"Aye," the elf admitted, "and they have shown us some courtesy, which I fear we must repay."
"Then do repay it, I beseech you! Guide them through this dark, dense wood, to its western edge! And wing their heels; show them the fleetest of the ways-for they must be from this wood ere day!"
"'Fore the daylight should be hard." The elf almost seemed ashamed. "Yet still we shall endeavor the quickest footpath to discover. Mortals, come!" He leaped from her hand to the ground, and a host of Wee Folk leaped down with him. They trotted away into the night.
Matt nudged Stegoman, and the company started up behind him. He called back to the dryad, "Don't forget the werewolf!"
"I do not." Her back was turned to him; she frowned back over her shoulder, then turned to the nearest tree, murmuring in a language that sounded like the rustling of midnight leaves.
Matt tore his eyes away from her and focused on the golden circlet of the elf-duke, which had almost disappeared into the forest's gloom already. The trees seemed to pull back, leaving a clear way. They rode down it through the night.
"The word is sped."
Matt looked down, surprised to see the dryad trotting along beside him, apparently not even feeling the effort of keeping pace with a hurrying dragon. "I have spoken to the trees, and they will speak to the bushes and to thorns. The wolf shall find his progress slowed; for underbrush shall catch his coat, thorns shall prick and clutch at him and, ever and anon, a patch of wolfbane shall rear its leaves within his path, to fright him. His route shall be circuitous and long. Be certain, he'll not come upon you in this forest."
"I thank you, Lady." Matt was a little surprised at her efficiency. "Your communications seem to be quite efficient."
"All here are one." The dryad seemed pleased with the compliment. "We are bound together by the earth, from which we draw our substance, and to which the nourishment of our bodies returns when life is done. What one knows, all know."
A nice thumbnail summary of ecology, Matt decided. "How did a nice girl like you get into a place like that? The tree, I mean."
She sighed and turned away. "'Twas an evil sorcerer in this forest that bade me to his bed and pleasure. I did refuse, for he was ugly, and there was that about him that did reek of carrion death. Indeed, I mocked him for his pains. Yet on a sudden, half a year agone, comes he to me with a grin, and quotha, `I have thee now, wood wench. Come thee to my bed, or suffer ever loss of liberty.' Yet how should I have known his power had grown? I laughed and mocked him, as ever I had. Then turned he upon me, crying fearful imprecations, and bade the tree to swallow me, with many a croaking cant in ancient tongues I did know not of. And, foul amazement on me, his enchantment worked!"
"Yes," Matt said grimly, "the balance of power in the land had shifted. The old king had been slain, and a usurper had taken the throne, with the powerful sorcerer Malingo behind him to enforce his orders."
"Malingo?" Her eyes went wide. "Of him I've heard! A full fell thing is he, that does befoul the rivers with the caustic wastes of evil brews, and does fill the air with noxious fumes. A vile thing is he, that wrenches power from the land, returning only poisons! Is he behind this coil, then?"
"He is. And the sorcerer who enchanted you-is he still here, in the forest?"
"Nay," a nearby elf piped up. "He is fled, we know not where. A bramble heard him muttering, as he left, a curse upon the master who did command him hence."
Matt nodded. "Sounds like Malingo again. He called in all the minor sorcerers, to give him a sort of sorcery squadron." He turned to the dryad. "You see how it is, Lady-this wolf that's chasing us has the same gripe against Malingo that you have. In daily life, he's a priest."
The dryad stared, shocked. Then her lips formed the words: "But how is this Malingo's doing?"
"He took the throne, or took it for Astaulf, his pawn. That strengthened the forces of Evil in the land; and just as your local sorcerer grew stronger, Father Brunel grew weaker-morally, that is. It all stems from Malingo having stolen the king's throne. The man who rules the land is corrupt and wicked, and the people mimic their king."
"Aye, but 'tis deeper than that," the dryad said, brooding. "For look you, the king's the symbol of the land."
"Oh?" Matt looked up keenly; he was more sensitive to symbols these days. "Saying the king's the symbol of the land is going a bit far, don't you think? He's the symbol of the nation-the people who live in the land."
"Can you divorce the people from the land?" the dryad countered.
Matt started to answer and caught himself. These people still thought industry just meant good, hard work. To them, the whole earth, the wind, the trees, the streams, and all the elements were so inextricably intertwined with them that if the land's harmony was broken, so was theirs. "No," he said softly. "No, of course not. Here, the people aren't divorced from the land at all, are they? They're bone and fiber of it."
"They are," the dryad agreed, "and when they die, they return their bodies to it, as their forefathers have done for a thousand generations. The people are the land, or nearly; and if the king's the symbol of them, then he is the symbol of the land itself."
"Then," Matt said, frowning, "the whole land's befouled because a false king's on the throne."
"Yes." The dryad nodded, and cold fire flickered at the backs of her eyes. "Aye, that he is-an abomination and defilement upon the Royal Chair."
Matt stared, shaken by her vehemence.
The dryad looked up suddenly. "The dawn is lighting; sunlight stripes the land beyond the verge. And we are scarcely to midforest."
Matt looked up, startled. He gazed about him at the dark, deep gloom that shadowed all the trees. "How can you tell? It still looks like midnight in here."
"The topmost leaves do feel the sun's light; thus, so do we. Come quickly; we must find a quicker route." She hurried ahead, passing Alisande and Sir Guy to catch up with the elf-duke in the lead.
The princess dropped back beside Matt. "Well done, Lord Wizard. You have wrought mightily for me this night."
"Uh?" Matt looked up, startled. "How? I mean, Malingo's not all that apt to try to bring an army through this forest."
"True, but he'll march through the land. And 'tis even as this dryad says, all the forest is one. Yet further still, Lord Wizard, all the land is one; and the forest is tied to it, as thoroughly as its roots run out into the meadowland to mingle with the roots of grasses. What the forest knows, the moorland knows, and all the mountain pines. Nay, you have raised the forest for me and, in doing so, have raised up all the land. The very soil will mire Malingo's army for our cause."
The dryad was arguing with the elf-duke. A few words of vociferous debate filtered back to Matt; then it ceased, and he gathered the dryad had won her point.
They made very rapid progress after that. The dryad led, and it seemed as if the forest opened up to make a highway for them. The trees began to go backward past them, faster and faster, till they were almost a blur. They were making very good time, even though they were turning and twisting so many times that Matt began to wonder if they were following a snake with a twitch. Somehow, he suspected magic.
It was full dawn when they stepped out of the trees into the meadowland. Matt looked out over the long grass that blurred and faded into morning mist: The shadows of the great, gnarled trees stretched out ahead for a hundred feet. Beyond them was golden mist, but so thick that Matt couldn't see where shadow left off and sunrise began. All he could tell was that sunlight filled the meadow.
He turned back to the dryad. "I thank you, Lady of the Wood, and I wish I could have come more quickly, to free you from your bondage."
"Tush, sir!" The dryad turned coy. "Your advent was timely as it was. Yet when affairs cease to press you, I pray you, come this way again."
Matt felt his face heating and swallowed quickly. "Uh, thanks," he said, reaching down a hand. "It's already been a pleasure."
The dryad frowned prettily at his hand. "What novel custom's this?"
"Oh, just an idiosyncrasy of my people." Matt swallowed again. "Open hand, no weapon. It's our custom to clasp hands with friends."
"Oh ... I most certainly wish to be your friend." Her clasp was firm, her hand dry and smooth, like polished wood. Her fingertips wriggled with a subtle pressure that sent heat coursing up his arm to his glands. "Do come again," she breathed.
Then she spun away toward the forest, leaving a laugh that merged with the whispering of the morning breeze in the leaves, as the shadows claimed her, and she was gone.
Matt took a deep breath, sitting upright on Stegoman, shaking his head to clear it. "Well! A most ... interesting encounter."
"It was indeed," Alisande said, with an implied promise of incipient mayhem, "and I trust one was enough. Reflect on what was said, Wizard, on the crossing that's against all nature."
Matt gave her a reproachful look. "You still don't trust me. Should I be complimented?"
Alisande swung her horse about, face burning, and rode out into the meadow.
Sir Guy laughed softly behind him. "Come, Lord Wizard. Let us ride."
They cantered ahead. The mist turned deeper gold, thinning, showing them a swath of meadow. Matt saw a sheet of sunlight, laid out upon the waving grass, its near edge cut as sharply as a knife-edge by the shadow. He drew in suddenly, ten feet short of the shadow line.
"What troubles you?" Sir Guy frowned.
"I just remembered what this whole shenanigan was about." Matt swung down off the dragon. "You two ride ahead slowly with the ladies. And try to keep your neck hooked up, Stegoman, so no one can see I'm not with you."
"What hast thou in mind?" Stegoman blinked painfully against the sunlight.
"About what you'd expect. Try to make sure you keep in sight of the forest, and be ready to come a-runnin' if you hear a ruckus."
Stegoman turned his head slowly, doubtfully; but Sir Guy only asked, "What of yourself?"
"I'll stay here."
"A moment.'' The dragon blinked at him, frowning. "If the wolf should hap upon thee..."
Matt held up the silver dagger. "I'm ready-though I hope I won't have to use it."
Sir Guy frowned down at him a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away. "Come, Free Dragon! This is his fight, when all is done."
Stegoman went along, though he didn't look happy about it.
Matt stepped a few feet to the side and lay down in the long grass. The stems hid him from his companions, but also from the forest behind. He waited.
He didn't wait long.
A howl ripped from the verge of the forest.
Matt snapped his head up, looking backward, waiting.
A heavy, black form shot through the grass to his left, not five feet away. Matt leaped to his feet, just in time to see the great, gaunt wolf charge out of the shadow into sunlight.
It felt the warmth and howled, slamming on the brakes, leaning backward, clawing at the turf. It flailed about, wailing.
Hooves thudded as Sir Guy and the ladies came charging back toward it.
Then it rose up from the grass, already a grotesque and formless thing with half a face and half a muzzle, no longer a beast, not yet a man, struggling back toward the shadow line.
Matt ran forward, the silver knife out. The amorphous thing saw him coming and lunged forward desperately. But Matt leaped and landed on the terminator a half second before it.
It wailed miserably and rolled to the side, sheering off from the silver blade. It fell lengthwise, twitching, its whole form blurring, stretching out, elongating, paling-and Father Brunel scrabbled naked in the grass.
He rolled over onto his belly, face buried in his hands, sobbing in full despair.
Matt knelt, clapping his shoulder. "Calm down, Father. You're human again."
"Slay me!" The priest grabbed the front of Matt's tunic and yanked his head down. "I begged you before; I adjure you now! Slay me! End my shame!"
"No." Matt felt his face turn to flint again.
"Heed me!" The priest shook Matt like a rat, his face contorting with fury. "You would not heed me in the depth of night; look what has happed therefore! Take the silver blade and kill me!"
"Again I tell you, no!" Matt looked directly into the priest's eyes with a cold, hard stare. "I-will-not-send-your-soul-to-Hell."
He chopped down with his forearm against Father Brunel's elbow, knocking the priest's hands aside, and stood, glaring up at Alisande, daring her to disagree. But the princess only nodded judiciously.
Surprised but relieved, Matt turned back to the priest again. "Your cure is penance, Father, not death."
The priest glowered up at him; then anger faded, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head.
"Come, sir!" Sir Guy said sternly. "Hope's not fully fled! Come, on your feet, and be a man again!"
"There's no help for it, Father," Matt said, more gently. "We're not going to let you out of it. Take up the burden of humanity once again."
The priest lay still a moment longer. Then he groaned and shoved himself to his feet again-or started to. He made it to his knees, then suddenly remembered his condition and sank back, shooting an appalled, appealing glance at Matt.
"Oh, good Heaven!" Sayeesa ripped a strip of cloth from her robe in disgust and tossed it to the priest. "Gird your loins, and have no fear-the princess and I shall turn our heads."
She turned her horse, and so did Alisande; but Father Brunel only knelt, staring down at the wide grey strip in his hands, and muttered, deep in his throat, "I should not touch your garment."
"'Tis not my garment more!" Sayeesa cried, exasperated. "'Tis separate from me now, as you shall ever be! Now gird yourself!"
Alisande stared at her in surprise, then turned away, brow furrowed in thought.
Matt looked up too, amazed. Then he sighed and turned back to Brunel.
The priest was on his feet, finishing tying the loincloth into place with a twist of skeined grasses. He looked up at Matt, face grave. "'Tis better thus. I am not fit to wear a cassock."
"Will you quit wallowing in self-pity!" Matt snapped. "Haul yourself out to the arid land of manhood! Or do you think a cassock would make you neuter?"
The priest glowered down at the ground. "I could wish that it did."
"Yeah, yeah! We could be such damn fine men, if we just didn't have to cope with women! They wouldn't even distract us, if we just didn't have glands for them to lead us by! We could win every time, if we just never had a challenge! Come off it, Father! Glory comes from keeping on trying when you're losing, not from giving up!"
Brunel's head snapped up in indignant anger-and, for a moment, he almost seemed to have a man's due pride again.
Then he lowered his head, eyes still on Matt. "Aye, there's truth in what you say: despair's illusion. I, a priest, should know that. No matter how I've sinned, there's always hope I will not sin again. 'Tis deeper shame that a layman must remind me of it."
Matt nodded slowly, almost with approval. "Then be a priest, Father, and thereby be a man."
The priest frowned at him a moment longer; then he turned away, planting his fists on his hips and staring at the ground. He looked up, nodding. "I thank you, Wizard. Now stand away from me I must be gone."
Matt lifted an eyebrow. "Quite an about-face. Where are you heading?"
"To the nearest church," Brunel answered. "Where should I go?"
"Why, with us, good Father," Sir Guy said cheerfully. "Let us find this church together."
"No." Brunel shook his head. "You must ride to the West, and quickly; and I would slow your party, as I've done already."
"Well, that's a matter of opinion." Matt looked back at the forest. "I'd say we made pretty good time, last night. About sixty miles."
"Yet you will concede, I did not aid you," the priest said, with a dark smile. "Nay, I'll go my ways. I would be liability to you, and --" He glanced up at Sayeesa, then away: " -- and you to me."
Sayeesa's head swung around, eyes wide in hurt-but on
ly for a split second; then her face was an impassive mask again.
Matt tugged at his lip, frowning. "There's some truth in that, but you're in this now, Father. You can't just sit back and watch the big guys fight it out."
"Can the people ever sit back thus?" Brunel asked drily. "You forget, Lord Wizard, that knights may lead the charge, but the greatest part of war is for the footmen. And the battlefield is farmers'. trampled corn."
"Quite truly said." Alisande nudged her horse up to the priest, neck stiff, looking down at him. "What soldiers shall you bring to aid us?"
The priest looked up, taken aback. Then his brow furrowed.
"I had not thought of that. Yet what better army could you have in this fell war than a troop or two of monks?"
Slowly, the princess nodded. "What better force, indeed?"
"Uh..." Matt tugged at an earlobe. "Isn't there something a little bit paradoxical about that? I mean, men of God, out there with swords and pikes?"
Father Brunel turned to him with a wry smile. "It has been known before, Lord Matthew. Still, I had not such in mind. The weapons I would bid them bring are rosaries, scapulars, holy water, and the relics of the saints."
Matt caught the scoffing answer on his lips and shoved it into his cheek with his tongue. The weapons the priest had mentioned were all symbols, and very, very powerful ones. Given the rules of this universe, they were apt to do at least as much good as crossbows and a catapult or two.
Brunel straightened, squaring his shoulders. "Aye, this much I can do; and I see I must. Stand aside, Lord Wizard, let me by. I must find a church and robe, and every monastery that I can, while trooping westward." He turned back to Alisande, and something of the fighting man kindled in his glance. "Where shall I meet you, Highness?''
"In the western mountains." Battle joy sparked in Alisande's eyes. "In the foothills north of Mount Monglore, hard by the Plain of Grellig."
"That's a ways to go, and you need to make good time." Matt looked up at Stegoman. "Mind splitting off from the main part? He needs rapid transport."
"There's some truth in that," the dragon said slowly, "yet would I misdoubt me of thy safety, Wizard."
Her Majesty's Wizard Page 20
