The Feline Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  Balkis's feeling of foreboding deepened. “What if he should overstay his time?”

  “In such a case, the man will die—and therefore will I leave you.” The stranger stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you for your food, good young people— but now I must flee.” With no more ado, he took to his heels and ran.

  Balkis turned to Anthony. “Let us go around this country, I pray you! No matter how many months it takes, it will be far safer!”

  Anthonv frowned. “I have never seen you fear anything before.”

  “True enough,” Balkis admitted, “but I fear… I fear…”

  “Not their women!”

  “Not their fighting, no. Oh Anthony, please…”

  High-pitched, ululating cries filled the air, and a dozen female warriors burst into sight around a curve in the road. They were armed like the Macedonian ghosts, with crested helmets, brazen breastplates, brass-braced kilts, greaves, and armored sandals. They caught sight of the fleeing traveler and doubled their pace.

  “Aside, quickly!” Balkis pulled Anthony off the road.

  It did no good—as the women warriors came even with them, their leader barked a command, and four of them stopped, looking darkly disappointed, and challenged the companions. Their accent was thick, but Balkis could understand it—the language of Maracanda had become the international tongue of these central lands. “I am Ramba, dozen-leader of Queen Harikot,” the soldier said. “Why do you walk this road?”

  A flippant answer came to Balkis's lips, but before she could defy the soldier, Anthony said, in tones of respect, “We travel to Maracanda, dozen-leader. May we pass through your country?”

  “Aye, if you can come and go in nine days.”

  “But your land is forty-two days across!” Balkis protested.

  There was a cry of despair down the road. Balkis and Anthony spun and saw the soldiers wrestling the stranger to the ground. Balkis whirled back to the dozen-leader. “Spare him, I pray you! He is not an evil man!”

  “You must speak to the gross-leader about that,” the dozen-leader said, her face granite.

  As the warriors came back to them with the stranger struggling in their midst, Balkis cried to him, “I had not thought that giving you food would have slowed you to your death! Your pardon, I pray thee!”

  “Given, bless you,” the man groaned. “I had not known they were so close. Believe me, the ten minutes I spent with you would have made no difference.”

  Half the young women stared at him, then glanced uncertainly at one another.

  “You gave this man aid?” asked a tall, older woman with cold gray eyes and a stern expression.

  “I did, and I would do so again!” Balkis declared. “He is not evil, only weak to temptation! Spare him, I pray you!”

  “He is lustful and licentious,” the woman said grimly, “as greedy for our bodies as a miser for gold. Had he not lost his head in our embraces, he would have kept count of the days and departed in time to be safe. Indeed, if he had not indulged himself so freely with us, I have no doubt he would have had strength enough to run faster and make his escape.”

  “No man but a trained athlete at his peak could outrun your young cheetahs,” the man groaned.

  “Flattery may have served well you in the boudoir, but it will not aid you now! What of your wife, eh? What has she done these ten days while you dallied with us?”

  “I am a bachelor,” the stranger moaned, “and a poor man.”

  Balkis found herself wondering what sorts of men would avail themselves of the warrior women's invitation, and began to realize why they mistrusted males. “Many of your visitors may be cads and roues,” she said, “but not this one.”

  “It is the law,” the officer grated. “He thought us worth his life—and the bill has come due. Women! Take him to Queen Harikot and let her judge!”

  The man gave a moan of despair as the women dragged him away.

  “Take the woman to a guest house,” the officer directed, and two women stepped up to either side of Balkis. “Go where they tell you,” the officer said, “or they shall have to bind and carry you.”

  Balkis glared at her. “Poor treatment of a guest!”

  “Few guests seek to argue the case of a reprobate,” the officer returned, and told the remaining two soldiers, “Escort the young man to the pleasure dome!”

  Balkis gave an involuntary cry and started toward Anthony, but hard hands clasped her arms, holding her back. He gave her an uncertain smile and raised his arms to guard.

  “You have nothing to fear,” the officer told him, “as long as you keep track of the days, and leave in time to be gone from this land before your nine days are up.”

  “But I would need forty-two days to cross your land! I would have to come back here!”

  “Do you truly object?” the officer asked with a cynical smile.

  “I do indeed! I have come to travel north, not to dally and lose days!”

  “You shall abide by the law of the land,” the officer said inexorably, “and even if you did naught but travel, you would still have to leave the Grand Feminie in nine days.” She turned to Balkis. “Come, little sister. You, at least, shall be treated with honor.”

  “How can I, when I fear for my Anthony?”

  Anthony's head whipped about, eyes staring at her.

  “Is he yours, then?” The officer's gaze sharpened. “If he is true, you have nothing to fear—soldiers respect loyalty.”

  “I… I cannot truly claim him.” Balkis' gaze faltered and dropped.

  “Fear not, sweet one,” Anthony told her, though his voice shook. “I understand loyalty, too.”

  “Think of St. Thomas, dear companion,” Balkis said. “We shall see him together!”

  “We shall.” Anthony's tone was a promise; then he turned to follow his captors.

  Still, as Balkis followed her escort, she wondered when Anthony had become “my Anthony” in her heart.

  The guest house was clean and pleasant, fragrant with flowers and with curtained windows—but it was Spartan in its decoration. There were several chairs, two with arms, but none padded, a low table between them, and a low chest for linens and clothing. Against the wall stood a narrow bed which Balkis was sure was almost as hard as the chairs.

  As they sat, a young girl came in with a tray containing a tea set. Balkis breathed in the aroma and began to think her spirits might revive—but she was desperately afraid for Anthony. She knew his goodness, but how could any man withstand temptation such as he was bound to confront?

  The two soldiers with her sat down, taking off their helmets and shaking out long, lustrous hair with sighs of relief. Balkis was amazed—the one had a mane of rich chestnut, the other of red-gold, both long enough to cover their breastplates.

  “It cushions the helmet,” one said, “when we wind it about our heads.”

  Balkis realized she had been staring, and looked down at the tea set, but her heart shrank within her. Without the nose-guards to hide their features, and framed by the glory of their hair, their faces were quite beautiful, and judging from the proportions of their cuirasses, she guessed they both had spectacular figures. How could Anthony hold out, indeed!

  “Will you pour?” the redhead asked. “For the few days of your sojourn, this is your house.”

  Not that she had the option of choosing her guests, Balkis reflected sardonically. “I thank you, soldier, but it is more truly yours. Pour, if you will.”

  “Call me Alantha.” The soldier bent forward and poured tea into three small cups without handles. “I trust you like the tea of China.”

  “I'm sure that I shall.” Balkis had tasted Chinese tea before and preferred Indian, but she did not feel it would be diplomatic to say so. “I am called Balkis.”

  “And I am Illior,” the brunette said. She accepted her cup and sipped. “Why do you travel toward the north?”

  “Because I have been kidnapped from my home there and wish to ret
urn.”

  “Indeed!” Alantha's gaze fairly snapped, her tone hard. “Who stole you away?”

  “A sorcerer,” Balkis said.

  The two soldiers stared, then frowned. “A man, of course,” said Illior.

  “He was, yes—but I think he may have been a woman's pawn.”

  “Why not?” Alantha gave her a hard smile. “They are so easy to manipulate, are they not? Or so we hear.”

  “I have not tried it myself.” But Balkis thought of the way she had foisted herself onto the family of Queen Alisande and felt a trace of guilt.

  “Why did he mark you for stealing?” Alantha asked.

  Balkis shrugged. “I can only guess.”

  “Then do.”

  Balkis sighed. “Perhaps he, or the woman who sent him, feared that I might steal my cousin's inheritance.”

  “Your cousin is the woman?”

  “No, but there are several who plan to marry him.”

  “Vanity!” Alantha snorted, and Illior said, “Would they not be better advised to make their own way to wealth?”

  “That is a difficult undertaking, in our land,” Balkis said.

  “In any!”

  “True enough.” Balkis frowned at Alantha. “Is it so difficult, then, for a soldier to rise in rank?”

  “There are many soldiers,” Illior said simply, “and few officers.”

  Balkis nodded with sympathy. “Many soldiers, and all of you brave and valiant. I have heard rumors of you in my homeland—though I confess I did not believe them.”

  “They are true enough, I suspect,” Illior said amused. “What do they say of us?”

  “That you are furious in war—so courageous and so disciplined that none have ever beaten you.”

  Alantha's smile was complacent. “That is true indeed.”

  “None at all?” Balkis pressed. “Is not Prester John emperor over all these lands of Central Asia?”

  “That he is,” Alantha said, “but even his armies could not defeat our champions in the trial of arms to which he invited them. Nonetheless, all three of the queens of the Grand Femi-nie have allied with him and boast of that alliance, for they found him to be a paragon of morality and integrity, of justice and fair treatment to all. It is even rumored that he has recently found his niece who was lost, and has set her equal to his own son.”

  Balkis bit her lip, then said quickly, “Call it alliance though they may, the queens are still his tributaries, when all is said.”

  “They are, and the tribute they send him is a score of warrior women to swell his bodyguard.”

  So that was where the female bodyguards came from! Balkis knew from experience that they took orders from none but their own captain, scarcely spoke with any of the other soldiers, but were quick enough to talk with merchants and diplomats. She saw instantly that they might be helping to guard Prester John, but were also having an education in commerce, law, and statecraft. No wonder the three queens were willing to send a different score of women every year!

  “Would that tribute not put your queens on a par with all of Prester John's other subordinate kings?” Balkis asked.

  Illior nodded. “It does indeed, making them part of the most powerful empire in the Orient—and they have no fear of being enslaved, for we their soldiers are warriors by training and by inclination, who keep our skills honed by continually holding mock battles.”

  “And looking for excuses for going to war?” Balkis asked with sarcasm.

  Alantha grinned. “I would not say we seek it—but perhaps we bring it faster than it might otherwise come, by our pride and our loathing of compromise. When we must go to battle, we go eagerly, seeking the glory and honor that entitles us to become mothers, and we fight most bravely indeed.”

  Balkis could believe it, if that was what they had to do to win the privilege of having babies. Still, she was interested to learn that the mothering instinct was as strong in these women as in any others.

  So they talked through that long afternoon, Balkis constantly on the watch for a chance to escape and go to Anthony's rescue—but her host-guards were too vigilant. Alantha happened to be sitting between her and the door, and Illior was quick to summon the servant girl to fetch food and drink from the other room at the slightest sign of Balkis' desire. Balkis began to feel as though she were bound with velvet ropes— comfortable, even pleasant against the skin, but binding her tightly nonetheless. She masked her growing desperation, and as the windows reddened with sunset, braced herself to work a spell into the conversation, hoping Alantha and Illior wouldn't realize what she was doing until it was too late to stop her with a blow.

  Then Anthony lurched into the room, looking dazed. A soldier followed him, giving his shoulder another shove that explained his lurching. She wore no helmet or armor, only a linen tunic that clung to her figure and ended at mid-thigh, and her face flamed with anger—or was it embarrassment?

  “Take him, maiden!” the white-clad soldier snapped.

  “Yes, take him, for we cannot!” said another soldier, coming right behind her.

  “Aye!” said the first. “He is no use to us, that's certain!”

  Balkis was on her feet and clinging to Anthony's arm, afraid he would fall, for he blinked around at the room, not seeming to understand where he was. “What have you done to him!”

  “Everything we could short of rape. ” Another soldier followed the first through the door with two more behind her, all clad like the first with their flowing hair unbound. “Stripped him naked and stripped ourselves, slowly and with every enticement we knew—and it did some good, as anyone could see, but not enough. Again and again he stammered that he had to refuse our kind invitation, saying he must be loyal to you.”

  “We accused him of being virgin, and therefore afraid of the power of the pleasures we would give him,” another soldier said, “and he told us there might be truth to that, but still must he be loyal to his traveling companion.”

  “We assured him there was nothing to fear and every pleasure to gain, that we would ease him gently from his virgin state,” the fourth soldier said, “and he thanked us, did you not, pale lad?”

  That brought Anthony a little out of his daze. “Aye! How else could I respond to so kind an offer?”

  “Aye, how could you?” the soldier said in disgust. “And you did not, to be sure!”

  “As though we stood to gain nothing by our generosity” the first said with sarcasm.

  “We danced for him, we offered him wine, we caressed and kissed him,” the second said, fuming, “but still he stood rigid and protested he must refuse our kind offer.”

  “In the end, we dressed him and brought him back to you,” said the first, lip curling in a sneer. She rounded on Balkis. “Why did you not tell us you are betrothed?”

  “Why… because we are not!” Balkis gasped.

  “In love, then—so deeply in love you might as well be engaged,” the first soldier said. “Why, when we pressed him to take advantage of the opportunity he turned red-faced and stammered that he had to be faithful to his little cat.” She wrinkled her nose. “He calls you endearments, and you do not know he loves you?”

  “Well… perhaps I suspected …” Balkis didn't think it was time to explain that “little cat” was only a statement of fact, not an endearment—or was it?

  “Take him and go.” Alantha rose to her feet.

  “Aye, take him, for he will surely be no use to us!” one of the soldiers said.

  “We must respect such loyalty—it is a quality soldiers understand,” Illior said, though she looked disappointed. “He has won you safe passage through our land, maiden, and so shall we tell the queens. It has been fifty years and more since a man so refused us through loyalty to his love.”

  Alantha stepped close. “If he is so much in love with you, you are a fool if you remain a maiden much longer.”

  “Per-Perhaps …” Balkis said, but her face flamed scarlet at the thought.

  “If you do
not realize the worth of what you have in him, you are truly a fool,” Alantha said bluntly. “If you do not bind him to you with every tie you know of, you are a greater fool still.”

  “I … I shall ponder what you say.” Balkis lowered her gaze, then looked up again at Anthony's face, anxious at his numbness, the trance in which he seemed to stand.

  “You may stay the night.” Alantha stepped aside from the inner doorway. “You will find the bed wide and soft, and if you have any sense about you, you will put it to good use.”

  “Thank—Thank you. But… we …” Balkis glanced again at Anthony, and saw that she would have to do the thinking for both of them. “You … are very kind, but I think … yes, I think that we had better go while we may. You have been very hospitable, but we have many miles yet to walk and must use every minute of daylight left.”

  “Go, then.” Alantha nodded at the white-clad soldiers, who stepped aside from the outer doorway. “Go in peace, but go quickly, for though we respect his loyalty, there is something within us that must believe it is an insult.”

  Balkis took her Anthony, and went—and as she steered him down the road and out of the village, she marveled that he did indeed seem to have become her Anthony—for if the soldiers spoke truly, he most certainly was that.

  The thought made her a little afraid. Afraid, but also excited-—and that excitement made her even more afraid.

  Matt and Stegoman came flying over the roadway, noticing how the desert had bloomed and turned from rock to scrub growth to verdant pasture and luxurious woodland. “We seem to be coming to a water source,” Matt opined.

  “Perhaps it is the drainage from that range of mountains we passed some days ago,” Stegoman offered.

  “That would make double sense—why this side is green and the northern side is desert,” Matt said. “I have to say this for Prester John—at least he keeps communications open. The road just keeps going, straight through the mountains and the desert, even here hundreds of miles south of Maracanda.”