A Wizard In War

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Now," Magnus breathed, "we pick the ones we want, and set a lasso around each one's neck."

  "You mean you do," Dirk corrected.

  The sentries saw the herald coming a mile away-or rather, saw the donkey with someone on its back. But their suspicions woke as the two horsemen who accompanied the beast turned away and rode in the direction from which they had come. The sentries told the captain of the guard, and the captain sent out two riders to see what the donkey carried. When they saw, one stayed trying to revive the herald before bringing him in, while the other rode back with the news.

  The young king himself came down to see the herald as he rode through the gate. Black eyebrows drew down in anger as he looked at the man's bruises, at the dried blood in the welts on his back. The herald managed to raise his head enough to croak, "Majesty ... Earl Insol says . . . you exceed the limits of your power..."

  "There are no limits to a king's power!" His Majesty struck the swollen face with the back of his hand; the herald's head rocked, and he would have fallen off the donkey if the ropes had been untied. The king turned away in disgust. "Put him to bed and see that he is tended."

  The herald croaked pathetically, and the captain said, "Majesty, do you not wish to know the rest of his message?"

  "I know it from his condition," the king snapped. "Earl Insol will not come to me-so I shall go to him, with my army! Send couriers to each of the knights of my demesne, that they must come to me straightaway with a hundred men-at-arms each!"

  "As Your Majesty says." The captain's face was expressionless, hiding his foreboding. "Shall I also summon your lords?"

  "The lords? Fool, they are more likely to march against me than for me! It was the lords who leashed my grandfather, and it is the lords who must be taught my power! It is for this that my father made more and more knights all the days of his reign. Now it is for me to use them! Earl Insol shall be the first! Summon my knights and their men, and we shall teach him the limits of his power!"

  Coll crouched among the rocks, watching the lone monk amble toward the outlaw's hill on his donkey. Coll stared at him with hungry eyes-and a hungry stomach. Oh, he had eaten better than ever he had as a serf, far better-but he would gladly have traded all his fresh meat for gruel with good companionship to sauce it.

  Still, that was not to be, so he was glad to see a prospect of something better-two prospects! It seemed unbelievable, but in the month he had been hiding in the wastelands, he had come to realize that life sometimes did play tricks like this. A week since anyone worth robbing had come along that trail, and the food from the last one had run out two days before, two days in which he had eaten nothing but the little rodents who burrowed around his hill, and the occasional hawk who came to prey upon them. Now, in a sudden embarrassment of riches, there came three at once, two from the east and one from the west! The road curved around his hill, so he was sure neither saw the other, and decided he would have time to rob the monk before the knights came in sight-though he would have to use the back trail down his hill, for the knights were sure to come after him as soon as the friar went crying to them. At least they weren't armored-but he could tell by their clothing that they were knights indeed, or, at the very least, reeves. Not that he feared them-but there was always bad luck. One alone he would have braced without a thoughthe had become adept at unhorsing knights in this last month-but two was far too risky.

  So! Rob the monk and be done with it, quickly. Down the hill Coll went, as nimbly as any of his ground squirrels. He knew the route well now, knew on which boulders he dared catch himself and which he dared not. At the bottom, he crouched behind a boulder set on top of another boulder-his hill was more a rock pile than an earth pileand waited.

  The monk came ambling along on his donkey, singing a ballad that had little of the sacred about it. Coll sprang down in front of him, brandishing his spear. The donkey shied, and the monk screamed, fumbling for his purse. "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, wild man! You may have my purse, all the copper that's in it, even a coin or two of silver!"

  "What use is money to me?" Coll snapped. "Where should I go to spend it? No, fat man, it's your saddlebag I'm afters Bread and cheese and wine, and anything else you have stored in there that I can eats"

  "Eat? Oh, I've something far better for you to eat here under my robe!" The monk fumbled under his cloththen tore it open as he drew the sword hidden beneath, revealing a chain-mail coat as the cowl fell back to show an iron helmet. "Taste steel, robber!" he shouted. "Ho, my men! Out upon him!"

  Suddenly they were there, leaping out from behind boulders: a dozen armed soldiers in leather breastplate: and steel caps. In a flash, Coll realized what had happened, realized it even as he leaped back among the boulders of his hill and scrambled to get out of sight. The knight had sent his soldiers across the plain the night before, while Coll slept, then come himself at first light, before Coll might have discovered the deception.

  But they were stiff from crouching all night, those soldiers, and Coll was warm and nimble. They came charging up among the rocks, shouting and slipping. Coll braced himself against one of the unstable boulders, threw all his weight against it, and the knight cried out in dismay as the huge rock rolled slowly toward him, gaining speed. He had to forget Coll to turn his donkey aside-but the soldiers didn't. With a whoop, they converged on Coll.

  With a sinking heart, Coll knew his end had come-but with a vast relief, too, that his lonely hiding was over, and a savage joy that he could take one last revenge on the knights and their lackeys. He sent up one quick prayer of contrition, begging to be forgiven for the men he was about to kill in a vain attempt to save his own life, then swung his sling twice around his head and loosed. The pebble struck the nearest soldier in the forehead, knocking him down even as the blood began to flow; then Coll dropped the weapon and blocked a slash from the next soldier, blocked it and returned it, slicing the man's arm open. The soldier howled and fell back, but that left more room for the other eight, and they fell on Coll in a shouting mass. He blocked and slashed with his spear until it was wrenched from his hand, saw the sword coming up to thrust through his bowels even as four hands seized his arms and shoulders from behind ...

  The yell echoed all about him, the staves knocked the soldiers away, the tough shaggy ponies struck out with hoof and tooth-and suddenly, Coll stood alone, half the soldiers fallen and the other four backing away in fear of the two knights who rose over him on their horses. Incredibly, the smaller was saying, "Hang in there-and pick up your spear again. They won't try anything against the three of us."

  The bigger man-not big, hugel-was answering the outraged challenge from the knight in the monk's robe. "Who are you who dare to seize this outlaw from us!"

  "Outlaws ourselves, though well-dressed ones." The tall man dismounted. "I am an outlaw who was knighted once, though, so there's no shame in fighting me. However, a horse against a donkey is unfair and unworthy, so we'll fight on foot, shall we?"

  The disguised knight took in the size of him, seven feet tall and broad as a wall, and took a few steps back. "You're much bigger than I am!"

  "Yes, but you're wearing armor, and I'm not." The huge knight leveled his sword. "En garde!"

  2

  The knight shouted with anger and spurred his donkey. His men yelled with him and charged the giant's companion.

  Coll shouted in anger of his own and leaped in beside the shorter stranger. He whirled his spear like a quarterstaff, striking aside one sword after another. The donkey took one look at the man wall wielding a sword and sat down where he was. The knight gave a yelp of surprise and half-fell, half climbed off the beast. The giant laughed and stepped in, slashing. It was a halfhearted cut, but enough to make the armored knight scramble to guard and swing his sword to parry. Then the two of them set to in earnest.

  Coll parried two more blades, not quite far enoughone of them grazed his arm, but he ignored it, not caring which stroke killed him, for he had known he was dead from the moment
the false monk drew his sword. He saw a half-second's opening and struck with the butt of his spear. It jabbed into the belly of the man to his left; he fell back with a grunt of pain-but another soldier stepped over him and struck. Coll barely had time to parry the thrust from his right before he had to turn the jab from his left, then snap his shaft up to block a blow from the front. He kept the movement going, though, bringing it down hard to his right, stabbing into the shoulder of his attacker just as the man was starting a strike of his own. The soldier dropped his spear with a yell of pain, and Coll fell to one knee, ducking under the stroke from his right, feeling the blade graze his cheek, waking pain, but he came up to stab from below at the man in front. His spearhead found blood; then his shoulder struck the man's midriff, carrying the soldier into the spear of the one behind him.

  Now Coll was free, leaping and turning at a fourth soldier. Another slammed into him from his side; agony streaked the back of his shoulders, but he drove his spear butt into the man's belly, then yanked it back and cut with his spearhead as though it were a sword, slashing the arm of the soldier who had been on his right. The man staggered back, howling and clutching his wound, then tripped over one of his companions and fell.

  And, suddenly, it was over, except for the two knights. The shorter stranger stood in the midst of three fallen soldiers, blood staining his sleeve and running down the side of his face, but the grin he gave Coll was sure and strong. Coll found himself grinning back. Then they turned together to watch the duel, both ready to leap in and help.

  There was no need; it was clear the bigger man would already have won if his opponent hadn't been wearing armor. As it was, blood was seeping through the chain mail between breastplate and hip guard, and the giant's doublet was streaked with crimson. But the big man fought only with a rapier and dagger, where the knight hewed at him with a two-handed broadsword.

  The giant leaped back from a particularly vicious slash, grunting, "Save it for an oak!" The knight stumbled after his sword, off balance, and the stranger stepped in with an extra push! The knight cried out and fell, but he rolled onto his back quickly, slashing as he rolled. The giant swung hard, knocking the sword on down to the earth, where he set one big foot on the blade. The knight cursed, trying to tug it free-then froze, seeing the sword tip poised over the eye-slit in his visor.

  "Surrender," the big stranger said softly, "or I strike." The knight cursed him again and shouted, "Strike, cow ard!"

  The stranger's eyes narrowed, but he held the blade poised and said, without looking, "Dirk, shell this lobster for me, will you?"

  "Come on," Dirk said to Coll, and stepped forward to begin unbuckling the knight's armor. The man cursed him furiously, but didn't dare move for fear of the sword aimed at his eyes. Coll grinned and stepped in to help.

  They threw the plate aside, revealing a heavily muscled man in a sweat-stained gambeson.

  "Now the helmet," the big man instructed, and pulled the sword tip back just long enough for Dirk to yank the helmet off the man. The knight was yellow haired and hardfaced, with cold grey eyes, a scar on his lip, and murder in his eyes.

  "Back," the big man instructed.

  "Anything you say, Gar." Dirk stepped back.

  So did Gar. "Get up," he said to the knight, "and take your sword." He cast his own aside.

  The knight stared in disbelief, then gave a gloating laugh as he scrambled to his feet, caught up his sword, and struck.

  Gar danced back; the blade hissed by an inch from his chest. Before the knight could recover, Gar leaped in, caught his wrist on the backswing, and jammed the man's elbow against his own. The knight cried out in surprise and pain; Gar twitched his arm, and the sword fell from nerveless fingers. Then the big man leaped back, letting the knight stumble free. He rubbed his arm, glaring up at Gar, and spat, "Son of a chancred whore!"

  "Pleased to meet you." Gar bowed. "Myself, I am a son of a lord."

  The knight's face went purple at having his own insult turned back on him; he shouted with inarticulate rage, starting toward Gar-then pivoting and leaping at Dirk.

  Coll stood frozen, taken by surprise, then shouted-but even as he did, Dirk swung his arms up, breaking the knight's hold, then cracked a fist into his jaw. The knight stood poised for a moment, then fell and lay still.

  "Sorry about that," Gar said.

  Dirk shrugged. "Accidents will happen. Next time, forget the stunts and just take out the competition, okay?"

  "Comment noted," Gar confirmed, then turned to Coll. "I hope you're worth all this trouble, stranger."

  "Not to mention a few flesh wounds." Dirk turned to Coll, too. "Of course, you took your share. Who are you, anyway?"

  Coll stared at them, suddenly realizing that two total strangers had saved him. "Only Coll," he said, "only a runaway serf and murderer." He raised his spear to guard. "For your help, I thank you-but why?"

  Gar ignored the spear. "We don't like seeing one man attacked by a pack."

  "No, definitely not," Dirk agreed. "Of course, there's also the little matter of our needing a guide. We're from out of town, see, and we figure we can get around quicker if we have someone who knows the territory."

  "Why ... I can guide you through the lands for ten miles about," Coll said slowly. "I've come to know them well, in this month of running and hiding. Beyond that, though, I know no more than you do-and if the lords find you harboring an outlaw, they'll have your heads!"

  Dirk shrugged. "They'll have to take them first. Besides, how do we know you're a criminal? You just bumped into us on the road-what did we know?"

  Gar pulled tunic and hose from his saddlebag. "Whoever thought that a man dressed so well could be on the run?"

  Coll stared. "For me?"

  "Well, you'll have to take a bath first." Dirk drew a bot- - de from his saddlebag and came up to Coll, pouring some of the fluid onto a square of cloth. "Of course, we'd better see about those cuts. Hold still-this will sting."

  Coll eyed the cloth with misgiving, but stood his ground. Dirk wiped his shoulder, and Coll gasped with pain, then set his teeth, determined not to cry out. Instead, he managed to say, "You really mean to take me as your servant?"

  "'Hire' is the term," Gar said helpfully. "You may not know the territory very far away, but you do know which lord is which, and who hates whom-and I suspect you could make a rather shrewd guess as to which will attack the other."

  Dirk stepped back, turning some sort of black cap onto the bottle in place of a cork, and Coll relaxed; the stinging was already passing. "Who will attack?" He shrugged. "Any of the lords. But they will attack the new king, not one another. They have been patching up their feuds ever since he was crowned, getting ready to teach him his place."

  Gar raised his eyebrows. "I thought your noblemen were always fighting one another."

  "They are, and it's a blessed rest," Coll told him. "Of course, Graf Knabe is still fighting Count Gascon, and Duke Vladimir is defending his border from the raids of the Marquis de la Port-but their families have been fighting for as long as anyone can remember."

  "So they certainly wouldn't stop for a mere little thing like a coronation, eh?" Gar asked.

  "Of course not," Dirk answered. "Why waste a perfectly good feud?" He turned back to Coll. "So it's going to be one of the lords attacking the new king, eh?"

  Coll shrugged. "Unless he attacks one of them first."

  "In which case, they'll all pile in on top of him?"

  "They might," Coll said slowly, "but they also might sit back and wait till he is weakened. If His Majesty wins, some others will look for excuses to attack him, while the neighbors of the losing lord divide up his estates."

  "Sure. Why not wait till they're both weakened?" Dirk said.

  "No reason that I can think of." Coll didn't seem to recognize sarcasm-or didn't see any place for it. "Some of the village elders favor the one, some the other. One or two do think the lords will all attack the king without waiting for cause, though."

 
"Quite a country," Dirk said to Gar, "when every peasant with a few years' experience could teach a course in political intrigue."

  Gar shrugged. "We learn what we need, to stay alive." Then to Coll, "However, since Dirk and I haven't learned yet, we'd like to take you along as a teacher."

  Coll gave a harsh laugh. "Teacher? When was a serf taught to read or write?"

  "Only after the revolution." Dirk's face hardened. Coll frowned. "What is a revolution?"

  "The peasants getting fed up with the lords," Dirk explained. "No, I think you have all the qualifications we need. What's your name, by the way?"

  "Coll," the outlaw said, bemused. "But I tell you, I know nothing! "

  "And we tell you that you know everything we need to learn," Gar corrected. "Besides, we can be sure whose side you're on."

  "Yes, you can." Coll's face was stone, but turned to confusion again as he blurted, "How can you trust me, though? I'm an outlaw! A killer!"

  "What kind of choice did you have?" Gar asked.

  "I could have let a knight take my sister," Coll said grimly, and felt the bitterness rise again. "He probably did, anyway."

  Gar and Dirk exchanged a glance. Dirk gave a nod and turned back to Coll. "Yeah, we can trust you. Now about that bath. . ."

  Dirk helped Coll bathe-helped by giving him a cake of real, actual soap, some sort of oily potion to clean his hairthen some brown liquid to rinse it with. Gar gave him a length of soft, fluffy cloth to dry his body. As Coll pulled on the leggins-no, hose!-he protested, "What if someone from my village should see me? Or one of my lord's men?"

  "They won't recognize you," Dirk assured him, "or did you have those scars on your face before you left home?"

  "Well ... no." Coll hadn't thought of that.

  "Besides, they all know that Coll has yellow hair." Gar drew a polished circle of metal from his saddlebag. "Look!" Coll looked at the circle, and saw a face looking back. He stared in shock-it looked very little like the face he had seen staring back from the still pool only a month before! It was hardened, scarred-and topped with brown hair! He looked up at Gar wide-eyed. "What magic is this?"