A Wizard In Bedlam

by Christopher Stasheff

  Core smiled abruptly. "Politely said-in return for which, I'll afford you the same courtesy." He waved his sword, beckoning his guards. "Take him to the castle; we'll listen to his reasonable hypotheses there."

  The laser rifles leveled, centering on Gar. Gar twisted a stud on his armlet.

  Dirk threw himself forward and slammed into the backs of Gar's knees. The big man toppled as laser bolts spat where he'd been. Hugh leaped over them, and Dirk hugged the ground as fifteen churls hurtled after the Tradesman. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oliver and his men closing in on Core's troop from the right, Bertrand's from the left. Startled, the guards swung laser rifles to cover the horde, but too late; leaded fists crashed against rifle stocks as flame-darts crackled, then swung up to crush bone, and the Soldiers dropped. So did a few churls, but the rest of the troop converged on Core. He backed away, sword up, eyes darting about wildly-and the lordlings came out of their trance with a howl and a clank, and went into action like a troop of sardine cans striking for highergrade fish. The churls paused to scoop up fallen rifles, and Core darted free. But Hugh came hard after him, and the Lord turned at bay, chopping and thrusting. Hugh blocked the sword cuts with metal fists and swung like a threshing machine. Core danced backward, just out of reach.

  All Dirk's childhood memories boiled up into hate and lust for revenge, and he surged up with them, charging like a bull. Core leaned back, away from Hugh's fists, and Dirk slammed into him, bowling him over. They landed flat, Dirk on top, grappling for Core's throat. The Lord screamed and chopped down with his blade. Dirk blocked it with a leaden fist; the sword glanced off, cutting. Pain seared Dirk's forearm, and he roared, chopping down at Core's throat, seeing the blood flowing from his father's back. Core jerked his head to the side, and Dirk's fist slammed down into sand. Core twisted and heaved himself clear of Dirk, leaping to his feet. But Dirk rolled to his feet, too, and paced toward the Lord. Voices clamored in his ears, steel rang on steel in his head, but it seemed far away, unimportant somehow; only the sneering face in front of him was real, and the smell of his father's blood in his head, and all that mattered was smashing that jeering face ...

  A huge hand snaked out of nowhere, caught Dirk by the neck, yanked him around, and Gar's huge, ugly face filled his eyes. "Snap out of it! Look-there!"

  Dirk turned to look where Gar pointed, and Core leaped free, running toward the arena wall. Dirk started after him with a bellow, but Gar caught his shoulder, yanked him around, clamped steel fingers on the back of his head, and pointed his eyes toward a large white cloth flapping at the top of the arena wall. "Do you want to live-or have your cause die here with you?"

  Something wrenched inside, and Dirk put Core out of his mind. He was himself again. His head was clear-one Lord didn't matter, it was all of them that counted. He turned toward Gar, but the big man was loping away toward the fluttering white square. Dirk remembered a girl and a signal. He ran after Gar.

  Halfway to the wall, he looked back and slewed to a stop. Core stood at the base of a telescoping stair, hulking guardsmen standing over him with lasers. More Soldiers were leaping to the arena floor, springing into the melee. Above them, guards stepped up at the top of the arena wall, raised lasers, and fired-and, below them, the Soldiers fell screaming. Belloc and the boys, Dirk thought with savage satisfaction. Core was scrambling up the stair, and the churl gladiators were locked in combat with Soldiers and lordlings. Young Lords and churls both lay bleeding on the sand already. Above them, the death struggles went on. Good, and a delight to the eye-but Gar was right, it was time to break up the party. "To me!" Dirk screamed. "Away!" But the human jumble churned away, indifferent to him. Dirk set his jaw against the sudden grip of panic and dashed back, seized the nearest shoulder, wrenched at it. Hugh slammed back against him and pulled away, snarling. Then he recognized Dirk, and his eyes cleared. The guard he'd been fighting raised his sword for a chop at the neck. Dirk leaped forward, swinging his cesta into the man's face. Bone crunched, blood spurted; the Soldier went down, but Dirk turned away before he hit the ground. "Follow!" he bellowed and leaped away. It was all he could do.

  Fifty paces, and he glanced back over his shoulder. Hugh was following, with five or six churls behind him-all Tradesmen. The rest struggled on in the blind passion that Gar had torn Dirk out of, their worlds bent inward till nothing existed but themselves and their enemies. Nothing else mattered to them. Dirk had a momentary vision of caterpillars marching around a lampshade; he shuddered, shaking it from him, and turned back toward the white flag.

  In front of him, Gar was almost to the wall. A rope ladder cascaded down. The giant leaped, caught at rungs, and was halfway up before it touched sand. Dirk hit the hemp right behind him-and heard a roar from the arena, a spitting blast of heat past his cheek. He glanced backmore Soldiers were pouring into the arena, and the front rank knelt, rifles trained on the fugitives.

  And a huge golden sphere swooped down on the arena, sinking to a stop ten feet overhead. Blisters opened on its sides, and beams of ruby light lanced out, gouging holes in the arena walls, walking down in a strafing row toward the ranked Soldiers. They dropped their weapons, and ran-and, above them, the crowd let out one massive scream, rose up, and crashed down on the Soldiers stationed in the stands.

  That was all Dirk saw before he scrambled on up the ladder and over the wall. Before him, the white flag trailed away with Gar right behind it. The spectators were surging up through the stands like a tide; the way was clear. Dirk sprinted after Gar and took it on faith that Hugh and the boys followed him.

  Up into the stands ran the flag, into an exit tunnel jammed with fleeing spectators. Gar bellowed, slashing out with anvil fists, and the way cleared.

  Dirk followed, lashing out to left and right to keep the way clear.

  Then, suddenly, the screaming was behind them, and they were pounding down through dark, cool shadow, echoing, down a curving ramp toward the exitway on the far side of the arena. Gar disappeared around a bend in the tunnel; Dirk skidded into it after him, kicked out running downhill toward a rectangle glaring with sunlight. They went rattling down a long, steep flight of stairs and out into daylight.

  Out across a plaza, heavy feet pounding behind him. Ahead, Gar disappeared into an alleyway between two tall buildings. Dirk bolted in behind him and slammed on the brakes as he saw it was a dead end. At the end of the alley, Gar stood, chest heaving, wiping his brow, looking down at a tall, slender, skirted figure. Dirk pushed himself into a trot just in time to avoid being trampled by Tradesmen, jogged up to the couple. Madelon glanced at him once, then turned back to pounding on a door in the side wall. Dirk shuddered to a halt, gasping for air, suddenly noticed the searing pain in his lungs. He forced himself to long, steady breaths and finally spared time to look back as Hugh and his half-dozen came pounding up behind, panting and blowing.

  The big Tradesman grinned, mopping a forearm across his brow; then the door grated open, and Madelon led the troupe through the doorway, into sudden gloom, blinding after sunglare. Dirk raised his fists, groping, could scarcely hold them up, the cestas suddenly unbearably heavy. Then a wall jolted him to a stop, and he let his arms fall with a sigh, and leaned against cold granite, and breathed.

  Suddenly he was shuddering, his whole body relaxing as cold stone drained adrenaline. The door boomed shut and the darkness was complete. Echoes faded, and, in the sudden silence, Hugh laughed softly, exulting.

  "Aye," Gar rumbled. "We are free."

  "Aye, outside those walls." Hugh almost seemed mocking. "Now! Where is this world you would conquer, Outlander?"

  CHAPTER 8

  The guide led them to a guide who led them to a guide, also incidentally leading them through a route laid out by a drunken snake in a moment of ecstatic delirium, through a maze of cellars and finally down a long, dank tunnel which, logically, should have run under the city walls. Since it was logical, Dirk was faintly surprised when they straggled out into daylight and moist, knee-high grass,
and, turning to look back, he saw the city -walls in the distance. It seemed strange, somehow; things weren't supposed to. work out logically on this planet.

  "One will come shortly to find you," the latest guide informed them. Then he turned and was gone. Dirk stared after him, at the brush and grass disguising the hole in the side of a hummock, feeling strangely removed from the whole thing; it seemed vaguely unreal.

  "So Core lives." Gar dropped down to a seat in the grass, leaning back against the hummock. "And he'll be out after us with a troop of Soldiers."

  "No, not too quickly." Hugh sat on his heels in front of Gar, grinning. "The town will be merry chaos for quite a time, I think. Lord Core and his fellows'll have their hands full."

  Gar pursed his lips. "Yes, it will be a little confused, won't it?"

  "The churls will be in turmoil." Madelon shivered. "Small wonder. I almost ran, myself, when that great golden ball came dropping down."

  "Oh yes, that." Dirk smiled whimsically. "Yours, I presume?"

  Gar looked up, too quickly. "My ship, yes.... Does it matter?"

  Dirk shrugged. "Probably not. Just wondering why you didn't climb aboard-that's all."

  Gar frowned. "There was a small matter of fifty churls to try to save. I'm not in the habit of deserting my fellows."

  "Aye, and good for us you didn't," Hugh said soberly. He cracked his fingers thoughtfully. "I'd have liked to kill a few more-but all in all, I'd rather be alive."

  His handful of Tradesmen muttered agreement. "That thing was yours?" one of them said, awed. Gar suddenly seemed wary. "What matter?" "I'd thought it was the Wizard's tower, dropping down," another answered, staring at Gar as though he were something supernatural.

  Gar smiled feebly. "Just the thing to start a riot."

  "And a riot's just the thing to bring the Soldiers out in force," Dirk chirped, "guarding every byway and highway."

  Madelon gave him a black look. "Yes, of course. We'll have to be careful."

  "Why?" Hugh asked, staring at Gar. "We've our own wizard with us, now."

  "Belay that!" Gar surged to his feet, paced out toward the forest wall. "He said the new guide would come soon! Where is he?"

  Dirk watched him, marveling. Why be upset? It wasn't real, anyway. He pointed to the lip of a trail poking out into the clearing. "If you're really all that eager, there's an exit off that way."

  Gar's head swung about, eyes riveted to the trail.

  Madelon glanced at him, then at the trail, back at Gar, looking worried.

  "Why not?" Gar grinned, shrugging. "Our new guide must know the woods. He shouldn't have any trouble finding us."

  Madelon still looked worried, and so did the churls. "There are times when personal initiative is singularly inappropriate," Hugh pointed out.

  But Gar only laughed and strode toward the trail.

  Dirk shrugged and shoved himself away from the hummock, following. Why not?

  The churls followed automatically, but also slowly.

  Madelon stared after them, shocked. Then she pressed her lips tight in exasperation, and ran after them.

  As he came in under the leaves, Dirk glanced back toward the city. The sun was touching the tops of the towers, coloring the whole landscape rose and magenta. Dirk pursed his lips; the day's carnival had taken more time then he'd realized. "Night's coming down, Gar. Any idea where we sleep tonight?"

  "Why, with us," said a voice from the shrubbery.

  The whole party stretched to a halt. "Who said that?" Gar asked carefully.

  Everyone looked at Dirk. Dirk looked at the bushes. "It didn't sound like a man's voice-and it certainly wasn't Madelon's."

  "I'm rather aware of that," Gar said sourly. "Now, mind you, I'm not one to turn down an invitation-but I do like to have a look at its source."

  "Look, then," the contralto answered, and a huge tub of a woman waded out of the underbrush with two archers to either side of her. Gleaming chestnut hair fell unbound to her shoulders. Her eyes were small, almost hidden in folds of fat, as was her mouth. She had a pug nose, scarcely noticeable. She wore a hooded robe, the color of walnut juice, over a beige tent of a dress. But her step was firm, and she spoke with the authority of a general. Her archers wore brown leather jerkins and tan hose, plus well-stocked quivers and longbows-nocked, at the moment.

  The woman stopped a few feet from Gar and searched his face, frowning. Then she nodded, satisfied. "I am Lapin. You are welcome to our poor hospitality, though I'd rather you'd waited our coming."

  "So would Lord Core," Gar said sourly.

  "Gar, be still!" Madelon hissed. But Lapin's eyes turned hard and opaque. She turned her head toward Dirk. "I believe I should resent that."

  Dirk stared back, at a loss for words; but a voice behind him said, "No need, Mother Lapin," and Hugh stepped toward the huge woman, grinning. "Forgive him; he is an outlander and knows little of manners. But he is a good man for all that, and has brought me back to you whole, with several `worthy recruits."

  Gar frowned. "My thanks, Hugh-but I have a tongue of my own."

  "It is so rude you had better not use it," Lapin retorted. "I think you have need of an advocate, and you could scarcely ask for a better one than my own fellow captain."

  Dirk and Gar stared, poleaxed.

  Hugh smiled at them, amused. "Come now, fellows. You knew I was not in the Cages for the theft of a chicken."

  Hugh saw them outfitted when they reached the outlaw camp. It didn't do much for the handy collection of thorn scratches they'd picked up on the way, but it was definitely warmer than the cold night air of the forest. They wore sparrow-brown tunics, rather thin at the elbows, with a few major tears, and breeches of the same ilk. Hugh came back about the time they were done dressingtransfigured. Now he wore leather jerkin and tan hose, like the rest of the forest outlaws, and a grin a mile wide. "It is good to be back to mine own place to bide," he confessed, slinging an arm around each of them. "Now for some honest feeding."

  He led them out of the bushes toward a large fire in the center of the forest clearing, with a spitted carcass roasting over it. Dirk sniffed, recognized venison, and wondered about the "honest" part. His stomach, however, informed him that the issue was academic. Hugh gave him a wooden plate, an outlaw turned around from the fire to slap a steaming, rare slab of meat on the plate. Dirk stepped back, found a convenient log, sat down, and tore into the food.

  After the fourth bite, when his mind had room for other matters, he looked up and surveyed the camp, chewing thoughtfully. The huge fire was the only light, aside from a sprinkling of starshine. The outlaws were gathered around the huge blaze in groups of four or six, fletching arrows with crow feathers, making bows, sharpening arrowheads; and the women, scraping hides, patching garments, grinding meal-or, men and women alike, simply sitting and gossiping, while a few children ran about with bubbling laughter and joyful shrieks.

  Beside him, Hugh was explaining to Gar,

  "Lapin escaped from the Houses some years ago and came here alone. The few outlaws in the wood gathered about her-then a few more, and a few more; there are always a few who escape the Estates. But, about a year ago, they began to come in greater numbers, and more frequently, till now we have twelve-score here in our pleasant forest hideaway."

  Dirk frowned. "How come the sudden increase? Did they say?"

  Hugh turned to him, grinning. "Oh aye; it was they who brought us the news-that the Wizard is abroad in the land again, to bid all churls to make ready."

  Dirk choked on a piece of gristle.

  "The life is not easy," Hugh went on explaining to Gar while he pounded Dirk on the back. "There is constant toil, and always the danger of Soldiers. But there is no need to bend our backs to any man. And, though there is little enough to feed on, we all share equally in what we have; no man holds back the bulk for himself, as the Lords do. No one starves."

  Gar nodded slowly. "Then no one owns anything, but all of you own everything."

  Dirk glanced a
t him, irritated, and Hugh looked puzzled. "Why, what nonsense is this? Every man owns his clothes and his weapons; each woman her clothes and the goods of her household. These they have made for themselves; who is to gainsay them? Do you think we are lordlings?"

  At least Gar had the grace to look embarrassed.

  But he plowed on: "The women own the goods of the household? Not the men?"

  Hugh cocked his head to the side. "How could they? Would they know how to care for such things? I do not understand your questions, Outlander."

  But Dirk suddenly did. The outlaws were a free churl society, the only one on the planet. Their economy and social organization would be the template for whatever grew up after the Lords were thrown out. Of course Gar was curious.

  And, come to think of it, so was Dirk. Let's seeeconomy, a form of socialism. Sex roles clearly defined, but with equal rights under custom-which would, presumably, grow into law.

  But what about government?

  Suddenly Dirk was very curious about the power structure in this outlaw band.

  "I notice everybody seems to take orders from Lapin," he said slowly.

  Hugh turned to him, more puzzled than ever. "She is Keeper here, aye."

  "I thought you said no one bent their backs to anyone else."

  For a moment, he thought. Hugh was going to hit him.

  But the big Tradesman set his jaw and visibly forced himself to unclench his fists. He took a deep breath, turning his face toward the fire. "Lapin governs, but only by the approval of the whole band. When they do not like what she wishes them to do, they complain and protest, bitterly and loudly-and if enough join in the protest, Lapin gives way, and forgoes her wish."

  Dirk nodded, and Gar rumbled, "What if enough of them wished someone else to lead?" "There are those who have wanted to lead," Hugh said slowly, "and the band has discussed it, and wrangled, and argued; but in the end, all but a few called for Lapin."

  "But if it went the other way around?" Dirk pressed.

  "It has not happened." Hugh gave him a very cold stare. "But I believe in Lapin. She would step down."