A Wizard and a Warlord

1

The transparent wall curved up to form a ceiling filled with the glory of a million stars; below glowed the bank of screens that showed the views around the ship. A smaller screen, set into the surface of the console in the center of the room, lit the craggy features of the giant who sat poring over a database. He was Magnus d’Armand, itinerant revolutionary, and the starlit room was the bridge of his spaceship Herkimer.

“So there you are!”

Magnus braced himself even as he looked up; Alea was out for blood again. “Of course.”

She stood in the hatchway, fairly glowing with anger—tall, almost as tall as he, with a face that some would have called angular but that he thought lovely. Even in the loose light blue shipboard fatigues, her slender figure made his breath catch.

She strode into the room, fairly sizzling with outrage. “What are you doing in here? You’re always in the lounge!”

“The press of work, I’m afraid.” Magnus gestured at the screenful of data before him. “It’s time to start thinking about the planet we’ve picked for a landing.”

“The one you picked! All I did was nod and agree—not that you would have paid attention if I hadn’t!” Magnus stared, hurt. “I would have chosen another destination!”

Alea plowed right past the remark. “We’re almost there. A little late to be thinking about whether or not they need us, isn’t it?”

Magnus bridled at her tone but fought to hide it. The adrenaline of battle sang through his veins, and he hoped it didn’t show in his eyes. “Yes, I’ve been remiss. I’m afraid I’ve been enjoying your company too much to bother doing my homework.”

“Enjoying my company!” Alea’s lip curled in scorn. “You know I’m a shrew and a termagant—and I know it, too!”

“We do have some spirited discussions,” Magnus admitted, “but they’re enjoyable in their way.” He frowned. “Have you changed your mind, then? Is the visit not worth our time?”

“Are there enough people to warrant it?” Alea countered. “Three huge continents, but only the fourth one, the one that’s almost small enough to call an island, has been colonized.”

“I don’t think the worth of a people depends upon their number,” Magnus said gravely.

“But they’re not exactly oppressed, are they?” Alea demanded. “Not from those pictures you showed me! No one looks to be starving, no one’s wearing rags—and if there are oppressors, where do they live? We didn’t see any castles, any palaces—just village after village of thatch-roofed cottages!”

“The pictures we saw when we started this trip were hundreds of years old,” Magnus reminded her. “A great deal may have changed. Those castles could be there now, and the people groaning in toil.”

“The orbital survey doesn’t show any castles on hilltops,” Alea snapped, “and you did it yesterday. It shows only temples—and there aren’t even any cities around them.”

“Well, some of the towns are rather large,” Magnus. said, “and there’s one of them for every province, with villages around it.”

“You’re seeing provinces where they don’t exist! It takes more than a river or a mountain chain to make a political division.”

“Still, I’d prefer to think of them as Neolithic city-states.”

“When your ‘cities’ are scarcely more than large towns?” Alea said scornfully.

“Athens wasn’t much more, by modern standards,” Magnus said judiciously, “and it governed the farms and villages all around it.”

“Just because most of the land is cultivated doesn’t mean the towns govern the countryside. You might as well say the temples on top of those round hills rule the farmers! After all, they build their houses round as the hills, don’t they?”

Magnus stared at her. “What a remarkable insight! Here I’d put it down to standard Neolithic architecture, but you’re right! They’re building the houses in imitation of the holy hills!”

Alea made an impatient, dismissive gesture; she wasn’t fishing for compliments at the moment. “That’s beside the point. What matters is that whatever form of government those people have, it works for them! They’re well fed and well housed. Why wouldn’t they be happy?”

“Because they might not be free,” Magnus said: “If a girl has to marry whomever the priests tell her and a boy can never leave the county in which he was born, can they ever be content?”

“Yes, if the girl happens to love that man and the boy is happy where he is!” Alea shot back. “Sometimes the priests do have insight, you know.”

“Sometimes,” Magnus agreed. “I can see you might think they’re too well-off to be worth a visit, but something bothers me about the setup. It’s probably right, but possibly wrong, very wrong. There have been civilizations before this that nourished their people’s bodies well but left their souls starving. These people may be prosperous but miserable.”

“Probably! May be! We’re traveling a hundred light-years for something that’s possibly wrong! What if we get there and learn that everything’s fine?”

“I’ll rejoice,” Magnus said. “But we might land and find the people in rags with aristocrats lording it over them. Either way, someone should care enough to find out what has happened to these people over the centuries.”

“Why? What could we do about it? Even if we bring back word, who would care?”

“True, all the descendants of their relatives will have died long ago.” Magnus sighed. “And only historians would be interested. But I can’t help worrying that we may find them exploited unmercifully; as in so many other lost colonies. I’ll always regret not going there if I don’t find out.”

“If! If!” Alea threw up her hands in exasperation. “Are we to spend the rest of our lives jaunting about the galaxy chasing an ‘if?”

“I know it seems a waste of our time and effort,” Magnus said ruefully, “but anything could have happened to them.” He forced a smile. “They might even have developed a shining Utopia with the answers to the questions that torture all souls.”

“It’s the hunger that tortures the bellies and the brutality of the masters we should be worrying about—and we’ve no reason to think these people have either!”

“That’s true,” Magnus agreed, “but we might find them living just as their ancestors did. What if oppression has kept them from advancing?”

“What if advances are really steps backward?” Alea snapped. “From all those books Herkimer has showed me, it seems every time your race made another leap in progress, it cost them dearly by raising two problems for every one it solved.”

It had become his race now, Magnus noted, though as far as he knew, she was human, too. “Yes—what good does it do to save a mother and child at birth if they die from starvation two years later? Still, if they’ve multiplied to the point of overpopulation, we can at least show them some modern farming techniques and boost their food production.”

“If!” Alea stormed. “I can’t waste my life waiting to find out if any of your ‘ifs’ are worth it!” She spun on her toe and stalked out.

Magnus slumped in his seat with a sigh. He had known she was spirited—that was one of the qualities that had prompted him to invite her to leave her medieval planet and join him in traveling from star to star trying to free the oppressed peoples of the colony planets—but he hadn’t expected her to be so turbulent. “You don’t suppose she really wants to turn back, do you, Herkimer?”

“No, Magnus,” said the tranquil voice of the ship’s computer. “I think she has been confined too long in a limited space with only you for company.”

“And I’m scarcely the most congenial of companions,” Magnus said with a sardonic smile.

“I would not have said that,” the computer demurred, “and she does have her own suite with electronic ‘windows’ that will show her a very convincing illusion of the landscape of her home—but it is only an illusion.”

“So cabin fever strikes,” Magnus said with a sigh.

“She only has to come out into the rest of the ship if she wants to, Magnus,” the computer reminded. “Which she does every day,” Magnus said, “and I suppose I should feel complimented, though it’s hard to believe you’re likable when the only other person you see rants and raves at you every time you see her.”

“That has only begun this last month,” Herkimer reminded, “and we have been under way for three.”

“True, true—and even though she’s had the distractions of all your learning programs, she must still find it hard to bear. I know I did on my first few trips.”

“Very true. Still, I think you should feel complimented that she feels safe in venting her anger on you.”

“Oh, I’m flattered past enduring,” Magnus said sourly. “If she needs to do it, though, I can at least be a good enough friend to let her.”

“It could be that she wishes you to be more than a friend.”

Magnus felt a thrill of alarm but hid it by saying, “I doubt that highly. I think you guessed rightly when you said there might be some sort of emotional trauma in her past.”

“Actually, that was your guess, Magnus, along with the speculation that the hurt may have been linked to sexual activity in some way.”

“A jilting and a broken heart is most likely,” Magnus mused. “She has told us about the pain of her neighbors’ betrayal when her parents died, but I think the real agony of the spirit comes from some event she hasn’t revealed.”

“You do very well not to pry,” the computer said a trifle primly. “Take it as a compliment, Magnus—that she trusts you enough to let her anger show.”

“And confuses me with the man who hurt her?”

“In some way and at some level—possibly.”

Alea stalked into her sitting room, wishing there had been a door to slam instead of a panel that hissed shut behind her. She threw herself down on the sofa, arms folded, ankles crossed, and seethed in silence. What was wrong with the man? Wasn’t she important to him? Certainly he wasn’t in love with her. Anger spurred again, all the stronger to hide the tinge of panic the thought evoked. If Magnus wasn’t in love with her, why had he invited her to leave her home planet and travel with him?

Because you had nowhere else to go, came the answer, and with it, her own brand of self-honesty kicked in. There had been no future for her on Midgard, she had to admit. Then, too, Magnus had never even hinted that he saw her as anything but a friend—and who could, when she was so tall and ungainly and plain? Resentment surged again—what right did he have to tear her away from her homeland if he saw her as nothing more than a traveling companion?

Still, he had only extended the invitation; it was she who had leaped to accept it. She had been excited at the prospect of seeing new worlds—and still was. The thought of the planet they were approaching stirred that excitement again. True enough, it didn’t seem all that different from her home planet of Midgard, not in the pictures, except that everyone on this new world of Brigante seemed to be more or less the same size, and their villages were smaller—with no sign of slavery, nor of battles.

It sounded rather dull, in fact; but after the constant dangers of her homeland, she could do with a little tranquility. Of course, she’d had plenty of that on the spaceship in the last three months, but to have it under an open sky and with a variety of new people—that would be thrilling! Not that she had any fault to find with Magnus, of course, except that he was always so quiet and so serious! Anger stirred again, but with it came a mental picture of him, tall and broad, a bulk of muscle taller even than herself, with the sharp-eyed look of an eagle—though with eyes that could turn gentle with concern and tenderness in an instant, brown eyes, larger than those of most men, in a face with a broad, high forehead, prominent cheekbones, straight nose, and surprisingly full lips. It seemed a sensual face, one made for passion.

Something within her churned at the thought. Angrily, she banished it for the nonsense it was; if Magnus had been made for passion, why was he so distant and withdrawn so often? Certainly he didn’t find her attractive, probably didn’t even see her as a woman—and she felt obscurely relieved at the thought. He would do for a traveling companion, and a very good one, but would she really want him to be anything more?

Yes, cried something within her, but another element bridled at the thought. She banished them both—Magnus was only a friend and shield-mate to her, as she was to him. He would take her to strange, exotic places and do his best to keep her safe there, as she would do to him. Bare is the back without brother behind it, she thought, and at last she had a brother—and if he had only a sister-at-arms, well, she would see to it that she was a better shield than any man could have been!

Not that there looked to be any need of shields or swords on Brigante; she had never seen a more peaceable-looking people in her life. She didn’t really mind Magnus’s choice in worlds to visit—anything strange and new was bound to be fascinating. But she did mind the fact that he had done the choosing, even though he had asked her opinion. Still, she had to admit that she hadn’t objected; the world might not have been in trouble, bur it had sounded interesting.

But she would have liked to have seen some sign of passion in him! Rail as she might, she only evoked that compassionate, gentle gaze of his, almost frightening in its intensity. For a moment, she imagined that intensity in an ardent lover’s gaze, his sensual face burning with desire—and shuddered. No, she did not want that, not again, neither from him nor from any other man. The joy and the ecstasy were not worth the pain of being cast aside.

Still, he could show some sign of emotion.

“You don’t think she really wants to change destinations, then?”

“Not when we have come so far, Magnus. If nothing else, I am certain she would like a few days to revel in the great outdoors with no walls about her and only the sky for ceiling.”

“There is that,” Magnus admitted. “I could do with a little shore leave myself. No offense, Herkimer—your accommodations are luxurious and very comforting, but I think she may have had her fill of easy living for the time being.”

“Certainly a passenger aboard. this ship lives better than the most wealthy landowner on Midgard,” Herkimer said, “though without as much space.”

“Still, it’s more room than in her parents’ house.” Magnus frowned, still puzzling over the riddle that was Alea. “I really can’t think of any way in which I might have offended her—other than in being me, that is…” ‘

“You might also remember,” Herkimer said judiciously, “that though you may not be the cause of her anger, you are the only target available at the moment.”

Magnus digested that idea for a few minutes, then nodded slowly. “Yes, shore leave might be a good idea.”.

“Assuredly she should find better ways of expressing her anger,” Herkimer said, “and probably will, given time.”

“Meanwhile, though, I’m going to have to grin and bear it, eh?”

“You must persevere in the patience you have just demonstrated, yes.” Herkimer was silent for a few minutes, then added, “You may also wish to consider the possibility that she may have been inadvertently testing you, trying to drive you away in hopes that you will stay.”

“Then she’ll know that she’s safe in trusting me further?”

“With her more tender emotions, yes. In either case, her anger only means that she needs your sympathy and emotional support more than ever.”

“She shall have it, then,” Magnus said with conviction. “Of course; it would be nice to know that it will end someday…”

“We cannot be sure of that,” Herkimer said, “and ‘someday’ may be years away—but yes, I think there will be an end to this constant anger. You should at least have a temporary respite with the distractions of a planet-side mission.”

“I deserve a break?” Magnus smiled. “Well, I could use one. Still, I can sympathize.”

The phrase called up vivid memories that he would prefer stayed buried. Magnus pushed them to the back of his mind by turning to the orbital survey of their destination planet. “Well, if Alea and I are going to be traveling companions, let’s study the world on which we’re going, to journey. Have you been able to find anything more about the history of their colonizing?”

“No, Magnus. I have cross-indexed, correlated, even searched a list of key words, but have found only that notation, and a brief and somewhat sarcastic news item about a society of neo-pagans departing from Terra to establish their own notion of Utopia on a distant planet.”

“Did the reporter wish them well?”

“In a manner of speaking. He was of the opinion that Terra would be better off without such borderline lunatics.”

“Because they did not embrace one of the major religions?”

“No, Magnus, because they embraced any religion at all.”

“That reporter must have had a rather broad definition of lunatics.”

“He claimed that it was technically accurate in their case, since they did worship a moon-goddess.”

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough how sincere they were, and whether or not their descendants accepted those beliefs. How long till we drop into orbit around the planet, Herkimer?”

“Seven hours and thirty-six minutes, Magnus. You might want to pack some’ supplies and change to your local wardrobe.”

Magnus didn’t ask where it had come from; he knew Herkimer would have fabricated clothing based on images from the orbital survey, and that he would find a complete ensemble hanging in his wardrobe. “Tell Alea, would you? I don’t think she’d appreciate hearing it from me just now.”