The Feline Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  The people murmured, marveling at the tale and the palace both. The building was three hundred feet long and a hundred deep, with a huge central dome and four smaller domes at the corners, all bulbous and pointed—but the central doorway was a Roman arch flanked by Corinthian columns. The window opening onto the central balcony, right above the main door, was a smaller version of its arch, with railings of ivory. The windows were Moorish arches with balconies enclosed by elaborately carved railings. The roof, however, was completely black.

  “Good sir, why is there so dark a roof on a palace so light and colorful?” Sikta asked, frowning.

  Hajik puffed himself up with the pride of knowledge. “It is made of a precious wood called ebony, good woman, and it has the virtue of taking and holding a spell that will make it immune to fire.”

  “You mean it cannot burn?” a pilgrim asked, wide-eyed.

  “Not once Prester John enchanted it, no,” Hajik said. “The gates of the palace itself are likewise of ebony so that no enemy may burn them down to enter.” He turned and pointed at the eastern end of the roof. “Notice the gables at either end! Above each are two golden apples—see how they shine! But set in each of them are two carbuncles; as the gold shines by day, so the carbuncles shine by night.”

  “That must have been the glow I saw in the sky last night!” one pilgrim exclaimed.

  “It was indeed.” Hajik turned sideways with a flamboyant gesture toward the castle. “The windows are of crystal. At night you shall see them glowing with light from a thousand lamps… ah, I see by the wonder in your faces that you gazed upon the sight last night! Know that in this palace all the lamps are fed by balsam, and the sweet aroma permeates all the chambers.”

  “Even in the emperor's personal rooms?” a pilgrim asked.

  Hajik gave the speaker a forbidding frown. “I cannot speak of Prester John's private chambers, for none but the emperor, his family, and his privy ministers know what lies therein.”

  Balkis smiled secretly, barely managing to keep from showing off by telling Anthony that the emperor's withdrawing room was marvelously bedecked with gold and all manner of precious stones. But hold it back she did—she was trying to keep him from knowing that she was part of the emperor's family, not display it.

  “Whenever an onyx is used for ornament,” Hajik orated, “four carnelians are set about it so that the assertive effects of the onyx may be tempered. When it is used for its magic, of course, the onyx is inlaid by itself.”

  From the top of the palace's dome a gong sounded. Its tone faded, but before it was quite gone, another boomed, then ten more. The crowd gasped, staring in awe, trying to see the man who struck the great tam-tam—for that matter, trying to see the instrument itself.

  Hajik smiled. “Yes, good people, the emperor has a wondrous machine crafted for him by a smith of magical powers, and that machine reminds us of the hours of the day, even as you have but now heard. The stroke of noon tells us that hours for viewing the palace are ended. Go back to your hostel in peace; your guide shall bring you here again tomorrow, for it is a holy day, and you may hear the apostle Thomas preach from the balcony above the main gate.”

  The crowd stirred, exclaiming to one another in delight and surprise.

  “Go your ways now,” Hajik said, “and come back on the morrow.” He saluted them with a slight bow, then turned to walk back toward the palace. The soldiers closed in, ushering the people out the main gate. The pilgrims dispersed with happy chattering, but Balkis, so close to the palace, realized that if there was a proper time to tell Anthony her true rank, it had better be now—and she dared not risk his learning by another source, for every minute in Maracanda increased the chances of some acquaintance greeting her by her title. She nerved to the deed and caught Anthony's arm as he was about to exit the black portal. “No, Anthony! I wish to see inside the palace.”

  “Mere country folk like us?” Anthony exclaimed, horrified. “They will think us assassins and execute us on the spot!”

  “They will not.” Balkis said, gazing at him with an intensity he found unnerving.

  Anthony's eyes went to a man approaching over her shoulder. “Lord Wizard!” he cried gratefully. He waved.

  Matt waved back, smiling as he came up. “I thought that might have been your band of pilgrims. What do you think of the emperor's palace?”

  “It is beautiful and wondrous—but Balkis thinks to look inside.”

  “Does she really?” Matt stared at Balkis.

  “She does, and I fear we will be struck down on the spot! Lord Wizard, I pray you—for her safety, persuade her of her folly!”

  Balkis gave Matt stare for stare and moved her head up and down a fraction of an inch.

  “No,” Matt said to Anthony, “you're my friends, and therefore privileged people. Besides, Prester John likes wizards— as long as they're on his side. Let's go have a look at the throne room.”

  “The chamber of state?” Anthony goggled.

  “Well, we couldn't expect him to show us the private apartments, could we? Come on, let's go.” Matt turned to talk to the captain of the guard, who nodded and led the way. Soldiers formed up about them.

  Anthony eyed them nervously; then apprehension was drowned in a rush of enthusiasm. “To think, we shall actually see the wonders inside the palace! Balkis, what great fortune that your teacher was someone of such influence!”

  “Yes, great fortune indeed.” But why did her heart feel like lead?

  They walked between the Corinthian columns, under the Roman arch, and Balkis was struck once again at how Prester John's palace was a thorough mixture of the styles of East and West, for his empire comprised people of all cultures. Somehow, the architect had made them work—not surprising, if it really was copied after the work of an Israelite prophet for a Hindu king.

  They walked down a broad hallway paved with semiprecious stones, between pillars of sandalwood and cedar. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of strange slant-eyed, yellow-skinned people with elaborate coiffures and silken robes, playing at games that seemed quite ordinary and plucking musical instruments that seemed quite exotic. Anthony exclaimed with wonder at every step, but beside him Balkis was silent, growing more and more nervous.

  “How polite these people are!” Anthony marveled. “They bow to us at every step! But why do they stare?”

  “No doubt they are unused to seeing people in humble clothing amid such grandeur,” Balkis replied. She bit her lip; it hadn't been a complete lie, after all. The servants knew her face, but they certainly had never seen her in rough travel garb.

  At the end of the corridor were two huge portals with guards holding crossed pikes before them—but Matt turned down a side passage. The ceiling was only ten feet high and there were no pillars here, but the walls were marble.

  “Even the servants walk amid splendor!” Anthony marveled.

  Matt led them to a smaller set of doors, only seven feet tall, but still with two guards holding crossed spears.

  “We are expected,” Matt said, and Balkis' heart beat so heavily and rapidly that she was sure Anthony could hear it.

  He didn't, though, only beamed down at her. “Be not apprehensive, my love. If the Lord Wizard conducts us, surely there is nothing to fear.”

  “Surely not,” Balkis said faintly, and clutched his hand, hoping it would not be the last time.

  The soldiers bowed—apparently to the Lord Wizard, though their gazes were fixed on Balkis. They opened the doors and the little company went in.

  They entered a circular chamber that seemed a veritable cavern, but one floored with marble, walled with lapis lazuli and jasper, and framed by gilded columns upholding a ceiling that stretched away into the dimness of the great central dome. Some window must have been opened there, for it let a shaft of sunlight spear down to bathe the throne in a golden glow.

  That throne stood atop a dais ten feet high, and in it sat a man with golden skin, black hair, and black beard. There was an e
laborate jewel-studded golden crown on his head and robes of cloth-of-gold on his body. He held in his left hand a golden scepter while he gestured with his right as he spoke to the richly dressed men on the floor before him, their leader honored to stand on the lowest step of the dais. The emperor looked larger than human, glorious as a pagan god, awe-inspiring and intimidating, and if she had been in cat form, Balkis thought, she would have hissed.

  “We'll have to wait until he finishes with the delegation from Kazakhstan,” Matt murmured to them.

  Balkis was quite willing to wait till Doomsday. Anthony scarcely seemed to hear; he stood with head tilted up, gazing with shining eyes at the magnificence around him.

  Then Balkis had the uncanny feeling that someone was watching her. She looked up, glancing from side to side, first at the guards before the dais, who stood with spears braced and eyes firmly forward, then up to its top—and saw Prince Tashih standing behind the throne and to the side. He should have been taking mental notes on the formalities he would have to conduct himself one day but was instead looking down at Balkis with a smile of joy. He caught her look and started to raise his hand.

  Balkis shook her head ever so slightly.

  Prince Tashih's smile faded; his eyebrows rose.

  Balkis nodded toward the bemused Anthony.

  Tashih glanced at the young man, gave Balkis a long, speculative look and a grin, then studied Anthony again with curiosity, then with favor.

  Balkis sighed with relief. She had been aware of Tashih's resentment, but it seemed to have vanished. She wondered if that had anything to do with Anthony's presence.

  Finally the delegation was done. They backed away from the throne, bowing as they went. Guards threw the doors open, and the delegation retreated out of the throne room. The portals closed behind them.

  Then Prester John himself was rising from his throne and descending the steps of the dais, the emperor of Central Asia approaching Anthony and Balkis, the Lord of Maracanda holding his arms open wide.

  Balkis could contain herself no longer. With a cry of delight and relief, she threw herself into the embrace of the uncle who had been so kind to her, the mother's brother who, with his beaming son, was all the family she had left in the world.

  Prester John lowered his crowned head, laid his cheek against Balkis' hair and murmured soothing words as her body heaved and she began to cry.

  Anthony stared, uncomprehending, and his hands closed on Mart's arm like talons. “Lord Wizard—what—how— what can this mean?”

  “It means that she is his niece.” Prince Tashih inclined his head toward Anthony a few millimeters. “I am Prince Tashih, and I am her cousin.”

  Anthony's mouth dropped open. He stared, thunderstruck.

  “He saved me!” Balkis cried, deep within the folds of her uncle's robe. “He gave me food when I was lost and weak, he gave me friendship and left his home to bring me safely to you!”

  “Then I cannot thank you deeply enough.” This time, Tashih bowed fully, head and shoulders. “If you have given my cousin safe passage, I can only offer you whatever is mine to give.”

  “But—But—it was she who saved me! Who rescued me from a life in which I was despised, who has given me my life again and again!”

  “Yes, even as you gave me mine.” Balkis stepped back from Prester John's embrace, wiping away a few last tears. “My uncle, this is Anthony of the southern mountains, without whom I would have died a dozen times before I could come safely home to you.”

  “A prince's thanks be upon you.” Prester John stretched forth a beringed hand in blessing. “Ask what you will, and you shall have it.”

  Anthony's eyes automatically went to Balkis. She blushed and lowered her gaze—quickly enough so that she did not see Anthony look away again, appalled at his own temerity, or the reddening of his face as he remembered all the kisses he had given—to a princess!

  But Prester John noticed. “I see there is more to this tale than the Lord Wizard has told me—though he did bring me word of her safety, and of her escort. Come, let us repair to my private chambers, where I may divest myself of this heavy regalia and sit in comfort to hear your tale.”

  “Your private chambers!” Anthony gasped, remembering Hajik saying that only the family and privy ministers had ever gone there.

  “You would not expect the emperor of half the East to sit in a public dining room to take tea and hear your tale, would you?” Prince Tashih smiled and reached out in welcome as he turned to follow his father and Balkis. “Come, let us follow them.”

  Prester John was tactful enough not to insist that Balkis put on a royal gown. He persuaded Anthony to sit in spite of the fact that he was a mere commoner, “For surely the man who has saved my niece merits the courtesy of reclining at table beside her.”

  Tongue-tied and goggle-eyed, Anthony sat and listened to Balkis telling of her kidnapping, her aborting of the shaman's spell, her rescue by the Wee Folk, and her convalescence in Anthony's barn. His eyes began to focus then, astonished at hearing how the events had appeared through her eyes. She explained the number of times that her spells would have worked too slowly to save her had Anthony not improvised a final line. There he broke in to protest, and to enumerate the times she had saved him by beginning a verse for him to finish.

  “You are certainly comrades in arms,” Prester John said, amused, “and both mighty wizards in the bargain.”

  “But I have only begun to learn, Majesty,” Anthony protested, “to learn at her hands.”

  “You are nonetheless to be numbered among the natural resources of the realm,” Tashih informed him, also amused.

  Anthony noted his smile and turned away, blushing angrily. “Am I so humorous a bumpkin, then?”

  “If you do not know your own worth?” Tashih asked. “It is amusing that you are the only one here who does not.”

  “I am only a peasant and the son of a peasant,” Anthony protested.

  “It would seem you are more,” Prester John said quietly. “It would certainly seem that my niece would not have come home to me without your aid.”

  “She has the protection of a most powerful wizard,” Anthony objected, not meeting the emperor's eyes, “one who saved us from the dragon riders.”

  “Yes, with the help of two full-sized dragons and your own spell that set the small ones free,” Matt countered. He turned to Prester John. “Might I point out, Majesty, that I only caught up with them a few weeks ago, and Balkis had found plenty of opportunities to get herself killed before then.”

  Anthony looked up at that, opening his mouth to object, but Prester John said, “Would you argue with the Lord Wizard of Merovence, the most powerful kingdom of the West? Accept our thanks and believe your own credit, young man, for if the Lord Wizard says you saved my niece, be sure that you did.”

  “But she—”

  “Yes, I know that she saved you as often as you her, and I can think of no better example of comradeship than that. But my niece is wearied at last—I see that all this excitement makes her eyelids droop. She is in need of rest and refreshment now that she is come home to me.”

  He clapped his hands and half a dozen women entered. Seeing Balkis, their mouths dropped open and their eyes widened; they started to rush forward, then caught themselves and knelt instead. “Mistress and princess! You are returned to us!”

  “Faithful companions!” Tears came again to Balkis' eyes.

  “Go with them,” Prester John directed. “Bathe, take tea, rest awhile, then come to speak with us again.”

  Balkis glanced anxiously at Anthony, who resolutely refused to meet her gaze, face still red.

  Matt winked at her and made a shooing motion with his hand.

  With misgivings and many backward glances, Balkis went off with her ladies in waiting. She cast one last wide-eyed imploring look back at Anthony as she went out the door, but he still refused to meet her eyes.

  The emperor clapped again and four servants came in, liveried alik
e. They bowed.

  “Here are men of your own rank and station,” Prester John said to Anthony, “or at least what you deem to be yours, in spite of our telling you that you are indeed what you have proved yourself to be—a wizard worthy to escort a princess. Go now with these men, whose opinions I think you are more willing to trust than mine. They shall bathe you and attire you as befits a gentleman of the court. When you have rested, we shall meet again, that we may discuss the ways in which an emperor may thank a subject who has served him well.”

  “I … I thank Your Majesty.” Anthony rose and backed away. The servants bowed and backed out with him.

  Then Prester John turned to Matt, his demeanor suddenly grave. “Now, Lord Wizard, we must speak of justice for the villain who tried to steal and slay my niece.”

  “And who tried to tear the realm apart by creating a rift between son and father.” Tashih's eyes glittered with anger. “How shall we serve this upstart, Lord Wizard?”

  “Instead of justice,” Matt said, “we might do better talking about the security of the realm. From the sources I encountered, it seems this villain—Kala Nag, as she calls herself— has plans to conquer your empire and do away with both of you.”

  “Therefore she began with my cousin?” Tashih asked, an edge to his voice.

  “She seems to be operating according to some sort of prophecy that Balkis is one of a pair who can stop her conquests—but only if the two are joined.”

  “That would be, of course, my niece and her mentor, yourself,” Prester John said grimly.

  “If that's the case,” Matt said, “I can always be with you quickly, if you need me—and the threat this Kala Nag poses is scarcely immediate.”