A Wizard In Chaos

by Christopher Stasheff

  The anger fell away as suddenly as it had come; Dirk realized that his friend was actually trying to do something good for him. "I don't remember that punch from the stories."

  "It's the older form of the accolade, and I choose to use it with the newer, to remind you of the trials you'll have to endure in the name of chivalry," Gar said sternly, then thawed and admitted, "I may have overdone it a bit. Your pardon, Sir Dirk-I was carried away with zeal." He reached down and caught his friend by the arm, hauling him to his feet. "I assure you, it's real. I was knighted by a king. You really are a knight, and entitled to all the rights and privileges of that rank-as long as you fulfill its duties."

  "From what you say, I've been doing that already." Dirk frowned, then looked his friend in the eyes. "Have I really?"

  "You have," Gar assured him. "Why else would you keep throwing yourself into the middle of a fight that could get you killed, just to help a lot of people you don't even know and never will?"

  "Well, when you put it that way..."

  "I do," Gar said firmly. "I should have done this long ago-as soon as we left your home planet, in fact. But you're so patently my equal that it frankly never occurred to me."

  Dirk felt a warm glow spreading through him. "I don't know if I can ever be that, Gar, but I'll work on it."

  "Don't," Gar told him, "because you're there already. From now on, just work on being as good as Lady Magda."

  "Thought you told me I already was."

  "Yes, but that doesn't mean you believed me." Gar turned to his horse. "Mount up, Sir Dirk-we still have a hidden enemy to find."

  Dirk mounted, then rode beside Gar across the plain and into the forest. He didn't even notice that he scarcely said anything, and Gar wisely didn't interrupt his meditation, for Dirk was still glowing, intensely excited at the idea of being worthy of Magda, of being able to win her.

  And, of course, since he wasn't really very alert, he was slow coming out of his rosy haze when Gar snapped, "Ambush!"

  CHAPTER 13

  Fortunately, the road stayed still and empty under the leafy canopy. It gave Dirk a few minutes to return to the here and now and brace himself for battle. "Where are they?"

  "To either side of that big oak, with two of them on the branch overhead. If you look carefully, you can just make out their livery."

  Dirk reflected that a telepath could be a very useful traveling companion. "They're planning to jump us? Why not just wait until the whole platoon is marching by?"

  "They were only set on sentry duty, to watch for the platoon coming," Gar told him, "so they were going to stay out of sight, but when they saw me, their pulses roared, and they sprinted into position."

  "You mean it's us they want, not the Blue Company?"

  "They're certainly not thinking about Cort and his men right now," Gar said. "Is your buckler on your arm?"

  "Not yet." Dirk lifted the small shield from the hook on his saddle, slipped his arm through the straps, and tightened them. "Okay now."

  "Draw your sword when they jump us, and spur your horse so we jump forward past that limb as they drop from it. Then we'll turn and cut them down. Remember, we need one for questioning."

  "Kill, not stun?" Dirk frowned. "That doesn't sound like you. How many of them are there?"

  "Eight."

  "Can't you put them to sleep?"

  "Too much adrenaline. Yes, by all means, wound if you can, but don't pull your strokes-there's too great a chance you'll wind up dead. Ready, now?" He forced a laugh. Dirk joined in. They rode under the bough, laughing; then Dirk said, "Remember the one about . . ."

  Gar drew his sword, Dirk was only a split second behind him. Then the Hawk squad burst from the trees, screaming like birds of prey.

  Dirk and Gar yelled and spurred their horses. Dirk's beast stumbled as a heavy weight struck its rump; two bodies thumped onto the ground behind. Dirk and Gar pulled back on the reins, and their mounts reared, screaming and turning. The Hawks scrambled to their feet and jumped out of the way, but not quickly enough; the horses landed, striking glancing blows to two heads. Soldiers came riding; Dirk caught a sword thrust on his buckler, chopped through a lance shaft on his right, kicked the swordsman in the jaw, then stabbed down at the lancer. The Hawk swerved his horse out of the way, though, and another thrust his spear, scoring Dirk's arm and stabbing deep into his saddle. Dirk shouted in anger as pain flared, but struck down. The saddle held the lance a second too long, and his sword chopped the shaft. The lancer went stumbling backward, tripped over a fallen comrade, and fell.

  The comrade had fallen because Gar had seen him coming. The big man had leaned aside from the sword thrust and clouted the man in the jaw with the knuckle-guard of his own weapon. The man dropped in satisfactory style, and Gar decided he rather liked the effect. He turned, swinging his buckler arm to knock a lance aside, then brought his sword over to stab. The lancer danced away from it, then darted in, lance thrusting. Gar leaned back to let the lancehead pass, then leaned in to swing the buckler, clouting the man on the side of the head. He dropped like a stone, too, off his horse and stretched out.

  Dirk whirled to take a sword thrust on his buckler, then stabbed overhand into the man's shoulder. The soldier fell back with a howl of pain.

  A bellow of anger erupted, and Dirk turned to see that the lancer had caught up his fallen comrade's weapon and scrambled to his feet. He charged, lance leveled at the chest of Dirk's horse.

  A lance came stabbing at Gar, too, and -he chopped off its head. The resourceful lancer turned and jabbed the shaft under Gar's bottom, then heaved. Gar bellowed in anger as he went over. He fell, but rolled quickly, and two lances stabbed the ground where he'd been. He leaped up and thrust at the nearest man's thigh; the rider fell off his horse with a howl, and Gar dove out of the way of thundering hooves, rolling again, then shoved himself up just in time to meet the second lancer's charge. He caught the weapon on his buckler, then sprang high, slamming his knuckleguard into the man's jaw. The lancer's eyes rolled up; he fell.

  Dirk pivoted his mount aside and swung a light, bouncing stroke as the charging lancer thundered past. The man screamed as a bright line of blood streaked the backs of his shoulders.

  But Dirk had turned his horse completely in the maneuver, and saw two more troopers charging from the trees beside the road. He danced his mount aside and thrust, stabbing one in the thigh. The man fell, bellowing in pain. His mate reared his horse, turning with a snarl, and struck.

  Dirk had leaned too low, was too slow rising. He chopped frantically; the lancehead flew, but the shaft struck his ribs, knocking the breath out of him. He ground his teeth and counterthrust. The lancer screamed, reeling in his saddle and clutching his shoulder; scarlet spread over his fingers.

  Gar spun on general principles, and saw, the principal soldier, or at least the sergeant, swinging his sword up for a slash. Gar stepped in, parrying, and exchanged a mad few strokes before he caught the man's belt, yanked him off his horse, and swung the buckler cracking into the side of the man's head. The sergeant blundered forward a step or two; Gar obligingly stepped aside to let him fall.

  Dirk shoved himself upright, trying to ignore the ache in his side, looking about in quick glancesbut all the Hawk horses were galloping away down the forest road, and the only one standing was Gar's horse, who stood trembling at the side of the road. The giant himself stood on the ground, feet spread wide, two rivulets of blood running down his face and his arm, dripping sword in hand, grinning like a gargoyle.

  Well, there was also one last, poor lancer who took one appalled look at his seven fallen comrades, then took off galloping for the trees.

  Without an instant's hesitation, Gar threw his sword after the man. It went spinning through the air until the hilt cracked down on the trooper's head. His horse kept going another pace or two before he fell. The sword landed quivering in the ground.

  "Nice throw." Dirk rode over, yanked the sword out of the ground, and brought it back to Gar. "How
did you know it-wasn't going to hit him point first?"

  "Practice," Gar assured him.

  Dirk nodded, wondering exactly what kind of practice his big friend had in mind. He had a brief mental vision of Gar standing perfectly still, with various swords, daggers, poniards, and broken bottles leaping from the ground in front of him and sailing toward a target fifty feet away, each striking the bull's eye, then leaping back out just in time for the next one to land. He shook his head to clear the image and turned to look around him instead. "Eleven men down and groaning. Why don't I feel guilty?"

  "Well," Gar said thoughtfully, "it could be because they were trying to kill you-or it could be because they tried to kill our whole platoon."

  "Yeah, that might have something to do with it," Dirk conceded. "Anyone dying?"

  Gar shook his head. "Careless of us, that. While we were calling our shots to keep from killing them, they might have-skewered us."

  "There wasn't really time to be merciful," Dirk admitted. "Getting to be too much of a habit, I suppose."

  "You'll have to work on that," Gar agreed.

  "So what do we do with them?" Dirk demanded. "Just leave them here?"

  "Have you a better place in mind?" Gar returned. "I do want a souvenir, though. Watch them and make sure none of them does anything foolish, like trying to throw a lance, will you?"

  "Sure." Dirk began a routine of scanning, turning his head slowly, but with quick glances at Gar. The big man walked over to the sergeant, checked to make sure he was unconscious, then heaved him up on one shoulder in a fireman's carry. He brought the burden back to his own horse, slung him over the rump, tied hands and feet to keep him from slipping off, then mounted up. "All right. Back to the platoon, or what's left of it."

  The sentry called, and Cort came hurrying over to see Gar and Dirk riding in. "At last! We thought the Hawks had ambushed you."

  "They did." Gar nodded at his horse's burden, awake and cursing now. "We brought one of them back for you. Don't worry, the rest of his squad are hurt too badly to fight. Besides, their horses ran away."

  Cort stared at the sergeant, then nodded slowly. "All that from just the two of you, eh? Well, well!" He turned and started back toward the campfire. "Bring him over here."

  Gar followed, dismounted, and untied the man. As soon as one hand was free, the sergeant swung at him. Gar dodged easily. "That's stupid. Your muscles are stiff from being bound. You couldn't hit hard enough to do any damage, anyway." But when he untied a foot, the man lashed out a kick that caught Gar in the jaw and sent him stumbling. When he came striding back, fighting down his temper, he saw Dirk and Sergeant Otto hauling the limp body down between them. "I decided he needed another nap," Dirk explained.

  "I didn't even know you carried that little stick," Cort said to Dirk.

  "Neither did he." Dirk stretched the Hawk sergeant on the ground in front of Cort.

  "Tie down his wrists and ankles," Cort directed, and soldiers stepped up to drive pegs into the ground, then bind the Hawk's joints. They weren't very gentle about it, but considering the ambush they'd lived through and their comrades who hadn't, that wasn't much of a surprise.

  Gar took a canteen from the nearest soldier and sloshed water into the Hawk's face. The sergeant spluttered, coming to.

  Cort glared down at the man. "Torturing another mercenary is against the code of the Free Companies, fellow, but I'm minded to try it, anyway. After all, your band have broken the rules of war already."

  "No, we haven't!" the sergeant protested.

  "Oh, really? When did the code change to allow one band to ambush another before they've begun to march?"

  "Uh, by your leave, lieutenant." Gar stepped away from the captive. "Could I have a word with you?"

  Cort frowned. "What is it that you don't want this Hawk to hear?" But he stepped aside with Gar anyway.

  "Breaking rules is a bad business," Gar explained,. "especially if you don't know for sure that the other side has broken them first."

  "But we do!"

  "No, lieutenant, we've only guessed it. Besides, even if they broke a rule, then if you break another rule to get back at them, they'll break a third rule, and the first thing you know, everyone will be breaking every rule, and every, code will be broken."

  "We wouldn't want that." Cort scowled. "The Free -Companies would kill each other off in a fortnight."

  "Exactly. May I offer an alternative?"

  "Speak," Cort allowed.

  "Instead of torture or execution, let's capture the Hawk captain and bring him before a tribunal of other mercenary captains. If they think he's broken the rules, let them decide what to do with him."

  Cort's eyes lit, intrigued. "A fascinating idea! But how do you suggest we capture a captain in the midst of his company?"

  "Watch and catch him when he's away from his company. Is there anything in the code against that?"

  "No, but only because no one's ever thought of it, I suspect." Cort grinned. "That might do, indeed. I'll ask Captain Devers about it when we get back, and if he allows it, we'll send out a reconnaissance party. You'll volunteer, of course."

  "It will be an honor." Gar inclined his head. "In the meantime, tell me what you want to know, and I'll see if I can't persuade this sergeant to tell us without the thumbscrews. I might threaten them, you understand . . ."

  Cort's grin widened. "Go right ahead. If you can trick him into telling us why they attacked us and who hired their company to do it, I'll be very happy to let him go unscathed."

  "No ransom?"

  Cort shrugged. "You can't get much for a sergeant."

  "Very flattering," Sergeant Gar Pike said with a wry grimace. "Well, we'll see what we can do with the man."

  They went back to the staked-out sergeant. Dirk was standing over him, loudly arguing with Sergeant Otto. "Look, we're civilized soldiers! Let's not be crude about this! Tie him under a drip of water so that it hits him square on the head, and watch him go crazy!"

  Otto shook his head, truculent and stubborn. "We haven't got that kind of time. A good oldfashioned beating's best, I say. Quick and clean, it is."

  "Yeah, but he can't talk with his jaw broken and his mouth all-"

  "Gentlemen, if you don't mind?" Gar said, with withering sarcasm.

  "Huh?" Dirk looked up, frowning. "Oh, you want a shot at him? Well, go ahead-we can't agree on where to start."

  "If you'd stand a little farther off?" Gar suggested. "I do need room to sit down by him, after all."

  "Oh, all right." Dirk huffed, and stepped a few yards away, saying, "Now, I've heard of a technique that's supposed to work a lot faster. We take Gar's camp cot and put the sergeant on it, and if he doesn't fit..."

  "Pay no attention to them," Gar said as he knelt by the captive sergeant. "Dirk always thinks torture is the fastest way to get information out of a prisoner. Myself, I'd prefer to ask him first."

  Dirk took his cue. "Torture him! Okay, we'll let Sergeant Otto beat him up a little bit for starters. Then you can have my pair of monogrammed thumbscrews, and I'll take out the cat-o'-nine-tails."

  "He's so hasty," Gar sighed, "just because your infantry jumped our platoon, and when we fought them off, sent you and your cavalry to hunt us down. I have to admit that wasn't very sporting of you, but you're just taking orders, aren't you? It scarcely deserves torture."

  "No, it doesn't." The Hawk sergeant was sweating now, glancing at Dirk.

  "Myself, I maintain that you had to do your best to carry out your orders, so it was nothing personal. Would I be right?"

  "Oh, yes!" The sergeant nodded vigorously. "Just doing my job, that's all."

  "As we were only doing ours," Gar agreed. "But my friend says you've broken the mercenary's code, attacking us before we met on the battlefield, simply because you knew our company had been hired to fight yours."

  "The iron boot," Dirk called.

  "Not a word of truth in it!" the sergeant said. "We were hired to kill you, that's all! Open and abo
veboard, nothing against the rules at all."

  Gar exchanged a startled glance with Dirk, then turned back. "No, just doing the job your company was hired for," he said slowly, "and certainly nothing wrong for you in telling us that. There's nothing secret about it, is there?"

  "Not after our first attack, no."

  "Of course not. Tell me, since it's open knowledge now-when you say you were hired to kill us, did that mean our whale platoon?"

  "Oh, no! Just you, the big one! Not even your friend there." The sergeant took a deep breath. "How did the two of you manage to beat the whole lot of us, anyway?"

  "Magic," Gar told him. Cort stared at him.

  The sergeant scowled. "No such thing as magic." Gar nodded with approval. "An educated man, I see. What if I told you I was a sage with great powers stemming from meditation?"

  "I've heard of it," the sergeant allowed. "Never believed a word of it, myself."

  "I suppose not," Gar sighed. "Well, then, you'll have to put it down to practice, constant practice."

  "We always need new targets to practice on," Cort added.

  The sergeant's eyes bulged.

  "Tell me," Gar said softly, "who hired you."

  "It was the steward!" the sergeant said. "The steward of the Boss of Loutre! Why his boss wants you dead, I don't know, but he paid for the whole company to kill you."

  Gar knelt very still. Dirk, not knowing what the sergeant had said, called out, "Can I light the fire for the branding iron now?"

  "Not just yet, I think," Gar called back. Then, to the sergeant, "That must have cost a great deal of money-a compliment, in its way. Are you paid by the day, or for the job?"

  "For the job-five hundred golden marks for proof you're dead. We thought it would only take a day or so, but you look as though you're going to make it expensive."

  "Yes. You might lose on this one." Gar sighed. "Nothing personal, of course."

  "Right," the sergeant agreed, eyeing him very strangely. "Nothing personal."

  "Pincers?" Dirk called.

  "If you can find her," Gar called back absently. "So, sergeant, you attacked our whole platoon, just to get me?"