The Bohemian Magician

by A. L. Sirois

  The day before he was scheduled to leave he went to inform Oriabel of his plans. Remembering how well poor Sir Onfroi’s “charms” had served him, Guilhem had no intention of asking the witch for any such thing. Instead, once more sitting at the table in her cave home, he simply requested her to keep watch on the ifrit while it was frozen in its tower. “There will be a reckoning, I assure you,” he said.

  “No doubt, no doubt. I have cast the spell, and I can assure you that the ifrit is helpless for the time being. But tell me: what will you do if the estimable Mojmir will not assist you?”

  The duke placed his hand meaningfully on the pommel of his sword. “I will endeavor to convince him otherwise.”

  Oriabel sighed. “He is rumored to be a dangerous person. No man to cross. And he is a wizard, a masque. I doubt if common weapons will prove effective against him.”

  “Perhaps. Yet I must do what I can to aid my people. Perhaps I can enter his service with the goal of assisting him in recapturing the creature. In the way of making amends, that is. After all, I did not free the thing intentionally.”

  “Let us hope that he is willing to see your side of the argument,” she replied.

  “I will be sure to let you know on my return.”

  She looked away. “I feel that I ought to do more for you,” she said. “There is also the question that my reputation is likely be impaired if it becomes known that I, with my knowledge of magic, was not able to assist you in this matter.”

  “If you have done all you can do, then that is an end to it.” He shrugged. “Anyone can understand that.”

  “I wonder. Be that as it may, I believe that it would serve us both should I travel with you to Bohemia to confer with Mojmir.”

  Guilhem stared at her in disbelief and dismay. “You jest.”

  “I consider a sense of humor wasteful of energy. Of course, Rámon will accompany us.”

  Even more dismayed now, Guilhem glanced at the unkempt familiar. It cocked its head to one side and emitted a sound that could have been a belch or a laugh or simply its squawking shrug.

  “You are a woman,” he said, turning again to the witch. “It is not your place to do this.”

  “Nonsense. What experience do you have with thaumaturgical matters? Augury, conjuration and the like?”

  “I am a fairy-friend. I know something of—”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “My lord duke, having certain dealings with fairies in the moonlight is hardly equivalent to the years of study and toil one must undergo even to attain such a status in the Craft as I have won. To say nothing of the sacrifices and labors of a person like Mojmir, whose reputation and abilities far exceed mine. You might as well be dancing ‘round the maypole. No, you must have me along to guide you. Why, you will likely not even be able to find Mojmir without my aid.”

  “I am unaccustomed to being addressed in this manner,” said Guilhem, fighting to control his anger. “I am not a child needing constant superintendence.”

  Rámon emitted his cold titter. “You will need to accustom yourself to worse than that!” the bird said.

  Goaded beyond endurance, Guilhem jumped to his feet and stalked out of the cave. Outside, he walked around and round in a tight circle until he felt that he had regained control of himself.

  He turned to re-enter the cave and saw Oriabel standing there wrapped in the bear skin he had given her against the cold weather. “I must warn you that the magician you seek is most subtle and devious in his ways,” she said. “Therefore you need me along. His skill with augury far surpasses mine, so that he could tell you which way that creature up there—” she nodded at a red squirrel sitting on a branch in a tree to Guilhem’s left “—will jump if startled, and would have a trap set there ready to capture the beast for his supper.”

  Guilhem scoffed. “No man could know that.”

  “I tell you he can. I calculated that you would come to see me, did I not?” When the duke nodded unwillingly, Oriabel went on: “I assure you, Mojmir’s skills outstrip my basic knowledge on the subject of prognosticatory ciphering. I daresay that even now he knows of your forthcoming departure from Poictiers, and is drawing his plans accordingly.”

  “This is absurd,” Guilhem said, folding his arms. “You are telling me that all our actions are fore-ordained. That we do not have free will, and men like Mojmir can read the stars, or whatever it is they do, and from them gain insight into our future actions.”

  “In certain circumstances this can be demonstrated, at least in terms of what is likely to happen, and the weight of that likelihood, as opposed to other possibilities or potentialities.”

  Guilhem scowled. “This talk makes my head spin, witch. It may well be that God has a plan for us all. More than this I cannot say, because I am, as you suggest, no expert in this branch of knowledge. But it does seem likely that you do, in fact, understand more of this art than I.” He sighed deeply. In times past he, as a soldier, had had to plan, work and even live for extended periods with men for whom he carried animosity for one reason or another. Common cause made this necessary, and Guilhem had learned how to endure such periods of forced association and to tamp down his personal feelings. He knew he could do this with Oriabel, no matter how slovenly and distasteful he found her. Phillipa, however, wasn’t going to like the idea.

  “Very well,” he said with reluctance, “it shall be as you say. You will make the journey with me.”

  Presently he returned home to inform Piers that Oriabel would be going to Bohemia with him, and to adjust the packing of Felice’s saddlebags correspondingly. Because Oriabel did not own a horse, Guilhem was further obliged to supply one for her. He chose Sull, a horse of Arabian lineage, 14 hands in height, possessed of a gentle disposition.

  With that out of the way, he faced his most daunting task: informing his wife that Oriabel was to be his traveling companion. They spoke in her chamber, and she spun her woolen thread the while. As he had expected, she was not pleased. “Is it strictly necessary that she tag along, like a duckling waddling after its mother?”

  “I find the comparison less than apt,” he said, scowling. “I assure you, if you are suffering pangs of jealousy because a woman accompanies me for the time it will take us to reach Bohemia, there is no need. I find her repulsive in the extreme. I do not think she has washed her hair in years. And that bird, that parrot or whatever it is! Rámon.” He invested the name with as much scorn as he could manage. “The thing leaves turds everywhere it perches. She never cleans up after it. It would be one thing if she kept it in a cage, but no. It is allowed instead to roam free, as it fancies.”

  Phillipa yanked savagely at her skein of wool. “Nevertheless, I do not like the situation.”

  “Feel free, then, to take my place on this quest!” he said with asperity, pacing around the room.

  She glared at him, then the ghost of a smile broke out on her face. “My duke, you are most impressive when you are being forceful.”

  He gazed narrowly at her, and then found himself chuckling at the compliment. “I find it difficult to be displeased with you, I admit.”

  “That is good to hear.” They shared a quick kiss.

  “Yet the witch has, I must say, made several telling points,” he said. “Eh? It is true that since his tower collapsed, Mojmir has not been seen in that region. He’s gone elsewhere, and is doubtless keeping to himself while he searches for a new dwelling. He’ll want one even more secure than the last. And because he no longer has the Saracen demon to assist him, he may well be seeking to conjure up something even stronger. More: he will be doubly on the watch for those who oppose him. If what Oriabel says is true about his divinatory skills, he will suspect, at the very least, my arrival. What his attitude toward me, who am responsible for his reduced circumstance, may be, you may guess.”

  Phillipa pulled a face. “Suppose he suggests an alliance with you, to regain captivity and control of the ifrit. What then would you do?”

  He spread his hand
s. “Who can say? I certainly would not agree to such a thing,” he added, seeing her dark look. “But I believe I would be prudent to have Oriabel along, to advise me. I cannot rely on the so-called ‘assistance’ of fairies. It is eccentric at best, and most often dangerously unreliable.” He sighed.

  A thoughtful look crossed Phillipa’s features. “And yet, let us reconsider,” she said.

  “Reconsider what?” He stopped his pacing.

  “A moment ago you said that you would not agree to assist Mojmir’s efforts to recapture the ifrit. But think—isn’t that precisely what we want? To be rid of the thing? If he can accomplish that, what do we care what use he makes of it against heathen Saracens? Our wish is to no longer be afflicted by its presence here, is it not?”

  “Yes, certainly,” he said. He blinked at her “Are you saying that I should treat with him concerning this matter? Strike a bargain with this person who nearly caused my death?”

  “My lord, I have seen you make allegiance with former foes to whelm a mutual enemy.” She leaned closer to him and her expression turned sardonic. “And is it not true that you bargained with my cousin for money to go on your crusade?”

  Uncomfortable with the pertinence of the question, he looked away from her penetrating gaze and resumed pacing. “Regrettably, such things are from time to time necessary. I tell you that we will yet prevail against the miserable Bertrand, and you will rule over the lands that are your birthright.”

  “And I am confident that you will see to it.” She sat back in evident satisfaction admixed with a trace of smugness. “But hold; if it will aid our cause to ally yourself with Mojmir, then perhaps you should consider it.”

  “That could mean putting the inhabitants of that region under Mojmir’s control.” He scowled. “I mislike it.”

  She waved a dainty hand. “It is a matter than can be dealt with at a future time, once our own sorrows are resolved. Perchance you will learn enough to be certain of banishing the horror once and for all, from Bohemia as well as from here.”

  He stared at her a while, in thought. “There is much in what you say, beloved.”

  She shrugged, but her eyes twinkled. “It is but plain common sense. After all, we are not the ones responsible for the ifrit’s subjugation in the first place.”

  “Yes, well... that is incontestably true.”

  “In which case, let us shift the nexus of the problem back onto he who is answerable for it: Mojmir.”

  He ceased his pacing and grinned. “You are an admirable woman, my dear Phillipa; clever and cunning as well as beautiful.”

  She lowered her eyes in modesty. “You flatter me.”

  “I mean to.”

  * * *

  The next day, Guilhem rode to Oriabel’s cave, leading the Arabian horse, Sull, he had chosen for her.

  He found an untidy pile of clothing and other items outside her cave. Eyeing it with some dismay, he called out to her. “All this won’t fit in your saddlebags, you know.”

  She staggered out of the cave, carrying a pile of books. “I realize that... fear not, I mean to winnow it down.”

  “I thought you said you could augur the future. Didn’t you know what you’d need to bring, assuming you knew you’d be coming along with me?”

  “Of course. But I... well, I became busy with things and forgot until yesterday.” Dumping the tomes on the frozen ground, she said, “So I dashed to my house and obtained some few things.” She dug into the disorganized pile. “I lacked time to get them into order, is all. Now, my wand and athame... I will need those, of course, for they magnify the effects of certain spells and serve to focus my intent. Very important. Very. And a few books.” She also added two wineskins to her trove, saying, “In case I feel poorly of a morning.”

  Guilhem watched in exasperation as she pawed through her belongings. “How long is this going to take? We need to be on our way before the thaw releases the ifrit.”

  “There is no need for sarcasm,” she said. “This... and this... and this, I think. Yes, there.” She stood, arms akimbo, gazing down at the accumulation. She sniffed. “Umm... do you have any room in your saddlebags for a book or two? And... I see I have forgotten to pack clothing.” She scurried back into her cave. “Bear with me but a moment more, my lord.”

  Guilhem sighed. I will end up strangling her before we have gone twenty leagues, he thought.

  She came forth with a pile of clothing that she tossed on the ground beside her books. “Now,” she said, wiping her brow as she began cramming things into her saddlebags, “be so good as to tell me the route you intend to travel.”

  Guilhem, going over the route with Piers, had determined that it would take them through two small villages before they reached the town of Bourges, on the third day. He explained this to Oriabel.

  She grunted in acknowledgement. “Bourges is of no import to our quest,” she said, “but further on we will pass through Auxerre, will we not?” At his nod, she added, “It is there, in Auxerre, that we will learn something of import.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “I am sorry, but I cannot be more specific. My augury has told me that visiting the town is crucial to our quest, but I have divined no further details.”

  As he and the witch mounted their horses Guilhem was surprised to see a sword’s scabbard strapped to Oriabel’s saddle. When he questioned about it she said, “I know how to use it,” and would say no more. His misgivings grew stronger. Those inexperienced with a blade, he knew, often came to grief.

  She rode, like a man, astride the horse. There had been a fresh snowfall the night before; a dry snow that because of wind accumulated in drifts nearly a six feet high in some places. The horses made slow but steady progress through this. The trail was visible only as an absence of trees, and they had to go slowly lest they miss a turn.

  Oriabel squinted at the sky. “The sun will show by noon,” she said. As though to emphasize her words, she withdrew a wineskin from within her robes and drank from it.

  Guilhem, who as a soldier had spent many a day and night outside, followed her gaze but saw no reason to think that the clouds, which were thick and ominous, would not soon begin to shed additional snow. He said as much. The witch smiled but said nothing.

  He was, therefore, annoyed that as the day progressed the sun did indeed burn away the clouds. The temperature rose. Meltwater dripped off the branches, making strange but not unpleasant music in the trees. The snow settled as it melted, making the path more obvious to the eye.

  “I told you the skies would clear, did I not?”

  “You did,” he said tersely. Less than a day on the road and she is already proving insufferable, he thought.

  Before long she reined Sull to a halt, and dismounted. Guilhem wouldn’t have noticed had he not been only a few yards ahead.

  “How now?” he called after her as she hurried off into the woods, but she did not respond to his query. He sighed. Doubtless she heeds the call of nature.

  Presently she returned, without a word of apology or explanation, and climbed back up into her saddle.

  The sun had barely begun to track westward toward evening when she said, “We should stop here for the night.”

  Occupied with his thoughts, which were primarily (if futilely) concerned with what he would do once they located Mojmir, he scanned their surroundings. “There is no shelter here,” he said. “No boulder against which we could clear a space to make a fire... we are in the middle of the trail. If we continue another few miles we will come to a village in which there is an inn. I have stayed there. Why should we spend a cold night in the open if there is no need to do so?”

  But she refused to go any farther, and would not say why. Guilhem had slept out of doors on campaign, so he wasn’t particularly put out at the thought of having to sleep on the ground, wrapped in his bedroll, or having to eat a cold supper. Still, when a hot one could be had but a short distance farther on, it seemed like a waste of time. He led Felice a few
paces off the trail, and scraped away enough snow from the ground to enable her to find whatever she could to eat. He also gave her some oats from the small supply he had brought along. After that he went to see Sull as well, not expecting the witch to have given her mount’s care any thought.

  He was surprised to find the horse calmly eating grass, tearing it from a tussock under a tree beside the trail from which the snow had been cleared. Oriabel, drinking from her skin, watched the animals without interest.

  “If you’d care to bring Felice here,” said Oriabel, “there will be enough for her, too.”

  “How did you find this?”

  The witch wiped her mouth and shrugged. “I made certain observations of the stars before we departed,” she said. “They told me there would be grass here that had survived into the winter. It’s why I wanted to stop here.”

  “Why not simply tell me that in the first place?” Guilhem grumbled, but all he received in response was a frown. “And given that the horses can refresh themselves, why should we not continue on to the inn?”

  “Because it will burn down this night due to the carelessness of an inebriated barmaid who will knock over a lantern into a pile of straw whilst fetching ale from a barrel in the inn’s storeroom. We would be burned to death in our beds before we could escape, though no other patron would perish aside from the girl.”

  He stared in perplexity at her. “Your ciphers revealed this?”

  “Judge for yourself on the morrow.”

  “It seems a pity that the girl should die. Can you not warn her in some fashion?”

  Oriabel stared coldly at him for a moment. “You do not understand. She carries a disease of which she is not aware. If she were to survive the fire, she would spread the sickness throughout the whole town. From there it would sweep across the countryside. Hundreds of others will lose their lives, in that case.” She shrugged. “Better that only one should die than many, don’t you agree?”