The Secular Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

"But would not the king be angered when he learned of it?"

  "Sure, but all information goes through the chancellor's hands. He can keep any info he wants from the king—unless Boncorro has been wise enough to set up his own spy network, separate from his chancellor's."

  "They say he trusts the Lord Chancellor as much as he trusts any man," the pope said slowly.

  "But that's not saying much, is it? Okay, I'll admit he probably does have his own spies, checking up on the chancellor—but they can't be everywhere at once." He rose. "Speaking of spies, I think we'd better take our leave, now—before the king's agents can track us."

  "Go, and with my blessing." But the pope frowned. "This King Boncorro may not be a force for Evil, Lord Wizard, but he is also not a force for Good, and he cannot balance between them; simply by failing to do good, he advances the cause of Evil. Can you not help me in overthrowing him? He is the grandson of a usurper, after all."

  "And what alternative can you offer?" Matt said. He wondered why Sir Guy glanced at Arouetto and away, but didn't mention it. "Getting rid of a neutral king isn't too smart, if the only available replacement is definitely evil. If you don't mind, Holy Father, I think it would be better to try to subvert King Boncorro and sway him toward the side of the angels than to try to assassinate him."

  "I had not meant to murder him—only to dethrone him!"

  "It doesn't work that way." Matt shook his head. "Kick a king off his throne, and he'll come back with an army—and if you beat him again, he'll just come back again. Again and again—until you finally kill him anyway. No, your Holiness, we would be much better advised to make the best of Boncorro—or try to make him the best."

  "You have given me your advice," the pope said slowly, "and I shall now give you mine—for your own best interests, not that of the Church. It is this: leave Latruria."

  "Good of you, I'm sure," Matt said, "but you know we can't."

  "We are sworn to a vocation, too, your Holiness," Sir Guy said gently. "We cannot turn back unless we are beaten."

  The pope sighed. "Well, I have given you my best rede, though I cannot say I regret your ignoring it."

  As they were going out of the papal palace, Matt said to Arouetto, "How come he didn't include you in the blessing? Or the advice, for that matter."

  "His Holiness does not completely trust me," Arouetto answered with a small smile. "He has not said it, but I believe he sees me as a threat."

  "But can't say why, huh?" Saul asked. "If he could, he'd clap you in irons."

  "Or a monk's cell, I suppose," Arouetto agreed. "Not that I would mind a life sentence to a library."

  "Yes you would," Matt said, "if the only art and music around you were religious."

  "There are worse fates," Arouetto replied. "Still, you are right—I would prefer to remain free, able to contemplate the beauties of Classical art and the works of my inspired contemporaries."

  A handful of Swiss guards marched up and stamped to a halt, leading four well-groomed horses. The leader saluted the companions with his halberd and said, "His Holiness insists that you accept at least this much of a gift from him."

  Sir Guy grinned. "This we will take, and gladly! Thank his Holiness for us!"

  "Yes, thanks indeed." Matt turned to the dragon, who lay waiting by the wall. "You don't mind, do you, Stegoman?"

  "Mind?" the dragon snorted. "It is I who shall thank his Holiness most of all!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  "You are free, then," Sir Guy said as they rode out of the Vatican and into Reme proper, "and so is the pope. But what progress have you made?"

  "Well," Matt said, "we have Arouetto."

  The scholar smiled sadly. "The Lord Wizard took me from my prison, because he seems to think I can reform the young king."

  "Makes sense," Matt said. "Why else would the chancellor have locked you up in his special dungeon?"

  "Why," said Sir Guy, "because he is the last legitimate heir to the throne of Latruria."

  Matt, Saul, and Stegoman swung about to stare at the scholar, but all he did was glare ferociously at Sir Guy. The Black Knight only kicked his heels wide sides and said, "Deny it if you can."

  "Would that I could," the scholar growled, "for it has been a dozen generations since my family ruled!"

  "Hold on!" Matt held up a hand. "Maledicto wasn't that old!"

  "No, but he was the usurper of a usurper of a usurper," Sir Guy explained, "or rather, of three families of usurpers. I would call them dynasties if they had lasted more than a few generations each—but they did not."

  "Three centuries is a long time to say a bloodline's preserved," Matt said dubiously.

  "Six centuries, rather," Sir Guy said, "for Scholar Arouetto's right comes from an ancestor who was the last emperor of the Latrurian empire."

  Saul nodded slowly, gaze still on Arouetto. "No wonder you're interested in the Classics!"

  "How could you know all this?" Arouetto demanded.

  Sir Guy shrugged. "It is one of the things I know by right of birth."

  "His family has been tracking the genealogies of the kings of Europe for several centuries." Matt didn't feel the need to explain that Sir Guy was the last lineal descendant of Emperor Hardishane. "You have your field of expertise, he has his. His career is trying to restore legitimate lines to the thrones of this continent—and just incidentally return their countries to devotion to Right and God."

  "I can see that might entail such knowledge," Arouetto allowed. "But it is useless in my case, friend. I have no wish to rule, nor had my father nor my grandfather. We only wished to be left in peace, to pursue our studies."

  Sir Guy made no reply, but his eyes glittered as he watched Arouetto.

  The scholar sighed. "You may as well say it—the blood of the Caesars has grown thin. Well, perhaps it has, my friend—or perhaps my idea of worthy pursuits differs from that of my ancestors. Try to open your mind enough to imagine that my work might be as important as Julius Caesar's, in its way."

  Sir Guy turned his face away quickly—probably to hide a look of infinite sadness, for to him, no work was so important as that of government—but Matt said, "There is something to what he says, Sir Guy. He has developed new standards for deciding what's right and wrong—but most of his conclusions are right in line with the Bible's. He just has a high opinion of a few things the Book doesn't mention, that's all—and there's a chance King Boncorro might embrace his ideas, though he scorns religion."

  Sir Guy turned back to him slowly. "Do you mean that he might yet save the country that is his weal?"

  "He might," Matt said, "by saving the king who governs it."

  Sir Guy turned to Arouetto, looking him up and down as if he were seeing the scholar in a whole new light.

  "Surely you do not mean that you have but to walk into the king's castle with this scholar," Stegoman rumbled, "and all will be mended!"

  "Hey, even I'm not that stupid. Sure, we have to get him to the king, but even after that, it will take a while." Matt turned back to contemplate Arouetto. "But how are we going to get you in there without getting you killed?"

  They were all silent for a while, thinking up ways and means. Finally Saul said, "Camouflage?"

  Matt turned to him, puzzled. "What did you have in mind?"

  "Safety in numbers," Saul explained. "If you could find a dozen more scholars and poets, maybe you could smuggle Arouetto in with the rest of them—provided the king would let them in, of course."

  "I think he just might," Matt said slowly, "and that reminds me of a young friend of mine. I magicked him and his girlfriend out of Boncorro's castle, but I haven't had a chance to check and make sure they landed okay."

  "How did this discussion of a college of scholars bring them to mind?" Stegoman rumbled.

  "Because the kid's a poet, but he doesn't realize it," Matt said. "He thinks the only career worth having is knighthood."

  "Well, the lad has a point," Sir Guy allowed, "though it is pleasant to be able to
craft a verse when you are done hacking up the enemy."

  "Must men always be thus?" Arouetto sighed.

  " 'Must,' I don't know," Matt said, "but they always will. It has something to do with testosterone and the survival of the fittest."

  Arouetto smiled sadly. "By that measure, I am not the fittest."

  "Apparently not," Saul said, "since you've decided against reproducing. Your father seemed to know what he was doing, though."

  "He was a poet and scholar," Arouetto said slowly, "but even he was exasperated at my mildness. Perhaps I chose more rightly than I knew, when I chose the celibate life."

  "And perhaps the evolution you'll contribute to is cultural instead of physical," Matt said, annoyed. "You never know—you may have more intellectual descendants than I will have biological. For example, I'd love to hear you tell your basic ideas to Pascal, this young friend of mine, and see what they do to him."

  "Pray Heaven they will not turn him from knighthood!" Sir Guy cried.

  "I don't know—the kid is only the son of a squire, and he's that just because his grandfather was a wizard." Matt turned to Saul. "I really would like to check on him. I don't suppose your telecommunication amulet works without a mate at the other end?"

  Saul shook his head. "Sorry. You'll have to settle for a crystal ball."

  Matt sighed. "I don't happen to have one. Scholar Arroueto you wouldn't happen to have a bottle of ink on you, would you?"

  "No," the scholar said slowly, "but I have managed with powdered charcoal when I've had to."

  Matt stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Right. Why didn't I realize? Excuse me, folks—I have to go pick up sticks."

  It only took a few charred sticks, scraped into a puddle of water in a depression on top of a boulder, to darken the fluid enough so that it was almost a mirror, but one that seemed to have some depth. Arouetto looked on with interest—he had rarely had the chance to watch wizards at work—and Sir Guy looked on with distrust. Stegoman took a nap.

  "Okay," Saul said, "we're all ready. Now, how do you turn it on?"

  "Add a verse, of course."

  "Is it by nature adverse, then?" Arouetto asked, concerned.

  "Some of the sociologists think so." Matt stared into the ink pool and intoned,

  "Mesmerizing pool of vision,

  Drawing from us all volition,

  Show us Pascal, at a distance!

  Show us, glow us, all entrance!

  Far-sight, far-see, well envision!

  Distant see-er—tele-vision!"

  "I wouldn't tell anybody, not that," Saul muttered under his breath, but he was watching the pool, too.

  The darkness seemed to lighten, did lighten, glowing from the center outward—and Matt saw a group of young men and women sitting around a table with a pitcher of wine in the middle. They were talking earnestly, which was amazing, considering that they were all wearing peasant working smocks, with the dust of fieldwork on them. Now and then someone threw back his head in silent laughter.

  One of them was Pascal.

  Flaminia sat beside him, and the two of them were doing most of the occasional laughing, and a lot of wide-eyed listening. Now and then one of them ventured a remark, and the others took it up earnestly.

  "Your young friend seems to have landed on his feet," Saul commented.

  "He certainly seems to like it well enough," Matt admitted. "At least I don't have to worry about yanking him out of trouble." He looked up at Arouetto. "But I would like to have him talk to you."

  "Can we not go where he is?" the scholar demanded.

  Matt scowled down at the pool. "I hate to use that much magic at one time. We have to remember that the king is still on the watch for us, with possibly not the nicest of intentions. Let's not make it too easy for him to zero in on us."

  "Perhaps magic is not necessary." Arouetto pointed at the ink pool. "Can you not show us more of their surroundings? There might be some famous landmark among them."

  "Well, I can try," Matt said dubiously, but he muttered a few words, something having to do with zooming out, and the figures grew smaller and smaller in the center, until they could see a hill high behind them, with a castle of reddish rock on its top, a castle with tall, spidery towers that surely could not have been held up just by piling one stone block on another—and a central keep surrounded by scaffolding, where some of the upper arrow slots had been widened to real windows, where glass winked in the late afternoon sun.

  "It is the king's castle!" Arouetto's eyes glowed with success. "The king's castle, and we regard its western face, but from somewhat south! See how he is remaking its keep into a light-filled gracious palace!" He looked up at Matt. "You did not send your young friends very far outside Venarra, did you, Lord Wizard?"

  Matt swallowed thickly and said, "No, I guess I didn't, Arouetto. I'll admit there wasn't much time, but I guess I could have been a bit more specific than that."

  "Lucky the king doesn't seem to think they're very important." Saul looked up at Matt. "Okay, now we know where they are—but how do we get there?"

  Matt turned to Stegoman. After a minute the dragon opened one eye. "I could swear I can feel the pressure of thy thoughts, Wizard."

  "You may be a psychic saurian," Matt answered. "Say, Stegoman, how do you feel about night flights?"

  "How far is Venarra from Reme?" Matt called against the wind.

  "Only fifty miles, as the dragon flies!" Sir Guy called back.

  "Then we are nearly there," the huge voice rumbled towards them. "Hold tightly to one another, small folk, and Sir Guy, hold tightly to my neck! Where is this grove, scholar?"

  "West by southwest of the castle!" Matt called. "Right, Signor Arouetto?"

  "Even so!" the scholar called back.

  "How close to it?" Stegoman demanded.

  "Perhaps half a mile—certainly outside the city wall!"

  "Just land behind a grove big enough to give you cover," Matt advised.

  "Then I shall!" Stegoman banked to the right, curving around and spiraling down. Matt risked a quick glance back at Saul; he was grinning with delight, the wind whipping his long hair behind him. Between them, Arouetto was pale and tight-lipped, but game, not complaining. Matt turned back to watch the rest of Stegoman's approach. He didn't know how the dragon was managing to find his way without even moonlight, but he wasn't about to ask.

  There was a jolt as Stegoman's feet touched the ground, but Matt had felt worse jolts in a jet. The dragon ran a little way, which was worse than the jouncing of the thermals, but he cupped his wings to help slow himself down, and in a few minutes was sagging to the ground. "Off, I prithee! Thou art a heavy load!"

  "I regret that I had to wear armor, good beast, but I could not risk being without it," Sir Guy said, hopping off. Matt leaped down in time to catch Arouetto, and Saul slid off the dragon's back grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Anytime you want to go for a spin, Stegoman, just let me know!"

  "I will be delighted," the dragon huffed, "if there is only the one, or at most the two, of you."

  "Sorry you had to carry so many." Matt came around to the dragon's front, resting a hand on his friend's head.

  "Needs must," the dragon replied. "Let me rest, Matthew, while you seek this friend of yours."

  "Well, I don't really expect them to be up this late." Matt turned to his companions. "Would you stay and keep Stegoman company, Sir Guy? The rest of us need to scout the territory, so we'll know where we're going come daybreak."

  "I need no guardian!" the dragon exclaimed indignantly.

  "Surely not!" Sir Guy sounded just as indignant as Stegoman. "But we would be poor friends indeed if we accepted your labor on our behalf, then went off to leave you! Nay, friend, I will stay with you."

  "Well, so long as you know it is not necessary," Stegoman grumped. "What of the horses, Sir Guy?"

  "I doubt not they have gone back to the Vatican, and the pope will keep them for us, as Matthew asked in his note..."

 
Their voices dwindled under the susurrus of the leaves as Matt pushed his way into the grove with Arouetto and Saul. "They should be in this direction."

  "Should be? They are!" Saul halted, pointing ahead. "Listen!"

  Matt stopped and heard a high, clear tenor voice with the rippling of a lute beneath it. He couldn't make out the words, but somehow the tone of it left no doubt that the young man was singing the praises of his lady.

  "What have we got here, a bunch of college students?" Saul demanded.

  "Not a college, perhaps, for they are not even clergy, let alone cardinals," Arouetto said, eyes glowing, "but certainly students. I recognize the earnestness of debate without rancor, with singing in the midst of it—though I've never seen such outside the walls of a seminary, and never with lasses among them." He turned to Matt. "You did well to send your young friends here."

  Matt shook his head. "Pure blind chance... Wait a minute! Maybe not! I was trying to cut through the inertia of Latruria, so I sang the first Latin song that came to mind!"

  "Gaudeamus Igitur?" Saul looked up, startled. "The very first college drinking song?"

  " 'Let us therefore rejoice,' " Arouetto translated. "I should like to hear the rest of that, Lord Wizard."

  "Don't worry, I'm sure you will!"

  "If that's the case," Saul said, "I'm not surprised they're still up. Midnight's a little early for a bunch of students to be going to bed."

  "Yes, I remember." Arouetto's smile fairly glowed in the dark. "Still, they look to be farmers. Even with the boundless energy of youth, I would have thought they would have lapsed into the sleep of exhaustion ere now."

  "I'll bet they only farm from sunup until mid-morning," Matt said, "then sleep till mid-afternoon, and farm until dark."

  "That is but half a day!"

  "No, it's probably eight hours. They just sleep during the heat of the day, that's all."

  "Assuming that they sleep," Saul said.

  "Lacking evidence to the contrary..." Matt sighed.

  Arouetto pushed forward. "Let us go nearer! I would hear their song!"

  They started forward again, but something huge and furry stepped out to block their path, and a deep voice rumbled, "Well met, Wizard!"