The Oathbound Wizard

CHAPTER 29 Masks and Matches

The air was split by a howl. Shocked, the crowd turned to see who had cried.

Fadecourt was up on the dais, hurling the cushions away from the throne, searching all about on his hands and knees, sifting through the dust that had been the king's robes, howling, "Where is it? Where? It cannot have been turned to powder with his robes! It cannot have burned with him—he was naked!" He leaped to his feet. "His workroom! It will be in his workroom!"

"His workroom was here," muttered a stunned guard. "He never moved from out of this chamber."

Matt looked up, startled; he'd have to check for warding spells.

"Then 'tis yon!" Fadecourt ran toward a tapestry, yanked it down. There was only blank wall, so he yanked down another, and another.

"Has he lost his wits?" Sir Guy said in a low voice.

"Assuredly, the sight of the demon has driven him mad," Maid Marian said. "Wizard, can you cure—"

" 'Tis here!" Fadecourt tore down another tapestry with a cry of triumph, revealing a long workbench with towering shelves above it. He leaped up onto the table and began to yank at jar after jar, scanning the labels, then hurling them aside. Glass crashed, pottery shattered. Dark and noisome things littered the floor; stench filled the air.

"Wizard, stop him!" Robin Hood coughed. "He will poison us all!"

Matt hated to do it, but he thought up a spell to sedate the cyclops—it was just a matter of time before he broke a jar that held some really toxic charm...

Then Fadecourt held up a small jar with a cry of triumph. "I have found it! 'Tis mine again!"

They all stared; trying to make out what was in the jar, but all they could see was a murky fluid with a lump floating in it.

Fadecourt yanked the lid off and scooped out the lump. Yverne cried out, but before they could stop him, he had pressed it against his forehead.

"He is surely demented!" Sir Guy moaned—but Yverne gasped, staring.

For Fadecourt was growing.

Growing, and swelling—his huge muscles redistributing themselves, the stone of his arm becoming living flesh, and his single eye moving over to leave room for the lump where Fadecourt had set it. As they stared, it came alive, gaining luster, and sank into his skin, the bone hollowing itself into a new socket—and two eyes stared out at them. Fadecourt cried out in pain, but also in triumph—and he stood before them, tall and straight, a normal human man, arms upraised in thanks. The ghost hovered beside, smiling.

This man was still very muscular, though—and very handsome. Alisande and Yverne both blinked, then stood a little straighter, and Maid Marian purred, "What a fine figure of a man is this!"

"Not too fine, I trust?" Robin looked up sharply.

"None could ever compare to you, my lord," she answered, taking his arm. "But I rejoice to see the man returned to his natural form."

"But is it his natural form?" Matt frowned. "Let's have it, Fadecourt! What happened? And what does the ghost have to do with this?"

"Call me not Fadecourt, friend Matthew," the tall man said, still in the cyclops' voice. He grinned as he jumped down to the floor. "That is the name the sorcerer gave me, in mockery, when he stole my eye by his magic. Call me the name I was given at birth—Rinaldo del Beria."

"The prince!" Alisande cried. "The rightful heir to Ibile, dead these many years!"

"Nay, lady and Majesty, to whom I stand in debt." The prince turned and bowed to her. "I had gone into hiding, many years ago, when still a child—and those who loved me gave out news that I was dead, the better to protect me till I was grown. But the sorcerer set hounds upon me, single-minded sorcerers, who rested not till they had found me. Then his soldiers came to take me prisoner, though I slew a dozen of them—I was no child then, but a man grown, though very young—and haled me here, to the king's throne room, there to transform me into a shape that my countrymen would never honor as a king."

"Thanks be to Heaven he did not slay you!" Yverne cried.

"Thanks to Heaven, indeed—but he said he would gain magical strength by my living in humiliation, and spurned me from him with his foot. My eye he kept as a charm—and I thank Heaven again, that he had not yet seen fit to use it in a potion! All these years since, I have sought a means of overthrowing him—and thanks to yon knight and the Lord Wizard, I have found it!"

"Yet here is a pretty mess." Sir Guy had turned somber, but he said the words as one who has to do a duty he would rather shirk. "This lady is the daughter of the Duke of Toumarre, the only lord left who was not one of the sorcerer's pawns, and great-great-grandchild of the last king! She is the rightful heir!"

Alisande looked as if she were about to ask how Sir Guy knew, but she held her peace; nobody really doubted the Black Knight's word, or wondered about the source of his knowledge.

They all turned to stare at Yverne.

" 'Tis true," she said. " 'Twas not for my father's lands alone, that the sorcerer and the Duke Bruitfort wished to catch me."

"Bruitfood" Alisande turned and beckoned to her knights. They parted, and two of their number hustled a man to the front and hurled him to the floor at the queen's feet.

"The duke!" Yverne gasped.

"Even so," Alisande said. "The wicked duke, none other, whose castle I invested whiles he lay unconscious, and his men rode willy-nilly in search of something that had evaded them."

Bruitfort looked up at them, drawn and forlorn, his massive shoulders slumped, his arms and legs loaded with chains. He looked about him, saw the final death of all his ambitions, and turned gray.

"Speak, sirrah!" Alisande commanded. "Is't true, what the maiden says? Did you seek her hand to assist you to the throne?"

The duke looked up, read the death notice in her face, and said, "Aye. Her claim is legitimate; she is the rightful heir. Thereby would I have gained the people's favor, as I sought to overthrow the sorcerer!"

"Wait a minute." Matt frowned. "Somebody else seems to have some doubts."

They all followed his gaze and saw the ghost, standing by the throne, shaking his head violently, looking appalled.

"He does not wish it—and, since he is party to the wisdom of the Afterworld, I should think he has good reason." Fadecourt, now Prince Rinaldo, turned back to Sir Guy. "I, too, am the great-great-grandchild of the former king, Sir Guy, and by the male line."

"She, too, is of the male line, and of the elder branch," Sir Guy said. "Milady, tell them your lineage."

Yverne looked at him with wide, frightened eyes—almost hurt, Matt thought—but she spoke. "Tomas, the last rightful king, had two sons. Of the elder am I descended, for he was my father's father's father's father's father."

"And I am descended from his younger son." Prince Rinaldo frowned. "From the elder sons of the younger son."

"But of the cadet branch nonetheless—and here's a stew!" Alisande looked from the one to other, frowning. "The lady is of the elder's line, but is herself a woman—and the male line holds strongest claim! While the prince is of the cadet branch, but is a man!"

"Their claims are equal." Sir Guy's mood seemed to be lightening.

The ghost drifted forward, making hand signals, pantomiming.

"She." Matt frowned, following the pointing fingers. "He...and she?"

The ghost joined his two hands in front of him.

"He means that they should wed!" Alisande cried. "Aye, here's the way to unravel the coil! Two claims of equal strength, united—and Ibile's throne is secure! None could doubt that their offspring would be rightful heirs!"

Sir Guy turned away, looking thunderous.

Yverne glanced at him, then turned back to Alisande, wide-eyed. "By your leave, Majesty—I had liefer abdicate."

"Abdicate?" Alisande stared. So did Rinaldo—wounded.

"I will forswear my claim to the throne." Yverne lowered her eyes demurely. "I will forswear it for myself, and for all heirs of my body that I may bear."

"Why, how is this, lady?" Prince Rinaldo cried, woebegone. "You cannot wander homeless!"

"She cannot, nor can she take up again her father's estates, for her mere presence within Ibile will be a focus for discontent, and an impetus toward rebellion," Alisande said. "Lady, you must wed or be exiled."

"Then I shall be an exile," Yverne answered, without a moment's hesitation. "I shall retire to some hidden hermitage where none shall ever find me, provided..." She glanced up at Sir Guy's back.

"Provided?" Alisande prompted. "What is this proviso? Mind you, the idea itself is excellent—you would be removed from contention for the throne, but you, or your heirs, might be found if there were need. But what is your proviso?"

"That Sir Guy de Toutarien shall escort me to my place of exile," Yverne said, "and shall himself choose that hiding place, so that none other may ever know of it."

Sir Guy looked up in surprise.

Yverne met his eyes, then looked down and blushed.

Prince Rinaldo stood taken aback, amazed, elated—and crestfallen. "Milady, do not! 'Twould be hard, immensely hard on you, to be shut away from the world so, never to return to your home! You are too vibrant, too filed with joy of life, and take too much delight in company to endure such solitude! And will there not still be the promise of rebellion? For no one will believe that anyone would willingly give up a kingdom to become a hermit! I am your friend, at least, and would not see you miserable!"

"I will not be miserable," she said quietly, and glanced at Sir Guy.

He met her gaze, and his face fairly glowed. She blushed again and lowered her eyes once more, but he did not take his gaze from her face.

"What say you, Sir Knight?" Alisande demanded. "Will you escort the lady hence, far from Ibile, and find her a hermitage secure? Will you swear never to reveal it to any soul, living or dead."

"I will," Sir Guy said, "and will ever keep faith with her!" Rinaldo looked woebegone, and Matt's heart went out to him. To labor so long on the slenderest of hopes, to be exalted with victory one second, and cast down to despair the next!

"All wounds shall mend," Friar Tuck said gently, "those of this land—and those of its people. All wounds shall mend, and joy shall fill them once again."

"Mine, too?" Alisande turned slowly to Matt. "And yours, Lord Wizard? Nay, have you cast me so much into grief that your own is assuaged? Have you healed the hurt to your vanity by the wounds you have given my heart? Are you so lofty now, knowing that you have trod on a queen? Are you—"

"My lady, enough!" Matt stepped forward, hope budding in his heart. "You mean you care?"

"Care! Would I have fought my way across all of Ibile, aye, and grieved my soldiers and their wives, and all of Merovence belike, if I did not care? Would I have gnawed out my heart, hollowed my breast, stained my cheeks with rivers of...Oh!" She caught his arms in a fierce, iron-coated grip. "Matthew! I was so a-frighted that harm would come to you, that I would find your tattered corpse, that I would come too late...or that you might...might have..."

"I didn't." After all, she was a queen, and in public—but the last thing Matt would have wanted would have been to see her humiliated, even if they'd been in private. He looked long and deeply into her eyes and wished he would never have to look away. "I'm still here," he murmured. "I'll always be here—and I'm free of my rash oath now, free to take another. Only this time, I'll mean it."

She stared at him, her face paling. Then, abruptly, she let go of him and turned away, her face reddening.

But Matt understood, now, the pride of a queen. He smiled and couldn't take his eyes off her.

There was a huge hullabaloo from the hole in the wall.

Everybody spun about just in time to see three huge forms hurtle past and hear voices saying:

"Let me be, I tell you!"

"Nay! Thou art wounded sore!"

"Not as sore as your head! Look, I can fly—see?"

"He does not fall quite so fast, 'tis true..."

"He cannot lift. We must!"

The three forms pulled back into sight—two dragons with a dracogriff in the middle.

"I can land, at least!" Narlh squawked. "Let go—I can land!"

"Don't listen to him!" Matt called. "Bring him inside!"

The dracogriff was horribly burned. Wing feathers were scorched all along his left side, and large patches of his hide were missing. He squalled in sudden pain. "Easy, there! Y'didn't have to jam me against the stones, y'know!"

"I regret," Stegoman huffed. " 'Tis so small a hole, do you see...Aside, small and soft ones! Our comrade is wounded; we must come unto the wizard who can cure him!"

"Aside!" Alisande called. "Stand aside! Let them pass!"

The soldiers crowded back, opening up an aisle from the stairwell—and two huge dragons limped into sight, Stegoman and a stranger. Between them, supported by their upraised wings, growling and protesting and complaining every inch of the way, limped Narlh. "Look, I...I can make it on my own...all...all right? I...don't need any help, I...Ouch! Go easy, there!"

"Narlh!" Matt cried. "You're wounded!"

"A scratch," the dracogriff snapped. "A little burn. So what? Look, it's not as if I can't fly, y'know!"

"He cannot," Stegoman explained to Matt. "He has chased off the last of the gargoyles—in truth, I should say he fought half of them himself."

"He is a doughty fighter," the other dragon said in tones of awe, "and wondrous in his valor. He is a source of great pride to us, that the blood of dragons flows in his veins!"

"I just did what I had to," Narlh muttered, lowering his eyes.

"As do any of us! But thou didst fight, with never a thought for thine own safety—or life! Nay, thou shalt dwell in honor in Dragondom for as long as thou shalt wish, whenever thou dost wish! We shall be elevated by thy presence."

Narlh looked up at Matt, an incredulous joy in his eyes.

"The last was the most huge," Stegoman explained to Matt. "He was half again my bulk, and his wings were granite. He struck me with them, battered me, would have knocked me out of the sky—had not this berserker pounced upon him with a scream of fury, struck at him again and again, enduring his flailing attack and his flame whiles the dragon folk beset the gargoyle and tore him apart. I take my life from thee this day, Narlh! I will be mightily honored if thou wilt let me claim brotherhood with thee, among all Dragondom."

"Well...if you really want to..."

"Let's see to those wounds first," Matt said briskly.

"By your leave, Lord Wizard." Friar Tuck stepped forward. "I have some small skill at this. Good monsters, will you step aside with me?"

"Awright, awright!" Narlh grumbled. "Just make it fast!"

Matt grinned and turned back to his favorite view, Alisande's eyes. "Looks as if we came out of it all right, Majesty."

"Aye," she said, returning his gaze, full depth. "We have."

There was a sudden fanfare. Everyone looked around, startled—nobody had a trumpet to his lips. They looked at the throne...

And saw the ghost, standing beside the gilded chair, beckoning to Prince Rinaldo.

"Why, I know you now!" the prince cried. "Ever since I first saw you, I have known I had seen the resemblance to your face before!"

"Yeah—in a mirror." Matt looked from one to the other. Allowing for age and another fifty pounds, the family resemblance was unmistakable.

" 'Tis Tomas!" Rinaldo cried. " 'Tis the last rightful king!" The ghost hung his head.

"Why do you stand ashamed! You have done naught to regret!"

The ghost looked up, tears streaming from his eyes, and Sir Guy, that repository of all the lore of this alternate Europe, said softly, "He has—though he has now, at long last, set it aright. For look you, Tomas IV was a kind king, a just king, a good king—but the legend speaks of him as unbearably clumsy. He was ever stumbling, spilling, lurching about—"

"Still kind of clumsy, about his materializations." Matt frowned. "Though lately he does seem to be getting them right, his timing could be better..."

"Regrettably," the Black Knight said, "his clumsiness extended to matters military, and therefore did he not trust in his own instincts. He took for a counselor the infamous Gordogrosso, who advised him to be less harsh in his soldiers' training, and to keep fewer men under arms. King Tomas hearkened to these false words, and when his army was weakened, the sorcerer brought in his own hellish troops to seize power. He cut off King Tomas' head and threw his body into the dungeons, that his humiliation might be complete—for the good king did not live long enough to be shut living in a cell."

"And he blamed himself for Ibile's fall to the powers of Evil, so he's been hanging around ever since, looking for a chance to kick out the sorcerer!" Matt cried.

The poor ghost nodded, then looked up, brightening.

"And we gave him that chance." Sir Guy clapped Matt on the shoulder. "Now he can he in peace."

But, "No," Friar Tuck said, "not till he has had Christian burial."

"Why, that shall he have!" Prince Rinaldo cried. "It shall be my first act as king, the building of his tomb, and his poor remains shall have a solemn burial with the honors due a hero! You shall be free, Majesty, free to find your way to Heaven!"

The ghost turned a radiant smile upon his descendant.