A Wizard In Peace

by Christopher Stasheff

  The two foresters limped off into the night, leaning on one another, doing a very convincing job of looking maimed. "They'll bear word," Miles warned.

  "So will the others, when they come to," Dirk told him. "And we're not about to kill men who're only trying to do their jobs and be loyal to their ruler." Gar rubbed a sore arm. "Ouch! That `holding 'em at arm's length' stunt is impressive, but it hurts."

  "You ... you saved me again," Miles stammered. Dirk shrugged it off. "What are friends for?"

  Miles felt as though he were about to drown in guilt. Here he had been trying to run away from them, and they had fought for him!

  "Well, we're outlaws now, too," Dirk told him. "Of course, we were outlaws before, but the bailiffs didn't know that."

  "And those foresters you let go will bring the reeve's guards down upon us!"

  "Can't be helped," Gar said. "We'll have to hide now, like any other outlaws, and I'm afraid we can't wait to reach these Badlands of yours. What's the best hiding place that's close?"

  "You're in it." Miles spread his arms. "The woods. All the woodlots hereabouts are like streams, flowing into the huge lake of the forest. We have only to make sure we stay among the trees, and we'll reach the depths soon enough. Of course, the foresters might find us even there. . ."

  "And are very likely to find us before we get to the forest," Dirk said grimly. "Well, let's fetch the horses and find a deer trail. If it has room for stags, it has room for mounted men."

  Half an hour later, Miles led them through the woods and toward the forest. He had only been in this particular woodlot once before, seeking shelter on the way to the reeve's town, but he remembered it well enough to know how to go toward the deeper forest. As he went, he wondered how Dirk and Gar had come to be near when he needed help.

  Because they had been following him, of course-to make sure he wasn't captured. They had realized he had been gone too long, and had set off to make sure he hadn't run into trouble! Another tidal wave of guilt swamped Miles.

  Orgoru came into the great hall, and found the tables set. His fellow aristocrats laughed and chatted with one another, and he could see that flirtation was a well-established game among them.

  "Welcome, Prince of Paradime!" called a tall, middle-aged man with a crown on his head.

  Orgoru halted and stared.

  "Ah, how well you look, now that you are refreshed!" The Duke of Darambay swooped down to catch him by the arm and lead him to the crowned man. "Your Majesty, may I present Orgoru, the Prince of Paradime! Orgoru, kneel to your sovereign, King Longar!"

  Awed all over again, Orgoru knelt to the tall man with the high and noble forehead, the Roman nose, whose royalty fairly shone about him. "Your Majesty! I ... I thank you for your hospitality!"

  "Gladly given," rumbled the kingly voice. "Welcome among us, Prince of Paradime! Tonight we celebrate, rejoicing that a new brother is come among us! My lords and ladies, to the festive board!"

  They sat and began to dine, laughing and chatting, and using their silverware so easily and naturally that they scarcely seemed to be aware of it. Orgoru did his best to imitate them, blushing more than once when he reached for a fork of strange design but saw his neighbor take another, or used his knife in his right hand when they used theirs in their left. No one seemed to notice, though, and if they did, they only smiled, amused but also as though at a fond memory, and Orgoru realized all over again that he was only going through what all of them had undergone when they had finally been restored to their own kind, after a lifetime of exile. Strange that none of them seemed to have been born here....

  The conversation flashed and glittered about him, filled with allusions to stories and sciences that Orgoru had never heard of. He resolved to read every book in his room, and quickly, too.

  "I think that perhaps my courtiers spend too much time in pleasure," King Longar rumbled. "We have the Guardian to teach us anything we wish to know, after all!"

  "Yes, but learning, too, is pleasure, Your Majesty," a young prince said (Orgoru could tell his rank by his coronet, larger than the duke's).

  "I can only praise such pleasuring," the king rejoined, "though I certainly cannot object to the sorts you seek from one another, either."

  Orgoru looked about the table to see what he was talking about, and noticed how many men were kissing ladies' hands or counting their fingers, how many long lashes were fluttering, and how many ladies peeked over their fans at men across the table.

  Finally the ordeal of the meal was over, and the duke introduced Orgoru to four young noblewomen, one after the other, each beautiful, none so beautiful as Countess Gilda. Lady Amber was tall and graceful, asking, "Will you dance the gavotte with me, Prince?"

  "I would be delighted," Orgoru stammered, "but I don't know the dance."

  "Why, then, I will teach it to you! Only lead me out!"

  The floor of the great hall was polished to a glow, and the dancers took their places as the music began. Lady Amber taught him the gavotte, with good-natured jokes to cover his clumsiness; the young Duchess of Dorent made him practice the dance, with lighthearted teasing about his long years in exile having robbed him of courtly graces; Lady Louette taught him the minuet, and he practiced it with the Marquise of Corobaer-but it was Countess Gilda who taught him the waltz.

  She teased him into gracefulness, rallied him into remembering the steps, and by the end of the tune, he was whirling about the floor with her body pressed close to his, blushing furiously and laughing at her jests, breathless with exertion and desire.

  "I am wearied, I must confess," she told him. "Come, let us find something to drink."

  "As my lady wishes," Orgoru said, and followed her to one of several niches in the inner wall. "Chablis," she said into the air, and slid back a little door to take out a goblet bedewed with condensation and brimming with a white fluid. She told Orgoru, "The punch is quite good tonight," and he took the hint, saying, "Punch," to the air, and wondering what drink could sound like a blow. Then he slid the door back and removed a small round cup with a handle scarcely big enough for a single finger. Turning back to look at the throng, he almost dropped his cup, for as the couples whirled by in the waltz, he saw several joined mouth-to-mouth as they swung, several others caressing openly.

  "Surely you're not shocked by the behavior of noble folk," Countess Gilda protested. He turned to deny it, but saw the wicked gleam in her eye. "Come," she said, and led him behind a tall tapestry that hung from the curved wall. In the dark recess behind it, she reached up to cup a hand around the back of his neck and pull his head down, and not very far, for she was almost as tall as he. He resisted for only a startled moment, then bent to find her lips with his-and learned how wondrous a kiss could be.

  When ihey parted, she laughed, with a little breathless giggle. "There now! I've taught you two things, and only one of them the waltz!"

  Orgoru opened his mouth to protest that he had kissed -a woman before, but before he could lie, she was leading him out into the hall again, just as the dance ended and several couples left the floor. She stepped back into the circle, holding up her hands and saying, "Come, my prince. Perhaps you can practice both new skills at one time."

  Orgoru stared a moment; then his pulse leaped, and so did he, back to the circle to catch Countess Gilda giggling to him. Behind her, he noticed several couples leaving the hall arm in arm, but he had no time to be amazed or scandalized, for the music began again, and off they went into a mad, intoxicating whirl, body to body, mouth to mouth.

  He was so caught up in the wonder and excitement of it all that he never noticed there were no servants, other than the magic spirits who did everything to serve them, never noticed that the only living people here were all aristocrats. It seemed so right, so fitting, and he would frankly have resented any peasants who intruded.

  It also never occurred to him to wonder what would have happened if he had failed the tests of these city people, or if the Guardian hadn't pronounced him to be
of their kind. He was only glad that he was, at last, where he belonged.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ciletha stared glumly at the gateway, convinced that Orgoru had met his fate. Grief overwhelmed her, and fear of going on without him.

  Something moved against the pale forms of stone. Ciletha stared. Could it be Orgoru?

  More forms moved in the darkness, and torches appeared, showing light over a glowing assembly-but what a sight!

  Ciletha stared, unable to believe her eyes. She thought she had never seen so many dumpy, short, and lumpen people in her life-and certainly had never seen such a hodgepodge of clothes! They were of all manner of shapes and styles, all extravagant, exaggerated. Oh, any one costume was gorgeous, of expensive, luxurious cloth and brilliant in color, but so many jewellike tones together clashed and jarred and almost hurt her eyes in their dissonance.

  Then Orgoru stepped out from among them.

  Ciletha stared in disbelief. He wore a doublet and hose of blue and silver with an embroidered cape of the same colors; his hair was curled over his brow, and his eyes were alive with excitement. A sob caught in her throat as she dashed to meet him. "Oh, Orgoru!"

  He ran to catch her hands, grinning from ear to ear. "Ciletha! Oh, it's so wonderful! I wish you could share it!"

  The word "wish" chilled her. She glanced past him at the squat, soft-looking people, outrageous in their garish costumes, prancing toward one another with glad smiles, pacing with controlled steps that seemed somehow to be parodies of the movements of magistrates and reeves, their chins tilted high, looking down their noses at one another, tittering and smirking as they glanced at her. Suddenly she understood: she could not share this life with him, because she could never want to. "II'm glad you've managed to find what you want, Orgoru."

  "Everything I've ever dreamed of! Lords and ladies, people of beauty and nobility, of refinement and culture! Look at them, Ciletha! Aren't they magnificent?"

  She looked, and shuddered. Orgoru frowned. "What's wrong?"

  "It's been a cold night." She wondered how he could possibly see these clowns as being noble. But she couldn't bring herself to disturb his waking dream; she forced a tremulous smile and said, "There are certainly none like them in all the world, Orgoru. How lucky you are!"

  "Lucky indeed! So have no fear for me, Ciletha-I am where I have always wanted to be! Oh, I hope you'll find your heart's desire, too, just as I have!"

  A tall, rawboned young woman began to move toward Orgoru, with a flirtatious glance that seemed ludicrous on her long, lantern-jawed face.

  "Thank you, Orgoru." Ciletha forced the words through lips gone suddenly stiff. "I'm so happy for you, my old friend! See, I'm crying with joy!"

  "How good of you, Ciletha! How generous!" Orgoru caught one of her tears on his finger and kissed it.

  The courtly gesture seemed incongruous in so earthy a man that she managed to force a smile. "Good-bye, Orgoru. May you find every happiness!"

  "Good-bye, sweet playfellow."

  The "sweet" almost undid her; she turned away and stumbled off into the night, fighting back tears. She glanced back over her shoulder, but Orgoru had already turned away to rejoin his strange companions, who went mincing and laughing away, though they looked as though they should waddle.

  Ciletha fled blindly into the night. When their laughter had died behind her, the tears burst forth. She stumbled through the darkened woods until she collided with a tree and leaned against its reassuring bulk, sobbing with heartbreak and finally admitting to herself that she had fallen in love with the bumbling but sweet idiot-who, of course, did not love her. She herself was scarcely beautiful, but Orgoru, once you looked past the poor grooming and clumsiness, was good-looking, at least in the face-or would be, if he weren't so plump. No, of course he'd never noticed her as a woman-and never would have. No wonder that it was only after he was lost to her that she could admit she loved him.

  When they were a mile or two from the unconscious foresters, Dirk, Gar, and Miles managed to scrape together a quick camp, cutting pine boughs for beds. Each mounted watch in turn while the others slept, but there was no sign of pursuit, no trace of a night-patrolling forester, and the breeze bore them no faint belling of hounds.

  They rose with the sun and hurried on through the woods, as fast as horses could go-a fast walk, but not tiring as quickly as humans would have done. They used every device they knew to break their trail, and though the hounds might eventually find them, they would be very long in doing so.

  By evening, they had come among huge old oaks and elms that towered high above them, leaving very little light for the underbrush, which stayed low and thin. There Miles slid off Gar's horse with a grateful sigh, groaned at the pain in his legs, and told his companions, "We've come to the deep woods. We'll be safer here than back near the road, but not really safe for very long."

  "Which means not at all." Gar looked around. "Can you think of a good place to hide within the woods, Miles?"

  The peasant shook his head. "There are tales of hidden caves with great treasures, whole villages of outlaws, and lost cities overgrown by the forest, sirs, but nothing that I- could really believe in."

  "Not surprising-those are motifs common to folktales in many places." Gar frowned, looking about him.

  A crashing in the underbrush, feet coming closer-Gar and Dirk spun their horses to face the disturbance. Miles whirled to face it, too, aches and pains suddenly forgotten.

  She burst through the wall of a thicket, running with a limping step and sobbing breaths, looking back over her shoulder in fear, and Miles stared, stiff with amazement. He had never seen a woman move with such complete and utter femininity. He was so stupefied that he didn't even bring up his staff, and the woman slammed right into his chest. Then he did bring up his arms, but she shoved herself away, lifting her eyes to stare at him.

  By itself, there was nothing remarkable about her face. Her features were regular, her mouth rather wide, a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her chestnut hair wildly disheveled-but Miles stared again, and found himself entranced.

  Then her mouth opened in a scream, and Miles had to hold his arms very loosely about her, enough to keep her from running, not enough to frighten, as he pleaded, "No, lass, don't fear! We're friends, we'll protect you from whatever-"

  The brush came crashing down, and "whatever" burst outsix stocky men in stained and ragged tunics and hose, encrusted with dirt and grease, four with week-old stubble, three with unkempt beards. They plowed to a halt when they saw two mounted guardsmen facing them, and a peasant thrusting their woman-quarry behind him as he brought up his staff.

  "Just go your way now," Gar said quietly, "and none of us will have anything to worry about."

  The biggest outlaw's face split in a gloating grin. He gave a harsh laugh and cried, "They fear us, lads!"

  "But they're guardsmen!" the youngest quavered.

  "We're all dead men if we're caught anyway! What matter the death of a guardsman? Out upon them!" He yanked out a rusty sword and charged Gar with a howl. His mates took life and charged behind him, shouting bloody murder.

  Gar didn't even draw his sword; he swung his horse aside and leaned down to hook a huge fist into the leader's head as he went by. The leader stumbled and fell to his knees.

  Two men pounced on Miles, shouting for the woman, one with a staff and one with a sword that had so many nicks it was nearly a saw. He spun his own staff up to block, then slammed the butt down on the sword. It cracked, and the outlaw stood staring foolishly at the six inches of blade left to his hilt.

  One outlaw snatched his bow off his back and strung it while another charged at Dirk with a spear, shouting. The spearhead stabbed straight toward Dirk's heart-but he leaned aside, caught the shaft, and yanked hard. The man stumbled into the horse's side and fell. Dirk spun the spear about, shouting, "Archer!" and throwing, hard.

  Another outlaw leveled his quarterstaff like a lance and ran howling a
t Gar. The big man caught the end of the staff, braced it against his knee, and let the butt catch the outlaw in the belly. He sat down hard, gagging, and Gar yanked the staff free.

  Miles's other attacker shouted in anger and swung his staff high. It was a beginner's mistake, and Miles took full advantage of it, shooting his own staff end-on into the man's belly before he could block. The outlaw folded over in pain and sat down hard as Miles danced aside, staff back up to guard, looking about him for more enemies.

  The archer was just coming to his feet, bow strung and pulling an arrow from the quiver. He heard Dirk's shout and looked up, staring, then yelped with fright and ducked aside. The spear missed him by inches.

  Gar shouted, whirling the staff over his head like a windmill, his horse moving toward the leader. The man yelped in fright, scrambled to his feet, and ran for the underbrush.

  Dirk shouted again as he spurred his horse, charging down on the archer. The man howled and fled back into the trees. Dirk pulled up his horse just short of the thicket and turned it back, in time to see two more outlaws running for the bracken. Two others lay unconscious.

  Miles looked about him, saw no more enemies moving, and dropped his staff, turning to open his arms for the fugitive. "There now, lass, you're safe. We won't let them get at you."

  She stood frozen a moment, lips parted as though uncertain whether to cry out in terror or in joy. Then she sagged against Miles's chest, whole body racked with huge sobs. Dazed, he folded his arms about her, amazed at how wonderful she felt there. He had never held a woman before. He looked up helplessly, but only saw Gar nodding in grave approval. Miles took heart and turned back to murmuring the sort of inanities his mother had used to soothe him when he was very small: "There, there, it'll be all right now, we won't let them get you," and, "Hush, now, hush, there's no need to cry, we're all your friends here," until finally she gulped, pushed him away a little, and wiped streaming eyes on her sleeve. She looked up at him through her tears with a tremulous smile. "Thank you, goodman! I can't ever thank you enough."