The Oathbound Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  "I'd prefer to go around them, if you don't mind." Matt eyed the nearby slopes with suspicion. "Even out here in the open, I'm constantly watching for Gordogrosso's lackeys."

  "His lackeys are noblemen," Yverne pointed out. "Dost'a not mean `the lackeys of his barons'?"

  "Well, no, actually, I was kind of meaning what I said. Besides, how many of his barons were born aristocrats?"

  Yverne flushed. "Most, though there were always a dozen or so whom he haled down, to make room for his low-born lackeys."

  "Let that go on long enough, and there'll only be a handful whose ancestors go back before the sorcerers."

  " 'Tis even so." Surprisingly, her eyes filled with tears. "Only a marcher baron is given his due here. And the parvenus are ever eager to seize what is not theirs."

  Matt was horrified to realize she'd been talking personally. "Hey, now, I'm sorry! No offense intended. Don't worry, milady—we'll put the old houses back where they belong."

  "Do not promise what you cannot assure," Fadecourt rumbled. "Only cadet branches of the old noble houses remain, and even they are so embittered that most have turned to evil ways, seeking to recoup their fortunes."

  Matt looked up, appalled. "You mean even if I do manage to kick out Gordo—uh, the sorcerer-king, I won't be able to find enough good people to administer the countryside for me?"

  "Even so," Fadecourt answered.

  But Yverne countered, "You must take them where you find them, Lord Wizard. There be good folk among the commoners, and some may prove able."

  That rocked Matt. "Uh, you'll pardon my saying it, milady, but—I'm a little surprised to hear a lady of the aristocracy lauding the abilities of commoners."

  "Any who have kept their faith in God and kept being good," Yverne answered, "are noble in heart. Mayhap goodness is the only true nobility left in Ibile, since 'tis done in the face of such adversity."

  Somehow, Matt had thought of Ibile as masses of good, poor people, laboring under the yoke of oppression and cruelty imposed by evil magic. He hadn't realized that the licentiousness of the aristocrats would make the common people think that there was no reason in their maintaining honest conduct toward one another, or living by any law other than the aristocrats' selfishness. He hadn't stopped to think how thoroughly the violation of morals could trickle down to permeate every level of society. He should have, of course—Gresham's law applied to any medium, not just to money, and people's media of exchange were only analogies for their real interactions.

  They rounded a hill, and Matt found himself confronting the physical image of the rejected virtues he'd just been thinking about.

  Where two slopes met, there was a little cave, a grotto, and in it was a statue. But its paint was peeling, and vines had grown over it, almost hiding all but the face and the left hand. Matt looked closely, but didn't recognize the features. "Who's that?"

  Fadecourt looked up, surprised. " 'Tis he to whom you have prayed, Lord Wizard—Saint Iago. Dost'a say you have prayed to him, but never knew his likeness?"

  Matt reddened. "I'm afraid not. Worse, I don't know anything about him."

  Nearby were the remains of a small building, roof fallen in, stone walls breached, with soot stains over every place where there had been woodwork.

  "Alas! That so sacred a shrine should come to this!" Yverne cried, tears in her eyes.

  Matt looked at Fadecourt.

  "This was once the most holy place of all, Lord Wizard," the cyclops said heavily, "for it stands in the place where Saint Iago did appear to Brother Chard, a simple mendicant monk. His brothers built this little chapter house, that they might live by the place, basking in its sanctity and tending its grounds. They held it safe 'gainst the sorcerer-kings for a hundred and fifty years. Then, alas, there came one traitor, one Vile by name, who became a novice, then a monk. He was somehow turned toward Evil, mayhap in hope of preferment by the king, and he made the monks a plan whereby, said he, they could defeat Gordogrosso. They were to go forth from this small cloister of theirs and come one by one into Orlequedrille, Gordogrosso's capital. There they were to surround the palace and pray with all their hearts to God, for the downfall of the king."

  "And while they were out, the king's men fell on the shrine and desecrated it?"

  "Aye; the chapter house they tore apart and burned within, as you have seen; and they smashed the beautiful mosaics in the grotto." Tears flowed freely down Yverne's cheeks.

  "Yet the statue they could not destroy." Even through his anger, the awe in Fadecourt's voice was clear. "The soldiers could not enter the grotto; 'twas as though an unseen wall withheld them."

  "A wall they could neither breach nor scale," Yverne whispered, " 'Twas even then a miracle."

  "So the shrine itself remains." Matt frowned, brooding, gazing at the ivy-covered statue. "But what of the monks?"

  "They were slain as they entered the town," Yverne said, "for the soldiers knew of their movements."

  "Don't tell me they were fools enough to wear their monks' robes!"

  "Nay; but a tonsure's not so easily hidden, when the guards at the gate demand that all men uncover," Fadecourt told him. "Then the king gave them trial, of course, and had his chancellor prove them guilty of lese majeste"

  "After they were safely dead."

  "Aye, poor souls!" Yverne's cheeks were wet. "Yet their shrine still stands neglected, for none dare come here; abandoned and in disrepair; but it stands, that the doers of evil deeds may know they have never fully won."

  Matt sat frowning at the shrine.

  Fadecourt noticed; and his voice was apprehensive. "Wizard? What would you do?"

  "Just thinking that we're here," Matt said, "and no more likely to draw the wrath of any sentry-sorcerers by doing one more good deed. Come on, folks! Let's tidy up this grotto a little bit!" He strode away toward the statue.

  Yverne and Fadecourt exchanged a glance of surprise and delight, then followed him. So did Narlh, muttering, "Something bad is gonna come of this. I just know it."

  The statue's paint was faded and flaking, and Matt was tempted to scrape it all off, since it was stone underneath, but he resisted the temptation, contenting himself with clearing away the ivy and sweeping out the debris, while Yverne transplanted wildflowers and Narlh helped Fadecourt rebuild the low wall that had surrounded the grotto. They did some general cleaning and scrubbing, too, though there was no stream within the grotto, and they had to haul water from a nearby rivulet in makeshift buckets. It was midafternoon before they were done, but Matt stood back with a feeling of accomplishment and said, "There! That was time well spent."

  Whether or not there had been a cave there originally was hard to tell from his angle, though Matt had seen from the inside that there was. But the monks had built an arch in front of it, of blocks smoothly fitted and extending at the front into a low stone rail. Along that rail, they had packed dirt into steps that ran the length of the wall, overgrown with grass, which Matt had mown with his dagger. It formed a prie-dieu, a kneeling bench for praying. Yverne's flowers adorned the base of the statue. There were also plants at two points up each side of the arch, in little earth-filled basins built for the purpose.

  "I won't say it looks as good as new," Matt hedged, "but it doesn't look totally abandoned anymore."

  "It does not, indeed," Fadecourt said. "Your pardon, Lord Wizard." And he went to kneel on the grass by the stone rail, beside Yverne, head bent in prayer.

  "How about you?" Narlh demanded.

  Matt stood for a second, thinking it over. Then he shook his head. "I never was much for devotion to the saints, I'm afraid. But I'll say a short prayer." He closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he lifted it again, Narlh snorted, "Short, all right."

  "But to the point Besides, if he cares at all, I think the work will do instead of the words."

  "Maybe," Narlh allowed, "and I guess I'd rather have a man who did something without saying he would"

  "Over the one who talked a lot, but nev
er got around to doing it?"

  "You've met 'em, too, huh?"

  "'Fraid so." Matt was watching Yverne as she rose and came back toward them. Fadecourt followed a few seconds later. "Back on the road?"

  Yverne turned a radiant face toward him. "Aye, Lord Wizard. I think I shall fear naught that the sorcerer can do against us, now."

  " 'Tis good not to fear," Fadecourt rumbled, "so long as one remembers to take care."

  The sunset was long on this side of the mountains, but the land flattened out amazingly, and by the time it was dark, they still hadn't found a good camping place.

  Matt signaled for a stop. "Well, when there's no place right, one spot's as good as another, isn't it?"

  "I think not," Fadecourt said, frowning, "though there seems to be little choice. I prithee, make thy circle quickly, Wizard, for I mislike this open land."

  "Yeah, and you didn't even grow up in the city." Matt started to swing his improvised pack off his shoulder.

  But Yverne put out a hand to stop him. "Hist! What comes?"

  They were instantly silent, taut, listening.

  Faint with distance came a horrible grinding, gnashing sound. Even as they registered its existence, it grew louder. It sounded like giant teeth clashing against one another in anticipation of a feast.

  "Whatever it is, it's coming fast." Matt looked worried.

  "Coming fast? It approaches like a hailstorm!" Fadecourt said.

  Yverne turned pale. "I mislike that sound, Lord Wizard."

  "Oh?" Matt looked up. "Ever heard it before?"

  "Aye—as a child. A sorcerer of the king's came to reside at my father's castle for a short space—a reeve, he was, a common-born popinjay." Her eyes dewed at the memory of her father. "To awe my parent, he brought to life a gargoyle from our roof. It sounded much like this, as it moved its stony limbs and clashed its iron jaws."

  Matt caught an echo of some more ominous event underscoring her words and wondered if the reeve's visit had eventually resulted in the siege that had just ended. But he had to file it away for a better moment. "If that's a gargoyle, then there's more than one. "

  "I doubt it not." Fadecourt was grim. "I have heard that King Gordogrosso has raised these beasts before, to track and shred enemies of whom he particularly wished to be rid."

  "Congratulations, Wizard," Narlh growled. "You've been noticed."

  "This time, I think I could do without the approbation. What are we standing around waiting for, people? Run!"

  They turned and started back the way they'd come, but the gnashing and grinding grew louder behind them.

  "To where...do we...run?" Fadecourt panted.

  "You...tell me!" Matt wheezed. "You're the...military! Where...can we...hole up?"

  "Nowhere," the cyclops answered, with instant certainty. "There's naught of...a stronghold, nor even...a good battle ground, between us and the grotto!"

  "The grotto!" Matt cried. "You told me...nothing evil could...enter there! At least...it couldn't when...Gordogrosso's henchmen...tried to defile it!"

  "Can it...hold 'gainst...them?" Fadecourt panted.

  "It's the only chance...we've got! Shut up and...run!"

  But Narlh slowed to a stop. "Here, you little guys will never make it! I can carry triple, for that far at least! Come on, up!"

  Matt started to protest, but Fadecourt was already up and yanking Yverne aboard. Matt shut up and scrambled for a seat, grabbed at a fin, and held tight as the monster leaped forward into a run. Matt leaned into the wind and hoped.

  The distance that had taken them six hours to traverse at a walk sped past them at Narlh's gargantuan pace. The wind howled by Matt's face, and he realized that he'd never seen the dracogriff run flat out before. Even so, the grinding and gnashing swelled behind them, faster than they could travel.

  "This is too slow!" Narlh snapped. "Hang on—I hate it, but I'm gonna have to get off the ground."

  They hung on for dear life as the dracogriff spread his wings and bounded into the air. He flapped mightily, straining upward, farther and farther, griping savagely every second, until, about fifty feet up, he caught a breeze and began to glide. Then he swooped eastward so fast that the clamor behind them actually began to fade a little—but not much. Peering over Fadecourt, Matt could see Yverne's back, rigid and trembling. He didn't doubt she had her eyes squeezed shut, but she hung on without a word of protest. Could he do any less?

  Then the double hills rose up before them, and Yverne cried, " 'Tis yon! The grotto!"

  Narlh folded his wings and stooped.

  He hit the ground running, cupping his wings against the wind, then dug in with his claws and plowed to a stop. "Down! Those monsters will be here any minute!"

  They didn't stay to argue.

  Now that they were back on the ground, the sound swelled again—faster and faster. They bolted ahead of it, Fadecourt hanging back a little, Matt pacing himself to Yverne. The clamor clashed and clanged louder behind him, and he was very much tempted to shoot past the girl, but he held himself in until he saw her bolt through the gateway. Then he shot through, with Fadecourt right on his heels. Matt turned to look back, dreading the sight of their pursuers—and saw Narlh.

  The dracogriff was facing into the wind, wings spread, running at an angle from them—but toward their pursuers.

  And there they were, just coming into sight, moonlight glinting off granite faces and steel teeth.

  "Narlh!" Matt shouted. "Are you out of your mind? Get in here!"

  Narlh skidded to a stop, head lifted, staring. "Me? In a holy place like that?"

  "You're good enough, you're good enough! After all, you helped clean it, didn't you?"

  The dracogriff took one look over his shoulder, then bounded toward the shrine. As he squeezed through the gateway, he panted, "You sure there's room?"

  "You'll have to curl up around the statue, I expect," Matt said, "but you should be able to make it."

  Narlh did as he said, curving right around the statue, then left, as his head came out from behind. He lay down as he went, the roof being low, and looked up at the statue. " ' Scuse me, sir."

  Matt turned back to the plain and saw the gargoyles waddling up toward them. They were a horrible sight—bits and pieces of recognizable beasts, legs from crocodiles, wings from bats, tails from snakes, human arms that were covered with fish scales—but with heads never seen on any living man or beast. And every single one was different; no two were remotely the same combination.

  The heads were crested with growths that looked like feathers, fins, or wattles, and the faces were travesties of the human, just close enough to look really horrible. But every mouth was filled with glinting, pointed teeth. Matt looked at the moonlight winking off them and felt a chill shiver through him. Were those polished surfaces really steel?

  "Close the door!" Narlh called.

  "I can't," Matt answered. "There isn't any."

  "There are no walls, either." Fadecourt braced himself for his last fight. "I implore thee, wizard-ready a spell, in case this shrine is no longer shielded by God."

  "Well...I suppose that's wise." Matt tried to remember a shielding spell.

  "Though evil things surround us,

  May saving grace be round us.

  May nothing ill betide us,

  Good comfort stand beside us..."

  He stopped, eyes wide. The air seemed to tingle about him; he could feel some sort of field pressing in on his skin. But it wasn't the turgid weight of evil magic that he was used to pushing against.

  "Why do you stop?" Fadecourt cried.

  "Because," Matt said, "somebody, or something, doesn't want me to go on."

  "Who could have taken power here?" Yverne cried.

  "Nobody," Matt said with total certainty. "You don't know how this feels, but believe me, if you did, you'd know nobody could even ruffle it."

  Then the monsters struck the shrine.

  They struck—and reared on up into the air, just as though they'
d slammed into a wall. The ones in back climbed up on top of the ones in front, then went on climbing with their front legs. Their rear claws flailed at thin air, seeking to gain purchase on something, but not finding it. Then the third tier climbed on top of the second, and they had a little luck—they were able to bend forward, as though they were leaning over the curve of a domed roof. But they couldn't climb it—not that it mattered; the fourth row of monsters did that. They crawled up above Matt's head on thin air, claws scrabbling at the unseen roof—but unable to dent it. It was quite a sight, wall-to-wall living gargoyles, and up above, too. Their ugliness was bad enough, but the sheer, unrelieved malice in their eyes made Matt's spirit quail. Every now and again, a gargoyle looked down at him as though to say he was going to get his—and that the gargoyle would thoroughly enjoy every second of shredding his flesh.

  Matt shrank back against the base of the statue next to Yverne and asked, yelling to make himself heard above the grinding and clashing, "What are they? Did Gordogrosso have them all carved out of granite and brought to life, just so he could use them for his own hunting dogs?"

  But Yverne only shook her head and yelled back, "I know not"

  "They are demons, of course," Fadecourt called. "I can only conjecture how 'tis the artists who did carve the ornaments for cathedral roofs did know of them—but be sure that they are demons, brought hot from Hell for this night's chasing."

  That explained the malice, and the feeling of pure, unmitigated evil. If they hadn't been carved from stone, they seemed to have been made of it; their hides varied from slaty gray to charcoal black, and looked like igneous rock. Their limbs grated as they moved, clashing against one another as they slipped or fell back, then clawed their way back up—and those claws glinted with metal. Each clawing roused anger and was answered with a sudden slash of glittering teeth, but it was a case of the impervious object meeting the superhardened alloy. Then one of the gargoyles discovered the wall.

  His jaws, grinding against each other with the sound they had first heard miles away, ripped into the stones forming the arch over the grotto. The jaws bit through the stone and met, taking a neat, smoothly beveled chunk out of the wall. The creature spat out the stone and bit again—and froze, its mouth open. It fought to close its jaws, but couldn't, though there was nothing between them; it had come up against the field force surrounding the statue and could make no headway against it.