A Wizard In Bedlam

by Christopher Stasheff

  Dirk let go.

  Core shot back and away, stumbled, and flipped down on his back. Dirk rolled to his knees, unsure of the cut leg, and gathered himself to spring. Core rolled up to his knees, and Dirk leaped, pushing hard with the good leg. Core threw himself to the side, and Dirk went sprawling on his face. He heard Core laugh, and flipped onto his back just in time to see the sword slashing down at his eyes. Frantically, he threw up his arms-and caught Core's wrist with his left hand. By pure reflex, he lashed out with his right, catching Core on the point of the jaw. The Lord lurched back, and Dirk rolled away, up onto his knees again-in time to see Core, recovered and on his feet, slashing down.

  A quarterstaff whirled down between them, cracking the sword blade in half and slamming the hilt into Core's chest. The Lord shot back, mouth gaping, and Dirk clambered to his feet carefully, testing his leg, as Decade stalked after the Lord, murder in his eyes.

  Core stumbled back, turning, caught half a breath, and broke into a stumbling run.

  Decade leaped after him.

  A panicked horse fled toward them, screaming. Core leaped for his life as it passed, caught the saddle bow, and swung aboard, reeling. Decade bellowed and leaped into the horse's path, quarterstaff swinging like a poleaxe; but Core sawed back on the reins, and the horse reared, screaming in agony. Decade's staff whined past its belly. Core yanked at the reins; the horse swung about, came down headed toward the trees. Core shouted and kicked its ribs, hard, and the horse took off like a cannonball, slamming through the ranks of the outlaws, and disappeared into the trees.

  Dirk stood staring after him, hearing the horse's crashing progress fading into the distance. His eyes glazed, and he turned away with the sunken feeling of defeat inside him.

  "Fools!" Decade bellowed. Dirk's head snapped up.

  The clearing was still, filled with windrows of dead Soldiers and outlaws. In the center, thighdeep in corpses, Decade bellowed in rage, slashing about him with his staff. "Idiots! Blockheads! Traitorous dogs! You let him escape!"

  The outlaws slipped back out of his reach with battle-wariness, their faces blanched with the deepest religious fear, trembling at the wrath of their saint, not understanding.

  "Spawn of jackals!" Decade screamed and leaped at Hugh, his staff whirling. Hugh danced aside. Lapin loomed up with elephantine majesty, her face somber.

  Decade froze, staring down at the huge woman who blocked him from his quarry. His face tightened in a quick stab of pain. He said slowly; "I know you. You are chief of these outlaws."

  "I am." Slowly and with great difficulty, Lapin wallowed down to one knee and bent her head. "I honor you, Grandmaster." Then her head rose again. "But why do you curse us? If we have sinned against you, surely our offense was not so great that you should be so much enraged. What hurt have we done? We came, unbidden, to give timely rescue to you and your band. All your enemies we have slain, save this one; and are we so much to blame if we have let one mere man escape?"

  "But you-have-let-one man escape!" DeCade grated. "And that man was a Lord!" His voice rose; he moved back into the center of the clearing, raking them all with his eyes. "Fools! Do you not see? He will ride faster than we can follow, to Albemarle! By dawn he shall bear, word to the King that I live again, that the peasants will rise-and the King will send word to all his Lords-he has magic means for it, let me assure you! When our churls rise with swords, they shall find armies against them, with fire-cannon!" His staff rose above his head, and his voice rose with it, toward a scream, trembling. "I shall not be cheated! I have waited too long in the shadows for this time! I shall not see this world lost again! And there is no way to prevent it!"

  His shriek pierced their ears; the outlaws winced and hid their faces.

  Dirk stared at Decade's eyes. There was madness creeping up there; Decade was going insane! "Can you ring the Bell before morning and make it heard throughout this land?" Decade screeched. "No, nor can I! You have let one Lord escape, and for that, our cause is lost! But if I cannot kill them . . ."

  "DeCade!" Dirk's voice cracked like a gunshot. The giant froze. Then his head swung slowly toward Dirk, like a hawk picking a sparrow out of the flock.

  Dirk stepped forward, limping but briskly, to hide the weakness in his knees. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he knew he had to snap the giant out of it. He saw the blood-lust come into the man's eyes, saw the huge staff swing up, twirling ... and Dirk remembered what he was here for. "Ring your Bell! I can make it heard by all churls, before dawn!"

  DeCade froze.

  Every eye in the clearing fastened on Dirk. DeCade stood like stone, poised to strike, madness still in his eyes.

  Dirk stood firm, staring back at him.

  Slowly, the fog in DeCade's eyes seemed to clear a little. His voice was low and ominous. "Tell me how you can do this."

  "There are wires woven through my belt," Dirk said, fingering the rope around his waist. "Each is a series of circuits, and the frayed ends act as a diaphragm-No matter. It is magic and will send your words up to the Wizard's Far Towers, where they ride behind the moon. They shall send your words back here, to sky-men like me, in hiding all across the land. They shall bear your word to the churls and dig up the lasers. Give me the word you wish carried, and the country shall rise before Core reaches Albemarle."

  DeCade stood staring at him.

  Then the huge staff flipped spinning up into the air, and DeCade split the clearing with a huge, savage yell. The staff spun down at his head; he reached up and caught it and whirled it about. "Our day is saved! We shall yet bring down the Lords! Great thanks, goodmen and goodwives all! Noble outlaws!" He leaped forward, caught Lapin and Hugh by the arms, yanked them back into the center of the clearing. "Great leaders! May all the saints who smile upon bondsmen bless you this day, you who have brought me awake, aye, cared for and nurtured the man who was to be my body, and saved us all from the jaws of the Lords! Your names shall be written in fire, to burn down the ages in glory! Outlaws, remember this hour! That your children, and your children's children, down to the twentieth generation may say, `My ancestor was there when DeCade awoke and called down havoc upon the Lords!"

  He let go of Hugh and Lapin and leaped back, whirling his staff over his head again. "Now, ring the Bell!"

  The outlaws cheered, yelled themselves hoarse. In the middle of the clamor, Dirk dropped down to sit cross-legged on the ground. He untied his belt, handed one end to the nearest outlaw. "Here! Hold it tight!" He rubbed his palm over the frayed ropeend, flattening it out into a diaphragm. Then he pulled the large garnet from his ring and stretched out the long, thin coiled wire beneath it. The stone was shaped like a button earphone; he pressed it into his ear. The belt acted as microphone, transmitter, and antenna; the ring acted as receiver, the garnet as earphone, and the wire connecting them doubled as receiving antenna.

  Dirk spoke into the rope-end, feeling like half a fool. "Dulain to Clarion! Come in, Clarion!" He repeated the message while the clamor in the clearing died, until he heard a rich, resonant voice in his ear. "Clarion to Dulain. Receiving, Proceed."

  "Holding for instruction." Dirk looked up at the outlaw. "Summon Decade."

  The outlaw scowled at the "summon" part, but he turned, waved his free arm. Across the clearing, the giant caught the movement; he frowned and came stalking over to Dirk. "What means this? If you cannot-"

  "I must have the words you wish sounded across the kingdom," Dirk interrupted sharply. "The exact words, to be sure I make no mistake."

  Decade shrugged impatiently. " `Decade has rungen the Bell. Bring down your Lords at dawn; then send men to Albemarle.' "

  Dirk stared.

  Then he cocked his head to the side. "Just like that, huh?"

  "Aye. What of it?"

  "Been thinking it over, have you?"

  Decade gave him a sardonic smile. "Several hundred years, these people tell me."

  Dirk thought that one over a second, then nodded and turned back to the
rope-end. "Uh-huh. Right ... Dulain to Clarion. Copy and retransmit to all agents-General Call, Emergency/Red Alert: `Decade has rungen the Bell. Bring down your Lords at dawn; then send men to Albemarle.' "

  There was no reply. Dirk frowned, listening closely. No, there was ambient sound; the connection hadn't been broken. "Clarion-come in!"

  "Copied." The voice on the other end was strained, almost unbelieving. Then the operator cleared his throat, got his voice back to business. "Hold please, Dulain."

  Dirk frowned, pressing the garnet into his ear. What was the matter?

  "What moves?" Decade growled.

  "I don't think they can believe it's finally happening."

  "Copied, Dulain; will execute." Dirk stiffened; it was the Captain's voice. "What else, Dulain?" "Uh-hold for instruction." Dirk looked up at Decade. "When and where do you want the Far Towers to fall?"

  Decade's face went blank; then he frowned in thought. "They bear arms, you said?"

  Dirk nodded.

  "What quantity on each ship?"

  "A thousand rifles and ten laser-cannon. That's portable, for the churls; the ships themselves each mount four cannon and a hundred bombs."

  Decade's face tightened as he consulted Gar's memories; Dirk wondered if he was getting used to the pain. Decade nodded slowly, still thinking. "How many ships?"

  "Twenty-one-one for each province, and two for Albemarle. Believe me, that'll be enough." Decade stared down at him for a long moment. Then he said, "You have your own battle plan." Dirk nodded. "You want it in detail?" Decade grimaced in disgust. "Credit me with some sense, Dulain. Do as you have planned; I doubt not your strategy stems from the Wizard, as does mine; they should mesh. As to time, bring them at dawn; let all move at once."

  "We can raise the land by midnight," Dirk suggested.

  Decade stared.

  Then he scowled. "Why did you not say so sooner? If you can ... are you certain?"

  Dirk nodded emphatically.

  "Then do, by all that is holy! Let all move at midnight; so much more will the Lords be taken unaware! Bring the ships down then, save for the two over Albemarle. Let them ride unseen till I call them!"

  Dirk nodded, turning back to the mike with a gloating smile. "Amend previous message: have churls bring down Lords at midnight. Bring ships down then, too, except for the two over Albemarle."

  "Copied. Anything else, Dulain?"

  Dirk looked up at Decade. "Anything more?" Decade shook his head, his eyes glinting. Dirk turned back to the mike. "No more, Captain."

  "Copied and over." The Captain's voice suddenly turned warm, exuberant. "Well done, Dulain! If we had medals, you'd get one! How did you ever find the leader?"

  Dirk started to answer, then caught himself short. "Uh ... I couldn't," he said slowly, "so I made one." And, before the Captain could say anything, "End contact."

  CHAPTER 12

  When the sun was setting on a village far to the south, the churl "elder" (he was in his fifties) was leading his work gang home from the fields. As they came, they sang a slow ballad with a heavy rhythm-a work song that any listening Lord would have thought was pure nonsense. Even the numbers didn't make sense.

  When rings the bell, and comes the call,

  (Pull steady, Jean, and slow)

  Then one will run to ninety-three;

  And they will send out three times three,

  And each will go to ninety-three.

  (Jean, run when you must go!)

  As they sang, another churl in a dust-stained tunic exactly like theirs stepped out of a thicket by the roadway and fell in with them. No one seemed to notice, but the air about them was suddenly charged with tension.

  The newcomer eased his way up to the headman. The "elder" glanced at the garnet ring on the stranger's hand, and looked away. "What word, Sky-man?"

  "The bell is rungen. Bring down your Lords at midnight; then send men to Albemarle."

  The "elder" nodded thoughtfully and fell in with the song again. The gang wound on home as though nothing had happened; and, where an outcrop of forest touched the path near the village, the stranger slipped away.

  The men went on into the circle of thatched huts as though it were any other evening. Each went to his own house, but with a stony look on his face. Then the village proceeded to supper, and gossip in the doorways, and mending tools and clothes, as it always did, while the sun finished setting and the first stars came out. When the light was gone, each family went back in within doors, and the village slept-a little more than ninety souls.

  A little later, young men began slipping out of huts, one by one, and out to the fields. When they came to open ground, they struck out running-the easy, regular lope of long distances. There were perhaps nine of them in all, each striking out in a different direction.

  The elder of a nearby village woke in the velvet darkness, frowning. It came again-a quiet, steady knocking. The elder's face went blank; he climbed out of his pallet. .

  He opened the door to see a tall young churl with the light behind him, breathing heavily. The elder scowled. "Jaques Farmer-of-Thierry's son," he growled; there was little love lost between his own village and its nearest neighbor, on the next estate. "More foolish than I thought, to run about at night."

  " `DeCade has rungen the Bell,' " the youth panted. " `Bring down your Lord at midnight; then send men to Albemarle.' "

  The elder's face went blank again. Then he turned aside, murmuring kindly, "Come in. You must take food and drink, poor lad."

  The lad went in, smiling his thanks; the door closed behind him.

  A little later, the elder's son slipped out and went from door to door.

  Not long after, nine young men struck out running into the fields, each in a different direction. By the time the courier set off on his way home, eighty-one villages had been informed, and each had sent out nine more runners.

  DeCade's band slipped through the darkened forest with no more noise than a brisk breeze makes-except for Dirk. He was feeling highly embarrassed; he didn't seem to be able to take a step without snapping a twig. He was indulging himself in feeling mortified when a tiny buzz sounded, no louder than a cricket.

  DeCade stopped just before him and scowled back over his shoulder.

  Dirk pried the stone from the ring, set it to his ear, and tapped an acknowledgment on the frayed end of his rope belt.

  "All agents have reported back," the Captain's voice informed him. "Each has alerted at least one village-fifty villages in each province, a thousand in all."

  Dirk frowned as he tapped acknowledgment; that didn't sound like much, out of 250,000 square miles. "Our agents have alerted fifty villages in each province," he informed DeCade.

  Near them, Lapin nodded in satisfaction. "And each has told nine other villages; each of those has told nine more. I doubted, Dirk Dulain, but you spoke truth-they will all rise by midnight."

  "It does rather look that way." Dirk was numb; somehow the scope of the whole thing hadn't hit him before.

  "I cannot believe it has truly begun," Madelon breathed.

  DeCade grunted. "You will when you see the blood."

  Suddenly a low, deep thrumming filled the air. All heads snapped up, craning back their necks to watch the stars being blotted out in an expanding ellipse. A mutter of fear and awe swept through them, their eyes bulging; then the blot on the sky was gone, and a black ship's gig pressed down on the meadow grass near them. The thrumming stopped; the churls stood, awed and staring.

  Then a whispered cheer hissed from their throats, and they leaped forward, running toward the ship. As they came up, a rectangular section of the side dropped forward and out; bright light cut a swath across the clearing. The churls stopped, uncertain, prickling with superstitious fear, muttering.

  A tall, lean figure in tight-fitting black appeared against the light, surveyed them, then stepped out into the meadow. Behind him, another appeared with a cube about a foot and a half on a side. He set it down and turned back
to take another like it from a third man, who appeared in the hatch.

  The first man wrenched open the crate and lifted out a laser pistol. He held it out, butt first, to the churl nearest him. Hesitantly, the churl took it, and the sky-man lifted out another.

  With a moan of delight, the churls pressed in.

  The churls from all the villages on the estates of Louvrais had gathered, muttering and shifting nervously about, in a great meadow surrounded by woodlots, just below the Lord's castle. Now and again, they glanced anxiously at the sky; but the moon hid its face, and the stars watched, uncaring.

  Two hundred miles away, Lord Propin finished with his concubine for the evening and rolled over on his side to sleep. The girl lay, keeping her face carefully neutral, listening. Even after she heard the deep, even breathing of sleep, she waited; but her beautiful face slowly contorted with hate and disgust. Finally, sure the Lord was deeply asleep, she rose, glided to his wardrobe, and slid a jeweled dagger from its sheath on an embossed leather belt. She glided back through a single shaft of moonlight to his bedside, and stood looking down at him. Slowly she smiled as she raised the dagger and plunged it home.

  To the south, in Lord Ubiquii's tall, moated castle, two guards stood leaning on their pikes outside the Lord's bedroom door.

  A Butler came discreetly down the hall and stopped to murmur in the ear of the older guard. The guard's face turned grim; he nodded shortly. The Butler bowed courteously and moved away.

  The younger man frowned. "What was that about?"

  "It could be trouble," the older guard said slowly, "but not enough to trouble His Lordship. Go to the guardroom and tell Sergeant Garstang to come here with five picked men."

  The younger man cocked his head to one side, frowning.

  "Go!" the older man barked. "Do as you are bid!"

  The younger man turned away, still watching his companion out of the corner of his eye.

  The elder waited till the younger man had passed from sight, waited till his footsteps had faded away. Then he turned, opened the door he guarded, and went in to murder his Lord.