The Oathbound Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Surely not!" Atropos said. "And seek not to know! Beware of hubris, youngling, of overweening pride! Do not seek to challenge the gods, and expect death!"

  Which meant, Matt decided, that they weren't about to tell a young upstart like him.

  "Not such a young upstart as yourself!"

  Matt clamped down on his temper—mustn't let them know they were getting to him! Or did they already? Either way—they were egging him on, trying to make him do something rash again.

  Indeed they were. All three leaned forward in expectation, their eyes glowing through the mist.

  Matt forced himself to settle back, to relax. "No, of course I wouldn't do a thing like that. I'm not about to forget that I have to put on my pants one leg at a time, after all. I make too many mistakes for that."

  Sir Guy frowned, not understanding, but not liking the tenor of the remark—and the three sisters relaxed with a sigh of disappointment. "Well enough, then," Atropos said, though she sounded as if she didn't mean it. "Wend your way through your life, weak and foolish one—but do not expect us to save you from the consequences of your own folly!"

  The globe of light shrank abruptly, as if it were receding at an incredible rate, and winked out. The room was very silent, and the only motion was the flickering of their shadows on the wall, cast by firelight. Matt became uncomfortably aware that all his friends were staring at him.

  So he pretended a nonchalance he certainly didn't feel. He turned away to the fire with a sigh that he hoped sounded like disappointment. "Too bad. I half hoped they were going to slip and tell me something useful."

  CHAPTER 24

  The Maid from the Sea

  The old don came back into the room, nodding happily and murmuring to himself. "Oh, very pretty, yes, my little one, very pretty! Yet 'tis so pleasant to have guests, yes, and ones who wish to challenge the king! Ah, I am so concerned for them, little one, yes. Who knows what will become of them, when they approach..." He came within the range of firelight and broke off, seeing his guests. "Ah, my friends! Have you rested, then? Shall we converse?" Then he frowned, peering at them. "Yet something has discomfited you, has it not? Come, tell me! In mine own house! Nay, it cannot be! Only tell me what 'twas, and I will chastise it sorely, nay, even send it away, an I must! Was't a well-wist? Nay, tell me! I know they are slow to forgive, and you did pain them, though 'twas understandable, yes, quite understandable. Nay, tell me, and I'll remonstrate with them!"

  "No, it wasn't the well-wists." Matt finally managed to get a word in edgewise. He could understand it—if he'd been alone with no one to talk to for twenty years, he'd probably run off at the mouth, too, when he had the chance. "Nothing you could have done anything about, milord—and nothing that concerns you, really. Our fault—no, mine, I suppose."

  "Not concern me? How could it not concern me, when 'tis in mine own house? Nay, tell me, for..." He broke off, his eyes widening; then he began to tremble.

  Matt spun about, staring off into the shadows where the old don was looking.

  It was gathering substance, still a dim, gauzy cloud, but wavering and fluxing—and its outlines clarified as it pulsed and brightened.

  " 'Tis a ghost!" the old don shrieked. He staggered to the wall, pulled down a broadsword, and held it up as an improvised cross. "Shield me, my Lord, from vile and vicious specters who walk by night!"

  The ghost's face, newly formed, quirked into a look of horror, thinning as it stared.

  "No, my lord!" Matt was up and leaping in between the sword and the ghost. "He's not vile and vicious—he's a friend! And he doesn't walk by night—well, that, too, but he walks by day when he needs to. He just doesn't look his best."

  "He will come by daylight?" The old don peered at the misty face across from him, craning to see around Matt's shoulder. "Then he cannot be completely a thing of evil."

  "Hardly evil at all. He's been a big help—and he knows what we intend to do."

  "Then if he seeks to help you, he must needs be on the side of Good." The old don nodded, his chin firming. "He is welcome, then—though I will confess 'tis the first time I've been host to a ghost. Yet though I may welcome him, he must make his own peace with the other nightwalkers; for there be other ghosts within this castle."

  "What respectable castle would be without them? If you wouldn't mind, though, I think I'd better find out why he's here." Matt turned to the ghost. "Good to see you again, friend."

  A smile appeared on the ghost's face, tentative at first, then a little more definite.

  "You are our friend, I know now," Yverne put in. "Forgive my fright when first I saw you."

  The ghost shook its head with a look of distress that as much as said the fault was all his. He pointed at his mouth, opening and closing it silently.

  "Ah. You could not tell me, because you cannot speak." Yverne smiled, somehow at her most charming. "Then let me guess. Have you come to warn us of new enemies come against us?"

  The ghost shook its head with a wisp of a smile.

  "Probably just trying to find us. Our force got split up in a bad fog sent by a sorcerer-duke, and..."

  "A sorcerer and a duke!" De la Luce shook his head "How sadly sunk is Ibile, when even men of rank sink to evil magics!"

  "'Fraid so. And I expect our friend, here, has been trying to round up the forces ever since...Say!" Matt looked up with sudden hope. "I, uh, hate to point this out, milord, but your castle would make an ideal staging ground for an attack on the king, and—"

  "You wish to have your army rally here?" De la Luce answered with a wisp of a smile. "Well, wherefore not, after all? I am secure against attack, and even should the sorcerer batter down my walls—well, I have lived a long life, and will yield it gladly in the service of God and goodness."

  "I hope it won't come to that..."

  "It will not, if you act quickly. Yet be warned, young man—though you may gather your men here, how will you send them to the king's castle?"

  "A point," Matt admitted. "I'll think of something. The early rounds will be magic against magic, after all, and that might be my opening salvo." But he doubted it—he shied at the notion of trusting men's lives to one of his spells. "Well, then, since you don't mind, let's see if I can get the idea across to our ectoplasmic messenger." He turned to the ghost.

  "Can he understand you?" Fadecourt asked.

  "Who cares? Whether he's reading thoughts or hearing us, he's getting the message." But Matt wished he hadn't mentioned mind reading—now he was wondering just which thoughts of his the ghost was tuning in to. He watched the misty face closely, but its look of intent attention didn't waver. Either it had very good self-control, which didn't seem to go with its genial disposition, or it couldn't hear thoughts—at least, not private ones. "Friend," Matt went on, "we need to get all our people back together. Think you can find them?"

  The ghost broke into a smile, nodding vigorously.

  "Great! Can you tell them where we are?"

  The smile faltered; the ghost frowned. Then it shrugged and made shooing motions with its hands.

  Matt nodded, satisfied. "You'll lead them or shoo them, but you'll get them here. Great. Especially since that means they'll be coming by night, when it's easier to get past Gor—the king's sentries."

  The ghost frowned and shook its head.

  "Oh. Not the supernatural ones?"

  The ghost nodded.

  "Well, Friar Tuck can shepherd Robin and his band past them—but it would be better if you could get them aboard boats, far enough away so the king isn't too much aware of it, and get them to row over here. Too tall an order?"

  The ghost frowned in thought, then shook its head.

  "Not too tall an order? You can get them to boat over here?" The ghost nodded.

  "Great! Bring them in...uh...Milord?" Matt turned to de la Luce.

  " 'Tis well planned," the old don assented. "The most secret point of embarkation is through a small ravine that runs far behind the king's castle, well out of sig
ht of the sentries. Board them at the pier, where the fisher folk will turn their backs at the loan of their boats." His eyes twinkled. "Wherefore should they not? For it seems to me that you may find a score of boats there that belong to no one. Then have them row with feathered oars, and bring your friends in the sea gate, certes, where the tide comes in to turn my wheels. If 'twill do for my sea-maid, 'twill do for your friends."

  "Well, they have to come in above the water—but there should be room, at low tide." Matt was beginning to get an eerie feeling about the way the old don talked so confidently of unlikely events—but he definitely wasn't about to ask where that score of boats was supposed to come from. He just hoped the ghost wouldn't count on their really being there. "Okay, ghost?"

  The ghost nodded, grinned, and winked out. Matt exhaled sharply and turned to his friends. "End transmission. Now, Milord de la Luce—if we may impose on you a little further?"

  "It is no imposition, but my pleasure." De la Luce frowned. "How may I aid?"

  "We're going to need whate'er kind of supernatural aid we can get. Could you call up a few of your well-wist friends?"

  "To ask them to aid?" The old don stared, then slowly smiled. "Aye, they might indeed ward you as they have me—if you can win them. Nay, surely I will call up such of them as may come." He raised his voice. "By mist and flight and gist and light! Come, friends of mine, and hear!"

  Mist seemed to fill the center of the great hall, swirling and coalescing even as it appeared—and three well-wists stood before Matt, humming angrily.

  "Yes, I know I offended you." Matt swallowed to fill the sudden emptiness in his belly. "But look at it from my side—we thought you were attacking us!"

  The smallest well-wist quivered, and a deep rasping tone scored the air.

  "Yes, I know, I know! We had no business being there. You had every right to think we were intruders—especially since we were intruders. We had just escaped from the dungeon of the Duke of Bruitfort, and we were looking for a safe place to hide. We thought this castle was deserted, because it was so close to the king's and didn't show any signs of having an army living in it."

  Another tone rattled at him; the well-wist glared.

  "You are an army, I know. But you don't leave any of the obvious signs of habitation—troops drilling in the bailey, horses stabled against the curtain wall, haystacks on one side and manure pile on the other. We didn't think we were invading." Matt took a deep breath. "So. I'm sorry. We didn't mean to hurt you."

  The well-wists glowered at him, but their chord sounded more like a grumble than an explosion. Then the smallest stepped forward, still scowling, and opened its mouth. A rising tone skewed upward.

  "Yes, well, I am going to ask a favor of you," Matt admitted.

  "How can you tell what they say?" Fadecourt asked, in the hushed tones of wonder.

  "Just good guessing." But privately, Matt wasn't so sure. He reminded himself that he was intrepid and wise, and pressed on. "It isn't anything out of the ordinary, actually—not for you, I mean. After all, you're guarding the castle anyway, aren't you?"

  Cautious bleeps answered him.

  "Right. Well, I'm just asking you to guard it a little farther away. I mean, if the king is locked up inside his castle, he can't get over here to attack your friend the don, can he?"

  The well-wists stared, astounded, and their tones soared in delight.

  This was much better. Matt hadn't really thought they'd become enthusiastic about the idea.

  Then the smallest frowned and blatted a denial.

  "Sure, I know he's powerful," Matt argued. "But I'm not talking about a frontal assault, alone—I'm just asking you to pitch in when the rest of our forces attack. If you can just flit around and confuse things, even, you'll be giving us a tremendous boost."

  The well-wists exchanged glances, conducting a quick, private conversation that sounded like a symphony played at tripled speed. Then the smallest turned to the don, sounding an interrogatory tone.

  "Yes, I wish this, too, my friends," the old don said. "But mind you, there is danger. The sorcerer-king has fell and puissant sorceries, and might hurt you sorely. Nay, he might slay you, dispersing your substance to the winds."

  The well-wists looked at one another, buzzing in dark tones.

  The old don nodded. "Aye, even so. He did despoil the land, filling the people with evil by his mere example and his cruelty, and they have tortured the animals and torn at the soil. The malice of the folk has filled the land, poisoning the source from which you sprang. Yet therein lies no reason to go blindly to the slaughter."

  The smallest well-wist faced him squarely, emitting a series of angry chords with his companions.

  "Why, as you will," de la Luce answered. "The death is not certain, no, and you may well prevail against his sorceries, with the aid of these good folk and their allies—how many did you number, Lord Wizard?"

  "Maybe two hundred," Matt answered, "but two of those are wizards, and two more are a dragon and a dracogriff. Also, one of us has the strength of ten or so, and another is the Black Knight."

  The smallest blatted back at him.

  "Small enough, to challenge a king? Yes, I know—but we're going to try anyway." For himself, he didn't have much choice—and for Yverne and Fadecourt, it was better than going it alone. Sir Guy, of course, was Sir Guy, and ready for any challenge, no matter how overwhelming.

  The smallest well-wist flapped its wings smartly and sang a high, clear tone.

  "You are allies, then," Don de la Luce said, with a smile of satisfaction. "Gather your forces, Wizard. The well-wists will number amongst them."

  The first allies to arrive were Robin Hood's band. Matt and his friends were waiting in the sea cave, shivering in the chill of the salt air and watching the water level drop with each outward rush of water. Then the chamber darkened, and they looked up to see a boat, crammed with men, filling the cave's mouth—and a wisp of a ghost drifting before them.

  Fadecourt and Sir Guy let out a cheer. Matt and Yverne managed to join in while it was ringing.

  So it was the old don who stooped and threw a rope at the prow of the dinghy. Maid Marian caught it and pulled them in to bump against the rock ledge. An outlaw caught the ring set in the stone at the stern and held them against the rock as Robin sprang out, followed by Little John and Will Scarlet. "Lord Matthew!" He clapped Matt on the shoulder with a grip that made the wizard wince and think about bone doctors. " 'Tis right good to see you again! We had feared you lost, and were lurking about the duke's castle with a thought to breaking through, when we saw the dragon rise with you on his back. You are well, then? And the cyclops and the maiden?" He nodded to Sir Guy, apparently assuming that a steel suit was a sign of good health.

  "Came through it almost unscathed." Matt found himself grinning; the man's enthusiasm was infectious, almost contagious. "We were worried about you, too."

  "You need not have been." Marian was out of the boat and towering behind Robin. "None could best my lord and dear."

  "I don't doubt it. Uh, Maid Marian, Robin Hood, this is our host, the Don de la Luce."

  "My lord!" Robin seized his hand and began pumping. "How good of you to take us in!"

  "Is it truly the Robin Hood of fable and legend?" Aristocrat or not, the don was staring round-eyed.

  "The same, dragged hither by this good wizard to aid the poor against the proud and mighty." Robin was still pumping.

  Matt reached out and disconnected their hands; Robin was closer to striking oil than he knew. "And therefore feeling responsible for you, which is why I was worried. Did you have a chance to look at the king's castle on your way?"

  "Aye, and 'tis not a fair sight." Robin frowned and was about to go on when the old don interrupted.

  "This has the sound of the start of a conference of war, and such should be held seated around a roaring fire with mulled wine, not tarrying on a rocky ledge whiles your men shiver with the chill and damp. Nay, Lord Wizard, conduct them up
to my hall. You know the way by now."

  "Yes, I do." Matt turned away, then turned back. "But you, milord! Surely you're not going to stay here in the damp!"

  "Only for a brief while, I assure you," de la Luce answered. "My sea-maid will come soon, or not at all; 'tis nigh on the hour of the day when she approaches."

  Matt gazed at him for a moment, then smiled. "Sure. See you soon, then, alone or in company. Speaking of companies, Robin, shall we go?"

  "What maid is this?" Marian asked as they turned the first bend in the staircase.

  "A delusion," Matt answered. "The poor old geezer has been alone most of his life, and his subconscious has manufactured a pretty girl who lives in a mysterious underwater castle and comes to visit him now and then."

  "That has the sound of Ys," Marian said

  Robin asked, "Wherefore do you think it a waking dream?"

  That halted Matt for a moment. To him, it had been pretty obvious. He checked back for signs, and said, "For one thing, she stays young while he gets older—and for another, she isn't a mermaid, but just somebody who can breathe either water or air, which is highly unlikely."

  "In a world of magic?" Robin asked, with a grin, and Matt started to answer; but Marian touched his arm with a smile of sympathy. "Say no more till I've told you of Ys," she said, "but not here, I pray you. Let us speak of it above."

  And they did, around the roaring fire the don had spoken of.

  There was a cask near the hearth now, no doubt courtesy of the well-wists, and the merry men dug flagons out of their packs.

  Curled up on a few cushions, Marian looked surprisingly dainty, and Yverne was, beginning to look a little jealous. "Ys," the maid said, pronouncing it Eess, " 'twas a city to inspire awe, so legend says—a clustering of towers, with golden streets between, its palaces of jasper built, and jade, and ancient, oh! So ancient! Ys was old when Egypt was young, so legend says, yet vital still."

  "Legend says many things," Robin murmured to Matt, "and adds the gloss that fact would scorn."