C. Dale Brittain_Wizard of Yurt 02

by The Wood Nymph;the Cranky Saint

  V

  Joachim had rebuilt the fire and was brewing tea. I could barely remember the last time I had had a cup. All my concerns of the night before abruptly took their proper place in the greater scheme of life: breakfast first, monsters second. I waited quietly until the tea was ready.

  We dipped the remains of a loaf Joachim had brought with him from the royal castle into the scalding liquid. Even stale and tasting somewhat of a saddlebag, it was still indubitably the product of Gwen's baking.

  "I'll have to get Evrard away from the nymph first," I said.

  Joachim looked at me over the rim of his cup but did not answer. He had somehow managed to appear clean, well-shaved, and well-brushed, and even his vestments were much crisper than clothes might be expected to be after being slept in.

  "You probably don't want to know what that young wizard's been doing."

  "Probably not," he agreed. "His soul will be the responsibility of the duchess's chaplain."

  "It would be best, I think, if you stay here in the valley," I went on, "and continue following your original plan, to determine what should happen to the saint's relics. Meanwhile—"

  I stopped abruptly. Faint sounds of shouting and barking, then the high winding of a horn, drifted down the valley.

  I gulped the last of my tea and scrambled out of the hut. The sounds were clearer, and now I could tell that they were coming from above the rim of the valley. Up on top of the plateau, someone —or something—was being hotly pursued.

  I ran out from under the trees and a short distance toward the head of the valley, to a position from which I hoped to see. At the top of the cliff, near the entrepreneurs' booth, was a brightly colored and highly noisy confusion of what I took to be hounds and men on horseback. A dark shape broke away and began rapidly descending the cliff face.

  I could hear the priests' voices a short distance away, saying their morning prayers loudly, either not hearing the noise or not concerned. But Joachim's voice was quiet at my shoulder. "Is it the monster?"

  My heart was pounding so hard it took me nearly a minute to put the far-seeing spell together. But then I could see that the figure coming quickly and smoothly down the cliff was blond and wore a dark green cloak. My attention was jerked back up to the top of the cliff, where, to my enormous relief, I saw Dominic, very much alive and, from his gestures, furious. The duchess, just as furious, was beside him.

  "It's not the monster," I said in bewilderment. "It's Nimrod."

  We hurried up the valley to be there when he reached the bottom. Although the people at the top of the cliff were quickly cut off from view, from the sounds of shouting and barking I guessed that they were riding around by the road, and indeed in a moment I saw them as they started down the steep incline. Dominic was in the lead, riding at a pace I was certain was not safe, and the duchess was not far behind.

  Joachim and I met Nimrod at the base of the cliff. But he rushed past us without speaking or giving us a chance to speak and headed straight for the Holy Grove. He was breathing hard, and his hands and his boots were heavily scratched, as though even before reaching the cliff he had had to force his way through thorn bushes, or even fight off a pack of dogs.

  The three priests emerged from the trees, down toward the apprentices' huts, and started sedately up the road. Evrard suddenly emerged from the grove and came over to join us. The young wizard looked more tousled than ever. His chin was covered in reddish fuzz; his beard had finally started to grow in.

  The first of the riders reached the bottom of the steep road into the valley and galloped toward us. The priests, forgetting their dignity, dove for the edge of the road just in time.

  Dominic was riding not his stallion but a long-boned gelding, the second biggest horse in the castle stables. It was heavily lathered, and its eyes rolled wide and white. Neither rider nor mount looked as though they had enjoyed the last few days together.

  The regent pulled up the horse, with a hard jerk on the reins that lifted its front feet from the ground, and leaped off. "Where is he?" he roared. He pounded up the track by the waterfall, slipped in the mud, landed on his face, and jumped up again without even seeming to notice. "Where is that coward hiding?" I stepped back nimbly, or the regent might have run me over.

  Nimrod stood just inside the grove, waiting impassively, even though his shoulders rose and fell rapidly from heavy breathing. He had his bow and quiver in his hands.

  "You're trapped now!" Dominic cried. The mud on his face and all down his front made him an inhuman monster himself. He wrenched his sword from its sheath as he advanced.

  Nimrod spoke then for the first time. "Sanctuary!" he shouted, his voice ringing through the head of the valley. His face was set in grim lines. "I demand the right of sanctuary!" He threw his bow and arrows to the ground and stepped back under the trees.

  Dominic stopped abruptly. "Coward!" he shouted. "You're nothing but a coward! You know I won't kill you if you're unarmed. Don't hide behind a saint's skirts! Come out and get what you deserve!"

  I had not always taken Dominic seriously, which, I now realized, was a mistake. Nimrod did not reply. He watched the regent from a few yards back in the grove.

  Dominic unbuckled a long knife from his belt and threw it, scabbard and all, toward Nimrod. It clattered on the ground nearly at his feet, but he made no motion to pick it up. "What's the matter?" Dominic sneered. "My knife isn't good enough for you? Do you want a shield too? Shall you wait while I go get you one?"

  "I've thrown down my weapons," said Nimrod evenly, "not because I'm afraid of you, but because I have respect for Saint Eusebius. I do not wish to bring instruments of violence into his grove. I have asked for sanctuary, Prince!"

  Dominic hesitated for a long minute, during which the rest of us barely breathed. Then, with a massive snort, he advanced toward the huntsman. Light glinted on the sword he held before him. But the old hermit emerged suddenly from the grove and stepped directly into the regent's path.

  "You cannot bring a naked sword into the Holy Grove," said the hermit with a gentle smile. "It is a place sanctified to God and His saints."

  "But that man— He's a despoiler, a polluter, a piece of low-born scum! He bribed the retired Royal Wizard of Yurt into making a monster and attacking me with it!" I was riveted at this, but Dominic gave me no chance to consider the implications. "He's— He's a sinner!" His voice rose triumphantly, as though he had found the answer. "You can't give sanctuary to a sinner!"

  The duchess's horse had not been able to keep up with Dominic's. She and a group of the royal knights of Yurt now rode up with a great clattering of hooves, the dogs swirling around them in a fit of frenzied barking. Diana was off her mount, up the track, and tugging at Dominic's sword arm almost before the horse had stopped.

  "You can't— This is my duchy— Don't you dare touch him!" she panted. Her hair had all come unpinned, and she was nearly as red as the regent.

  The knights from Yurt did not immediately rush after her, but most of them were shouting. The peacefulness of the steep-walled valley was shattered.

  "Put your sword down, my son," said the hermit, still gently, "and do not fight, my daughter." The duchess was not, at any rate, having much luck against Dominic. "Sinners most especially have the right to seek sanctuary, where they may repent and seek God's forgiveness."

  Dominic shook the duchess off his arm but then hesitated. Nimrod still stood silently among the trees.

  Diana stopped kicking the regent, looked at the knife and the bow lying on the ground, and turned to Nimrod in angry surprise. "You've sought sanctuary?"

  "It was long ago adjudicated that this valley is under royal control, not ducal authority," Dominic said to her, but almost conversationally, no longer in a bellow. The deep red of his face lightened a little toward its ordinary hue.

  Joachim stepped up beside Dominic and began talking quietly in his ear. He was as tall as the regent, even if only about half his mass. In a moment Dominic turned grudgingly
toward the track by the falls. The chaplain then put a hand on the duchess's shoulder, and said a few calming words to her as well.

  I shook off my amazement and hurried after Dominic. This was definitely not the best time for rational conversation with him, but I had no choice.

  He swung around sharply when I touched him on the elbow. Now that the red of fury had faded from his face, he seemed oddly pale. "So you call yourself Royal Wizard, when—"

  I interrupted without giving him a chance to make an accusation with which, in fact, I agreed. "I need your help. I'm sure you realize that Nimrod didn't commission any monster. But if there's a horrible creature loose in Yurt I need to know what it is and what it's doing. Tell me everything that happened at the old wizard's cottage."

  Dominic hesitated, anger and his normal sulky nature fighting with what looked like extreme exhaustion. He didn't even bother to scowl at me. "I decided I had to look at what that young wizard of the duchess's had tried to suggest was only an illusion. We got an even better 'look' than I expected."

  "Yes?" I said impatiently when he paused. It would be entirely appropriate for him to decide, as regent, to fire me for gross neglect of wizardly duties.

  "When I knocked at the old wizard's door," he continued slowly, "I saw him for just a second, then he stepped aside and this—this thing rushed out at us. It's almost human, but it didn't move like a human. And it has no face, only eyes."

  Just two years ago, my predecessor had faithfully served the royal family of Yurt. The strange twist I had felt in his mind—or his soul—had gone even deeper than I thought. It didn't sound as though his monster had broken loose. It sounded as though he had set it on Dominic deliberately.

  The regent gave me a long look. "I honestly don't know why anyone would want to study and train to deal with magical creatures. We got away, though it crippled one horse so badly we had to put it down. We've spent the last three days chasing it or else running from it. None of us have gotten much sleep. We must have lost it half a dozen times, but until now it's always reappeared. We haven't seen it since yesterday afternoon."

  He glared toward Nimrod. "Are you sure that huntsman didn't ask your predecessor for a monster? He was camping out unafraid, yet it showed no signs of attacking him."

  "Quite sure," I said.

  The three priests from the church of Saint Eusebius had begun an anxious conference while all this was happening. I glanced toward the hermit, who stood before his grove as though his thin body and smile of benediction could protect it from all physical violence. In a minute, I thought, the priests would announce loudly that a grove with such activities in it was no place for a saint's relics, snatch the golden reliquary, and bolt for their horses

  I excused myself from Dominic, who now looked only weary, and hurried toward the shrine on a collision course with the priests. The presence of a wizard might slow them down, I hoped, even if they seemed to have little respect for hermits.

  Nimrod calmly watched the priests' approach, then flicked his eyes toward me. "I hope you don't think me a coward, Wizard," he said in a voice designed to carry. "But if I hadn't fled from Prince Dominic I would have had to kill him, and I do not want to kill the royal regent of Yurt." He stepped out from the shelter of the trees to meet the priests, and the sun shone with golden light on his hair.

  Dominic turned around with a scowl. The duchess, who had started down the track by the falls, froze for a second, then kept on walking. But Nimrod's words and appearance had their greatest impact on the three priests. They shook their heads and stared at him as though not believing what they saw.

  "When we saw you last night, I didn't think it could be true," said the round priest, then paused as though feeling his words were inadequate.

  "The Lord moves in mysterious ways," supplied the thin priest.

  "Do you know Nimrod?" asked Joachim politely.

  "Nimrod?" demanded the round priest. "Is that what he calls himself? We certainly do know this ‘mighty hunter.’"

  "We had thought him an obedient son of the Church, but his appearance here, an accused sinner under a false name, shows him to have been but a whited sepulcher," said the thin priest.

  "Then who is he?" asked Joachim, when Nimrod said nothing.

  "He is—or was—" said the thin priest witheringly, "the prince of our city."

  PART SIX - PRINCE ASCELIN

  I

  Somehow, Joachim managed to get rid of the priests. They retreated a little way down the valley, highly indignant but still unwilling to say anything openly against the chaplain, and still not in possession of the Holy Toe. The shouting and barking had died down, and it again seemed possible that, at some point, the valley's dreamy quiet might be restored.

  Dominic, with the knights and the still excited dogs, settled down near the base of the waterfall, built a fire, and started making a late breakfast. Diana sat twenty yards away, combing her hair and pinning it up again, her back turned carefully to them.

  This must be, I thought, very difficult for her. Nimrod, the man she might have loved in her own way, now appeared a coward, and she had been thoroughly and publicly shamed before the knights of Yurt. Even for the duchess, this had gone beyond outrageous.

  Joachim, Evrard, and I went into the grove with Nimrod. The old hermit had retreated to his hermitage. I should be, right now, trying to find the old wizard's monster. But even with my best magic I feared I would not be able to track it unless I had the tall huntsman with me—I hadn't even been able to find Evrard's stick-man when I saw its footprint—and for the moment he couldn't leave the grove's sanctuary.

  In the meantime, magical or not, I had a problem here that would thoroughly disrupt the kingdom if something wasn't done, and soon.

  "So are you indeed a prince?" I asked Nimrod.

  "It won't be much of a surprise to hear that I am," he said with a slow smile. "My true name is Ascelin. I know you realized all along that I was not simply a huntsman."

  "And the duchess knew who you were?"

  "Of course she did," he said, seeming much more amused than anyone should be when his life was in peril. "I won't try to pretend that part of my reason for coming into Yurt wasn't to see her again." He glanced in her direction. All that was visible was her hair and firmly set shoulders. "Although I'm afraid that's turned out very badly."

  His next words showed how very precarious was his apparent calm. "Would she rather have me kill the regent and half the knights of Yurt than to run?" he demanded. It was quite clear he was not addressing any of us. "I could certainly outwrestle Dominic, and I've got stag-arrows in my quiver. I could have picked off all of them one by one. Would her honor have been satisfied then?"

  "I don't understand," said Evrard abruptly into the ensuing silence. "Why does Dominic want to kill you?"

  "I thought that was fairly clear," said Nimrod—or rather Prince Ascelin. "We'd camped on the plateau last night, and were finishing breakfast outside our tent this morning, when Dominic and the knights came into view. Apparently the regent didn't think my behavior toward my lady the Duchess Diana was the sort of behavior appropriate toward someone he'd planned to marry." He smiled briefly and bitterly. "If I didn't intend to kill a lot of men, running seemed my best option."

  I could see Joachim make a conscious decision not to lecture the prince on sin and virtue. "What do you know about Saint Eusebius?" he asked instead. "You said that seeing the duchess was only part of your reason for coming here."

  At this question, Nimrod—as I couldn't help but think of him—became oddly flustered. I couldn't tell at first if it was just the abrupt change of subject, or if the mention of the saint was disturbing. He would not meet Joachim's eyes but looked off instead toward the shrine and reliquary there. "The major church of my city is dedicated to Saint Eusebius," he answered slowly after a minute. "I've been devoted to the saint since boyhood."

  Several things suddenly became clear to me. "Saint Eusebius appeared to you in a vision," I said. Joachim an
d Evrard stared at me, but I knew I was right. "He knew you for a remarkable huntsman, and he wanted to get the great horned rabbits out of Yurt."

  Nimrod looked at me almost with relief. "Yes, he did." He paused, then went on in a much lower voice. "But he'd never appeared to me before. It was— It was not what I'd expected." His face became distant and almost expressionless. A very short time ago, I had thought the forces of good were always gentle and pleasant, but it appeared I was wrong. Since seeing a saint seemed to be such a soul-searing experience, I was rather glad that saints did not appear to wizards.

  "Eusebius has appeared to several people," said Joachim quietly.

  "The Cranky Saint has said something different to every single person he's appeared to," I said. "When is he going to make his will clear?" But Joachim did not answer.

  I tried to calculate when the saint might have appeared in a vision to Nimrod, counting from when Evrard's horned rabbits had escaped. "But how did you get here so fast?"

  "I set out, I think," said Nimrod, "within twenty-four hours of when the first horned rabbit reached this valley. I was here four days later." He managed a smile. "Fifty miles a day on foot was a push, even for me. I must say," he added after a brief pause, "that when I was asked to come defend the Holy Grove from magical creatures, I had expected something a little more—well, intimidating, than great horned rabbits."

  Whether the saint had told him or not, there was indeed something more intimidating in the kingdom now.

  "What," put in Evrard, "do you have to do, Prince, with the entrepreneurs up on top of the cliff?"

  "I don't know anything about them," said Nimrod.

  For a moment I sat thinking rapidly. If the huntsman had come to Yurt in direct response to the horned rabbits, then many of the series of strange and coincidental events that had begun immediately upon the king's departure were linked. And Diana—even if in part unintentionally—was behind them all.