The Oathbound Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  "No, no! They're chasing fugitives!"

  "So I would conjecture," Fadecourt agreed. "Therefore, let us find them first, that we may learn—"

  Three horses broke out of the scrub growth a hundred feet away, charging hell-bent for leather right at them. The first was a lady, the two behind her knights.

  "Aside!" Fadecourt suited the action to the word. "Let them pass; we know not what they be."

  But the two knights weren't of so generous a turn of mind. They saw the companions and turned their mounts, veering toward Matt and Fadecourt. Undeterred by the sight of Narlh, they leveled their lances and charged. The woman sped by Matt—he had an impression of chestnut hair whipping about behind a drawn and wide-eyed face, and a figure as graceful as the gazelle she was now imitating in her flight—then she was gone, sped past him, still fleeing.

  "What're they after us for?" Matt wailed.

  "Our large friend, and my poor self, are not the least threatening of beings, in appearance," Fadecourt grated. "Let us disarm them gently."

  "Disarm them? I'm getting out of their way!" Matt leaped aside.

  "That is the first step," Fadecourt agreed, but he stayed standing in the roadway.

  "Jump!" Matt cried. "Or your name will be shashlik!"

  Still Fadecourt stood his ground, glaring up along the lances at the knights, and Matt tried to think up a quick swerving spell. Of course, he didn't need to; at the last minute, Fadecourt cried, "Now!" and leaped aside, and Narlh spun off the path in a surprisingly graceful double turn. The knights shouted in anger, but thundered on by; they were going too fast to stop or turn.

  "This time, we will unseat them," Fadecourt said calmly, as he stepped back onto the path.

  "Are you crazy?" Matt shouted. "Those guys are medieval steamrollers!"

  "What kinda beasts are those?" Narlh looked up, interested.

  "They'll not come so quickly now," Fadecourt pointed out.

  But he was wrong. The knights reined in their mounts at the end of the meadow, turned, and came thundering back, lances leveled, building up more and more speed.

  Fadecourt frowned. "That is not as they should do."

  Matt looked up and shouted, "It's not you! They've got bigger game to worry about!"

  Fadecourt looked up, indignant and offended—then looked where Matt was pointing and saw the two pursuing knights charging straight for him, with their pack of pikes in full voice behind them.

  The cyclops took the better part of valor and leaped for Narlh, crying, "Away!"

  Matt dashed to join them, calling, "Is it time to help the good guys yet?"

  "We ken not who they may be! Wizard, away!"

  Whatever the merits of the two lone knights, they weren't short on courage. They galloped full out toward the pursuers, blind to the mob. But their enemies were just as doughty, and their lances just as long. They slammed into the fugitives with a crash like an iron foundry going broke. Lances splintered; someone screamed; a body slammed down to the ground; and Matt squeezed his eyes shut. When he looked again, the two fugitives were down, along with one horse; the other was galloping away. The knights rode on over their bodies, unheeding, galloping toward the woods. The pikemen paused long enough to make sure the knights were dead, stabbing through the joints with their pikes, then ran after their leaders.

  Matt winced. "Not long on mercy, are they?" Then he suddenly realized the knights were chasing nothing—at least, as far as he could see. "Hey! Where'd the lady go?"

  "Into the woods," Fadecourt answered, tight-lipped. "If you wouldst save her, Wizard, 'tis now you must cast your spell."

  Matt frowned. "Wait a minute, no. All along, you've been telling me not to pitch in until I know which side is good and which is evil. How come all of a sudden you know?"

  "Why, because she is a woman."

  Matt stared.

  Then he sighed and said, "One of these days, I'll figure out the logic of that—or else I'll have to admit that chivalry can become a knee-jerk reflex. Okay, I'll try to give her a little help.

  "Overcast the day!

  The sunny welkin cover thou anon

  With drooping fog, as black as Acheron!

  And lead these pursuers so astray,

  That the damsel come not within their way,

  And speed and turn her pathway in her flight

  That she come never near within their sight!"

  Huge forces seemed to bend about him, and he actually felt his words slowing as he spoke—but he plowed ahead, finishing the verse with, sweat starting from his brow. He drew a ragged breath and shrugged. "That's about all I can do."

  "Mayhap not." Fadecourt ran toward the fallen knights, chivalry personified.

  "Right," Matt muttered, following at an uninspired jog. "What's it matter if they were just trying to carve your brisket? They're down and helpless, that's all that matters." Nonetheless, he came up behind the kneeling cyclops to see what he could do.

  "Naught here—he is dead." Fadecourt turned to the second knight, his face grim. "Ha! He lives!"

  "No...torture," the knight grated. "Quick...death."

  "Doesn't he have any chance?" Narlh came up behind Matt.

  Fadecourt pointed to the blood welling out of the knight's armor in a widening pool and shook his head.

  Narlh nodded, his beaked face unreadable. "Nothing I can do here, then. I better go check up on the woman." He turned away and loped off down the trail.

  "Good." The dying man had pushed the girl out of Matt's mind for the moment—but Narlh was right, she might need protection. Or reassurance, anyway—though Matt could think of much more reassuring sights than the dracogriff. She was likely to hide at the slightest glimpse of him, especially since the knights had been chasing her.

  Of course, that was assuming she was innocent, and not a major villainess herself. In this country, though, Matt couldn't imagine that the knights could have had any moral reason for chasing her.

  But moral or not, the man was dying. Matt understood why Fadecourt was so sure the knight had no chance of survival. If the pikemen hadn't been so zealous, the knight might have lived. What kind of medieval society was this, anyway? In his Europe, a peasant soldier would have been hanged for killing one of his betters, even if by accident.

  "We are wanderers," Fadecourt told the knight, "not foemen. Can we ease you?"

  "Aye. Shrive...me."

  Matt stared. "Listen to your confession, and give you forgiveness?"

  Suddenly, Fadecourt looked helpless. "We cannot; we are not priests."

  "Repentance is enough." Matt knelt beside Fadecourt. "If you're sorry for your sins, you won't be damned."

  "I...repent..." The knight's body convulsed. "Aieeee!"

  "His master listens," Fadecourt said, thin-lipped, "and punishes him for his repentance."

  "Repentance." Anger boiled—the sorcerers could at least let the man die in peace. But of course, that would have been the reverse of their main purpose, wouldn't it? Damning as many souls as possible. Matt lifted his head with grim resolve. He'd already worked one spell here, and if hanged for the kid, be hanged for the goat.

  "Let no evil force surround thee,

  But all saving grace be round thee.

  Let hateful powers fall and cease,

  And all kindly powers bring thee peace."

  Matt felt the force of magic moving outward from himself, against very heavy resistance—but as long as it held, it was accomplishing its purpose: keeping the evil magic away from the dying man, so that he could pass in grace. "Gramercy," he panted. "I must...recompense..."

  "You must die well." Matt set a hand on his arm. "Think of Heaven."

  "Nay...of earth. No...debt."

  "He will not die beholden," Fadecourt interpreted. "Give him some small assurance that his last charge is fulfilled."

  "What, the maiden he was riding with?" Matt asked. "Be of good cheer, Sir Knight—she made it into the forest well ahead of her pursuers, and they're going to have tou
gh going among those branches, so she'll probably be safe."

  "Gramercy..." The knight's face twisted with sudden pain. "I have...discharged..." Then his face froze, eyes staring, and his whole body went rigid—then limp, and a last breath hissed out.

  "Discharged your duty," Fadecourt finished, and reached over to close the man's eyes. "Good rest to you, Sir Knight—and may your toils in Purgatory be light." He stood, face grim, then turned to look down at Matt. "Come. Let us do what we can to fulfill his last charge."

  "Right." Matt stood up and followed Fadecourt toward the trees.

  As they came in under the leaves, they heard several voices shouting, with a lot of slashing and crashing. Fadecourt pressed Matt back behind a trunk, and three pikemen came barreling past them toward the meadow, shouting with anger and outrage. Fadecourt looked up at Matt in inquiry. "What did they see?"

  "Heaven only knows," Matt said, "and I don't think I want to. Any idea which way the lady went?"

  Fadecourt did, as it turned out—among his other skills, he was an excellent tracker. Not that it needed much skill, to tell that a horse had blundered through where there wasn't any trail—but how the cyclops could tell which horse had been ridden by a woman, Matt couldn't begin to guess. Still, Fadecourt followed the trail unerringly—until they came to a small clearing and discovered the horse contentedly cropping the grass. Fadecourt looked grim, but he simply searched the perimeter of the clearing...then kept on searching, until he'd come back to Matt. He frowned, puzzled. "I had found her trace—then realized it could not be hers. I searched on, found it again—and knew it for a false trail. Then I came upon the true trail...yet was suddenly uncertain that..."

  Something was making an awful lot of crashing in the brush, was coming nearer. The horse lifted its head, staring in the direction of the sound, sniffed the breeze, then gave a whinnying scream and ran off the other way.

  "Beware!" Fadecourt held up a hand. "What moves..."

  The crashing exploded into a roar, and the roar resolved itself into words. "Fershlugginer unprintable mirandible hob-goblin! How in a harpy's hasp did the trail get trounced?" Matt relaxed. "I don't think it's anything to worry about."

  A huge body burst through the screen of brush and let out a roar of exasperation that ended in a two-foot tongue of flame. "How can a body expect a poor dracogriff to find a fool slip of a girl if the unprintable trail keeps changing on him!"

  "We're having the same problem, too, Narlh." Matt stepped away from the trees out into the clearing. "At least, Fadecourt is—I couldn't have found enough trail to get confused about in the first place."

  "Oh. You guys, huh?" Narlh paced up to them, still steaming. "A fine, thankless job you gave me, Wizard!"

  Things suddenly connected, and Matt admitted, "Sorry. The more so because the confusion's my doing, I guess."

  "Your what?" Narlh bleated, and Fadecourt looked up, startled. "How could it be so, Wizard?"

  "Because I cast a confusion spell on anyone following her," Matt explained, with a sheepish try at a smile. "I forgot we might want to find her ourselves."

  "Oh, real smart, Wizard! Real smart!" Narlh fumed. "I mean, you coulda thought of that before you sent me off chasing wild geese, y' know?"

  Fadecourt wasn't looking too happy, either, but he said, "Aye. I heard the spell, too. I should ha' thought of it also."

  "Nice of you to say so." Matt sighed. "But I'm afraid it's really no one's doing but mine."

  "Can you not disperse the spell you've cast?"

  "Sure—but the men who're chasing her might find her, too, then. And I can't be any more specific, waiving the spell just for us and not for them, without knowing her name or something else to identify her by."

  "How come?" Narlh demanded, but Fadecourt held up a hand. "Do not ask, or he might answer—at more length than we wish."

  Matt's mouth tightened in chagrin. He'd felt the old college instructor's juices starting to flow again and had been all ready to launch into a lecture.

  "Right." He sighed. "Well, I guess the best we can do now is to set up camp and hope we hear her yell if she needs help."

  "Well thought," Fadecourt agreed, "but not in midwood, with enemies thrashing about it, an it please you. Let us go seek some more defensible site."

  "Not a bad idea," Matt agreed. "Maybe some high ground, anyway, even if we can't get out of the trees."

  "I will be glad that our enemies must toil uphill to come upon us," Fadecourt answered. "Come, gentles—let us seek a slope."

  He turned away, and Narlh fell into step beside Matt. " `Gentles'? Who's he calling 'gentles'?"

  "You and me," Matt assured him.

  "Is that a compliment, or an insult?"

  "A compliment, coming from him—so it shouldn't be an insult, going to you."

  Narlh looked at him sharply. "You saying that what I'm hearing might not be what he's saying?"

  "I've known it to happen." Matt sighed. "Let's just find a campsite, Narlh."

  CHAPTER 10

  The Chased Damsel

  "How's dinner coming?"

  Narlh looked down at the roasting pheasants and blew a little more flame on them. "Not bad. What'm I going to eat?"

  "Hold on.", Matt frowned. "How come you didn't figure they're for you?"

  "Because the two of them together might, just might, make one very small appetizer. Can I go out to hunt now?"

  "No, hang it—unless I'm going to chant the whole spell all over again."

  Narlh looked upward and said, with clear reluctance, "I suppose I could try a vertical takeoff."

  "No, don't bother." Matt was frowning. "The force field—uh, magical shield—closes over the top about twenty feet up, like a dome. Guess I'll just have to let you out." He turned and rubbed a patch in the talcum with one foot. "Next time let me know before I lock up, huh?"

  The dracogriff stared. "That's all it takes?"

  "That's all." Matt looked up, frowning. "What are you waiting for? Happy hunting."

  "Be not apprehensive, Lord Wizard," Fadecourt said, by way of reassurance. "He will return alive and well. 'Tis not quite dark."

  "No, not quite." Matt stood beside the warding circle, scanning the open meadow anxiously. The grass rose above him to a ridge, a long, natural avenue between ranks of trees.

  "Would you not know if a sorcerer had cast a spell at him near us?"

  "Well, I think so...There!"

  Narlh was still licking his chops as he came back to the circle. "Hurry up!" Matt called impatiently.

  "It was worth the trip." Narlh looked back at Matt. "What's got you all of a sudden?"

  "That sorcerer who's been chasing you—I was beginning to wonder if he'd caught you." Matt tapped more powder over the break in the circle.

  "I noticed that last night you laid the circle but did not enchant it," Fadecourt said. "Are you expecting greater trouble tonight?"

  "Not really," Matt said, "and I'm not expecting trouble tonight, any more than last night."

  "Ah." Fadecourt lifted his head. "Then you did expect attack last night."

  "Let's say I was aware of the possibility," Matt hedged. "But since Narlh and I were keeping watch, I could have recited the words of the spell at the last minute, if there had been any sign of attack."

  "Not trusting me to take my turn on watch, of course."

  "Well, you are a little new to the party." Matt shifted uncomfortably. "But if there wasn't any trouble, I preferred not to cast a spell that might tip off the enemy to the presence of a wizard from the opposing side."

  "I shall have to take your word for that." Fadecourt sighed. "I've no experience with the feelings of magic—only with its results. Still, I do wish you would trust me well enough to let me take my turn."

  "I'm sure we will, after a few days. Now; how about those pheasants?"

  After making quick work of dinner, they lay down, Matt bundled in his cloak, Fadecourt sleeping with his soles toward the fire, head pillowed on one arm. Matt eyed Narl
h, pacing the circle, and he smiled at the feeling of security the sight of the dracogriff gave him, then closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

  A high, wavering scream slashed through his dream and jolted him wide awake. "Narlh! What the deuce—"

  "Not me." The dracogriff stood rigid, facing off into the darkness. "From over there, toward the east. But it might be bait."

  "Bait?"

  "A ruse, to persuade you to charge out blindly into the night, where you'll have no warding circle." Fadecourt had risen, too. "By your leave, Lord Wizard, allow me to investigate."

  "But what if you don't come back?"

  "Let us discuss that when it happens, shall we?" The Cyclops stepped over the circle and was gone into the darkness before Matt could say anything. He was back a second later—trying to catch up with the maiden who fled past him, screams of raw terror tearing her throat. So Fadecourt's back was to the forest, and he didn't see what was chasing her—a gauzy white shape, drifting after the woman against the night breeze.

  "Hey! Over here!" Narlh called. The woman looked up, saw Narlh, and stopped dead in her tracks.

  "He's friendly!" Matt called. "Over here! We're the good guys!"

  The woman cast a glance back and up at the ghost, turned toward them—and stood, trembling with indecision, and screaming, screaming...

  Fadecourt caught her up like a baby and pounded toward Matt and Narlh, leaping the circle and setting the young woman down by Matt. She threw her arms around the wizard, clutching him as though he were a tree limb above a hundred-foot drop. Her screams instantly dissolved into sobs.

  The ghost drifted closer, seeming to flicker, its eyes hollow, its mouth wide in a silent call, waving both arms. As it saw Matt, it began to gesticulate frantically. Matt hardened with alarm—those gestures could be the accompaniment to a spellcasting! Quickly, scarcely thinking, he rattled off:

  "If charnel houses and our graves must send

  Those that we bury back, our monuments

  Shall be the maws of kites. Therefore,

  Be gone!"

  The ghost's eyes widened in horror; it shook its head, and even Matt could see that the silent mouthings were saying, "No! No!" Then an unfelt wind seemed to hit the ghost like a jet plane, tearing its substance to tatters that faded and blew away.