The Crusading Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “The slope!” cried the captain of the guard. “Ward the slope!”

  Half the archers on the wall turned to see a thousand barbarians gallop up the scree toward the gate. Bows thrummed on both sides, but the horsemen were too far away, and their arrows fell short. The Arabs, though, with longer bows, had longer range, and the front rank of barbarians fell. The second rank hurdled them as though they weren’t there and charged on toward the gate, only six abreast, but with thousands of reinforcements behind them.

  More archers came running; more bowstrings sang of death and blood. The barbarians fell in windrows, and at last their captain, convinced of the futility, turned his men and rode away.

  At the gate, superior numbers won the day, and the Mongols died to a man, each still screaming his war-cry. When all lay still, the Arabs stood glaring down at them, chests heaving. As the heat of battle cooled, first one, then many, lifted their swords in grudging salute.

  “They are fearless,” said one soldier, “and mighty fighters, when they are horsed.”

  Even the Caliph came down to pay homage to worthy enemies. “Lay their bodies upon the slope outside the gate,” he commanded, “so that their fellows may bear them away during the night. When all are laid out as befits warriors, play a dirge from the wall to do them honor.”

  He turned away, but his chief wizard fell into step beside him and said, “They are mighty warriors, as you say, lord. How shall we hold the city against so many of them?”

  “With faith in Allah,” the Caliph answered, “and hope that my governors can bring their armies while we can still hold off these barbarians.”

  Matt always tried to go spying without his friend Stegoman the Dragon. True, the mighty beast was worth an army of bodyguards, and was excellent transportation as well as very good company—but he did tend to make a man somewhat conspicuous, and when you were trying to pick up gossip from roadside inns, that could be a noticeable handicap. Stegoman could definitely be classed as a conversation stopper.

  Matt did, however, ride a horse, which automatically boosted him a social class or two higher than the average citizens he usually wanted to listen to—but he needed speed first, and didn’t really need to eavesdrop until he reached the Holy Land. There, he could sell the horse if he had to, but he couldn’t sell a dragon, and Stegoman was very hard to send away for more than a night or two.

  In spite of his reassurances to Alisande, Matt did feel a lifting of the soul as the skyline of the capital city fell below the horizon. For a few months now he would be free of his daily responsibilities and liberated from the intrigues and social infighting of the court, which sometimes made him so heartsick he was tempted to give everybody a magical brainwashing. So far he had always resisted, out of respect for free will if nothing else. Out here on the open road, though, it was emotionally clean if physically dusty, and the sweep of the countryside made the air seem fresher.

  Unfortunately, the countryside was still sweeping when the sun set. Matt resigned himself to a night in the open. He chose a campsite just off the road, under some pine trees near a brook. Tethering his horse in the middle of plenty of rich green grass, he unsaddled and combed the beast, then decided to cut some boughs for a mattress while there was still twilight. He reached into his saddlebag for his camp hatchet.

  Warm fur moved against his fingers.

  Matt snatched his hand out, stifling a curse, then opened the saddlebag wide and turned it so he could see in.

  Two large pointed ears pushed up over the rim, then two large slit-pupiled eyes in a round brindle head. Balkis opened her mouth and meowed reproach at him.

  Matt stared.

  Then he laughed and held out cupped hands. “Wanted to go adventuring, huh? Well, hop out and help pitch camp!”

  Balkis hurdled over the side of the saddlebag and into his hands, then cuddled against his chest, purring like a nutmeg grater.

  Matt fondled her head. “Now, why would you want to go to the discomfort of being crammed into that saddlebag all day?” He asked the question with a lighthearted note, but his nasty suspicious nature was working overtime. Not only had this cat stowed away, which was rather uncatlike behavior, but she had also managed to lie still and stay quiet, which spoke of either absolute terror or a degree of self-control that was unbelievable in an animal—and Matt didn’t think he was all that terrifying. “This isn’t the job you signed up for, you know. You were supposed to be a babysitter.”

  Balkis looked up indignantly, as though to say any actual job would be beneath her dignity.

  Matt met her eyes, staring straight into them. Balkis stiffened in irritation and glared back at him, as though affronted by the temerity of any mere human who might try to outstare a cat.

  Sure that she wouldn’t look away, Matt crooned,

  “To your wizard pay some heed,

  Follow you his every lead.

  Him in all respects obey,

  His bidding do in every way.”

  The cat’s stare glazed; he could see her natural independence struggling against his spell, and wondered which would win.

  Then Balkis opened her mouth, beginning with a yawn that developed into a meowing tone that shaped itself into words:

  “No female thoughtless should comply

  With strange male’s wishes, lacking facts.

  Each thought she should with conscience scry,

  And debate each issue ere she acts.”

  Then she sat in his arms, glaring defiantly, every muscle tensed to spring and run.

  Matt just stared, mind racing—talking cats just didn’t happen. This creature was more than she seemed.

  He took a deep breath. “So. You won’t be taking my orders to explain why you came along.”

  “A spell to counter a spell,” Balkis mewed. “How could I have told without words?”

  “Cats have always found ways to make their wishes known.” Matt didn’t bother mentioning that the next spell would have given her the power of speech she already had.

  Balkis turned her head, eyeing him sideways. “You seem to know a great deal about our breed.”

  “My mother had a knack of taking care of strays,” Matt explained. “She wouldn’t let them into the house, but she had a very lively backyard.” He didn’t mention that she had also been very careful about letting the family cocker spaniel out.

  “I knew there was reason for liking her,” Balkis purred.

  “There surely is,” Matt agreed. “So who taught you how to talk?”

  “My sire and dam,” Balkis replied flippantly.

  “Very unusual cats,” Matt said. “Whoever taught them must have taught you a bit of magic.”

  “I can cast simple spells,” Balkis said, her eyes wary.

  “Look, you had a really soft berth set up in the castle,” Matt pointed out. “Why come along to share the discomforts and dangers of the road with me?”

  “I am no stranger to the road,” Balkis told him, “and I doubt there will truly be much danger.”

  “Then you should pay a bit more attention to the reports of the barbarians who’re invading the Arabian empire. That still doesn’t explain why you would leave a full food bowl and a soft cushion to come camping.”

  “Do you dislike my company?” Balkis challenged.

  “I’ve learned to value solitude,” Matt said, then tried a different tack. “Why did you come to Merovence?”

  “Because I learned that you have a much more favorable attitude toward females than I would find in my homeland,” Balkis replied.

  So she wasn’t a native. That explained the exotic look. “What homeland was that?”

  “Allustria.”

  Matt frowned; Allustria favored the alley variety of feline, not rare breeds. “You were born in Allustria?”

  “I grew up there,” Balkis prevaricated.

  Matt decided to let the question of origins alone for the moment. “Why did you come to the castle?”

  Balkis turned shifty-eyed. “
I heard the queen had children, and where there are little ones, a cat will be welcome.”

  “Seems you know a lot about people,” Matt said. “Okay, so you played patty-paw and got yourself a soft berth with my very understanding mother and my overworked wife. Why leave it all to come along with me?”

  Balkis was caught; she knew it, and didn’t like it. Glaring at Matt, she admitted, “I wish to learn more about magic than I know, and I shall not learn it playing with your babes in your absence.”

  Matt frowned down at her, considering. He was beginning to develop doubts about her species, and he ordinarily screened his helpers very thoroughly. “There are many wise women and village wizards who could teach you.”

  “I’ve learned all the best of them can teach,” Balkis snapped. “She bade me seek out you.” “Oh, she did?” Matt felt unreasonably flattered. “Who was this woman?”

  “Idris.”

  “Don’t know her.” Matt frowned. “Where does she dwell?”

  “In the Black Forest.”

  “I’ll have to look her up the next time I’m out that way.” Matt saw Balkis’ look of alarm and hastened to reassure her. “Don’t worry, I don’t pick quarrels with good magicians—I have too much need of every one I can find.”

  Again the guarded look. “Need for what?”

  “To combat evil, and most especially evil magic,” Matt explained. “It helps to know who I can call on in every place I may find myself. You don’t really think you’re going to learn magic just from watching me, do you?” He had a notion she had intended just that, and realized with a start why she’d been so interested in the bookshelves.

  Balkis watched him with a cat-steady stare, then said, “I had hopes you might teach me.”

  “But just in case I wouldn’t, you planned to spy on me as much as possible?”

  “Cats have the right to observe everything everywhere,” Balkis told him loftily.

  Matt stared deeply into her eyes, frowning. “There’s something more you’re not telling me.”

  Balkis’ gaze shifted, then came back to him. “How did you know?”

  Matt shrugged. “Call it a wizard’s hunch. What is it?”

  “Nothing for which I can find words,” Balkis said slowly, “only that, when I heard you were going to the Orient, something within me compelled me to go along, much though I mislike the discomforts.”

  “I never argue with a geas.” Matt had labored under just such a compulsion himself once. “But you could have gone with Lord Sauvignon and the army, with a good deal more safety—at least until they reached the Holy Land. Why didn’t you simply wait for them to march?”

  “I might have been left behind, deemed unfit to accompany an army,” Balkis said.

  Matt shook his head. “You’re fishing for excuses.”

  The cat looked angry, but admitted, “My compulsion is too strong to let me wait.”

  Matt stared into her eyes again, weighing her words and judging that they smacked of truth. He decided to let her off the hook. “You sure this doesn’t have anything to do with wanting to get away from a couple of kids?”

  Balkis looked surprised, then sheepish, if you can describe a cat that way. “They are too small to know how to treat a cat properly,” she admitted.

  “Wolves and bears might be less of a danger,” Matt agreed, then let a little admiration show. “Definitely smarter than the average cat.”

  Balkis fluffed herself up in indignation. “There is no such thing as an average cat! We are all superior to every other species of creature, and I am superior to all other cats.”

  Said with all feline modesty, Matt reflected—every cat seemed to feel that way. “I suppose ‘every other species’ includes humans?”

  “Of course,” said Balkis in surprise. “Why else would you be willing to serve our food and open and close your doors to let us in and out?”

  CHAPTER 6

  From the ramparts, Caliph Suleiman could see nothing but tents stretching away from northeast to southeast, all the way to the horizon and, said his spies, well beyond it. The clangor of smiths at work rang over the plain, echoed by the banging of carpenters’ hammers.

  “I can see a catapult taking shape,” reported a sharp-eyed sentry.

  “Yonder is a rude wheeled tower.” Another sentry pointed toward the east, where a rectangular shape was rising.

  “Rude, but effective,” Suleiman said grimly. “In a day, perhaps two, they will strike.”

  “We cannot hold against them,” his general said, watching him with dread. He feared to say unwelcome words, but pressed on from the need to have them said. “Their catapults will break our gates, they will pour over our walls from their siege towers. Our soldiers will slay them by the dozens, but will themselves be slain, and in the end there will be none to hinder these barbarians from running loose in the city.”

  “There is no help for it,” the Caliph said darkly. “We cannot wait, for the armies from North Africa and Ibile may come too late. We must retreat.”

  A barely heard sigh of relief breathed all about him.

  “They will slay us all if they see us sally forth,” the general pointed out.

  The Caliph nodded. “But they have only a few scouts watching the western walls. Let our footmen and archers build ladders and go pouring down from the ramparts even as our cavalry goes charging out the western gate.”

  “Well thought, my lord.” The general nodded slowly. “By the time their scouts can bring their main army, perhaps we will have found a proper ground for a battle.”

  “High ground, where our archers can slay them by the hundred,” Suleiman agreed, “and in their eagerness to catch us, perhaps they will neglect the city.”

  “When they have finished with us?” the general asked dubiously.

  Suleiman’s grin flashed in the sunlight. “Then we must make sure they do not finish with us. Give the orders for the retreat. We shall quit this city when the left hand of dawn is in the sky.”

  As the sun rose, Matt drowned his campfire, shouldered his pack, mounted his horse, and set off down the southern road.

  Balkis poked her head out of the saddlebag and complained, “You choose a horribly early hour to be on your way!”

  “Serves you right for staying out all night,” Matt retorted. “How was the hunting?”

  “Very poor,” the cat said, disgusted. “There are many owls by this stream, and they took all the mice. I caught only three voles.”

  “How were they?”

  “Not as good as those of Allustria.”

  “Must be the soil,” Matt said judiciously. “Merovence grows great grapes, but that doesn’t say it’ll do as well for minor mammals.”

  “They were tough and stringy.”

  Matt nodded. “Had to burrow through. Too much clay, no doubt. Made ‘em muscular.”

  “Scarcely worth the effort,” Balkis agreed. “You could at least let me sleep.”

  “Hey, what’re you griping about?” Matt countered. “You’ve got a nice comfortable saddlebag all to yourself-I moved the rest of the cargo into the other one. Just settle down and nap.”

  “If l can, on a swaying beast,” Balkis griped, but the small head disappeared. The saddlebag rippled for a bit, then stilled.

  Matt shook his head. “Just had to have the last word.”

  “I did not,” snapped a meowIy voice.

  Matt grinned and had sense enough not to answer.

  It was a pleasant ride, in the early morning—down a winding road by a stream, leaves stirring in the dawn breeze. Even as the day grew hotter and the road swung away from the water, the landscape was pleasant to watch—hedges dividing fields into a patchwork of different shades of green, lavender, or rose where a fallow field had sprouted flowers. Yes, it was a very pleasant ride until the blunt object struck the back of Matt’s head. He had only time for a feeling of outrage before the darkness closed in.

  The eastern sky washed pale with the predawn twilight, and in
its silence hundreds of scaling ladders thrust over the western walls of Baghdad, lowered to the ground, and filled with a steady stream of soldiers. They climbed down as quickly as they could, none speaking, all moving as quietly as possible. In similar noiselessness, the doors of the great western gate swung open, and the cavalry rode out at a trot that turned quickly to a canter.

  Their silence was laudable, but useless—Turkish sentries in the hills saw, stared in disbelief, then sent horsemen galloping to the khan with the news. Still, it took time for the couriers to arrive and longer for the warriors to leave their tents, strap on swords, sling their bows, and mount their horses. By the time they came shrilling and galloping over the plain, the last of the Arabs had cleared the wall.

  The barbarians rode all out, trying to catch up—but the khan, with a cooler head than Suleiman had hoped, held back half his force. A hundred riders charged through the open western gate into the empty city. Not long after, the eastern gate swung open and barbarians poured into Baghdad.

  “There!” The Caliph pointed to rising ground between two rivers. “Give the command for all to ride to that plateau!”

  “So slight as that?” the general cried, aghast. “They shall thunder upon us without the slightest slackening of speed, lord! There shall be no chance for our archers to bring them down!”

  “There shall, for between us and that table land lie the marshes! Around and up, Emir, quickly!”

  The general gave the order, and trumpets blared. The vanguard turned, fording the rivers on each side and turning again to ride up onto the high ground.