A Wizard In Bedlam

by Christopher Stasheff

  "And the leader could be any one of them." Dirk flashed the mental picture of the caterpillars crawling around and around the rim of the flowerpot again, and shuddered. He shook his head quickly to rid himself of it. "But some clans would have natural reactions that wouldn't fit the situation."

  DeCade nodded, turned away, and began walking again. "They must be made to understand that silence is necessary till the battle's joined, or you lose all advantage of surprise. So the Wizard sent directions down the ages; he set his battle-plan to rhyme and tune and gave it piecemeal to the churls to sing. Fathers teach these songs to sons, mothers to daughters-and they become a part of the environment. With those songs echoing in mind tonight, each verse called up as events cued it, no churl could set foot wrong."

  "A natural army," Dirk breathed, "bred that way for seven hundred years." He had a sudden terrifying vision of what his cousins could do if they were ever unleashed upon the galaxy.

  DeCade nodded. "And thus the Lords made certain their own downfall. They planned this world well and thoroughly, and made it adhere to that plan down through the centuries. But no plan can include all factors because the factors change, and no man can read the future till it's done. The human creature is perverse, is it not? We always find the road the intellect did not see, nor want."

  Dirk thought of Finagle and held his peace.

  The Lord de Breton galloped through the night with his family and his entourage; their hooves rumbled like cannon wheels through the moonlight.

  As they came to a crossroads, another troop came galloping out, nearly colliding with them. The Lord swore, sawing back on the reins; men cursed and women screamed. Horses slewed to a stop with stiffened legs, churning up dust. The Lord grabbed at his sword; then he froze, staring at the brightly dressed figure at the head of the strangers, recognizing the Lord Montpasse.

  The two troops stared at one another for a long, frozen moment; then the two troops mingled, with loud laughter of relief and friendly insults.

  A few minutes later, a single, stronger band trotted through the night, with two Lords at its head. Five miles later, they caught up with another doubled band; then another, and another. Soon a thousand horses rumbled down the King's Highway, bound for Albemarle.

  Dirk's earphone clicked. He frowned and tapped out an acknowledgment. He listened for a few minutes, then pulled himself to his feet and threaded his way through the packed bodies in the huge clearing, elbowing his way toward Decade.

  It was dawn, and Decade had finally declared a rest. It was needed. Their numbers had kept growing through the night; they'd been joined by small bands of outlaws and churls at every mile. It was a huge motley army, and it needed sorting out-by clans, of course.

  It was also a very weary army. Dirk had worried about that, until the word had started circulating that they'd be at Albemarle by noon-no wonder, the way Decade had been pushing the pace. Dirk was relieved. Okay, they'd hit Albemarle bone-tired but everyone could get at least six hours' sleep before they had to get organized for a night attack.

  Decade looked up as Dirk snaked his way through to the giant and flopped down beside him. "What word?"

  "The Lords ride," Dirk answered. "The ones who escaped are riding down the main roads toward Albemarle. And they're joining up with each other: some of the bands are several thousand strong."

  Decade nodded. "As it should be. Send word to let them ride, but not let them rest. Pick off the stragglers and outriders; that will keep them fearful and running."

  Dirk frowned. "Sure you want to do that? They'll double the size of the garrison, at least." "More, by far." Decade smiled, gloating. "There should be at least three thousand of them come to their King for sanctuary-probably fiveand the castle was built for a thousand only. The King won't need to go outside his own house to find chaos."

  "Not that he ever does, anyway." Dirk pursed his lips. "Doesn't it bother you that they'll triple their fighting strength?"

  Decade shook his head. "Better to have all the rats in one nest and destroy them at one blow." Dirk thought of a nice, tidy little tactical bomb dropping down on the packed castle, and he shuddered. "You sure you-"

  "Send the word," Decade snapped. "This, too, the Wizard planned, Dirk Dulain."

  Dirk frowned up at him, wondering if there was anything of Gar left at all in the huge body. Then he met Decade's flinty stare and decided not. He stood up and wormed his way through to a clear space, and sent the message. Could've done it there, with Decade, of course; but somehow he just didn't want to be near the big man right now....

  "He is a wonder, is he not?"

  Dirk looked down toward the voice and saw Madelon. Instantly, his face lost all expression. "I suppose so," he said slowly, "but not quite a miracle, if that's what you mean. Not quite." She glared up at him. "How can you say that? Surely it is a miracle for a man to come alive again in another's body!"

  "Not when the `miracle' is helped a little by machines."

  "Machines! What machines were there, in DeCade's great cave?"

  "His staff." Dirk ignored her shocked stare and sat down beside her. "I took a look at it while it was still broken. There are tiny wires inside it, and each of them is a string of circuits-off-world magic. I didn't know what kind of machine it was, but now I think I do."

  "Oh? And what, may I ask, would it be?"

  "A psionic recorder and amplifier. When Decade held that staff five hundred years ago, it recorded his thoughts through the brass bands on it. So there they lay, for five hundred years, waiting for somebody to grab hold of the conductors and put the two broken ends together, completing the circuit. Apparently three ordinary men tried-and it poured Decade's memories into them through their hands. Their nervous systems couldn't take two personalities at once; the men died from shock."

  Madelon's eyes widened. "But did you not tell me Gar was a psycha-psychometter . . ."

  "A psychometrist. Yes. He could've picked up Decade's memories just from touching the. staff, even without a recorder."

  "So when he did touch the staff . . ." she whispered.

  Dirk nodded. "He got the whole thing. Not just Decade's memories added to his own-he got Decade. All of him-the whole personality."

  "He became Decade," she breathed. Then she frowned. "But if he is this thought-reader you speak of, would not the staff have killed him more surely than the others?"

  Dirk nodded. "Ordinarily, yes. But he wasn't in his ordinary state at the time, you see-his mind had withdrawn into some remote corner of his brain. His whole nervous system was clear for Decade to charge into. He found a mind like a blank sheet of paper-so he wrote on it."

  "And came alive again." She turned to look at Decade, where he sat on a log across the clearing, occasionally visible through the weaving bodies. "But-Gar's mind is still in him?"

  "Oh yes. You've heard him say it-that he has the memories of the man who owned the body. But more than that-he's got the personality, too, probably still walled off in its corner-and every now and then, I think it tries to get out. When he turns silent and just stands there, scowling as though he's got a headache, I think Gar's trying to come through. From what I've heard of Decade, he's pretty much of a hothead-act first and think later. But Gar goes at it the other way around-when the time comes for action, he's got it all thought out and ready. No, he's still there-and, at a guess, he's accepting the whole thing-for now, anyway. He knows this is his one chance to get a revolution going on this planet and that it won't succeed without his thinking backing up Decade's actions."

  Madelon stared at him, scandalized by heresy; then she frowned thoughtfully and turned to gaze at the giant where he sat, head bowed, hands on the brass bands of the staff laid across his thighs. "Are they speaking to one another now, inside his head, where none can see or hear them? Are they working out a plan together--or warring?"

  "I don't know," Dirk frowned down at her, notingthe look in her eyes-awed, worshipful-and realized he'd made his own case worse. Decade alone s
he might worship, but she'd never have thought of touching him; you don't try for an affair with a god. But now Dirk had put the thought in her head that DeCade wasn't quite infallible-and, worse, that there was an ordinary, accessible mortal inside his body. And one, moreover, that she'd been extremely interested in, anyway. Resentment tightened into resolution; Dirk stood up. "I don't know," he said again, "but I think I'll' find out." And he strode away across the clearing; ignoring her startled protest.

  DeCade still sat silent, frowning in concentration. Dirk hesitated as he came up to the giant, then sat down slowly and waited.

  After a time, DeCade shook his head and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and looked up at Dirk. "What troubles your mind; Outlander?"

  Dirk frowned back at him thoughtfully, trying to find a place to begin. What did you say to a man of two minds? "Hi, there! Can I speak with your better half?"

  "You are not sure of me, are you?" DeCade said suddenly.

  Dirk stared for a moment, taken aback. Then he smiled slowly. "No more than you are of me, DeCade-and you aren't, or you wouldn't call me `Outlander.' "

  DeCade held his gaze a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yet you would not deny that you are an outlander."

  Dirk shook his head. "I'm a churl born, like the rest of you. From my tenth year I've lived among the sky-men, true; but I'm still a churl."

  DeCade shook his head, too. "Not like the rest of us, no. You know the secrets of the sky-men, and you have known freedom. You are apart from us, Dirk Dulain-no matter your birth and your childhood."

  Dirk bit down on his anger. He knew the cause: DeCade was right.

  "So much for yourself." DeCade stared intently into his eyes. "Why do you doubt me?"

  "Oh, I don't. I believe you're DeCade-but. . ." He pursed his lips, staring back into the giant's eyes. "Did you sleep well?"

  DeCade shrugged impatiently. "What is a sleep? The light goes; then it comes again and you wake. There were no dreams, Dulain-only three spots of light, down the centuries: Fools-petty, ambitious, grasping fools---who took up my staff in hopes of becoming kings. They were small men, and weak; they could not contain me within them." "But this man--Gar--can," Dirk said softly.

  DeCade nodded. "He is truly a man, as great as ever I was." A -shadow of doubt crossed his face. "Perhaps greater . . ." He shrugged, irritated. "No matter. We are two strong men; we have two sources of strength to guide this people now." His eyes had become compelling, almost hypnotizing. "We are both here, you see-both in this body. I speak now, my will rules-but only because this fellow-Gar, as you call him-is wholly behind me and with me."

  Dirk heaved a sigh of relief, which surprised him; he hadn't realized he was that uncertain about Gar's survival. "Well ... I'm glad you two worked things out between you . . ."

  DeCade grinned. "Oh, there was something of trouble at first-a few seconds only, to you, but hours to us. Both of us were startled, alarmedand very ready to fight. Your friend came boiling out of his hole to crush the invader, and we locked horns almost eagerly, and strained, feinted, countered and struck-till, from the wrangle, he realized whom he was fighting and why I was with him. I shocked him out of a sleep, too, you see; but presently he knew me."

  "Yes," Dirk said slowly, "he would be good at reading people, wouldn't he?"

  DeCade frowned. "How much did you know of this man?"

  "A lot-though I didn't realize it soon enough. I figured out he was a mindreader, and a man who read minds from their artifacts-but only when it was too late.... So you're both there, both within the same body, both still alive?"

  DeCade nodded. "Yes. And because of that, I trust you more than any of these others."

  Dirk frowned. "Would you mind explaining that?" DeCade turned, looking out over the camp. "I know I can trust them, in that they will do whatever I say; the Wizard did his work well-better than he promised me. But they are loyal to a legend, a rumor, to a thing greater than human that the Wizard's songs have built down the centuries. Theirs is blind, unquestioning obedience and faith-and the part of me that is like them is warm with their love and trusting. But . . ." His eyes swung back to Dirk. "There is another part of me now, with memories I never lived through; and that part is like you: an outlander."

  Dirk nodded slowly. "And that part knows that I'm loyal not out of faith, but from reason." DeCade grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. Dirk picked himself up off the ground and looked up at the giant, whose face had turned grim. "The others will do as I say, blindly, unthinking. But you will question me if I may be wrong."

  Dirk nodded. "Oh yes. You can bet on that. I know a little about the Lords that they don't, you see."

  DeCade nodded. "Yes. You have studied these Lords from the sky since I died, have you not?" His brows drew down. "Question me indeed, if you think I am wrong-but do not do it at the wrong time."

  Dirk stared up into the burning eyes, and felt a chill down his back.

  The Lords and their Gentlemen rode up to Albemarle, their women and children in their center. As they came near the town, they watched the roadsides in fear and suspicion; they trotted their horses, ready to break into a gallop at the first cry of alarm. They clumped together in the center of the highway; the shoulders had become very treacherous.

  But they began to mutter to one another as they rode out of the forest; they had ridden through two miles ideal for ambush, and no deadly hail of arrows had come. Only an occasional man disappeared from their fringe. And that made them even more fearful and uncertain; why would the churls let them ride unmolested? The more contemptuous among them put it down to cowardice-the churls would not attack them now, when they were awake, clad in armor, mounted, ready for battle. Others suggested the peasants had sickened of battle already and gone home to their cottages. Only a few of the older, grimmer hearts were seized with foreboding; they knew some excellent military head had planned the assaults on the castles, and if that tactician were letting them gather together all in one place, what did he plan? But there was nothing else to do; if they scattered to strong places, the churls would cut them down one by one. .

  So they rode to Albemarle.

  But these realists were few. Most spirits began to rise as they rode out of the forest, across the river and up the road that wound up the hill to high Albemarle. As they climbed, they began to sing; some began to joke and laugh. This slackened as they rode through the King's Town, eyeing the shuttered houses and shops warily. Then one man began to sing a battle song; others joined in, and, as they rode through the high gate beneath the grim portcullis, they began to believe they might yet put down this rebellion.

  So they came into Albemarle in bands of hundreds, the tattered remnants of thousands; but they came into Albemarle with laughter and song.

  But there was song in the forests, too, where renegade Soldiers and freed churls, outlaws and Guildsmen sat around their fires, chanting the Lay of Decade.

  CHAPTER 13

  The churls had slept for six hours and come awake as the sun was going down. Most of them brought out biscuits and cheese from their wallets and made a supper. A small army of old men moved among them, distributing food from nearby estates, to those who hadn't brought any; but they were bitter about being too old to contribute more than food. As they went, they reminded the churls to eat lightly; there was hard work coming.

  Hugh, Lapin, and Madelon came pacing up to Decade, where he sat alone on his log. Dirk looked up, saw, and hurried to join them.

  "There are five thousand Lords and their men come into Albemarle," Lapin was saying as he came up. "There were a thousand before; now there are six."

  DeCade nodded. "What of their churls?" "They went out when the Bell was rungen," Hugh reported, "though they longed to stay and turn upon their Lords."

  DeCade shook his head firmly. "No. We must have a baited trap for our rats."

  Hugh shrugged. "Most of them are here among us. We have eleven thousand churls within this wood and spread throughout the fields around and abo
ut."

  "Eleven thousand to six?" Dirk frowned. "Not good odds when they've got laser cannon." DeCade shook his head. "Their cannon cannot shoot straight down, and we shall be beneath their walls before they realize we have come. Indeed, their cannon should be ours before they sound the alarm."

  Dirk scowled. "Don't have much faith in their sentries, do you?"

  "Not greatly, but I have great faith in my outlaws." DeCade turned to Hugh. "Did you discover how their cannon are mounted?"

  "Aye, we have many of the King's Soldiers here, now." Hugh sounded a little nervous as he said it; old habits die hard. "They will not turn about."

  DeCade grimaced with exasperation. "Then we can only capture them; we cannot use them to keep the courtyard clear."

  Lapin shrugged. "We will .do well enough, Grandmaster. Once our outlaws have scaled the walls and taken out the sentries, they may shoot down upon the courtyard with their new lasers." "And the Lords may fire down on them from the central keep," DeCade said dourly. "Still, it will be some cover, and it may give the churls time to charge the gate."

  "We will have it open for them," Hugh promised. He grinned. "There will be great fighting in the King's grand hall."

  "And in the courtyard," DeCade pointed out. "Once our own men are there, we cannot fire upon it."

  "Neither shall the Lords," Lapin said grimly. "Our firebeams shall keep them from their Tower windows-never fear."

  DeCade nodded sardonically. "So they shall come out to the courtyard, to give us welcome." He turned to Dirk. "That is when your towers must drop down, to overawe them."

  Dirk shook his head. "Won't work. They'll know we wouldn't fire on our own."

  "But we shall," Lapin said harshly. Dirk stared at her.

  The huge woman shrugged impatiently. "If we die, we die. Death in battle, or death from a lordling's whim-what difference?"

  "That is a source of strength," DeCade agreed. "Are all our people divided up by bands, and captains and lieutenants appointed?"