“It has?” I forced myself to say, in a voice that sounded loud and squeaky in my own ears. It was one thing to fear such a possibility, another to know it had actually happened.
“We heard of it today as we were riding toward this valley. The first word we had was in the village just a few miles from the castle.” This would have been the same village from which the disputants had come, not long before the king left Yurt. It seemed years ago.
“The local priest came out to meet us, terrified. Something had come to the village yesterday. It was seen rummaging through a chicken house. They thought of course it was a thief and set the dogs on it.”
Somehow hearing this in Joachim’s quiet voice made it worse.
“But the dogs wouldn’t attack it and fled with their tails between their legs. By now they’d realized it wasn’t just a common thief. Someone shot at it, though the priest told us that he, of course, tried to stop him. But it didn’t make any difference. The creature walked off with three arrows stuck in its back.”
Then even Nimrod might not be able to stop it.
“It killed five chickens.”
“Five chickens,” I repeated, thinking I should be grateful it was not five children.
“They belonged to a young couple, who, I gather, had just set up housekeeping. I think I recognized them. The young woman was very blond, quite distinctive-looking. I believe they were among the disputants the king swore to peace.”
King Haimeric’s judgment, I thought bleakly, had brought them back together after what had probably been a major rift, but no sooner were they married then a monster had killed their chickens. A monster loose, I reminded myself, while the Royal Wizard of Yurt was engrossed in dreamy forgetfulness with the wood nymph.
“I guessed immediately it was the creature that you and the ducal wizard had seen,” said Joachim. “But the village priest thought it might have been a demon.” He gave me a sideways look. “You would have been proud of me. I told him that magic is not a supernatural force, and that our best defense against a magical creature was to find a reliable wizard.”
There were three wizards in the kingdom of Yurt at the moment, and none of them reliable. Just a few days ago, the old wizard had appeared to have his creature very thoroughly imprisoned.
“There didn’t seem to be anything we priests could do,” Joachim continued, “so we went on. As you can imagine, I was even more eager than before to find you.”
And where, all this time, was Dominic? “Did the villagers have any indication which direction it was heading?”
“The third village in which it was seen is located at the base of the plateau,” said Joachim soberly. “It seems to be heading this way.”
I was furious with myself. I had seen it in the wizard’s cottage, seen it and been terrified of it, but I had persuaded both myself and Joachim that it was safely constrained by the old wizard’s magic. But I had not thought through what I had already had good reason to know: that the old wizard had lost control: of his mind, his soul, his good sense, or his magic.
It would be ironic if now, when I had at last persuaded Joachim that wizardry was not just an inferior and misapprehended version of religion, and he and the old hermit both turned to me for aid, my magic turned out to be completely useless.
Evrard, in spite of taking Elerius’s course, was not going to be any help. If the old wizard’s monster was even as good at hiding as Evrard’s stick-creature, then I would need Nimrod, but he was camped somewhere between here and the royal castle, and I’d never find him in the dark. I was more than ready to swallow my pride and ask for the school’s assistance, in spite of how my predecessor would react, but I was thirty miles from the nearest telephone and over five miles from the nearest pigeon loft.
I raised my eyes and found Joachim watching me soberly. “You could try praying for guidance,” he suggested.
I restrained myself from saying that that no saint would listen to a wizard. But his comment did give me an idea and, very briefly, hope. “Saint Eusebius,” I said. “The Cranky Saint won’t want a magical undead monster in his valley. The saint must like you, or he wouldn’t have appeared to you in the first place. Maybe he’ll listen if you ask for his help.”
“I constantly ask the saints for their help,” said Joachim.
I considered asking Evrard’s question, why the saint hadn’t just blasted the entrepreneurs—and, by extension, the wizard’s monster— with lightning if he didn’t like them, but it seemed pointless.
Besides, it was only a guess that the entrepreneurs even bothered the saint. His cryptic demand to have his relics moved elsewhere could be based on almost anything—even a personal animosity toward the apprentice hermits. I wondered for a moment that if the saint didn’t want to go with the three priests, he might show it by allowing the monster to eat them, but even I had to dismiss this thought as irreverent.
But maybe Joachim’s prayers would keep the monster at bay until first light, when Evrard or I could fly back to the telephone at the royal castle without becoming hopelessly lost. “You told me the old wizard might have made his creature out of jealous pride,” I said. “Having made it, do you think he set it loose intentionally? Is he trying to catch it himself, or in trying to catch it will I have to fight him as well?”
“That I cannot tell you,” said Joachim.
One thing I could not do tonight was sleep. I leaned my chin on my fist and tried to plan for tomorrow. If the monster did not appear in the valley tonight, then I would have to go looking for it. The fire had burned low, but the coals still glowed deep red.
Very early, I decided, I would fly out of the valley and find Nimrod, and then he and I would track the creature from where it had last been seen. First, though, I would roust Evrard out of the wood nymph’s tree, whether he liked it or not, and send him back to the royal castle as fast as he could fly, to telephone the school. Then he could start the search for Dominic from the old wizard’s house—and, for that matter, for the old wizard himself. This implied, of course, that they weren’t all lying dead there already.
I paused at this point in my deliberations, wondering if Evrard could fly that far. I knew I couldn’t have when I first came to Yurt.
Joachim, who had been silent for several minutes, abruptly stirred, then rolled up in his blanket. “Let’s get some sleep.”
“I can’t. Not with a monster loose. I must not have made this completely clear, Joachim, but the monster’s escape—and, from what you said about the old wizard’s jealousy, its very existence—are my fault. I have to find a way to stop it.”
“You still need your sleep.”
“No,” I said obstinately. “You and I have often sat up most of the night, talking, and I’m always fine the next day.”
“That is, you can still function,” said Joachim mildly, leaning on an elbow and looking at me, “thanks to a spell that you’ve told me gives you a bad headache.”
The problem was that the chaplain knew me too well.
“Lie down and close your eyes,” said Joachim, as though he were my grandmother, twenty years ago, tucking me into bed when I didn’t want to go. “I’ll sing you a hymn to make you sleepy.”
I lay down obediently, knowing this wouldn’t work. But I tried concentrating on the sound of his voice as he sang softly. Joachim had a very pleasant baritone. After a few minutes, I couldn’t hear him any more. I opened my eyes to find that it was already morning.
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 t
he 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 fa
ce, 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.”
The Wood Nymph & the Cranky Saint Page 18