The Haunted Wizard

CHAPTER 15

Jord shrank into a ball, hands up to protect his face. “Spare me! Forgo your revenge!”

“Why, so I shall,” Friar Gode said. “Do you come to attack the church of God, or to pray?”

Jord peered over his hands, saw the gentle, grave expression on the friar’s face, and lowered his guard. “I come to pray.”

Something howled out there on the village green. Something else answered it, yammering in anger.

Jord cringed. “I come to pray! I come to repent! Save me, friar! Save me from the sharp white teeth in the night!”

Heavy panting sounded, coming closer, spreading wide on all three sides.

Jord seized the friar’s robe and pulled himself up, crying, “Save me! A fury filled my soul only minutes ago, thirsting for blood, shooting agony through every part of me! My soul gibbers at the thought of being so possessed again! Save me from that horror, friar!”

“Why, so I shall.” Gently, Gode pried Jord’s hands loose and slipped a roll of cloth from his robe. He shook it out into a strip with a cross embroidered at each end, and placed it around his neck. Matt saw it was a stole, the badge of office that every Roman Catholic priest wears when he is administering the sacraments, the sign that he is functioning in his official capacity rather than his private one. The friar looked up at Matt. “Go farther off, goodman. I must see this man reconciled with God before he comes into the church.”

Matt nodded and paced away, down the steps to just inside the invisible boundary of the warding circle. He stiffened, feeling the malignant presence return, towering over him, ready to fall on him, but he stood his ground, glaring defiantly upward into the gloom. He never would have had the courage to do it in his own world, but he had plucked up the nerve to face his enemies in Merovence, and was knighted for his pains. With the knighthood had come far more bravery than he had ever known, so he could stand with narrowed eyes, trying to stare down a malignancy he could not see, even though he felt another gathering close to it on one side and a third on the other side, then another and another. But he stared unafraid, for he stood on consecrated ground bordered by his own warding circle.

He paced its arc, hearing behind him Jord’s murmured confessing of his sins. Matt tried not to listen, not that he could have understood a word anyway—he was too far from them. The presences moved with him, and he realized it was himself they had come for, though if they did manage to overwhelm him, Jord and the friar would be engulfed right after him. He wished the former false druid would hurry up and finish his confession. He also began to understand why the Devil tempted people to desecrate holy places.

Then, somehow, the malignancy seemed to lighten. Matt turned to stare outward, wondering what had happened—and Buckeye stepped out of the gloom. “You could at least thank me for safe conduct.”

Matt stared in amazement. “So it was you fighting off the monsters I couldn’t see!”

“Yes, and you burned my hide for it,” Buckeye said indignantly, and turned his back to show Matt a patch of singed fur. Matt swallowed, feeling horrible. “Sorry. I didn’t know my helper was vulnerable to blessings. Look, at least I didn’t say whose blessing I was calling for.”

“Thanks for small favors,” Buckeye sniffed.

Matt felt suddenly apprehensive—if the bauchan had been able to defy the invisible evil entities that surrounded him, it had to have stronger magic than he had thought. Matt hoped Buckeye didn’t want to get back at him too badly. “Did you fight off the wolves, too?”

“Wolves!” Buckeye said with contempt. “They are nothing. Know that we creatures of the forest understand one another, mortal, and if I comprehend the viciousness of their packs, they in return know the danger of my magic and my whims. The night-walkers, now, they are another matter, but there is enough malice in me to let me walk among them, and enough goodness to shield me. Spirits fear one another, too, mortal man, and know one another’s power.”

“Standing up to them must have taken a lot of courage, then,” Matt said.

Buckeye seemed to still inside, and for a moment there was nothing of the bantering or mischievous about him. “Some bravery, yes. I knew I could master any one of them, after all, but I could not be sure they would not league against me.” Then the moment passed, and his grin flashed forth once more. “But they did not—they are creatures made solitary by their spite and jealousy, and will not ally with one another if they can avoid it. In this case, they were too slow to recognize necessity, as I had thought they would be.”

“It was still taking quite a chance. Thank you for braving the risk. Were they sent by the Chief Druid?”

“Chief mocker, you mean, if you speak of Niobhyte,” Buckeye said with contempt. “Nay. They were sent by an evil far greater than his.”

“For Banalix, or me?”

“For you.” The bauchan grinned. “They thought to frighten you away from the protections of—” He decided not to use whatever term he’d had in mind, and said instead, “—from your usual protections. They did not know that you had also the protections of a spirit far more earthly.”

“Meaning yourself.” Matt swallowed thickly. “Why did you help me?”

The bauchan shrugged. “I was bored, and it lent the night some interest. Besides, who would I have to torment if you were slain and I had not yet met your family?”

“I see,” Matt said dryly. “You were defending your property.”

The grin turned to a leer. “You might say that, yes.”

Matt decided he’d better keep his bauchan amused. Then his heart sank as he realized he’d thought of it as “his.”

“Goodman,” Friar Gode called, “you may come back within.”

“Coming,” Matt answered, then turned back to Buckeye. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

“I shall be glad to do so again.” The bauchan’s eye glittered wickedly. “If the whim should take me.”

Matt was tempted to wish something else would take the creature, but he had the sense to throttle the thought, if not the feeling. He turned back to mount the church steps in the first rays of sunrise.

Matt found Jord inside the church, thoroughly chastened and gazing about him in disbelief.

“He is reconciled with God,” the friar said by way of explanation.

Matt said to Jord, “You look as though you’d never been in a church before.”

“All my life,” the ex-druid returned, “until Nio—until the Chief Druid beguiled me away with tales of power and pleasure.” A smile lightened his face for a moment. “They were true, too.” Then he frowned again. “But he did not tell me what awaited failure.” He shuddered. “I cannot say which was worse—those huge padding feet in the night, or the hoarse breathing of they who walked.”

“The feeling of them inside your mind and heart,” Matt told him.

“Aaiiee!” It was short, but it was a scream, and Jord buried his face in his hands. “Heaven protect me from ever suffering that again!”

Matt set a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. At least, it was meant to be comforting, but Jord gave such a start, Matt would have thought he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity. He took his hand away. “Don’t worry, you’re safe from them now, as long as you stay in here.”

Jord calmed considerably, looking about him and drinking in the tranquillity of the church. “None can come in here?”

“No spirits,” Matt told him. “I made sure of that.”

Friar Gode looked up at him, startled, but Matt gave him a wink.

Jord, though, had caught the qualification. “But things that are not spirits can enter?”

“Evil men can,” Matt admitted. “There’s always the chance of that. Whenever pagans come to loot, the church is one of the first places they look.”

Jord shivered, but said manfully, “Even so, as you say, there is always such danger. I must only hope that the Chief Druid and his followers dwindle and fade.”

“They are the pagan threat of the moment, yes,” Matt agreed. “The more we know about them, the more quickly we can rid ourselves of them. What can you tell me about this Chief Druid?”

Jord was silent and began to tremble again.

“Come on, you know he’ll kill you just for losing the gamble to steal the friar’s congregation,” Matt said, “if he can. Help me make sure he can’t.”

“None knows where he came from,” Jord said, his voice low, “but he speaks with the manner and accent of a lord.”

That, Matt automatically discounted—such things could be learned, as any good con man would tell. “And he’s a sorcerer?”

Jord shuddered. “Yes, a most powerful sorcerer! He taught us a few spells and promised us more, but we knew he would never teach us even half of what he knew.”

“Us?” Matt picked up on the word. “Who?”

“The half dozen of us who sought to become druids in our own right, not acolytes only,” Jord explained. “That’s how we began, as a group of worshipers following Nio—his lead. He promised us power, and his glowing accounts of the power and luxury, the silken bodies in our arms and the acclaim of the crowds, swayed us all to become druids in our own right and go out to win more worshipers for the Old Gods. I have converted sixteen villages and four towns already.” There was a touch of pride in his voice; then he remembered the preceding night, and hung his head. “No more.”

Matt wondered how long Jord would stay repentant, how soon the memories of willing women and awe-filled men would sway him out to his own form of preaching again. He wondered, too, how long this Niobhyte would let him live. “He taught you what he claimed was the Old Religion?”

“Yes—the names of the gods; the symbols, such as the golden sickle, mistletoe, and holly; and the ceremony of worship, of drinking to free the impulses of the heart, dancing to please the gods, copulation, and bloodletting.”

“Bloodletting, right. Completely voluntary, but when you have a congregation fully committed, the cuts go deeper and deeper and the blood flows more freely and less willingly, doesn’t it?”

Jord nodded. “We have sacrificed eleven virgins and half a dozen young men already. Niobhyte says it pleases the gods.”

“I’m sure it does, except that the only one he’s really having you worship isn’t a god,” Matt said. “The old gods are only dreams, even in this—” He nearly said “universe,” but caught himself in time.”—land. How does he say you should behave toward one another?”

“Why, that each man should strive for the highest position he can, and beat down those who seek to throw him out— strive also for wealth, and the favors of the greatest number of women.”

Friar Gode’s lips pressed into a thin, angry line. Matt felt the same way, but kept his voice reasonable. “How about if you want something someone else has?”

“Why, you should take it! If he is too weak to drive you away, he deserves to lose it!”

Matt nodded. “How about copulating with someone else’s wife?”

“Again, if he is too weak to prevent you, it is the way of Nature, the way of the wildwood, and it is right.” Jord’s eyes began to glow with the power of it.

“How about if your wife wants to sleep with somebody else?” Matt asked.

“Slay her,” Jord said promptly. “Him, too, if you can.”

Gode cried out in protest, and Jord turned to him, instantly contrite. “Your pardon, holy man! I would not speak of such things, but this good man did ask.”

“I know, and you must tell him,” the friar groaned. “I, too, must know what the enemy teaches—but it is hard hearing of it.”

“How do you behave toward other villages?” Matt asked.

“Why, you obey the King’s Law—but if he bids you attack, you attack, whether it be another village or the land of Merovence!”

“Just happened to mention Merovence, I see.”

“These are no teachings of the old gods, but of the Devil!” Friar Gode burst out.

Jord swung to him, surprised, but Matt said, “You figured that, too, huh?” Then to Jord, “The Chief Druid has told you to break every single one of the Commandments, except the one about the Sabbath.”

“Oh, on Sundays we are to work while the sun shines, then drink and make merry when it sets!”

“Broke that one, too, I see,” Matt said grimly, “and I don’t think I have to ask what he taught you about using the name of God as a swear word. You do know who tempts you to do the opposite of what God teaches, don’t you, Jord?”

Jord’s eyes widened with horror. “It is as you say, it is as you say—he taught us to worship Satan! But why then did he not call the Devil by name?”

“Say it outright, and people would be warned, and stay away in fear and loathing,” Matt explained. “Disguise it, and they’ll listen. In the final analysis, though, you watch how they behave, and you’ll know what god they really worship in their hearts.” He felt rather uncomfortable saying it, thinking of people in his own world, but he knew that the vast majority of people were very easily fooled. He wondered if P T Barnum spoke of all the people in all the worlds.

He put the thought aside and got back to interrogation. “Since we mentioned the king, let’s follow it up. What does King Drustan know about all this?”

“As little as you did before last night, I suspect,” Jord answered, “though his son John is another matter.”

“John?” Matt stared. “That incompetent loser? He’s in on the druid scam?”

“I do not know what a ‘scam’ is, but I do know that John is a prince, and can aid the cause of the Chief Druid mightily,” Jord answered.

“Especially since he’s now heir apparent,” Matt mused. “Maybe he’s not as dumb as he looks.”

“Dumb? He is not talkative, from all I hear, but he is scarcely mute,” Jord protested.

“Less and less as we go along.” Matt was revising his opinion of John by the second. “What does he have to do with your Chief Druid?”

Jord shrugged. “The friars and their fellow priests prevent the tax-gatherers from gouging all they may from the peasants. They stand between the common folk, and the barons and soldiers who have won the king’s war for him.”

“Stand between? How?”

“Why, whenever the baron looses his soldiers to loot and rape, as is their pay for war, a dratted priest appears to command them to withhold in the name of the Lord!”

“Literally stand between.” Matt felt a chill. “And John doesn’t like that?”

“What prince would? How will he bring soldiers to his banner without expectation of such rewards?”

“Certainly not by the sheer generosity of his spirit, or nobility of his brow,” Matt agreed. “John isn’t the kind to command personal loyalty. So your Chief Druid made him an offer?”

Jord shrugged impatiently. “I know nothing of what passed between them, save that the Chief Druid disguised himself as a gardener, and thus found occasion to speak to the prince.”

Matt grinned in spite of himself. “And boy, wasn’t he surprised when one of his gardeners told him he could get rid of this nuisance problem of interfering clergy!”

“I expect that he was,” Jord admitted. “Nonetheless, the long and the short of it is that Prince John was quite willing to give his support to the Old Religion if the druids could woo the people away from the Church. He could only pledge such in secret at first, but has promised to become more open as he gains influence, and to make the Old Religion the faith of the land if he comes to power as king.”

Puzzle pieces fell together in Mart’s mind. “So not only does he have a chance of actually becoming king someday— he has some help arranging it, and some definite plans!”

“With his brothers dead, it would seem so,” Jord admitted.

“I know little of the druids,” Friar Gode said, frowning, “but I cannot believe that any clergyman would so conspire to despoil his own flock!”

“I can’t believe it, either,” Matt said. “The real druids would never have approved of such behavior toward their own people. Enemies, maybe—conquered foemen are another matter—but not toward their own commoners.”

“They did sacrifice people to their gods,” Friar Gode reminded.

“Yes, but those were captured enemies, or volunteers from their own people, not kidnapped virgins! Besides, that ceremony I watched last night was pure hokum, with no higher object in mind than luring people to join up. I don’t know much about the ancient druids’ worship, but I do know it wasn’t like that!”

Friar Gode nodded. “There is little that is real about these so-called druids.”

“They’re a synthesis of power-mongering ideas from this century, together with all the most popular human vices disguised as ceremony, mixed in with bits and pieces of Druid lore that everybody already knows about, so that the people will recognize the symbols and think the men are genuine druids,” Matt said.

“Almost a mockery of them,” Friar Gode said grimly.

Jord stared from one to another, more and more scandalized with every word he heard.

“Yes, a burlesque of the actual article,” Matt agreed. “You might even say these synthodruids are a do-it-yourself religion. No matter what you call it, though, it’s a great cover for a grassroots takeover by the forces of Evil. How can we fight them, friar?”

“By virtuous living, and thus setting a shining example before the people.” Friar Gode spread his hands, at a loss. “How else, I cannot think.”

“There is the possibility of telling the people what they’re doing, by means of minstrels’ songs,” Matt said, “but I hesitate to think what might happen to those minstrels, and I’m not sure the people would believe them anyway.”

“There are men and women far more holy than I,” Friar Gode assured him. “Perhaps they can see how to counter this threat to the Faith better than a humble friar like myself.”

“Well, holiness doesn’t usually result in knowing how to fight,” Matt said, “but I suppose that in the spiritual realm, a near-saint might have inspirations worth the listening. I don’t know your country all that well, friar. Who do you think might be a good consultant?”

“There is the Abbess of the Convent of St. Ursula,” Friar Gode answered. “She is said to be very holy, yet a most redoubtable woman.”

Well, Matt had his doubts as to how useful the abbess’ holiness would be, but found her redoubts far more reassuring. “Best lead I’ve got, I guess, and asking her opinion can’t do any harm. Thanks, friar—and thanks for the night’s lodging, too.”

“You are welcome.” Gode managed a smile. “Not that you seem to have made much use of the latter.” Then he frowned, concerned. “You have had no sleep, though. How shall you fare through the day?”

“Oh, I think I can keep going for a spell.”

The doors opened, letting in a bright shaft of morning sun. “Lord Wizard?” Sir Orizhan asked. “Are you well?”

Jord’s head whipped about; he stared at Matt as though he’d been betrayed.

“Of course,” Matt said briskly. “Just because I’m up before sunrise doesn’t mean I’m sick.” Then his attention went to Sergeant Brock, beside the knight and very pale as he stared at Jord. “What’s the matter, Sergeant?”

Brock gave a start, as though realizing where he was. “Is not this the druid who hurled a fireball at the friar yesterday evening?”

“I was.” Jord bowed his head, ashamed.

“A druid, in a church?” Brock sounded scandalized.

“I have repented of my errors, goodman,” Jord told him, “and confessed my sins.”

That unnerved Brock even more than seeing Jord in the first place. He turned away, obviously agitated.

Sir Orizhan stepped close to confide, “I have seen this happen to soldiers before—discovering that their enemies are not always complete villains, and can even turn aside from their evil ways.”

“It does give you a bad turn,” Matt agreed, “having to revise your view of the world. I think he’ll survive, though.”

“I doubt it not,” Sir Orizhan agreed. “Shall we break our fast, my lord?”

“I have meal and water, and can make a porridge quickly,” Friar Gode offered.

Matt exchanged glances with Sir Orizhan, then turned to the friar, nodding. “That ought to get us on the road fast enough. Thanks, friar—and maybe over a morning bowl we can talk about the route to the convent.”

An hour later they started out, Matt with some misgivings. An abbess was an administrator, after all, and he was well aware that top administrators don’t always rise to their positions because of virtue.

Toward noon a fourth person fell in with the three companions, slouching along beside them with his hood pulled up and his arms folded, with his hands in his sleeves. The trio stiffened, recognizing the bauchan.

Matt tried to be offhand about it, though. “Good morning, Buckeye. Thought you’d be sleeping it off.”

The bauchan looked at him in puzzlement. “Sleeping what off, Lord Wizard?”

“Your night’s fighting,” Matt explained. “Mind you, I’m grateful, but I thought you’d need a rest.”

Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock looked up, staring in amazement.

“He fought off some evil spirits for me last night,” Matt explained, “not to mention a dozen or so wolves.”

Knight and squire transferred their amazement to Buckeye.

The bauchan shrugged it off, uncomfortable with praise. “Remember that I’m a spirit more than an animal, wizard. I can manage without sleep quite well. But you have had none at all, and your mortal body must be dragging at you. What spell have you chanted to flush energy through your body?”

“I borrowed an hour of sleep from each of the next eight nights,” Matt explained. “I’m probably better rested now than I’ll be then.”

Knight and sergeant swiveled their gazes back to him, staring harder.

“Your eyeballs are going to dry out if you don’t blink now and then,” Matt told them. Then, back to Buckeye, “So what brings you out to join us on the open road?”

“A beggar at the next crossroads,” Buckeye told him. “I have gone ahead and seen that he will be of interest to you. Do not pass him by without a glance or a coin, wizard.”

Matt gazed at him, wondering whether it was a booby trap or a tip. “Trouble with you is, I never know when you’re helping me or troubling me.”

“I know.” Buckeye grinned. “That’s the delight of it. Take pleasure in your caution, mortal wizard” With a bound, he disappeared into the roadside brush.

“Surely we will not heed his words!” Brock protested.

“If it was good advice and we don’t take it, he’ll laugh his head off,” Matt explained.

“The imp!” Sir Orizhan exclaimed. “He has us by the scruff, and he knows it! We dare not take his advice and dare not ignore it!”

“And he’s chortling up his sleeve about it this very minute,” Matt assured him. “Maybe that’s why he wore clothes this time. Shall we see what’s at the next crossroads, gentlemen?”

They came to the intersection. Matt stopped abruptly and cursed softly to himself.

Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock stared, too. The east-west road had been deliberately rerouted into an S-curve, so that it crossed the north-south road at a slant instead of a right angle.

“Prince John’s taking the synthodruids a little too seriously,” Matt said. “He’s changed the intersection to avoid the form of a Christian cross.”

“Could he really have so transformed every crossroads in the kingdom?” Sir Orizhan asked, staring.

“You can do amazing things with magic, if you have enough of it,” Matt said grimly. “Come on—let’s see who that beggar is, leaning against the signpost.”

The beggar was a bit better outfitted than most—his clothes were dirty, but not yet reduced to rags; he hadn’t been begging long. Matt stepped up, fishing in the wallet behind his belt for a silver penny. His shadow fell across the beggar, and the man looked up, holding out his bowl in listless routine. Matt froze. The eyes were dull, the face bleak, but he recognized it, and the last time he had seen the man, those eyes had been bloodshot from too much ale.

“Lord Wizard?” Sir Orizhan said behind him. “What troubles you?”

“I’ve seen him before,” Matt told him. “So have you. We shared a table at an inn a week ago.”

“It cannot be!”

But Sergeant Brock pushed past and knelt in front of the man, then rose with his face hard. “It is. When the soldiers were done with him, they cast him out to wander the roads and beg.”

The dull eyes began to focus on them. The beggar frowned, trying to remember.

“Dolan!” Matt cried. “That was his name!”

The man stared up at him.

“What have they done to him?” Sir Orizhan whispered.

“Part of it is not so hard to guess.” Brock gestured at a crutch lying beside the beggar. “He didn’t need that when they took him away.”

“They lamed him?” the knight exclaimed in horror. “For nothing but drunken mutterings?”

“Drunken mutterings against Prince John,” Matt reminded him.

Brock knelt and looked into Dolan’s eyes. “How did they lame you, fellow? You still have both your legs.”

Dolan pointed to a large, dirty bandage on his ankle.

“His hamstring,” Brock said, his face grim. “One or both?”

Dolan held up a single finger.

Sir Orizhan began to look apprehensive. “Why doesn’t he speak?”

For answer, Dolan opened his mouth and made a sort of cawing. His lips writhed, trying to mold the sound into words and failing.

“He spoke against the prince, after all,” Matt said quietly. “They gave him the punishment they thought fitted the crime.”

“His tongue?” Sir Orizhan turned green.

Even Sergeant Brock rose and turned away. “It would have been kinder to kill him outright!”

“Yes, it would,” Matt said, “but he wouldn’t have been able to go hobbling through the land as a walking warning to anyone who might be thinking of criticizing Prince John.” At a sudden thought, he looked up, then relaxed. “For a minute there I was afraid I might find a raven listening.”

“No fear,” Sir Orizhan told him. “All the carrion eaters are in royal castles now.”

Matt tossed the silver penny into the begging bowl even as he said, “We can’t just leave him here.”

“We surely cannot take him with us!” Sir Orizhan protested. “We’d scarcely make a mile a day!”

“Oh, I think we can move a bit faster than that.” Matt knelt and clasped the beggar’s shoulder. “Dolan, I hereby adopt you! Sir Orizhan, Goodman Brock, you’re my witnesses— from this day forth, this man is my cousin!”

“A mere beggar?” Sir Orizhan stared. “Have you taken leave of your senses, my lord?”

“Not a bit.” Sergeant Brock grinned. “After all, the poor lad is in need of help, if ever a man was. Surely he is in no condition to suffer pranks.”

“No, he’s not,” Matt agreed, and stood up to call, “Oh, Buckeye! There’s somebody I’d like you to meet!”