Well, Matt figured, he should know if anybody should. Nonetheless, he paid close attention to Marian's tale.
"Yet most wondrous of all," the maid said, "was its situation—for Ys stood below the level of the waves."
"How can that be?" Yverne asked. "The sea would have drowned it in an instant."
"Nay," Marian said, "for the sea was held out by a soaring wall, with massive gates. There ruled the king of Ys, over a court of constant mirth, his courtiers dazzling in their finery and glittering with jewelry—yet none shone so brightly as his only daughter."
Allan-a-Dale began to caress his harp, bringing a breath of melody to underscore the maid's words.
But Sir Guy frowned and said, "I have heard something of this demoiselle of Ys. I mind me that she was not kind-hearted."
"Nay, quite otherwise," Marian said, "for she was mean of spirit, froward, shrewd, and cruel. Yet all deferred to her, for the sake of her royal father—and fear of her sorcery."
"Ah, then! She was a sorceress!"
Marian nodded. "A witch of great power—and one who could bend any man to her will. Yet therefore did she disdain all males, regarding them with ridicule and contempt—till she found one who was proof against her wiles, yet loved her for her beauty. Then at last did she become betrothed, and dallied with him a year and more—till love's sweet spell began to wane, and he came to some notion of her true and twisted nature."
"Then she broke him for her pleasure?" The minstrel wrung a discord from his harp.
"She would have, aye, and did brew potent magics against him—but he threw himself on her father's mercy, and the king spread his aegis over the poor wight, commanding his daughter to spare him. She withdrew from the palace, hate and rage commingling in her breast, for puissant though she was, she could not match her father's magic. Yet that night, whiles he slept, she cast a spell of deepened slumber over all the palace and stole back in, to pluck the keys to the city from her father's neck, and she opened the gates to let in the sea."
"Why, I cannot credit this!" Fadecourt scoffed. "Such a one would have valued her own safety and comfort above all else, and would have known that she would perish with her citizens!"
Marian shrugged. "She may have sought to bargain with the Sea King, may even have thought she had compelled his mercy with her spells. Yet if she did, her magic once more could not match a king's, for his sea horses destroyed her."
Matt frowned, trying to pick out the root of fact beneath this tree of legend. A port city, then, that had erected dikes to hold back a rising waterline, but was finally flooded by the sea it had depended on for its wealth—or buried by a tidal wave, more likely, considering the reference to the wall and the gates.
"So perished Ys," the maid murmured, and the harp rippled and was silent.
The merry men stirred, sighing, and began to talk to one another again.
Sir Guy asked, "Does our host, then, think this buried palace lies beneath his own?"
"So it would seem," Matt replied, "and if a legend like that is standard in this countryside, it's no wonder—it would be just the thing for a lonely old man to fasten his imagination to. But we can't depend on dreams to help us now."
"Nay, surely," Robin said with a grin, unaware of his own irony. "How shall we invest this castle, Lord Wizard? For surely, its walls must needs be proof against mine arrows."
"A trebuchet might make some mark upon its walls," Fadecourt offered.
"A mark," Sir Guy allowed, "but no break—scarcely a gouge. No, my friend, that castle has never been taken by force of arms, and never will be."
"Never, by force of arms?" Matt pricked up his ears. "That means it has been taken. The only question, is: How?"
"By treachery," Robin answered, "by a traitor opening its gates from within. Surely, Milord Wizard, we shall not stoop so low!"
"No," Matt said slowly, "but if one of us were able to get in and open the gates, that wouldn't be treachery."
"True," Robin allowed, "yet how shall we achieve that?"
"I might know a friend or two who could do it. Uh, Puck?"
"Aye, Wizard?" The other Robin popped his head out of a joint in Sir Guy's armor.
"A thought," the knight agreed. "Hobgoblin, can you penetrate the castle of the sorcerer-king?"
But Puck shook his head. "I have tested it already, knight, in such wise that none could detect. There are fell and puissant spells that guard that keep, and a miasma of old corruption throughout it. Elves have been slain there, slain wholesale. I have asked of the sprites of this land, and they tell me that, when the sorcerer took the castle, his second act was to annihilate every sprite that was not evil and would not serve his ends."
Yverne and Marian shuddered, along with most of the men. Matt managed to shelve the shudder and ask, "His second act? What was his first?"
"The slaying of the rightful king, and all his adherents."
"Pardon his innocence," Sir Guy told Puck. "He is a man of magic, after all, not of war."
"And you are a man of honor," the Puck pointed out.
"True, and therefore do I ken dishonor and shameful acts. I thank you, elf."
"At your bidding." Puck popped back in to Sir Guy's armor. "Well, that lets one out." Matt sighed. "Max?"
"Aye, Wizard?" The arc spark danced before him, and the whole band drew away with gasps of horror.
"Don't worry, folks," Matt called out. "He's neither good nor bad in himself, and he's on our side."
"How foolish some mortals are, not to know!" the Demon scoffed. "What would you with me, Wizard?"
"Just some information. Do you think you could get into that castle, across the strait, and dry-rot the gates?"
"While rusting the portcullis? Nay. I had felt some strangeness there, and did go to investigate—but the place is wrapped about with some force that contains its corruption into some semblance of form. It is entropy bound, and anathema to me."
Interesting aspect of evil—chaos held together long enough to wreak disaster. Matt sighed. "Okay, thanks. I won't ask the next question—the answer's obvious."
"Should you not test it anyway?"
"Not by experiment, thank you. I only bet on sure things."
"Any number must play," the Demon droned.
"Not in my park. I'll call you when it's time for roulette."
"Baccarat," the Demon snapped, and disappeared.
Robin Hood frowned. "Wherefore would you back a rat?"
"Because he might be able to gnaw through the king's defenses." Matt leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "I'm stonkered, Sir Guy. There may be a way into that castle, but if there is, I don't see it."
"Of course you may see!"
Everyone turned at the sound of Don de la Luce's voice coming from the archway that led down into the dungeons.
The old don stood in the pool of light from the torches that flanked the arch, holding the hand of a beautiful young woman, gazing down at her flawless features with a fatuous smile.
Matt stared. Her green gown had every appearance of being woven of living seaweed, leaves and fronds creating the look of a feathered cloak. Golden rings sparkled on her fingers and a golden coronet in her blonde hair—hair that was not really quite yellow, but faintly tinged with green. Her complexion was pale, but her lips were rubies, and her eyes the deepest green of the sea. She turned to gaze at them, those magical eyes wide and huge, her nose tip-tilted, her heart-shaped face composed and tranquil. Her lips curved with a smile. "They are, milord! Mortals, and not evil! I can feel their wonder! 'Tis a marvel!"
Matt felt an eerie tingling down his spine, and his skin prickled. He stood up carefully and turned to bow to the young lady. "Your servant, mademoiselle. Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"
The girl clapped her hands and laughed with delight. "He is so impatient, this one! Milord, will you introduce us?"
"With pleasure." De la Luce beamed. "Lord Wizard, this is the Lady Sinelle, the maid of whom I told you. Lady Sinelle,
this is Matthew, Lord Wizard of Merovence."
Matt looked up at the old man with a stab of panic. Was he out of his mind, disclosing Matt's real identity to someone who might not be sympathetic to their plot!
No. Of course he wouldn't. Matt forced himself to relax; the lady must be on their side.
Her eyes were round and huge as she looked about the hall. "Never have I beheld so many mortals, foregathered in one place! Though 'tis goodly to see this great hall no longer resounding with its emptiness. I had wondered, when you told me of it, my lord. Why do they come?"
The old don started to answer, but Matt beat him to it. "That's an issue that might be answered at some length—but only after you have met the rest of my friends." He took a quick glance, weighing who should be introduced first.
Fadecourt was still sitting dazed, holding the hand of a staring Yverne, both astounded to find that the old man had been speaking the truth. Sir Guy and Robin Hood, though, had recovered in an instant and rose, ready for anything—as usual.
"This is Robin Hood, the rightful Earl of Locksley, currently posing as a forest outlaw because he opposes tyrants," Matt said. "Milord Earl, the demoiselle...uh, Lady Sinelle."
"I am the demoiselle d'Ys, too," the lady said, pressing Robin's hand but withdrawing her own before he could kiss it. "Not she of legend, no, who brought disaster on my poor city, but her descendant. Yet she is dead, and the title has come down to me."
She turned to Sir Guy, and Matt said quickly, "Sir Guy de Toutarien, the Black Knight—the Lady Sinelle, demoiselle d'Ys." The lady inclined her head, but regarded Sir Guy with a smile of amusement. "A simple knight bachelor, you would have us believe? Surely, Sir Knight."
Sir Guy kissed her fingertips before she whisked them away, and regarded her with a steady gaze. "Methinks milady knows more than she speaks."
"As should any wise demoiselle," the lady returned, "or any prudent man, for that matter. My ancestress was not, though she thought she was—yet that was only vainglorious contempt of those around her, in another guise. It was for that pride that she drowned her island and city."
"Surely," Yverne protested, "so many folk did not die for one single woman's pride!"
"There were few enough good folk in Ys," the lady returned, "for my ancestress's influence had been wide-reaching and pervasive. Nay, my grandfather gathered those few good souls together within his castle, so that only they who merited the Sea King's wrath were drowned. We keep a merry court in our castle beneath the waves, where there is never want nor sorrow, for none of us need die, and my grandfather has taught the sea creatures to provide for us. This they do, in return for his protection. Tell your fellows, and beware—this cove is sacrosanct from all who fish or dive!"
"Even so," the don confirmed. "None will fish in my bay, nor in the strait between mine island and the mainland, for dire things have happened to they who have taken living creatures from these waters."
Matt didn't think he wanted to hear what. "You mean you haven't had any trouble with the current king?"
Sinelle made a moue. "Some irritation, when first he took the throne and sought to fish our waters for his supper—but a heavy sea capsized his sailors' boats, and a kraken cracked his ships. Since then, ever and anon we feel the power of his fell magics, like a bit of metal on the tooth, or a tone that grates upon the ear—but my great-father repels him with ease. Yet sea creatures flee to us in fear, and loathsome monsters prowl the waters without our cove, ever testing my great-father's warding spells. It is not in our power to smite this gross kinglet, yet if it were, we should not hesitate."
"Oh, really!" Matt looked a little more sharply at her. "That's our aim, too—and that's why we've gathered here. Don de la Luce is kind enough to grant us his hospitality, though he knows it increases his own danger—and the rest of these brave folk are as determined as I am, though we haven't the faintest idea how to get into the king's castle."
"Are you truly!" The lady stared, then smiled with delight. "Yet there are few enough of you."
"Only a hundred or so," Matt admitted, "but that's more people united against the king than you'll find anywhere else in Ibile."
"True, and well spoke." There was something a little more guarded about the lady now, a bit more wary. "Yet allies should meet and talk. Will you come to converse with my great-father?"
Matt stared, and stood frozen while panic rolled over him. Finally; he shook it off and croaked, "Under water? Uh, thank you very much, ma'am, but I don't breathe liquids too well."
"Nor do I," she assured him. " 'Tis the Sea King's spell that withholds the water from my lungs and lets the air surround me—yet I can extend that spell to anyone I wish, simply by touch." She held out her hand. "Will you come to meet the king of Ys?"
Matt stared, thoroughly aware of the corollary—that all she had to do was let go, and he would drown.
"Wizard, 'tis too great a risk!" Sir Guy exclaimed. "Without you, we are lost, and our cause is dead." He turned to Sinelle. "I shall go in his place, milady."
"You are not asked," she retorted, a merry glint in her eye, "in spite of your hidden station. Nay, Lord Knight, it must be leader to leader here—and valiant though you are, you have not come into your kingdom."
"That's okay, we'd be shot without him, too." Matt nerved himself up and took her hand "But as you say, milady, this is something that I have to do." He raised his other hand to quiet Fadecourt's and Yverne's protests. "Never mind why. I got myself into this, and there's only one way out. My lady, will you walk?"
CHAPTER 25
The Castle of Ys
She did, as it turned out, though how she kept her feet on the ground with so much water pressure around her, Matt didn't know. For that matter, he didn't know what was keeping him down, but he chalked it up to magic. He had expected to swim, but he found that, as he stepped into the water in the cave, he sank like a stone. He shivered like an iceberg, too, but forced his way down into the water, took a deep breath, then took the plunge and was in over his head.
And, suddenly, he was surrounded by air. He looked around him, startled, and saw fronds of seaweed drift up past him. That's how he knew he was sinking—but where was the light coming from?
There—the mouth of the sea cave. Daylight filtered in through the murky water. He looked about for the demoiselle, saw her in front of him, beckoning, and followed her down the pathway.
For it was a pathway—very narrow, but very clearly laid out. It was covered with white gravel, and bordered by corals and sea anemones. Matt could see clearly for a foot or so on either side, before the murk of the sea took over—and he moved freely, without the resistance of water. The path, it seemed, was the bottom of a tunnel of air, winding down along the sea floor.
And down, and down, following the sea-maid. She had released his hand as soon as his feet had touched the gravel, and he had to hurry now to keep her in sight. There was no light here, other than what filtered down from above—and less and less of it came through as they went deeper and deeper. Matt was just beginning to wonder if he was going to lose sight of the maid, when a light burst forth from her upraised hand. Looking closely, he saw that the light came from a huge, fantastic seashell, shaped like a cornucopia. He felt a thrill of apprehension as he realized that the mollusk that had made that shell had been dead for millions of years.
At least, in his world.
They were hundreds of feet down, and the path wound its way among the hulks of sunken ships—the rocks surrounding de la Luce's castle must be treacherous. In fact, Matt suddenly realized, that's why de la Luce's keep was a tower, and was so much taller than the curtain wall—it had been a primitive lighthouse!
They rounded the bulk of a rotting trireme galley—just how long had this port been in use, anyway?—and there it was before them, in all its eldritch splendor.
The royal castle of Ys may not have been terribly spectacular in its day, but it was extremely impressive down here. A central keep thrust up from the center o
f a vast bowl, cylindrical, and surrounded by four more cylinders that grew out of it—but so slender that they seemed to be needles, with long lancing tips, instead of the towers they were. A low wall, perhaps twelve feet high, fenced in a wide courtyard all about the keep, decked with corals and other bright sea life, while the central keep glowed with the phosphorescence of the deep.
Matt caught his breath, then forced it out and reminded himself how unimpressive this stronghold would look on land. It didn't do much good, of course, because he wasn't on land—and within that circular wall, the absence of seaweed and the glow of the stone told him that a dome of air protected the castle and its environs. Whatever the magic, the sea did not enter the royal stronghold of drowned Ys, but formed a circle around the palace and its gardens.
And inside, true to legend, the ancient king still lived, preserved by the magic of the Sea King.
Matt followed the maid through the open gates.
Suddenly, the pressure of the water was gone, and he felt air all about him, saw trees and flowers nodding in the faint breaths of convection currents. He shuddered with the release of tension—he hadn't realized just how much stress he'd been under during that submarine passage. Then he realized that there were people around him, boys with switches loitering near herds of goats and sheep, men and women working in sheds along the insides of the walls, girls stitching embroidery under the trees. He looked again and realized that the men and women were painting, sculpting, fashioning musical instruments, and playing them.
Strains of music murmured all about him. A sudden, piercing longing struck him—to be able to spend his life working at his art!
Then he remembered that he was doing exactly that, more or less—only under greater pressure. His art just wasn't the tranquil sort that could be pursued in solitude. He sighed and followed the maid through the great leaves of the keep's portal.
There was a short passage of glowing, semiprecious stone that ended in two smaller doors of cavern wood with gilded highlights. Two courtiers loitered before them, long rapiers at their belts, exchanging gossip.
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