Her Majesty's Wizard #1 (20 page)

   "Sorry." Matt gave her a sickly grin. "Four years of sins take a little time."

   "Four years ... ?" Sir Guy's ,eyebrows lifted. "Come, Lord Matthew! Do you mean to say there was a priest in there?"

   "Still is." Matt took a deep breath, shaking his head. "Don't ask me how or why-but he's there, all right. And..." He nodded toward Sayeesa. "He wants her."

   "Wants ... ?" Sayeesa stared, thunderstruck. "Come, sir-you jest! I, go near a priest? I, a witch? How would I dare?"

   "What you would, or wouldn't, doesn't make any difference, apparently." Matt yanked a dagger from Sir Guy's belt and went to Sayeesa's horse. "Hold still, now-I'd rather not see blood for a while."

   "But you cannot mean it! Why, I'd ... Aieee!"

   "I told you to hold still!" Matt sawed at the knot holding her hands to the saddle horn; the rope parted. He caught her wrists in one hand while he whittled at the rope binding her feet. "You still don't get the message. "You-are-going-to that priest!"

   "You can't take me there against my will! What use is a churching, if it's forced? Nay! Leave me be!" She began to twist and thrash her arms. Matt hung onto her wrists for dear life. "Sir Guy! A little help, here!"

   Frowning, the Black Knight came slowly over, caught Sayeesa's waist, and dragged her from her horse. She screamed, kicking and writhing. "Nay! You'll not hale me there! I will not!"

   "Willing or not, you're going. There's something about this old friar that doesn't brook argument. Come on, lady!" Matt dropped the dagger and flung both arms around her.

   "Stand away!" Alisande's face was dark with fury. ""Take your hands from her, Lord Wizard. I command you!"

   "Glad to comply," Matt ground out, "after she's inside. Let's go, Sir Guy!"

   Sayeesa looked from Matt to Sir Guy as they hustled her toward the chapel. "But you are mad! You both have taken leave of your senses! I'll defile that church by my mere presence! Will you take a witch into a church? Bethink you of..." She broke off with a horrified gasp, staring at the inside of the church.

   The old friar stood just inside the door, head bowed and shoulders hunched, staring gravely into her eyes.

   Sayeesa screamed, and her whole body bucked in a frenzy of anger and terror. Her scream had words, but Matt preferred not to think about their meaning. He just hung on to the wildly whipping body for all he was worth and tried to ignore the feeling of unseen forces thundering in.

   The friar's stern old face darkened, grave and somber. He drew a small, round, silver case from the breast of his robe. He opened it and held it up before Sayeesa's eyes.

   It was the Host, the consecretated wafer of Communion.

   Sayeesa went rigid, her breath rattling in, eyes bulging. Then she gave a hoarse and shrieking wail and went into convulsions.

   Matt hung on grimly; so did Sir Guy. Matt felt two unseen wave fronts slam together, one straining towards the church, one away from it, crashing into one another at Sayeesa's body. She tossed and jerked wildly, whipped back and forth by colliding forces.

   Matt became aware of another tone underneath her screaming, a strong and steady drone-the friar's voice, chanting Latin. It was beyond the liturgical Latin Matt had picked up at boyhood Masses, and it was taking on a strong and heavy beat. It grew louder and more rhythmic as Sayeesa'a screams weakened, and Matt realized her body had begun to twist in time to the old man's meter. The forces about them were tightening, but pressing against one another to a deadlock, without movement.

   The friar's chant thundered to a peak as he thrust the Host up high, looking up toward it, toward Heaven-and Sayeesa screamed, a long, drawn-out shriek, agony from the depths of soul and body, both. Then her voice cut off, and she fell completely limp. The walls of force were gone.

   Perspiring and trembling, the old friar slowly closed the viaticum, hiding the Host from sight, and slid it back inside his robe. He turned to Matt, nodding toward the interior of the church. "Bring her in."

   Sir Guy swung Sayeesa's arm up over his shoulder and stepped forward; but the priest held up a hand. "Nay. The wizard only."

   Sir Guy looked up, startled. Then, slowly, he stepped back, letting go of Sayeesa.

   Matt caught the unconscious body, swung an arm under her knees, and hefted her up, staggering. He carried her into the church, slowly and carefully, wondering how such a slender woman could weigh so heavily.

   "Lay her down," the friar commanded.

   Slowly, Matt knelt, laying Sayeesa gently on the floor.

   "Step back." The priest's voice was gentle again. Matt stood and stepped away. The old man knelt beside Sayeesa and began to pat her cheek, murmuring softly, in too low a tone for Matt to hear. The woman stirred, and her lashes fluttered. She looked up, frowning against pain. The friar laid his hand against her brow, still murmuring, and her face relaxed. Slowly, she sat up, looking about her, dazed.

   "You are in a church, my daughter," the old man said gravely. "Come." He tucked an arm under her shoulder, turning her toward the confessional. Her eyes widened; then, slowly, she nodded and came to her feet, supported by his arm. The old friar conducted her into the right-hand side of the booth, then looked up at Matt as he lifted the curtain on his own side. "Await her coming. To pass the time-you might say your penance." And he disappeared into the confessional.

   Matt had time for most of it-he had a long wait, with a constant, faltering, alto murmuring from the right-hand side of the confessional, occasionally interrupted by a basso from the left.

   Finally, the right-hand side quit, and the left-hand started in. It went on for a while, too. Then, at last, both voices stilled, and Sayeesa stepped out, drawn, pale, and shaken-but resolute. She moved past Matt without a glance, hands clasped at her breast, lips a thin, straight thread, and turned down the central aisle, gliding with bowed head to kneel in front of the tabernacle. Matt stared, disconcerted. There was something about her, some sense of presence, dignity, that hadn't been there before.

   "Guard her well."

   Matt looked up, startled, at the old friar.

   "Be mindful of your word, Sir Wizard," the old man reminded him. "Keep her safely till she comes to the place I have sent her. Beware of threats to her-and to yourself."

   "Uh, thanks for your concern, Father ... but I can't help thinking you're making a big deal out of a small one."

   "Such thoughts trip the unwary, Wizard. You and she both have further parts in this fell pageant." The old man smiled quizzically. "Great deeds are due in this poor land, as Powers clash, and you and this former witch may do them. Your places are greater than you know."

   That was not exactly a soothing thought. "Oh, I wouldn't say that, Father. My natural native modesty, no doubt, but--"

   "Your native gift for seeing only what you wish, rather." The old man's smile was stern, but also amused. "Bear my words ever in your mind; and swear now to me that you'll guard her, till she's come to her own place."

   Matt swore.

   "Enough-and good." The priest nodded, smiling again. "And I'll trust you, for I believe you to be a man of honor, despite what you may think. Now here's your charge."

   Matt looked up, startled, to see Sayeesa coming down the aisle "Done with her penance? So soon?"

   "Her words of prayer were but a prelude," the old man said sternly. "She must atone with her whole life. Escort her now, for she is weakened."

   Matt stepped over beside the ex-witch, offering his arm. She glanced up at him, then away, and lifted her head, straightening her shouders. She looked so pale and shaken that Matt could have sworn she was ready to drop; but she made it out the church door and into the sunlight without taking his arm. Matt shook his head in wonder; he turned to thank the old priest...

   And saw the interior of the church devastated, with charred and fallen roof beams slanting down to the floor, thrusting into a heap of ash and rubble.

   He stared a moment, transfixed; then he let out a shout, and Sir Guy and Alisande were at his side. "What is it, what? What have you seen?"

   Matt pointed, backing away from the church. The knight and princess looked in through the church door. Alisande went white as a coronation robe. Sir Guy stepped forward, setting one steel foot inside. The floor groaned and cracked beneath his weight, and he stepped back quickly, looking at either side; wide-eyed and pale. Neither said a word; they just went straight to their horses.

   "Hey!" Matt called out. "Hold on!" He ran after them and caught hold of Sir Guy's bridle as the knight mounted his horse. "Come on! What's going on? Who was that man?"

   "I think you'd best not ask." Sir Guy pulled on the reins, turning his horse's head to the west. "I shall not, for my part. But I think, friend Matthew, that we have a friend where we do need one most."

   He turned away without a further word, riding slowly down the village street toward the west. Alisande and Sayeesa fell in behind him.

   "Mount, Lord Wizard," Stegoman rumbled at his elbow. "Do you not wish to stay near your companions?"

   "Huh ... ? Oh, yeah!" Matt turned, setting a foot on Stegoman's knee, swinging the other up to the shoulder, then over between two great fins.

   "Why dost thou seem so confounded?" the dragon rumbled as he waddled off after the horses. "Why question what has happened? Accept and be thankful."

   "No," Matt said slowly, "I'm not built that way. I have to have an answer." He passed a feverish tongue over suddenly dry lips. "But I think I'm going to have to be content with the part of an answer I've got."

   "What answer is that?"

   "Somebody down here," Matt said, "likes us."

CHAPTER 9

   The sun was sliding down the sky toward evening when they spotted the mob.

   It was quite a distance away across the open plain, but Matt could make out flashes of green and yellow skirts on one of the women in the vanguard. "Uh, hold on, Stegoman. Your Highness! Sir Guy!"

   "What troubles you?" Alisande demanded, reining in and turning around in her saddle.

   "Uh, about those people approaching us..."

   "Good peasant folk, no doubt. What of them?"

   "With all respect, Highness," Sir Guy murmured, "no matter what the folk, we should approach with caution."

   "Yeah," Matt agreed, "especially since I think I recognize one of the outfits I magicked onto one of the refugees from Sayeesa's joy-house."

   Sayeesa blanched, and Alisande's face turned grave.

   Slowly, she turned back in her saddle, facing the oncoming crowd. "If that be so, let us await them here."

   "What! Uh ... if you don't mind a civilian's opinion, your Highness, it might behoove us more to find the quickest hole to bolt into."

   "There's sense in his saying," Sir Guy said judiciously.

   "But more in mine." Alisande sat stiff-backed and somehow gave the impression she'd just put down roots. "These are my people, sirs; I know them. They will not harm their princess."

   It must be nice, Matt decided, to have such unswerving certainty. "Uh, let's try it the other way, your Highness. Let's say trouble starts-not that it will, you understand, but just in case it does-Sir Guy's got armor and a sword, not to mention a horse: and I'm riding a dragon and just happen to have a pretty mean blade myself."

   "You have the blade," Alisande agreed, "but do you ken its use?"

   "Well, my swordsmanship's not up to your kind of cuts, I'll admit. Still, I do have a sword-and the heaviest weapon they're liable to have is a scythe. Have you considered what kind of damage they might suffer?"

   "None." Alisande sat back in her saddle, relaxed and certain; "Fear not, Lord Wizard; 'twill not come to blows."

   Sir Guy looked relieved, and Matt's heart sank. That Divine Right clause again!

   Then he remembered it was apt to prove true, and sat back himself. Maybe the princess did know what she was doing. After all, this wasn't exactly a personal matter.

   But he kept his hand near his sword hilt, just in case.

   The peasants came close enough to see armor and stopped; startled; they hadn't expected the nobility to be out joyriding Then the girl in the yellow petticoat and green gown saw Sayeesa.

   The ex-witch met her eyes, and fear was written on her face.

   Hate curdled the peasant girl's face, and her forefinger jabbed out. "'Tis she, the witch who stole us all!"

   The peasants stared; then a clamor of shouting broke out as they charged the companions. "'Tis she, the witch who corrupted my son!" "The sorceress who beguiled our children!" "Slay her!" "Slay her!" "Slay!"

   They surged forward, a shouting bedlam, quilled with clubs and pitchforks, men and women shrieking for blood.

   "Hold!" Alisande barked, like the best of drill sergeants; and the mob ground to a halt, poleaxed by the unexpected.

   "I am she who freed your children," Alisande said severely "and I tell you now: Hold your peace!"