A Wizard In Chaos

by Christopher Stasheff

  No one tried to stop the Blue Company from entering the city, though-the sight of all those men marching in perfect formation to confront the Boss of Knockenburg seemed to give them second thoughts. They were almost to the city wall before the boss gave the order to charge. Devers relied on Magda and ordered his men to run, telling only the archers at the rear to fight. Two flights of arrows gave the Boss's army second thoughts; they veered aside as the gates opened and the Blue Company went pelting in.

  The Hawk Company, though, was more alert than the boss; when the gate opened, the browncoated soldiers charged with a roar. Improbable though it seemed, one flying squad made it to the gate before it closed. They shot the porters, then hauled the great doors open. The rest of the company came thundering up, but a flight of arrows from the wall slowed them, while Gar and Cort came bellowing out with a score of Blue soldiers behind them, to knock the Hawks away from the gates. Arrows from the wall pierced the men. They fell howling, and the gates closed again, leaving the Hawk cavalry no choice but to swerve aside, cursing. Arrows stitched a dead-line across the roadway, and the infantry fell back, seeing no purpose in risking their lives to reach closed, guarded doors.

  Cort brought his captain up to the wall to meet Magda. Devers bowed over her hand. "My lady! My deepest thanks for having sheltered my men!"

  "It was our privilege, captain," she said. "May we hire the Blue Company now?"

  "You may not, lady! We are already in your debt, and will pay it with blood and steel instead of gold!"

  "You are too generous." Magda had to blink a few times before she could go on. "How did you come here?"

  "We were hired by Knockenburg," Devers told her. "The boss told me that the Boss of Loutre had allied with him and persuaded both himself and Scurrilein to bring down Quilichen, because he felt that all merchants, and therefore all free towns, were growing too strong, and would eventually corrupt all the bosstowns with their notions of freedom and prosperity for all."

  Magda stared. "Wherever would the Boss of Loutre have garnered such an idea?"

  "From his steward," Gar said grimly. "Torgi wouldn't care what arguments he used, so long as he maneuvered his boss into marching. He's seen that the Hawk Company alone can't kill me, especially not while I have your protection, my lady, so he has stirred up a war to destroy Quilichen, all to make sure I won't tell his boss what he's been doing." He turned to Magda, bowing. "My lady, once again I offer..."

  "No!" she snapped. "When we say we have given you shelter, we stand by our word! So, captain, the bosses have decided to attack the free towns and conquer them before we grow any stronger, and they mean to begin with Quilichen. Is there no thought that they will abandon this madness even if Quilichen falls, or do they truly mean to destroy all?"

  "I fear they will finish what they've begun," Devers said heavily. "No matter where the idea came from or why, once it's born and about, it won't die, but will grow."

  "So all the free towns will be destroyed, just for one steward's vendetta," Dirk said bitterly.

  "Can this- steward Torgi really have stirred up a campaign against all the free towns just to rid himself of the evidence against him?" Cort asked in disbelief.

  "He certainly can," Gar said grimly.

  Magda asked Devers, "How much chance have we of holding against them?"

  "Two Free Companies, with the weight of three bosses' forces behind them?" Devers looked out over the field, his face grim. "Your walls are stout, my lady, and your archers skilled and brave. With my men beside them, we have a chance-but I cannot say how strong that chance may be."

  "Will nothing turn them aside?"

  "We can always parley," Gar said.

  Devers shook his head. "It will do no good."

  "Perhaps not," Gar said, "but it will do no harm, either-and it will, at least, postpone their first attack."

  So the trumpets sounded, the gates opened, and Gar rode out under a white flag-with Cort and Dirk beside him to make sure he didn't try to give himself up. But they were scarcely clear of the gates when a trumpet blew, men roared, and the Boss of Knockenburg charged them with all his men, while the Hawk Company came riding from the left, along the wall, and the Bear Company came riding from the right. They had chosen their moment well-the porters had to keep the gates open until their men were back inside. The archers laid a row of arrows in front of the boss's men, and they shied, enough so their brutes had to roar and rant to make them start again. That bought enough time for the parley party to turn back-but the cavalry companies were another matter. The archers shot down at them, but they were so close to the wall that the arrows couldn't reach them. Archers fired their next volley straight down through the slots in the battlements that were usually reserved for boiling oil, but they weren't big enough for good aim, and only a few soldiers fell from their horses. The others thundered closer, nearly to the gate ...

  A hundred trumpets blasted, and lances of light stabbed the foremost riders on each side of the gate. They fell, and their horses reared and turned as thunder cracked all about them, deafening in its intensity. The light-lances stabbed again, scoring the walls, and all the riders pulled up, crying out in fear. Then a huge voice bellowed over the whole plain, "Now I say hold!"

  All the fighting men froze, looking about them, then up to the hilltop where the Fair Folk stood, tall and severe, cloaks whipping in the wind, cowls deep to shield them from the sun, huge dark blisters where their eyes should be, making them seem half-human and half-insect. Only Dirk and Gar recognized those blisters as sun goggles.

  There were a hundred of them at least.

  "We hold all the heights!" the duke's voice thundered. "Look about you! If any disobeys the Fair Folk, he shall die on a lance of lightning!"

  To emphasize the point, a lance from the east hissed through the pole holding the Boss of Loutre's standard. It fell, and the assembled soldiers raised a torrent of talk. Some turned to run, but laser-bolts burned the grass at the back of their armies, and they froze in fear. Finally they looked around, and saw more Fair Folk darkening the summits of the hills to every side.

  "Where did he get them all?" Dirk wondered, amazed.

  "I suspect he called in allies from other hills,"_ Gar told him, "and half of them are wearing skirts, if that makes any difference."

  "When they're holding laser rifles? It sure does make a difference; to these medieval militarists!"

  "You talk as though you know the Fair Folk," Magda quavered.

  Dirk turned to her, suddenly intent, taking her hands. "We spent a night in their hill, my lady, hiding from the Hawks. They would have kept us there, but we escaped. I suspect they don't feel kindly toward us because of that."

  Fear was still there, but anger rose in Magda behind it. She trembled and her voice shook, but there was iron resolution in it. "They shall not have you!"

  "Not while you're here to come to," Dirk whispered.

  "Room for the Duke of the Hollow Hill!" another voice blasted, and the duke and an entourage of twenty rifle-bearers strode down the hillside. An avenue opened for them like magic, steadily expanding as they strolled along it, rifles at the ready. All eyes were on them, everyone silent in superstitious fear as the Fair Folk exerted what they regarded as their inborn right to rule.

  Squarely between armies and wall, the duke stopped and glared up at Gar, where he stood near Magda, somehow conveying the impression of looking down his nose. "This tall Milesian and his friends have angered the Fair Folk! We have come forth by daylight to hale them home! Give them up to us, and no harm shall befall you!"

  Magda stood forth, trembling, but her voice was iron-hard as she called down, "Never! They are our guests, and we shall never give them up! It is our honor!"

  "And it is the honor of the Fair Folk to have them!" the duke bellowed. "Let fire fall upon this city!"

  On the hillside opposite the gate, Fair Folk stepped aside, revealing a squat cylinder as wide as a human arm was long.

  "They brought a b
eam projector!" Dirk hissed. Lightning spat and exploded against the gates of the city. They flew apart, bits of wood raining down everywhere. The gateway to the city stood, open and empty.

  The assembled armies strained forward with a roar.

  The ball of lightning exploded before them, blasting a crater in the ground. With a moan of superstitious dread, the soldiers pulled back. "Give them up to us," the duke commanded, "or every building in your town shall suffer that fate!" Dirk exploded louder than the cannon. "Get back into your Hollow Hills!" he bellowed, stepping forward on the ramparts. "Who do you think you are, coming out here and threatening good people whose only fault is sheltering fugitives? Who gave you the right? Do you think your ancestors would be proud of you? With every word you say, you bring down their wrath upon you!"

  "Be still!" the duke roared, his voice thunder that echoed off the hillsides. "You are a troll of a Milesian, and unworthy to so much as look upon the Fair Folk!"

  Magda tugged at Dirk's hand, trying to pull him back to safety, but he bellowed on. "And you are unworthy of your lineage! Your, ancestors were men and women of peace! They came here so that all people could be equal to one another, none oppressing the other! If they look down upon you now, they're turning their faces away in shame!"

  "Slay me this Milesian!" the duke demanded, and rifles from every hillside centered on Dirk. Before they could fire, though, he bellowed in full rage. "Oh, yes, slay me on lightning! Shoot me down from a mile's distance! Bravely done, very bravely indeed! You don't even have the courage to come against a Milesian face-to-face!"

  The whole valley was silent, frozen, aghast. Then the duke's voice answered, softly, but amplified so that everyone could hear: "Is that a challenge, small man?"

  "Dirk, no!" Magda gasped.

  "It's the only way," Dirk muttered to her. Then to the duke, "A challenge, yes, and if I win, you and all your people shall go away, and drive these bosses and their cattle before you!".

  "Done!" the duke said, and the gloating was plain in his voice for all to hear. "Come down, little fellow, and you shall be privileged to die upon a sword of the Fair Folk!"

  Dirk stepped down, and Magda clung to him, weeping openly. "My darling, no! To have found you, only to lose you!"

  "All I care is that you come unscathed through this mess I've brought down on you," Dirk said, then as an afterthought, "and all the people you care for, too."

  Magda straightened, imperious and commanding. "I am the castellan of Quilichen, and while you are here, you are under my authority! I command you not to go!" She turned on Gar. "You! Go in his place!"

  "Gladly, for it is I who have brought these Fair Folk upon you," Gar said, frowning, "and all the bosses and their mercenaries besides. Let me fight him, Dirk." The look he gave his friend said plainly, For no lover shall miss me if 1 die.

  "I can't send another man to fight my battles," Dirk told Magda gravely.

  "Then let him fight his own! I am mistress here, and you must obey me!"

  "So you think I can't defend myself from this lanky lout?" Dirk demanded. "But the giant can?"

  "It's not that at all," Magda snapped. "It's simply that I don't mind losing him!"

  Dirk took her hand, staring into her eyes. "Does that mean that you don't want to lose me?"

  "Haven't I only. now said it?" Magda demanded fiercely, then wilted. "Yes! It does mean that I do not want to lose you! I have lost one love-I do not wish to lose another! O my darling, if you die in this duel, you shall break my heart again!"

  Dirk gazed into her eyes, face totally serious, then very deliberately gathered her into his arms and kissed her.

  Everyone on the battlements was quiet, watching. Gar glowered down, his face stone.

  Dirk ended the kiss and stepped away, still holding his gaze on hers, still holding her hands. "I have to fight him now, for I've given him a challenge, and if I don't meet it, he'll take it out on you and your people."

  "Is that all?" Magda cried.

  "No," Dirk said evenly. "The real reason is because if I don't, I'll never be able to look in a mirror again, much less look at you without shame." He released her hands and turned to the stairway-and to Gar, who stood at their head. "Out of my way, old friend. It's time to earn my life."

  Gar glowered down at him a moment longer, then bowed his head and stepped aside. The ranks of soldiers parted for Dirk, many removing their hats in respect as he passed. Out the main gates he went, striding to meet the duke.

  "He must not die!" Magda stepped close to Gar. He reached out to put an arm around her shoulders. "He won't, my lady. That much I can promise you."

  CHAPTER 19

  Dirk bowed to the Fair Man, who stood easily a foot and a half taller than he. The duke grinned down at the smaller man. "Do you truly believe you can best a duke of the Fair Folk?"

  "You don't seem all that fair at the moment," Dirk retorted. "Where I come from, I'm not exactly what people call a true believer-but I do think I can fence you to a standstill, yes."

  "Then be on your guard!" the duke cried, and drew his sword.

  But Dirk's blade was shorter, and cleared the scabbard first. He only held it on guard, but everyone could see his sword leveled as the duke's came up, and knew he could have lunged and brought first blood. The duke reddened and tapped Dirk's blade to open the duel, then instantly circled and thrust.

  Dirk parried and counterthrust without riposting. He aimed for the duke's shoulder, but the tall man was quick enough to pull back so that Dirk only grazed his knuckles. Still, a line of blood showed on the duke's hand, and the crowd burst into furious comment, amazed that a mortal should draw first blood after all.

  The duke sprang back, eyes narrowing, sword and dagger up to guard, lips pressed against the pain in his left hand. Then his rapier began to whirl in a mad figure eight, and he sprang in.

  Dirk gave way, and gave and gave, parrying madly as the duke's blade sprang out of its whirl to slash at him, then sprang back into its spin. Again and again he struck, slamming through Dirk's defense to score the shorter man on cheek, hip, ear-none more than a scratch, but enough to leave his opponent bleeding. Once Dirk didn't leap back quite far enough, and the duke's point ripped his doublet. Redness welled through the cut, and Magda screamed, but Dirk fought madly on, crying, "Only a scratch, Lord Duke! Can't your long arms strike farther than that?"

  The duke reddened and threw himself into a lunge. Dirk hopped nimbly to the left, pressed the duke's sword down with his own, and stabbed his dagger into the duke's shoulder. The duke cried out and went pale with the pain, nearly dropping his blade, and Dirk leaped back, sword and dagger up to guard, then quickly leaping in with a double thrust.

  But the duke sprang back and managed to hold his sword securely enough to parry Dirk's dagger while he caught the rapier on his own poniard. Dirk leaped back good and far, and the duke took advantage of the pause to switch blades, his. ,dagger now in the weakened right hand, his rapier in the left. Then he came after Dirk, blood in his eye, sword whirling just as deftly in the left hand as it had in the right, and the crowd murmured in awe; true switch-swordsmen were very rare.

  Dirk gave ground, wary of the ambidexter, unused to the sword coming at him from his right. He parried it well enough, though, and caught the duke's dagger-stabs on his own shorter blade. The duke was clumsy enough to give him several openings; but Dirk couldn't take advantage of them, because the sword was on the wrong side. Seeing his discomfiture, the duke grinned and thrust straight for his belly. Dirk leaped aside, but the left-handed blade sagged and sliced across his thigh. Dirk's leg folded.

  The duke cried out with triumph and leaped in, blade darting downward. But Dirk parried with his own sword, forcing himself to his feet-and the duke pivoted in, dagger plunging straight toward Dirk's eye.

  Swordsman the duke may have been, but not a black belt. Dirk ducked under the dagger and thrust his own upward. He was inside the duke's guard, and his blade jabbed deep into the duke's triceps. His
Grace howled with anger and pain, leaping away, and his dagger dropped from nerveless fingers.

  The crowd roared.

  Dirk followed up the advantage, limping after the duke, but the taller man held him off lefthanded, rapier weaving an incredible pattern as it beat off first sword, then dagger, then sword again. Apparently thwarted, Dirk gave ground again, but the duke followed him closely, thrust-and Dirk's blade spun in a tight circle, then away, and the duke's sword went spinning through the air.

  Then Dirk ducked and swung back in, once more inside the duke's guard, sword edge swinging up to press against the duke's throat, dagger poised before his eyes. The duke froze.

  Dirk waited while the crowd went wild.

  The duke's glare was pure venom, but finally he moved stiff lips enough to say, "I yield me."

  Dirk leaped back, lowering his blades. The duke's dagger arm twitched with the urge to run him through, but honor won out; he reversed his weapon, and held it out hilt first to Dirk.

  Dirk took it and bowed. Then his right leg crumpled under him again. The duke tensed, ready to spring, but he had yielded already. Besides, Dirk held both daggers and his own sword, still up to guard, his glare still alert. Muscle by muscle, the duke relaxed.

  Cort stepped forward, offering his arm, and Dirk took it, pulling himself up, as Gar stepped between the two combatants. He bowed and asked, "My lord duke, is honor satisfied?"

  "It is," the duke said, though each word cost him dear.

  The Fair Folk erupted into shocked and furious denunciations. The duke held up a hand to stop them. "It was fairly fought, and fairly won!"

  Dirk stopped and turned back. "Thank you, Your Grace, but I had an advantage-I was shorter."

  In spite of himself, a thin smile tugged at the corners of the duke's mouth. The Fair Folk fell silent, staring in amazement.

  "You were a worthy opponent," the duke replied, calling out so that everyone could hear him. "Never have I seen a Milesian who fights like one of the Fair Folk."