had he broken the guarding circle as he came waddling out to search for me?
I whipped a fold of my cloak over my nose and mouth, but Gruesome wouldn't know he should do that. Besides, he didn't have a cloak. The storm would kill him as quickly as Suettay's spells.
And maybe not just Gruesome; my chest heaved with a huge, wracking cough. Some of the dust was getting in through the cloth.
But I only needed a few seconds to rank the priorities in my mind:
One: Get rid of whatever it was that Suettay was whipping up for her next spell;
Two: Throw another spell of my own at her, and keep on throwing; and
Three: Get rid of the dust.
Right. Get going on number one.
"Still more fool shall she appear
By the time she lingers here.
With one fool's head she came to war,
But she'll go away with more!"
Actually, now that I thought about it, that took care of point two, too; Suettay couldn't do much of a spell with an IQ suddenly lowered to slightly better than an onion's.
If she hadn't deflected my spell in time. The dust was thinning, and the wind was dying down. So Suettay had wasted time lessening the loess?
Then I heard a rumble of thunder and realized I was wasting time, myself.
Too late. With a sound like a leaking sieve, the rain drenched down. The dust settled, fast; and through the curtain of water, I saw Suettay—or something that had been Suettay.
It still wore the queen's robes, but it had small eyes under a very low forehead, and a wide, gaping grin—on one of its heads. The other two were similar, and maybe worse. I stared, appalled. Was this what happened when you practiced magic without a license?
Certainly without really knowing what you were doing. I was disgusted with myself. A clean death would have been infinitely better!
Until I realized the loose grins were forming themselves into words. Sure, two heads are better than one, and three idiots add up to a modicum of sense. Whatever spell it was going to be, it wouldn't be too effective—committee work never is—but I didn't feel like waiting around to find out. I grabbed for another verse:
"This monarch will be hanged
With a silver chain—
'Tis not the chain of many!
Stole the lives of serf and peer,
And must be hanged for any!"
A silver chain lashed down out of the rain, snaked around the center head, and snapped taut. Suettay's body jerked upward a good three feet and dangled, kicking and writhing, from a chain that wasn't attached to anything.
Alarm sizzled through me. I'd only solved one-third of the problem! Quickly, I started muttering,
"Triad, by the rule of three,
Multiply this spell for..."
Too late. The other two heads were fading, disappearing, and the loose grin on the one in the noose was tightening as intelligence came back into the eyes. The forehead moved up—and it was Suettay's normal face again! The lips writhed in a snarl as she hoisted her hands up to grab the chain above her head. She pulled, got her throat clear of the links, and took a deep breath.
I grabbed for another verse.
"They plucked the entrails of an offering forth,
And could not find a heart within her breast!"
Suettay looked up, grinned, and started chanting.
I froze. It hadn't worked! Okay, it was only a couplet, and it didn't rhyme—but it was Shakespeare! It should've shown some result!
Then I remembered an old medieval tale, transformed into a modern fairy story, about sorcerers who, afraid of death, put their hearts outside their bodies for safekeeping—say, in an egg, which was inside a duck. Or an amulet. How that could work, I couldn't see, unless... yes... wait a minute... Assume a hyperspatial link, so that blood could flow from the sorceress to the heart in another dimension, and back...
I came to myself with a jolt. Too much thinking! Suettay was spitting out the last phrase, and I had lost the initiative. Suddenly my whole body went rigid. I couldn't move! And the paralysis was creeping over my chest to seize heart and lungs, then trickling up over my shoulders toward my neck. If I didn't get a quick spell out, I'd have lockjaw! Plus death.
And Suettay was spell-weaving again!
The Witch Doctor Page 18