“Okay, you win, Princess,” Matt grumped. “Let’s try the front door and see if they send us around to the back.”
Civilians and soldiers alike had already noticed their aerial visitors and were pointing up at them, exclaiming, so Lakshmi took the chance of landing fifty yards from the gate—but she kept her arms around Matt and Balkis, ready to take off again if anybody shot an arrow, as did Marudin, who landed a few feet away. No one threw anything, though, and no squadron of cavalry came charging out, though there did seem to be a lot of running to and fro along the walls. Finally the gates opened and a gorgeously clad man stepped forward, surrounded by soldiers, but with the heart-shaped face and golden skin tone of Maracanda. He wore a purple turban with a spray of peacock plumes held by a jeweled broach, and a cloak and robe of purple satin over tunic and trousers of the same material. His sash was scarlet, and so were his boots. “Welcome, O Djinn! And who is your servant?”
Lakshmi started to answer, then caught herself and said, as though spitting tacks, “They will hearken better to a man’s voice. Speak to them, my love.”
“I think they would listen to a princess of the Marid,” Marudin said easily. “Speak for us, love.” But he swelled up a little, hulking behind her with arms crossed, smiling wickedly at the emissary.
Lakshmi stepped forward and said, “I am Lakshmi, Princess of the Marid. This is my husband, the Marid Prince Marudin, and my friends: the magician Balkis”—who had now returned to human form—“and Matthew Lord Mantrell, wizard and husband to Her Majesty Alisande, Queen of Merovence. He comes as her emissary.”
Court functionary or not, the emissary looked impressed. “Why have you come?”
“We seek the renowned king known as Prester John.”
“Come in, then, if you dare,” said the functionary, “for you have found him.”
CHAPTER 27
“Found him?” Matt stared, then felt a wave of unreality sweep over him. “Really found him at last?”
“Prester John awaits you,” the functionary confirmed.
Matt felt the thrill of victory.
“However, be warned,” the emissary cautioned, “that they who enter this city may not leave it.”
Matt felt the agony of defeat.
“I shall chance it,” Lakshmi said dryly.
The emissary bowed, turned, and led the way. Soldiers fell in on either side of them, and the citizens and off-duty soldiers lined the street, pointing and discussing the strangers in excited tones.
“We seem to be the biggest thing that has happened here in a long time,” Matt said. “Must be a pretty dead town.”
“Let us wish it a few more weeks of life,” Lakshmi said.
Matt glanced at Balkis, concerned. “Any more déjà vu?”
“None,” the teenager said, looking about her with a frown. “There is something familiar about the people, but not the city.”
Then they were climbing the road to the fortress and walking between files of soldiers through a gateway whose open portals were oak, a foot thick and twelve feet high. Matt had to remind himself that he was a knight, and that knights weren’t afraid, as he walked into the fortress of a mythical king whose name was synonymous with mystery, magic, and might.
They entered into a courtyard whose walls gleamed with whitewash over plaster, where soldiers were practicing with wooden weapons. There was a certain lack of verve about their drill, blows perfunctory, very obviously going through the motions.
“Low morale,” Matt muttered to Lakshmi.
The djinna nodded. “They are not yet in despair, but neither are they far from it.”
The soldiers stopped to stare as they paraded across the courtyard, four people in outlandish but common clothing led by a gorgeously clad courtier and surrounded by half a dozen soldiers, and Matt was sure the rankers were wondering what was so important about these strangers.
The Eastern castle was rather different in architectural style from its Western counterparts, but the necessities of defense dictated a certain similarity, even as the army forts of the American West resembled the early wooden strongholds of the Britannic chieftains. There may not have been a keep or donjon, but one wall of the fortress was much thicker than the others, and the functionary led them up a broad but short flight of stairs and in through another pair of stout oaken doors, but only eight feet high and three inches thick.
Inside, soldiers lounged, leaning on their spears, but straightened up amazingly when the courtier came in sight. They kept their eyes resolutely to the front, but Matt could see the curiosity in them.
He was amazed at the contrast of the interior with the exterior. Outside was harsh, blocky, and glaring white; inside was luxurious. Turkish carpets covered the granite floor and carved wooden screens hid the stones of the walls. Spouted lamps burned in sconces and on tables, making Matt edgy, expecting djinnis to jump out of them, until he remembered that he had two djinn with him.
The courtier led them down a broad, short hall toward two more massive doors, no doubt the Great Hall or Throne Room or some such, but turned aside at the last minute and faced two guards who stood at either side of a very ordinary-looking door. One of them bowed, then opened the door and stepped in. He stepped back out a second later and held the door wide.
They came into a chamber filled with light from three large windows that looked out into the courtyard. It was more or less rectangular, only about thirty feet by twenty, with a guard every six feet. They stood in front of tapestries and mosaics. The floor was covered with a single huge carpet with an intricate, stylized floral design. The furniture was limited to two nests of cushions around a low table in one comer opposite the windows, four Chinese-style chairs around a higher table in another, and in the center, directly in front of the windows, a large table with a man behind it, parchment and ink in hand, scanning other parchments. Matt felt a surge of disappointment, for he seemed quite ordinary.
Then the man looked up, his eyes singling out Matt before anyone spoke, and Matt stared, electrified. Even seated, the man seemed taller than he, radiating such an aura of power, of wisdom and authority, that he appeared altogether magical, and every inch a king. There was no doubt that this was Prester John.
Matt felt pinned to the spot by those eyes. They were alert, piercing, and gave the impression that their owner saw everything, even Matt’s innermost thoughts. He wore a neatly trimmed black moustache and beard, flowing black hair, a tall golden crown studded with gems, and an ornate golden robe embroidered with black dragons down either side. Beneath it he wore a tunic of royal-blue. As he stood and carne around the table, Matt could see trousers of the same color and red Persian slippers. His face was heart-shaped, golden-toned, and high-cheekboned, like those of most of his people. But his brown eyes were larger, his nose straighter and more prominent, and his lips not quite as full.
The courtier dropped to one knee, bowing his head and shoulders, then gestured angrily at his charges to imitate him. Balkis curtsied, but Marudin and Lakshmi stiffened and only inclined their heads—they, too, were royalty, after all, and djinn, not mere mortals.
Matt, however, was mortal. He bowed, though not very low.
“Do not insist, chamberlain,” Prester John said in mellow tones. “This man is, after all, the highest lord in his own kingdom.”
Matt guessed that a messenger had overheard the introductions at the gate and run ahead with the news.
The chamberlain rose, every line of his body expressing indignation, but he only said, “Profound, wise, and merciful monarch, may I introduce into your exalted presence Matthew Lord Mantrell, Prince Consort and emissary of the queen of the barbaric land of Merovence.”
Matt bridled at the term “barbaric,” but managed to hold his tongue.
The wise and merciful monarch’s eyes glistened with amusement, but he kept a straight face and said, “You may.”
The chamberlain turned to the companions and said frostily, “Bow to His Supreme and Royal Majesty, Pr
ester John, King of the Christians!”
Again Matt inclined his head and shoulders, though Balkis dropped another curtsy and stayed there with a faraway gaze, entranced.
John glanced at her, then back to Matt. “And your servants?”
“Not my servants, but my companions, and in some ways, of higher rank than I.” Matt turned to the djinn. “May I present Lakshmi, Princess of the Marids, and her husband, Prince Marudin.”
John’s eyes widened, as did those of the chamberlain and all the guards, and Matt heard a distinct chorus of indrawn breaths.
“Can this be true?” asked the monarch. “Can you truly be djinn?”
“We can, and we are,” Lakshmi said, with a glance of ill-concealed contempt for the chamberlain.
“Then may the saints be praised!” John said fervently. “We have prayed that the kings of the West would ride to our aid, but we never guessed they would bring djinn, too.”
Matt stared. “You were hoping we were going to come rescue you?”
“Why, yes,” John said, mildly puzzled. “Is that so odd?”
Matt smiled. “Only because in the West we’re used to the idea of you coming to save us from the Turks.”
John stared, then laughed, a rich if rueful sound. “Perhaps before the gur-khan swept in off the steppe with his horde, you would have been right to expect this. Now, though?” He shrugged eloquently and swept a hand at the chamber around him. “You see our reduced circumstances.”
“I wouldn’t have called them reduced if I hadn’t seen your palace in Maracanda,” Matt said. “Since I have, though, I can only say that I see what you mean.”
John’s gaze sharpened again. “You have been in Maracanda? For what purpose?”
“Seeking you,” Matt said simply.
“And you managed to escape?”
“Well, they didn’t know who we really were,” Matt explained.
“How did you hide your identities from Arjasp and his sorcerous priests?” John asked. “And how did you evade their prisons and their corvees?”
“Well, the djinn are magical, of course,” Matt explained, “and I have a bit of magical knowledge myself.”
“He is Lord Wizard of Merovence,” Lakshmi said.
John’s eyebrows rose.
“And this is my pupil.” Matt turned to Balkis, didn’t see her, then looked down and saw she was still deep in her curtsy. “She has a fair amount of magic in her own right.”
“Companions in magic, all four!” John turned to Balkis and reached down, taking her hand and lifting. “I had thought this one was your guide through our kingdom, that you had met her here and hired her.”
Like an automaton, Balkis rose, gazing with disbelief into John’s eyes.
The comment seemed odd to Matt. “No, she’s been with us since we left Merovence.”
“Then she alone of your party is not a prince, a princess, or a lord.”
“Why yes, I suppose that’s true,” Matt said in surprise. Now that he thought of it, he did have something in common with the Marids—other than missing children, of course.
“Still, if she is your pupil, we must talk as near-equals.” John drew Balkis with him as he swept away to the chairs in the corner. He gestured for them to sit and said to a guard, “Coffee.”
Matt tried not to drool, and wondered why, halfway to China, they hadn’t been offered tea. He put it down to John’s having a better knowledge of the West than he’d expected—at least, what was West to him, though it was the Near East to Matt. “I am surprised that you can spare such luxuries when you and your people must be hard-pressed, Majesty.”
John smiled with irony. “That, at least, Arjasp had not expected—that this old city would have a granary that never emptied and a bazaar whose stalls were always replenished during the night.”
“Really!” Matt said. “I assume you had magic enough to make all that happen?”
“Only in reviving old spells that the ancients had placed here long ago,” his host replied. “There is a legend of a prince who did great favors for one of the Marid, freeing him from the prison a greedy sorcerer had made for him. In gratitude, the Marid summoned spirits and bade them supply this city forever more.”
Matt heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Marudin’s eyes burning. He didn’t ask, but he had a sudden suspicion who the Marid in question had been. Lakshmi had once mentioned something about Prince Marudin having spent most of his thousand-year life in thrall to one sorcerer or another, or in suspended animation in his lamp, until Matt had set him free. The prince liked Matt. A lot.
“You say that was one thing Arjasp hadn’t thought of,” Matt said slowly. “Does that mean he chased you to this city deliberately?”
“Not by choice, no.” John’s face hardened with memory. “I am sure he would have preferred to see his gur-khan slay me and all my army. They swept in off the steppe without warning and did not begin their unholy howling until they heard my own sentries raising the alarm. Then horrible monsters descended from the skies while others even more terrible clambered up our walls. Our sentries could not stand against them. A fireball burned our gate to ashes in seconds, and the barbarians rode in, howling like demons and laying about them with their swords. My soldiers did what they could to protect the people, but many of them died, and those who lived did so only because they retreated to the gate and out.” His face had become a rigid mask. “I led them in their retreat.”
Several of the guards made involuntary noises in their throats, but caught themselves, though their spears trembled.
John glanced up, annoyed, and admitted, “Well, true enough that I led from behind, staying between my troops and the monsters until we were clear of the city, holding them at bay with such spells as I could muster—but I rode to the head of the column as quickly as I could, for I knew that there would be no peace for us in our own land, but that the conquerors might not choose to follow through the mountain passes, where we could stop them by throwing rocks down upon them. Sure enough, they hesitated—long enough for me to lead the remnant of my army out into the desert, to this city, for only I knew of its existence, since it had long stood emptied of people. We set to repairing its defenses as quickly as we could, and by the time the gur-khan had ridden around the mountains and surrounded us, he saw our walls would be impregnable. He summoned up his monsters again, but I was ready for them now, and called up the spirits of the ancestors of this town to battle them. At last Arjasp set demons to pen us in and left, sure that we could no longer interfere with his plans.” He admitted it with bitterness. “For the last fifteen years we have only proved him right. Every time we sally forth, demons of gruesome and horrible aspect appear from the very ground itself and fall upon us. It is all we can do to win back to the city alive.”
“But we didn’t see any demons on our way in,” Matt objected.
“Oh, be sure you would not! They will let as many as wish come in to join us—but will tear to pieces any who seek to leave.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Matt said, frowning, “if Arjasp didn’t know you had unlimited rations. Since he didn’t, he probably expected you all to starve to death within a fortnight.”
“So did we,” John said grimly. “But after a week’s time the stewards came to me and reported that no matter how much grain they drew out of a granary during the day, it was full again the next morning—and no matter how much meat, dried fish, and dried fruit were taken from the other stores, they too were full again by mom. Even the heaps of fresh fruit were high again each and every dawn. I set my wizards to watching the night, but they could see nothing. At last I myself took up the vigil, and saw blurs so fast I could scarcely distinguish them—but I knew the form of the whirlwind, and thus discovered what passed in the night. Each evening we gather, every household, to thank our benefactors, and hope that they hear.”
“I shall be sure of it,” Prince Marudin told him.
“So of course Arjasp is plenty willing for hi
s demons to let people in,” Matt said. “He thinks that every extra mouth will just eat up your limited stock of provisions that much faster—and he knows you’re too charitable to tum away any refugee.”
“Even so,” Prester John agreed. “I fear his spies may have told him we still live, though. Any day, his demons may tum upon any who come near.”
Matt shuddered. “Glad we made it in before the deadline. But how did Arjasp know to hit you first? Were you such an obvious threat?”
John’s smile was hard. “There has been a Prester John in Maracanda to hold back the barbarians for five hundred years; I am the twenty-fifth by that title and name. The first, the founder of my line, led a small band of Christians, fleeing from the Muslims in search of freedom to worship as they pleased. They found this valley, farmed, and prospered. Then came famine, and they had food when their neighbors had none. The first Prester John insisted that his folk act with Christian charity, welcoming people of all nations and sharing food with them, provided they were willing to live in peace with one another. He enforced that peace sternly, for hard labor had made his people hardy and hunting small game had made them doughty archers. Even the Kirghiz and the Kazakhs lived in truce in his country, as did the Turks and the Mongols.”
“Warlike peoples all,” Matt said, musing. “Didn’t he insist they had to become Christians?”
“He did not, for he realized that they who seek baptism only to gain food are likely to fall away when famine ends. Nonetheless, the goodness and charity of his people, combined with their strength, induced many of the immigrants to convert.”
The Crusading Wizard Page 36