Alisande turned to Matt with the determined, absolute certainty of the monarch. “There is no longer room to talk of a personal mission, Lord Wizard. The war has come to Merovence. We must march.”
Mama was incensed. “Why must I stay to guard the castle, Ramón?” Fear shadowed her eyes. “O my beloved, what shall I do if you never return to me?”
Papa took her into his arms, murmuring, “Be sure I shall come back, beloved. With so fair a lady waiting for me, how could I let armies stand in my way?”
“Then why should I not go, and you stay!”
“Because in the Middle Ages, the office of women was to stay and hold the castle—and that because their men cannot bear to risk them in battle.”
“But we are expected to risk our men, whom we love as our lives? Why does not Mateo’s wife have to stay, then?” But Mama knew the reason very well.
So did Papa. “Because she is the queen, and by the magic of this universe, only the sovereign can know with certainty which terrain to choose and how to manage the battle. From what they say, I believe she will do as a modern commander should, watching the battle from high ground and directing the movements of the troops in relative safety.”
“Why must she wear armor, then?”
“Because none can be sure she will not have to fight, herself—on a hilltop or not, she may be attacked, or ambushed as her army travels. You must stay here with Saul, my love, to be sure there is a castle to which our daughter-in-law may return when her war is won.”
“It is still most unfair,” Mama grumbled, but she let Papa’s caresses soothe her anyway.
The soldiers milled about in the courtyard, knights and courtiers riding through them, bawling orders. Against the range of kitchens, provision wagons were loading their last stocks of food and ale. Another set of wagons loaded extra weapons from the smithies. There were no camp followers, especially no prostitutes—yet. Alisande would not have them, maintaining that her soldiers would not exploit women. It galled her to know that the prostitutes would materialize every night they marched anyway, as if from thin air.
She sat astride her mount by the gatehouse with her dukes, gazing out over the courtyard, impassive face hiding the warring of emotions within her—sadness at leaving her home, eagerness for the journey and for action. Matt stood nearby, arguing with Saul.
“Look,” the Witch Doctor said, “how about we make a deal? You stay home, and I’ll go with the army.”
Matt shook his head. “Your wife doesn’t have to march with the soldiers. Mine does.”
“Yeah, but it’s not fair to leave you to take on all the danger by yourself! At least you could let your dad stay home as resident magician, and let me go!”
“Angelique would never forgive me.” Saul’s wife was Matt’s trump card, and he played her unmercifully.
“How about your mother? Why should she have to risk her husband when Angelique doesn’t?”
“Because she’s related to the queen, and Angelique isn’t—and because her baby is grown up now.”
Saul took a deep breath, striving for composure. “Look, let’s try to be reasonable about this. If your parents hadn’t dropped by, who would have had to stay to defend the castle?”
Matt started to answer, but Saul said quickly, “Never mind. Don’t answer. Dumb question.”
Matt relaxed with a smile of amusement. Saul growled a good-bye and turned away. He knew very well that if Mama and Papa Mantrell hadn’t appeared on the scene, he would have been stuck with being castellan without any hope of debate.
Then he turned back, holding out a small gray sphere pierced with holes. “At least take one of my communicators! That way, if you get into too much trouble, you can call for help and I can at least send a spell!”
“Thanks, but I’m supposed to be incognito.” Matt smiled even as he held up a palm to ward off the talisman. “If I’m wearing a bauble that suddenly starts talking, it might make peasants and soldiers a little wary of me.”
Saul didn’t say anything, just glowered. He hated having to admit the other guy was right.
“As long as I don’t look like a wizard,” Matt explained, “people may trust me. If I look magical, nobody will tell me anything.”
“Okay, okay! At least take a good long look every time you pass a puddle, though, will you? I can send a message that way if all else fails.”
“Deal.” Matt held out a hand. “I always did like to take a little time for reflection.”
Saul winced, but shook his hand anyway.
So the army rode out across the drawbridge with the queen at their head and her Lord Wizard right behind her with his father beside him, and with Saul, Angelique, and Mama waving from the battlements atop the gatehouse.
The army’s campfires made a very orderly galaxy, a spiral that lapped into five separate circles with the queen’s pavilion at its center. Inside that tent, she forced herself to submit to her own intuition born of the magical link between monarch and people, queen and country.
“I hate the thought of it,” she told Matt, “but the certainty grows within me that I must needs have a vanguard, a small party going before the army to prepare the way—and that it must be you, that none other stands even a chance of success.”
Matt held himself very still, though his eyes widened. He wasn’t used to Alisande saying someone else was right when she was in monarch mode. Of course, she hadn’t said she was wrong, and hadn’t quite said that he was right—but it was enough. “I’ll sneak out while nobody notices,” he promised.
“I would go myself, but...”
“I know,” Matt assured her. “You’re the monarch, and the army probably wouldn’t follow anyone else. Certainly they wouldn’t be as strong without you.”
“I have sent word to Allustria and Latruria to help. Surely Frisson will send troops, and even King Boncorro may, though I cannot be sure.” Then the queen weakened, and the woman shone through, tears glinting from her eyes. “But O my love, take care! If I should lose you, I do not know what I would do!” She lifted her arms, and he came around the table to lift her into his.
It was several hours later that he slipped out of her pavilion. The sentries spun, halberds raised, but Matt raised a palm in greeting, and they relaxed. As he stepped away into the night, he hoped they would be as alert to people trying to get into the tent as they were to people trying to get out.
The moon rode high, its dim light most of what there was; the campfires had burned to embers and been banked, the ground was clear, the soldiers asleep in their tents. Matt stopped by a provisions wagon to take a pack and fill it—but a hand came out of the darkness holding one already stuffed.
Matt froze, every nerve on edge, hand on his sword. Then he saw the grin beneath the mustache, and relaxed. “Papa! You nearly scared five years off me!”
“I could wish you no greater delight than eternal youth,” Papa returned. “Did you think you could creep from this camp without me?”
“So how did you know?” Matt said, chagrined.
“Because you did the same thing when you were fifteen—sneaked out of the house when you should have been doing your homework.”
Matt remembered. “Yeah. I forced myself to go to the carnival when nobody else would be there, because I was afraid of riding the Round-Up and determined to prove I wasn’t a total coward.”
“So you told me, afterward.” Papa nodded. “Besides, I have seen some tension between your sweet wife and yourself, and knew you would do what you thought you must to defend her.”
“Well, as it turns out, she put on her crown instead of her wife-hat, and ordered me to go.” Matt decided he had to set the record straight. “But I don’t doubt my courage anymore, Papa. I’ve been knighted, and the ceremony’s magical.”
“Literally, I am sure—though even in our world, ceremonies have metaphorical magic, and that is what they are for. I lived through three months of torture at Parris Island and wondered why, but it ended with the Trooping of
the Colors, and I knew I was a Marine. Even more, I knew I was a man.” Papa clapped him on the shoulder, then held up the pack for him to slip into. “Just as you know you are a man, for you have been knighted. Come, let us be off.”
“We always have been,” Matt muttered, but he slipped his arms through the straps, then followed his father through the tents, sneaked past the pickets, and went off into the night.
They had gone about five hundred yards down what passed for a road when a huge dark shape rose up before them to block the way. Red jewels glowed for eyes, and the top of the shape was serrated.
“Beware!” Papa fell into a crouch, a spear appearing in his hand.
“Who is this uncouth fellow, Lord Matthew?” a deep voice rumbled. “Why does he seek to prick me with that pin?”
“He’s just trying to protect his hatchling—me,” Matt said quickly.
The glowing eyes stared. “Him? Yes, now I see some resemblance. Your paternal progenitor, truly?”
“Very truly. Stegoman, meet my father, Ramón Mantrell. Papa, my friend Stegoman. He’s a dragon.”
“I never would have guessed.” Papa bowed to Stegoman. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“And I am pleased to meet you,” the dragon replied. “Your son does you credit, Master Mantrell. He is a true nobleman. You have reared him well.”
“Why, thank you,” Papa said, pleased, “though the credit is at least as much his mother’s as mine. You have known my son long, then?”
“Some years—since his first day in Merovence, in fact. He has mended my wings, and I have carried him on my shoulders.” The dragon swiveled his head toward Matt. “As I mean to do again. How discourteous of you, Matthew, to go adventuring without informing me!”
“Thought I could sneak off without you,” Matt said, smiling. “How’d you know?”
“The Witch Doctor called to me by magic, of course, as soon as you had left the castle! Surely you will not insist on walking when you have such a distance to traverse, and so much of it through hostile territory!”
“Of course I’d rather ride,” Matt said, amused. “Are you offering?”
“Certainly—at the price of being included in your exploits.”
“Just remember, you might be the one who does the paying. Not much chance of keeping you out, if we’re riding on you.” Matt turned to his father. “What do you say, Papa? You always did like flying.”
Matt glanced back to see his father hanging on to the huge dorsal plates, thin-lipped and pale-faced. Matt smiled. “I know it’s a bit more scary than being inside a jet, Papa, but you get used to it.”
“I’m sure that I shall.” Papa’s voice sounded only a little strained. “I do wish we had seat belts, though.”
“I know the feeling,” Matt agreed, “but even if we did fall, Stegoman would loop back and catch us. Besides, with these plates to hang on to and break the wind, there isn’t much that could knock us off.”
A huge impact jolted Stegoman, and a voice thundered around them as they all plummeted toward the ground.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What mortals dare to challenge the djinn by venturing in the element of air!” the voice bellowed.
“Good question,” Matt called to Stegoman. “Head for the ground!”
The dragon had already begun to pull out of his dive. “Art thou afraid?” he demanded in disbelief.
“Damn straight I’m scared! But more to the point, why fight this spirit in his own element? On the ground, we can call up a few forces he might not know!”
“I might have known ’twas strategy, not cowardice!” Stegoman exulted, and dove again. The huge voice shouted angrily behind him.
“Still there?” Matt called over his shoulder.
“Of course, as you know well,” his father snapped. “It was a hair-raising experience, though.”
“There are lots of bad moments like this,” Matt said apologetically.
“I always yearned to be a part of the epics I read,” Papa told him. “At last I have my wish!” He sounded more resigned than overjoyed, though.
Stegoman pulled up sharply, and they jarred to a stop on the ground. Papa winced. “More like a fighter plane than a passenger liner.”
“Look out!” Matt scrambled down and ducked under Stegoman. His father stared a second, then followed.
The dragon spread his wings and roared defiance at the huge being who swooped down upon them—roared fire, and the genie’s clothing burst into flame. Away the spirit sprang, with a shriek that echoed off the hillsides.
Matt stared out from under Stegoman’s belly plates. “It can’t be!”
“Why not?” Papa squirmed up beside him, then stared up. His eyes widened. “It is!”
“I didn’t really believe they came in both genders,” Matt said.
“You should have,” Papa reminded him. “You watched that TV show enough when you were little.”
“Yeah, but not even Barbara Eden was built like that!”
The spirit came storming back, smoldering clothing re-knitting itself into bolero jacket and gauzy harem pants even as she swooped down on them. Her face was oval, her eyes slanted and furious, her lips full and cherry red, her hair a lustrous black waterfall. “For that, you shall roast in your own flame, dragon!” She drew back a hand to throw a whammy.
Matt chanted quickly.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, so eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!”
The whammy hand stayed poised. The slanted eyes narrowed and lost some of their fury. “What nonsense is this you speak?”
“No nonsense at all,” Matt said smoothly. “You are indeed a most fair damsel, of perfect proportion and radiant features, lovely to behold in every way.”
“Of course I know that, but why would you waste breath saying it?” Even so, the whammy hand lowered, and she tossed her head. “Nevertheless, say it again.” Suddenly, she shrank, and when she stepped down to the ground, she was a half-head shorter than Matt. “If you still wish to.”
Matt caught his breath; so did Papa. At normal human size, her proportions seemed even more spectacular, her face even more perfect in its beauty.
Stegoman watched with a cold reptilian eye, his lip curving in silent laughter. He didn’t have to worry about his hormones—it wasn’t a female of his kind.
“Can you not speak, now that I am of your own size?” the spirit demanded. “Do I only appear attractive to you when I am gigantic?”
“Not at all,” Matt said quickly.
“She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From Maytime and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.”
The spirit woman’s eyes became slumberous; her lips curved in a sensuous smile. “You have great audacity, mortal, to so address a woman of the djinn.”
“I’m not telling you
anything you don’t already know,” Matt pointed out.
“True,” she agreed, “but I enjoy the extravagance of your terms.”
“Surely you must be the most beautiful of genies!”
Her laughter chimed like finger cymbals. “I should think so, for a djinni is a male, and though some may be handsome, none have any great beauty. I am Lakshmi, a djinna, ignorant mortal, and there are many of my kind more beautiful than I.”
“Then your kind must be amazingly attractive indeed,” Matt said, pitching his voice low and throaty.
The djinna tilted her head to the side, considering him. “You are a flatterer,” she decided, “but you may prove all the more amusing for it.” She stepped closer, swiveling her hips and moistening her lips. “Do you frolic as well as you flatter?”
Matt caught his breath; the djinna exuded raw sexuality, her movements so lithe and sensuous as to be a declaration. “No man alive could help but dream of such a frolic with so amazing a woman—but if he has a wife, he really shouldn’t do anything more than dream.”
The djinna swayed closer yet, tongue-tip flicking out to pass over her lips. “You have a wife? What a shame! Still, we are here and she is there, and need never know what transpires between us. This companion of yours will surely not tell her.”
“I am his father,” Papa said, almost apologetically.
The djinna stilled, then turned to Papa with a slight frown, as though trying to solve a puzzle. If anything, her sensuality increased. “You should rejoice to see him so bedded.”
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