"Yeah, all the body-needs are met," Dirk agreed, "food, fuel, shelter, safety-but the emotional needs aren't, and people get twisted inside trying to satisfy cravings they're told they shouldn't even have."
"Yes-love, support, self-fulfillment." Gar nodded. "No system can provide those, though, Dirk."
Miles wondered why his face suddenly seemed so hungry, his eyes so despairing.
"No, but they can at least give you a hunting license," Dirk answered. "Some systems do give you the right to try to be happy, at least to the point of letting you stay single if you don't fall, in love. But that requires a minimal amount of freedom, and here there's so little personal liberty that only the lucky are happy."
"Yes, by sheer chance," Gar said, "when they should have the choice of striving for happiness themselves." He sighed. "I suppose we do owe them that much, don't we?"
"No," Dirk said, "but we're going to give it to them anyway."
"Be welcome among us," the duke said, extending a hand, his manner courtly and gracious.
Orgoru clasped his hand and rose, overawed. "I-I thank Your Grace," he stammered, "but how did you know me for what I was?"
"Your nobility fairly shines from you," said a beautiful older lady, coming up to stand by the duke. "How could we mistake it?"
"Still, we needed some proof," the duke said. "You have shown it to us."
Orgoru turned to look where the voice had come from-and stood, frozen. She was young, she was graceful, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen-and she was praising him! "Your respect for the city, refusing even to darken its stone with the smoke of your fire, and your mercy in sparing the life of the rabbit who might have made your dinner, show 'the nobility of your spirit!"
"Come, join our revelry," the duke bade him, and the brilliantly dressed men and women closed ranks around him. "Sound, music!" the duke commanded, and a harmony of flutes, sackbuts, hautboys, and viols sprang up around them. Orgoru looked about with quick glances, but saw no musician. A chill enveloped him, the chill of fear of the supernaturaluntil he remembered that these lords and ladies were so noble that even the spirits themselves would delight in pleasing them. The apprehension vanished, and he walked in their midst, giddy with pleasure as they sang a song of welcome. The beautiful maiden caught his eye; she cast him a roguish glance, then turned away, head high, making a point of ignoring him.
Orgoru grinned, understanding the game and, for the first time in his life, beginning to enjoy it.
They paraded to the center of the city, and the younger lords and ladies began to dance and cavort in their joy at discovering one more of their number. The moon had come out and turned all the buildings to silver, set against the midnight blue of the sky. They danced down streets of glowing pavement between walls adorned with bas-reliefs and mosaics toward a vast circular plaza. There, where all the grand boulevards met, a great hill rose with one grand broad way climbing its side. At its top stood a tall, round building of alabaster, its dome gleaming in the night, its portals thrown wide, light streaming out, light and music. The glad crowd swept into it, and Orgoru gazed about him in wonder renewed, for all the walls were inlaid with precious stones, all the. panels of the dome were painted with scenes from stories he had heard as a small child, told as fairy tales, but which he had realized held a great significance in themselves. Surely that was Venus with Adonis, that Cupid stealing upon the sleeping Psyche, that Narcissus in love with his own reflection!
But it was to a flat wall that they led him, an alcove at one side of the great curving wall that was decorated with curlicues of gold about a mosaic of jewels, a mosaic that showed no picture of a living creature, but only curves and lines in a composition that took his breath with its beauty.
Then a voice reverberated from it. "Good evening, my lords and ladies. Who is this visitor you have brought me?"
Orgoru stared, frozen in shock. His hair tried to stand on end.
The beautiful maiden seemed to understand; she clasped his arm and whispered, "Our Guardian seems rather fearsome when first you meet him, but he is our mainstay and our comfort, our guard and our provider."
Orgoru didn't quite understand what manner of spirit spoke to him, or could live inside a wall-but he did know that he didn't dare appear frightened in front of so beautiful a damsel. He squared his shoulders and gave what he hoped was a gentle, reassuring smile with a bit of gratitude thrown in-and more than a hint of awe at her beauty. He must have succeeded in some measure, for she blushed and turned away.
"Our visitor has come to live among us, Guardian," the duke said. "He tells us that he is the Prince of Paradime-but we must ask that you cloak him in the glory that suits his rank."
"Certainly," the Guardian agreed.
"Step into the booth," the beautiful damsel told him. "You will feel nothing, but the spirit will take your measure and give you fresh clothing to replace the rags of your disguise."
"I will do whatever you ask," Orgoru said, looking deeply into her eyes, "if you will only tell me your name." Where had they come from, such words, such courtly phrases? Orgoru had never had a way with girls!
But this was no mere girl-she was a lady born, perhaps even a princess! He found that nothing tied his tongue, that he knew how to address a woman who deserved the title of lady; he found that her gaze on him was admiring as well as flirtatious, and perhaps it was that which unbound his tongue.
She blushed and lowered her eyes, but she said, "I am the Countess Gilda d'Alexi, Prince. May I know your name?"
"I am Orgoru," he said simply, then stepped into the booth fearlessly-or seeming to be; his heart hammered within his breast.
He felt no touch, he heard no sound, but in a minute's time, the Guardian said, "Your day's attire waits in the closet in your suite, O Prince-the Azure Rooms in the east wing. Go forth to rejoice."
Orgoru obeyed, feeling that he had missed something somewhere-but he stepped out of the booth, and the Guardian's voice sounded all about him: "It is even as you have guessed, my lord Duke. He is indeed one of your own kind, and belongs among you in this city."
The countess's eyes glowed, the duke cried with delight, and all the lords and ladies cheered. They set off toward the east wing with Orgoru in their midst, singing with joy.
CHAPTER 8
"Welcome among us indeed!" cried the duke. "And in proof of it, here is your own suite-the Azure Rooms! Put your hand to the panel, for no one else's will open it now."
Wondering, Orgoru touched the door, It swung open to reveal a huge room with cream-colored walls and deep blue trim and curtains. Even the people in the pictures on the walls wore blue clothing, and they were all lords and ladies, gods and goddesses, with a few servants here and there to remind him of his station in life.
"Enter, Your Highness, enter!" the duke urged.
"Yes, enter," the countess echoed, with smoldering eyes. Orgoru looked into them, swallowed heartily, and entered. The crowd tumbled in with him, vying for his attention as each showed him a new marvel.
"This is your sitting room. Here you can be alone in luxury as befits your station!"
"Behold your hearth!" An older noblewoman gestured at the small fireplace in the corner. "You'll never need it for more than decoration, of course-these rooms stay warm all through winter, cool all through the summer!"
"If you wish to dine," said a tall young man in scarlet clothes, "here is your table." He touched a horizontal bar in the wall, and it slid out, extending legs to become a table indeed "Only speak aloud what you wish to eat, and you shall find it on the table when it appears!"
"It seems a pretty picture-frame, does it not?" Another beautiful young noblewoman-they were all beautiful, all these people, as he had known they would be, but none seemed as beautiful to him as Countess Gilda-gestured at an ornate but empty picture-frame. "But speak the word, and it will fill with moving images, images that show a whole story. Picture! Show me The Romance of the Rose!"
The picture came to life, w
ith gloriously clad men and women moving about, straight and courtly, the very paragons of gentility. Orgoru fixed the title of the picture in his memory-he felt lumpen and awkward among these people, and wanted to make sure he knew how to move properly.
"Though there are also books!" A fellow prince gestured toward a floor-to-ceiling case filled with leather-bound editions.
"Amazing!" But Orgoru's stomach sank-how could he admit to these cultured people that he didn't know how to read? "This is the most marvelous of all!" The countess plucked a slender volume from a waist-high shelf, opened it, and held it before Orgoru. "See! It speaks!"
He stared down at a pointed shape with a crossbar, while a voice from the book intoned, "This is the letter A, sometimes pronounced `ah.' "
"A treasure," Orgoru said with feeling, and his heart went out to the countess. How gracious, how tactful of her, to show him that he had the means to learn to read at hand! And how deep her insight, to know that he needed it!
She closed the book and slipped it back onto the shelf, then turned to a door, saying, "Here are more wonders." This door opened at her touch, and the crowd ushered him into the chamber. It was half the size of the sitting room, floor hidden by another azure carpet with designs of leaves and flowers, with a huge four-poster bed centered in one wall. Orgoru gawked, imagining lolling in such luxury when the most he had ever known was a pallet stuffed with straw. He felt a hand touch his, and looked down to see Countess Gilda smiling up at him with mischief in her eyes. He stared back, frozen, pulse hammering, but she laughed and spun away to another door. "Your dressing chamber!"
They hurried him in, still vying with one another to show him its wonders. There was a cupboard that made the dirt fall from him, a tub that filled with hot scented water by itself (they assured him that it was safe, and baths within its waters were restorative and were delights in themselves), and another cupboard that always had clean garments for him (old ones dropped on its floor simply disappeared by morning). Instead of a razor, there was a cream to spread on his skin, and when he wiped it off, his beard would be gone-and would stay gone for a month!
"Refresh yourself," the duke invited, "then come join us in the great hall. Only say where you wish to go, and a spot of azure will appear on the wall, and move before you to guide you to us."
"Do not make us wait long," Gilda breathed, reaching out to touch him one last time as she stepped through the door.
They all went out behind her, laughing and joking, rejoicing that there was one more nobleman among them-and another of royal blood, tool Orgoru's heart overflowed with gratitude to them all, for taking him to their collective bosom so quickly, and without question. Yes, surely he would come to join them as quickly as he could! But not in these peasant clothes, this disguise that had helped him escape from bondage. He closed the door to the dressing chamber, kicked off his heavy shoes and his tunic, and stepped into the cleaning booth.
He was amazed how fresh and new he felt when he came out, and that without a drop of water touching his skin! He wiped away his beard as they had shown him, then opened his closet-and discovered doublet and hose that were so beautiful they took his breath away. They were silver with azure embroidery and a short azure cloak with azure boots. Over them hung a short linen garment that was strange, but after puzzling over it for a little, he drew it on and up about his hips, where it clung as though alive. It was a strange and not entirely pleasant sensation for a man whose loins had always gone ungirded, but if it was the custom here, he would accept it. Then he pulled on the glorious doublet and hose and stood in front of his mirror, amazed at the transformation. Here was no dumpy unkempt peasant, but a tall, lean aristocrat with shining hair and a severe, handsome but noble face that he scarcely recognized as his own.
He strode to the door, feeling ready to take his rightful place among the glittering people.
When the sun neared the horizon, Gar turned off the road into a small woodlot. "Time to think of camping, my friends."
"It does look like the best shelter we're apt to find," Dirk sighed. "Of course, there might be an inn at the next village......"
Miles shuddered. "By your leave, sirs, I'd rather not stay at an inn. I know it's foolish of me, but I feel as though if I stay a whole night within reach of the Watch, they're more likely to catch me." Again, he was amazed at his own temerity in speaking to gentlemen before he was spoken to.
But they didn't seem to notice. "I can understand that all too well," Dirk said, "and I'd have to say you're smart. Sure, staying in the woods for a whole night is considerably saferfewer faces to see us, and much less chance of a forester happening by."
"Especially the foresters who're chasing us," Gar agreed. Fifty yards from the road, the underbrush tapered away, leaving large patches of clear ground under thirty-foot spruce trees; their lower branches were bare. Gar drew rein. "This will do for a campsite. Miles, would you go seek wood, please, while Dirk and I pitch the tent?"
"S-surely, Master Gar." Miles went, amazed that the big man had asked, rather than commanded.
However, he had begun to become as much afraid of traveling with them as of traveling alone. The way Master Gar was talking, he'd have the Protector's spies down on him in a week or less, with the guardsmen in tow-and the punishments for speaking treason were every bit as bad as those for refusing to marry. Worse in immediate pain, just as bad in ruining a man's life-what little was left of it would be spent in the Protector's mines. So Miles began to gather wood, then gathered more and more, working his way farther and farther from the campsite. He was careful to hold on to his armload of sticks, though-if Gar or Dirk came looking for him, he would rather seem to be too stupid to know when he had enough kindling, than to have them realize he was trying to escape.
Of course, there was no reason for him not to leave-they had said, more than once, that he wasn't a prisoner, that he was free to go whenever he wanted. They might not even chase him-but Miles didn't want to take chances.
"Ho!" A hard hand clapped down on his shoulder. Miles cried out and twisted, excuses coming to his lips-and saw not Dirk's face, but a stranger's, under a forester's green cap with the red feather showing he commanded a band. Two more hands seized his arms from behind, and the firewood flew clattering.
"Light," the forester commanded, and someone unshuttered a dark lantern. Several other shapes loomed near, and Miles's heart sank. How he wished he had stayed with Gar and Dirk now!
Gar and Dirk ... He remembered how they had played with the minds of the men who had stopped them. Maybe he could talk his way out of this, convince them he was a traveler whose permit had been stolen, lost now, and hungry ...
Then a figure with a hip-length robe and chain of office stepped into the lantern-light and, though shadows made the face grotesque, Miles recognized the bailiff of his village. His stomach hollowed; lying would do no good now.
"Is this your man?" asked the chief forester.
The bailiff shook his head. "Mine was clean-shaven and long-haired; he might have trimmed his mop, but he could never have grown so thick a- No, wait!" He squinted, then reached out and yanked the moustache loose.
Miles cried out with pain.
"By the Protector, it is you!" the bailiff cried. "Thought you'd be smart to cut the hair from your head and glue it onto your face, did you?"
"No, actually," said a deep but mild voice. "That was my idea."
The bailiff whirled, startled-then looked up, and up, to Gar's face. He took an involuntary step back, overwhelmedand Miles saw his chance. He stuck out a foot; the bailiff went sprawling. The foresters cried out, and the hands on Miles's arms loosened. He tore himself free, spun, and stuck out a foot again as he shoved with all his might. The forester who'd been. holding him howled as he fell. The bailiff looked up, saw Miles leaping toward the darkness, and shouted with anger. Then his voice choked off as Gar lifted him by the back of his collar, holding him out at arm's length.
As one, the foresters turned on Gar. Dirk l
ashed out a kick, and one man fell; Gar threw the bailiff into two more, but three others drew swords and charged him, shouting.
Safe in the dark, Miles swerved and spun about. These men had saved him once, and had just done it again. He couldn't leave them to fight his fights for him. He caught up his heaviest stick of firewood and ran back, just as Gar's huge fist sent two men sprawling. The bailiff was struggling to his feet, lugging out his own sword. Miles struck with the club, and the bailiff fell senseless. Miles felt a moment's anguish; he had known the man since childhood, and he'd often been kind. Then panic surged, for Miles had struck an officer, and knew he'd hang if he was ever caught.
Better not to be. He turned to see the last forester slashing at Gar; the big man caught his blade on a knife big enough to be a short sword. Miles shouted; the forester whirled about, startled, and Miles swung his stick. The man fell, but three more foresters were struggling back to their feet. They all fell on Dirk as the smaller of the two targets.
Gar yanked two of them off the ground by the scruffs of their necks. Dirk blocked the third's swing with his own sword and slammed a fist into the other man's chin. He fell, unconscious.
"What about you two?" Gar held them up so their faces were level with his. "I know you have to report what you've just seen, but if I let you go, will you promise to take the rest of the night getting home?"
The men both glanced at the bailiff and the chief forester, and saw they were out cold.
"You could say you've been lamed and had to limp," Dirk suggested helpfully. "We could even make it true."
"No, no! We'll manage to lean on one another!" one man choked out. "Only let us free!"
Gar set them down gently. They pulled their necklines free of their larynxes and took deep, rattling breaths.
"Of course, we'll keep your swords," Dirk said.
They glanced at one another, not at all happy about it, then held out their weapons, hilts first.
Dirk took them and passed one to Miles. "Be off with you now."
A Wizard In Peace Page 9