Secular Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  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 whenI’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 field-work 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 aflernoon 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 Seigneur 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!”

  Saul fell back with a curse, and Arouetto with a gasp-but Matt grinned. “Manny! How did you find me?”

  “I did not,” the manticore told him, “and since I could not, I found Pascal instead. But he has no money, and has put off the problem by promising the farmers all about that you will pay for my meat when you come.”

  “Talk about faith! But yeah, I broke out of prison, and I’ll give him a few ducats to settle up. Anybody trying to pick on him?”

  “No, worse luck,” Manny sighed, “for I would not have felt bound by my promise to you if there had been an assassin to munch. His life seems to be tranquil enough when you are not about, Wizard.”

  “He’s not the first one to feel that way,” Matt said. “Well, let us have a chat with him, Manny. Stay low.”

  “As you wish, Wizard,” Finally, the huge double grin flashed. “It is good to see you again.”

  “Hey, you, too.” Matt raised a hand to pat the tawny wall. “Go hide now, okay?”

  “Go well.” Manny disappeared into the darkness and shrubbery. There were a few moments of silence. Then Arouetto asked, in a trembling voice, “Was that a manticore?”

  “Sure was,” Matt confirmed. “Knew I couldn’t fool you.”

  “Man, you have some of the oddest friends!” Saul expostulated. “You should know, Saul. Well, let’s meet my latest acquaintances and find out what their song is.”

  “Their” turned out to be right, because half a dozen voices joined in on the chorus. As they came out of the trees, the words of the last verse became clear. Sure enough, it was promising everlasting love and joy, if only the damsel would come away with the singer-and there he was, seated at a table in the open air, lit by a few candles inside cut-off bottles and gazing into the eyes of his beloved: Pascal; and the woman who was staring back at him adoringly was Flaminia. Matt stopped still in astonishment. “Which is your young friend, Lord Wizard?” Arouetto asked. “The one who was singing,” Matt said. “I didn’t know he could.”

  Arouetto turned and looked, then smiled. “Love can lift a man to accomplish miracles, Lord Wizard.”

  “Miracles is right! As far as I knew, he was tone-deaf!”

  “Guess you didn’t know him as well as you thought,” Saul said. “No, I guess not. And he let me carry the whole burden of the minstrel routine!” Matt strode ahead, caught between relief to see his two young friends so happy and well, and anger at Pascal for holding out on him. Pascal kissed Flaminia, and the other youngsters cheered. The lovers didn’t even notice-they took their time and were just breaking off when one of the other young men noticed Matt. The youth looked up, alert and ready to defend, but open and provisionally affable. “Good evening, friend. Why have you come?”

  Pascal looked up, then leaped to his feet. “Friend Matthew!” He jumped up to clasp Matt by the shoulders. “I rejoice to see you well! I will own that I had some concern for you, alone there in the town.”

  “And I was a little worried about you” Matt said, clapping him on the shoulder, “but I see you came out okay. How’d you connect with these people?”

  “Why, I found myself in the middle of their fields, and they were kind enough to take us in.”

  “Small enough kindness, when we needed extra hands,” a towheaded young man said, and the redheaded young woman next to him added, “For one with a voice like that, we can easily find room!”

  “I thank you, friends,” Pascal said, “but I hope that I do my share in the fields, too.”

  “Oh, without question!” said a burly young man whose blond hair contrasted oddly with his deep suntan, “and you have a bond with the land. Indeed, you seem to know as much about the raising of a crop as I do.”

  “Thank you, Escribo.” Pascal smiled. “I am a squire’s son, after all, and have known this work all my life.”

  Matt noticed that he didn’t say he had actually done the work. “Your crops seem to be doing well, though.”

  “They do.” Escribo nodded. “And with luck, we will reap well for our first harvest.”

  “First?” Matt looked around. ‘This is your first year, then?“

  “It is,” Escribo said. “The king lowered the taxes, and my father used the money to buy land from those who wished to work in Venarra. For five years he has bought more land and given employment to the landless youth of the district-but this spring they all chose to go into Venarra for work. My father nearly despaired, for he could never have worked so much land by himself-so I left my work at the inn in Venarra and came back to help him. But even together, we could see we would never be able to till so many acres-so I called in my friends, who had spent many hours in the inn but never had more than a few days’ work at a time, and they came out to help us.”

  “We are city-bred, though,” said another of the girls, “and know nothing of the land.”

  “You are apt pupils,” said Escribo, and everyone laughed. Matt realized it was some sort of inside joke, but even as he was deciding not to ask, Arouetto said, “Whose words had you studied before, then?”

  “Why, those of the courtiers who took rooms at our inn,” said Escribo, “for it is the finest in Venarra, and noblemen lodged there with their families, until King Boncorro could make room for them in the castle. That is why there was so frequently a week’s extra work for a dozen other younglings.”

  “And why they were always hanging around, waiting for more.” Matt nodded. “So you overheard the noblemen talking of poetry?”

  “More often their tutors, lecturing their sons over wine,” Escribo answered. “We began to find their talk fascinating, and tried our hands at it. But there were also the painters and sculptors that the king had brought to beautify his castle, and the builders of the new palace he is raising, and merchants coming to sell goods to the court, with tales of the wonders of the Moslem cities.”

  “And the merchants had picked up some of the knowledge of the Moslem scholars?”

  “Even some of the books,” a dark-haired young man said. “They allowed us to read a chapter or two while they dined.”

  “But none of us
have the gift of verse that our new friend has.” Escribo turned to Pascal. “And he says he has had no training in it!”

  “I have not.” Pascal blushed. “And you are kind, but I have little skill.”

  “Perhaps you are too modest,” Arouetto said. “Let us hear your verses.”

  “Why, you did,” Escribo said, “even as you came up.”

  “You sing your own words, then? Excellent! But we did not hear the beginning of it.”

  “He sings of other things besides love,” a black-haired young man said. ‘Tell him of the work in the fields, Pascal.“

  “Oh, no, good Lelio!” Pascal cried, alarmed. “To a few good friends, aye, but to a stranger…”

  “You are too modest.” Flaminia slid up against him, resting her bead against his chest. “Let the words flow, Pascal, that I may be swept away on their tide.”

  Pascal looked down at her in surprise, then smiled and said, “Well, for you, then, dear Flaminia, but not for him.”

  “Let him eavesdrop,” she said. Pascal sighed and began to sing. Matt stood in a daze, listening to the syllables cascade from Pascal’s lips. They tinkled and swirled about him, dazzling and bearing him along in their flow, but somehow never lodging long enough for him to extract any meaning from them. Then it was over, and Matt caught his breath. The boy was fantastically talented! But the sense of the words had eluded him; the only coherent thought that stayed behind was that this song wouldn’t work much in the way of magic, for it had only been describing the land and the work and Pascal’s state of mind, and would make no change except to bring back the good feeling he bad gained from the land. Good feelings? Exultation! “You have a gift like that,” he said, “and you wanted to waste your time chasing a knighthood?”

  Pascal’s face darkened; he lowered his gaze as his friends broke out in a chorus of protest. When they had quieted, he raised his gaze to Matt and said, “These are only idle amusements, Matthew-a wonderful pleasure in themselves, but surely only for filling the idle hour, never for a life’s work.”

  The chorus of protest struck again, but this time Arouetto’s voice joined it, and went on when the others had quieted. “The souls of all men need rest and nourishment, young man, aye, and uplifting, too! If you are gifted in that, you may do more good than a whole company of knights!”