She swirled the willow wand around in a flourish and planted its butt on the ground between them. "In recognition whereof, I set my hand to this staff. Do you so also?"
Matt reached out and grabbed the branch, a little dazed by the honors suddenly showered upon him, and very much amused. He had a place among the peers of her realm-if she won her realm back! And he had family estates-if he could ever kick out the present incumbents. Still, he had to admit it wasn't bad for a couple of fugitives in the middle of a meadow.
"Now are our hands joined to and by the wood of this land," Alisande said solemnly, "as it is joined to the land itself, from which it did spring. Earth, air, and water have made it; earth, air, and water now witness our oaths. You are my vassal, and I am your suzerain." She lifted the staff away. "Rise, Matthew Mantrell, Lord Wizard of Merovence!"
Matt rose slowly and, somehow, without the slightest inclination to giggle. She had called in, for witnesses, three of the four ancient Greek elements, the primal stuffs of which the universe was made. The land of Merovence was the seal and the bond between its royal house and a homeless vagabond. With a sudden, chilling prickle of memory, Matt remembered the power of words here and realized what the consequent power of an oath should be.
Alisande clapped her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss him on both cheeks. "Never have I been prouder to swear to a bond. You are mine own wizard now, Matthew Mantrell -- wizard to the rightful queen, Lord Wizard!"
Then it hit Matt-he was a lord! The wildest dreams of his childhood fairy tales had come true! He was an aristocrat!
Dazed, with eyes glazed, he focused on her face. "Your Highness-your Majesty that should be-I'm not worthy...
"Yet thou art," Stegoman rumbled behind him. "Thou art a good man, Matthew Mantrell, and a most puissant wizard."
"Yeah," Matt mumbled. He looked up at Alisande. "Uh, say, by the way-those estates you mentioned-who's the current holder?"
Alisande's eyes widened in surprise, "Why, the false Lord Wizard, of course-Malingo!"
Slowly, Matt pursed his lips. "Yes," he said, nodding. "How stupid of me. I should have realized, shouldn't I?"
"Pay no heed to it." Alisande's smile was full of gentle understanding as she took his arm. "When you have learned our ways, such things will come to you as quickly and lightly as breath."
"Yes, of course," Matt said, with a sardonic smile. "Till then, I suppose I'll just have to muddle through, won't I?"
He reflected that some things are the same in any culture, for instance, a setup.
CHAPTER 6
"Ho!" cried a distant voice.
Matt whirled about, startled.
And there he was-a real, authentic, plate-armor knight, way out there in the meadow, trotting toward them. The armor was black, and the horse was humongous. The knight held an oversized toothpick slanting up at an angle, waving the pennant at its tip.
Matt squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, no. Tell me I didn't see it."
"Wherefore, Lord Wizard?" The princess knit her brows, puzzled. "Dost fear him?"
"Well, now that you mention it, yes-though that wasn't exactly what I had in mind. You'll pardon the cynicism, Princess, but as we stand now, I think we're better off assuming any stranger's an enemy, until he proves otherwise."
"But you need not fear a knight!" she protested. "They are all bound by honor, sir-even those who oppose us!"
"Even Malingo's knights?"
The princess reddened and lifted her chin a few notches. "They are foul, treacherous brutes who may lay no claim at all to the title of knight."
"Oh, definitely not. The fact that they ride Percherons, wear armor, and carry great big, sharp swords has nothing to do with it."
"Exactly." She beamed. "You learn our ways quickly, Lord Wizard."
It took Matt a minute to realize she was quite serious.
He turned back to the approaching rider, who was about fifty yards off now. "Yes, but how can we be sure this guy isn't one of Malingo's?"
"Why, because he wears black armor."
Matt dipped his head and came up looking at her. "Whoa, now! Isn't that supposed to mean he's an evil one, or something like that?"
"Why, no." Alisande seemed genuinely astonished. "In Heaven's name, Lord Matthew, what could let you think that? His armor means simply that he is a free lance, a knight unsworn to any lord-that is all."
Matt held her eyes for a long moment; then he spoke slowly. "Yes, of course-no economic security. He doesn't have the money or facilities to keep his armor polished. That it?"
"Precisely; and therefore doth he paint it black."
"Very practical." Matt turned back to the approaching rider. "But what's to keep one of Malingo's boys from painting his armor black?"
"Why, twould be dishonest, sir!",
Matt bit back the natural response.
The Black Knight pulled up his horse a little away from them and swung his lance upright in salute. "Hail, most fair lady! Hail, sir! Hail, you of the most free!"
"Well met, Sir Knight," Stegoman answered. Matt nodded acknowledgment; but Alisande said, "Well met indeed, Sir Knight! Your name and your arms?"
The knight laughed, amused, and hauled an empty, black-painted shield around to face them. "These are my arms, lady; any others I own, I may not reveal till an oath be fulfilled. As for my name, I am Sir Guy Losobal, for all men to know!"
Why not? Matt reflected sourly. "Losobal" was close enough to the French "Le Sable" for Matt to be pretty sure it was this universe's equivalent. In other words, Sir Guy the Black Knight. Very informative.
But he couldn't be outdone for courtesy, could he? "Well met, Sir Guy. I am Matthew Mantrell, liegeman to this lady."
"Ah, a liegeman!" From the tone, Sir Guy was licking his chops. "Come, then! Will you not break a lance with me?"
Matt goggled.
Recovering, he managed a feeble grin. "Gee, thanks for the invitation, Sir Guy, but I don't think I'm hard enough. It would just go right through me."
Sir Guy chuckled. "Most amusing, sir! But come-will you not ride against me, with a lance in your hand?"
"I'd love to oblige you," Matt hedged, "but I -don't have a lance. Not to mention little things such as armor or a horse."
"Why, how is this?" Sir Guy's lance drooped. "A knight without armor or arms?"
"You labor under a misapprehension," Alisande informed him. "Lord Matthew is my liegeman, but is not a knight."
Sir Guy sat very still for a moment.
Inwardly, Matt groaned. Didn't this princess know never to give free information to the opposition? If he was a lord, and her liegeman, what was she?
Sir Guy turned toward Matt and asked in a rather cool tone, "How can you be lordly, without being knighted?" Then, before Matt could answer, he nodded. "Of course! You are a wizard!"
"Quick thinking," Matt approved. In fact, maybe too quick. "You'll understand, then, that I'm not exactly outfitted for a tournament."
"Nay, certes! One could not expect a wizard to fight with sword or lance!" Sir Guy's voice became velvet itself. "It would seem, then, that we must find weapons we both may use, with good conscience."
Matt shrugged. "Got any handy?"
"These." Sir Guy yanked off his gauntlets and held up his fists. "The peasant's weapons, that all men do own to."
Matt's smile vanished. Sure, he'd done the usual fist fighting when he was a boy and had even had a YMCA boxing class when he was a teenager-but that had been more than ten years ago. Still, a knight might be very well-trained with sword, spear, lance, mace, and battle-axe-but wrestling was for peasants, and Matt couldn't remember offhand any reference to boxing in medieval literature.
He nodded slowly. "Sounds good, Sir Guy. I'll try you a couple of rounds."
He walked past the Princess's shocked stare, shrugging off his sport coat. Sir Guy grinned, swung down from his horse, and got busy unbuckling his armor.
"Art thou mad?" Stegoman demanded, lumbering up near him. "Thi
s knight is trained in all forms of martial exercise!"
"All forms?" Matt raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I didn't think there was much training in fist fighting here."
"Indeed, 'tis mere brawling and could not be glorified with study of system and method; yet he is a warrior. And thou?"
"I," Matt said grimly, "have had some training in the use of my fists, including the system and method you sneer at-which should give me an edge, even in so lowly a sport."
"Sport? Nay, good Lord Matthew! Be assured, this knight will not fight in jest!"
"A point to consider," Matt said, nodding. "Even if this is more of a social bout than anything else, he'll still fight for keeps. Thanks for the reminder."
"Are you in readiness?" Sir Guy asked, stepping out into the meadow and holding up his fists. He'd stripped down to a loose linen shirt and trousers. Matt eyed the padding he'd tossed on top of his armor and decided the man might be ethical.
"Ready whenever you are, Sir Guy." He stepped forward, holding up -his own fists.
He was right about having an edge. Sir Guy had the right crouch, but his fists were only chest-high, and at the same distance from his body. Which one did he think he was going to block with?
Good question-but Matt remembered Sir Guy holding his lance in his right hand. No, he wasn't a southpaw.
Matt started circling, warily. Sir Guy held his ground, rotating to follow him. Matt realized the knight was studying him closely, taking his measure, and returned the compliment. Sir Guy was on the short side, by Matt's standards-five eight or so. Of course, that was above average height here. But he was heavily muscled, with shoulders that would have done credit to an ox, and with an oiled smoothness to his movements that spoke of speed and precision. He had shiny black hair, cut straight across the forehead in front, ear-length at the temples, and halfway down his neck behind the ears. Very military-no hair to get in his eyes, but enough at the back to help protect his neck, in case chain mail and quilted padding didn't quite make it. He had a sleek black moustache that trailed down past the corners of his mouth, a square chin, large eyes set wide apart, and a nose that had been broken at least once. All in all, though, he looked friendly, cheerful-and wide open.
Suddenly Sir Guy moved, like a turnstile at rush hour-fast and abrupt, the right-hand side of his body slashing forward in a round-house lunge. Matt jumped, but a little too late-rock-hard knuckles jarred his cheekbone, and he staggered back through an instant of black shot with bright points of light. He kept on going back, though, shaking his head-Sir Guy wasn't the kind to allow recovery time.
His vision cleared, and he saw Sir Guy leaping forward, fist swinging down in an overhand chop. Matt shot up his left. Pain exploded in his forearm, and a small rock bit his skull, bringing black back as the grass slipped from under his feet and, a second later, struck his shoulders. I've fallen, he realized, surprised, and rolled, fast. But no feet kicked at him, and his vision cleared as he flipped up to his knees. Sir Guy stood waiting, smiling, amused.
Now, that was a predicament-being halfway up and having a set of muscles on two feet waiting for him to get up the rest of the way. Matt was sorely tempted to hold it right there.
Then he caught sight of Alisande, out of the corner of his eye.
She stood, straining forward, huge-eyed and pale, staring at Matt with pain etched in her face. Somehow, he just couldn't quit outright, with her watching like that.
He levered himself to his feet. Sir Guy was on him, right swinging around and up in a haymaker uppercut. Matt finally placed his style-broadsword.
He'd also placed Sir Guy's strength-phenomenal. No use trying to block that swing; Sir Guy would just drive on through, knocking Matt's arm back against him again. He leaned back, letting the haymaker slice past him, fanning his face, while he remembered a cutting man's weak spot-the lunge. Sir Guy was used to chopping, not stabbing.
So, while Sir Guy's fist was following through on its swing, Matt jabbed-hard.
Sir Guy saw it coming and flipped up his arm, throwing Matt's punch higher than he'd aimed; he caught the knight on the cheekbone-and nearly howled. The man was hard! But Sir Guy's head rocked, and he looked surprised.
Then the fist that had just finished the uppercut chopped down, backhanded.
Matt leaped back, not quite in time; knuckles sizzled across his chest. But he knocked the hand further aside and stepped in, throwing a right straight from the shoulder.
And Sir Guy's left snapped up, knocking Matt's arm toward the sky.
It threw Matt off balance; he lurched forward and slammed into Sir Guy's shoulder. The knight gave under him, then steadied. Matt snatched a quick glance at his face; Sir Guy smiled, eyebrows raised. "We become too familiar, Lord Wizard."
"No, I'm just getting to know you." Matt shoved against the knight's bulk and leaped backward, fists up. He should have realized Sir Guy would block well with his left-he was used to a shield.
The knight followed after him, slashing back and forth with his right. Matt backpedaled, waiting, and timed it; then he dropped low in a crouch and jabbed at Sir Guy's belly. Sure enough, the left dropped down to block-and Matt swung up for the chin, from the hips.
His fist smashed against Sir Guy's jaw, and the knight's head snapped back. Matt recovered, snapping his body back into a tight fetal crouch-but Sir Guy kept on leaning back until he toppled over.
Matt froze in the crouch, staring at the slack, unconscious body in disbelief.
Then, slowly, he straightened up, lowering his fists-carefully; he still expected Sir Guy to roll to his feet and start swinging. But the Black Knight was out cold, and Matt finally let himself begin to believe it.
There was a rustle of cloth, and he heard Alisande's voice, as dumfounded as he was: "You have beaten him, Wizard!"
Matt stared at the supine body. "Thank Heaven for small favors!"
"Nay, thank thy skill," rumbled Stegoman, beside him. "Thou hast beaten a full-belted knight, Matthew Mantrell, by force of thine arms and skill of thy body!"
Matt turned slowly, frowning. "Well, , thanks-but I have a nasty suspicion I didn't."
"How so?" A trickle of smoke oozed from Stegoman's Jaws.
"I think I won by a decision."
"Thou hast laid him low! What decision's in that?"
"His," Matt said sourly.
Alisande was kneeling over Sir Guy, patting his cheek, chafing his wrists, and murmuring soothing chants. The Black Knight blinked; then his eyes locked onto the princess, appalled. "'Zwounds! I have, then, been beaten?"
"Afraid so." Matt stepped up. "Just luck, though, Sir Knight. You definitely knew what you were doing; I didn't."
"Nay! That was no blow of fortune you felled me with; 'twas planned, and quite well!" Sir Guy rolled up to one knee. "I must kneel to you now, Lord Wizard; and, since you were the victor, yet spared me, I must in all honor swear fealty to you, to serve at your right hand, to make my body your shield and your enemies mine, till I've defeated the worst of them! And so do I swear, Matthew Mantrell, Lord Wizard!"
"Uh-well, I guess that's the best offer I've had since I came here," Matt said lamely. He sidled over to Alisande. "Can I turn him down?"
"You can, though 'twould be grievous insult," she murmured back.
"Went a little bit overboard, didn't he?"
"Somewhat," Alisande admitted. "An expression of honor and profound respect would have sufficed, by all rules of chivalry. Still, 'tis not unheard of."
That, Matt reflected, was the grinding part. If it was allowable under the unwritten rules of chivalry, it was almost obligatory for him to accept.
Sir Guy waited, watching him with. a merry eye. He knows exactly what he's done, Matt realized, with slow, burning, resentment.
"You should accept him," the princess said, with sudden, total certainty.
That rocked Matt-not so much that she advocated accepting Sir Guy, but the sureness with which she said it. Did she see something in the Black Knight that he didn't see?
Sure-muscles. And, now that he thought about it, Sir Guy wasn't bad-looking -- handsome, in fact.
"Are you sure?" he whispered. "Remember, if I say yes, he's an official part of our party, indefinitely!"
"I am mindful of it." The princess was giving the knight .a long, speculative look. "And I mind me we're few and need every sword we can trust."
"Trust? We scarcely know his name! In fact, we don't-not all of it, anyway!"
"Naetheless, we can trust him. I'm sure of it."
She was, too-very sure. You could hear it in her voice. For a moment, jealousy flared; Matt couldn't help it. But he forced it to the back of his mind and turned back to Sir Guy. "I accept your proffer of loyalty, Sir Knight, and thank you from the depth of my heart."
Alisande was watching him, expectantly.
Matt sighed. He'd read enough about chivalry to know what she expected of him. "And I, in my turn, swear loyalty to thee, till this conflict be finished, or one of us dies."
Sir Guy's moustache hooked up around a grin. "Done!" And he leaped to his feet, clasping Matt's hand. "I am your sword and your shield till we die, or the worst of your enemies does! Where do we wander, Lord Wizard?"
Matt wished he could escape the feeling that he'd been conned. "Wherever her Highness says." Then he remembered his manners. "Uh, your Highness Princess Alisande-may I present Sir Guy Losobal."
Sir Guy's eyebrows shot up. "The Princess Alisande!"
"You know of me, then." Alisande extended her hand, and Sir Guy dropped to one knee to kiss it. The princess nodded, pleased with Sir Guy's courtliness, while Matt fumed. "And knowing who I am, Sir Guy, have you second thoughts as to joining our party?"
"But wherefore?" Sir Guy asked in surprise. "What I have sworn, I have sworn-and if I have enlisted in a noble cause, so much the better."
He said it so easily that Matt found himself sure Sir Guy hadn't bumped into them by accident-but the princess looked very pleased indeed. "Well, then, sirs!" she said, looking from Sir Guy to Matt and back. "What is your counsel? Whither should we march?"
Her Majesty's Wizard Page 8
