The Feline Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “We have hammered out the bones of an agreement,” Lugerin said, his hostility barely veiled.

  “Now we must put flesh on those bones.” Ginelur hid her resentment a bit better; it only showed in flashes. “We must ask our people for their approval, and for their suggestions and additions.”

  “Then meet with Brongaffer again and negotiate the details.” Matt nodded. “You are going to stipulate that you'll ask strangers their business before you attack them, aren't you?”

  “Unless they are clearly a war party, yes.” Lugerin's gaze was pure hatred. “If they come in peace, we shall let them pass unmolested—if they pay us tribute.”

  “Call it a toll instead of a tribute and I don't think you'll have much argument,” Matt said. “I predict that within a year word will get around among the travelers, and you'll start having caravans coming through. Give them a discount for having a lot of people in one party and they'll make it a regular stop.”

  Ginelur looked at him in surprise, then gazed off into the distance, her expression calculating. Lugerin didn't get past surprise. “You offer us advice to make us prosper when you have only now defeated us?”

  “Hey, if I'm going to insist you let your slaves go, I've got to show you some way to come out ahead, don't I?”

  “Why do you think you can insist on anything from us?” Lugerin demanded, his rage an inch below the surface. “Without your dragons you are nothing!”

  “No, without my dragon friends, I'm the Lord Wizard of Merovence.”

  Both leaders stared at him in shock.

  “You haven't heard of Merovence, I expect,” Matt said. “It's a kingdom far to the west, but between its warrior queen and myself, we've held it secure against half a dozen invasion attempts.”

  Lugerin was having second thoughts. Nonetheless, he blustered, “You could be lying!”

  “I could,” Matt agreed. He looked around the village and saw a huge boulder filling the space between two houses. “You ever think about getting rid of that rock?” He pointed.

  Lugerin turned to look. “Aye.” His smile turned vindictive. “None can move it, of course. We must build around it.”

  “Well, you never know,” Matt said. “Erosion can wear down a mountain.” He drew his wand, pointed at the boulder, and started chanting.

  “Break, break, break

  Your cold gray stone—oh, see!

  Demolition my tongue shall utter,

  Become a heap of stone blocks for me.

  “Break, break, break

  To the foot of this crag that I see.

  Shiver into a thousand shards

  With no pebbles or gravel or scree.

  Break, break, break

  Into a heap of gray cubes and stone blocks

  A new dragon-cote for to make,

  All formed of this obdurate rock.”

  He hoped Tennyson's ghost wouldn't object. After all, it was in a good cause—clearing living space in a congested area.

  The boulder started to vibrate. With sounds like gunshots, cracks appeared at its top, then ran down its sides until the whole mass was segmented like an orange. All at once it fell in on itself with an avalanche's rumble. Where there had been a huge boulder, there was only a heap of tumbled blocks.

  The humans poured out of their houses to gaze in amazement.

  Lugerin and Ginelur could only stare, thunderstruck.

  “Those blocks will need finishing, of course,” Matt said, “but they're basically squared off. Should make fine building stone.”

  The two leaders turned to him with awe and fear. Beyond them, their people glanced at the stranger in terror, then looked quickly away.

  “So you see, I really am a wizard,” Matt explained. “The young lady who cast the spell that freed your dragons was my apprentice, but she learned everything I could teach her in a year. I'm sure she'd be glad to come back here for a visit if I asked her. So would Stegoman and Dimetrolas, for that matter.”

  “How would you know what passes here?” Ginelur asked through stiff lips.

  Time to bluff. “I have a dozen ways, of course. I'm sure you've heard of crystal balls and ink pools. Then there are animal sentries, supernatural spies, and … well, I won't bore you with the list.”

  They weren't bored. Lugerin glared defiantly, but Matt could see in his eyes the certainty that he was boxed in. Ginelur, on the other hand, was clearly aware that Matt might be bluffing—but it was even more obvious that she didn't dare call him on it.

  “Not that my insisting would be necessary, of course,” Matt said. “I'm sure your people will realize the good sense of these ideas. You may have to explain it a bit, but they'll see the wisdom of it.”

  “No doubt they shall,” Lugerin said in a monotone. He looked down at Ginelur. “Let us tell them the plan to which our colleague Brongaffer has agreed.”

  They went on toward the biggest building, which Matt was more sure than ever was a meeting hall. He smiled to himself as he turned to go back to the young couple.

  “You told me a wizard should never make an exhibition of his powers,” Balkis accused as he came up.

  “An unnecessary exhibition,” Matt reminded her. “In fact, as I remember it, I said not to be a show-off—don't go working magic without a good reason.”

  “And your reason was to make clear to these dragoneers how little choice they had in agreeing to your terms?” Anthony asked.

  Matt nodded. “Some people never get beyond thinking that a law only exists if it's enforced. I just showed them that Prester John has a long arm when it comes to his laws.”

  Balkis' eyes widened in surprise. “Why, my—” She bit back the word “uncle” and went on. “—emperor has outlawed slavery and banditry, has he not?”

  “For a century or more, I'm sure,” Matt said, “and this valley is well within his jurisdiction. They just thought they could do as they pleased because they were so far out of the way from him.”

  Anthony's gaze turned distant. “I had not thought of wizards as enforcing laws.”

  “Magic can be used for good or for ill,” Matt explained, “and the temptation to use it selfishly is always there, as these bandits demonstrated by enslaving dragons and people with the spells their ancestors' shaman worked out.”

  Anthony frowned. “It is well I'm not a wizard, then. I might not prove equal to the temptation.”

  “You would use your powers for naught but good.” Balkis clasped his upper arm with both hands. “I can think of few men I would trust with such power as readily as I would you, my love.”

  He looked down into her face, drank deeply of the glory of her eyes, and smiled. “With you to strengthen my will, I could.”

  “Well, let's find out if you have any power to speak of.” Matt sat down on a big rock, as Balkis moved away, to afford them privacy. “Now, here's a little spell that comes in handy on rainy camping trips; it's for starting a fire …”

  Half an hour later Anthony had learned a dozen verses, each on the first try, and was cheerfully making rocks move into fire rings, lighting small blazes, and conjuring up three-foot-wide storm clouds to put them out. Worse, he had managed to come up with improvements on three or four lines in each spell.

  “Where did you develop such a quick memory?” Matt asked.

  “ Whiling away long winter evenings making up new verses for old stories, with my brothers,” Anthony told him. “The first line I crafted was: 'Thus Alexander's sword swung high to slice the ropes clean through.'”

  “Your very first line?” Matt stared. “How old were you at the time?”

  “Six, before they let me join the game,” Anthony said, “but I really did very little crafting; I made the line by remembering pieces as my brothers had told them.”

  “At six,” Matt echoed, “remembering half a dozen different versions and putting them together.”

  “Aye. There was nothing original about it. A year later I improved it to become: ‘His sword swung high to slash the ropes.�
�� I revised it over the next few years until I made it thus: ‘Then with one blow he cleaved the knot.’ I like that best, but I've had to finish that verse many times since, and had to make the line anew each time. Still, that was the best I phrased it.”

  “If you say so,” Matt said. “Do you remember every line you ever made up?”

  “I'm sure I have forgotten a few,” Anthony said, “and I only remembered the three or four best versions my brothers crafted of each legend.”

  “Oh, is that all.”

  “Aye. I fear I have little prominence in memory,” Anthony sighed. “I will remember these verses you have taught me, though.”

  “Just use them well,” Matt said. “Tell me, was there a reason why you always made up a variation of the same line?”

  “Oh, aye. I am the youngest, so the last line in each verse always fell to me.”

  “Seems to me your brothers might have wanted a bit of variety,” Matt said, “though there is something to be said for predictability. Listen, what if somebody shot an arrow at you and you had to make it break before it hit you?”

  Anthony frowned in thought. “It would have to be a couplet, for an arrow's flight leaves little time—and iambic or trochaic trimeter, for the same reason.”

  “Good thinking,” Matt said. “Give it a try.”

  “Why… ‘Arrow, cease your…’ No, that would be to stop it, not to break it.' Snap in flight, arrow of…' No, the meter's wrong. 'Turn and crack, speeding…'No…”

  Balkis came back as he was fumbling, growing more red-faced with each failure. Before he started stuttering, she said, “Speeding arrow, break in flight.'”

  “Pieces, fall! Begone from sight!” Anthony cried. “You have made the line again, genius of music!”

  “I would rather be your genius of love.” Balkis sat down beside him and smiled into his eyes. He gazed back, blissful and speechless, and his hand stole out to cover hers.

  Matt coughed delicately. Both of them gave a start and turned to him, abashed.

  “I see how it works,” Matt said. “If Anthony can memorize a verse, he can work a spell—but if he has to make one up, he just can't get started.”

  “Like to me,” Balkis said, “save that I can begin a verse, but make weak endings, slowly and with difficulty.”

  “So he can't make magic on his own,” Matt said, “but he can make yours ten times more effective.” He nodded. “Good basis for a partnership. Better teach him all the magic you know. If he's really going to Maracanda, Prester John will be delighted to meet him.”

  “Meet the emperor himself!” Anthony cried, sitting bolt upright.

  “Sure,” Matt said. “He needs all the wizards he can find.”

  “As to that …” Balkis looked suddenly nervous. She turned to Anthony. “I have given you time alone with my mentor, Anthony. Will you grant me the same privilege?”

  “Why … of course, my sweet.” Anthony hid his jealousy with an effort, smiled, then rose and went over toward Stego-man and Dimetrolas, moving warily and timidly.

  Dimetrolas noticed and said something to Stegoman, who boomed out, “Welcome, son of the mountains! Have you never seen dragon folk before?”

  “Never.” Anthony came forward, though shyly. “Might I speak with you awhile? I am bursting with a thousand questions!”

  “I will answer only a hundred,” Stegoman said with a twinkle in his eye. “Ask, mountaineer.”

  They settled down to conversation. Balkis glanced at them, then leaned closer to Matt and asked in a low voice, “How is it you searched for me?”

  “PresterJohn—”

  “Shh! Do not say his name!” Balkis gave a frantic glance over her shoulder at Anthony. “Say rather, ‘my uncle,’ as you did before—and a thousand thanks for that tact.”

  “Just good luck,” Matt said. “Okay, ‘my uncle’ sent word that his niece was missing…”

  “Oh, be not so silly!”

  “Okay, your uncle sent word—and asked me to come find out what had happened to you. We tracked down the sorcerer who had kidnapped you, but he wasn't much help—seems you foiled his transportation spell at the last minute, so he didn't know where you'd gone.”

  Balkis smiled with grim satisfaction. “Not where he intended, at least.”

  “Yes, and I'm very glad of that.” Matt beamed at her. “Very proud of my pupil. But your uncle did a bit of divination, found out which direction you'd gone, and I started searching. Stegoman insisted on coming along for the ride—or so that I could ride, rather—and we headed south, stopping to ask about you whenever we could.” He spread his hands. “When we found chaos happening, we thought it was worth a look.”

  “Praise Heaven that you did! But Pres—my uncle is still seeking me?”

  “Not officially,” Matt hedged. “If I can't find you, he'll send his son with a small army to search.”

  “Oh, such noise and furor will certainly not affright a kidnapper!”

  “Careful, my dear—with your coloring, sarcasm doesn't become you, and I sure hope the converse isn't true. I also hope you're reassured to know your uncle's willing to shake heaven and earth to find you, though.”

  “It is a warming thought.” Balkis smiled. “The problem, though, Lord Wizard, is that I would prefer not to be found for a while.”

  “Need to cement a new relationship before you jeopardize it by revealing you're a princess?” Matt eyed Anthony, who was in earnest conversation with the two dragons. “You could tell him you're a woodcutter's daughter, you know.”

  “I could,” Balkis said, “but would he believe that I could be that and a princess, too?”

  “Should be enough old legends around to give him a basis for accepting it,” Matt said, “and as I understand it, he's steeped in them so thoroughly that they've dyed his soul— but why take chances, right?”

  “Exactly,” Balkis said. “I wish to journey with him through Prester John's tributaries and his own domain, all the way to Maracanda itself. We should be so firmly bound by then that he will not be affrighted—not if he truly loves me.”

  “Assuming he doesn't feel you deceived him, of course.”

  “Ridiculous!” Balkis said. “I am myself! Why should it matter whether I am a princess or a beggar?”

  “Good point,” Matt said, “but it does matter. Still, it's your play, and I won't try to rewrite it for you.”

  “Please do not.” Balkis' face was taut with anxiety. “I am not ready to be a princess again! We have survived dangers and privations on this journey, it is true, but we have also seen wonders, and come to know amazing people. I wish to see the country all the way into the capital itself as ordinary people do, so that I may come to know them better.”

  Matt looked into her eyes and drew his own conclusions about which ordinary person she wanted to know better. He smiled, remembering his first few days of rapture, and reached out to pat her hand. “Don't worry, I'll keep quiet about it. Just don't wear out the honeymoon before the wedding, okay?”

  Matt took dictation, refereed the disagreements on wording, and kept them from breaking up the newborn alliance, then carved it all into a cliff at the side of the village—magically, of course. The villagers were suitably impressed by the stunt and swore to uphold the treaty, possibly more out of fear of the power that had engraved it than of the threat of civil war that could have resulted from breaking it.

  Matt, the two huge dragons, and the young couple stayed on through the celebrations that evening, then slept the sleep of the sober amid a thousand drunks—with one always awake as sentry, of course. The next morning, Anthony got the exhilarating and terrifying experience of a dragon ride, because Matt insisted on seeing his young charges well beyond reach of the dragoneers before he let them go north on their own.

  Thirty miles north, Stegoman and Dimetrolas came in for a landing, and Balkis and Anthony slid down, Balkis running to hold Anthony upright while he got his land legs again. He gave her a foolish grin and a sloppy kiss and said
, “I wish another such ride someday.”

  “I shall give you one,” Stegoman promised, “though you shall have to come to Maracanda to have it.”

  “One more reason for traveling north! Many thanks, noble beast! I shall see you in Maracanda!”

  “In Maracanda, then,” Stegoman acknowledged, and took off with Matt on his back and Dimetrolas flying convoy.

  “You have most amazing friends,” Aiithony informed Balkis.

  “I know.” She pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms around his chest. “Though I had hoped you were more than a friend.”

  “Far more.” Anthony grinned and kissed her.

  They traveled northward for three more days, though they did not exactly hurry. Balkis chafed at Anthony's gallantry in asking nothing of her but kisses, especially since those inflamed her so that her entire body burned to give and demand more—but she remembered what the Lord Wizard had said about not wearing out the honeymoon before the wedding and fancied there might be some truth in it, so she wandered northward arm in arm with her swain and waited for them to happen upon a priest.

  Her hopes soared when they came to a crossroads and saw a little chapel glittering in the light of later afternoon. “We can at least give thanks for a safe journey, Anthony.”

  “We can indeed,” he said, and together they went to the chapel.

  As they came closer, Balkis gasped in wonder. “How marvelous!”

  The chapel stood surrounded by trees; its roof reflected the green of their leaves, but with spots of blinding light here and there where the sun's rays came through. It was ornamented with a delicate tracery of leading, and the sides were every color of the rainbow, depicting scenes from he Bible.

  “There is Noah,” Balkis breathed, “and there Abraham and Moses!”

  “There David fights Goliath,” Anthony said, “and there Esther stands before the king!”

  “There Mary and Joseph kneel at the creche,” Balkis said. “The whole church is made of glass!”

  “How can it ever stand against a storm?” Anthony wondered.

  “There is either magic in it or a genius of an architect,” Balkis answered. “Shall we see more of the Savior's life on the other side, do you think?”