"Mat would depend on how good a magician he is," Matt answered. "If he could figure out the rules of magic, he might not need aid."
"Rules?" Sir Guy stared. "But magic has none!"
Matt rolled his eyes up. "Another informed layman! Have you tested the matter?"
Sir Guy seemed to consider. Then he shrugged. "As you will, Lord Wizard. Yet I bid you remember this: for a man with the Power, all temptations lead only to the same end-the Devil."
He held Matt's gaze for a moment. Then he swung to his feet, turned away, and strode toward Alisande.
Matt turned back to the fire. His eyes widened; the two rabbit carcasses lay skinned and gutted, waiting. Apparently Sir Guy had been working unobtrusively at dressing them while he'd been talking. He was the efficient type, Matt reflected as he selected a long stick to spit the carcasses-maybe a little too efficient. And what had he really been trying to say?
Matt selected two forked twigs and pushed them into the ground, then laid the spit across them. Sir Guy hadn't exactly expressed doubts that Matt had the moral strength of a wet noodle. But that had been the gist of the conversation, hadn't it?
CHAPTER 7
The campsite lay quiet, silvered by a gibbous moon, warmed by the glowing coals of the fire. Stegoman lay curled up under the trees, neck curled around his body, his tail overlapping his head. Sir Guy, Matt, and the princess lay under their cloaks around the fire, sound asleep.
Matt snapped awake, suddenly and totally. He stared through a gap in the trees at the plain that swept to the horizon. What had awakened him?
Then it came again-along, drawn-out, despairing wail. A woman in trouble! Matt rolled to his feet and leaped around the fire to shake the Black Knight's shoulder. "Sir Guy, wake up! There's a damsel in distress!"
Sir Guy snored, then rolled over on the pine boughs. Matt shook him again, but the Black Knight didn't even snore back this time.
"Wake up!" Matt bellowed. "Fire! Earthquake! Ragnorak!"
There was no response.
"So much for chivalry!" Matt growled. He yanked a dagger from Sir Guy's possessions, wishing the knight weren't sleeping on his sword, and ran through the gap in the trees.
As he leaped out onto the plain, the scream came again -- raw, ragged, and much nearer. Matt swung toward the sound-and saw a girl running at an angle toward him, panting in terror.
Long, black hair streamed back from a finely chiseled ivory face. Full breasts stretched the fabric of her bodice taut, and her skirts whipped tightly about long, slender legs and the curve of her hips. Even in panic, there was something about her that promised impossible pleasure for the man lucky enough to possess her.
Matt kicked into a run.
She fled toward the horizon, angled his way, without even a backward glance, running for her life.
Hobbling and leaping over the plain on thick, stunted legs, giggling and drooling, came something eight feet tall and four wide. Four steel-cable tentacle arms flailed the air. Huge platters of eyes reflected the moonlight, and a foot-wide mouth revealed a set of shark-like teeth.
Troll, Matt's mind screamed at him. His body went into overdrive as he ran toward the girl. But he knew he wasn't fast enough.
The troll leaped, landing five feet behind her. She was hampered by her clothes-kirtle, bliaut, and cloak of rich fabric. A tentacle slashed out, snatching at the girl's cloak. She stumbled, her body slamming against the fabric, and it tore in a huge, jagged rent. She screamed, but staggered back into a run, the troll snickering behind her.
It slashed out again, catching her skirt. The kirtle tore. Two tentacles shot out, one catching the hem of her skirt, the other hooking into her collar. The girl spun about as the bliaut tore open in a long, jagged rent along its whole length. A third tentacle hooked the back of the neckline, and the bliaut snapped her arms up as it came away from her. For a moment, she stood poised, arms high in the moonlight, in only her shift.
Then a clawed tentacle slashed down at her, and she threw herself down backward to avoid it. The troll howled laughter and pounced, but she was too quick for him; she rolled to the side just in time and kept rolling.
She was free for a moment and was up and running. The troll howled and pounced. She threw herself to the side-straight against a thorn bush. She leaped away, but the shift caught in the thorns, ripping away in a jagged line just below her hips.
The troll caught her with a howl of glee, pinning her arms to her sides with tentacle loops, lifting her toward the gaping shark's mouth.
Then Matt reached the troll and leaped, striking home.
The dagger struck a tentacle and the troll howled, dropping the girl-and Matt suddenly realized what a fool he was to attack with only a dagger. He leaped away, chanting frantically,
"Grow, blade of iron! Grow out and away Into three feet of steel, a razor-edged blade! Your needle-sharp point will protect this weak clay, Till at my feet this foul monster is laid."
The dagger surged in his hand like a living thing as the blade tripled its length. The edge glinted in the moonlight.
The troll was on him, with a howl like a steam whistle.
Its tentacles whipped out for him. Matt leaped to the side and slashed at its midriff. The blade struck a spark from its body and skidded. The beast was hard!
The troll twitched its tentacles out of the way and pushed its huge body toward him, giggling inanely. The huge trunk swung into the arc of the blade, and the sword clanged off its side in a shower of sparks. The jar shot pain up Matt's whole forearm. He leaped back, hanging onto the blade by sheer determination, while realization exploded in his mind. Trolls were made out of stone!
Steel was no use against stone. He needed something harder. Diamond!
He turned and ran, hearing the huge feet drumming the earth as the troll followed. Matt panted out a rhyme as he ran.
"Sword blade of steel, become now for me A blade of black diamond, as hard as can be, But tough as forged iron, with a cross-section wedge, Honed down to a monofilament edge!"
The sword twitched in his hand, now black and gleaming.
Matt whirled about, swinging the sword with both hands. The blade scored deep into the monster's body, and it leaped back, its scream soaring to a height that pierced Matt's ears. Ichor welled out of the gaping slit in its belly.
Matt jumped in again, but the monster had realized it was in trouble; it bent forward, and shark-like teeth scored Matt's chest, while tentacles ripped at his arm, chest, and belly. He leaped away and swung the diamond blade at the place between head and shoulders, where a neck should have been.
The tentacles lashed out, dancing toward his face. But their tips were moving erratically; they weren't under full control, and the troll was staggering.
Matt leaped to the side and swung down in a full overhand chop. He caught the troll in the same place, and the sword bit in deep, cutting halfway through its head. Its whole body jerked in one mighty spasm. It fell, twitching and heaving, scrabbling about in the dirt. But the thing was already dead, its spinal cord cut.
The spasms slowed and stopped. Matt stared down at the huge, dead thing. The corpse looked shrunken somehow, lying still in the moonlight; it was only an oddly shaped boulder in the middle of the plain.
"You have slain it!" The girl stood just a few feet away now, with the moonlight behind her showing the shadow of her body against the thin cloth of her shift. Here and there, a long gash in the fabric revealed a smooth, creamy curve.
"You have saved me! Oh, you are my true knight!" She stepped closer, her body less than a foot from his. Then she gasped and flinched away. "But you are wounded!"
The cuts were still bleeding and had begun to sting sharply. But he shook his head. "Aw, they're just scratches."
"But they must be tended." She caught up the ragged hem of her shift to wipe at the blood on his chest, exposing more curves. "You must come home with me, where I may care for them."
"Milady!" A score of armed men suddenly came running up, drawn swords in t
heir hands. "Milady Sayeesa! Are you ...."
"Safe, little thanks to you." Her tone was severe. "But no matter. This brave knight has succored me. Now conduct us back to my home, that I may tend his wounds."
"Uh..." Matt shook his head, trying to dispel the haze to which he'd been since he first sighted the girl. "'Thanks, but I'd better not. I've got friends back there, and they'll be worried."
"Then they shall be told and invited to share what comforts I can offer. Captain, see to it!"
The captain moved away to tell off a party of six men to head back to the campsite. Swords snapped into scabbards, and the rest of the men formed up for a march.
Matt found himself alone for the moment, holding the bare sword in his hand, with no place to put it. He frowned, then recited,
"To carry this weapon, a sheath I do need, Expressly designed for this wonderful blade, Making easy the draw when the sword must be freed, So here at my side let this scabbard be made."
A scabbard was suddenly at his hips, belted around his waist. The sword slipped easily into it, just as Sayeesa returned to his side. The captain's cape was about her shoulders now, but she seemed not to notice that it left an open strip down her front.
Her smile was compelling as she placed a hand on his arm. "Come, let us be off!"
With the girl at his side and her hip pressing against his, Matt forgot to notice in which direction they marched. Nor was he aware of how long the journey took.
Then the soldiers halted, and Matt jerked to a stop, staring.
Before him stood a palace. High walls glowed, and tall, slender towers glittered with fairy lights. The whole seemed to be made of jade. And from it came a procession of Sayeesa's servitors. There must have been a hundred of them, joyfully welcoming her. All were young and beautiful-except two. The pair of guards before the entrance were at least seven feet tall and half as broad, burly and ugly. Their skins were of a walnut shade.
"Does my home please you?" Sayeesa asked. At his enthralled nod, she waved her hand. "Then enter, that we may partake of its delights."
Inside, candles glowed everywhere. The air was filled with some heavy scent that seemed to go to Matt's head instantly. And the hallway was lined with statues, mostly of young men, though a few were of lovely girls. They seemed almost alive, each with a dazed but delighted expression.
"Marvelous!" Matt exclaimed. "What great sculptor shaped them?"
The girl hesitated, then admitted, "They are of my crafting."
"You? Lady, you're amazing!" He was standing very close to her, looking downward where the cape was open. "Almost unbelievable," he breathed.
She laughed and spun away with a coy glance at him.
"You regain your strength quickly, Sir Knight. But come hither, and I'll attend to-your wounds."
`Hither' turned out to be a Roman bath, tiled in sapphire, with a huge sunken pool. There she turned him over to a pair of female servants, making some excuse about more suitable garb. They seated him on a bench. One removed his jacket while the other stripped off his shoes and socks.
But when one started unbuckling his belt, Matt called a halt. "I'll do that myself."
The girl's face registered astonishment and a trace of what might have been fear. "But sir, 'tis our custom!"
"Not mine." Matt caught an arm around each girl's waist and ushered them toward the door. "Out!"
They went, but before the door closed fully, he caught a snatch of conversation.
"Fear not. Remember, the priest was like that."
"Aye, 'tis what troubles me."
Matt slipped out of his clothes and waded into the pool., From the edge, it went down in a series of foot-high steps. He stepped down twice, then seated himself and leaned back against the warm tiles behind him with a blissful sigh. Here the heady perfume seemed stronger. The warm, murky aroma seemed to fill his head, inducing visions.
Then he heard a silken rustle behind him. Sayeesa had slipped into something that seemed almost transparently blue and silken, low at the throat.
"Rest, Sir Knight," she crooned. Her hands crept to his shoulders, kneading and massaging. "My bath has wondrous minerals in it to heal your wounds."
Matt started to protest, but Sayeesa was now stroking a cool, scented cream over his shoulders and biceps, crooning a soft, restful song in some strange language. The feel of her hands spreading the salve over his wounds and her crooning, combined with the silken sounds of her movements, drove all other thoughts from his mind.
There was a rough knock, and the door flew open, to show the captain standing there.
Suddenly Sayeesa's voice was harsh. "You know better than to disturb me! Out!"
The captain seemed to cringe, but his voice was insistent. "The man and woman have arrived."
"You know where they go!" Sayeesa snapped.
"But ... you have the keys!"
For a moment, Sayeesa stood irresolute. Then she nodded. "Very well. I'll come. Forgive me, Sir Knight. Matters of import call me. My servants will show you to your room."
She left; a moment later, the two serving girls were back. One held a supply of towels; the other laid a magnificent robe on the bench. They stared uncertainly, but left when he waved them away. By the time they returned, he was dried and attired in the robe.
They led him to two huge, gilded doors, which two other servants threw wide. Matt stepped into the bedroom of his less printable dreams. It was draped with tapestries, with a carpet which seemed to engulf his feet as he stepped on it. The bed was canopied, with curtains drawn back to show a gold-and-silver bedspread. It seemed that a squadron might sleep on its expanse.
"There is brandywine by the bedside and fruit in the bowl," one girl told him, while the other turned down the covers for him. "If you need aught else, you have but to call."
Matt stepped up to the bed, sat, and rolled onto his side. The pillow seemed to mold itself to his head, and his body was cushioned in total luxury. He yawned, and his eyes closed.
A touch on his shoulder brought him awake quickly, and he looked up to see Sayeesa in the sheerest of silken robes. She bent over him, and the robe parted. She slipped onto the bed and lifted the counterpane over her, stretching luxuriously. "You lack chivalry, Sir Knight," she purred, reaching out to caress his cheek. "Will you not show welcome to a lady?"
Matt was about to do so when a slow, seductive chant sounded, coming closer. Draperies across the room rippled and parted, and a blonde and a brunette stepped through. Each carried a sort of crystal vase with a thick-looking fluid in it.
Sayeesa sat up stiffly, and the look on her face made the two girls flinch back. The brunette gasped. "Milady, here are the oils. Do you not wish us to help..."
Their words wilted under her glare, they shrank away. Bowing low, they shuffled backward between the tapestries.
"How could I so lose control?" Sayeesa muttered to herself. "Is this one so much more that I cannot wait for each measure?"
"..Beg pardon?"
"Why, naught." She turned to face him, her face smoothing out into a lazy, inviting smile. "Or do you truly wish explanation, sir?"
"I hate explanations." Matt reached for her again. "I much prefer demonstrations."
He was about to begin when he felt her body stiffen. Her face turned dark with fury, and she sat up with an air of slow, building menace. "What do you here?"
One of the brawny, walnut-skinned guards stood there, his arms full of ironware. Matt made out something like handcuffs and a pair of what seemed to be whips.
"Milady commanded me to bring them," the creature grated.
"I did not!" It was almost a shriek. "Wherefore should I wish for such vile instruments? Get you gone, or 'twill be the axe for you!"
The guard seemed to quiver with terror. He bowed stiffly and shuffled backwards, with a sound like sandpaper sandals.
Sayeesa slowly settled back, still frowning. Matt reached for her, but with a measure of uncertainty this time.
His doubts were j
ustified. A great gong sounded, and she sat up abruptly.
The captain strode though the door, making no effort to be silent.
"What now troubles us?" Sayeesa demanded. "You had best have good reason for this incursion, captain!"
"Madam," he said, bowing to her, "there is a dragon at the gate, attempting to destroy all this palace. And he is demanding-"
"I can guess his demands," she interrupted. "Man the defenses. I shall take measures below."
She was gone in a rush, with the captain trailing her.
Matt lay back, wondering what madness afflicted this place. A dragon? But why should a dragon assault the lady's palace? He puzzled over it briefly, but his thoughts were hazy, and he began to slip back into a sort of fantasy in which Sayeesa did not go running off.
Then words seemed to burn in his brain.
Lord Matthew, I summon you by Earth, Air, and Water. Aid me now, for my peril is great!
It was the voice of Alisande!
Matt sprang up, staring in bewilderment at the garish surroundings in which he found himself. What devilish spell had be been under?
No time to think about it. He barreled through the door and along the hall to a cross corridor. Which way now? A bedlam of screaming came from both sides.
The ones to the right were louder. Matt kicked out in a run, just as a roar like an overfed steam boiler blasted out, and the screaming went wild. He skidded to a halt at the end of the corridor, where it reached the main hall. A line of soldiers barred his way, their backs to him. He lowered his head and charged, and they bowled forward like tenpins. He snatched up a battle-axe, to find himself facing the dragon, reared back on its hind legs, with its neck stretched out and fire in its mouth. Searing flame blasted out.
Matt leaped aside, and the flame struck the row of soldiers behind him.
"Stegoman!" he shouted. The gigantic head swiveled toward him, weaving, an ugly glint in its eyes. Matt had seen that look before. "Stegoman! I'm Matthew-Lord Wizard-your friend."
"Lord Wizh ..." The dragon's eyes filled with confusion.
Matt leaped, bounced his foot off Stegoman's shoulder, and landed between two of the huge fins. "You came here seeking the princess, Sir Guy, and me-remember? Well, you've found me."
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