The Feline Wizard

CHAPTER 27

“There!” Lugerin pointed at Stegoman. “Do you see? If they can hurt us, they will!”

“Just like people?” Matt asked softly. “Any stranger might be a powerful wizard, is that it? So you trap them and enslave them to make sure they can't hurt you. Who do you choose for sacrifice—the ones who are big enough and strong enough to be threats?”

Lugerin flushed, but Ginelur said evenly, “They, and those who come riding, for any on horseback will surely attack us if they can.”

“Why? Because the barbarians who originally attacked your ancestors came mounted?” Matt shook his head. “Your whole culture is built on fear.”

“Indeed,” Stegoman rumbled. “I have seldom seen a band of fainthearts so devout in their cowardice.”

Lugerin reddened. “You would not say that if this sorcerer had not robbed us of our dragons!”

“If you had treated them well,” Dimetrolas retorted, “they would have become your friends, and no wizard could have robbed you of them by simply giving them their freedom.”

“Friends may turn against you, too.” But Ginelur was looking doubtful.

“Oh, friendship takes work, no doubt about it,” Matt said. “You have to treat each other well, you always have to be polite, you have to be there when they need you and vice versa. Sometimes you can even drift apart for a while just from having spent too much time together. But you can find ways to keep your alliance going, if it really means anything to you.”

“You shall have to now, in any case,” Dimetrolas called, “for your spells will no longer coerce your dragons!”

Lugerin brought the words up with great reluctance. “I shall apologize to your sorceress, if she will restore the power of our spells.”

“After you tried to capture her and enslave her?” Matt asked. “Who knows, maybe you meant even worse.”

Ginelur cast a dark glance at Lugerin.

“No, I don't see any reason why she should remove her freedom spell,” Matt said.

“But she must!” The words ripped out of Lugerin. “If she does not, the dragons are sure to destroy us!”

“They have old grudges to settle, too, huh?” Matt glanced at the dragon-cotes.

“Then we should let them come out and be about their business,” Stegoman rumbled. “That would be justice for any who sought to compel so wondrous a creature as Dimetrolas— and more than just recompense for her outcasting!”

Dimetrolas looked up at Stegoman with pleased surprise; then her eyes began to glow.

Matt was wary of glowing dragons. “I don't know, Old Smoky,” he called to Stegoman. “There is another side to the issue. Okay, the dragoneers enslaved your breed and cut them down to their own size—but the winged ones always had plenty to eat, and they certainly have multiplied. The humans even made them very secure roosts. If they just had the courage to trust the beasts, they might have a very profitable alliance here.”

Stegoman was silent. Dimetrolas burst out, “Such an alliance would require great changes in their ways! Can they bear it?”

“Well?” Matt looked from Ginelur to Lugerin and back. “Consider the alternative—a giant barbecue fueled by some very vengeful dragons. Even if we talk them into leaving you alone, you're going to find you have a lot of people with scores to settle—starting with your slaves. And if word gets out, the barbarians may come riding in to settle their old grudge.”

Lugerin paled. Ginelur looked up at him with anxiety, then asked, “What would the dragons want of us?”

“No slavery, that's for sure,” Matt said promptly. “Your dragons are already free, but you'd have to let your human slaves go, too.”

“Who, then, would till our fields!” Lugerin cried.

“Why,” said Matt, “you will. Have to do your own farming, I guess.”

Lugerin glared daggers at him but said nothing.

“And this matter of casting out must cease!” Dimetrolas snapped. “The dragons will not think of it if the humans do not urge it!”

“How should we deal with fifty-foot mounts?” Ginelur cried.

“The same way I do,” Matt said.

The dragoneers stared at Stegoman, then back at Matt, frankly disbelieving—but doubt of their ancestral ways stirred in their eyes.

Matt nourished it. “If you can make friends with twelve-foot dragons, you can make friends with fifty-footers. All it takes is honesty, sincerity, and the ability to keep a bargain.”

Lugerin still stood stiffly, but the doubt was growing. Ginelur glanced at him, then at Dimetrolas, and nodded slowly. “It might fare.” She called to Dimetrolas, “Do you wish this alliance?”

“It matters not to me,” Dimetrolas said with lofty carelessness, “for I shall not be here. But I shall warrant your safety while you parley.” She turned her head and called to the nearest dragon-cote. “Ho within! It is Dimetrolas who speaks! Let Brongaffer come forth to confer with the humans!”

The cote was silent.

“Come now” Stegoman thundered, “or you shall wither away in shame!”

Several heads poked out of doorways. “How now, drake?” said one. “Why should we wither, and what should be our shame?”

“Why,” said Stegoman, “if the humans you guard were to die at the hands of barbarians, you would be shamed through all the world of dragondom—and the news would travel, be sure! As to why you would wither, you soft creatures who have let humans feed you and build your nests for hundreds of years—is there a one among you who can be sure of bringing home game to feed mate and hatchlings every night? Even if you could, where would you travel when you have eaten all the game in these hills? How will you live, if not in truce with these who have bred you?”

There was silence; then a tumult of conversation broke out in the dragon-cote—and in the other cotes all along the ledge.

Ginelur and Lugerin looked at one another in astonishment.

The ruckus died down, and one dragon came out of his cote. “I come, Dimetrolas.”

“I am your bond, Brongaffer,” she warned him. “Do not think to attack these humans who stand for parley.”

“I have not so little honor as that!” Brongaffer said indignantly.

“So, then,” Stegoman said softly, “these have learned human ways, too.”

“Is honor so human, then?” Dimetrolas asked in surprise.

“Honor is of humans, yes. Pride is of dragons.”

“Then I, too, have something of human ways.”

Stegoman's head whipped about to stare at her, then his mouth lolled open in a dragon's smile. “You do indeed.”

Brongaffer spread his wings, sprang into the air, and landed ten feet from Lugerin and Ginelur. “What speech would you have with me, mayor and broodmaster?”

“I would suggest,” Ginelur said, “that we make a pact between dragons and dragoneers, Brongaffer—your backs and wings in exchange for the works of our hands.”

“The two folk together are far stronger than either one alone,” Matt pointed out. “In fact, if you can work out a functional agreement, I suspect Prester John would be delighted to have you join his army as an aerial corps.”

“Work for hire?” Lugerin cried indignantly.

“No—swear fealty as vassals.” Matt turned to Brongaffer. “You might even be able to gain wealth of your own by setting up an express delivery service for the emperor—you'd certainly be the fastest way for him to communicate with his kings and governors. You might even be able to open a transportation service, carrying diplomats to and from Maracanda.”

“Why should we wish to serve in so menial a fashion?” Brongaffer said disdainfully.

“To get rich. You could charge exorbitant rates, after all— say, ten head of cattle for each message delivered. Of course, after a while you'd have to build a lot of barns to hold them all and spend hours and hours tending them—so maybe you'd prefer to take a few pieces of gold instead of the cattle. That way, you could always buy dinner.”

Brongaffer looked thoughtful.

“Well, I'll leave you to sort it out for yourselves. No cheating, now—and no attacking while my back is turned.”

He sauntered over to Stegoman and Dimetrolas but glanced back after a few paces. The humans were already deep in discussion with the dragons' emissary.

He came up to his old friend and his new one and said, “Score one more for the benefits of commerce.”

“They shall hammer out a bargain,” Stegoman agreed.

“I hate to admit the truth of it,” Dimetrolas said, “but these humans have provided well for their dragons.”

“The dragons have a lot to lose if they burn the hands that build for them,” Matt agreed.

“If they ally, though,” said Stegoman, “will they not be a danger to any other travelers who happen by?”

“If they get that far,” Matt said, “I'll start bargaining again. I'll extract a promise to parley before attacking strangers, unless those strangers are clearly a war party. If the dragoneers want to charge tolls, all well and good, but no raiding and no more enslaving.”

“Why should they obey you?” Dimetrolas demanded.

“Because I'm the Lord Wizard of Merovence. They don't know that yet, but they'll pay attention once they do. I can make some pretty dire threats, especially if I claim I have Balkis to back me up.”

Dimetrolas considered this.

“No, I won't deliver the dragon equivalent of itching powder,” Matt said quickly. “You've punished them enough already.”

“Punished them?” Dimetrolas stared at him. “How?”

“Pride is very important to dragons,” Matt reminded. “The adolescent they cast out just came back with a bigger, meaner drake than any of them and made them all behave. You handed them a thorough humiliation, lady. Worse, you turned right around and did them a favor—you helped enforce the truce, and one of the people you were defending freed them from the dragoneers' spells, so they can't even hate you for attacking. How's that for humiliation?”

Dimetrolas' eyes gleamed as she raised her head proudly. “I have had my revenge, haven't I?”

“You have indeed,” said Stegoman. “The one they scorned become their champion? I would say you have!”

“With some help, of course.” But Dimetrolas seemed suddenly both coy and arrogant. “The other females mocked me and told me a great lump like myself could never find a mate—and I have come back with one grander and stronger and wiser than any of them!”

Stegoman visibly swelled under her regard. Nonetheless, he reminded her, “We are not yet mated.”

“Shall we not amend that soon?” Dimetrolas said, her voice low and pulsing.

Matt decided it was time to see how Anthony and Balkis were doing. He strolled back to them and said, “Looks like the dragons and the riders will work things out. We'll just wait until they make a bargain and see that they sign a formal treaty, then fly on home. Can we offer you two a ride?”

Balkis cast a quick glance at Anthony, then gave Matt a look that was almost furtive. “I thank you, Lord Wizard, but—” Her eyes seemed to plead. “—I may not have set out to come to know my mother's homeland, but I have found it most instructive and… rewarding.” She took Anthony's hand by reflex. “I am sure there are more wonders in store, more kinds of people to meet between this place and Maracanda, and I would like to come to know them all. By your leave, we will continue on our way as we were.”

“But to fly …” Anthony gazed at Stegoman with mingled fear and excitement.

“We'll give you a chance when you reach Maracanda,” Matt promised. He had his own ideas about whom Balkis wanted to come to know better before she made it back to her uncle's capital. “Sure, you two walk and we'll fly along. I'll go tell Stegoman what's going on.”

He walked a bit more slowly as he passed Brongaffer and the humans, listening a moment to their spirited exchange:

“If we are to continue to sacrifice the freedom of the air, we will want strong covenants from you!”

“And we from you,” Ginelur said. “Who among you has learned to read? For this covenant must be carved in stone for all to learn!”

They'd made faster progress than Matt had expected. Seemed he wouldn't have to nudge them too hard after all.

He came up to the two dragons and said, “Balkis and Anthony have decided to go on home on foot.”

“Have they indeed!” Dimetrolas exclaimed with a knowing look. “She wants him to herself for a while longer, does she?”

“I think that's most of it,” Matt admitted. “Certainly she's not ready to tell him she's a princess.”

“She is?” Dimetrolas looked at Stegoman with astonishment.

He nodded. “The niece of Prester John.”

“Truly!” Dimetrolas looked at the young lovers. “No wonder you deemed it worth your while to search her out!”

“No, her worth is that of a friend,” Stegoman said, nettled. “What are emperors and kings to me?”

“Or to her, from the look of it,” Dimetrolas pointed out. “She is as besotted with that farm boy as she would be with a belted knight!”

“Well, she may be a princess, but she didn't find that out until a year ago,” Matt explained. “Before that, she grew up in a cottage as a woodcutter's daughter.”

Dimetrolas stared at him in surprise. “How strange are the ways of you human folk!”

“Don't expect me to argue,” Matt said grimly. “Still, I'm glad I only said ‘your uncle’ to her when Anthony was around—and not his name. I think she wants to make sure he's as besotted as she is before she breaks the news. Why else would she want to spend their quality time on the road, instead of in a chamber fall of luxuries?”

“There is sense in that,” Stegoman said, musing. “Still, are they certain they wish to chance the journey? Have they any idea what manner of dangers stand between them and the capital?”

“None all that bad, as I remember from the trip down here,” Matt said. “Certainly they've already survived worse. After all, Balkis is a pretty accomplished wizard already, and it turns out her young man has some talent along that line, too.”

“Does he indeed! Ought you not stay and teach him the use ofit?”

“Somehow I don't think the two of them want company just now.”

“I am not sure that we do, either,” Dimetrolas said, with a glance at Stegoman.

“We must know each other better ere we spend too much time unchaperoned, sweet chick,” Stegoman said, his eyes glowing. “After all, it is only this day that we have begun to talk as friends—more than friends, but not yet close enough for a sweet and fragile creature such as you to entrust herself to a gnarled old beast such as myself.”

“Gnarled and old, forsooth! You are no more aged than I am fragile!”

Matt noticed that she didn't deny the “sweet” part, though, and thought that was promising. “Just give me a lift back to Maracanda, okay? Then you two can go off and find a nice isolated mountaintop where you can get to know each other in detail.”

“How many days to this Maracanda?” Dimetrolas asked.

“One at the most,” Stegoman answered. “With a tailwind, less.”

“Oh, well, I can spare you for that long,” Dimetrolas grumbled.

Stegoman gave her another saurian smile. “Mayhap I shall not wish to be spared.” Before she could answer, he turned to Matt. “How soon shall we sail, then?”

“Well, I'd better help them put their treaty into words.”

Matt glanced at the dragon/human conference. “They might need a neutral party at that point. By then it'll be night. How about taking off at first light?”

“Done,” Stegoman agreed. He turned to Dimetrolas. “Thus can we ensure at least one night of peace between your tribe and the humans.”

“They are not mine!”

“They are even if they have disowned you.” Stegoman gazed deeply into her eyes. “Deny your origins, and you deny yourself, weakening the core of your being—this I know from bitter experience. Then, too, you are their savior now, and an example to them of what dragons were once and can be again, once they are freed from the tyranny of sorcery.”

Dimetrolas stared at him, speechless.

“I think that they shall acclaim you as one of their own again,” Stegoman finished.

“Shall I want it?” Dimetrolas erupted. “After the shame they have heaped upon me, should I not scorn them?”

“You would have every right,” Stegoman said grimly, “and I doubt that you would feel welcome if you tried to stay—but you must make your peace with them for your own sake.”

“And theirs?” Dimetrolas challenged.

“And theirs,” Stegoman acknowledged, “but it is far more obvious that they would gain by your presence, than that you would gain by theirs.”

“It was not so years ago, when they cast me out!”

“It was not,” Stegoman agreed, “but they weakened themselves by letting the humans manipulate them into rejecting you, and they have learned that today. Nay, sweet chick, show mercy, and humiliate them further by your kindness— acknowledge them as your own, even though you do not choose to stay.”

Dimetrolas raised her head slowly, neck forming an S-curve, looking toward the dragon-cotes with pride, even arrogance. “Perhaps I shall…”

Stegoman had certainly learned human diplomacy over the years, Matt reflected, and far more about the soul's need than he had realized. “I'll just tell Balkis the plan, okay?” he said.

“Do,” Stegoman agreed, “and see if you can sound out that young man, to learn how much he has of the gift of magic.”

Matt glanced at the peace conference in time to see Gine-lur, then Lugerin, hold up a palm, and Brongaffer press his taloned paw against it. Then all three started back to their respective halls.

Matt caught up with the humans in a hurry. “Made progress?”

“We have hammered out the bones of an agreement,” Lugerin said, his hostility barely veiled.

“Now we must put flesh on those bones.” Ginelur hid her resentment a bit better; it only showed in flashes. “We must ask our people for their approval, and for their suggestions and additions.”

“Then meet with Brongaffer again and negotiate the details.” Matt nodded. “You are going to stipulate that you'll ask strangers their business before you attack them, aren't you?”

“Unless they are clearly a war party, yes.” Lugerin's gaze was pure hatred. “If they come in peace, we shall let them pass unmolested—if they pay us tribute.”

“Call it a toll instead of a tribute and I don't think you'll have much argument,” Matt said. “I predict that within a year word will get around among the travelers, and you'll start having caravans coming through. Give them a discount for having a lot of people in one party and they'll make it a regular stop.”

Ginelur looked at him in surprise, then gazed off into the distance, her expression calculating. Lugerin didn't get past surprise. “You offer us advice to make us prosper when you have only now defeated us?”

“Hey, if I'm going to insist you let your slaves go, I've got to show you some way to come out ahead, don't I?”

“Why do you think you can insist on anything from us?” Lugerin demanded, his rage an inch below the surface. “Without your dragons you are nothing!”

“No, without my dragon friends, I'm the Lord Wizard of Merovence.”

Both leaders stared at him in shock.

“You haven't heard of Merovence, I expect,” Matt said. “It's a kingdom far to the west, but between its warrior queen and myself, we've held it secure against half a dozen invasion attempts.”

Lugerin was having second thoughts. Nonetheless, he blustered, “You could be lying!”

“I could,” Matt agreed. He looked around the village and saw a huge boulder filling the space between two houses. “You ever think about getting rid of that rock?” He pointed.

Lugerin turned to look. “Aye.” His smile turned vindictive. “None can move it, of course. We must build around it.”

“Well, you never know,” Matt said. “Erosion can wear down a mountain.” He drew his wand, pointed at the boulder, and started chanting.