The Wizard at Mecq

by Rick Shelley

  "The Blue Rose seems poised for an attempt to overthrow the White Brotherhood," Silvas said, speaking slowly now. "For the first time, perhaps, they seem to have real power behind them." He paused and then said, "Considerable power."

  "Satanic power?" Brother Paul asked.

  "You would call it that," the wizard agreed. "It is even one of the names that Bishop Egbert would have for it." Silvas nodded, mostly to himself. That should give Brother Paul some clue without calling in question the things he would have been taught.

  "More power than you yourself have?" the friar asked.

  "If it is all applied against me, certainly," Silvas said. "If our Unseen Lord did not stand beside me, I would be hopelessly outmatched."

  "My flock remains in danger?"

  "Grave danger," Silvas said. "They have been in grave danger since the Blue Rose decided that Mecq was important—and I still don't know the reason for that importance. It may simply be the connection of Sir Eustace's father to the crusade against them. There might be more that I haven't discovered yet." Silvas shrugged. "But together you and I may be able to protect the villagers from the worst of the wrath of the Blue Rose."

  "You speak so casually, as if you are accustomed to facing this manner of evil routinely," Brother Paul said. He was having difficulty matching the wizard's tone. Heavenly Father, protect your servant and his flock, he prayed. Give me the strength I need to serve.

  "I have never faced it before," Silvas said. "Perhaps no mortal has ever faced so much." Careful, don't infect him with all of your worries, he thought. "But I have been trained for this. It is why our Unseen Lord has permitted me the life he has."

  "A weapon waiting for the need?" Brother Paul asked.

  He has a mind! Silvas thought with some sense of triumph.

  "I have thought of it that way," the wizard admitted. He may be of more help than I expected.

  "Is there anything in particular that I should watch for?" Brother Paul asked. "Anything I can do to guard my people?"

  Silvas shrugged. "For a moment I can hardly say. You will take what measures you normally would, of course. Vigilance is important. The sooner we know of anything happening, the faster we can take whatever specific actions are needed."

  Brother Paul took several moments to consider that sipping lightly at his wine, though he scarcely noticed it. More prayers went through his mind. He felt a trill of fear, but he met that with more prayers for strength and faith. Finally he blinked several times and looked up to see Silvas watching him.

  "You have given me a lot to think over—and pray over," the friar said. He looked around. "For now I think I should return to my church. There might be some who would look for me."

  Silvas nodded and rose. "With a little rain and water, some may even look for reassurance that Blethye won't come riding through the pass with his soldiers."

  "Do you believe His Grace contaminated by the Blue Rose?"

  "I have no knowledge of it, Vicar, and I hesitate to accuse a man of such a sin without certain knowledge."

  Brother Paul nodded, softly, distracted.

  "Come, I'll see you to the gate," Silvas said.

  They walked quietly. The friar hardly noticed the walk. He even forgot to worry about the two large cats that trailed behind them. They were in the courtyard before Brother Paul even recalled that Carillia had not appeared.

  "I missed my chance to give my thanks to your lady," the vicar apologized.

  "I will convey them. Perhaps you will have another chance later."

  —|—

  After Brother Paul left, Silvas stood for a moment just inside the gate. He let out a long breath. Within limits, he could count on the friar as an ally. Though he is not yet certain of me, Silvas reminded himself. He will not commit himself fully, even though I have his bishop's blessing. The thought of Brother Paul's caution brought a smile to Silvas's face. So much the better. He will be less likely to fall for any ruse the Blue Rose might try. If only he had a little more power. Silvas did not discount allies. If he was indeed about to face the challenge he foresaw, he would take any help he could find.

  "I have no guarantees," he said softly.

  He looked at the clear sky over the Seven Towers and thought of the rain over Mecq. I should go back out there. If the Blue Rose does respond immediately, I need to see it as soon as possible. In any event, the people of Mecq will worry less if they see me. Some would undoubtedly see the rain and the increased flow of the Eyler as an invitation to disaster. Some would feel fear as soon as the initial relief started to pale. And if Silvas wasn't there, they would worry that he was leading them to disaster and leaving them to face it alone.

  "In a few moments," Silvas said. He went back inside the keep. He wanted to ask Carillia her impressions of the vicar. Even though she had not showed herself, Silvas was certain that she had been close by.

  He was just crossing the great hall toward the rear stairs up to his quarters when Koshka came running down from those stairs.

  "My lady sent me to tell you that another visitor approaches," the small servant said, puffing just a little. "A young lady riding a horse."

  "Thank you, Koshka." Silvas hid his frown until he had turned back toward the entrance. A young lady riding. I don't need wizardry to guess who it must be. He walked back toward the main gate, in no hurry. It had to be Maria, and Silvas was far from certain that he wanted to deal with her just then. There was something about her youthful eagerness—even ardor, to credit Carillia's impression—that made Silvas uncomfortable. There seemed to be unsuspected depths to the girl that Silvas was hesitant to explore.

  "Lord Wizard!" Silvas heard her call before he reached the gate. "Are you there?"

  "I'm here," Silvas mumbled. He took a deep breath while he looked at the smoke. For a moment he considered turning around and letting Sir Eustace's daughter go unanswered.

  "But, like as not, she'd just sit there and shout her head off until I did answer." He shook his head and stepped into the smoke. By the time he emerged on Mecq's side of it, there was a smile in his voice.

  "Good afternoon, Maria," he said. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

  "It's raining," Maria observed, as if Silvas might not have noticed. She held her hand out, palm up, catching a few drops.

  "I know it's raining," Silvas replied. "Would you like to come in out of it?"

  She actually hesitated for a moment.

  "Strange tales have reached my father," she said. "That you live in a fairy-tale palace with soaring towers and all manner of strange servants. I came because I would not like to think that people are making up stories to keep me occupied."

  "Your father doesn't think very kindly of me," Silvas said. "I doubt that he would approve of your visit."

  "My father does not think kindly of anyone," Maria replied airily, flicking her hand to the side in a gesture of dismissal. "It is raining," she repeated.

  "It might be better to dismount and lead your horse," Silvas said, accepting that he would not be able to convince Maria to forgo the visit. "Horses are sometimes averse to smoke."

  "Your horse isn't," Maria said, as if that were a challenge.

  "Bay is quite used to this smoke. He is quite a remarkable steed. Would you like a hand?"

  Maria swung herself down from her horse, a young gray mare, instead of answering. I can dismount without help. I am not a child. But she smiled at Silvas as she moved to the horse's head to take a tight grip on the reins.

  "Telia is well trained," Maria said.

  "This way, then." Silvas gestured into the smoke. Despite Maria's assurances, Silvas was careful to position himself close enough to be able to grab for the horse's bridle if Telia reared or tried to bolt to avoid the smoke.

  The horse did object, but Maria was able to handle her. When they emerged from the smoke inside the Glade, though, she let go of the reins. Her mouth fell open.

  "It hasn't rained at all here!" was her first comment, almost a protest.
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  "We are no longer in Mecq," Silvas informed her.

  Maria did not follow up on that. "This place could not possibly fit inside the tower of smoke. You cast dreams before my eyes!"

  "You see what you see," Silvas said, sternness struggling with amusement in his voice. "This is my home."

  "I've never seen a castle this large." Maria omitted the fact that she had never seen any castle but her father's before. Her sixteen years had been confined to the valley of Mecq. Sir Eustace rarely traveled, and when he did, he didn't take his daughter along.

  "May I look through it?" she asked, torn between the forms of politeness and the strength of her desire to see every part of this castle.

  "As you will." Silvas gave her another bow and kept his voice polite. He would not be made out to be a poor host, but he was already looking for ways to cut her visit short. Maria didn't get the same tour Brother Paul had, and Silvas didn't linger. They crossed directly to the keep after Maria tied Telia's reins to a ring set in the curtain wall.

  Satin and Velvet were at the door of the keep to meet them. But the wizard's first hope for cutting short the visit failed.

  "They're beautiful!" Maria said, crouching to get closer to the cats. Satin and Velvet both permitted her to stroke their necks. They nuzzled her sides for a moment before looking to Silvas.

  "They are beautiful," he agreed, disappointed that she showed not the slightest fear of the cats—and surprised that Satin and Velvet had permitted her such familiarity on first meeting. The cats were rarely so hospitable.

  "What are their names?" Maria asked. Silvas told her, indicating which was which. Then, reluctantly, Maria stood and turned to the wizard again. "I knew this place would be full of wonders. Are there more?"

  "No more cats," Silvas said. "Satin and Velvet are the only ones of their sort, and they will not tolerate lesser felines."

  "I can hardly wait to see what other wonders you have," Maria said, an unmistakable prompt.

  Silvas told Maria a little about the Seven Towers as he guided her into the great hall. There were a number of servants about, but again they were all normal humans.

  "What strange benches," Maria said, crossing to one of the tables that served Bosc's people. "How could anyone sit like that?"

  "Different people have different ways." Silvas was surprised that she had spotted the benches so quickly. "I have no objection to accommodating other ways." She has a quick mind, Silvas thought, giving her grudging credit for that.

  "There is someone you should meet," he said as he led Maria up the main stairs to the apartments above the great hall. And Carillia was there, in the larger of their sitting rooms, not the one next to their bedchamber.

  "Carillia, my love, this is Maria, the daughter of Sir Eustace." After the two said their greetings to each other, Silvas took Carillia's hand for a moment.

  "Maria would like to see all the wonders of the Glade, my love, and I must get back to oversee the rain in Mecq. If you would be so kind?"

  "Of course, my heart," Carillia said. Her smile threatened to explode into laughter, but she fought to control it, knowing that Silvas would see her struggle.

  "My duty does call," Silvas said with a bow to Maria. "Besides, Carillia can give you a much better tour than I could."

  And then he made his exit as quickly as he could. Maybe now that she knows that I already have a lady, she will turn her fantasies elsewhere, Silvas thought. Hoped.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The rain continued through twilight. In Mecq's valley the shower remained light, giving the water a chance to soak into the fields. Upstream and down, the rain was heavier, accompanied by the sound and light show of thunder and lightning. The Eyler rose slowly as the storm runoff raced through the valley. The simple layer of rocks that the villagers had spanned the river with could hold back only a fraction of that water. Most ran over the top of the makeshift dam and on into Blethye. Even at the height of the spate, the water didn't reach the bottom of the mill's wheel. The oxen continued to tread their circle until they were unhitched for the evening.

  Silvas remained in the village until dusk was thick and most of the villagers had retired to their cottages for supper and sleep. The thrill of rain had brought a new kind of exhaustion to them, the exhaustion of celebration. It is still premature, Silvas thought, but he wore a smile and said nothing to dampen spirits that had been so quickly raised by a thorough dampening. A number of people came up to Silvas to thank him, or to wish him a good evening, people who had not chosen to take any previous notice of his presence.

  The wizard bore no grudges. It is enough, he told himself. He never claimed rights on the mere basis of his announcement of his craft. He did not demand that anyone take him on his word alone. In each town or village he had to prove himself again. That is as it should be was his long-held belief.

  Maria had emerged from the pillar of smoke to ride back to her father's castle well before dusk. She had not come toward Silvas, and he had made sure that he was with a number of villagers as she came through after her tour of the Glade, hoping that company would discourage her.

  "This is the best rainfall we've had in some three years," Master Ian said as he prepared to return to his inn.

  "It's only the beginning," Silvas told him. "One good rain can't cure years of drought."

  "A good beginning," Master Ian allowed, holding out both hands to the rain. "A right good beginning, Lord Wizard."

  Silvas nodded politely and Master Ian went off. A few minutes later, Brother Paul emerged from St. Katrinka's and crossed to the river, seeking out the wizard.

  "You have won new friends here today," the friar said.

  "Which I may lose as quickly," Silvas replied quietly. "This is not all there must be."

  "You sound particularly concerned." The friar's eyes narrowed to get a better view of the wizard in the growing dark.

  "In part, this rain is a challenge to the power that has held Mecq in its grip so long." Silvas's voice was a mere whisper that no one but the friar could hear. "It may draw a response."

  "From the Blue Rose?" Brother Paul asked just as softly.

  Silvas nodded almost imperceptibly. "You might be on especial guard this night, Vicar," he said. "I shall."

  "I will take your advice," Brother Paul said, his voice showing the trouble he felt in the wizard's words. "Have you any idea what form this response may take?"

  "No. I may be better able to judge what remains to be done when it comes, though. It may give me a better gauge of the Foe's strength here."

  "It seems a dangerous ploy," the vicar said.

  "But necessary. I can't know what I need to offer for the long-term cure of Mecq's ills until I know what power it needs to hold against."

  "I will pray for you," Brother Paul said.

  "Thank you, Vicar," Silvas said. "We all need our prayers now."

  As he walked back to his church, Brother Paul shook his head softly, almost without volition. His command of the craft of power was small, but he could feel the wizard's troubled soul quite clearly. Silvas might be a wizard-potent, be he was not without his grave concerns.

  —|—

  Nearly all of the villagers had gone indoors to belated suppers before Silvas headed back to the Glade. The ground was soft underfoot. There were small patches of mud, even a few standing puddles. A good beginning, Silvas told himself. But it is nothing more, and if the price is too heavy... He shook his head, much as the vicar had, though he hadn't noticed that gesture.

  Since sky was still clear over the Seven Towers, dark hadn't settled as quickly over Silvas's home. Still it was too late for any greeting from the birds. They would have settled into their nests before the sun touched the western horizon, and they would remain there until they sensed the imminent return of the sun in the morning.

  Lights made the great hall bright. There were fires in both hearths, torches around the walls, candles above the tables. The people of the Seven Towers were beginning to gathe
r for supper, and the mood was as warm as the room. Silvas paused at the entrance just long enough to see that Carillia hadn't come down for the meal yet, then hurried upstairs to change into dry clothes.

  "I knew you would need these, my heart," Carillia said when he reached their bedroom. Fresh clothing had been laid out on the bed. There was even a large, rough towel for him to dry himself with, and a mug of mulled wine to warm his insides.

  "The people of Mecq are happy tonight, are they not?" Carillia asked after Silvas showed his appreciation with a kiss.

  "For the moment," he allowed. "They have rain. Some who have been ill are well. For the moment it is enough." The shadow that came and went over his thoughts was not apprehension but, in a way, envy. "It takes so little," he whispered.

  "They are simple folk of the land," Carillia replied. His whisper hadn't been so soft that she could not hear it. "A simple life, both in pleasure and in fear." There was no condescension in her voice. Carillia felt more comfortable around simple folk of the land than she did around courtiers.

  Silvas hurried through his change of clothing, and the two of them went down to dinner.

  The mood in the great hall was much lighter than it had been the evening before. Before long Silvas felt even his own spirits rising. The folk of the Seven Towers knew that trouble might be near, but that didn't stop them from enjoying the moments that came before.

  "Can ye tell us more about the evil that comes?" Braf Goleg, the leader of the lupine warriors, asked Silvas. Braf came to the wizard's table and touched a hand to his brow in salute. The hand was neither human nor truly lupine in appearance, three relatively short digits set at angles that turned the hand into a powerful grasping tool.

  "Not yet, Braf," Silvas said, laying his utensils on his plate. "I can't see its form or when it will come." He shrugged. "I don't even guarantee that it will come, though I feel certain that it will."

  "Or here or there?" Braf asked. His voice, though growling to human norms, was in the polite registers of his kind, and Silvas knew that.