A Wizard In War

by Christopher Stasheff

  Earl Pomeroy had better spies than most. In the dead of night, his soldiers surrounded the revolutionaries, raised spears, and stabbed them dead in their bunks. Then they hauled the dead bodies out into the bailey, to the foot of the stairs that led down from the main door of the keep, where the earl stood, hands on his hips, laughing with vindictive satisfaction. He came down to kick at the bodies, shouting abuse, after which he went back to his bed to sleep soundly, and so did his soldiers.

  When they woke, the courtyard was filled with outlaws, and the only soldiers who still lived were tied to their bunks. Duke Trangray, of course, woke to find himself surrounded by spearpoints, with a white-haired sergeant saying, very courteously, "My lord, we ask that you consider our requests."

  The duke went red with fury. He ranted, he raved, he swore-but the spears never wavered, and under the circumstances, he could hardly refuse.

  But less than half isn't enough, and in every barracks, half a dozen soldiers woke to see revolutionaries tying down their comrades. They leaped to their feet, catching up their weapons, and ran bellowing to the attack. Steel rang in every barracks; the fighting spilled out into the courtyard. In two duchies, far from the King's Town, the rebels were conquered and butchered where they stood-but in all others, when the fighting was done, a handful of sergeants presented themselves to their lord, panting, to bow and hear him command, "Slay them all!"

  "I regret that we cannot obey you in this, my lord," the oldest sergeant said. "We will obey you in all that is lawful, but we will no longer murder our fellows."

  Each lord paled as he realized his loyalists had lost, and that the only soldiers remaining to him were victorious rebels.

  The king woke to clamor and saw his own troops fighting one another in the courtyard. Over the battle towered a huge knight in full armor, knocking down any other knight who came near, his back guarded by a smaller armored figure. "Insanity!" swore the king, and called for his own armor. Fully clad and horsed, he rode out to the melee but found the fighting done, except for a cluster of knights who stood at bay, surrounded by a forest of pikes and halberds. The scene was frozen, though; neither knight nor soldier moved.

  The huge armored figure rode up to the king, breathing in huge hoarse gasps. The man pushed up his visor and bowed. "Your Majesty," said Sir Gar, "I bring word that the armies of all three dukes are immobilized, and will not fight"

  The king's heart sang; in his own army, at least, the loyalists had won! "Seize the opportunity!" he cried. "Attack them one by one, and bring them to me bound in chains!"

  "My apologies, Your Majesty," the giant replied, "but I will not fight this war, nor will any of your soldiers who still stand armed."

  The king stared, frozen by the magnitude of the realization that in his own army, it was the rebels who had won after all-and that Sir Gar Pike led them!

  Then he shouted in fury. "To me! To me, all men of mine!" His bodyguard formed up around their monarch, then followed him into battle, swerving around Sir Gar and striking hard into the forest of pikes. He broke through to his knights, and they rallied to him with a shout. Bellowing, they tore into the throng of serf-soldiers, laying about them with sword and mace, striking down from horseback, not caring whether they hit loyal man or rebel. They didn't notice that one knight after another was falling from his horse until, finally, a space opened around the king as if by magic, and a huge armored form faced him, mounted on a horse as high as his own. Another armored figure rode out beside him, sword and shield upraised, moving toward the few remaining Kings knights.

  The knights braced themselves, then charged as one, yelling. But quarterstaves tipped half of them from their saddles as they leaped into motion, and the smaller knight rode to meet the rest, laying about him, parrying cut after cut and counterthrusting while knight after knight fell crashing to the ground. The last two knights suddenly realized what was happening and charged down at Dirk, bellowing. He ducked one thrust and stabbed in under the gorget, then turned to the other knight just in time for a roundhouse swing to smash into that knight's helmet, toppling him from his saddle. But a soldier leaped up to grab his arm and dragged down, while two others levered him from his saddle. The man fell, crashing.

  "Is this your idea of honor, Sir Gar?" the king demanded, his voice thick with fury.

  "Your Majesty," the giant said gravely, his voice hollow within his helmet, "your subjects ask that you listen to their petition."

  The king roared with inarticulate fury and spurred his horse. He swung a huge blow with his sword, but Sir Gar caught it on his shield, then caught the next and the next, never returning the blows until the king drew back, panting and trembling, but still furious. "You are no knight! You are a traitor to chivalry!"

  "You shall not fight this war," Sir Gar told him.

  "Who are you to tell me whether or not I shall attack my dukes!" the king ranted. "You are a foreigner, a ne'er-dowell knight so incompetent that you could not even find a lord to take you into his household, but had to sell your lance instead! Mercenary! Hireling! Who do you think you are?"

  "I am Sir Magnus d'Armand," the faceless helm answered. "I am of the line of the Counts d'Armand of Maxima, and the son of Lord Rodney Gallowglass of Gramarye, knighted by the king himself."

  The king sat rigid. Then his voice hissed out. "A nobleman? A son of a lord, and his heir? And you strike against your own class?"

  "Noblesse oblige," Gar replied, "and your dukes and earls have forgotten the obligations of their stations. We must remind them of those together, you and L"

  "How dare you!" the king whispered. "'You and I'? How dare you! " Suddenly, his voice turned calculating. "Of which obligations do you speak? Would you remind my dukes of their obligations to their king?"

  "Yes, Majesty-to their king, but also to their serfs."

  "Obligations to serfs! You would dare?"

  "I would, and so would their councils. Who is your heir?"

  The last question froze the king. Gar waited.

  Finally, His Majesty said, "A dutiful monarch must always open his ears to the plight of his people. I shall return to the castle, Sir Gar. You may meet me in the audience chamber in half an hour, with the people you speak of."

  Gar bowed his head. "As Your Majesty wishes."

  The soldiers opened a pathway back to the keep. The king turned and rode back with as much dignity as he could muster.

  Inside the keep, he threw himself into a flurry of activity, snapping out orders right and left. "Archers into the musician's loft! Spearmen dressed in butlers' livery! Knights-"

  He stilled, realizing that there were no knights around him-and, worse, that the few soldiers about him were listening very gravely, but doing absolutely nothing.

  Then the sergeant gestured, and two soldiers stepped forward, bowing. "Help His Majesty out of his armor," the sergeant said. "Majesty, Sir Gar has sent us to see that you are escorted to the throne with all the ceremony we can muster."

  The king spat a string of curses that should have raised blisters on the soldiers and singed the sergeant's beard. They waited it out with grave, courteous expressions. In the end, the king went with them.

  As they were about to go into the throne room, a soldier pushed his way through to Gar and Dirk. "Masters! Duke Grenlach's loyal men overcame our rebels! He marches to relieve the king, and all the soldiers who escaped our sweep will rally to him!"

  "Grenlach is a hundred miles away!" Coll said, amazed. "The word travels like lightning!"

  "With every cell already standing? Word can travel faster than any messenger, yes. Still, five hours is amazing." Gar frowned. "A hundred miles, you say? And an army will do well to march twenty miles a day-more likely only a dozen. We have at least five days." He turned to Dirk. "Come, let us present our arguments to His Majesty! We must be very persuasive."

  "I thought you told me to leave the thumbscrews in the dungeon."

  "Not that kind of persuasion!" Gar turned to the messenger. "How many men are
dead?"

  "Fewer than there would have been if this battle had begun, my master," the messenger said.

  Gar stared at him for a moment. Then he said, "Yes." And, "That is the only thing that matters, isn't it?"

  He turned back to face the throne room doors. "Let's try to make His Majesty see the sense in that."

  16

  "Your noblemen come to your gate, under a flag of truce," Gar informed the king.

  The king narrowed his eyes. "You have not been up to the tower. How do you know this?"

  "Because I have founded a secret society among your soldiers, and all the dukes' soldiers," Gar told him. "Throughout your whole kingdom, in fact," Dirk put in. The king gave him a look that would have stretched him on the rack and made hot irons dance on his flesh, if he'd had any men who would have obeyed his command. "Some you will know now," Gar said, "for they are the soldiers who are not bound and tied, but still bear arms. Still, you can't know who their leader is. That, too, is secret, and is known only to myself."

  "Secret!" the king roared. "Nonsense! You are their leader, clearly and obviously! If I kill you, this rebellion ends!" He swung a huge blow with his sword.

  A dozen men shouted and leaped to hold him, but Gar blocked with a quick movement of his own blade, then bound the king's sword and whipped it down. "Even if you could slay me, Majesty, another leader would take up the reins-and if you slew him, another would rise in his place. None but he would know of it, for all that the soldiers know is that orders are sent to them-they don't know who issues them."

  "You are saying that it's impossible for me to kill the chiefs," the king interpreted.

  Gar nodded. "And impossible, therefore, to kill the rebellion. There are simply too many people, and too few of them are known."

  Surprisingly, the king didn't erupt again; he only nodded with a cold, calculating look. "Ingenious. I shall have to devote myself to discovering a way to foil the plan."

  "You shall fail in that," Gar assured him. "For the moment, though, your companions in frustration approach your gate-and I think you may find you have more in common with your lords than you thought. Will you see them?"

  "Whose idea is this parley?" the king demanded.

  "Mine," Gar affirmed. "Their Graces are given little choice in the matter."

  "Then I shall see them," the king declared.

  Gar bowed. "Shall we open your gates and bring them into your keep?"

  "Why ask me?" the king said bitterly. "Are you not the master here?"

  "No," Gar told him firmly. "Neither I nor the soldiers' councils will try to tell you what you must do. We will only tell you what we will not do."

  "And, therefore, what I cannot do," the king said dryly. Gar bowed again. "But it is for you to say what you will do."

  "Why, then, open the gates and let them in," the king said. "My lords and I may yet find some way to frustrate your designs."

  Gar bowed and relayed the order.

  The dukes rode in all together, with a sergeant beside them holding the white flag. They dismounted and went to the ornate chairs set out for them in the middle of the courtyard. Their own soldiers formed a crescent behind them, three rows deep. Before them, the king sat in a chair higher and more elaborate than any of theirs.

  The dukes bowed, as protocol demanded. "Your Majesty! "

  "My lords," the king returned, then gestured to Gar. "This ragtag free lance who dares to call himself the son of a lord is the author of all our misfortunes. I shall let him explain before I address you."

  "I thank Your Majesty." Gar stepped forward at the foot of the throne, then turned to face the dukes. "My lords, your armies have made it clear to you that you cannot wage this war, for they refuse to fight it for you."

  "Aye, you traitorous toad!" Trangray spat.

  Gar ignored the insult. "However, if mere soldiers can prevent great dukes from fighting, surely all the lords together can prevent the king from doing anything they deem unjust."

  The king stiffened, and the lords stared in surprise. Then they turned thoughtful, and the king narrowed his eyes as he glared at Gar.

  Again, the giant ignored him. "You have but to refuse to obey his laws, and to tell him that you will not obey because they are unjust."

  "Let me see if I understand you," Duke Trangray said. "You say that we can tell the king which laws to make and which to strike down?"

  "You can."

  "But he will send his armies against us," Duke Ekud said, with a shrewd gleam in his eye. "Do you say his armies cannot prevail against us, if we all act together?"

  "He could never have that many knights and men," Gar confirmed.

  "But what if the soldiers think his law is just?" Duke Ekud countered. "What if they refuse to fight?"

  "Exactly," Gar said, with the tone of a teacher delighting in a pupil's insight. "From this day forth, you will never be able to rule without the consent of those you govern."

  The lords broke into a furious chorus of denunciation. Gar waited it out, until finally the king broke it off with a clarion call. "My lords!"

  The dukes fell silent, turning to him in surprise at such a tone of authority from one so young.

  "It is clear that this outlander has hobbled us one and all," the king said, fuming. "How is this, Sir Gar? I am to ask my lords' permission for every little command I wish to issue?"

  The dukes turned to Gar with a new, speculative gleam in their eyes.

  "No, Your Majesty," Gar returned, "only for every law you would make, and every major action you would take. It is still for you to enforce the laws and conduct the affairs of your kingdom, as it always has been."

  The king turned thoughtful. "So all is as it was, save that my lords can stop me from making laws or judgments they dislike?"

  "And this without the risk of our knights or their soldiers?" Trangray asked.

  Gar nodded. "In fact, it would be wise for you to set a definite month in which to meet on the plain outside the King's Town, so that the dukes and earls can discuss matters of common interest, and the king can consult with you on measures he needs to take for the welfare of the realm."

  The king gave Gar a black glare, but the giant only said, "Such a meeting gives you an opportunity to explain your policies to your lords, Your Majesty, and to persuade them to support your course of action."

  "Persuade!" the king exclaimed with indignation. "Persuasion costs much less than fielding an army," Gar pointed out. "You might also reserve a month for consulting with the soldiers' councils and village councils from all over your kingdom-a meeting of councils, for talking. Call it a parliament."

  The king's eye fired, and the dukes leaned forward in avid attention.

  "Be aware that the spokesmen will not be the commanders," Gar told them. "They will be just that, spokesmen, people who speak for the councils, but not themselves in any position of authority. The real commanders of the councils will send minstrels to speak for them-messengers, if you will."

  The dukes leaned back with looks of disappointment, and the fire in the king's eye died to be replaced by pure hatred, but Gar went on, unruffled. "The minstrels will not have the power to bargain-only to say 'no,' but not to say yes. "

  "Then what's the point in talking with them?" the king said in disgust.

  "Because if you don't convince the lords, you may be able to convince the parliament-and they can forbid the lords' policies, or speak to their dukes in favor of your plans."

  The dukes broke into an uproar, but the king's eye gleamed again. As the clamor subsided, he nodded. "So they will be able to forbid my laws, but their own peasant councils will be able to prevent theirs-or even to insist they accept my ideas."

  "Not to insist," Gar said quickly, "no more than the lords can insist you adopt their course of action."

  The lords exchanged a glance; they hadn't thought of that, but they were thinking of it now.

  "The councils can petition their lords to do as Your Majesty suggests," Gar went on. />
  "Clever, Sir Gar, clever." The king leaned back in his great chair. "I begin to see some merit in your scheme after all."

  "Then let the dukes draw up a charter, making clear their rights and your obligations to them," Gar said, "and let all of you sign it, so that it becomes the law of the land." The dukes all spoke in loud agreement. "Yes, indeed!"

  "An excellent idea!"

  "Only what is right, after all!"

  The king scowled, not at all certain he liked having something in writing-but with so much feeling among the dukes, he had little choice. "Very well," he said grudgingly. "Let them bring me a draft of their charter tomorrow, that we can begin to haggle over its wording."

  They had it there bright and early the next day, of course-Gar had handed them an example from another world, one called the Great Charter. They made a great number of changes, but they had the draft ready to spread out before the king when the sun rose. They argued about it for a week, first about the ideas, which really did little more than guarantee the dukes' liberties and rights, obligating them to fight for the king in return and to obey his lawsbut their parliament had to approve those laws. Then they argued about the words, and finally about every comma and capital-but nine days after it began, the king and all his dukes and earls signed their own Great Charter. The soldiers went wild with joy, and so did the lords. The king grumbled, but his new sense of the importance of public support moved him to order his cooks to bring out whole carcasses of oxen and hogs and set them to roasting, while his butlers broached barrel after barrel of ale. The soldiers, the people of the town, and all the farm folk roundabout had a roaring party. But Gar, Dirk, and Coll made sure that one soldier in every ten stayed sober and vigilant, and that the king's men drank as much as the dukes' soldiers. The party ended without either side attacking the other, and the next day, when the dukes' soldiers had recovered from their hangovers, they packed up and began the journey home.

  The dukes arrived back in their own demesnes in fine fettle, feeling that they had taught the upstart king his place-without spending a single soldier! They went up to the ramparts of their castle towers and surveyed each his own petty kingdom, reveling in a sense of power.