“Oh. He’s older than she is, then?”
“Aye-twenty years at least! A dotard with rotting teeth, a swag belly, and a breath like a charnel house, I doubt not! How could they entomb so sweet a breath of spring as Panegyra in so foul a marriage, and she but eighteen?”
“Do you really think she’ll just cut all her family ties and elope with you?” Matt asked gently. Pascal’s shoulders sagged. “Nay, I fear not. What have I to offer, after all, save a gift for crafting verse, and a heart that would ever be true to her?”
“And love,” Matt said softly. “Love that should set the world afire! Love that should bind her to me forever! Love that should bear her aloft in bliss for all her life!”
Matt felt the vein of poetry in the words, and that was no metaphor-he could feel magical forces around him twitch in response to even so mild a flight of structure in wording. It gave him a chill-he had met a poet who couldn’t control himself, kept spouting verses at odd moments, and accidentally made some very strange things happen. “Say-you do know how to write, don’t you?”
“Aye.” Pascal turned to him in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“Just make sure that if you get hit with a sudden attack of verse, you write it down instead of speaking it aloud, okay? You do seem to realize that poetry isn’t much of a basis for marriage, though.”
“Aye.” Pascal’s gaze lowered. “I am a poor choice, I know, for I have no money, no handsomeness of face or figure-and, now that I have rebelled against his tyranny, will no longer inherit my father’s house and lands! Still, I hope to make my way in the world, to win fame and fortune-and if I can only persuade Panegyra to wait for me a year or two, I may prove worthy of her love!”
Five years or ten, more likely-assuming the kid worked hard and had good luck. “But you have to reach her before the wedding.”
“Aye!” Pascal sprang up and rolled up his blanket “There is not a moment to spare! I thank you for waking me, Sir Matthew-I must be off!”
Well, Matt hadn’t wanted to say it. “Hold on a minute, friend.” He held up a cautioning hand. “You won’t get very far, running on empty. How about a bit of breakfast first? Besides, you may find it’s not all that easy to get into Latruria.”
“It shall be, for me! There is a clandestine route, one known only to a few families. I would not call it truly secret, but if the king’s soldiers know of it, they certainly pay it no heed.”
“Oh, really?” Matt pricked up his ears. “Say, I’ve got some journey rations here. How about we pool breakfasts and I tag along when you go?”
“Why, since you offer,” Pascal said, surprised. “I own I came away in such haste that I brought only a loaf. Nay, let us become road companions, then!”
“Great!” But Matt’s conscience bothered him. “I do have a little problem, though. There’s this monster that seems to have fixated on me, decided he’s going to have me for lunch, no matter where I cross the border-and he has an uncanny knack of knowing exactly where I am.”
“A monster?” Pascal looked up, suddenly alert. “Is it a manticore?”
Matt stared. “How’d you know?”
“Because it has been long known to my family. Never fear, friend-I have an old family charm that will tame the beast.”
“A family charm!” Then Matt remembered. “That’s right-you said your grandfather was a wizard. You mean you inherited his talent?”
“What, a knack for crafting verses and the sensing of unseen forces?” Pascal said it almost contemptuously. “Aye, I do. All of my family have it, in one degree or another.”
“Magic as a dominant trait,” Matt muttered, watching the young man as he knelt to feed the coals and blow them into flame. “How much do you have?”
Pascal shrugged “Enough to recite the old family spells and make them work-to summon brownies to the bowl of milk, that they may aid us; to kindle fire, banish warts, and suchlike.”
“Such-like getting rid of manticores?”
“Only the one.” Pascal held up his index finger. “It is almost kin, my family has known it so long-and if there were more than one manticore in that county, ‘twould be surprising indeed.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Matt frowned. “If there were two, one of them would gobble the other up. Uh, may I ask why you didn’t include wizardry in your catalog of desirable traits for a suitor?”
“Wizardry has been no advantage, in Latruria,” Pascal said with a cynical smile, “not for many decades. Only sorcery is prized there-and I will be amazed if that state of affairs has changed greatly under King Boncorro’s reign.”
Matt frowned. “So you’re not interested in learning how to be a professional.”
“Nay.” Pascal shrugged impatiently. “What use is magic? Who respects the wizard? My grandfather was such a one-and all it brought him was advancement to the rank of squire!”
“You want to be something more, then.” Of course the kid did-he’d been born a squire, hadn’t he? No progress if he never became anything more. Pascal confirmed Matt’s guess with a nod. “There is little respect in being a squire, Sir Matthew. As you yourself know, one must be a knight, at least, to have any true standing in this world.”
“Well, there’s some truth in that,” Matt admitted. In fact, there was a lot of truth-being dubbed a knight magically gave a man better judgment and the power to prevail against his competitors. People listened to knights, but not to wizards. Matt had found that out the hard way, when he first came to Merovence. “I take it your father couldn’t become one, being the wrong kind of squire.”
“Oh, nay! A squire is a squire, after all, and he might have won his spurs-if he had wished to. But he was quite content to sit on his home acre, tending his peasants and watching them raise his crops.”
“You mean he never even tried?”
“Never,” Pascal confirmed. “But so little is not enough, for me! I shall have more, or die trying to attain it! Besides,” he confided, “the fair Panegyra might look more favorably upon me if I were Sir Pascal!”
Not much chance, Matt thought privately, unless some land and money went with the title-but he didn’t say so. They broke Pascal’s loaf between them, shared out some of Matt’s beef jerky, and Matt introduced the young man to tea, which was brand new in Bordestang, Queen Alisande’s capital. Matt guessed that some enterprising sea captains had found their way to China, and he wondered if those men came from Latruria, as they had in his own universe-where the peninsula was called “Italy.”
He expected he would find out very soon. They doused the fire and set off, Pascal actually whistling, now that he was on his way to the fair Panegyra, and Matt with a growing knot in his belly, now that he was on his way back to the manticore. Alisande’s army stood gathered in the courtyard of her castle in the chill light of false dawn, shivering and grumbling to one another. “We have been waiting most of an hour already!” one soldier complained to his sergeant. “Did not the queen waken when we did?‘
“ ‘Tis no affair of yours when she rises or when she sleeps!” the sergeant barked. “It is your affair only to be on your feet and ready when she calls!” Privately, though, he wondered. The queen had never kept her troops standing about for more than a few minutes before. Had she really slept while they mustered? “The queen grows lazy,” one trooper griped to another. “She would have us up and marching while she sits abed nibbling sweet biscuits.”
Food, however, was the farthest thing from Alisande’s mind as her ladies supported her away from the basin toward an hourglass chair. “You must sit, your Majesty,” Lady Constance crooned. “And whatever you do, you should not be riding when you are in so delicate a condition.”
“Condition?” Alisande forced herself to stand straight and tall, though the chair appealed to her mightily. “What condition? A moldy bit of cheese for supper last night, that is all!”
“And the night before, and the night before?” said Lady Julia with a skeptical glance. ‘Tell that to the men, Majesty,
but do not seek to cozen we who have borne children ourselves.“
Alisande deflated. Her ladies took the chance to ease her into a chair. “I have not deceived you for a moment, have I?” the queen muttered thickly. “Well, for a week or two,” the elder lady allowed. “But a woman gains a certain glow when she knows there is new life within her, Majesty. The men notice it, but fools that they are, they think it is due to their own presence!”
“Well, it is, in a way,” Alisande muttered. “To more man their mere presence, I should think! But you know your husband will be overjoyed when he learns this glad news, Majesty-and sorely saddened if you should lose the babe while riding after him!”
“I must,” Alisande declared, though every fiber of her being cried out to stay home within the thick, safe walls of her castle and let all the silly affairs of die world go by, except for the single truly important business of cherishing the grain of life within her. But the babe must not be born fatherless! “I must ride.” She lifted her head, rising above the residue of nausea by sheer willpower. “I let him go from me once-I shall not make that error again!”
The ladies fell back before the sheer power of her personality, but the eldest objected, “The welfare of the kingdom requires an heir!”
‘The welfare of the realm requires the Lord Wizard!“ Alisande retorted ”Do not ask me how I know this-it is the magic of this land, that monarchs know what is best for their countries and their people!“
“Good monarchs, at least,” one of the younger ladies murmured-to herself, she thought, but Alisande turned to her, nodding. “We all remember the days of the usurper who slew my father and had no feeling for the welfare of the land or the people! We must not see such days come again!”
“Therefore you must not risk yourself,” Lady Constance scolded, “or the heir!”
“I must.” Alisande pushed herself to her feet. “If I do not, if I let myself be shorn of my wizard, the realm shall be imperiled. I must ride!”
But how, Alisande wondered, would she ever fight a battle, if she was to start each morning with her head over a basin! The “clandestine route”-presumably known only to every smuggler in the territory-was really pretty good; it consisted of a series of caves, joined by sizeable tunnels. They had to be sizeable, after all, since the goal of developing the route had been to smuggle not people, but goods. Matt could see, by the light of his torch, the marks of pickaxes where some of the passages had needed a bit of widening-maybe more than a bit. But from a functional point of view, it was marvelous-Pascal led him behind a small waterfall on the Merovencian side of the border and into a cave that widened as they went farther in. They had to stop to light torches, of course, but there was a whole stack of them, with jars of oil to soak their tow-wrapped ends, sitting about ten feet in from the mouth of the cave-far enough to stay dry, close enough to still be in the light There was even flint and steel. All they had to do was open one of the jars, dunk the torch ends in, and strike a spark with the flint and steel-re-covering the jar first, of course. Then Pascal set off into the lower depths with Matt following, wondering how many of the royal customs agents on both sides of the border knew about this route. After all, a secret known to two people is compromised, and a secret known to three is no secret at all, so with this route being common knowledge to the border families, it was scarcely possible that the excise men wouldn’t know about it-which led to the interesting question of why they ignored its use. At a guess, Matt hazarded, a trickle of trade was to the mutual advantage of both countries-after all, the Latrurian lords no doubt wanted Merovencian wines, and the aristocracy of Merovence probably prized the spices and silks brought in by Latrurian merchants. On the other hand, open and widespread commerce would have robbed the royal exchequers of tariff income. Matt saw the light at the end of the tunnel and reached out to touch Pascal’s elbow. “Remember the manticore.”
“Never fear,” Pascal assured him-but he went ahead a little more cautiously, reciting: “When the Merovencian smuggler meets the manticore in pride, He will shout to scare the monster, who will quail and turn aside. Then the monster will remember where his true allegiance lies, And will hearken to the orders of the man who bids him rise!”
As a verse, it was good, but it didn’t sound like much of a spell, and Matt was amazed that the young man still went on without trembling. He began to mutter his slow-down spell under his breath again, getting it ready just in case… Then Pascal stepped out of the cave, and a yowl split the world. At the last second Matt found he didn’t have it in him to let the kid die alone. He jumped out of the cave, yanking his sword out, seeing the speed-blurred brindled mass hurtling toward them, all teeth. Then Pascal shouted, “Down, monster! Down, to a son of the wizard who tamed you!”
Matt had never before seen a beast put on the brakes in mid-leap. It was really quite a sight-the manticore twisted in midair as if it were trying to change directions. It did, actually, swerving aside from Pascal and plunging right toward Matt, teeth first. Matt yanked a sugarplum out of his pocket and threw it, bull’s-eye, right between the serrated teeth. Then he jumped, as far as he could to the side-right, in fact, on the other side of Pascal. The manticore’s jaws clashed shut automatically, and its throat throbbed with a single swallow even as it twisted in midair again, to land on all four feet. The monster looked very surprised, actually closing its lips for the first time since Matt had met it. Then it began to look very, very pleased. “Delicious! What part of your anatomy was that, O Wizard?”
“Not part of me at all,” Matt said, “just some leftover dessert from the banquet two nights ago. I was saving it for a treat.”
“I must give you thanks! Perhaps not enough to spare your life, but thanks nonetheless! Quite the most delicious tidbit I have ever munched.” Then the manticore began to stalk toward Matt again. “Hold!” Pascal held up a palm, and Matt had to give him maximum points for bravery, but absolutely none for intelligence. Then he deducted from his own score, because the monster stopped on the instant, then crouched down and rubbed its head against Pascal’s leg, making an appalling grating noise that Matt vaguely recognized as a gigantic purr. The youth trembled, but stood his ground resolutely. However, he didn’t take his eyes from the monster for a second as he asked Matt, “When did you pick up that sugarplum?”
“Right after dinner, while you and Charlotte were settling your futures,” Matt answered. “How did you get that cat to obey?”
Pascal glanced down and shrugged. “I know not; ‘twas truly my grandfather’s verse. He it was who first tamed this manticore and forbade him to eat human flesh or steal food of any sort, in return for which Grandfather gave him a bullock a day, or two sheep when the cattle were all eaten.”
“Delicious!” The manticore looked up eagerly. “I had never eaten so regularly before! I mourned when the old man died, but grew hungry within a day. Still, in honor to his memory, I would not eat cattle, sheep, or people within his parish-so I fared south to Latruria, and have been here ever since! But it has been a dog’s existence, young man-nay, not even fit for a dog! Taking what meat I may, then fleeing with it before the knights or sorcerers come… Fighting with armies of peasants for my meals, which is painful, though tasty… Enslaved to one sorcerer after another, to feed on grain and their enemies only! Have you come to free me, then?”
Pascal hesitated, and Matt leaned close to mutter, “If you don’t, he has to serve whatever sorcerer sicced him on me-by eating me! Not your problem, I know, but…”
“But if I free him completely, he may turn on me!” Pascal muttered back. Not softly enough; the manticore said, “Never! I would never munch the flesh and bone of my Master Fleuryse! Nor drink his blood, no matter through whose veins it flows!”
“You really must have liked the old geezer,” Matt observed. “Vastly! He could have slain me, aye, slain me as easily as tamed me! Yet he chose to spare my life, and moreover to feed me!”
Matt could have pointed out that the spell probably would have s
topped working if the old wizard had stopped feeding the manticore-hunger has a way of breaking down inhibitions-but it didn’t seem like the most politic comment at the moment. “Then I free you from any other spells or geas that have been laid upon you,” Pascal said, but he cast a worried glance at Matt. “Still, I had only planned to walk safely past you, not to have you accompany me.”
“Where you go, I shall bound!” The monster leaped to its feet. “Your paths shall be my paths, your enemies my dinners!”
“But you have to provide alternative menus when there aren’t any enemies handy,” Matt reminded. “How shall I do that?” Pascal wailed. “I have no money to buy cattle, no magic to conjure them up!”
“Oh, you’ll think of something.” Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “And if you don’t, I will. Don’t look so worried, Pascal-I have a few ducats in my purse. Besides, you never know when a voracious monster might come in handy. Think anybody’s gonna try and charge us tolls?”
He turned the young man away, sheathed his sword-and together they set off for the south, the manticore following a few yards behind. “You do not understand!” Pascal hissed to Matt. “For this beast, fondness for people is tied to fondness for food! If we do not feed it, it will feed on whatever comes first to fang! I shall be safe, for I am of the blood of the Wizard Fleuryse, but you shall not!”
Matt noticed that the day had suddenly grown chilly. “So I’d better really deliver on that promise to find him food, huh?”
“Aye, or discover a way to part with him!”
There was a growl behind them. “Careful,” Matt breathed, “I think he’s got very acute hearing. Haven’t you, Manny?”
“Aye,” the beast answered, full-voiced, “though ‘Manny’ is a strange name for me.”
Secular Wizard Page 12