The Haunted Wizard - Wiz in Rhym-6 (29 page)

I can again thy former light restore.

Yet why should I your fire rekindle?

Be dark and cold forever more!"

The fireball shrank in on itself as it cooled, men flickered and went out. No one else could see the dark little ball that bounced off Mart's chest. A murmur of awe passed through the crowd.

"Charlatan!" Banalix bellowed. "Taste true magic now!" He gestured, reciting something that sounded like Gaelic, and Matt realized, with a chill, that he was pantomiming the tying of a noose. Matt remembered that one of the druids' forms of human sacrifice had been hanging, then throwing the body into a peat bog. Quickly, he chanted,

"Naked to the hangman's knot

A neck's set for abuse.

But vertebrae should stack intact.

Be good! Rope, be no noose!"

Something seemed to brush bis neck, tried to tighten, then was gone. Banalix stared, fear shadowing his eyes.

"Cease your cowardly attacks!" Matt boomed. "They avail you naught!" Banalix's eyes narrowed. He blustered to hide his fear. "Coward yourself, coward and trickster! By what magic you opposed my spells I know not, but taste this assault!" His lips poured out a torrent of words as he pantomimed tossing, stiff-fingered, left hand, right hand, left hand, on and on.

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Matt didn't know what he thought he was throwing, but he did think it was a good idea to turn aside anything he couldn't see.

"Deflect! Avaunt!

Come nowhere near!

My unseen shield, hold sure!

Whatever's thrown shall thus be seared

By wards both tough and dur!"

He didn't even feel the impacts. All anyone saw was a sudden burst of lights in front of Matt as unseen missiles flared against his shield and burned out.

The crowd murmured in fear and pressed away from Banalix. The false druid stood panting, staring at Matt, suddenly haggard.

Matt knew his chance when he saw it. "People of the Church! You have seen this impostor for what he is, a feeble and powerless trickster! Avoid his snares, avoid his web of deceit, for you know the source of lies and traps! Go now, go quickly, and never hearken to this man or any like him again!" That galvanized Banalix into action as he saw all his gains slipping away from him. "Deceiver yourself!" he screamed. "You claim to be of the forest? Then let it judge you!" He chanted in the foreign language again, pointing up at the ancient oak, and a branch the size of a grown tree groaned downward to swat at Matt.

With a horrendous cracking, the branch began to split from the trunk. It wasn't just going to swat at Matt, it was going to fall on him! Quickly, he chanted,

"Oh, will this limb rejoice, or break?

Decide this doubt for me!

Close up the wound without an ache,

And heal this fractured tree!"

The fall of the branch slowed, then stopped, one huge burl only inches from Matt's head. Then, incredibly, it started to rise again, the base cleaving to the trunk, shaking, trembling, then stilling, and the branch stretched out whole again. Matt told himself he must have been imagining the huge sigh of relief that seemed to surround him.

The crowd burst into cries of awe!—and fear. Those closest to Banalix tried to crowd farther away. The false druid pointed at a dead tree behind Matt and screamed a verse. A groan began, softer, then louder and louder, as the tree leaned to fall on Matt.

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"I leaned my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trustie tree,

But first it bowed, and now it creaks,

To crush the one who made it break!"

He hoped Cowper's ghost wasn't listening.

The trunk seemed to roll, changing the direction of its fall. Banalix stared in horror, then turned to run crosswise, out of the path of the tumbling skeletal branches—but the tree swung about, following him, tracking him, as it fell faster and faster, then slammed down on top of him. Banalix screamed in pure terror, then screamed again and again, for the tree had enough branches left so that it hadn't crushed him, only formed a prison around him. He grabbed the dry old sticks and shook them, trying to break them, but they must not have been quite as dead as they seemed, for they held him penned in.

"Go now, quickly!" Matt boomed. "Go back to your cottages, back to your beds, and never follow such a deceiver again!"

The crowd broke and ran, howling with fright. Their voices faded away, and the clearing was still, except for the sobbing coming from the hollow tree.

Matt stood still, absorbing the whole of the night, letting the adrenaline ebb. When he trusted himself to be gentle, he whispered,

"The game is won, the quarry's fled,

The night regains its peace.

Let effects from my voice all be bled,

And sound processing cease!"

"Can you hear me, Banalix?" he said softly, but the spell seemed to have worked—he could scarcely hear himself, and the druid kept whimpering with no sign of having heard him. Matt jumped down from the stump and went slowly toward the dead tree, where he knelt down and gazed in at the prisoner. The man stared at him for a frozen moment, then recoiled, hands up to defend, crying, "Who are you?"

"A wizard," Matt told him, "one who's on the side of the Church at the moment—and who knows what you're trying to do."

The man stared, then whispered, "For the Church? You are a godly wizard, and you defeated the powers of the Old Gods so easily?"

"Sure," Matt said. "They don't really exist, you know. The only power you had was some minor spells your boss taught you—and their impact comes from the music of the old language, not the strength of the old gods."

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Banalix began to tremble. "But he told me the Old Gods live!"

"He lied," Matt said simply. "He's out to gain power, and he saw that he could do it by reviving his own version of the old religion. He even put together a mixture of excuses for people to do all the things they enjoy, but that have bad effects later on—guaranteed to win him converts, and by the time they realize all their partying has brought trouble, your boss figured he'd have them so securely under his thumb that they couldn't get away if they wanted to."

He almost felt sorry for Banalix as he watched the expressions that chased each other across his face as his wonderful new world collapsed around him. Finally he groaned, "I am lost!"

"You can find a way to rebuild," Matt told him. "For openers, tell me what I want to know, and I'll release you."

"Tell you… ?" A crafty look came into the druid's eyes.

"Don't think you have anything to trade," Matt said quickly. "I have plenty of other ways of finding out, and I won't at all mind leaving you here to starve."

The last part was a complete lie, of course, but Banalix didn't know that. He stared at Matt in horror for a minute, then quavered, "The Chief Druid! Surely you know that!"

"Yes, I guessed that much," Matt agreed. "Tell me his name."

"I dare not! He will discover it, he will smite me down!"

"You can't really believe that." Matt's smile held a little contempt "You know that most of the 'magic' he taught you was only trickery, don't you? And the few genuine spells are pretty feeble. I doubt very highly that he'll know if you tell me his name."

Banalix stared at him a moment, then whispered "Niobhyte" very softly. The name meant nothing to Matt, but he couldn't let Banalix know that. "Very good. Now, tell me—what's your real name?"

The man flushed and looked away. "Jord," he said.

"Jord." It was a peasant's name. "And what did you do for a living before Niobhyte conned you away?"

"I was a serf on the estates of Lord Manerring," Jord said reluctantly. Matt nodded. "Well, then, I would recommend you go back to your home village and stay there, at least until this is all over."

"I dare not!" Jord seized two branches and shook them, trying to break out. "Niobhyte will slay me if he learns I have failed and gone meekly home!" He shuddered. "And I will roast forever in Hell, for I have blasphemed and lured people away from God!"

Matt stared at the man a moment, then asked, "You mean you didn't believe a word of what you were telling those people?"

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"I believed it," Jord told him, "but now that I have seen the power of the Old Gods so easily defeated, I can believe no longer!"

"So you fall back on the religion in which you were raised." Matt nodded. "Well, then, repent and confess your sins, and you should be safe from Niobhyte's power."

"But he is a sorcerer! A real sorcerer! Repentence will not save me!"

"It will save your soul, at least." Matt was beginning to have misgivings about having busted up Banalix's act—but could he really have let the man suck other people into the kind of tyranny he himself seemed to fear? "It might save your body, too, if you stay in the sanctuary of a church until this is all over." Jord stared at him for a moment, then said, "Might."

"There are no guarantees in this life, I'm afraid," Matt told him, "especially when the country is in such upheaval. But I know a church that should be safer man most for the duration, and maybe when it's over, Niobhyte will have lost. If he has, he won't be in a position to hurt anybody." Jord studied his face, realizing what he meant—what the options were for where Niobhyte would be. Finally he said, "I'll thank you, then, and hope. Take me to this church, and a priest."

"Okay, then." Matt grabbed a stout branch and stood up, heaving with all his strength. The trunk rolled, and Jord scuttled free.

He stared up at Matt, face pale in the moonlight. "You are as strong as a knight!"

"That's because I am a knight." Matt slapped him on the shoulder, turning him toward the village.

"A knight and a wizard? I've never heard of such a thing! Except for …" Jord's voice trailed off as his eyes widened and he realized to whom he was talking.

"Keep it to yourself," Matt told him severely. "We've got half a mile to cover, and I'd rather not attract any more attention than necessary."

A wind blew up out of nowhere, moaning in the treetops.

"Too late," Jord groaned. "Some spirit has heard me, or heard the name of… the Chief Druid. He is gathering his companions to punish me."

"You're reading an awful lot into a breeze," Matt snapped. "Come on, let's get going. Maybe we can beat the storm."

But it seemed to follow them, the wind moaning more and more loudly, though they didn't feel it at all. Tree branches began to whip about them, slapping at them from ahead in front, swinging at them from behind.

"No wind makes them move that way," Jord cried. "The spirits are coming for me!"

"Then let's give them a run for their money! Come on!"

But the moon darkened, and Matt began to feel as though someone was watching him—someone, or
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something. He hurried Jord along the trail, glancing up to see if he could catch a glimpse of the sky between whipping boughs. It was clear as a bell, stars bright in their scatter—but where the moon should have been was only darkness. Matt didn't know how Niobhyte had done it, but he was beginning to hope he wouldn't meet the man—if he was a man. Even more if he wasn't. They hurried down the trail. Matt caught sight of things moving at the edges of his vision—huge dark forms, shadows within shadows, not clear enough to recognize. He thought he could make out roughly human shapes—head, arms, and legs—but wasn't sure; whenever he tried to look directly at one of them, he saw only darkness and brush. He muttered,

"From ghosties and ghoulies

And long-legged beasties

And things that go bump in the night,

Dear Lord, preserve us!"

Then the laughter began.

Low and ominous, it sounded behind them, and Jord started to run. Matt caught him, snapping, "No!

Show fear and you put yourself in its power! Walk fast, but walk!" They strode on through the darkness, setting a record for cross-country hiking, with the laughter building to the sides, then in front of them, finally echoing all about. Other voices joined in, laughing maniacally, gloatingly, insanely, giggling, gibbering, and the almost-seen shapes pressed closer, but seemed unable to touch them. Jord began to whimper, and Matt felt like joining him.

Then, suddenly, they were out of the trees with cottages before them. "Hurry!" Matt snapped, and they rushed down an alley between houses with the laughter slapping off the walls and the unfelt wind howling overhead.

"Can not the people hear?" Jord cried.

"I doubt it," Matt called back. "Besides, if you were safe inside a house and heard something like this, would you look out?"

"I am afraid to look out already," Jord whimpered.

Then they were out of the cottages and crossing the village green. Jord looked up, saw the church, and dug his feet in. "You're taking me to the priest I burned this afternoon!"

"He's human," Matt admitted, "but he's a priest, and he believes in forgiveness. Besides, I healed his burns. Move! Or do you want to stay here and wait for whatever's around us to close in?" With a wail, Jord gave in and let Mart's arm pull him over the green and toward the waiting chapel. Matt still wouldn't break into a run, but he felt a presence following him, something bigger, something more powerful, something much worse than the half-seen night-walkers that shadowed them to either side. He muttered prayers under his breath, wondering if Banalix's mockery of a ceremony, and his own interruption, had wakened some form of elemental with which Niobhyte had nothing to do. They strode toward the church.

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