A Wizard In Peace

by Christopher Stasheff

  Finally Renunzio must have been satisfied in some strange way, for the creature on the rack gargled an answer, and the inquisitor nodded. "So I thought," he mused, "so I thought." He turned to the head torturer. "Take him off the rack, and prepare him for his execution." He rose from the stool, sighed as he stretched, then came over to Miles and clapped a hard hand on his shoulder as he led him wobbling out of the chamber. "A waste of time and effort," Renunzio sighed, "since his 'confession' will probably turn out to be bogus, merely something he said to make the torture stop, telling me what he knew I wanted to hear."

  "Knew" because Renunzio had prompted him, Miles realized, and the names the inquisitor had used were those of highranking officials-the High Bailiff of the Protector's Guard, a general of an army in all but name; three ministers; and one he didn't recognize, but felt sure was a man of high rank and great influence. True or not, Renunzio now had evidence to use against them, evidence which he could horde, claiming he needed to wait for opportunities to prove it by the testimony of other such, prisoners, but really waiting until a chance came to use it as a weapon in the constant intrigues within the top echelons of government, to gain greater power and rank himself. Miles realized the man had decided to become a minister, though not by the usual route of examinations and years of successful administration.

  Renunzio watched Miles's face, waiting for the thoughts to register. The rebel leader fought to keep his face expressionless, but the inquisitor must have seen something, for his eyes brightened with delight. "Past experience has shown me that would-be assassins like that usually act alone," he said, "crazed by grief, bitterness, or some other cause. I would rather you told me willingly, so that your words might be more trustworthy." But the gaze he turned on the rebel leader belied his words, so bright was it with avarice.

  "Why did you keep him in agony so long, then?" Miles asked, quaking inside.

  "Why, to give the Watch time to gather the citizens to view his hanging, of course! And to make sure there were enough marks on his body to scare our good citizens so thoroughly that none of them will dare try to assassinate our beloved Protector, or to work against him in any way. Come, for you too must see!"

  And come Miles did, for the guards bundled him after Renunzio, through an iron gate and past sentries, up three flights of dank stone steps, through a brass-bound portal of sixinch-thick wood and past another sentry, down a lightless tunnel to another door with a small barred window, out between two more sentries and into a huge courtyard, open-to the city itself, where three major roads debouched into a vast plaza. It was crowded now with people, merchants in the plain broadcloth of their warehouses, tradesmen in their aprons, and housewives in theirs, some with utensils still in their hands. Ordinary people they were, common people, and Miles could see only the leading rank of soldiers at the back on the side nearest him, but knew they were there behind the people all about, having just herded them from their shops and houses.

  They stood in glum silence, those people, or with a low, apprehensive murmur. It was a grim crowd, but Renunzio signed to a watchman who stood on an iron-railed balcony above, and he signed toward the crowd. Here and there, voices began to chant, "Traitor! Traitor!" and the rest of the people, knowing what would keep them alive and what would see them arrested, began to chant with them. The noise grew, gained a life of its own, and even people who hated this event (which included most of them) found themselves chanting with anger and even eagerness, "Traitor! Traitor! Hang up the traitor!"

  Renunzio seized the back of Miles's head and yanked, turning his face upward. "Look!" he commanded, and Miles couldn't very well disobey, since his gaze was already on the top of the castle wall.

  There, an iron beam jutted out from the stone with a rope curling from its end back to the parapet. As he watched, guards shoved a man stumbling to the edge of the wall, and Miles saw that the rope was tied around his neck. One guard struck him in the belly, making him double over, so that he couldn't help but see the huge fifty-foot drop before him. It was the would-be assassin, and he began to scream at the sight below. He screamed even louder as a hard boot struck him, sending him plummeting off the edge, screaming in terror, a scream that ended very suddenly.

  At the last second, Miles wrenched his head about, trying to turn his eyes away, but Renunzio's claws held him in an iron grip. "That is your fate," he hissed, "unless you tell me what I wish to know."

  Miles stared at the poor, pathetic body above him, at the raw welts and livid brandmarks. "Yes," he gasped, hating himself for it. "Yes, I'll tell you. I'll tell it all."

  "Good man." Renunzio patted him on the back, quite gently, and as he turned Miles away to go back into the prison, the rebel leader couldn't help the horrible surge of guilt that came with the suspicion that Renunzio wouldn't have made the poor felon suffer nearly as much if he hadn't been trying to scare Miles into surrender.

  Which, of course, he hadn't done. Miles had made as much of a show as Renunzio had. He didn't expect it would take the inquisitor long to realize that what he was hearing was as complete a fiction as any minstrel would sing-but the more time Miles could buy, the fewer of his people would be taken.

  For the revolution was finished now, he knew-defeated, without a single stroke against the Protector. His last order had been for everyone to flee to the forest and the mountains. The longer he could draw out Renunzio's game, the more of them would escape to safety.

  Miles screamed as the branding iron bit into his chest. It was even worse than the pain that raged through every joint, for Renunzio had left him stretched out on the rack only overnight. The worst of the burning pain eased; he saw the iron rising away and lay staring in terror and amazement that it could have hurt so much.

  "I don't believe a word of it," Renunzio chuckled, gazing down with glee into Miles's eyes. "A city of madmen in the forest? Ridiculous! Do you think I'm fool enough to believe a fairy tale like that?"

  "But it's true!" Miles protested. "The knights cured them of their madness, taught them how to be magistrates and reeves, and sent them out to take office in place of the real ones!"

  Renunzio's mouth thinned with scorn; he waved to the torturer, and pain stabbed through Miles's toes. He had no idea what they had done, couldn't see down far enough, but the pain was so intense it nearly made him faint. The inquisitor saw and gestured to a torturer, who dashed water into Miles's face, ice water, and the shock almost made him pass out, then brought him a clearheadedness he regretted.

  "Worse and worse!" Renunzio hissed. "First a city of madmen, then two knights who can magically cure their madness, and finally a spirit who lives within a wall and teaches the madmen in a matter of months what real officials take twenty years to learn! Can you do no better than that, dear Miles?"

  The worst of it was that he meant the "dear"; the rebel leader's pain made him precious to Renunzio, made him feel some sort of bond between them.

  "I-I'll try," Miles gasped. His terror at the pain hid his elation. He had gambled on telling the truth first, sure that Renunzio would think it a lie. Indeed, if Miles hadn't lived through it himself, he would have thought it a fairy tale, too.

  Something seared his arm, a brief sharp pain that made him cry out, then clamp his jaws shut, ashamed when the pain was so small compared to the rest.

  "Just to claim your attention," Renunzio explained. "Now, let's begin with those two knights, shall we? What were their names?"

  "Sir Dirk Dulaine," Miles gasped, "and Sir Gar Pike." Renunzio frowned, and Miles braced himself for pain, but the inquisitor only said, "I would think `Gar Pike' was a lie, if `Dirk Dulaine' weren't coupled with it; the name almost makes sense. And where are they now, these two champion traitors?"

  "Gone back where they came from," Miles said. Renunzio's eyes kindled with avarice again. "And where is that?" he purred.

  Miles braced himself; the man wasn't going to like the truth. "The stars-in a ship that flies."

  Renunzio's face went rigid, eyes burning with r
age, and he raised a hand to gesture.

  Something boomed against the torture-chamber door. Irritated, Renunzio looked up, lowering his hand. He nodded at the guard, who pulled the door open.

  Two watchmen stood there, one so tall he had to stoop as he entered-and Miles fought to keep his face contorted in fear while hope leaped in his heart.

  "What matter is so great as to make you disturb my work?" Renunzio demanded.

  "An order that you bring the prisoner before the Protector himself," the shorter man answered, "without the slightest delay!"

  Miles went limp with relief.

  CHAPTER 21

  The huge sergeant slouched into the torture chamber behind the ordinary-sized one.

  "I've almost brought the man to the point of telling me all I--the Protector wishes to know!" Renunzio glared. "What possesses him to need the fellow right now? This is a devil of an inconvenient time!"

  It struck Miles as a very convenient time indeed.

  "I don't ask questions," the smaller man said. "Let him up now, if you please."

  A disgusted torturer moved to unbuckle the straps that held Miles down.

  But Renunzio held up his hand. "Wait! I don't need to follow that order unless I see it in writing! Show me the written document, guardsman!"

  "If you must," the smaller guard growled, and pulled a rolled parchment from his belt. He stepped down next to the rack and handed it to Renunzio, who unrolled it, scowling.

  The guardsman struck him on the head with something small that only made a smacking sound. Renunzio's eyes rolled up; he toppled off his stool. The paper floated to the floor, but as it went, Miles read the single word Surprise!

  The chief torturer recovered from his own surprise with a shout of anger and turned to fight off the invaders.

  There really was no contest, though. The torturers were strong, immensely strong, and brutal-but they were used to striking men who were tied up or tied down, and couldn't fight back. The guardsmen, though, were seasoned soldiers, used to fighting men who fought back, and were armed into the bargain.

  The guard blocked the chief torturer's haymaker and drove his own fist into the man's belly, and the chief doubled over with an agonized grunt. His two assistants leaped for the guardsman with a shout, but the giant sergeant wrapped a hand around the neck of one and yanked him off the floor.. The smaller guard whirled to face his attacker, who stabbed at him with a white-hot poker-but the guard struck it aside with his halberd and whipped the butt around to crack the torturer's head.

  The giant pulled the hood off his strangling captive and gave him half a dozen slaps with a hand the size of a dinner plate. The torturer's head rolled back, and his eyes rolled up.

  But the smaller man was already unbuckling Miles. "We had to come back a little early," he confided. "On the last planet we visited, the new king turned out to be a reformer, and had very good bodyguards."

  "Of course," the huge one said, "anyone who claimed that Dirk had something to do with the old king's abdicating would have been telling vile lies."

  "I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," Miles said fervently, "but you have no idea how glad I am to see you both!"

  "I think we can guess." Gar frowned down at his feet, then took a small jar out of the pouch at his side. "This should ease the pain a bit."

  His touch, at least, made it worse. Miles ground his teeth to hold back a howl. Dirk was busy unscrewing something above his head. He took Miles's hands out gently and brought his arms down to his sides. Miles groaned with relief.

  "Sorry," Gar said, "but it really will feel better when I'm done."

  "No, no! I was groaning at having my arms back." Miles realized how ridiculous that sounded, but before he could say so, Gar straightened up, screwing the lid back on the jar and slipping it into his pouch. The fire in Miles's feet cooled instantly, and he groaned again, then said quickly, "What a blessing!"

  "You'll have to stay off them for a few days." Gar's voice was tight with anger. "Up with you, now! We need that bed for the next patient!" He scooped Miles up in his arms and deposited him on Renunzio's stool. "Keep your feet up."

  Dirk steaded Miles while Gar hauled Renunzio off the floor with much less gentleness than he had shown the rebel leader, and laid him down on the rack. Miles bit his tongue to keep from protesting; he knew what was coming.

  Sure enough, Gar shackled Renunzio's ankles and wrists, then turned the wheel until the unconscious man lay stretched out on his own bed of pain. Gar stepped back, surveyed him critically, then decided, "There's no real tension on him."

  "Gar," Dirk said, voice shaking, "this is beneath you."

  "Just a little," Gar qualified. He moved the wheel two more notches, then nodded, satisfied. "No damage, and no painyet. But I think he'll have a very rude awakening. Gag him, Dirk."

  He turned away, and Miles realized he hadn't put the gag on with his own hands because he couldn't trust himself not to strangle Renunzio. Dirk tore a strip of cloth from the inquisitor's coat and bound it around his mouth. He stepped back to survey his work critically, then offered, "I could jam it down his throat."

  Somehow, Miles found the strength to say, "No. Leave him for the guards to find. Your mercy will mean more to them than my revenge."

  "A good point." Dirk turned back, pulling ajar of salve and a roll of bandages out of his own pouch. "I think we'd better give your thumbs a little ease, too."

  As he bandaged them, Miles looked up just in time to see Gar finish tying the chief torturer into a chair that was bolted to the floor under a bucket with a hole in the bottom. Drops of water struck his head, about one every two seconds. Miles looked around and saw the man's two apprentices bound into torture machines of their own. Gar stepped back to survey his handiwork. "Neat enough, I think. Gag them, will you, Dirk?"

  As Dirk bandaged the apprentices' mouths, the giant turned back to Renunzio, scowling down at him. The inquisitor moaned and turned---o tried to. He froze as he realized he was bound, and his eyes flew open. He took in his situation with one quick glance, then stared up at the huge man who towered above him, resting one hand on the wheel. Renunzio went stiff with terror.

  Gar saw and nodded, satisfied. "Yes, he'll have punishment enough for the time being. We'll leave him for you to judge, Miles, after we usher in the New Order."

  Renunzio's gaze flew to Miles, saw the somber, weighing look on his face, and his eyes sickened with horror.

  "Enough of him." Gar turned away with sudden decision. "No one could have blamed us if we had drawn and quartered him, but they'll respect you more for leaving him to the process of the Law. Off into the night, now! It's high time we hauled you out of this hole!"

  Dirk produced a guard's uniform, and they helped Miles dress in it, though painfully. Then Gar slung the rebel leader over his shoulder, Dirk opened the door, and Gar turned back for one last glare at Renunzio. "Be glad it's Miles who will judge you, torturemaster, and not I. He, at least, has some notion of mercy." Then he turned away, and Dirk closed the door behind him.

  In the hallway, Dirk snorted, "Phony!"

  "I prefer to think of myself as making an insightful impact,"

  Gar returned placidly. "Besides, if I did have to decide his fate, my anger just might get the better of me."

  "Might."

  "Anything is possible," Gar reminded, "including this revolution-but we'll discuss that after we're back in the forest." They went up a flight of stairs, and the sentry at the top frowned. "Why can't he walk?"

  "They worked on his feet," Dirk said shortly.

  "Well, it's your back, not mine," the sentry said, shrugging. He opened the door. "Get on with you, now."

  They went on through, and Miles glanced at the man in surprise, then realized that Gar had told him the same story he had fed the warders at the door to the torture chamber. But the guards at the outer door were another matter-if Gar were bringing a prisoner to the Protector, he would only have to go upstairs. Why did the guards
step aside without even asking? Come to that, why did they fall in behind, following Dirk and Gar? Miles craned his neck up far enough to see the guards' faces, and felt a shock-he recognized them from the city! Tomlin winked at him, and Miles managed to muster enough poise to wink back.

  His stomach felt as though it were being punched with every step Gar took, so he was immensely glad when the giant lowered him into a saddle. "Just hug the horse's sides with your knees, Miles, don't try to use your feet in the stirrups-they'll take a few days more to heal." Gar turned away to mount a huge, rangy gray. Dirk and the guards swung up on extra mounts; then the man who had been holding the horses swung up onto the last one and followed after. Miles rode amazed. "How did you manage to pull together a strike force like this so quickly?"

  "It hasn't been as quick as we'd have liked," Dirk said grimly. "We landed two days ago, but it took us most of the first day to work our way out of the forest and into town, then to find a magistrate who was one of our agents. We found himthrowing everything vital into a box and calling for his horse; his cell had just received word of your arrest, and the only thing he wasn't sure about was whether or not you could hold out under torture long enough for all of your agents to get away."

  "We told him we were sure you would," Gar said, also grimly. "Then we recruited him and started riding for the capital. We ambushed a few Protector's soldiers on the way, gathered a few more of our impostor magistrates who were just packing up, and changed clothes just before we rode up to the castle. Nobody had any problem with our riding in, and it didn't take much to knock out the sentries at the dungeon door. It did take two days, though."

  "Amazing speed, and you reached me just in time," Miles said. "Believe me, I can't thank you enough!"

  "We didn't quite get there in time," Dirk muttered.

  Miles decided to ignore the man's guilt-there wasn't anything more he could do to lighten it. "So the revolution is dead, then?"