The Oathbound Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  This time he didn't even manage to keep to his knees; he just fell, tucking in his chin and rolling. He lay on his back, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It did, and the evening sky became clear—-roseate at the edges, and with the first dim stars beginning to show. Pine boughs fringed the edge of his field of vision. He didn't need to get up and look around—he knew he'd see the alpine meadow again.

  Hunger gnawed his belly, but he had managed to find some berries during the day, and even a hoard of nuts that last year's squirrels had disdained—so, what with one thing and another, he was even more exhausted than hungry. He just closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

  He woke in the false dawn, cold and wet with dew. He sat up, stiff in every joint, and braced himself on an elbow as he regarded the beautiful mountain meadow with glum certainty. Yes, he was back where he had begun, and two days' hiking had been wasted.

  Well, not entirely wasted—he had established that Somebody definitely did not want him going back to Merovence. That Somebody would probably be very happy to let him go farther west, though, into Ibile. He just hoped that Somebody didn't regard him as being completely replaceable.

  He shoved himself to his feet with a sigh, stumbled to the stream for a drink, then set off into the forest to see if there were any more obliging squirrels who hadn't come back for last year's nuts. He was sure he'd be drawn to them, if they were there—he was beginning to feel like one of their kind.

  He did find a handful of nuts, and a few more berries. Dizzy and weak with hunger, he struck off again—but parallel to the mountains, this time. He wasn't about to go any farther into Ibile than he had to—but maybe he could find a village with an inn somewhere in this valley, or at least a farmhouse willing to part with a bowl of porridge. It did cross his mind to go back to the little village and ask for a handout, but it occurred to him that the surviving women there might not have a very high opinion of strange men, just at the moment—so he stayed in the valley, and away from the trail. Hopefully, he'd find a new village—or maybe even a road.

  Half an hour later, Providence finally smiled on him—he bumped into an apple tree. Literally. In fact, it took him a moment to realize what had hit him—he was that far gone. He looked up, saw the red fruit, and plucked one with a howl of joy. Eight bites and two apples later, it finally occurred to him to wonder what a lowland tree was doing in the evergreen zone. He decided to take it as a sign that Heaven wasn't completely abandoning him, and took another apple. Then he remembered what overeating could do after a long fast, and pulled off his cloak to wrap up a dozen apples. He set off southward again, resolutely resisting the temptation of the weight on his back.

  He didn't have to resist very long—all of a sudden, the weight was gone.

  He stopped, appalled, then swung the cape in front of him, opened it, and looked in—at its lining. That was all. It was completely empty—not a stem, not a pit. He sighed and threw the cloak over his shoulders again, remembering the Hebrews in the desert, and the manna—how they were to take only as much as they needed for a day. Apparently, he was only supposed to take enough for one meal. The Lord would provide, it seemed. He set off again, resigned to his fate.

  But he did feel much better.

  CHAPTER 5

  A Rare and Surly Monster

  The sun was almost directly overhead, and those apples had been a long time ago. Matt was beginning to feel weak again and was getting into a pretty nasty mood. Once again, he thought of cursing his misfortune, and the Powers that had enforced it on him—even if it had been his own dumb fault for making a vow he hadn't meant—but he caught himself with the words on the tip of his tongue. He didn't quite dare let them out.

  And didn't need to, for that matter. He frowned, listening to a distant sound that suddenly became audible, then died away again. He could have sworn that had been the sound of someone using foul language...

  No. Not "sworn." Not again. Ever. Not without thinking it over very carefully first.

  But what was that sound? Of course, it could have been the wind; he could hear it moaning in the crevices of the pass ahead.

  Then he frowned, tilting his head to one side and listening more closely. That was no wind, that was a creature—and it was moaning as much in anger as in pain. Matt stepped forward carefully, moving quietly, ready to jump off the path at a moment's notice.

  The voice rose again, and Matt froze. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone was definitely angry and outraged. Then the voice slackened off into growling again, and Matt began stalking.

  There was nothing in sight, but the trail angled sharply at a big rock a little way ahead, and the moaning was growing louder. Matt sidled up to the rock and, very quickly, ducked out for a peek.

  The moan blasted into a roar, and Matt ducked back in a panic, sure he had been seen.

  But the roar was followed by words. Matt frowned; he couldn't quite understand them, though they seemed to be in the hybrid language of Merovence that he understood as well as English. He concentrated, trying to allow for accent—and it clicked; he was just able to make out the words.

  "That motherless monster of a sorcerer who set this hellish trap! I'll bite him into twenty pieces! I'll pluck him naked! I'll drop him from a mountaintop!"

  Whoever it was, it certainly didn't sound like a courtier. Matt stepped out from hiding and stalked forward carefully—if it was a soul in distress, of course he wanted to help. Though come to think of it, that voice didn't exactly sound human.

  The words did, though—it ranted on through a series of curses that would have done credit to the most creative sailor ever to work his way down to the brig. Matt stepped around another outcrop and saw—a very singular creature. In fact, he doubted there could be two of them, and if there were, the other one certainly didn't have a huge boulder holding it down by its wing.

  The other wing was beating furiously as the beast tried to pull away. They were eagle's wings, though on the grand scale—a thirty-foot wingspan, at least. But it had the head, neck, and tail of a dragon, and its body was that of a huge lion.

  Matt couldn't help himself. "What in the name of heaven are you?"

  The beast turned his way with a surly growl. "A dracogriff, of course!" it answered. "What're you?"

  "A wizard," Matt said automatically, then leaped for cover as the monster lunged at him with a huge roar.

  "Thought you were gonna sneak up on me, huh?" it bawled from somewhere on the other side of the boulder Matt had ducked behind. "Thought you were gonna drug me and drain me, huh? Couldn't get any nestlings' blood, so you thought you'd settle for one as young as you could get, huh?"

  "No!" Matt ducked up long enough to shout the syllable. He dropped down again and called out, "You've got the wrong wizard!"

  "Wrong wizard? They're all wrong wizards! How could there ever be a right one?"

  "Look," Matt said, trying for patience, "you've got the definitions reversed. Wizards are good guys—their power comes from research and right living. The sorcerers are the ones who get their power from evil."

  "The Devil you say!"

  "That's right. Only I don't—I swear by the saints. And I'm trying to break the habit."

  "I'll bet. And you didn't make this rock fall on me while I was sleeping, to make sure I'd still be here when you caught up, huh?"

  "That's right—I didn't."

  "Sure you didn't! Just like you haven't been chasing me all across Merovence and through these mountains for the last four years!"

  "No, now that you mention it. I spent the last three at the queen's castle."

  "Oh, yeah? Then how'd you just happen to be coming this way right when I was anchored down, huh?"

  "Well..." Matt swallowed. "You remember that `swearing by the saints' I told you about?"

  "Yeah..." The monster was beginning to sound puzzled.

  "I, uh, kinda got carried away the last time I did it."

  "Carried away where?"

  "To Ibile. I mean, I swore
to kick the king of Ibile off his throne, or die trying."

  There was a sudden and total silence. Then the other side of the boulder erupted into a coughing, cawing sound. It was a minute before Matt realized it was laughter.

  Scowling, he stepped around the boulder. "All right, it's not funny!"

  "Not to you, maybe! But from here? It's a hoot and a holler! Eeee!" The monster blinked away tears. "Boy, you sure wanna die young!"

  "Yeah." Matt swallowed heavily. "I, uh, wasn't thinking too clearly."

  "I'll say you weren't! Didn't it kinda sink in that the saints wouldn't let you off?"

  "Well, not at the time..."

  "Not much of a wizard, are you?"

  That stung. Matt drew himself up to his full height. "I'll have you know I'm the Lord Wizard of Merovence!"

  "No fooling?" The dracogriff stared, impressed. "Hey, if you're so high and mighty, how come you made a dumb mistake like that?"

  "Reflexes," Matt mumbled, deflating. "I didn't grow up here, see. I was born in another universe."

  "Universe?" The dracogriff frowned. "How can there be more than one?"

  "Search me." Matt spread his hands. "I only know that there is. I grew up there, where we don't quite believe in religion as strongly as you do."

  "Believe?" The dracogriff reared its head back, eyeing Matt strangely. "What's to believe? There's a good One, and a bad one, and they each give off magic power. Everybody knows that."

  "I know." Matt sighed. "It's like saying you `believe' that when you throw something up in the air, sooner or later, it'll come down again."

  "Yeah." The dracogriff growled, looking uncomfortable for some reason. "Or like saying you `believe' in the wind—or in ghosts."

  "Right. Anyway, I started trying to translate a booby-trapped poem..."

  " `Booby trapped'?" The dracogriff frowned

  "Yeah—it was a spell in disguise. But we don't believe in spells, either..."

  "Kinda dumb, aren't you?"

  Matt flushed. "You could put it a little more delicately. Anyway, when I managed to translate the poem well enough to recite it, I looked up and found myself in the middle of Bordestang."

  The dracogriff just stared. Then its mouth lolled open, and it began to make the noise again.

  "Please." Matt held up a hand, looking pained. "I feel dumb enough as it is."

  "Awright, awright," the dracogriff grunted, throttling down its amusement. "So how'd you turn out to be such a big-shot wizard, if you didn't believe in magic?"

  "Maybe that's why. Because I wasn't raised with it, see, I could look at it from the outside—and I had to try to figure out how it worked."

  "So you could dope it out better than any of the locals." The dracogriff nodded. "That's so stupid, it almost makes sense."

  Matt eyed the boulder. "You might say you're not in any position to throw stones."

  The monster's good humor vanished on the instant. "Oh, shut up," it growled, turning to glare at the rock. "A guy's got to sleep some time, don't he?"

  "Yeah, sure he does. You're just lucky it didn't hit you on the head."

  "Not lucky at all," the dracogriff growled. "He wants my blood fresh when he gets it." Suddenly, it lunged at its own wing, jaws gaping.

  "Stop!" Matt shouted.

  The dracogriff jolted to a halt, wincing. "Not so loud..."

  "Eschew such behavior!"

  "That's what I'm doing!" The monster opened its jaws again.

  "But you can't," Matt cried in a panic. "How will you fly on just one wing?"

  "Better a hiker than a corpse," the dracogriff grunted.

  "Why not just push it off?"

  "What do you think I've been trying to do all morning?" it growled.

  "Maybe you just can't get a good angle." Matt came over to the beast's trapped wing. "Here, let me try."

  "No way!" the monster bellowed. "It was one of you guys who got me into this fix in the first place! Let you near me? You'd just put a whammy on me that'd make me turn belly-up! Stay back there, buster!"

  "But I just want to help..."

  "Yeah, help me into an early grave! Got a thing about blood, don't you? By the bucketful, sure! Come within five feet of me, and you're lunch, boyo!"

  "Now, wait a minute." Matt took a step forward. "I don't mean any harm. Probably your enemies are my enemies."

  "Or you're one of 'em! Get gone!" The dracogriff bared its teeth and lunged. Matt leaped back—and the dracogriff slammed out against the weight on its wing with a bellow of pain. "Now look what you did!"

  "Absolutely nothing." Matt frowned around the monster's head at the rock. "It didn't budge an inch, with your full weight against it. Funny..."

  "Oh, yeah! It's a bundle o' laughs!"

  "No, no." Matt waved the sarcasm away with irritation. "I mean the boulder itself. It's only a foot-thick chunk of granite; and it's more or less spherical. It ought to have at least started to roll."

  "Well, it didn't."

  Matt looked up, eyes widening. "Did you say it was a sorcerer who was hunting you?"

  "It wasn't the little boy who looks after the sheep, bucko."

  "It's enchanted!"

  "Great," the dracogriff snorted. "Just great. You finally got the idea. Give the big-shot wizard a crest for his coat of arms."

  Matt scowled. "I told you this stuff didn't come naturally to me. Okay, so it's magic. Now let me see what I can do."

  The dracogriff stared. "What're you talking about?"

  "Getting that boulder off your wing," Matt said impatiently.

  "With a spell?" the dracogriff bawled. "A fumble-fingered filigree like you would probably take off the whole wing!"

  Matt held up a palm. "A little patience, please."

  "Patience, my tail fin! You just get the hell away from my wing, y' hear me?"

  "I hear you." Matt's eyes never left the boulder. "I've got your measure, too."

  "Measure, nothing! You just get outa here!" When Matt didn't respond, the dracogriff screamed, "Out! I said now! I won't take any favors from your kind! I don't want anything to do with you! Just get outa here, you hear me?"

  "No way," Matt muttered. "I think I see how to do it."

  "Get out, or I'll gnaw you out!" the dracogriff raged. "I, won't owe you!"

  "Well, it's your life—but that doesn't mean I have to let you throw it away."

  "It's not your lookout!" the dracogriff bawled, and lunged at Matt, jaws gaping.

  The wizard leaped back, and the dracogriff jolted up short against the tether of its own wing again. It roared with pain, and Matt said calmly, "You see? One way or another, it's got to come off."

  "The rock?" the dracogriff howled. "Or the wing?"

  "Well, I was thinking of the rock—but you seemed pretty willing to take off the wing just a few minutes ago."

  "That would have been my doing," the griff growled. "Get your greedy eyes offa me!"

  But Matt frowned down at the boulder, pacing around the monster so he could see the rock from all sides—and carefully staying out of range. So he didn't see the faint glint of hope that came into the dracogriff's eye.

  "I've got the spell," he said slowly, "but I'm reluctant to use it."

  "Then don't," the dracogriff grunted. "Just get outa here and leave me alone."

  "Not so fast. I don't want to use the spell because as soon as the rock's off your wing, you might charge out and chew me up."

  The dracogriff snorted. "Not a bad idea. Better get while the getting's good."

  "Well, I wasn't asking for anything major—just a solemn promise that you wouldn't try to hurt me."

  The dracogriff narrowed his eyes. "How come you don't want an oath?"

  "I'm allergic to oaths just now," Matt answered. "Also, I've seen too many people break their most solemn vows—especially the ones they make at the altar. If you won't keep a promise, you won't keep a vow."

  "Funny place you come from," the monster growled. "How can a guy break an oath? You do whatever i
t wants you to."

  Matt just stared at him for a moment. Then he said, "Interesting point."

  He turned back to the superheavy rock. "I don't suppose there's any way to get you to cooperate, then, is there?"

  "Help you get me? No way, bucko!"

  "That's what I was afraid of." Matt sighed. "Okay, I guess we have to go on faith." He didn't say in what.

  The dracogriff tracked him with its gaze. "Whaddaya think you're doing?"

  "Just having a look." Matt began pacing around the dracogriff's pinioned wing, just out of biting range. Satisfied, he nodded, stepped back, raised his hands, and chanted,

  "It's going to rock right off the wing today,

  It's going to rock and a rock till it rolls away,

  This rock'll roll, it'll roll away today!"

  And it did—but very slowly. At first, the rock barely quivered. Matt frowned and recited the verse again, more slowly, concentrating so fiercely on the boulder that everything else seemed to grow dim. He felt the gathering of forces that always accompanied a spell—but they seemed lesser now, weaker, compared to the huge inertia that he felt all about him. He focused his mind on moving that rock, reciting the verse even more slowly—and the boulder tipped, ever so slightly, to the left, then rocked back down a little faster, then up to the right, then back down. Back and forth it rocked, harder and harder, until finally, as Matt intoned "roll" again, it poised, was still for a moment, then tipped on over and rolled, slowly at first, but gathering speed, right off the dracogriff's wing.

  "At last!" the monster cried, its wing slamming up with a whoosh. "It's free—just from chanting a verse! Awright, I'll admit it—you really are a wizard!"

  Matt relaxed, perspiring. "Nice to hear. For a minute, I had my doubts."

  The dracogriff stared. "You didn't know you were a wizard?"

  "No, I knew that, all right. It was just much harder to make that spell work than it should have been." And even harder than it had been two days ago at the village. Matt wondered about that.

  The dracogriff shrugged. "Maybe it's just because...What's the matter?"

  Matt was staring after the rock, appalled. "The rock! It's still rolling!"