The Crusading Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “You’ve always wanted to surprise the birds when they tried to wing away from you, didn’t you?”

  The cat’s eyes gleamed. She sprang onto the carpet and settled herself in the middle. “Why do you wait?”

  “Only for me to climb aboard.” Matt settled down behind her and repeated the elevating verse. The rug stirred and rose, and somehow, without Matt realizing the transition, he found Balkis inside the circle of his knees, forepaws on his calf, staring outward and trembling. Matt winced. “Velvet paws, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, if you really must.” Balkis was doing her best to sound disgusted, but her mew still shook.

  Matt reflected that she must have spent a great deal of time as a cat for its behavior to come so naturally to her. He wondered if the same traits would show in her human form, too, and realized that he had rarely seen her so. He was far more used to seeing her as a cat and made a mental note to be careful not to address her as a kitten when she was in girl-form. An offer to pet her might have drastic consequences.

  The carpet rose, slipping to and fro in the evening breeze.

  Matt recited,

  “Spiraling higher in a widening gyre,

  The carpet seeks out a thermal to ride,

  Rising to bear it aloft ne’er to tire,

  In its own windy element normal to bide.”

  He wondered if it really meant anything, but the rug seemed to have no problem. It rose in expanding circles, absolutely thriving on Matt’s nonsense verse. He decided to call it postmodemism and let it go at that.

  Balkis stared down as the carpet banked, claws stabbing into Matt’s robe. He gritted his teeth and bore the pain, glad the cloth was thick and understanding her fear—he had a lot of it, himself. Flying in a nice, safe jet was one thing. Even flying wedged between the backplates of a dragon was okay. But sitting on a tilting, rocking piece of fabric without even a seat belt was something else entirely.

  When he judged they were high enough, he chanted,

  “Go to the left—that’s right, go left!

  I had a good gag, so I left!

  I want to go north, so I left!

  I want to go north, so turn left!”

  “Monotonous, that,” Balkis mewed disdainfully, only a slight tremor left in her voice.

  “I know,” Matt said, “but you’d be surprised how far it took some people.”

  “How far will it take us?” the cat asked.

  The carpet veered away from the thermal, levelled off, and sailed through the night.

  “Until we start getting sleepy,” Matt answered. “Then I think we’d better find a nice sheer-sided mountain with a fiat top and camp for the day.”

  “A sound plan,” Balkis admitted, but for a moment, the adoration shone from her eyes—only a moment, quickly masked under a haughty feline stare, but enough to chill Matt with apprehension. Sheer good manners and feline pride might prevent her from declaring her feelings—but if they didn’t, how was he going to let her down gently?

  A substitute single, of course. Matt decided to be on the lookout for something handsome, masculine, and nearer Balkis’ own age—but should it be a man or a tom?

  They sailed over the mountains of the Hindu Kush as night fell. The rug had to climb pretty high to clear their tops, and Matt shivered in his low-country light-cotton robes. Balkis, on the other hand, simply fluffed out her fur and was fine. Matt considered shape-changing himself, then remembered what he’d been thinking about a handsome young tomcat and sheered away from the idea. Of course, he could become a Pekingese, but he wasn’t up for a cat-and-dog fight at several thousand feet of altitude. Some other species—say, a fawn or a raccoon … Then he remembered that at his age, he wouldn’t show up as a fawn but as a passing buck and that cats didn’t generally get on too well with raccoons. With a sigh, he gave it up for the moment.

  Down they dove into Afghanistan, sailing on through the gloaming.

  “Were we not going to camp for the night?” Balkis asked.

  “What are you worried about?” Matt asked. “You can still see.”

  “Yes, but I am anxious because you cannot. Where is this flat-topped mountain of yours?”

  “Should be any minute now—the foothills of the Himalayas … There!” Matt pointed off to their right.

  Balkis looked, with night vision considerably better than his own, and said, “That would seem to have a flat top and sides too sheer for even a chamois.”

  Matt noted the European word and regretfully decided that being back in Central Asia hadn’t jogged Balkis’ memory. Still, this was only southern Central Asia, and with only a cat’s brain for storage, she might not have all that much memory accessible. He sang,

  “Look ahead! Look astern!

  Look the weather in the lee!

  Watch high, watch low, and so soared we!

  I see a peak to windward,

  With a parking place at hand!

  Fly low, then glide, and slide to land!”

  The rug slowed, slanted downward, then coasted to the center of the plateau and settled as gently as a feather.

  Balkis sprang off, stumbled, and righted herself with offended dignity. “This contraption has stolen my footing!”

  “No, you just readjusted to a constantly moving surface.” Matt stood up, feeling his legs protest at having been immobile for so long. “You’ll find you’ll get your land legs back in no time at all.”

  Balkis took a few suspicious steps and decided she was stable. “I shall hunt dinner then” she said, and trotted off.

  “Hey, come back!” Matt called. “This plateau is barren—that’s what I like about it! Nothing to bother us!”

  “But also nothing to eat.” Balkis turned back to him with a glare. “Will you magic up a hot supper, wizard?”

  Matt frowned, shaking his head. “Don’t like to use a spell for so mundane a purpose—too much chance of tipping off Arjasp or his minions to our whereabouts. It’s chancy enough using a magical flying rug.”

  “Then where are these birds you promised me we would catch on the wing?”

  “Well … um …” Matt looked up at the twilit sky, hoping to spot an early owl or a late hawk. Sure enough, a spot moved against the wash of gray.

  Balkis followed his gaze, tail twitching. “Let us rise to chase it!”

  “Well, I really wanted to stretch my legs a little longer, but I suppose a bird in the sky is worth two in the nest.” Matt folded himself back onto the carpet with a sigh. “Jump aboard.”

  Balkis did, and Matt thought for a second, then chanted,

  “Carpet, go where I bid you!

  To each direction that I speak.

  Never think that I would kid you.

  Move instantly each turn to seek.”

  “Can you compel by such single verses?” Balkis’ voice was heavy with doubt.

  “Only one way to find out,” Matt said. “Up, carpet, but slowly, then gather speed as you follow that bird!”

  The carpet drifted up from the plateau, then sailed into the evening sky, going faster and faster as it rose toward the dot above.

  “I see wings.” Balkis tensed.

  “Yes, and I see a tail.” Matt frowned. “We can’t be going that fast-the wind would be blowing us flat!”

  “It grows larger still,” Balkis reported.

  “Much too much larger!” Matt stared in disbelief as the bird descended to fill half the sky. “That’s no early owl—that’s a late roc!”

  The golden-brown feathers swung low enough to fill all the rest of the sky, and a bass scream made the whole world shake as talons the size of semitrailers closed about the carpet, the cat, and the man.

  CHAPTER 11

  Balkis yowled, claws hooking—into the carpet, fortunately, not into Matt. “Wizard, save us!”

  “Not in the best position to chant a spell,” Matt grunted with a talon pressing through the carpet around his waist.

  “There must be something your magic can do!”
>
  Matt racked his brains and came to the startling conclusion that a bird that size wouldn’t be out that late of its own accord—the land was cooling off, and the thermals were turning to glacials. What was there to glide on?

  “Hey, up there!” Matt called. “What’s a nice bird like you doing out on a night like this?”

  A huge croaking caw reverberated around them.

  Matt frowned. “I couldn’t understand that. Could you try a falsetto?”

  There was a moment’s pause; then the caw sounded again, but in a much higher pitch—the bottom few notes of the basso clef—slow and slurring, but understandable. “I have come to destroy the enemies of the wind!”

  Balkis froze, eyes wide in the gloom. “It can talk!”

  Matt nodded. “I thought it might.”

  “How? Never have I heard a bird speak before—and believe me, there are some who would have begged for mercy!”

  Matt shrugged. “No matter how wide the wingspan, a raptor that size couldn’t fly by itself—too much mass. That means all that’s keeping it in the sky is magic, and if it’s a magical creature, it might have other powers.”

  “Such as speech!” The cat’s eyes were wide and fearful, remembering the score birdom had to settle with catdom.

  “Speech indeed.” Matt nodded. “And if it can understand speech, it can be persuaded.” He called out to the bird, “We’re not enemies of the wind! We need it the same as you do! We were riding it, too!”

  There was a minute’s pause, during which Matt held his breath. Then the deep, deep voice croaked, “The old man said you were enemies of all the elements!”

  “Old man?” Matt asked. “Long blue robe? Soft tapering blue hat with a rounded top?”

  “Aye.” Doubt shadowed the huge voice.

  “We’re enemies of him, not of the elements.”

  “He could not lie,” the roc said, sounding puzzled. “He said he was a priest.”

  “And so he is,” Matt called back, “but the god he serves is Ahriman, the Prince of Deceivers. For Arjasp, lying is worship.”

  The giant bird was silent for a while. Balkis glanced up anxiously at Matt. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, crossed his fingers, and reviewed a transportation spell.

  Finally the roc spoke. “He said you worshiped the god who was the enemy of his.”

  “I worship the One God who is Lord of All,” Matt called back. “But He is not the enemy of Ahriman. The enemy of Ahriman is Ahura Mazda.”

  “Who is this Ahura Mazda?” The bird’s voice was a threatening rumble.

  “He is the Lord of Light, and he battles Ahriman through all of time for control of the world and all its creatures. People can help Ahura Mazda by good thoughts, good words, and good deeds, but in the end Ahura Mazda is destined to win.”

  “Why does not the God you worship destroy this Ahriman?”

  “Because He loves not only Ahura Mazda, he loves Ahriman, too,” Matt called back.

  “He could at least chain his enemy where Ahriman could do no harm. Why does He not?”

  “Because He lets people choose,” Matt answered, “choose whether they want to be good or want to be evil. Otherwise we’d all be puppets, and there wouldn’t be much point to our lives.”

  “Point? What point could there be?” the bird challenged. “Why should insignificant mites like you exist at all? Why does your God let you walk the earth to plague ones such as myself? What point is there in your presence?”

  “Existence is what we make of it—Heaven, Nirvana, eternal peace and the overwhelming ecstasy of joy, the deep and everlasting friendship of kindred spirits—call it what you will, our souls can grow until they achieve it, as long as we have the choice.”

  “But the blue priest said that Ahriman would triumph!”

  “Only temporarily,” Matt assured the creature. “Even if he wins, Ahura Mazda will start taking everything back right away. That’s what Arjasp claims to be working for, at least.”

  “That is not what he told me!”

  “As I said, he lied.”

  The bird was silent for minutes this time. Balkis began to relax, but her claws stayed out. Matt felt the same way—as though the Sword of Damocles was hanging over his head, suspended by a thread. Unfortunately, in this case, he was the one hanging, and could fall at any second. He suspected that the roc could drop him and hold onto the rug. He wondered if he could recite a verse before he hit the ground.

  “What proof have you that the blue priest lied?” the roc finally demanded.

  “That we were flying on the wind,” Matt answered instantly. “If we had been its enemies, would we have trusted it?”

  “There is some truth in that,” the bird allowed. “But if you do not hate all the elements, tell me their names and their virtues!”

  Matt was very glad the dastoor had coached him. “Earth, sky, wind, water, and fire! Earth endures, sky gives life, water cleanses, wind gives us breath, and fire purifies!”

  “You know them well,” the roc admitted. “I believe you—the blue priest lied. You shall live.”

  Matt sagged with relief, amazed that he had persuaded the creature so easily—any college freshman would have thought up more flaws in his argument than the roc had. He thoroughly believed everything he’d said, of course, and in this universe it was undeniably true, virtually natural law—but that didn’t mean he’d made it sound convincing. He was sure Arjasp could have come up with a hundred reasons to support his lies, and made them all sound much more credible—even in the few minutes Matt had seen him, he’d had an amazing amount of charisma; fanatics often did.

  But Arjasp wasn’t here, and he was. Charismatic leaders had to be physically present to make their spellbinding effective. Distance always weakened them, giving common sense a chance to work. That was why dictators and religious demagogues needed mass meetings as well as mass media.

  “I will aid your cause against this liar,” the bird said, with the weight of a considered decision. “Where shall I take you?”

  “Bid him let us go, and we shall fly on your rug!” Balkis urged.

  For the first time, Matt let himself look down. The mountaintops of the Hindu Kush had disappeared, and the tree-dotted plain below was zipping past at an amazing speed, making the lone river seem to undulate as they swooped along its bed. “This bird is much faster than the rug,” he told Balkis. “As long as it’s on our side, we might as well take advantage of it.”

  He had never heard a cat moan before.

  “Do you know where Samarkand is?” he called up to the roc.

  “That collection of nests where the caravans stop?” The bird sounded disapproving. “I know it well—its roofs make the taking of camels quite difficult.”

  Matt had a vision of the roc swooping out of the sky onto a luckless caravan and plucking a camel in each claw, then soaring off into the wilderness to eat them, loads and all. The silk probably didn’t taste too good, but the spices must have more than made up for it. “Yes, take us there,” he called. “Let’s see if the gur-khan has conquered it yet.”

  “What is this gherkin?” the roc asked.

  “Arjasp’s top general,” Matt told it. “He leads the hordes that conquer ordinary people for Arjasp to sacrifice to his god.”

  “Arjasp told me the two-legs joined him because of the truth he spoke!”

  “More likely because of the swords, spears, and arrows of his soldiers,” Matt said darkly. “That one we can prove beyond doubt. Fly over Samarkand, and if you see an army around its walls, or barbarians patrolling the city, you’ll know I’m right.”

  “And if I see neither?”

  “Then we land and warn them, and if you still doubt me, we can fly east to Baghdad and Damascus and Jerusalem, until you can finally see the horde darkening the plain. If you don’t believe me, go look for yourself.”

  “I do believe you,” the bird rumbled, “or I would not take you to Samarkand.”

  He banked, and Ba
lkis’ claws dug into the carpet again. Matt smiled down at her, about to say something reassuring, then saw the look on the feline face and changed to sympathy. “What’s the matter?”

  “That name, Samarkand!” Balkis hissed. “I have heard it before, I am sure of it.”

  Matt gazed at her while implications riffled through his mind. When he had sorted them out a little, he said, “Maybe the caravan that brought you to Russia took a longer route than we thought.”

  Or perhaps, he thought to himself, baby Balkis had heard people talking about more things than feeding times and colic.

  Jimena and Ramon strolled along the castle walls, pausing to chat briefly with each sentry. When they completed their round, they stopped to gaze out over the city below, a patchwork of roofs of tile, slate, and thatch slanting down to the river that ran under the town wall, between half a mile of docks and water stairs, and out under the wall again. Beyond, fields of green and gold formed a crazy quilt to a line of distant hills-circling Bordestang’s valley.

  “It is so lovely here,” Ramon said, “clean and unspoiled, and with so much room!”

  “So much better than New Jersey,” Mama agreed. “We had good neighbors there, Ramon, but there are good people here, too.”

  “And it is nice to be a lord and lady,” Ramon said, giving his wife a grin. “Yes, it is a good life to which our son has brought us.”

  “It is indeed.” Mama rested her head against his shoulder, then stiffened. “What comes?”

  Ramon frowned, following her gaze, and saw a smudge on the bright green of the distant hills. “What indeed?”