The Oathbound Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  Matt felt his scalp prickling. "What? The land has become an extension of his nervous system? He just knows?"

  "Well, not so bad as that," Fadecourt allowed. " 'Tis said he spies by means of a magical mirror—so he must look ere he can see. Moreover, he must know that a person exists, ere he can spy upon him. Indeed, 'tis certain there are places even Gordogrosso cannot peer into—though no one is sure where they may be."

  Matt's skin crawled as though he could feel someone peering down his back. "This isn't exactly building an overwhelming enthusiasm in me for this job."

  "Oh, you must not give it over!" The cyclops leaned forward, reaching out toward Matt. "You are the best hope Ibile has had in a generation! Nay, valiant Wizard, I beseech you! Leave not the people of Ibile to toil in misery and sorrow! Come, and come quickly, to their aid! Defeat Gordogrosso and his evil sycophants!"

  "Well...I...I'd be glad to," Matt managed, "but I'm only one man. Conceited though I may be, even I don't think I can take on the magic and might of a whole country, and win!"

  "You shall have aid, every iota that we folk of Ibile can bring you! I myself will stand at your right hand and do all that I can to cast down your enemies! Only do what you must to save our land from corruption and Hell—even if you must take the crown yourself, to do it!"

  Well! Matt couldn't have asked for a better invitation. Not that he had given up on the idea of winning a kingdom for himself, mind you, and thereby winning Alisande—but it certainly helped to be invited. Politics being what it is, it strengthened his position to have some shred of legitimacy to his claim. Probably helped his position magically, too, since magic here was based on right and wrong. "All right," he said magnanimously, "I'll give it a try,"

  After all, the angel hadn't said he couldn't, had it?

  CHAPTER 9

  The Siege Parlous

  The soldiers had burned out the village and left the bodies to rot. Most of them had been so thoroughly charred that there wasn't much left to decay, but the positions of the blackened bones, and of the few intact but putrefying bodies, made clear what the soldiers' idea of fun had been.

  It sent Narlh into a towering rage. "Where did they go? Evil! Corrupted! Back-stabbing, treacherous, wanton lumps of decay! Show me their trail! I'll hunt 'em down! I'll fry 'em all! I'll tear 'em apart and roast the pieces!"

  "Easy, Narlh, easy!" The dracogriff's sudden rage had Matt more than a little frightened. "They did this a week ago, or more. They're far away now. It wouldn't do any good to..."

  "It would do me a lot of good!"

  "Revenge will not aid these poor souls now," Fadecourt said.

  "Killing those two-legged monsters would keep them from doing this to any other women! They did that to females of their own kind! It's bad enough when males do it to females from another species—but their own?"

  Now Matt understood—the evidence of rape reminded Narlh too strongly of his own begetting. "Well, then, don't stop with killing off one band, Narlh. Kill off their king, the one who allows his soldiers to do this in the first place."

  "Allows?" Fadecourt scoffed. "Nay, encourages! Exhorts! That none will dare turn their hands against him. Save your anger for the one who sets the example that these vicious underlings follow!"

  "Vicious isn't the word for them! Look at those bodies! Even the men! Rape wasn't enough for them—they had to torture these poor people, too! And what'd they do to deserve it, huh?"

  "Served a lord that the king disliked," Fadecourt answered, "whether they would or no. Nay, the long and the short of it is, there was none to defend them from the soldiers' decaying taste in amusements."

  Narlh turned a baleful glare on them. "Your kind is twisted! Warped! Vile!"

  "No argument," Matt muttered. "Come on, let's get out of here while I'm still more angry than sick." He picked up the pace, trying not to look either right or left until they had passed out of the village.

  "Men can be good, dracogriff," Fadecourt was saying as they emerged. "What you have seen is what men can become, when they let their baser desires free."

  "And when someone encourages them to be cruel and decadent," Matt growled. "When someone starts telling them that hurting other people is fun, and it's okay to have fun at somebody else's expense. The worse they get, the worse they find themselves wanting to be."

  "Aye," Fadecourt rumbled. " 'Tis when someone tells them that good is bad, and wrong is right."

  "I'll flay him!" Narlh growled. "I'll tear him apart!"

  "People can be twisted so badly that they enjoy hurting other people, Narlh," Matt said. "It's called `sadism.' "

  "Sad? It's horrible! Do they have to do it?"

  "No. It's a strong drive, but it only gets to be a compulsion in the worst of them. Most people can keep it in bounds, because by the time they've grown up, they've learned it's wrong. But these people have grown up with a king who tells them cruelty is right, as long as there's a good chance they can get away with it."

  "So if you show 'em they won't get away with it, then they'll stop! And the best way to show 'em that is to kill off the ones who do it!"

  "Maybe—but there's no point in trying, as long as someone's protecting them from justice. You have to start with the one at the top."

  "Let me at him!"

  "I'll try," Matt said. "But first, we have to get to him." Their first view of the village had been bad enough—Matt would have avoided it, if he'd been able to see it far enough ahead. But no, the trees had suddenly opened out, and they had found themselves in the middle of the char and soot. Matt wondered how many more like it he'd pass, before they reached Orlequedrille. There couldn't be too many, he told himself frantically—the noblemen had to have some taxpayers left. What good was owning the land, if you didn't have anyone to farm it? It made Matt edgy. Gordogrosso's forces were obviously in the vicinity, and if Fadecourt was right, the king could see everything that was going on in Ibile—so how come Matt and his friends hadn't been attacked by an army?

  Finally, he tried the idea out loud—but with as much casualness as he could manage. "Any idea why the king hasn't sent an army after us yet?"

  "Why," Fadecourt said in surprise, "he may not know that we are here. He must look in his magic mirror before he can see, you know."

  Matt shook his head. "I've tried to hold down on the magic, but I have used a few spells in the last few days, and most of them have been to fight evil deeds. That kind of thing is bound to draw his attention."

  "How so?" Fadecourt asked, frowning.

  "Because a magician can tell whenever another one is working magic nearby," Matt explained. "At least, that's what happened to me in Merovence. I should think it would work just as well here."

  "It may be as you say," Fadecourt said slowly, "but you did say `nearby.' Would the king be able to feel your magic, all the way across the land in Orlequedrille?"

  "Good point," Matt said slowly. "But I'd think the local baron could, and that he would pass the word on to Gordogrosso. I'd also expect him to come charging out with an army of his own."

  "The local lord is penned within his own castle," Fadecourt explained, "and the king's soldiers besiege him. What you say may be true, but the lord cannot come out against you—nor is he likely to, if you oppose the king. The more confusion among his attackers, the better for him."

  "Good point," Matt said slowly, "but wouldn't there be a sorcerer among the besiegers?"

  "Aye, but he cannot move without Gordogrosso's command. He may tell the king of your presence, but His Corruption is not apt to weaken the siege by sending more than a handful of soldiers after you."

  "Okay," Matt said. "Where's the handful?"

  Fadecourt shrugged. "Mayhap they think you too small to bother with."

  "These boys don't seem the kind to let anything pass, no matter how small." Matt remembered the village.

  Fadecourt shrugged. "For myself, I would attribute your safety to the intervention of the saints. They have not completely abandoned Ib
ile, you know."

  "Even though Ibile may have completely abandoned them. Yes."

  "Would not the saints favor you, and wish to aid you in your quest?"

  "You could say that," Matt said with a sardonic smile, remembering the angel. "Yes, you could say so." And he let it go at that—temporarily.

  They were riding down the mountain trail when Matt suddenly reined in. "Hold on! What am I thinking of?"

  "I'll bite," Narlh grunted. Fadecourt and Matt shot him looks of horror, and he said quickly, "No, no! I mean, I'll ask the question. `All right, Wizard—what are you thinking of?' "

  Matt relaxed. "It's what I'm not thinking of that matters. The siege! Here I've had it made plain every day to me, time and again, that there's a siege going on, with besiegers who have all the virtue of piranhas in heat, and all I can think of is, `That's interesting. Good place to stay away from.' But if I'm really meaning to fight evil in this country, I ought to be going toward that siege, to see if I can help out any! Fadecourt, you've just come through that stretch of country. Can you lead us to the castle?"

  Fadecourt exchanged a glance with Narlh. "I can, aye—yet whether or not 'twould be prudent, I must debate."

  "Oh, it's anything but prudent! This whole quest is anything but prudent. I mean, if I'd been prudent, I never would have sworn to go kick Gordogrosso off his throne in the first place, would I?"

  "Even allowing that," the cyclops said, "it may be that you should bypass this conflict. Is not the greater villain the more vital target? And should you risk your safety, let alone your anonymity, in attacking a lesser?"

  "Oh, come on! That's the kind of thinking that's gotten this country into this mess! Of course we should attack evil wherever we find it! Trying to be smart, and becoming callous in the process, is playing into the sorcerer's hands!"

  "I s'pose," Narlh grumped. "But it could be you're going after bait, you know."

  "Bait?" Matt frowned. "You don't really think the king would mount a siege just to sucker me in, do you?"

  "If he knew you were coming? Sure! From what I've heard of him, he's done a lot bigger setups for a lot smaller reasons!"

  "Why hit a fly with a swatter when you could use a shotgun, huh?" Matt nodded. "Doesn't sound like a smart ruler, though."

  "Nay, but think of it as a cat playing with a mouse," Fadecourt explained. "He derives such miserable pleasure as he may, from allowing his victims a maze in which to wander."

  Matt frowned. "You're beginning to sound convincing."

  "Yeah, well, it could also be that neither side is worth fighting for," Narlh pointed out. "You know how a man gets to be nobility here?"

  "Why...he gets born. Doesn't he?"

  "Sure, and he gets killed off fast, if he doesn't show any sign of being just as cruel as his papa is," Narlh snorted. "'Nobility' in Gordogrosso's Ibile means being more brutal than the brutes and more merciless than the mercenaries."

  "He speaks truth," Fadecourt said, his voice low. "Only those who delight in cruelty, and are swift to strike and slow to repent, become knights of Gordogrosso's liege men. And to become a baron, one must be also harsh and ruthless, and skilled in treachery."

  Matt frowned. "Then how can Gordogrosso trust his vassals?"

  "He cannot. He trusts them to seek their own advantage, and leads them by the force of their own greed."

  "So he can trust them to do what's best for themselves," Matt said, glowering, "and he makes sure following his orders is in their greatest self-interest."

  "Aye," Fadecourt said. "So if you would help a lord who is besieged, you would be aiding one villain against another who besets him."

  "Choosing the lesser of two evils, is that it? Gordogrosso just lets his barons slug it out with each other whenever they want to?"

  "Oh, nay! They must have his leave—or be sure he'll turn a blind eye."

  "Which is to say, the pocket war has to be in his interest," Matt interpreted. "But doesn't that mean one of the two barons is less evil than the other? At least enough to get Gordogrosso mad at him?"

  Narlh and Fadecourt exchanged a startled glance.

  "It may be," the cyclops said slowly, "though it may more easily be that the one of them has angered Gordogrosso in some way, mayhap by insolence or by overreaching himself."

  "Possible," Matt agreed, "but it's also possible that he won Gordogrosso's anger by trying to be good."

  "Yeah, well, that could be," Narlh argued, "but even if it was, how could you tell which baron was the good guy?"

  "By which side Gordogrosso has lent troops to." Matt lifted a hand to forestall Narlh's protest. "I know, I know, he might not have troops with either side. But we'll never know if we don't go look, will we?"

  "I can think of safer ways to gather information," Narlh growled.

  "Even if 'tis so, Lord Wizard, what advantage is there for you or your goal in aiding the one of them?" Fadecourt asked.

  "That kind of thinking leads to capitulating to the forces of evil," Matt said, pointing the finger at him. "Or, more concisely, selling out. But now that you raise the question, any enemy of Gordogrosso's is an ally of ours. And you'll pardon me for saying it, but we could use a few allies. Look, it really won't take that long just to go check it out, will it?"

  Narlh and Fadecourt exchanged one final glance. Then the cyclops sighed and turned off the road. "As you will have it, Lord Wizard. Follow—'tis off to the north, this way."

  Four siege towers were set against one wall of the castle, and the crossbowmen on their tops were firing from behind thick leather shields. As Matt watched, one of them fell to the ground—probably screaming, but their hilltop blind was too far away to hear anything but a steady roar, punctuated by metallic clashings. In spite of their few losses, the arbalesters had swept the ramparts almost clear—certainly clear enough so that the attacker's knights were streaming onto the walls, followed by their soldiers. A few defenders rose up to obstruct them, but the invaders clustered around them and chopped them to bits. As Matt and his friends watched, the drawbridge came thundering down.

  "The porter is dead," Fadecourt interpreted, "and they have cut the stays of the windlass. No matter how good your intentions, Lord Wizard, we have come too late."

  "Too bad." Matt scowled at the distant scene, mentally berating himself for not having come sooner. "I'd like to know if it matters, though." Which translated as wanting to know just how guilty he should feel. "Can you see if any of them are king's men?"

  "I can," Narlh grunted. "I was hatched for high sight, remember?"

  "Eyes like an eagle?" Matt looked up, startled.

  "Those shortsighted pests? Don't make me laugh. And, uh—yeah, the crossbowmen on top are all wearing the same colors. Same as the first troops in over the battlements, too."

  "What hues are they?" Fadecourt asked.

  "Red and black."

  "Blood and mourning." Fadecourt's face settled into grim lines. "They are Gordogrosso's troops, indeed."

  "Could it be the lord of this castle was less evil than most of his breed?" Matt asked.

  "More likely overly ambitious—but even then, he could have proved a useful foil for us, to keep the king's attention whiles we came up behind. I do now regret that we came late."

  "Maybe not completely." Matt tried to close his ears to the cries of dismay. "There's a chance the master of the house is staging a getaway."

  "And leaving his men to bear the brunt of the assault." Fadecourt nodded, tight-lipped. "Aye; it hath the stamp of Gordogrosso's nobles. Would you help such a one, then?"

  "Long enough to ask him a few questions. If he's as bad as you think, we can always leave him to his fate—but if he could be useful, we might help him get clear. Think we can find the postern?"

  "Aye, if we must." Fadecourt sighed. "`And after seeing that we may have missed a worthy chance, I'm not inclined to argue. Follow, then—we'll make the circuit of the walls. But from the ridge-top, an it please you."

  "Sure." Matt looked ba
ck anxiously as they turned away. "I—don't suppose there's anything I can do to stop what's going on?"

  "Sure," Narlh grunted. "You're the wizard, aren't you? But you can bet your bonnet there's a whole coven of sorcerers in there, on the king's side. In this country, that's probably why they won—out-magicked. Do you really think you'd do any good by taking 'em all on?"

  "Not much, I'm afraid." Matt sighed. "Not that I wouldn't try, if I were sure it was worth it. Come on, let's find out."

  They circled the castle, staying in the hills about half a mile distant, with the clash of battle ringing in the distance. It made Matt uneasy—he was still feeling guilty about not having intervened in time to save the farmers at the first village; that old attitude of "It's not my fight" so naturally took over. He felt he should intervene here, instead of skulking about. But his friends were right, there was no point in helping one villain against another, especially when he didn't know which was worse—or of jeopardizing his main mission by trying to help the underdog, as an automatic reflex.

  Finally, he woke to the fact that they had come an awfully long way and were taking an even longer time trying to find that postern gate. "Uh—Fadecourt?"

  "Aye, Wizard?"

  "You do know where this back door is, don't you?"

  Fadecourt shook his head. "I do not know this castle itself. I know only where the postern should be, not where it is."

  "Which is?" Matt frowned.

  "Toward the rear of the castle, or at least far from the gatehouse—wherefore have two doors side by side? And it should be near a watercourse, or a rocky defile that would hide those who flee."

  "Both of which make it a good place for an attack," Matt noted. "So it would be pretty well guarded."

  "Aye, or quite secret—in which case, it will be hidden."

  Matt frowned. "So how are we to...Hey!"

  "What'sa matter?" Narlh snapped.

  "I see them." Fadecourt pointed.

  Two knights were galloping uphill toward them, with a score of pikemen behind.

  "What're they after?"

  "Fugitives, at a guess."

  "Them? They've got the royal livery!"