The Oathbound Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Avaunt!" Yverne called, her voice shaking.

  "Don't worry, milady." Matt's eyes narrowed. "We'll get him out of here soon enough.

  "'Miss Bailey, then, since you and I

  Accounts must once for all close,

  I have a five-pound note in

  My regimental small clothes.

  'Twill bribe the parson for your grave.'

  The ghost then vanished gaily,

  Crying `Bless you, wicked Captain Smith!

  Remember poor Miss Bailey!' "

  The ghost actually made a noise—a whisper of a moan, as its form dimmed and disappeared.

  "Praise Heaven!" Yverne slumped. "And you, Lord Wizard."

  "You were right the first time. Come on, let's go." Matt started forward again. "But why do you suppose he bothered showing up, when he knows I can banish him?"

  A yap sounded.

  Narlh shied "What the blazes...?"

  A spectral dog had appeared by the side of the road, one whose face looked uncommonly familiar. It struck a point, tail making a straight line through its backbone and nose toward the south.

  " 'Tis back, Wizard!" Fadecourt danced aside.

  Puck appeared on Matt's shoulder, the gleam of battle in his eye. "Shall I, Lord Matthew?"

  "No!" Matt yelped. "I owe you too much already! I'll handle this myself, thank you!

  "And then each ghost.

  With his lady toast,

  To their churchyard beds make flight,

  With a kiss, perhaps,

  On her lantern chaps,

  And a grisly grim good-night!"

  The ghost dog gave a faint yelp and disappeared.

  "Okay." Matt relaxed. "Now, why do you suppose...?"

  A will-o'-the-wisp formed ten feet in front of them.

  It danced ahead, swerving off toward the south. An enchanting melody came from it, blending pipes, harps, and viols. Yverne's eyes glazed; she slid down off Narlh's back and began to move toward the light.

  "No way!" The dracogriff swung his head around in a half circle, pushing her back. Yverne came to her senses with a start. "Oh! 'Tis quite compelling."

  "Shall I now, Wizard?" Puck asked.

  "Not until I run out of spells." Matt peered closely at the ball of light. It could have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he could see the ghost's features inside the glow...

  "Fade, little glow-ball, glimmer, glimmer!

  Fade like a candle, growing dimmer!

  Fade till your fire has lost its glow,

  And go, luminescent, go!"

  The will-o'-the-wisp faded.

  "It will be back anon," Puck informed Matt.

  "Anon or a monk, I'll banish it again!" Matt turned back toward his friends. "If I should, that is."

  Fadecourt stared at him, scandalized. "Wherefore might you

  But Yverne was nodding. "I ken your thought, Lord Matthew. What harm has this ghost done us, after all?"

  "None, really." Matt nodded. "Except for scaring you, of course—and he might not have meant to do that."

  "Aye," she said. "I was overwrought, or I might not have fled. Yet even so, he did bring me to you, where I found sanctuary and protection from mine enemies."

  "Could be he had good intentions. And he did warn us off from that forest—which, if the trouble we had outside it is any indication, would have been an adventure we might not have survived."

  Fadecourt nodded, a reflective look on his face. "And he did afright our enemies, when we were beset..."

  "You guys trying to say the spook might be on our side?" Narlh growled.

  "Seems possible."

  Yverne gasped, looking over Matt's head

  "Don't tell me—I can guess." Matt turned slowly, to see the ghost drifting before him, looking distinctly hopeful. "Listening, were you?"

  The ghost nodded brightly.

  "You can hear, but you can't talk?"

  The ghost shook his head, then nodded it again.

  "Look," Matt said, "if you can moan, you can talk. Try again."

  The ghost opened its mouth, slowly forming a word—but all Matt could hear was a vagrant sigh, like a breeze blowing past. He shook his head sadly. "No go. But I might be able to read your lips, if..."

  He let it go. The ghost was clearly talking, but his mouth was only opening and closing, forming an O each time—one of the constraints of ghosts in this universe, apparently.

  Matt sighed and shook his head. "Let's try sign language again."

  "While you do," Fadecourt interrupted, "pardon us if we set up camp."

  "Huh? Oh, sure, go right ahead." Matt sat down on a nearby stump, not really registering what Fadecourt had said. He had a new puzzle to work on, and everything else became unimportant. "Okay. Now—hold up one finger for every word you're trying to get across."

  The ghost held up ten fingers, then closed his fists, opened them to all ten again—then again, and again, and again..."Let's try for something a little shorter," Matt said.

  An hour later, Fadecourt finally dragged him away to dinner. Matt had established that the ghost didn't know what "syllable" meant, nor "preposition" nor "article," and that the notion of an infinitive was enough to make him split. He had been able to get across the idea of "little words," but the ghost seemed to have radically different ideas as to what "little" meant. Matt tossed in his metaphorical towel, gave the ghost an apologetic smile as he took the bowl Yverne handed him, and turned his attention to dinner, deciding that maybe there was some point in learning grammar, after all.

  But the ghost was persistent; it hung around all through Matt's watch, pantomiming and trying to make Matt understand—with absolutely no success, try as Matt might. He stuck around while Matt was asleep, too, apparently, because he was still there when they woke up.

  "Your companion awaits," Fadecourt told him as he cracked partridge eggs onto a hot, flat stone. "Are not ghosts banished by daylight?"

  Matt looked up; the ghost was only an outline, barely visible at all. "I guess the sun just outshines them."

  "If they wish to stay at all." Puck pointed. "Seest you not that he is in pain?"

  Matt looked as sharply as he could, then shook his head. "No. I can't see it that well. How come you can?"

  Puck shrugged. "An affinity of spirits. Believe me, he doth suffer—not greatly, though constantly."

  "What's he wanna stick around that badly for?" Narlh wondered.

  "He wants to tell us something, that's for sure." Matt shook his head, seized with a sudden pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry, ghost. What we have here is a real failure to communicate."

  The outline of the ghost's shoulders slumped, and slowly, what little they could see of it faded away.

  "Poor guy." Matt sighed.

  "Yet 'tis better than his suffering to no purpose," Yverne said.

  "I suppose so." Matt sighed "Well, time to stir up the coals. Any journey bread left?"

  "We never had any," Narlh snorted.

  "Remind me to find some wild wheat to grind" Matt sat down by the fire. "Well, I've had plain eggs before, but I've never been gladder of them."

  Fadecourt handed him a bowl. "Dine well."

  "Hope so." Matt took out his dagger and tried to spoon scrambled egg into his mouth, being very careful of the point.

  "You do realize," Puck said, "that you do owe me for another favor."

  Matt swallowed hard, then swung to face the manikin in the sun shaft. "What favor?"

  "Telling you that the ghost was in pain."

  Matt's lips formed a "no" as he gave the elf a dirty look. "I didn't ask for that."

  "Asking matters not," Puck said with airy nonchalance. "The favor is all."

  "Uh-uh." Matt shook his head. "Not kosher. I won't buy it"

  "Bought or not, 'tis registered." Puck gave him a sly grin.. "After all, who is't who does register what is owed me? Only me!"

  Matt turned purple. "So who do you think you are? The arbiter of..."

  He notic
ed that Puck had suddenly stiffened, looking past his shoulder. It could be a trick—he looked up at Yverne and Fadecourt. They, too, were staring past him.

  "Wizard," Narlh rumbled.

  Matt spun—and saw the ghost, as solid as he'd been the night before, smiling and beckoning. Beside him danced a spark, so bright that it hurt the eyes.

  Then the spark disappeared, and the ghost instantly faded to ordinary translucence—but that foggy view was a huge improvement over his being a mere shell of his former self.

  "What witchery is this?" Fadecourt asked—and Puck, for once, could only say, " 'Tis a spirit of another sort!"

  And Matt knew which sort—and which spirit. "That was Max!"

  Narlh frowned at him. "Who's Max?"

  "Maxwell's Demon! The one I told you about, the Spirit of Entropy! He controls the organization of matter and energy!"

  "What spell is this?" Puck said with disapproval.

  "It's not a spell, it's science! Uh, wait a minute..." Matt thrust the issue behind him with an act of will. "Max channeled more energy into the ghost, then took off about his business!"

  "Hold on!" Narlh frowned. "If he's such a buddy of yours, why'd he take off so fast?"

  "Because he couldn't stay! I'm not his controller now, anymore—Sir Guy is!"

  "But then," Yverne said, eyes round, "if the demon appeared..."

  "Can Sir Guy be far behind?" Matt finished. "And if the ghost went to get Max, then he must know where Sir Guy is!" He spun to the ghost. "And that's what you've been trying to tell us!"

  The ghost nodded eagerly, face glowing. "Yet this ghost has been so earnest to tell us that," Fadecourt said, "even to the point of suffering pain. Is there not, then, some urgency in his message?"

  "Good point! Ghost! Is Sir Guy in trouble?"

  The ghost nodded eagerly, positively beaming.

  "Then lead on!" Matt kicked dirt over the coals, then turned to follow the ghost. "To Sir Guy!"

  The ghost took off, drifting away in front of them, looking back to make sure they were following.

  Matt's conscience nudged him. "Uh, look, folks—this knight is a friend of mine, but he's no business of yours. And if he's in trouble he can't handle, it's probably pretty bad. I really can't ask you to put your heads in the communal noose with me—"

  "You insult me!" Fadecourt cried, offended. "Could I turn away from an ally in danger, even though I've never met him?"

  "And the danger would be mine, without the company of you gentlemen," Yverne said.

  "I'll take my chances," Narlh growled, "since you improve them."

  That left only one—and he was leaning against a pebble, grinning from ear to ear. "Wizard—do you ask a favor?"

  "All right, all right! I'm asking a favor! I'll pay you back when I get the chance!"

  "Then ho! For a knight of trouble!" Puck disappeared, but Matt's wallet bulged ominously, and Puck's muffled voice cried, "En avant!"

  " 'Tis sad to speak poorly of one so eager to aid," Fadecourt said, "but yon ghost is not the easiest of guides to follow."

  "He's got to be around here somewhere." Matt frowned, scanning the way ahead from left to right. "Narlh—I don't suppose...that grandfather of a nose you have there..."

  "Oh, I'm great at tracking, all right. But it has to leave a smell, Wizard."

  "And ghosts don't usually have much in the way of body odor." Matt sighed. "I know he's around here someplace."

  "How could he be so bright at breakfast and have faded so dimly by midmorning?" Yverne asked

  "It was Max," Matt explained "He shifted extra energy into the ghost—you noticed how the sunlight seemed a little dimmer? But when Max left, that extra charge wore off pretty quickly—and Max wasn't there to recharge him."

  "Recharge! Charge! Energy!" Narlh muttered. "Will you quit using wizard talk and just tell us what happened?"

  Matt sighed, searching for the simple explanation. "The ghost got tired. That's all it boils down to."

  Fadecourt nodded. "He has been growing dimmer and dimmer this hour past, till he was but a shimmer before us."

  "And it's not too easy, following an outline." Matt turned to his friendly nemesis. "Puck, I don't suppose you could..."

  "Most surely! Since you ask." Puck pointed south by south-east. "Yon."

  Matt looked, but saw nothing. "If you say so. But how are the rest of us supposed to see something to follow?"

  "Dost you ask?"

  Matt sighed. "Yes, I'm asking! Would you kindly do me the favor, Puck, of finding a way for the ghost to lead us?"

  "Why, surely, Wizard! 'Tis simplicity itself!" Puck called out, "Ghost! Do not seek to show us your whole body! Put all your strength into one part only, and show us that!"

  A very long few seconds ticked by. Matt was just about to charge Puck with failure, when the ghost's head glowed into sight. Matt stared, swallowing his words.

  " 'Tis not so bright," Fadecourt rumbled, "but we can follow. Come, milady, milord."

  "Yes." Matt nodded. "Follow the guiding light."

  But that wasn't so easy. The charge Max had lent ran down even further.

  By noon, there wasn't even enough left to keep a full head going. They found this out the hard way, when the ghost vanished.

  Matt called a halt. "Ghost! We've lost you! We'd better stay where we are until you can come back for us."

  They waited. Nothing happened.

  "Do you wish me to say where he is?" Puck asked.

  "Not if it counts as a favor," Matt grunted. "How many do I owe you so far?"

  "Three favors," Puck noted.

  "And working on number four?" Matt shook his head. "I'm not that desperate yet."

  "How if we do not find him?" Fadecourt asked.

  Matt shrugged. "We keep on going the way we're heading, I guess. So far, we seem to have been going south, and just a little east. If we keep that up..."

  A hand appeared before them, palely glowing, but beckoning

  "He heard us!" Matt grinned. "Thanks, kindly ghost! Let's follow, folks."

  They trudged off again. The hand disappeared, and for a minute a toothy grin flashed at them.

  "Why does that seem familiar, somehow?" Matt wondered. "Glad he's feeling good about it, anyway."

  Over hill, over dale they went—following whatever sort of road or trackway would take them south by southeast. The ghost managed to stretch out his ectoplasm by switching from one part of his body to another; at one point, they were following a pair of shoes, striding forward at a goodly clip. Then they came out into a patch of bright sunlight, and the shoes faded.

  "Where'd he go?" Matt came to a halt, looking about him.

  "Yon!" Fadecourt pointed.

  Matt looked, and saw a trail of footprints appearing in the dust of the road. They took up the chase again.

  By the time sunset was approaching, they were all weary and dragging, especially Narlh—but they kept on doggedly following what little of the ghost there was. At the moment, they were down to a beckoning finger that appeared every hundred yards or so.

  "The positive side," Matt wheezed, "is that as twilight comes on, he gets brighter."

  "The bad side," Narlh puffed, "is that there isn't very much of him to brighten."

  "This whole journey must have been painful for him," Fadecourt noted.

  Matt nodded. "The advantage of showing less and less of his body. Must be a brave ghost."

  "A quality one does not oft associate with specters," Fadecourt noted.

  Puck appeared on Matt's shoulder, giving Fadecourt a keen look, but apparently deciding there was no insult intended.

  Matt finally dragged to a halt. "I'm sorry, ghost," he called out, "but I..."

  A finger flashed into sight, waving upright; a pair of pursed lips appeared behind it.

  Matt lowered his voice to a whisper. "I just can't go any farther. Besides, darkness is coming on, and we need to pitch camp."

  The shushing lips turned back into a hand, beckoning fra
ntically, the rest of the arm coming into view behind it. The ghost's whole body appeared in outline again, urgency in every curve.

  "There is need to persevere," Fadecourt sighed. "Come, Lord Matthew. He would not urge us on if our goal were not close."

  Matt had to admit the cyclops was right—and, truth to tell, they'd only come about twelve miles; they'd lost a lot of time trying to follow an almost-invisible guide. "All right." He sighed. "Lead on."

  The shushing had made them all cautious, though; they stayed quiet, except for whispered, necessary comments. They went as silently as possible down a long hill, then through a narrow gorge, the walls of which towered high on either side. Matt was very nervous through the whole length of it, constantly trying to watch for signs of ambush—but apparently Gordogrosso wasn't expecting them here. Or maybe he had other, more urgent matters he had to louse up.

  Finally, the gorge debouched into a shallow valley. Coming to the edge of the pass, they found themselves looking down on a verdant bowl, rose-colored by the sunset. In its center was a large, rambling castle, filling a wedge of land where two streams met to form a third, much larger, river. The castle's towers were tall, but two were broken at the tops; its once-proud walls were darkened with fires where siege engines had burned, and its battlements were missing whole sections of crenels, where catapult stones had smashed into the fortification.

  Around it, just a little farther than a bow shot, were thousands of tents. Cooking fires now gleamed in the dusk, and the clatter and growl of a waking army was borne on the breeze. " 'Tis a siege," Fadecourt murmured.

  Narlh groaned. "Not another one!"

  "This time," Matt hissed, "we're here in time to do something."

  "Against that?" the dracogriff protested in an appalled whisper. "You see how many of 'em there are?"

  "And of the king's own army." Fadecourt pointed. "I know those pennons; they are knights of his household. And the soldiers' livery is royal—mixed with those of his chiefest vassals."

  "I came here to fight the king," Matt reminded them. "Of course, I can't ask you to—"

  "Stuff it, will you?" Narlh growled. "We're getting tired of that song. We're with you, y' know that."