"You loved a woman other than my mother?" Boncorro's face was almost white.
"Love? Ah, no, to my shame, little enough of love was there, but a great deal of lust, an ocean of lust, crashing in on the beach of my celibacy all at once, in a tidal wave! Do not think too harshly of me, I pray—remember that I had been ten years without a wife, that the chambermaid was very attractive and flirtatious, that I found myself tempted to the point of succumbing—and that I knew myself well enough to know that if I fell, I would try to justify the deed, to find some excuse for it, to persuade myself that the sin was right and good, so that I could maintain the liaison even though I could not marry her! Those excuses would have led me little by little to embrace the Devil's blasphemies, until, believing I was damned, I would have declared myself a servant of Satan, who would then have given the throne into my hand—and rather than saving Latruria, I would have taken the kingdom with me to damnation. Nay, I resisted the beckoning of her gazes and swayings, I refused the unspoken invitation in her eyes, I resisted the spoken invitations that came after, but my blood pounded so furiously in my veins that I knew I could not hold out forever! I besieged the gates of Heaven with my prayers, that the Lord would remove this temptation from me! I reminded myself time and again that God would not send me a trial too great for me to bear! But at last I pled with the Lord that, if he would not remove the temptress from me nor purge the lust from my heart, that he would take me home to the safety of Heaven! This was my sin, to ask to be removed from the strife of life! It is my fault, and none of the Lord's, if He heard me and granted my prayer by relaxing His protection so that the assassin's knife delivered me from my own weakness!"
"Weakness indeed!" Boncorro cried. "It was given to you to care for a kingdom, and to care for a son who would one day also care for that kingdom! How dare you desert me so! How dare you desert your kingdom!"
"But I never did, never truly!" the ghost pleaded. "Oh, aye, I quit this life, and could not be with you in the flesh, nor hold you when you were racked with grief nor counsel you in your confusion—but I was always with you as closely as I could be, ever hovering near to strengthen your mind and soothe your heart! Oh, I have not preserved you completely from Satan's wiles—but if your heart was in turmoil and you felt a sudden calmness, that was me, channeling God's grace to you! If you dreamed a nightmare, racked with confusion and fear, and I appeared to banish the monsters and show you magical wonders—that was more than a dream, it was I in the spirit! If you were tempted to hate, tempted to revenge, and a cool impulse stayed your hand and calmed you, that impulse was mine! I have never truly deserted you, my son, but have always been with you, in your heart and in your mind and, as much as I could, in your soul, strengthening you against temptation and counseling you against the sins of lust. It was I, it was always I, and I shall always be there to guide you and to give you solace, if you do not truly forsake the Lord God!"
Boncorro sat, staring at the ghost, as the color slowly came back into his face. Then, finally, his form relaxed and a single tear flowed from his eye. "God bless you, my father! I forgive you again, for in your place, I could have done no less, to save my kingdom—and my son, for I can only imagine the nightmare my life would have become if you had declared for Evil!"
"But can you forgive God?" the ghost whispered.
Silence answered him, a silence that held the whole throne room and stretched on and on as young King Boncorro stared up at him, a boy no longer, but a man in the fullness of his strength—of body, of mind, and of will.
Then at last he spoke, and his voice was low. "Yes, I can—but only because it has just dawned on me, through your talk, and... was that you, moving in my heart just now, to open it to grace?"
The ghost did not answer, but his eyes shone.
"It comes dimly to me," Boncorro went on, "that God may have worked for the best of us all—that my own orphaning has certainly made me the man that I am today, and that God may have wanted that, for His own reasons—but perhaps also for the welfare of the people of Latruria."
Behind him, Rebozo winced.
"I can begin to forgive Him, at least," Boncorro went on, "though I may need to understand a great deal more of His plan before I can seek to make amends. Tell me more, that it may make greater sense to me! Why were you murdered?"
"You have guessed it, and guessed aright," the ghost told him. "As soon as my murderer realized that I intended to turn to God, to turn my whole country to God if I gained the throne, he bent all efforts to assuring that I would not do so. Assassins began to appear about me—"
"The groom Accerese?"
"No, not he! Never he! The poor man only found my body—he did not wield the knife! Nay, he dwells here in glory among the Saints—for the small sins of his life were redeemed by the pain of his death, and his cleaving unto God until the last!"
"So much for your tortures, Rebozo," Boncorro said, not even looking over his shoulder at the crumpled man who winced and whimpered at every mention of the Deity's name. "But God protected you, my father?"
"He did," the ghost said, "but I also exercised unceasing vigilance, ever wary, and foiled many an attacker myself, by an adroit move and the blocking of a blow. One learns such things, growing up in a court filled with intrigue."
"Yes," Boncorro said softly, "one does."
"It is even so for you, my son. When your chancellor realized you, too, intended to be a reformer, he set the assassins on your trail—but you proved too wary for him, aye, and your magic too powerful."
Now Boncorro did swivel about to glare at Rebozo, who snapped upright, hands raised to fend him off. "Your Majesty, no! I will admit that I did set the hounds at first, but when I saw you would not turn religious, I was reassured and called them off! I bent my efforts thenceforth to corrupting you, only showing you the ways of ecstasy, the pleasures of power and debauchery and revelry!"
"And you made good progress, did you not?" Boncorro's gaze was steely.
"Yes, until this Merovencian spell caster came!" Rebozo cried. "It would not have been necessary to seek your death!"
"No, not at all," Boncorro said grimly. "I listened to you; yes, I yielded to temptation and gathered a harem of wenches! I condoned prostitution and its coercing of women into degradation! Oh, you did well for your master, Rebozo, but I begin to see that he was not me!" He turned back to the ghost. "Who killed you, my father?"
"No, my son!" The ghost held up his hands in supplication. "I would not have you seek revenge! That path leads to Hell!"
Boncorro stared up at him for a minute, eyes narrowed. Then he said, "Your rebuke is wise—I shall not revenge!" But he squared his shoulders, raising his chin with an air of authority his father had never shown. "But I am the king, as you never were, and I must render justice, as you never did! Tell me, for the sake of that justice—who murdered my grandfather? Who murdered you?"
"How could he know who slew your grandfather?" Rebozo cried, trembling. "He was dead!"
"Dead, but in Heaven—and though the Saints may not know everything, they know a great deal more than the living. Is it not true, my father? Do you not know, and that without a shadow of doubt, who killed Grandfather?"
"I do," Casudo's ghost admitted. "It was the same man who murdered me. He slew me when I proved to be incorruptible, not knowing that a week longer would have seen my fall from grace; he killed King Maledicto when he found him confessing his sins, then instantly became the loudest mourner of all."
"Who was it, then?" Boncorro's voice was steel, and it was no longer a son speaking to a father, but one young man speaking to another.
"Alas!" the ghost cried. "It was the single man most trusted by your grandfather and yourself—"
"You lie, foul phantom!" Rebozo screamed, leveling his staff.
"It was the Lord Chancellor Rebozo!" the ghost cried.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Rebozo screamed a cursing verse in the archaic language, and the staff spat green fire. "Die, foul phantom!
Get thee hence!"
Prince Casudo only folded his arms across his breast, closing his eyes and tilting his head back in prayer as the flames wrapped about him.
But King Boncorro glared at the chancellor, his lips moving, unheard in the midst of Rebozo's maniacal screams of hatred—and a giant snake coiled up from the floor to wrap Rebozo in its coils. Rebozo stared at the flat wedge head, only a foot from his face, and screamed in horror before the snake's coils choked off his breath. His staff fell clattering to the floor, and the green fire stopped, showing Prince Casudo's form still there, shining more brightly than ever.
King Boncorro rose from his throne, eyes narrowed under lowering brows, and stalked toward the chancellor, slipping a stiletto from his belt.
"No, your Majesty!" Rebozo rasped with the last shreds of breath. "This phantom is not real! It is only a phantasm made by the scholar Arouetto!"
"How great a fool do you think me?" King Boncorro glanced at the snake. "Loosen enough to give him a taste of breath! He shall die by my knife, not your coils." Then, to Rebozo again, "He is no wizard, but only a scholar—and has nothing to gain!"
"He has the Knowledge! If he knows the way, he can do the deed! And he has everything to gain, for he is the true and legitimate heir to the throne of Latruria."
Boncorro froze. Then he whipped about, glaring at Arouetto. "Is this true?"
"Be sure it is true." Sir Guy stepped forward, his hand on his sword, just a step from interposing himself between Arouetto and the young king. "He is the last descendant of the last Caesar."
"But I do not wish to rule!" Arouetto protested. "I have no taste for court life and less for intrigue! I abdicate, here and now, where all may hear me, in favor of King Boncorro, for his reign may cure the ills of Latruria! I wish only to be left to my books in peace!"
"I have heard it," Sir Guy said, "and I will abide by it. He is no longer the heir. The throne is yours."
Boncorro scowled down at them for a very long minute. Then he said, "I thank you, scholar. I shall keep the throne—but you may not have your life of peace, for I require your services and your advice. Rebozo has betrayed me three times over. He shall die for that. You shall be my new chancellor." Then he turned, raising his knife to execute the sentence.
"No, my son!" cried the ghost. "Do not send him to Hell! Let him confess his sins, let him repent!"
Boncorro hesitated, the dagger poised. "It is foolish to loose a snake to strike at your heel, my father."
"Do not loose him! Find him a priest this very day, let him confess, then behead him and burn his body! But do not burden your soul with his damnation!"
"This is not prudent," Boncorro said.
"The way of virtue is frequently imprudent, but always wise! Do this for me, my son—though I know I do not deserve it of you!"
"You deserve it ten times over." Boncorro sheathed his knife. "Your desertion does not outweigh ten years of love and care of a very small child. He shall have his chance for Heaven." He gestured, shouting a quick verse, and the snake dwindled, turning into iron, and clanking hard about Rebozo's wrists and ankles as fetters and chains.
But Rebozo had been given the respite he had needed to recover. With one quick motion he stooped and caught up his staff, crying, "Now, all my old henchmen! Strike, or know your doom! Smite this princeling, or die at the stake!" Then he shouted an unintelligible phrase, snapping the staff out toward Boncorro—and the snake reappeared, coiling up about the king.
Sir Guy shouted, "Havoc!" and sprang up on the dais, his sword whirling toward the serpent's head. Boncorro saw him and ignored the reptile, gesturing and shouting his own rhyme...
But his shout was answered by fifty others, as courtiers stepped forward, slipping wands from their sleeves and chanting verses in the archaic language—even as a fiery monster appeared between Rebozo and the king, blasting Boncorro with its fire as the traitor leaped astride the creature his magic had called. But flame met a thousand glinting points that rushed toward Rebozo, and caught the monster instead. It screamed with rage, thrashing in pain, but leaped at the king...
And a score of other monsters, lamias, gorgons, and nightmares of horn and sting and teeth, screamed in delight and converged on Matt and his friends, while another score rushed toward Boncorro.
Saul spread his hands, shouting,
"Où sont les neiges d'antan?
Les laissez-les faire ces monsters
Devienent froids, gelés et durs!"
Matt shouted out,
"Into the cradle, endlessly rocking,
Go the horrible creatures immediately flocking!
Bars o'er those cradles are instantly locking!"
Half of the monsters slowed, halted, and stood frozen; the others shrank down, their shrieks of dismay rising up the scale as cradles appeared behind them. They fell backward and in; iron grids clashed shut over the tops of the cradles, holding them in.
But other sorcerers were shouting other verses, and fires sprang up all about them. The ceiling rained knives and swords, the floor sprouted vipers and scorpions. Matt and Saul spun about and about, trying to quell one horror after another, yanking out verses in a very eclectic blend of classic poetry and TV commercials. Cans of insecticide appeared about them, sprinkling death on the vermin; fire extinguishers sprang into existence to combat the flames; giant steel umbrellas sent the cutlery cascading. But they were on the defensive, scarcely managing to keep up; the sorcerers definitely had the initiative.
On the dais, Boncorro was whirling, shouting verses in old tongues and new, sweat running down his face as he countered one nightmare form after another. He made his floor turn from mire back into solid stone, and set up dozens of shields and swords to parry and fence those weapons that Rebozo brought into existence.
Meanwhile, Sir Guy was manfully battering at Rebozo's steed, taking its blasts of fire on a shield that magically dispersed the creature's flames instead of conducting them. Sir Guy was singed and cut in three places on his face, but the monster was bleeding flame from a dozen, screaming in rage and frustration, for the knight danced about it, never in one place long enough to bite—and, worse, he was singing!
"Ran! Tan! Terre et ciel!
Terre et ciel, et sang vermeil!
Ran! Tan! Terre et ciel!
Bois le vin gaulois!"
It was magic all his own, warrior's magic, and the courtiers who weren't wizards paused in their pressing back toward the doorways, heads coming up, wide-eyed.
Matt took his cue.
"Allons, enfants de la patrie!
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!
Contre nous de la tyrannie!
L'étandard sanglant est levé!
L'étandard sanglant est levé!
Entendez-vous, dans la campagne,
Mugir, ces féroces soldats,
Qui vienent jusque dans nos bras!
Egorgez nos fils, nos compagnes!
Aux armes, mes citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!
Marchons, marchons, quand le sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons!"
It wasn't their language, but the words rhymed, so it worked anyway—and the zeal imparted by the song. With a massive shout, the courtiers turned on the sorcerers, who turned to blast them...
A maddened yowl broke from the archway, and the manticore sprang in, fur bristling. It flew into the sorcerers, double jaws closing on one after another and tossing them aside. The remaining sorcerers screamed with fear and shrank back—but, unfortunately, so did the rest of the courtiers.
Then a massed shout thundered from the archway, overriding the noise from within, and a hundred knights strode into the throne room, swords mincing the sorcerers' monsters and cutting a way through to the sorcerers themselves. Behind them a golden-haired fury strode, a golden circlet about her helmet, shouting in rage, "Slay the foul fiends who would imperil my love! Rally to the Lord Wizard, to the Witch Doctor, and to the Black Knight!"
Behind her, Stegoman
's huge head shot in through the door. A dozen sorcerers shouted and sprang to block his way, wands swirling, but the dragon roared in fury, and the sorcerers howled and fell, rolling in flames. Unarmed courtiers sprang aside, and the dragon charged toward the dais as hundreds of men-at-arms came running into the throne room to strike the sorcerers down.
Rebozo's monster saw Stegoman and sprang to meet him with a howl like a siren. The dragon roared in answer, and flame blasted flame. But behind them King Boncorro, undistracted now, turned on his traitorous chancellor and wove an unseen net in the air as he sang. Rebozo shouted in alarm, flourishing his staff and shrieking a verse—but before he could finish it, ruddy flames blasted up about him, freezing him in agony, and for one brief instant a dark horned form seemed to loom behind him before the flames abruptly ceased, leaving only a pile of ashes.
The fiery monster disappeared at the same instant, leaving only a fading shriek behind it—and every sorcerer in the hall screamed in pain, back arching, and fell rolling to the floor in agony.
Sir Guy lowered his sword, panting, and told the king, "Well struck, Your Majesty!"
"But I did not," Boncorro panted, staring at the heap of ashes with widened eyes. "My spell only inspired the agony of my traitorous courtiers! The flame that took him, that was not mine!"
"Even so," Sir Guy said grimly. "When the queen's army burst in, the end was clear, and the Devil gave his old punishment for failure."
"Queen Alisande?" Boncorro looked up and saw the blond avenging angel wrapped in the arms of the Lord Wizard, who broke off murmuring endearments long enough to say, "You know, there's something to be said for an army."
"Yes, and I thank your Majesty for its use." King Boncorro looked up at the ghost, who stood staring down at the carnage, aghast. "Mercy to so depraved a soul as that is unwise."
The Secular Wizard Page 42
