Her Majesty's Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  And that was without a bath-or a decent dress, for that matter. She was wearing muddy maroon rags that once might have been a long, tight-sleeved kirtle under a tight-laced, scoop-necked bliaut with wide, hanging sleeves.

  At the moment, she was staring at him as if she were wondering whether he were an angel or a demon. Matt decided he'd better update her.

  "Hi." He tried for a nonchalant grin. "I'm the new wizard in town. You must be the princess."

  Her eyes caught fire, and she came up out of the low, hourglass-shaped chair like a lioness grabbing for a careless gazelle. "Wizard? You are truly such? You do not mock me, sir?"

  "Uh-not the world's greatest wizard, mind you-but I do seem to be able to work a few tricks."

  "Aye, most truly, if you can bring yourself into this cell! Why came you here?"

  "Well, uh, I heard there was a lady around who could use a helping hand. Need anything?"

  "Aye! I have great need, if you are truly for me." She straightened slowly, regaining her poise. "Whence come you, sir?"

  Matt started to answer, then caught himself. "Uh-it's a little on the complicated side."

  "I have no pressing engagements." She had more than looks; she had a sense of humor, too. "Pray tell me whence you come."

  "From another world-another universe, really. I was there, and the next thing I knew, I was here. In Bordestang, I mean."

  Her eyes widened. "You were witched into our world?"

  "You could look at it that way, yes," Matt said judiciously. "Though I think `witched' might be a little strong..."

  "I do not." She was very sure of herself; Matt found it a little unnerving. "Was it a sorcerer brought you here?"

  "No, I don't really think so. The only one I've met so far is Malingo, and he seemed a little surprised to see me."

  "Good. Then belike you have it aright; no evil one brought you here. Therefore some good and saintly wizard must have transported you."

  "Now, wait a minute," Matt objected. "I think you're making a questionable assumption, there---"

  She cut him off. "I do not. How escaped you from Malingo?"

  "Oh, I told him I wasn't quite ready to make up my mind about which side I was on, so he gave me some time to think it over."

  Her eyebrows rose. "He must need your power, then; 'tis not like him to let a wizard live who is not subject to him. Did he wall you up?"

  "Did he what? ... Oh, you mean did he throw me into the dungeon! Yeah, right between the salt pork and the extra arrows."

  "Aye, in a cell with a spell on it, to prevent your leaving. How did you escape from that?"

  "A cell with a what?" Matt scowled. "Are you sure?"

  "I heard the guards outside my door speak of it, when first they brought me here. The sorcerer charmed every cell within this keep in such a fashion."

  Cogwheels ticked over in Matt's head. "So that's how come I felt so much more power build around me this time! I may have more of a lead than I thought!"

  "You will have need of it," she said with full and total certainty. "Why came you to my cell?"

  "Huh?" Matt stared, taken aback. Then he spread his hands. "Gee, I should think that would be obvious. Beautiful princess, durance vile, that sort of thing ...

  "You have chosen, then, to side with me?" She looked directly into his eyes, a hard, searching gaze. "Be sure you're not mistaken. If you aid me in the slightest way, the sorcerer and his false king will slay you in an instant, if they have the chance."

  Matt stood staring back at her while all the aspects of the situation reeled through his mind. But a certain solid determination moved in him, growing, evolving out of resentment into something akin to anger. Matt wondered if it were nascent self-respect. "There really isn't much to choose, your Highness. I've seen the other side."

  Savage joy leaped in her eyes. "You are with me, then?"

  Matt nodded slowly. "Yeah. At your service, Majesty."

  "Highness; I am not yet crowned. I am the Princess Alisande, no more."

  "Glad to meet you," Matt said drily. "I'm Matthew Mantrell."

  "Well met, Wizard Matthew!" She latched onto his biceps with both hands. "And I implore you, take us out from here!"

  Matt felt his chest puffing out a bit; this was the first time in his life he'd really had a chance to impress a girl!

  Then he remembered what pride goeth before. "Uh-this isn't exactly a sure thing, you know. I'm kind of new to the wizard business. I've only been playing at it for a few hours."

  Alisande's head reared back, appalled. "You are so new to the power as that?"

  "Worse," Matt confided. "It's the first taste I've had of any kind of power." He was almost surprised to hear the words. Then he realized that he'd known it all his life and was only just now admitting it to himself. It a was a bitter pill to swallow. "So I'm not too sure of my abilities, you see. You could very, easily wind up dead."

  It rocked her, but she swung back quickly, frowning in thought for a moment. Then she lifted her chin and looked him squarely in the eyes. "No doubt I could; yet I know that I will not. You are the only chance I have, wizard, and the only one I'm like to have. I must stake my life and kingdom on you-and I know you will not fail me."

  Her total, hundred per cent certainty was unnerving. Matt took a breath. "I hope you're right."

  "I am." It was a simple statement of fact. "Take us out of this place."

  Matt took a deep breath and clasped an arm about her. It was far more pleasant than it should have been, under the circumstances.

  This time he chose a variation on the spell he'd used on the dragon:

  "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine."

  The feeling was stronger than ever. There was tremendous power gathering around him, seeking a discharge route. It would take the first one it found, and if that happened to be right through him...

  But the woman at his side stood proud and determined, if not completely unafraid, and he couldn't let her see him doubting himself.

  "There shall we fly, to tarry till the night, Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight!"

  The universe swung around ninety degrees, and swung back. A small hurricane blasted Matt's face as light seared his eyes and a roaring filled his ears. The princess clung tightly to him, every flowing curve finding a corresponding niche in him. Unfortunately, Matt was in no shape to appreciate it. He just clung to her as something relatively solid in a crazy world, waiting for the earth to steady beneath his feet.

  Slowly, things settled down; the earth solidified, and Matt's eyes adjusted to the sudden sunlight. He took a deep breath and looked about him.

  He was in a forest, beside a small stream. A wide, sunlit meadow opened off to his right. The banks of the stream, on his left, were thick with flowers. He recognized wild thyme and violets. That must be eglantine, creeping over the low boughs, there, just above the dragon's head, and ...

  "Stegoman!"

  The dragon fixed him with a glittering eye. "So-again. I thought that I had done with thee, most foolish of wizards."

  Matt had an image to maintain, now. "Foolish? Hey! I got you free, didn't I?"

  "To open plains, thou didst say," the dragon reminded him. "I find myself within a wood."

  "Oh. Well, you can't expect perfection, can you?" Matt looked around. "I thought it was a nice place."

  "So I would guess," the dragon rumbled, "since thou didst seek it after me. Or hast thou come to be so fond of my company?"

  "Uh, little bit of both, actually." It was the first piece of scene, description verse that had come into Matt's head.

  Alisande pushed herself away from him, albeit a little unsteadily. "How now, Sir Wizard! Have you brought me to your tame, enslaved familiar?"

  "Enslaved!" Stegoman roared, torching two bushes and a stretch of underbrush in the process. "I, a shlave? What vile calumny and jackal'zh lie iz
h thish?"

  Matt leaped to the side, yanking Alisande with him. "Watch it-he gets mean when he gets high. Back off, Stegoman! The lady was jumping to conclusions!"

  The dragon paused on the intake, blinking blearily at Matt. "What shayesht thou?"

  "A misunderstanding," Matt said quickly. "The lady could tell we'd met before. Can you blame her for thinking we were in cahoots?"

  "Nay, truly! I see I was mistaken!" The princess cried. "You are, indeed, untamed and free, as all your people are!"

  Stegoman cocked his head to the side, thinking that one over. While he was thinking, Matt slipped off his jacket and used it to beat out the brush fire Stegoman had accidentally touched off. He came back with his bargain-basement-best a bit charred, but with the fire out.

  Alisande was cooing to an attentive Stegoman. "... nay, not one so strong and brave, with the power of giants and with naked beauty in the flow of polished scale o'er cabled muscles. You would not do so vile a thing as to attack an unarmed maiden!"

  Her voice had a husky quality that touched off every ductless gland Matt owned. He pulled himself together and remembered his manners. "Your Highness, may I present Stegoman, a wanderer of the dragon people. Stegoman, her highness, the Princess Alisande."

  The princess straightened, gathering dignity about her like an invisible robe, and inclined her head gravely. "Delighted am I with your acquaintance, Master Stegoman, though I could wish we'd met more formally."

  Watching Stegoman, Matt preceived that royalty has its impact, even on a democrat. The dragon's eyes widened; then he bowed his head, plus at least three feet of neck. "Honored, Highness!" He turned to Matt. "So thou hast done it. Art thou more puissant than thou didst tell? Or hast thou but rash fool's luck?"

  Matt was just opening his mouth to admit he'd been lucky, when Alisande gasped, "Oh!" He looked up at her, frowning; her hands were clapsed at her throat, and her eyes were wide with wonder. "Air, and trees, and sky! Sunlight, blessed sunlight! And water!" she cried, runing forward to look down into the brook. "Running, open water!" She fell to her knees and caught a palmful to her lips, drinking deeply.

  Matt watched in admiration. So slender, so lithe, so graceful ... She fairly seemed to flow as she turned, rising to her feet again, and tossed her head, hair swirling back, forger stabbing out in imperious command. "Master Wizard, get you hence, I pray you; take your eyes away-and you also, good Master Stegoman! For I've not felt the blessed touch of water on my skin this half a year! If you please, I would bathe me!"

  Matt bridled a little at the arrogance of her tone, but he couldn't very well refuse. "Uh-are you sure you'll be safe?"

  "Come, come," Stegoman huffed, "let the lady be, good Wizard! We'll be close by; if trouble brews, we'll be within her call. Let the lady bathe! What monsters were her captors, to deprive her of the touch of water half a year!"

  He waddled off toward the meadow. Matt could hardly be less of a gentleman than a lizard.

  "Master Wizard!"

  Matt looked back, startled. "Your Highness?"

  "I loathe the thought of taking up again these rags!" The princess plucked at the remains of her dress. "Could you not conjure up some fitting raiment that hath not six months' filth about it?"

  "Uh ... yeah, sure." Matt bobbed his head, feeling extremely awkward. "Sure thing, your Highness."

  I'll thank you with each breath I breathe!" she cried and whirled away behind a thorn bush.

  Matt reflected that the girl was somewhat given to hyperbole. Then he imagined how a shirt that had been worn, day and night for six months, would feel each time he breathed and decided that maybe she hadn't been exaggerating, after all.

  "So! Thou art truly a wizard, it seems!"

  Matt looked up, surprised. Was that a note of respect in Stegoman's voice? "Not really-no more than I was the last time you saw me. I haven't learned anything new, anyway."

  "Then thou hadst more knowledge than thou didst know," the dragon stated. "How didst thou break Malingo's magic bond around the princess' prison? For that must have been the fiercest and most puissant spell he knew!"

  Matt felt suddenly weak at the thought of having crossed spells with Malingo, even at second hand. "Well, I really didn't do anything much. I just recited a bit of poetry I happened to know, and here we are."

  "Thou hadst no notion of the powers thou didst challenge?"

  "Oh ... I wouldn't say that." Matt remembered the heat, the feeling of being inside a dynamo. "But what else could I do?"

  "Aye, I was quite confident thou wouldst play rash fool and take the risk." The dragon eyed him, brooding. "Yet thou art here; his spell is broken. I must think, then, thou didst work a spell unknown."

  "Unknown to Malingo, you mean?" Matt pursed his lips, thinking it over. "Yeah, quite probably, now that you mention it. All the poetry I have in my head is old stuff, where I come from; but it would probably be brand new, here."

  Stegoman seemed to shy away a little. "A new spell! 'Tis strange, and vastly dangerous!"

  Matt stopped, rooted to the spot. Now Stegoman had his full attention. "Oh! Do tell!"

  "I do indeed. Magic is elusive; it hath no principles, no rules of trade. It is an art, but one whose power shows in moments. Therefore good wizards cull old books for practiced but forgotten spells; all their world is a searching through of musty manuscripts. Their end-all and their be-all is in learning. 'Tis the search that they enjoy, the finding of old knowledge, new to them. They care little for its use."

  "True scholars," Matt said thoughtfully. "They wouldn't happen to be on the scarce side; would they?"

  "Extremely rare. But sorcerers sprout from every bush."

  Matt looked up, frowning. "Sorcery is easier to learn?"

  "Aye; ye've but to find a grimoire. And they never seem in short supply. I believe the powers of Darkness see to that."

  Matt had a brief, dizzying vision of a rotary press churning furiously in the bowels of Hell. "That's all Malingo did? Just memorized a book?"

  "One book, or two-it matters not. He will not take much time in seeking out new spells, unless he's challenged by a stronger; his tine is fully occupied in gathering wealth and seeking out new enemies, before they garner power enough to challenge him. And ever and anon, he plucks some victim for the torture, to amuse his idle hours. But thus it is with sorcerers; they see their Power only as a means of gaining their desires. They will not take the time to seek new spells."

  "And all the wizards do is research." Matt scowled, shaking his head. "It doesn't fit. Someone has to think up a new spell now and then-or there'd never be any change in the power structure!"

  Stegoman regarded him quizzically. "A strange thought, that. Yet thou hast the way of it aright; each century or so, a man appears who doth work out a spell anew. Yet from all that I hear, the forging of new spells is like the walking on a knife's edge, o'er a pit of flames and vipers mixed."

  "You use such picturesque similes." Matt swallowed thickly as he realized he'd been running just the risk Stegoman described every time he'd worked a spell-for, by local standards, all his spells were new. More to the point, he didn't know any of the old ones. Remembering the buildup of forces on his escape from Malingo's prison, he could easily believe what Stegoman had said; it wasn't hard to imagine that force shorting through him, leaving a charred and reeking husk ... He shuddered and put the thought behind him. "If a guy let himself think about that, he'd very quickly lose his taste for magic."

  "He would indeed," the dragon said. "Yet thou no longer hast the choice."

  "What? Hey, hold on!" Matt's head snapped up. "I'm a free agent here, I'll do, or not do, as I please!"

  "Assuredly," Stegoman agreed drily. "And I'm certain Malingo will respect thy freedom."

  Matt dropped his eyes and shuddered. "Committed! The one thing I've been working to avoid most of my life!"

  Then he froze, hearing the echo of his own words. Did I say that?

  Why had he never known that before? More to the
point, why could he suddenly admit it to himself?

  Because now he was committed.

  CHAPTER 5

  Gibbering goblins crawled up Matt's spinal column and earnestly searched for a home in his brain. "Stegoman..."

  "Aye?"

  "I'm going to kill us all. I can't help it. There's no other Way it can turn out. Any time I try to work magic, I'll drop us all down the chute, because I don't really know what I'm doing!"

  "Take calm," the dragon told him. "Speak-art thou dead? And hast thou worked magic?"

  "Yes. Thank you." Matt drew a deep, shuddering breath. "It's always helpful to be reminded of the realities." He swallowed hard and took a firm grip on his nerves. "Every time I've worked a spell, I've felt some kind of force gathering around me-magic force. It has to be a form of energy. So it should, presumably, function according to a definite set of principles, as gravity and electromagnetism do."

  "Principles? What talk is this? Can there be rules to an art?"

  Matt shrugged. "Personally, I think art can work by rules, but I know fields of energy definitely do. And if I can figure out those rules, I can manipulate those fields."

  "What sayest thou?" the dragon rumbled. "Dust thou tell me thou canst frame rules for magic?"

  "That's what I was getting at. Of course, I must admit that finding rules for this particular form of energy might be more the province of the poet and critic than of the scientist."

  "I ken not what a scientist may be, yet this must needs be a poet's study in truth-for the greatest of wizards are poets."

  "Which tells me where I rank. But it's pretty obvious-any magic here seems to be governed by verse-and any literary idiot can tell you the word is not the thing-it's just a symbol of the thing. A poet arranges sound-symbols in whatever way gets his meaning across most powerfully."