The Wizard at Mecq

by Rick Shelley

  —|—

  Braf came to the library with Koshka, and his report included the names of the dead as well as details on how they had died. He also had wounded soldiers to mention. "None so bad as to need serious help," he assured the wizard.

  "I'll stop by to treat them anyway," Silvas said, and Braf's face relaxed a little.

  Silvas hurried through the selection of cheese and fruit that Koshka had brought, and listened to Koshka's recitation of how the domestic staff had come through the fight. Silvas was amazed at his hunger and thirst. In just a few minutes he cleared the tray of food and downed two large goblets of wine. Carillia only nibbled and sipped. "I'll have more while you listen to our guests outside," she told Silvas.

  "And now I guess I must face them," he said, getting up from his chair with only slight difficulty. His joints seemed stiff, the way Auroreus's joints had stiffened up whenever the weather turned cold and damp. He stretched and twisted a couple of times and then headed out.

  His healing work in the soldier's barracks took only a couple of minutes, but Silvas's mood didn't lighten.

  It is still too much, too soon, he thought as he crossed back through the great hall. I am pressed nearly to the limit and there's no end in sight to this confrontation. I need time to think through all that has happened, all I have been shown. There were magics he could invoke to help him recall every detail of his mystic experiences, the visions—or whatever they truly were. The answer must lie in them somehow. If I could only find the time to search...

  The sun was bright in a clear sky over the Seven Towers. It seemed impossible that a morning so light could follow a night as dark as the one just ended. Silvas stood in the doorway of the keep and blinked several times at the light before he started across the courtyard. Bay came out from around the corner of the tower, saddled and harnessed. Bosc ran at his side.

  "How did you fare?" Silvas asked when they met halfway to the gate.

  "Better than you, it appears," Bay replied. "No demons reached the mews this time."

  "There was only the terror down the row," Bosc added. Down the row: he was talking about the other horses in the stable.

  "And you, Bosc?" Silvas asked.

  "I had no chance to fight this time," the groom said.

  Silvas nodded and turned his attention to Bay again. "We have visitors outside."

  "I know. And you were just going to walk out and join them."

  "Of course."

  "I doubt you could walk as far as the Boar and Bear, the shape you're in," Bay said. "That is why I am here."

  "I did not foresee any great need to walk far," Silvas said.

  "That obnoxious servant from the castle will undoubtedly have other ideas, and even Brother Paul may have work for you," Bay said. "You appear too weak to get through much." He snorted. "Besides, my presence may have a calming influence."

  Silvas smiled. "Intimidating, you mean. Very well. We shall ride, then." He went to Bay's side and mounted. Bosc stood by in case his help was needed, but Silvas managed on his own.

  "Sitting is easier than standing," Silvas conceded.

  The wizard didn't bother to take Bay's reins. He was content to sit and relax, surprised at how much the walk down from the library had taxed his strength. Bay walked slowly through the smoke onto the village green of Mecq. The sky over Mecq remained overcast, though the rain was long over. There was actually some hint of green to the village green now, though still not much.

  Brother Paul wasn't caught by surprise. He was looking directly at the point where Silvas and Bay emerged from the smoke. Fitz-Matthew spun around, though. He had been pacing away from the smoke at that moment.

  "What have you brought upon us?" Fitz-Matthew demanded when he saw the wizard. "Sir Eustace is looking for answers, and he will not be easily satisfied."

  "Good morning, Vicar," Silvas said, nodding at Brother Paul. Then he turned his head. "Master Fitz-Matthew." Bay stopped with his tail only a few feet from the smoke. Silvas leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle.

  "You know what happened in the night here?" Brother Paul asked.

  "In general, yes. In detail, no," Silvas said. "The Seven Towers was also attacked. I have lost good people as, I believe, you have."

  "An entire family destroyed!" Fitz-Matthew shouted. "Only the grace of God kept the toll from being much higher."

  Silvas stared at the chamberlain, narrowing his eyes until Fitz-Matthew looked away in discomfort. But he could be put off only momentarily. Villagers started to gather when they saw that Silvas had come out of his tower of smoke. At first only a few came, and they stopped some distance away, content to listen. None of them were yet ready to venture their own questions or charges.

  "Mecq has never known such a night," Brother Paul said, his quiet tones a marked contrast to the blustery manner of Henry Fitz-Matthew.

  "Nor has the Glade," Silvas replied easily.

  "As Master Fitz-Matthew said, there were deaths in the village," Brother Paul said. "Lightning hit their cottage and it was destroyed before they could flee. The family in the next cottage barely managed to escape when the flames spread." He shrugged. "The rain put the fire out before it could claim even more homes." He turned to scan the faces that were watching. A few more villagers had come to stand and wait.

  "It was more than a thunderstorm," the friar said when he faced Silvas again. "I saw things, things I never thought to see in this life. It makes me wonder what might come next."

  "That's something Sir Eustace wants to know as well," Fitz-Matthew said, with only slightly less bluster than before.

  The question was enough to draw some of the villagers closer. They wanted to hear any answer the wizard might have.

  "Aye, what more must we bear?" one man asked. "Must we fear for our souls every night?"

  There were mumbles of agreement, other voices of concern in the growing crowd. No one thought to mention that the Eyler still flowed much higher than it had of an August in the memory of any of them. Silvas listened and looked, trying to gauge how much fear was really behind the questions. It was clear that Henry Fitz-Matthew still felt the terror of the night assault, perhaps more than most of the villagers. Brother Paul showed no fear. That was no great surprise to the wizard, but it was something of a relief. The friar's faith seemed to be holding up well.

  I want to hear more of what he experienced during the night, Silvas thought, but it didn't appear that he would be able to get the time alone with Brother Paul so easily.

  "Sir Eustace wants answers," Fitz-Matthew said when Silvas didn't respond to any of the questions.

  "Aye, and so do we," one of the bolder villagers said, speaking louder and moving closer.

  "You deserve answers," Silvas said, facing the man in the crowd rather than Fitz-Matthew or Brother Paul. "You deserve to know why this has come to you and what may yet come." I need to make sure that you don't get the idea that my coming to Mecq brought your troubles, he thought. If you get that notion, you'll also wear the delusion that my leaving would end those troubles. Some would take that position soon enough. Silvas had no doubts about that. But he had to try to limit the belief to keep it from complicating his mission even more.

  The people were silent, waiting for him to continue.

  "I will tell you what I know," Silvas said. "It may take time, so we might as well go over to the church." You'll all feel more comfortable there as well, no doubt, he thought.

  Bay started walking across to the front of St. Katrinka's. The people followed, and more came from their gardens and cottages. Not many were working in the fields across the river. The rain had left the fields too muddy. At the church, Silvas dismounted and sat on the top step. Bay moved to the side, leaving room for the villagers to come closer. Brother Paul and Henry Fitz-Matthew came to the front. The steward stood with his feet spread apart in a fighter's stance, everything about his attitude remaining belligerent. The friar seemed more at ease. He sat on the second step, off to the side, turned
so he could watch his flock as well as the wizard.

  Silvas remained quiet for several minutes as more people gathered.

  "When I arrived, I told you that our Unseen Lord had directed my path here because Mecq had need of me." Silvas looked around, making eye contact with as many villagers as he could. Most looked away, either immediately or after just an instant of his gaze. Fitz-Matthew met his stare with an angry glare of his own for a moment, but the steward too looked away. Brother Paul was too close, and watching the villagers, so Silvas had no chance to see how he would react.

  "The evil of the Blue Rose has been here for an age, perhaps since Sir Eustace's father and others like Master Fitz-Matthew here took the cross to fight the Blue Rose for the Church." Silvas looked at Fitz-Matthew, who looked down at the cross on his tunic. "The fight against evil is every man's duty," Silvas said. When Fitz-Matthew looked up again, there was less anger in his eyes.

  "It is my duty as well," Silvas added more softly. He stood up to get a better view and paused for a long moment. More people had come. It appeared as if nearly the entire adult population of Mecq, save those who worked up in the castle, had come to hear him speak.

  "The evil has found Mecq. You have only to think of the Eyler, of the rains that haven't come, of the illnesses that have come to folks like Berl." The husband of Old Maga's sister wasn't present, Silvas noted. He would still be weak. "Worse trouble was already coming. You couldn't have avoided it no matter what. Even I could not stop it from coming. Last night was only the beginning of this battle. I am here to fight that evil, to do what I can to lessen its effects on you."

  Some of the people were staring at the ground or their feet now. Others glanced around nervously. Many had made the sign of the cross. Silvas saw lips moving in silent prayer. Even when he stopped talking there was little change. No one made any attempt to question him now.

  "You went through a terrible storm last night," Silvas said. "Lives were lost. You all felt the terror. I went through a storm last night as well. Demons attacked the Glade, off in its true location. I lost good people as well, trusted servants of long years. I share your grief.

  "The Blue Rose seeks power in this land. This may be the last place where they still have a concentration of adherents, a foothold." Certainly I can think of no other reason for Mecq to be so afflicted, Silvas thought. "They have a hatred for all that the White Brotherhood stands for. And for some reason, be it the crusade in Burgundy or something else, they have a long grudge against the people of Mecq."

  The villagers, and even Fitz-Matthew, looked decidedly uneasy, frightened.

  "I need to know what your good vicar can tell me about the storm here." Silvas glanced at Brother Paul, who nodded. "I need to learn everything I can so I can better prepare for the next attack."

  That brought all eyes to Silvas again. The fear was obvious, and increasing.

  "Yes, there will be another attack," Silvas said, his voice little more than a whisper. "Perhaps several. Together perhaps Brother Paul and I can find some way to deal with the Blue Rose here."

  Brother Paul stood slowly, as if he were ready to deliver a sermon. He cleared his throat and looked around. When he spoke, it was in his pulpit voice. He looked from Silvas to his congregation and back.

  "I saw demons in the sky during the storm," the vicar started. He described the forms, told how they had ridden about, carrying on, seemingly directing the lightning. "The Devil is working against us. He has launched open war against Mecq, for whatever reason. Yes, the Devil. The heretics of the Blue Rose are but his tools, accepting their own damnation, glorying in it, wanting only to inflict their pain on all good Christians.

  "I have no authority to declare a crusade, but I want you to know, in your hearts and souls, that our fight against the Blue Rose here is every bit as important as the fight that Master Fitz-Matthew and the father of Sir Eustace waged so long ago. You know of Berl and others who have suffered. You know what the lack of water has meant to all of us.

  "And now the Devil's cauldron is boiling. There is more evil than we have faced before. It is beyond our ability to fight alone. We are lucky to have the wizard Silvas here to help us in our perilous hour. Remember, he has the blessing of Bishop Egbert. He is known to the White Brotherhood. And he has the countenance of His Majesty."

  Brother Paul drew the sign of the cross in the air and spoke the words of blessing for his flock. Heads bowed. Most of the villagers crossed themselves. A few voices said, "Amen." And then the eyes came back up to look at the vicar and the wizard again.

  "What will come next?" one farmer asked hesitantly.

  Brother Paul looked to Silvas. The wizard shrugged.

  "I don't know," Silvas admitted. "The friar and I will do what we can to learn that so we can arm against it, but there is a chance that we will not know the form of attack until it comes."

  "Will more die?" another villager asked.

  "That is for God to say," Brother Paul said quickly. "We can but pray for His help, and for His mercy."

  "Is there no more you can tell us?" the first villager asked.

  "I keep no secrets from you," Silvas said. In the strictest accounting that was not true, but the wizard didn't count it a lie, and he didn't think that the vicar would either. What Silvas held back pertained to the Greater Mysteries, and the villagers would not believe him if he told them all that he had seen and heard.

  "Sir Eustace will want to hear all of this from you, Lord Wizard," Fitz-Matthew said. He tried to sound commanding, but his words didn't come out that way. His voice trembled too much for the pose.

  "I will come as soon as I may," Silvas replied quietly.

  "And now we all have work to be about," Brother Paul said. He repeated his ritual blessing, and the crowd started to disperse. Even Fitz-Matthew turned and walked across the green to his horse tied in front of the Boar and Bear.

  "If you would care to step inside for a moment?" Brother Paul said softly to the wizard. Silvas nodded. They entered the church. Brother Paul knelt facing the altar, crossed himself, then stood and turned to Silvas again. Bay stood by the porch, as close to the door as he could get.

  "There was more that I saw," Brother Paul said. He crossed himself again. "I do not like to hold back, but this was something I feared to share with my flock."

  "I understand the feeling completely," Silvas said.

  "Perhaps it was only my imagination," the friar said, though he didn't believe that, "but I thought that I saw the Devil himself coming to claim swarms of souls. A deep voice within me said that we are facing the Day of Judgment, that it may well come here and soon."

  "It may," Silvas said simply, and when the vicar crossed himself again, the wizard could hardly fight the urge to echo the gesture.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "We might make a tour of the village," Silvas suggested after a moment. "There must be work for both of us."

  "There is," Brother Paul agreed. "I've already done the Requiem for those who died, but there is more to do." They left the church together.

  "I hope it won't discomfort you if I ride," Silvas said. "I find myself quite spent after the battle."

  "I can see. I don't mind. As long as you don't mind waiting for me when your steed gets too far ahead."

  Silvas smiled. "Bay is too thoughtful to go galloping off."

  They made a very slow circuit of the village, stopping wherever there was a call for their services—at nearly half of the cottages they came to. Silvas and Brother Paul provided what help they could. There were injuries. Silvas dealt with the most serious. Brother Paul took care of the rest, and the friar had his spiritual balm to offer as well, something the wizard couldn't provide.

  The villagers were already working to repair their homes, and to rebuild the fire-razed cottage whose inhabitants had escaped. More serious were the damages to the gardens and fields. Scant as the year's harvest would have been, it would be even scanter now.

  "We shall need to beg the bishop f
or help to get through this winter," Brother Paul said softly. "It won't be the first time, I admit."

  "If we make it through this crisis," Silvas replied.

  "The Lord willing," Brother Paul said.

  They were no more than halfway through their circuit when one of Master Ian's lads ran toward them from the inn. "There's a rider a-coming 'cross the valley," the boy shouted. He half turned to point without stopping.

  Silvas had to walk a dozen paces to get a view of the rider. He focused his telesight. The distant rider was moving at an awkward trot.

  "This might be your messenger returning," he suggested.

  Brother Paul nodded. "It might, though it would mean that Bishop Egbert did not keep him long."

  "He'll need a few minutes yet to reach us," Silvas said. "We may have time for another stop or two."

  —|—

  The rider almost fell from his horse when he pulled up in front of Brother Paul and Silvas. He was panting so raggedly that he might have been doing the trotting instead of the horse.

  "Easy, man," Brother Paul said, putting his hands on the man's shoulders to steady him. "Easy now."

  "I have word from His Excellency," the messenger said, the words coming out one at a time, each on a gasping exhalation.

  "Yes, but take a moment to collect yourself first."

  "Perhaps a drink would help," Silvas said. He gestured to the boy from the inn. "Here, boy, take this copper to Master Ian and bring back a flagon of ale for this man." He tossed the coin and the boy caught it easily, turning to run back to the Boar and Bear.

  "Thankee," the man said, starting to get his wind back. "I thankee much, Lord Wizard."

  "There, you're doing better already," Silvas said. "Come over to this stump and sit while you're waiting for the ale."

  The man seemed to collapse onto the stump more than sit.

  "I've ridden hard these days," he said. His gaze moved toward the door of the Boar and Bear. The boy was already emerging, holding the earthenware mug in both hands.