"She brought them out repentant, as she'd said?" Alisande's tone was hushed.
Sir Guy smiled. "Each and every one. They rode back with her to the convent, turning postulant. If the walls of Saint Cynestria yet stand, your Highness, they are why; they are the ones who bore the brunt of fighting."
Somehow, Matt wasn't exactly eager to meet the good sister, sat least, not unless they were sure he was on their side. In the afternoon, he had a chance to mention this to Sir Guy.
"You never shall convince them of it," Sir Guy declared. "They're sure, these bandit-maids, that all that's male conspires against them-save Christ, which is why they're so devoted to Him. Still, if you can bring their Reverend Mother to believe you, her warriors will side with you; for they'll be ruled by her."
"Hmm." Matt chewed that one over. "Well, I'd better be my most persuasive-but I don't think that means charming."
"Indeed not," the Black Knight agreed. "She will see through whatever face you wear to your true one; so, best that be the face you wear."
"Yeah." Matt nodded. "Just my ordinary self."
"Nay. Your true self."
Matt turned slowly. "Whaddaya mean? I am my true self!"
"Then you know that you do hold feelings for our princess that are somewhat more than those of a liegeman for his lady?"
"Now, hold on! I don't know anything of the sort!"
"Then the face you wear lacks truth. Nay, do not speak-I've seen it in you. Admit these feelings, Wizard-at least unto yourself. This game you play must cease."
"Game?" Matt felt anger kindle. "What are you talking about? I'm not playing any game!"
"Are you not? 'Tis even as I've said-you will not acknowledge it, even to yourself. I pray you, do; yearnings hidden may weaken you-and through you, all of us."
Matt felt his emotions still and settle into an icy block. "If you're talking about lust, don't sweat it-I'm not exactly hot for her Highness's body ... Well, not usually." He remembered her dance in the Stone Ring; but that had been an aberration.
Sir Guy turned away, sighing and shaking his head. "Well, I spoke my piece, and hard enough it came. Yet I bid you hearken to my words." He clucked to his horse and rode ahead.
Matt glowered at his back, coals of resentment smoldering in his belly.
The sun was low in the sky, silhouetting a low, sprawling building with a steeple rising up from its midst, perched on a low hill in the middle of a valley-the convent of Saint Cynestria. It looked much like the Moncairean monastery.
Matt wondered about the army that surrounded it. The levies didn't seem to be any more numerous than the host hemming in the Moncaireans; but there were some big holes in the gathering, empty patches of ground with a look of waiting to them, scrupulously avoided by the soldiers. He wondered who-or-what, would be dropping in.
"How shall we attain these walls, Lord Wizard?" the princess demanded.
"How indeed?" Sir Guy seconded. " Be wary of your magic, for I see many more midnight robes and a host of gray."
"Yeah, they do look heavier in the magic arm. Well, sometimes there's nothing like good, old-fashioned violence. Stegoman, can you breathe out fire without letting it flame?"
"How mean you?" The dragon turned his head back to look at his rider. "I only know 'tis anger that sets flame."
"Okay, then, imagine you're angry-just pretending. And breathe out through your mouth ... Yeah, that's right."
The dragon's jaw lolled open; a steady hissing sounded. The horses shied off, and Matt wasn't surprised; he could scent the odor himself. It was faint, but it was also redolent of decay. Methane, probably.
"Good." Matt nodded. "Just keep it up, now-pump out as much dragon-breath as you can."
Stegoman sucked in air and exhaled again. Matt recited:
"The foeman now has little care; Let him have some moving air, Wafting from the eastern trees, With dragon's breath upon its breeze."
The air stirred about them, then settled into a steady breeze blowing against their backs. Stegoman kept hissing; the wind carried his fumes out toward the enemy. The dragon took time between breaths to demand, "How is this, that I grow not giddy?"
"It's the flame that does it," Matt explained, not quite accurately; it would take too long to explain what combustion products were.
"Wizard," Alisande said nervously, "will you do nothing?"
"Not for a while, your Highness." Matt wished for a wrist watch. "Stegoman's gotta pump out enough breath to cover most of the army between us and the gate." He leaned back, drumming his fingers on Stegoman's fin and whistling through his teeth.
About ten minutes later, he said, "Max?"
"Aye, Wizard?" asked the dot of light.
"Max, by this time, most of the army directly ahead of us ought to be blanketed with a kind of air that burns. Touch off a spark in the middle of it, will you?"
"Gladly," the arc spark murmured and winked out.
Matt leaned forward, keying himself up. "Ready, now. As soon as we see the flash, we ride."
The others looked up, surprised. Then they turned, bracing themselves in the saddles, but not without some trepidation.
A gout of flame exploded in the middle of the army, enveloping the whole march between the convent and the valley edge in flame.
"A triumph!" Stegoman roared with a six-foot flame. "Oh, wondroush wizhard!"
Matt bellowed, "Ride!"
Stegoman rumbled downhill like a beer wagon. The rest of the party followed out of faith.
The fire in the air damped and died in seconds, the methane spent; but everywhere it had touched, organics burned-grass, leaves, clothing, and hair. The army was in chaos, men running toward the nearest vat of water or wine, swatting out flames on each others' clothing, and bawling at the sorcerers to do something.
Into this melee charged a wall of drunken dragon, blasting fire all about him with a grand lack of discrimination. Howls doubled in front of him, and soldiers scrambled back out of his way. Stegoman scarcely had to slow as he cut his way through to the gates. A sorcerer did pop out to try a quick spell, but he seemed to have sudden difficulty moving his arms, and a second later, Stegoman converted him into a torch.
"Hoy!" Alisande stood in her stirrups, waving at the top of the wall. "Open! Travelers seeking sanctuary! Ho! I cry the hospitality of the house!"
A black-robed figure leaned out from the battlements, long veil flowing down across coif and shoulders, white band across the forehead. Then it disappeared; a moment later, the gates swung open. "Enter!" a voice commanded; but Stegoman was already in, and the others halfway through. The gates swung shut behind them, and the company found themselves in a narrow tunnel, with slit-windows in the walls. Barbed steel points bristled from the slits, and another gate walled them off ahead.
"Who called for sanctuary?" demanded a harsh, stern voice; it sounded like an old-maid schoolteacher.
Alisande tossed back her long blond hair. "I am Alisande, Princess of Merovence. My companions are Sir Guy Losobal; Matthew, Lord Wizard; and the penitent Sayeesa, who wishes to try her vocation in this House of Cynestria!"
"The vile witch of the moor?" The unseen speaker had nothing of censure in her voice; she sounded excited.
Sayeesa nodded. "So I was, till these good folks broke the enchantment that enslaved me and brought me to a priest. I repent my former ways; I reject Satan and all his works. Knowing my own poor, weak nature, I wish to shelter within your walls for the strengthening of my resolution."
"Attend a moment," the voice commanded. "We must speak to one another's faces."
Sayeesa sat waiting as if she were about to enter a throne room, seeming to strain toward the inner gate as if her saddle were holding her back from flying.
The gates swung open, and huge chains clanked as a portcullis rose. Three nuns waited, the tallest a step in front.
Sayeesa touched her heels to her horse's flanks, rode up to the portcullis, and swung down to kneel before the tall old lady.
"W
hat seek you here?" the abbess demanded severely; but delight underlay her gorgon mask. She was tall and slender, with a long face that tapered to a pointed chin, a thin blade of a nose, and large, black, snapping eyes. Her mouth was a thin line amidst a net of wrinkles. Matt could find the traces of great beauty still lingering; but the beauty itself was dust, and any tenderness that might once have accompanied it seemed to have been burned out of the gaunt old frame.
"What seek you here?" she demanded again; and Sayeesa answered, "To try my vocation among you, Mother."
It was a repetition, but necessary; before, it had been for information; now, it was spiritual.
"Hold up your head!" the crone commanded, and Sayeesa's head snapped back as if a string had been pulled. Her face was humbled, filled with remorse-and a loneliness of a kind Matt had never seen before.
The abbess scanned Sayeesa's face intently; but if she found anything there, her own face gave no sign of it. "Why should you think you have a vocation?"
"I have sinned," Sayeesa answered in low and quavering tones, "so deeply that all folk of any conscience shun the sight of me. I have repented and been shriven. I've wandered, lost, alone, and near despair, though tended by these three good people. Yet when I saw these walls rise up before me, my heart turned glad; I began to feel that all my life led to your gates."
The abbess seemed halfway satisfied with that answer. "So you found your vocation when you saw our walls. And how came you here?"
Sayeesa's voice was scarcely audible. "I was sent here."
The old woman stiffened. "By whom? Tell me the manner of it!"
Sayeesa hesitated.
The abbess's voice softened amazingly. "Nay, child, speak, and fear not to say the whole of it. None will blame or sneer, for there's not a one of us within these walls that could not tell a tale to sicken your heart with loathing."
Sayeesa looked up, her eyes filling with tears. The abbess waved the other nuns away; they slipped back into the shadows beyond the portcullis. Then the abbess knelt before Sayeesa, caught her hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. "Now, speak!"
Sayeesa began to tell it in a low and trembling voice, a phrase at a time at first, then more freely, till she was pouring her heart out. The abbess knelt like a stone, hands clasped tightly around Sayeesa's, her face grave. Matt couldn't hear what passed; but finally Sayeesa sank back on her heels, head bowed low, hair fallen forward to hide her face, a sob shuddering through her frame.
"Nay, come, come!" The old nun's voice was gentle. "There is no shame in that; many sisters here would say the same. All new penitents think their sin the greatest ever done and therefore feel ashamed to look upon a sister's face." She hooked a finger under Sayeesa's chin, prying the face up; and she almost smiled as she said, "Come, child! You must know the silliness of that; 'tis foul pride's hidden side! There, you knew it ere I said it, now, did you not?"
Sayeesa gulped and nodded, a smile beginning to glimmer through her tears.
"Oh, your tale was harrowing enough," the abbess admitted. "Yet I've heard worse. Take heart, child; embrace God's Grace. You, like all amongst us, can yet atone... So." Her face became stern again. "A priest confessed you; and, in company with these good people, you came unto our door. On that journey, you were sorely tried, yet still held free from sin."
"But I came so near..."
"Yet still held clear! How near you came, child, matters not; you resisted, thereby gaining grace and strength. Aye, the priest was right to send you to us. I doubt not you are sincere in penitence and surely need our sanctuary for a while."
"Only for a while?" Sayeesa cried, almost in panic. "Mother! May I not stay as novice?"
"I cannot say, child." The abbess's face softened. "Though, Heaven knows, I would you could; for I sense a great reserve of strength within you, power I would most dearly love to have amongst us here. Yet withal.. ." Her eyes drifted from Sayeesa's face, losing focus. "I sense a weakness, too, a weakness that could bring great danger..."
She stood, with difficulty, and hauled Sayeesa to her feet. "Stay amongst us, then, awhile, and we'll discover your true nature. There, then-go within."
The two junior nuns stepped forward out of the shadows to escort Sayeesa into the convent.
The abbess turned to Alisande.
The princess swung down from her horse and stepped up to the abbess, her face neutral, but with something in her bearing that spoke of readiness for conflict.
"You honor our house, Highness," the abbess said formally. "Indeed, I rejoice at your presence; having you within shall strengthen my daughters' hearts this night."
"I thank you, Reverend Mother." Alisande half relaxed. "And my companions?"
The abbess gave Matt and Sir Guy a brief glance, which had nothing of friendship in it. "If they are yours, they are welcome; but men may not enter in this House. We have a guest chamber in the gate tower."
Stegoman got to stay in the courtyard, with a haunch of beef; apparently the injunction against males applied only to humans. The men's chamber was at the top of a long, narrow set of winding stairs, with a very large lock, and the abbess kept the key.
Sir Guy looked definitely unhappy. "I mislike small, closed spaces, Lord Matthew-especially when the door is fast."
"Yeah, it'll be fast enough." Matt knelt to peek into the keyhole. "A Boy Scout could go through this one-and if I can't spell my way out of this bind, I don't deserve to pass grade school."
"Eh?" The knight turned in surprise; then he grinned. "Aye, I had not thought! Certes, you'll open this latch when we need it. My thanks, Lord Matthew; you've set me at ease."
"Well, glad I'm good for something." Matt strolled over to the window and looked down at the ramparts, seeing a black-robed sentry every fifty feet. There was something in the way they stood that resonated with his mental image of the abbess. "I could be wrong, Sir Guy, but I think what we've got here is one of the most concentrated doses of fanaticism I've ever seen."
"Remorse has that effect." The Black Knight sounded as if he spoke from experience. "Be mindful, Lord Matthew, that every woman within these walls has been hurt most shrewdly by men and has hurt them in return-and the Devil's picture is of a male."
Matt turned, slowly lifting his head. "I see. It's a sin to hate your fellow humans-but it's okay to hate the Devil and his agents. Nice bit of sublimation."
"There's little of the sublime about it," the Black Knight snorted., "I wondered that they did not exile your dragon for his maleness and his fiery breath."
"Fire being associated with Hell?" Matt smiled bleakly. "Well, this is the West. I assume they've had dealings with dragons before, since we must be near dragon country."
"Aye, you speak aright. And dragons are strong allies in war. Yet sometimes I misdoubt me of the worth of our good Stegoman."
"Yeah, a drunken dragon's not the world's most reliable. There's a chance of curing him, of course, but..."
"Indeed? How might that be done?"
"I've got a pretty good idea of what's wrong with him," Matt said slowly. "But I'm no expert. If I'm wrong, I could leave him worse off than he is now."
"So you'll not attempt it?"
"Not unless it's a serious emergency. Then I might use a spell or so I've thought of. They might work, since he's full grown now."
"Why, how is this?" Sir Guy frowned. "Think you his malady began in childhood?"
"Before. that-in infancy. From the few things he's let drop, I gather dragon parents lay eggs, but leave them alone to hatch. When they do, the hatchlings are on their own till they find their parents."
Sir Guy nodded. "Aye. And I've heard 'tis then that cowardly men seek to slay them, for even infant dragon's blood is powerful in magic."
"And he has a thing about hatchling hunters. Let's suppose one chased him up onto some high place. When he tried to fly down, his wings were too weak, so he fell. When he landed, it hurt a lot. That left him scared of heights. Maybe, later when he'd learned to fly, something attacked hi
m and made him fall painfully again. So deep down, he figures flying is dangerous. But with his background, he can't admit that to himself-so he gets high, which makes his fellow dragons ground him. Shameful, but nowhere nearly as bad as being thought a coward." Matt wandered over to the window again. "It's night, and they're lining up on the battlements. "There's the abbess. And-Good Lord! It's Sayeesa!"
The ex-witch came a pace behind as the abbess mounted the steps. She wore a plain gray gown with a small white bib. A short gray veil hid her hair, and the coif was only a strip of white across her forehead-the habit of a postulant.
The abbess spread her hands, and Matt could hear her voice clearly. "Hear me, daughters! Be mindful of what befell us last night! You will be attacked again with all the evils they have. You will be racked with fevers, cramps, and nausea. Your limbs will turn to water; your flesh may fester and erupt in boils. These things, though real, are like illusions-let your mind be filled with God, and all these plagues will lose their power over you and vanish. But if you cannot clear your mind and heart of all but Him and the deeds you must do in His name, then lay down your weapons and retire to the chapel to pray, that you may strengthen those who remain upon the wall. There is no shame in such retreat, my daughters-only in failure of your resolve through reluctance to retire; for thus would you weaken those who remain."
She paused, looking from face to face. The sisters watched her, faces grave. The abbess nodded, satisfied. "And be wary of your greatest hazard-the urge to hate the things that come in forms of men!"
A low, harsh mutter passed along the wall. It made Man's hackles rise. He felt himself trying to shrink into the stonework.
"You have all suffered at the hands of men!" The abbess drowned out the mutter. "You came here hating, until you stilled that hatred through prayer. Yet that, of all your urges, can most easily be reawakened. Be mindful that the sins of hate and lust for vengeance are our worst temptations. The men who shamed you were but tools of Satan and his minions, and all the creatures you may see before this wall tonight are but minions of his minions. They are enemies, but undeserving of hate or anger. The arrows that you loose against them will lose all power, if they're released in hatred or anger. Strike to save our sisters and those without these walls;, strike to save men from temptation to hurt women; but strike not in hatred or for vengeance. If you cannot forego those, lay down your weapons and turn away this moment to the chapel."
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