“I do, and see no conflict between the two. The churchmen teach that we are born in sin and are animal by nature. I cannot argue with our essential animality, but I will also affirm that we each hold within our souls a spark of the Divine. I have dedicated my life to discovering and revealing that innate goodness in man and woman which comes from God, and to developing all that is best in human nature.”

“Ah! Then you believe that if you are a scholar, you have the obligation to teach!”

“Only if I am asked.” Arouetto smiled. “And I have not been.” He seemed relieved. Matt was not. ‘Too bad there aren’t any universities to confer the degree-you’re definitely a Ph.D. No wonder Rebozo thought you were a threat.“

“Yes-for if someone had asked me to teach, my students might have begun to think and question.” Arouetto’s eyes sparkled. “But you’re no threat at all to King Boncorro’s overall plan-in fact, your ideas are just what he’s aching for!”

“All the more reason to hide me away here, is it not? No, I am no threat to King Boncorro’s goals-but I am a threat to the chancellor’s plans for frustrating his Majesty’s efforts, and corrupting the king himself into the bargain.”

“Oh?” Matt’s attention suddenly focused even more sharply on the scholar’s words. “I only met the two of them briefly, you understand. You think the chancellor has a deliberate plan to stop Boncorro’s chances of doing good?”

“Not just to stop him-to pervert all his efforts for the good of his people into ways to cause them suffering as great as any they have ever known. Nay, worse, for it will be a kind of agony of the spirit they have never encountered before, and are ill-prepared to endure!”

“That makes sense,” Matt said slowly. It really did-the king having his own private in-house brothel, conferring status and legitimacy on prostitution; the organized campaign to seduce country girls into the business, and the men into crime-Matt realized that something that grew up that fast had to have been planned and encouraged. He wondered if Rebozo had agents leading the runaways south, instigating and twisting their revelry. “You mean Boncorro has a whole strategy mapped out for the enrichment of the commonwealth, but Rebozo has a strategy for corrupting it?”

“That is my guess-though I must confess I have no proof.”

“Other than observation, generalization, and prediction, no. It’s impossible to run a real laboratory experiment on people; you need field studies, and the field is pretty boggy.” But Matt was galvanized, excited, and ebullient. “Your ideas really are what King Boncorro needs-Prologue

something to temper his secularism with: humanism, injecting values that might forestall the worst excesses Rebozo’s trying to lead him into!”

“Only the worst,” the scholar cautioned. “Humanism is not a religion, after all-though it is not opposed to religion, either.”

Matt jumped up. “Let’s go!”

Arouetto stared at him. “Go? Go where?”

“Why, back to Latruria, of course! You’ve got no business loafing around here when there’s so much work for you at home!”

“But how are we to break out?” Arouetto asked, bewildered. Matt shrugged it off with airy disregard. “With your brains and my magic, we should be able to find a way easily-but not if we don’t try! Come on! Time for research! To the laboratory! Let’s hit the books!” Arouetto began to rise from his bench, his smile growing, his eyes kindling with excitement. It was too bad that the chimera chose just that moment to attack.

Chapter 21

The chimera came flying over the wall of the house on short, stubby wings that could not possibly have borne its weight-after all, it was basically a winged lion with a dragon’s tail. It dropped down at them like an eagle stooping, if eagles could roar loudly enough to shake a house. Matt bellowed, “Duck!”

“No, a chimera!” Arouetto stood gazing up in wonder. “I mean get down! Scholars are only supposed to be fascinated by metaphorical chimeras!” He hit Arouetto with a body block.

They went flying, and a huge thud shook the ground while an angry roar shook the trees.

“But ‘tis Classical!” Arouetto struggled to free himself. “ ’Tis a monster from Greek legend, and I never dared to make one myself!”

Now that somebody had, of course, he was all eagerness to study it, and probably wouldn’t remember why he hadn’t made one himself until it bit his head off. He struggled valiantly, and Matt was amazed at the gaffer’s strength. But he could feel hot breath on his legs, and the roar was echoing all about him as he rolled aside and shouted, “Like calculus degenerate, It don’t want to integrate! His parents all refused to mate! Let all components separate!” Teeth clashed shut, and a streak of pain slashed Matt’s leg. He howled and rolled aside-just in time to see an eagle struggle loose from the chimera’s back, while a small dragon disengaged itself from the monster’s rear end, leaving a lion tail behind. The lion fell over, bellowing in Prologue

pain, and the dragon bellowed, too, scorching the walls. The eagle was smarter-it screamed and flew away. “We’ve only got a minute or two while they’re disoriented!” Matt snapped.

“Then we’ll have two monsters to fight instead of one! Quick! Think up something to kill them!”

But Arouetto was out of commission. He was staring at the tableau in front of him, entranced.

Matt turned, brain racing, trying to think up a new cure-and discovered that lions and dragons seemed to be natural enemies. Actually, first he discovered the fear of seeing a lion stalking toward him, pausing in its roaring only long enough to lick its chops. But the dragon saw, let out a blast like a steam whistle, and charged to get to the tasty morsel first. They collided, of course. Scaly shoulder slammed furry shoulder, and the lion turned on the dragon in instant fury, lashing out with a taloned paw and a bellow. But his claws rattled harmlessly off steely scales, and the dragon blasted him with high-octane halitosis. The lion howled in pain and fury and leaped. Somehow, the big cat managed to land on the dragon’s back. The reptile instantly dove to the ground and rolled, but the charred lion hopped loose, then jumped back in to dig its claws into the soft underbelly. The dragon screamed with agony and locked its jaws on the lion’s neck, then started clawing him with its talons. Roaring and clawing, the two beasts rolled over and over, crushing marble benches and knocking over statuary. “Wizard, stop them!” Arouetto cried. “They are hurting each other!”

“That’s putting it mildly. Why me? You’ve had a lot more experience with this illusion stuff than I have!”

“Not with living creatures! Stop mem! Annihilate them if you must, but end their pain!”

“Oh, all right,” Matt grumbled. He took a good hard look at the bloody scene before him, then closed his eyes, envisioning that same scene, then adding a little touch he’d seen in his childhood… Arouetto cried out in relief. Matt opened his eyes and saw a yellow column poking down at an angle, with a rounded pink cylinder on the end that went back and forth across the struggling monsters. The first stroke eliminated the dragon’s head and the lion’s back; the second took off the top of the lion’s head and the end of the dragon’s tail. With each stroke, the pink cylinder removed more and more, not knocking them aside, but simply making them disappear. One last stroke took out the lion’s feet and the dragon’s spine, and they were gone. A last roar and steam blast seemed to echo in the distance, then faded away.

Matt closed his eyes, imagining the yellow column fading away, too. Arouetto exclaimed in wonder, and Matt opened his eyes just in time to see the last vague outline dissipate. The giant characters “No. 2” lingered a moment longer, then they evaporated, too. “Most amazing!” Arouetto breathed. “What was that mystical engine, Lord Wizard?”

“We call it an ‘eraser’ where I come from,” Matt explained. “In this case, though, it was just a mental construct.”

 

Prologue

“Are not all these illusions?” Arouetto turned to him with a frown. “But who made the chimera?”

“Somebody who’s out to get you.” Matt never minded stating the obvious-after all, he had taught undergraduates. “But who? I know all the sorcerers and wizards here, and we sorted out our differences long ago!”

Matt had a quick mental vision of that sorting out-the scholar’s Greek warriors and Roman legions tearing apart the sorcerers’ synthetic demons. He would have liked to have been on hand for that one. No, on second thought, maybe not-he had become too involved with the conflicts of this pocket universe as it was. “Well, if it’s not one of the established residents, it must be somebody new in the neighborhood.”

“But how would someone new know that I have an atrium? It is not obvious from the outside of the house.”

“A point,” Matt admitted, “and it raises a very nasty possibility.”

“What is that?”

“Well, if it isn’t somebody new, and it isn’t somebody old, then it has to be somebody from outside this frame of reference.”

“From the real world?” Arouetto stared. “But who?”

“Somebody who knows your weakness for anything Classical, and somebody who’s used to keeping an eye on things, just in case one of you prisoners wants to make trouble. Add to that: somebody who has enough magical power to see into this pocket universe, and you have-”

“Rebozo!” Arouetto cried. Matt nodded grimly. “Glad I didn’t have to say it. If you came to the same conclusion, maybe it’s not just my nasty, suspicious nature.”

“I should think not! Once you state the evidence, the conclusion is obvious! But why would he seek to obliterate me now, when he has been content to keep me in obscurity thus… Of course! I must have become a greater threat!”

Matt nodded. “That would make sense, yes.”

“But how?”

“Because there’s suddenly a chance that you’ll be able to break out of here.” Prologue

“Why…” Arouetto’s eyes glowed. “Of course! Because you are here with me!”

“Right.” Matt nodded. “Neither one of us is all that much of a threat alone, but together, we’re a time bomb!”

“A time bomb?” Arouetto frowned. “What is that?”

“I’ll tell you when we have more time,” Matt said. “Right now, I think we’d just better turn our attention to going back to the real world.” Arouetto turned to look at his villa sadly. “It will be regrettable, leaving this charming place.”

“I don’t mean to push you,” Matt said. “If you want to stay-”

“No, no!” Arouetto turned back to him in alarm. “The com-pany of real living people is far more important than this comfort. Of course, it would be pleasant to have both-but we never can, you know, Lord Wizard. One thing can only be gained at theprice of another.”

“Yes, I know,” Matt said softly, “but you’re wise enough to learn the price before you’ve bought it. I know a lot of people who get what they want, then discover what they’ve lost in the process-when it’s too late to get it back.”

“It seems to be a Law of Compensation.” Arouetto gave him a conspiratorial smile. “And I am ready to yield this treasure, to gain my freedom.”

“Maybe you’ll win King Boncorro’s favor,” Matt said. “Maybe he’ll build you a villa just like this, and you can commission sculptors to make these statues for real.”

“That would be wonderful, of course,” Arouetto sighed, “but no other sculptor could craft these statues, exactly as I have imagined them-for no other sculptor has my mind, and we cannot truly share and mingle our thoughts while we are alive, Lord Wizard. We must make do with the clumsy medium of words, written or spoken, and accept their imperfections.”

“Again, compensation.” Matt nodded. “Maybe we can figure out a way for you to come back and visit now and then.”

“That would be pleasant.” But Arouetto didn’t seem to care that ardently. “Still, as I have said, one must make a choice in life, my friend-and I will choose living people over lifeless marble in an instant.”

“Well, it might take a little longer than that,” Matt cautioned. “My spells don’t seem to have Prologue

been working all that well in Latruria-in fact, I’ve been trying to hold down on the magic, and the reason I haven’t been willing to admit it to myself is that it might not work as well as I’m used to.”

“Certainly not,” Arouetto said. “You are a wizard devoted to Right and Good; your magic is based on Faith.”

Matt stared taken aback by the scholar’s instant understanding. Then he shook himself and protested, “But my spells worked before I believed in the power of religion in this universe!”

“You may have believed more than you know,” Arouetto explained. “Besides, even if you did not knowingly believe very strongly in God, you did believe in Right and Goodness, and their power to ultimately triumph.”

“Well, sure, ultimately…”

“Then, as I’ve said, your magic was based on Faith,” Arouetto said with satisfaction. “But Latruria is a land steeped in cynicism, even in doubt, at least so far as the powers of Righteousness and Goodness are concerned. Therefore your magic was weakened.” Matt sighed. “That makes all too much sense. I wish my friend Saul were here-he’s a natural skeptic, so the jaundiced views of the Latrurian people would only strengthen his magic.”

“Is he a wizard, too?”

Matt felt a sudden gust of breeze, but answered, “Yes, though he even questions that.”

“Who questions what?” said a brittle voice. They spun, staring. Then a grin stretched wide across Matt’s face, and he advanced with open arms. “Saul! What a sense of timing!” After the glad greetings and the introductions, Matt had to try to explain to Arouetto why Saul wore a barbarian horseman’s loose trousers and short tunic, why it was tucked into his pants instead of hanging over, and why he wore rider’s boots when he didn’t ride much.

“Inquisitive, isn’t he?” Saul asked. Matt shrugged. “He’s a scholar.” Then he tried to explain their predicament to his friend-and to Arouetto why Saul wore nothing but blue: light blue shirt and dark blue trousers. Matt did notice that the shirt bore a closer resemblance to homespun than to chambray, that the trousers were obviously monk’s cloth instead of denim, and that their blue wasn’t the real softness of indigo faded, but some local substitute. Still, he had to admit that Angelique had done a very creditable job of imitating blue jeans and chambray in a medieval setting. He was tempted to wonder why she had bothered-but then, he knew Saul. Then they settled down to some serious plotting. “Ortho the Frank knew you were in danger,” Saul explained. “Ortho? Why was he tuned in?” Prologue

“Mostly because Alisande has marched into Latruria with Ortho and a small army, to come and get you.”

“A small army!” Matt cried, appalled. “Hey, no! I don’t want to cause a war!”

“No, just to fight in ones that other people start,” Saul said with sarcasm. “So she was already in Latruria and making pretty good speed toward Venarra, when Chancellor Rebozo, whoever he is, sent word to Alisande that you were no longer in Latruria.”

“I’ll just bet he did!” Matt fumed. “He hoped she’d get the idea that if I wasn’t there, mere was no point in marching farther south. She didn’t just pack up and go home, did she?”

“Without you to bring back? No way! She sent word that she might as well pay a courtesy visit, as long as she had gone that far. Then she talked Sir Guy into calling for me.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Ortho guessed that you must be in some sort of alternate magical pocket universe, and I thought of the physicists’ idea that the higher dimensions are hidden inside the other three. So I went into a trance and fished around with my mind, trying to get outside the three-dimensional frame of reference-but I wasn’t having any luck, until I heard your voice saying,

‘I wish Saul were here.’ I zeroed in on that.”

“I’d like to say it wasn’t necessary,” Matt said, “but I’m afraid it was. Hate to have you pulling my chestnuts out of the fire again, Saul.”

“Don’t mention it-life always gets more interesting when you’re around.” Saul looked up at Arouetto, and Matt could almost see the chip settling onto his shoulder. “So you’re a scholar, huh?”

“I am,” Arouetto said, “though your friend seems to think the word ‘student’ is more apt to what I am. For myself, I see no difference between the two.”

“Older usage, yeah,” Saul admitted. “Any particular reason why you don’t call yourself a philosopher?”

“An excellent one-that I do not know enough, and am too poor in judgment.” Arouetto’s smile warmed. “It is Knowledge I love, Wizard Saul, not wisdom.”

“Well, at least you know it-in contrast to a few philosophers I could name. And you’re not a professor?”

 

Prologue

Arouetto looked surprised. “What would I profess?”

“Whatever your major area of study is,” Saul snapped. “Greece and Reme? There is too much of them to know, for one man to have the audacity to profess his opinions about them!”

“Your humility does you credit,” Saul grumbled, “but it’s very frustrating when I’m trying to work up a good argument. Okay, Scholar Arouetto-if we want to get back to the real world, where do you think we should aim for? Merovence, so we’re outside King Boncorro’s jurisdiction?”

“Oh, no! We can do no good for Latruria unless we are in it!”

“Up to our necks,” Saul griped, and Matt agreed. “If we do go back to Latruria, Rebozo will know it in a matter of minutes, and will hit us with everything he’s got.” Saul’s smile twisted. “I just love paradoxes. So what we need is someplace inside Latruria, that’s outside Rebozo’s powers. Neat, huh?”

“Very.” Arouetto’s eyes glowed again. “But as with any paradox, Wizard Saul, one can resolve it by stepping outside its terms-and there is one hill in Latruria that has held proof against even King Maledicto’s miasma of evil, and has certainly held fast without King Boncorro’s secular skepticism.”

“Oh?” Saul looked up with foreboding. “What hill is that?”

“The Vatican.”

“How did I know that was coming?” Saul sighed and looked up at Matt. “Think St. Peter’s might be there, in this universe?”

“The largest cathedral in Europe?” asked Arouetto. “Be sure, it is!”

“Well, what the hey! I always have wanted to see the sights.” Saul came to his feet. “Of course, I expect the Sistine Chapel hasn’t been built yet, let alone decorated, but it’s worth seeing anyway.” He looked at Matt. “Who do we know in the Vatican?”

“Well,” Arouetto said slowly, “there is Brother Thomas…” Brother Thomas, it turned out, wasan acquaintance of Arouetto’s from their school days-and Matt got another shock when he found out that Arouetto was a deacon. He had attended the Prologue

seminary because it was the only place devoted to any kind of learning, and the only one that had a good, though limited, library-excellent, so long as all you wanted to study was theology. When Arouetto realized how badly he wanted to study other subjects, he knew his calling was not for the priesthood. Apparently, Brother Thomas had come to the same conclusion, though for different reasons-Arouetto said he simply felt that he was not good enough for the job. In vain did his teachers explain to him that he did not have to be a saint, only a good man trying to be better and trying to serve his fellows. Brother Thomas remained adamant. His vocation was for the clergy, he agreed, but not for the priesthood-yet. Perhaps it would be, in God’s own time. Until then, he would serve in whatever capacity his bishop wanted. What his bishop wanted of him, it transpired, was to stay at the seminary as librarian, which was ideal from Brother Thomas’ point of view, since it gave him the company of the books he dearly loved, and time to write the treatises about the problems that had been worrying him. He showed them to his teachers, and they exclaimed with delight-he had managed to come up with answers to the spiritual problems that had been perplexing them all, ever since merchants started bringing back alien ideas along with the spices of the Orient.

He might not have been a priest, but he was a theologian-so the bishop transferred him to the cathedral library, where he remained happily filing andscribbling until the pope coopted him to run the Vatican library. Besides, that way the cardinals could keep a personal eye on the development of Brother Thomas’ ideas; they weren’t certain they liked the sound of some of his newer lines of thought. Saul grinned. “Sounds like my kind of hombre.” Arouetto frowned. “ ‘Hombre’?”

“That’s Iberian,” Matt said quickly. “It means ‘man.’ ” He turned to Saul. “So what do we do with this librarian, now that we’ve found him?”

“Think about him,” Saul said simply. “Scholar Arouetto, can you show us what Brother Thomas looks like?”

The scholar closed his eyes, brow creasing in concentration, and a picture frame appeared next to him, with a canvas that gradually became clear, showing them a round face topped by a tonsure, a snub nose, small but kindly eyes, and a little mouth pursed in a smile. It was a gentle face, a tranquil face-just the kind of man who might start anintellectual earthquake.

Why did Matt have the feeling Brother Thomas was never coming out of the Vatican again?

“Theologian, huh?‘ Saul stared at the picture, brow knit. ”He have anything to say about magic?“

Arouetto smiled. “It is one of the notions that has aroused consternation among the cardinals.

Brother Thomas maintains that what we term ‘magic’ is really just the deft handling of unseen forces that surround us, but do not come from either Heaven or Hell-they simply arise from all living things. It is the life force, if you will. But the way of manipulating and concentrating that to affect objects and people, that is learned from God and His Saints, or the Devil and his Prologue

minions. It is not the force that comes from God, but the knowledge.” Matt nodded. “Which explains why magic works in your universe but doesn’t in ours-our life-forms don’t give off that kind of energy.”

“How is this?” Arouetto lifted his head like a hound striking a scent. “You come from another universe?”

“Yes, and we’ll explain later,” Saul said quickly. “Right now, we need to get out of this universe.”

“But if that’s magic, what’s a miracle?” Matt cocked his head to the side. “Those happen in our universe, too.”

“Ah!” Arouetto raised a forefinger. “Miracles are the work of God directly, or through His Saints-so says Brother Thomas. They are not a manipulation of natural forces, but an exercise of God’s power itself.”

“Meaning the One Who made the laws can break them when He wants to,” Saul said with a sardonic smile. “Dealer wins all draws.”

“Well, at least we’re not trying for a new deal.” Matt sighed. “We’re just playing our cards better.”

“I’ll take three,” Saul said. “Let’s try to reach out to Brother Thomas, shall we? Use him as our anchor to pull ourselves out.”

Arouetto frowned. “But how can you reach out to his universe from this one?”

“Who says we can’t?” Saul countered. “Have you ever tried?”

“Why-no!” Arouetto said, startled. “I am no wizard, but only a poor scholar! Still, there are many sorcerers and wizards here-surely they have attempted it!” Saul shrugged. “Maybe none of them had a confederate on the outside. From what I hear of sorcerers, none of them would help anybody else if he didn’t have to, and definitely wouldn’t want to increase the competition by bringing somebody back out of solitary. Wizards might not be outright people haters, but from what I’ve seen of them, they tend to be loners-lots of acquaintances, but not very many close friends.”

“A few really good ones are all you need!” Matt protested. Saul shot him one of his rare warm Prologue

glances. “Hey, I know that, man-but most of the people I meet don’t. They like to travel in packs: the bigger the better.” He turned back to Arouetto. “So there’s no proof any wizard or sorcerer has tried to get out, with a pull from the outside-and they certainly haven’t ganged up trying. Here, you’ve got two experienced wizards, ready to work together, and a scholar who probably has more understanding of magic than he’s willing to admit.”

“Well… I have read the theories of Pythagoras,” Arouetto admitted. ‘Then you’ve got a book that didn’t survive in our universe.“ Now it was Saul who tensed. ”After this is all wrapped up, I want to see that text!“

“Why, surely, if my belongings have not all been vandalized. But how are we to proceed now?”

“Well, we know it’s possible to reach in here from outside,” Saul said, “because we know Rebozo did it, sending that chimera after you. In fact, he probably watches what goes on in here pretty closely, brewing up even bigger trouble, so we’d better get moving fast. If he can reach in, we can probably reach out. What would make Brother Thomas concentrate on you?” Arouetto smiled. “Why, a picture of me with the inscription, ‘Think of me!’ ”

“Of course,” Saul said. “Pardon me while I feel dumb. Any time I’m getting too cocky, Matt, just tell me to come have a chat with this guy.”

“Why, how is this?” Arouetto looked back and forth from one to the other with concern. “I do not mean offense!”

“Of course not,” Saul said. “You just see the obvious that goes right past the two of us, ‘cause we’re busy looking for something complicated. Okay, Scholar Arouetto-think up a self-portrait with the inscription, and we two will get busy concentrating on a mental picture of Brother Thomas’ face.”

“Will that accomplish anything?” Arouetto asked doubtfully. “Who knows? It’s sure worth a try!”

“It is that.” Arouetto shrugged. “Very well, then, here is my portrait.” His brow furrowed with concentration, and a miniature appeared in a filigreed frame. It was a bit uglier than the real thing, but none the less recognizable. Underneath it was a small metal scroll engraved with the words, Think of me. “Got it” Saul closed his eyes and grabbed Matt’s hand. Matt squeezed back, closing his eyes and picturing Brother Thomas’ face, then expanding the view to show him wearing a monk’s robe and holding out a hand with the miniature in it. “Right hand.”

 

Prologue

“Right,” Saul acknowledged. Matt groped with his left hand, felt Arouetto catch it. “I have your hand, Lord Wizard!” the scholar said. “Hold tight,” Matt said between his teeth. “If anything happens, it’ll happen fast.”

Suddenly, he felt it, the way you feel someone’s gaze on the back of your neck, only stronger, much stronger. It felt as if he had stepped out of the shade into a ray of noontime sun in summertime Nevada. From a distance he heard Saul say, “Got him! Now, Matt-‘I’m Going Away,’ past tense!”

Matt sang with him, not quite on the same pitch: “I’ve gone away For to stay A little while, But I’m coming back, Though I go ten thousand mile!” The fabric of the universe seemed to wrench and tear about them. Reality rocked, and Matt clamped tight with both hands as his inner ear went crazy, registering a tilting and seesawing from side to side and back and forth. Dimly, he heard Arouetto cry out with alarm, and Saul cry out with elation. Himself, he just bit his lip and hoped for the best. Then the world seemed to stabilize, a little at a time, until Matt finally realized that the rocking was going on in his stomach, not in the world around him. With trepidation, he opened his eyes… And found himself in a small but spacious room with sunlight pouring in through open windows, the smell of flowers in the air, plain cream-colored plaster walls with the dark supporting beams showing, and a monk on a high stool, sitting at a higher desk, looking up at them in delight.

Matt recognized Brother Thomas, not quite as noble-looking as Arouetto’s picture of him-and in the monk’s right hand was the miniature of Arouetto. “Friend Arouetto!” Brother Thomas cried in a surprisingly deep voice. “What a joy to see you! It has been so long! But who are these wizardly companions of yours?”

Matt was just about to answer when the world darkened and he felt the room spinning again.

Chapter 22

All things considered, Matt was very relieved to see the same room around him when he came to. He’d had a bad moment when he thought Rebozo had magically pulled him away.

He said as much, but Brother Thomas assured him, “No evil sorcery can touch you here.

There is too much holiness about us, too many prayers filling the air.” Then he frowned. “Of course, if you wished the powers of Evil to touch you, if even some part of you that you did not wish to acknowledge longed for that touch, you would breach our defenses.”

“I don’t think even my subconscious wants that,” Matt said thickly. “It’s seen a little too much of the results.”

“Here, drink.” The monk held a goblet near Matt’s lips. “Gently, for ‘tis brandy-but a sip or two will bring the color back to your cheeks.”

 

Prologue

Matt took a guarded sip, and heat exploded on his tongue, down his esophagus, and into his stomach. He exhaled, expecting to see fire, and found himself sitting upright. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “That’ll straighten out a snake.” He swallowed and said, “Nice brew.”

“But perhaps a bit of water after it?” Brother Thomas smiled and held out another goblet.

Matt took it, and the monk turned away to press the brandy on Saul, then Arouetto-both of whom, Matt was relieved to see, were looking pretty green around the gills themselves. The brandy straightened them up, of course, and Brother Thomas was right-it did bring the color back to their cheeks, though they needed the chaser, too. “Didn’t know you folks had brandy here,” Saul said. “We have a most talented monk in charge of our stillery,” Brother Thomas explained. “New invention, then.” Saul nodded. “I’m sure it will catch on.”

“Well, you seem to be somewhat restored.” Brother Thomas beamed around at his collection of hulks beached on hardwood benches. “It is so good of you to visit a poor friar in his solitude! But tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit-especially when it is made in so unorthodox a manner?”

He was polite, but he was very curious-and very good at hearing them out, then asking questions that drew every last ounce of information from them. Finally he leaned back on his stool, resting against the desk, nodding in satisfaction that he had the whole story. “So! You have the audacity to set yourselves against the wickedness permitted by King Boncorro-or to seek to help him banish the wickedness that remains from the reign of King Maledicto, if you can first determine which is the case.”

“I vote for leftovers,” Matt said. “I’ve met Chancellor Rebozo.”

“He has an unsavory reputation, yes,” Brother Thomas agreed, “though most seem to think it is only because he toadies to the king and does whatever his Majesty commands, whether it be good or ill.”

“He prefers ill,” Matt averred, and Arouetto agreed. “Dismiss whatever reputation you have heard of his kindliness, Brother Thomas. He is a mean and cruel man, enjoying others’

misery.”

“You speak from your own experience?” Brother Thomas asked with interest. “Yes,” Matt and Arouetto said together. The monk steepled his fingers together. “And what do you propose to do about it?”

Arouetto and Saul exchanged a blank look, but Matt said slowly, “The king is trying very hard to be a materialist and believe in nothing but the things he can see and taste and touch.

The result is that he has made a very good beginning on transforming Latruria into a secular Prologue

society.”

Brother Thomas frowned. “But we have always had to contend with the secular aspects of life.

The word only means ‘worldly,’ after all.”

“Yes-but most people have looked beyond this world, to the next. King Boncorro is trying to convince himself, and his people, that this world is all there is.” Brother Thomas pursed his lips and whistled, gazing off into space. “Yes,” Matt said. ‘Taking it to a bit of an extreme, isn’t he?“

“He is most surely! There is nothing wrong with seeking to cope with the trials and burdens of this world, mind you, nor to seek worldly pleasures, so long as you hurt no one else thereby-”

“You sure you’re not a heretic?” Saul demanded. “Quite sure.” Brother Thomas grinned. “But the pope and his cardinals are not. Still, it is me you are asking, and it is I who shall answer.

Christ told us to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, after all, which I interpret as meaning that we must pay some attention to worldly matters.” .“Some.” Matt held up a palm.

“Not all.”

“Not all, by any means. The Way of the World is cruel, with the stronger feeding upon the weaker, even grinding the weaker into the dust. We speak of slavery; we speak of toadying to those of higher rank and bullying those of lower; we speak of seeking to squeeze every last ounce of pleasure out of this life, with no concern for who may be hurt in the process. No, the secular life, with no spiritual values to balance it, will surely lead to evil. And this is the course on which King Boncorro has set every soul in his kingdom!”

“So far, yes,” Matt agreed. “But if we can interest him in some sort of moral principles, maybe we can balance that downward trend and pull it up to a level.”

“And how shall you manage that? He will have nothing to do with religion!”

“No,” Matt said, “but he is interested in the old learning, in the writings of the Greeks and Remans.”

“Is he truly?” Brother Thomas said slowly, turning to look at Arouetto. The scholar held up both palms to fend him off. “Do not seek to saddle me with him, I pray! My faith is in God first, yes, but in humankind second! Would you have this secular king become a humanist?”

“Yes,” Brother Thomas said, the fire of zeal lighting his eye. “It will bring him morality of a sort; it will bring him ethical principles!”

 

Prologue

“But I am not a teacher!”

“Only because you haven’t been asked,” Matt pointed out. “King Boncorro will not ask me to teach him!”

“Want to bet?”

“I’ll bet,” Saul said. “I’ll bet that this Chancellor Rebozo won’t let Arouetto within a mile of the king!”

“He must indeed have some protection.” Brother Thomas’ keen gaze seemed to sink right into Matt’s brain. “Saul and I might be enough protection, between us,” Matt admitted, “but Saul’s a secular humanist himself, and I have more than my share of spiritual weaknesses. Wouldn’t we need some kind of shielding?”

Brother Thomas sighed. “All we can offer is prayer, but I speak ahead of myself. I cannot decide on so weighty a matter. You must speak to the Holy Father and let him judge your wisdom or folly.”

“The pope?” Matt stared. “Even so. I shall arrange an audience.”

“Well, there’s only the three of us,” Matt said, “and that’s not much of a house-but if you can give us a chance, maybe we can persuade him.”

The only problem was, he wasn’t sure what he was going to be trying to persuade the pope to do. “Let you leave the Vatican?” The pope smiled. ‘To be sure! You may leave whenever you wish! But how shall you pass through the lines of the condottieri who surround us?“

“Condottieri?” Matt turned to Brother Thomas. “You didn’t tell us about this.” The monk waved the objection away. “Surely a minor detail, for a wizard of your prowess.”

“Maybe not,” Saul said, glowering. “Who are these bandits, and how many of them are there?”

“Several thousand,” the pope sighed, “and they have celebrated the third anniversary of their surrounding of our hill.”

“Three years in place?” Saul looked up, almost indignantly. “How come they haven’t all died of dysentery and cholera?”

 

Prologue

“Oh, they live well,” Brother Thomas told him. “Their days may be filled with drill and other military exercises, but their nights are wild with revelry. The king keeps them well-supplied with wine and women and money for gambling. They have settled down to stay, Lord Wizard. We speak not of a city of tents, mind you-they have built themselves wooden barracks, even houses for the officers. Their captains have captured the palaces of noblemen!”

“Captains, plural?” Saul demanded. “This isn’t just one band, then?”

“Nay,” said Brother Thomas. “It is eight bands, allied and agreed as to who has jurisdiction over which sector. In truth, they have taken the city of Reme and become its virtual government.”

“So it’s not just a campaign against you? You’re simply the only hill that’s been able to hold out?”

“Yes,” said the pope, “though our endurance is certainly not due to our handful of valiant Swiss guardsmen. I think the mercenary captains are in awe of us-either that, or our prayers are answered more strongly than even I would expect.”

“Or,” Saul said slowly, “they have more to gain by leaving you be than by capturing you.” The pope turned to him, frowning. “How could that be?”

“Let’s just say, purely hypothetically, you understand, that the bandits did take the Vatican,” Saul said. “What would King Boncorro do then?”

The pope stood immobile as the consequences added up in his brain-but it was Brother Thomas who spoke. “He could not allow them to keep the ancient capital of the empire, could he?”

“Definitely not,” Saul said. ‘Too much prestige in it-not to mention a central location, the Tiber for a supply line, and all the surrounding farmland to feed them. They would start raiding the other cities-and there’s every chance they’d manage to take Latruria away from King Boncorro. After all, these guys aren’t simple forest bandits, are they?“

“Not at all,” Brother Thomas said, thin-lipped. “They are mercenary armies, seeking a living while they are unemployed.”

“What makes you so sure they’re unemployed?”

The other four men stared at Saul, astounded. “Yes, of course,” Matt said slowly. “King Prologue

Boncorro couldn’t just leave them at loose ends, could he? He’d have them raiding all over the peninsula, wreaking chaos-and undermining the prosperity he’s trying to build. Better to pay them to stay out of the way.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Saul said firmly. “ ‘Once you have paid the Danegeld, you never get rid of the Dane.’ ”

“Dane?” The pope looked from one to the other, puzzled. “The Vikings who raided England,” Matt explained. “One of the kings tried to pay them off-and it worked for a few months, sometimes a year. But sooner or later they came back to demand more.”

“However,” Saul said, “if you didn’t just pay them to stay away, but hired them to do a definite job, they might stay occupied and permanently out of the way.”

“You are saying that the king hired them to lock us in, but never to take us?”

“No, I’m saying he told them to conquer you, but the captains figured out fast that once they took the Vatican, the paychecks would stop-so they came up with a plausible story about not being able to march past the foot of your slope, and settled down to starve you out.”

“But we have wells and water, and they have not attempted to keep the barges from selling us food!”

“Well, can they help it if they don’t have a navy?” Saul asked. “Meantime, the king pays them well to live in luxury. They’re happy, he’s happy-and you’re penned up where you can’t interfere with his plans.”

“It is possible, it is very possible,” the pope muttered, shaking his head. “I would not have thought him to be so devious.”

Saul shrugged. “Okay, so maybe he just told his chancellor to find a way to keep the mercenaries out of the way and peaceful, and Rebozo decided it was worth sacrificing Reme, to make sure you guys couldn’t bust up his plans. Would the king really worry about it?”

“Nay.” The pope’s lips thinned. “In fact, I can see that he might applaud the notion. But how are we to be rid of them?”

“Do you want to be?” Saul challenged. “Of course!” the pope snapped. “There is no chance of doing God’s work, of preaching the Gospel and administering the sacraments, if we are kept as virtual prisoners here!”

“But you have priests out in the countryside to do that work,” Saul objected, “priests in secret, Prologue

priests in hiding, but no less effective for all that. I’ve even run into one man who claims that nothing spreads a religion so much as persecution.”

“I will allow that it tempers us and makes those of us who cling to the Faith crystalline in our belief,” the pope said, “but ‘spread’?”

“So it’s the man in the field who does the real work, as always,” Saul pointed out. “What do they need to be in touch with the bureaucrats at headquarters for?” The pope’s eyes narrowed. “I do not think I like you, Wizard Saul.”

“Join the club,” Saul said with a sardonic smile. “You’ve got plenty of company. But I notice you haven’t answered the question.”

“The valiant clergy must be in contact with us for the same reason that a body needs a head!” the pope snapped. “Without our direction, without our inspiration, their faith would falter, they would succumb to fear and to temptations of the flesh! Most serious of all, the usurper has set up a puppet pope in the north, at that little town just below the Alps. The imposter claims to be the true pope!”

“Which you are, of course,” Saul said, poker-faced. “Of course I am! The cardinals elected me, and stayed here with me, save for the handful who fled to do Boncorro’s bidding! Oh, the people cry that it is a sign of his tolerance, of his allowing the faithful to practice their Faith again-but we know better, for we have heard this puppet pope’s edicts! He teaches that each bishop can interpret the Scriptures for himself without the restriction of the papacy! He teaches that adultery is permissible, if it is done far from home! He teaches that the people need only heed the law of the king, but never the law of the Church!”

“He does kind of sound like a paid voice,” Matt said to Saul. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t quite that clear back home,” Saul growled. “And we haven’t heard his side of the story.” The pope turned a black gaze on the Wizard of Sarcasm. “Must you question everything that is said? Have you no faith of any kind?”

“Yes!” Saul snapped. “I have faith in the ideas that have withstood every test I could put them to! I question everything, and only accept the ideas that have sound answers!”

“Even then, you’re ready to revise your opinion on new evidence,” Matt pointed out. “Yeah, well, I admitted that the atrocity stories about the Phoenician religion were true, didn’t I?”

“Only when the archaeologists dug up that graveyard of incinerated bodies,” Matt retorted.

“Indeed!” The pope looked interested. “You will hearken to Truth, then!” Prologue

“Why, yes,” Saul shot back. “Do you have any to tell me?” The pope’s face darkened again, and Arouetto interrupted quickly. “The condottieri have sealed off the Vatican. That, at least, is true.” The pope nodded. “And the Church needs the Holy See, just as the Empire of Reme needed its emperor.”

“Whoa!” Matt held up a hand. “I thought it had turned into a real republic, with the Etruscans, the Latini, and the Carthaginians all equal partners.” Saul looked up with keen interest. “You know something I don’t know?”

“Yes, and I’ll fill you in later. When did they hire an emperor, your Holiness?”

“Why, when they had conquered so much territory, and so many peoples, that the senate could not wait for the tedious exchange of messages with the provinces that would decide their policies,” the pope answered, frowning. “When decisions needed to be made more quickly than debate would allow. Do you not know of this?”

“We haven’t had access to the books.”

“Lamentable!” The pope shook his head. “Know, then, that it was Julius Caesar who was first able to find common ground between the views of all three powers, and who was able to make policies that satisfied them all-or persuade them to be satisfied.”

“Here, too, huh?” Saul nodded. “He always was as much a politician as a general.”

“Or just as good a politician,” Matt qualified. “He also had an excellent sense for commerce,” the pope told them. “His trade policies ruled the empire till its closing days.”

“Well, that’s new,” Saul admitted. “Did the Praetorian Guard still get so much of the real power?”

“The… Guard?” The pope frowned. “What were they?”

“Caesar’s bodyguard,” Matt explained. “Actually, it was Augustus who really built them up, after what had happened to his uncle.”

“What did happen to his uncle?”

 

Prologue

Matt stared, then said carefully, “The way I heard it, Caesar was assassinated.”

“Assassinated? Never! He died in bed, aged but still keen of mind, and honored by all!” Matt stared, and Saul muttered, “Et tu, Brute.”

“Brutus?” The pope looked up. “Aye, he led the Latini in acclaiming Augustus the legitimate heir-who proved just as adroit a diplomat as his uncle. What need would he have had for a bodyguard? The people loved him, the patricians loved him! Oh, there are tales of madmen striking at him in the streets-but the mob bore them down ere they could come near him! The whole city was his bodyguard!”

Saul turned to Matt. “You mind explaining?”

“Change the foundation, you get a different shape of house,” Matt explained. “Details at eleven.” He turned back to the pope. “So the senate really did choose the emperor, right down to the last days of the empire?”

“They did indeed, and there were always many Caesars to choose from.”

“Real Caesars?” Saul demanded. “Not just adopted Claudians? He didn’t divorce his first wife and marry Livia?”

“Never! He maintained staunchly that divorce was the bane of the patricians, and did all he could to discourage it!”

“So his children were really his children,” Matt said slowly, “and the empire was ruled by a line of diplomats, not a series of sadistic madmen. How about Caligula?” The pope gave him a blank look, but Arouetto said, “He was a scion of the Claudians-mad, as the Lord Wizard says. When his incest with his sister was discovered, he was sent to the frontier, then executed for commanding a century of legionnaires to charge a thousand Germans. They were slain to a man, though they took five hundred Germans with them.”

“So.” Matt steepled his fingers. “The Claudians never took power, and the Etruscans and Carthaginians kept an informal system of checks and balances operating, so the emperor never really was a total despot. Power didn’t corrupt the office?”

“Well, somewhat,” Arouetto admitted, “but never more than it corrupts any bailiff or reeve.”

“No absolute power, so no absolute corruption.” Matt nodded. “Come to that, how many Prologue

countries did the empire actually have to conquer, and how many joined to get better trade advantages?”

“Shrewdly guessed, for one who claims not to have read the books,” the pope said with a frown, but Arouetto smiled. “I doubt not it was a shrewd guess indeed-and I have but to confirm the answer. Yes, Julius Caesar was as clever in commerce as in battle, as I’ve said, and invented a score of advantages for other nations to federate with Reme. The army conquered only those nations intent on stealing Reme’s trade-pirates’ nests and bandits’ roosts-and those intent on overthrowing Reme herself, or raiding her provinces; it was for that reason we conquered the Germanies.”

“Conquered the Germanies?” Matt stared. “On the other side of the Rhine?”

“Even so.”

“Just when did the empire fall?” Saul demanded. “The federated nations had almost all broken away by the year of Our Lord 653,” Arouetto said, “but it was not until 704, when the last of the Caesars had died, that the Visigoths attacked Reme herself. The Ostrogoths marched up behind them and made short work of them, so Reme was not sacked-but an Ostrogoth declared himself to be emperor. No federated nation would obey a man who was not a Caesar, not even a Latrurian, so we may say that is the date at which the empire fell.” Matt frowned. “But Hardishane established his empire only a hundred years later!” Arouetto nodded. “He rose up among the ruins of the empire, as it were, and forged an empire anew.”

“That certainly minimized the Dark Ages.” Saul was looking dazzled. “How did the Caesars keep the proletariat from tearing Reme apart?”

“Why, by conscripting them into the army and navy,” Arouetto replied. “Didn’t the patricians object?” Matt asked. “What did they do for clients?”

“Oh, there were always a few old soldiers who wished to return to Reme to raise their families, rather than settling down in the provinces they had defended.”

“But the sons of the senators?” Matt asked. “How did Caesar prevent them from hanging around Reme and getting into trouble?”

Saul gave a bark of laughter. “Who do you think were the officers?” Arouetto nodded. “Even so-and the sons of the plebians became centurions, if they did not Prologue

wish to go on trading voyages.”

“Yeah.” Saul smiled sourly. “The merchants did as much to spread the empire as the soldiers, didn’t they?”

“Oh, more! For first the merchants would begin trading with a country and let them see the benefits of Reman civilization-”

“Which means they got them hooked on Reman goods and gave them a glimpse of central heating and public baths,” Matt interpreted. Saul nodded. “And filled the teenagers’ heads with dazzling visions of the wonders of Reme, Carthage, and the cities of the Levant. Sure they’d want to join the empire-especially since the emperor always sent in a legion to protect his merchants. Right?”

Arouetto frowned. “Are you sure you have not read the books?”

“Your Holiness!” A monk broke in, the white showing all around his eyes. “The condottieri attack!”

“To the chapel, quickly!” the pope cried, then turned to his guests. “Come with us, for every prayer is needed, to beseech the Saints’ protection!” Matt had a vision of an invisible wall of prayer surrounding the Vatican. He could see Saul working himself up to a scathing reply and was just about to try to stop him when the monk burst out, “There are sorcerers with them, your Holiness! They have already thrown fireballs at the Holy City! The Saints protected us, and the fireballs fell back among the condottieri-but Heaven knows what they will try next!”

“Heaven does know, and will forestall them, Brother Athenius,” the pope reassured him, then to his guests, “Follow us!”

They hurried after him, Matt catching up and saying, “With all respect, your Holiness, it might be a bit more practical for Wizard Saul and myself to stay here and fight magic with magic.”

The pope screeched to a halt and stared. “But there will be danger!”

“We’re used to it,” Saul snapped, and Matt shrugged. “There will be danger even in the cathedral, your Holiness. We have taken such risks before.”

“Then I shall accept your kind offer, and gratefully! But at least climb to the top of St. Peter’s Prologue

steeple! You can see all of the enemy from there, and the power of prayer may assist you!”

“The power of prayer!” Saul grumbled as they climbed the steeple. “What good is that going to be?”

“More man you know, here,” Matt said. They came out into a small cupola above the belfry and looked out over the city of Reme. For a few moments both men stood speechless. Then Saul said, “Looks just like Rome to me, man. I can see the Colosseum, and the Forum, or what’s left of it.”

“No Trevi Fountain yet,” Matt noted, “but it looks like the Aqueduct is still working.”

“Give the bandits time, they’ll get to it.” Saul shivered. “Never thought I’d see the Eternal City in the Middle Ages!”

“Never thought I’d be standing on top of St. Peter’s.” Matt looked down a bit and saw a troop of horsemen riding up the slope toward the cathedral. “No wall, not even afence! This place is wide open! What’s been keeping them out?”

“If you dare say ‘the power of prayer…’ ”

Matt shrugged. “Why should I say it? Just try a verse that stops them, and see what happens.” Saul grinned. “Why not? ”Whoopi-ti-yi-yo! Get along, little horsies! It’s your misfortune, and none of my own! Whoopi-ti-yi-yo, get along, little horsies! You know that you all long to be safe back home!“

He broke off, staring. “What the hey is that?”

Matt had felt it, too-a sudden surge of energy that left him almost giddy with a feeling of power, as if he could pick up the world and use it for a racquetball. “What do you think it is?” As one, the horses turned and started back down the hill. The horsemen swore and yanked at the reins, and horses tossed their heads and whinnied protest, but they kept on going-and not just the ones on the road, either. As far and wide as they could see, a countercurrent struck the ranks of the condottieri cavalry. The horses had all turned and started back. Saul ran over to the other side of the cupola and stared down. “They’re doing it over here, too!”

“Never knew ‘Whoopi-ti-yi-yo’ qualified as magic words,” Matt said conversationally. Saul turned to glare at him. “I hate it when you’re right.” Prologue

“Only this time. Look! The sorcerers are fighting back!”

“If you can call this fighting,” Saul grumbled, but he came to look. There was a blue glow in the middle of the condottieri army, and greenish smoke trailed up. The horses suddenly answered to the bit, turning and heading back uphill again. “So. They know they’ve got some resistance.” Saul nodded. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not even needed here?”

“Maybe because those fireballs curved back on the army that threw them,” Matt said. “On the other hand, those riders are halfway to the cathedral, and no one’s stopping them. Do you suppose the Saints are waiting for us to do the job?”

“You mean we shouldn’t have volunteered?”

“No, I mean that Heaven helps those who help themselves.” Saul grunted. “Those condottieri are helping themselves. They’re all set to help themselves to everything that’s not nailed down.”

“So we have to help the clergy in a way they haven’t been able to do,” Matt summarized,

“although it does seem kind of strange that they don’t have even one clerical wizard on hand.”

“In corporate headquarters?” Saul challenged. “All they’d have here are bureaucrats!”

“You might have a point. Okay, what do we do to push the bandits back out of here?”

“Well” Saul said slowly, “they’re presumably all working for Evil, and I’ve heard a lot about the Aroma of Sanctity With a soft burping sound, something exploded in the center of the cupola.

Chapter 23

Greasy smoke poured outward and upward, enveloping the whole top of the steeple. “Gas attack!” Saul managed before he broke off into a bout of coughing that racked his lungs. He stumbled to the side and leaned over the railing, trying to get away from the smoke-but it followed him. Matt stumbled toward the opposite railing, and the smoke tried to follow him, but there was just enough of a breeze to blow it back. A few tendrils did reach him, and the stench was only the precursor-he could feel his innards heaving. He suddenly realized that a person could actually die just from a bad smell-if it was vile enough… He stuck his head over the rail as far as he could and chanted, “So blow, ye winds, heigh-ho! A-roving let it go! We’ll smell no more of this septic sore, So blow it all away! ”To the olfactory membrane Of the one who sent this pain, Stink bomb, return to your sender! Burn His nose, and not our nez!“ Prologue

He wasn’t sure if throwing a French word in there would work, but nez did rhyme with

“away,” at least in its native pronunciation. But work it did; the smoke boiled backward as if it were a genie returning to its lamp, then disappeared with a soft crunching sound. There was only a charred spot in the center of the cupola floor, to show where it had been… And Saul, hanging over the railing, groaning in reverse as he tried to hold his stomach down. Matt called, “Let upheavals pass! One Bromo in your gas- -trointestinal tract Will settle your stomach back!”

Saul straightened up, looking surprised, then turned to Matt with a sigh of relief. “Never thought I’d be glad to hear that jingle.”

“Singing commercials have to rank as one of the curses of civilization,” Matt agreed, “but they work-presumably increasing sales in our home universe, and settling stomachs in this one.”

“Funny, they had just the opposite effect back home,” Saul said. He turned to look out over the condottieri army with a very vengeful look. “Chemical warfare. Full-scale.”

“I can’t say no,” Matt sighed, “since they did it to us. After all, ours won’t be lethal.”

“I’ve smelled enough incense during my time to testify to that,” Saul agreed, “though I will say St. Basil’s nearly smoked me out of my apartment, the one time I tried it.”

“Never trust anything that needs charcoal to keep it going,” Matt agreed, “but we’re out in the open, so the smoke shouldn’t matter-and under the circumstances, I think St. Basil’s is what the doctor ordered.”

Saul snorted. “What doctor?”

“The Doctor of Divinity.”

“Wish we could feed them back their own medicine,” Saul growled. “Sweets to the sweet, after all.”

Matt was watching a small upheaval in the center of the army, right below the main avenue.

“We just did, and it didn’t do much. These boys are used to bad smells, and know how to damp them out.”

“Where’d you get that from?”

“They’re Satanists-they must be used to the smell of brimstone by now. Okay, St. Basil’s incense, it is.”

 

Prologue

“What else, in the Vatican?” Saul said. “O bandits bending under Evil’s yoke, Feel the steady heat of flame, and taste Good strong thick stupefying incense smoke! Then flee, or die by slow degrees, In vapors wrapped, as if they clasped a crook!” Smoke billowed up everywhere-from the roads right in front of the riders, all long the bottom of the hill, drifting out over the army. Matt could hear the hacking and coughing all the way up to the top of the dome-but the shrieks of agony and cries of disgust took him by surprise.

“We’re hurting them!” He raised his hands to start a counterspell, but felt Saul’s hand on his shoulder. “What do you think they were planning to do to us? Don’t worry, they’ll get away from it very fast.”

Sure enough, the whole army was on the move-away from the smoke. Half a dozen horses carrying robed figures burst out of the far side, riding hard. “There go your sorcerers,” Saul said. “Nothing fatal, worse luck.”

“The rest of the army isn’t hanging around, either,” Matt said. “Somehow, though, I wouldn’t call this a rout.”

“No, not when they’re just going home for the night, and home’s only a few blocks away. I can almost hear some of those footmen saying, ‘All in a day’s work.’ ”

“Yeah, and talking about how the officers messed it up again,” Matt agreed. “Don’t enlisted men always? Look at ‘em go!” They watched as the army boiled, moving steadily outward, away from the Vatican. Already, the leading edge was breaking up into units and going into long, low houses that had a very temporary look. Several of them were inside the Colosseum, which explained why the bandits were making it look like a crowd charging into a football stadium with only ten minutes left till game time. There was a huffing and a wheezing, and Arouetto hauled himself into view. “Arouetto!” Matt stepped over to catch his elbow, giving support. “What are you doing here? You’re in no shape for that climb!”

“I had need to tell you,” the scholar panted, “what you no doubt already know-the condottieri are in retreat! The pope sends his thanks!”

“He’s welcome,” Saul said, “but I think maybe we’d better stay up here for a while and make sure they don’t try to rally again today.”

“Why should they?” Matt shrugged. “They’ve put in their time, and they’ve got some partying coming up. We should come back tomorrow before sunrise, though.”

“Still, Wizard Saul speaks with prudence.” Arouetto found himself a seat on a pile of stone blocks. “We should wait.”

 

Prologue

“Then while we’re here,” Saul said, finding another block to sit on, “I’d just like to double-check that history of Reme the pope gave us. You’ll pardon me, scholar, but I’m just automatically suspicious of history as told by a clergyman. Was the pope’s thumbnail history of the empire true?”

“So far as it went, yes,” Arouetto said slowly, “though he did not mention Caesar Decembris, who converted to Christianity and led most of the empire with him, by his example-”

“Only ‘most’?‘

“Aye, he did not insist on converting those who did not wish it. That is why there were so many pagans left for Hardishane to convert. And, of course, there is a great deal that he did not tell you, about what happened after the empire fell.”

“Sounds more like a slow slide than a fall,” Saul said sourly, “but I’ll take what I can get. Let’s start with Hardishane. What was going on in the rest of the world while he was rebuilding the Western empire? Ever hear of a prophet named Mohammed?”

“Of course,” Arouetto said, seeming surprised that they would think he had not. “He arose in Arabia during the last days of the empire, and preached a message from a holy book he wrote himself. It spread among the desert tribes, then became a fire that swept through Asia and North Africa, uniting their peoples in a new belief.”

“Only the Near East and North Africa?” Matt asked. “They never got into Spain-I mean, Ibile?”

“Oh, they tried.” Arouetto smiled. “But Reme would not allow it, and later the Gothic folk who had learned Latrurian civilization and military ways united behind a hero they called

‘the Lord.’ ”

“El Cid,” Saul murmured. “Are those their words for it? They united behind him and drove the Moorish folk back whenever they sought to invade.”

“That explains why the Moorish influence is so much less than it is in our universe,” Matt said to Saul, but the Witch Doctor was already asking, “Did the Moslems set up their own empire?”

“Aye. United in their new religion, they were the first of the southern provinces to break away from the Latrurian empire. Within years, they had founded one of their own.”

“But it was the missionaries who managed the conquest, not the generals?” Prologue

“At first, yes. But once Reme fell, the Moslems proclaimed a holy war and conquered what they could-though Heaven knows they had enough already! They battered at the gates of Byzantium itself, but were beaten back. Then, under the conqueror’s sons, they settled down to the wise and enlightened rule of their own Arabian empire.”

“Which hit its peak about the same time Hardishane welded Europe together into a new empire?”

“Aye.” Arouetto frowned. “You really must tell me how you can come from another world that is so like this one, and yet so different!”

“When there’s time, when there’s time,” Matt soothed. “Sounds as if you don’t exactly disapprove of the Moslems.”

“How can I?” Arouetto sighed. “How can I, when they esteem learning and the arts, and it is they who have preserved so many of the Greek and Latin books I so prize?”

“That doesn’t exactly endear you to the Church, does it?”

“I do my best to be discreet,” Arouetto admitted. “After all,” Saul said sourly, “the Latrurian empire may have tolerated all religions, but after Reme fell, the Church didn’t have to be so tolerant, did it?”

“Under Hardishane, the Christian missionaries accomplished great deeds,” Arouetto said evasively. Matt shuddered at the thought of conversion by the sword and hoped Hardishane’s monks hadn’t been quite so brutal-but he didn’t ask. Saul did. “But it was just a matter of good example? It wasn’t forced?”

“Rarely.” But Arouetto wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I will own, though, that some of the conversions may have had more to do with gaining status and wealth than with true faith.”

“Of course-if you want to climb to the top, you have to be the same religion as the guys who’re already up there,” Saul said with a wry smile. “Still, it’s not exactly coercion. But once nearly everybody was Christian, that seed of corruption took root and flowered, didn’t it?”

“A rather noxious flower,” Arouetto admitted. “In truth, it did-and yielded a harvest of intolerance. Then the Emperor of Byzantium-so he styled himself, though his empire had shrunk to the size of a kingdom-began to fear a new breed of Moslems who had come out of the East, the Turks, and called on Hardishane’s heirs to join them in recapturing the Holy Land from the Infidels…”

“The Crusades.” Saul’s gaze was riveted to Arouetto. “So they are called. We must admit, in Prologue

all charity, that they did keep the Turks from overrunning Europe; they still have not taken Byzantium.”

“Oh,” Matt said. “You don’t think too highly of the Crusaders?” Arouetto sighed. “Some acted out of true religious fervor, but most went on Crusade for reasons of their own-greed for booty, or the lust for power, carving out a kingdom of their own in the East. Hardishane’s grandsons fell to squabbling over the spoils, and Christian kingdom was pitted against Christian kingdom. Evil was thus given a door through which to enter, and did-and one by one the Christian kingdoms were subverted or seduced to the rule of the sorcerer-kings under the dominion of Evil.”

“Such as Boncorro’s grandfather.” Matt turned to look out over the condottieri. “Or did he usurp from a usurper who-hey!”

“Horses?‘

Saul came to his feet, following Matt’s gaze. “I thought this army was supposed to stay off duty till morning!”

“Do the condottieri march again?” Arouetto was on his feet, face pale. “They do,” Matt said.

“Apparently they’re really getting serious about this-and we’re the reason why.” He turned to Saul.“Maybe we should just get out of here, quick as we can.” Saul shook his head. “That won’t stop them now. Up till now, they’ve only been putting up a token effort to justify their pay and keep the pope hemmed in-but now that they’re making a real push, why not go on and finish the job, whether we’re there or not?”

“If we take off running, maybe they’ll follow us.”

“The whole army?” Saul shook his head. “Not unless we can get to another fortress before their pursuit band catches us.”

Arouetto gasped. “How can we defend ourselves?”

“By bringing in the guys who got me into this in the first place.” Saul fished a bauble out of his shirt and pressed a nubbin on its side. “Witch Doctor to Black Knight! Come in, Sir Guy!

Come in, and come on! I got your wizard out of stir for you- now come get us out of the crunch!”

The whole army drew to a halt as Sir Guy pulled the amulet out of his armor. “Black Knight to Witch Doctor. I hear you, Wizard Saul. In what manner of difficulty do you find yourself?” Prologue

“We’re surrounded by an army,” Saul said, “and it’s not enough to break through and escape-we have to get rid of them! Any ideas, Sir Guy?”

“Many, but they require my being with you. What did you have in mind?”

“An aerial assault,” Matt’s voice said, and Alisande’s heart leaped. He was alive and well, then, and in this world-he must be, to speak through that magical device! And there was nothing in his voice to suggest any hurt or weakness. “Where is he?” she asked. “Where are you?” Sir Guy asked. “In the Vatican,” Saul answered. “Surely they must be well-protected there!” Alisande cried with relief. “Surely the Holy Father’s power must protect you,” Sir Guy said. “Other way around, actually. They were content to keep him penned in, until we showed up-but now they’re out to break through. We think they have orders to come and get us.”

“Majesty,” said Sir Guy, “I am loath to leave you, but I believe it is vital to their welfare that Stegoman and I fly to their aid.”

Alisande felt a chill at the thought of being without the support of the Black Knight and the dragon, but she felt a greater chill at the thought of losing her husband. “Go, then,” she said.

“Great One, will you come?” Sir Guy asked. “Aye,” the dragon rumbled. “I could wish Matthew had not been so great a fool as to go wandering without me in the first place!”

“Wisdom and forethought are not always numbered among his virtues.” Sir Guy turned back to the amulet. “We will fly to Reme and stoop upon the enemy, Wizard Saul. We shall hail you through this amulet when we are in sight of the city.”

“Thanks, guys! Talk again when you’re near! Over and out!”

“Tell Alisande I love her,” Matt’s voice called; in fact, he didn’t quite finish the last word before the spell ceased. “Your Majesty, I regret that we must leave you.” Sir Guy bowed in the saddle before dismounting his charger. “Needs must, Sir Guy. Needs must.” And Alisande knew she needs must hold back the tears that suddenly welled up, tears of joy to hear Matthew’s dear voice saying he loved her. How silly she was! She had never been so subject to womanly weaknesses before. Well, rarely… But he was alive! And she was going to find him! “If you are in Venarra when we come there, Sir Guy, we shall stop. If you are not, we shall ride on to Reme.”

“Would you and all your army could go there as quickly as we!” Sir Guy sighed. “Since you cannot, though, Stegoman and I shall have to suffice. I pray you care well for my steed.”

“Be assured that we shall,” Alisande told him. “Go release the wizards!” Prologue

“Black Knight to Witch Doctor.” Sir Guy’s voice sounded awkward and stilted as it came through the amulet. “At last!” The sweat stood on Matt’s brow. The power coming to him through the clergy who were praying in the cathedral thrummed through him as if he were a high-voltage cable, but it drained from him as quickly as it came, as he recited the same verses over and over again, manufacturing more robots to replace the ones smashed by the condottieri’s maces and catapults, and short-circuited by their iron crossbow bolts. It had given them a nasty surprise when they had seen a squadron of metal men come clanking out to block their way, and the retreat had been a real delight to watch. It had taken them a whole half hour to regroup and work themselves up to march again-but once begun, they found that the robots were vulnerable after all, though not very. A score of dead foot soldiers and six dead horsemen testified to the effectiveness of the automatons; it had taken that many deaths before the bandits had learned to stay back and lob in missiles. Since Matt’s robot barricade kept being renewed, the bandits probably didn’t know how effective their own strikes were.

Matt just hoped they wore down before he did. It would have to be soon. Even with the well of spiritual energy worn the chapel to draw on, the sheer energy of the struggle was sapping him, not to mention the guilt of seeing all those dead bodies. He tried consoling himself by remembering how muchsuffering those men had probably caused as they looted and pillaged, but that reminded him that they had died without confession, dragged down by the weight of all their sins. He kept fighting doggedly. Behind him, Saul blocked the other two main avenues with Roman legionnaires-suggested by Arouetto-and howling barbarian Visigoths. The ‘ghosts’ had sent the condotierri running at first, but they had plucked up their courage and marched back again, assuring themselves that ghosts couldn’t hurt them. The first dozen casualties had convinced them otherwise, and they had retired to work out a new battle plan. Now they were content to stand back and shoot arrows-probably not trusting the pavement, since the roadway surfaces had all turned shiny black. Matt suspected their sorcerers hadn’t figured out why. He wished them luck-Marco Polo hadn’t published, in this universe. “They’restill sending commandoes in through the back streets,” Saul reported.

“Still?” Matt was beyond surprise. “I thought those debugging programs you invented were running them down.”

“They are, each one shaped like the Hound of the Baskervilles. I’m surprised the captains can still find anybody brave enough to face them.”

“The hound? I thought you started with wolves.”

“I did, but I have to keep changing them, or they’ll work up their nerve to face them. I’m going to try yetis next.”

“Good idea. Me, I’m thinking of switching to tanks.”

“Hey, no fair using gunpowder! You got any idea how much havoc you could create if these Prologue

guys get to thinking about things that go boom in the night?”

“I know, that’s all that stops me. I’m thinking of a giant cross-bow instead of a cannon.” Behind him, he heard the squawk of a tinny voice coming through Saul’s amulet. “Yeah, Sir Guy!” Saul said, relief in every syllable. “You can see them? Great! Just strafe their ranks-you know, dive on them with all Stegoman’s flame, then back up and dive again… No, the diving will scare them a lot more than just flying over burning everybody; they’ll run faster if they think they stand a chance of escape. Besides, that’ll make it harder for the sorcerers to hit you with fireballs or something… What? Stegoman says the fireballs would make a nice light snack? Well, tell him we’ll feed him high-grade charcoal as soon as this is over!” Matt felt relief make him weak inside, but pulled himself together. “Okay. Now we pull out all the stops, right?”

“You got it,” Saul agreed. “As soon as we see him dive, sing out!” Matt glanced back and forth from the northern sky to his robotic roadblocks on the south and west. He saw the dot growing bigger, saw it develop wings, saw it angle downward toward the condottieri… “Now!” Saul cried, and together they chanted, “Double, double toil and trouble! Pavement burn and roadways buckle! Hollow stomach, dread and fear- Bandits, panic, drop your gear! Run and flee the fiery rubble! Double, double toil and trouble!” The main roads exploded into flame, fire that roared downward onto the bandit army just as Stegoman’s torch shot out to sear the first battalion. A massive howl of fear rose up, and the condottieri turned as a man, fleeing back down toward the barracks. But the dragon dove again, and the vanguard kept on running, past the barracks and toward the city limits. “Get ready to counter their sorcerers!” Matt snapped. “I’m ready,” Saul said, “but I don’t think they’ll be doing anything for a while. They were all clustered together, and Sir Guy must have seen them. They were Stegoman’s first target.”

“They’ll recover.” Matt hoped he was wrong: “Anyway, even if they do all run, we’ll have a lot of repair work to do.”

“Look,” Saul argued, “we can wait till tomorrow to fix the roads.”

“‘I suppose so,” Matt sighed. “Thus is it proved that coal does not make a good surface for traffic. You don’t suppose this could happen to the tar in blacktop streets, do you?”

“If you had a dragon’s torch to get it started? Could be. Remind me to go back to New York and try the experiment sometime.”

 

Prologue

“No, I think not.” Matt stared out. “I can’t believe it-they’re still running! Their new slum at the foot of the hill looks to be all cleaned out! I just hope they get all the people evacuated in time.”

“Look, we can kill the flames before they get that far.”

“I know, but Stegoman is lining up to dive-bomb headquarters. How’re they doing on your side?”

“Oh, just fine,” said Saul. “Nobody’s hitting the four minute mile yet, but I think some of them are doing very well, considering the light armor they’re wearing.”

“Have they passed their personal slum yet?”

“The last ones are just going through right now. I think we’d better call Stegoman back before the sorcerers regroup and find an antidragon spell.” Saul fingered the amulet. “So how are we going to keep them moving?”

“By conjuring up your random group of legionnaires, or my odd number of robots-and, of course, the occasional fire geyser right behind them. Keep your hounds roaming the city, too.

I know it’s wearing, but I think we can get the last of them out of here by nightfall.” This time it was a formal audience, and the pope was wearing his robes of state with the cardinals gathered behind him, glorious red behind dazzling white. Saul was very patient-he managed to keep it down to mere fidgeting through the ritual and the singing. Matt and Sir Guy were the only ones to kneel to receive the pope’s personal blessing, though-Saul the skeptic and cynic had his limits. Besides, the religion he had dropped out of was Protestant.

Nonetheless, the Holy Father insisted on turning to bless him, too. Later, in his solar, he told them, “I regret that I have no worldly power to give you in thanks.”

“That’s all right-the Church is better off that way,” Saul said, and the pope cast him a quick, suspicious glance. Matt said quickly, “Your blessing has already increased the power of our magic, your Holiness-I can feel it. Maybe it will be enough to cut through the magical inertia that seems to pervade Latruria-we can’t have you folks always there as our ammo dump, you know.”

The pope frowned. “I know not what an ‘ammo dump’ is, but we shall pray for you perpetually.”

“I need it if anyone does,” Matt sighed, and Saul developed whooping cough. Matt talked fast to cover him up. “Besides, we more or less brought this on ourselves-I’m sure the king Prologue

wouldn’t have told the condottieri to get serious about taking the Vatican if we hadn’t been here.”

“It is not the sort of policy I have come to expect from Boncorro,” the pope admitted. “I was even surprised that he hemmed me in so tightly, when he had ceased his persecution of the priests and the faithful. I had supposed he felt the need to make a show of opposing me, since his grandfather had-but this…”

“I have my doubts that the king himself is behind it all,” Matt told him. “After all, his chancellor is a bona fide sorcerer and servant of Evil, and everybody would assume any order he gave came from the king.”

“But would not the king be angered when he learned of it?”

“Sure, but all information goes through the chancellor’s hands. He can keep any info he wants from the king-unless Boncorro has been wise enough to set up his own spy network, separate from his chancellor’s.”

“They say he trusts the Lord Chancellor as much as he trusts any man,” the pope said slowly.

“But that’s not saying much, is it? Okay, I’ll admit he probably does have his own spies, checking up on the chancellor-but they can’t be everywhere at once.” He rose. “Speaking of spies, I think we’d better take our leave, now-before the king’s agents can track us.”

“Go, and with my blessing.” But the pope frowned. “This King Boncorro may not be a force for Evil, Lord Wizard, but he is also not a force for Good, and he cannot balance between them; simply by failing to do good, he advances the cause of Evil. Can you not help me in overthrowing him? He is the grandson of a usurper, after all.”

“And what alternative can you offer?” Matt said. He wondered why Sir Guy glanced at Arouetto and away, but didn’t mention it. “Getting rid of a neutral king isn’t too smart, if the only available replacement is definitely evil. If you don’t mind, Holy Father, I think it would be better to try to subvert King Boncorro and sway him toward the side of the angels than to try to assassinate him.”

“I had not meant to murder him-only to dethrone him!”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Matt shook his head. “Kick a king off his throne, and he’ll come back with an army-and if you beat him again, he’ll just come back again. Again and again-until you finally kill him anyway. No, your Holiness, we would be much better advised to make the best of Boncorro-or try to make him the best.”

“You have given me your advice,” the pope said slowly, “and I shall now give you mine-for Prologue

your own best interests, not that of the Church. It is this: leave Latruria.”

“Good of you, I’m sure,” Matt said, “but you know we can’t.”

“We are sworn to a vocation, too, your Holiness,” Sir Guy said gently. “We cannot turn back unless we are beaten.”

The pope sighed. “Well, I have given you my best rede, though I cannot say I regret your ignoring it.”

As they were going out of the papal palace, Matt said to Arouetto, “How come he didn’t include you in the blessing? Or the advice, for that matter.”

“His Holiness does not completely trust me,” Arouetto answered with a small smile. “He has not said it, but I believe he sees me as a threat.”

“But can’t say why, huh?” Saul asked. “If he could, he’d clap you in irons.”

“Or a monk’s cell, I suppose,” Arouetto agreed. “Not that I would mind a life sentence to a library.”

“Yes you would,” Matt said, “if the only art and music around you were religious.”

“There are worse fates,” Arouetto replied. “Still, you are right-I would prefer to remain free, able to contemplate the beauties of Classical art and the works of my inspired contemporaries.”

A handful of Swiss guards marched up and stamped to a halt, leading four well-groomed horses. The leader saluted the companions with his halberd and said, “His Holiness insists that you accept at least this much of a gift from him.” Sir Guy grinned. “This we will take, and gladly! Thank his Holiness for us! ”Yes, thanks indeed.“ Matt turned to the dragon, who lay waiting by the wall. ”You don’t mind, do you, Stegoman?“

“Mind?” the dragon snorted. “It is I who shall thank his Holiness most of all!” Chapter 24

“You are free, then,” Sir Guy said as they rode out of the Vatican and into Reme proper, “and so is the pope. But what progress have you made?” Prologue

“Well,” Matt said, “we have Arouetto.”

The scholar smiled sadly. “The Lord Wizard took me from my prison, because he seems to think I can reform the young king.”

“Makes sense,” Matt said. “Why else would the chancellor have locked you up in his special dungeon?”

“Why,” said Sir Guy, “because he is the last legitimate heir to the throne of Latruria.” Matt, Saul, and Stegoman swung about to stare at the scholar, but all he did was glare ferociously at Sir Guy. The Black Knight only kicked his heels wide sides and said, “Deny it if you can.”

“Would that I could,” the scholar growled, “for it has been a dozen generations since my family ruled!”

“Hold on!” Matt held up a hand. “Maledicto wasn’t that old!”

“No, but he was the usurper of a usurper of a usurper,” Sir Guy explained, “or rather, of three families of usurpers. I would call them dynasties if they had lasted more than a few generations each-but they did not.”

“Three centuries is a long time to say a bloodline’s preserved,” Matt said dubiously. “Six centuries, rather,” Sir Guy said, “for Scholar Arouetto’s right comes from an ancestor who was the last emperor of the Latrurian empire.”

Saul nodded slowly, gaze still on Arouetto. “No wonder you’re interested in the Classics!”

“How could you know all this?‘ Arouetto demanded. Sir Guy shrugged. ”It is one of the things I know by right of birth.“

“His family has been tracking the genealogies of the kings of Europe for several centuries.” Matt didn’t feel the need to explain that Sir Guy was the last lineal descendant of Emperor Hardishane. “You have your field of expertise, he has his. His career is trying to restore legitimate lines to the thrones of this continent-and just incidentally return their countries to devotion to Right and God.”

“I can see that might entail such knowledge,” Arouetto allowed. “But it is useless in my case, friend. I have no wish to rule, nor had my father nor my grandfather. We only wished to be left in peace, to pursue our studies.”

 

Prologue

Sir Guy made no reply, but his eyes glittered as he watched Arouetto. The scholar sighed.

“You may as well say it-the blood of the Caesars has grown thin. Well, perhaps it has, my friend-or perhaps my idea of worthy pursuits differs from that of my ancestors. Try to open your mind enough to imagine that my work might be as important as Julius Caesar’s, in its way.”

Sir Guy turned his face away quickly-probably to hide a look of infinite sadness, for to him, no work was so important as that of government-but Matt said, “There is something to what he says, Sir Guy. He has developed new standards for deciding what’s right and wrong-but most of his conclusions are right in line with the Bible’s. He just has a high opinion of a few things the Book doesn’t mention, that’s all-and there’s a chance King Boncorro might embrace his ideas, though he scorns religion.”

Sir Guy turned back to him slowly. “Do you mean that he might yet save the country that is his weal?”

“He might,” Matt said, “by saving the king who governs it.” Sir Guy turned to Arouetto, looking him up and down as if he were seeing the scholar in a whole new light. “Surely you do not mean that you have but to walk into the king’s castle with this scholar,” Stegoman rumbled, “and all will be mended!”

“Hey, even I’m not that stupid. Sure, we have to get him to the king, but even after that, it will take a while.” Matt turned back to contemplate Arouetto. “But how are we going to get you in there without getting you killed?”

They were all silent for a while, thinking up ways and means. Finally Saul said,

“Camouflage?”

Matt turned to him, puzzled. “What did you have in mind?”

“Safety in numbers,” Saul explained. “If you could find a dozen more scholars and poets, maybe you could smuggle Arouetto in with the rest of them-provided the king would let them in, of course.”

“I think he just might,” Matt said slowly, “and that reminds me of a young friend of mine. I magicked him and his girlfriend out of Boncorro’s castle, but I haven’t had a chance to check and make sure they landed okay.”

“How did this discussion of a college of scholars bring them to mind?” Stegoman rumbled.

“Because the kid’s a poet, but he doesn’t realize it,” Matt said. “He thinks the only career Prologue

worth having is knighthood.”

“Well, the lad has a point,” Sir Guy allowed, “though it is pleasant to be able to craft a verse when you are done hacking up the enemy.”

‘Must men always be thus?“ Arouetto sighed. ” ’Must,‘ I don’t know,“ Matt said, ”but they always will. It has something to do with testosterone and the survival of the fittest“ Arouetto smiled sadly. “By that measure, I am not the fittest.”

“Apparently not,” Saul said, “since you’ve decided against reproducing. Your father seemed to know what he was doing, though.”

“He was a poet and scholar,” Arouetto said slowly, “but even he was exasperated at my mildness. Perhaps I chose more rightly than I knew, when I chose the celibate life.”

“And perhaps the evolution you’ll contribute to is cultural instead of physical,” Matt said, annoyed. “You never know-you may have more intellectual descendants than I will have biological. For example, I’d love to hear you tell your basic ideas to Pascal, this young friend of mine, and see what they do to him.”

“Pray Heaven they will not turn him from knighthood!” Sir Guy cried. “I don’t know-the kid is only the son of a squire, and he’s that just because his grandfather was a wizard.” Matt turned to Saul. “I really would like to check on him. I don’t suppose your telecommunication amulet works without a mate at the other end?”

Saul shook his head. “Sorry. You’ll have to settle for a crystal ball.” Matt sighed. “I don’t happen to have one. Scholar Arroueto you wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of ink on you, would you?”

“No,” the scholar said slowly, “but I have managed with powdered charcoal whenI’ve had to.”

Matt stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Right. Why didn’t I realize? Excuse me, folks-I have to go pick up sticks.”

It only took a few charred sticks, scraped into a puddle of water in a depression on top of a boulder, to darken the fluid enough so that it was almost a mirror, but one that seemed to have some depth. Arouetto looked on with interest-he had rarely had the chance to watch wizards at work-and Sir Guy looked on with distrust. Stegoman took a nap. “Okay,” Saul said, “we’re all ready. Now, how do you turn it on?” Prologue

“Add a verse, of course.”

“Is it by nature adverse, then?” Arouetto asked, concerned. “Some of the sociologists think so.” Matt stared into the ink pool and intoned, “Mesmerizing pool of vision, Drawing from us all volition, Show us Pascal, at a distance! Show us, glow us, all entrance! Far-sight, far-see, well envision! Distant see-er-tele-vision!”

“I wouldn’t tell anybody, not that,” Saul muttered under his breath, but he was watching the pool, too. The darkness seemed to lighten, did lighten, glowing from the center outward-and Matt saw a group of young men and women sitting around a table with a pitcher of wine in the middle. They were talking earnestly, which was amazing, considering that they were all wearing peasant working smocks, with the dust of field-work on them. Now and then someone threw back his head in silent laughter. One of them was Pascal. Flaminia sat beside him, and the two of them were doing most of the occasional laughing, and a lot of wide-eyed listening. Now and then one of them ventured a remark, and the others took it up earnestly.

“Your young friend seems to have landed on his feet,” Saul commented. “He certainly seems to like it well enough,” Matt admitted. “At least I don’t have to worry about yanking him out of trouble.” He looked up at Arouetto. “But I would like to have him talk to you.”

“Can we not go where he is?” the scholar demanded. Matt scowled down at the pool. “I hate to use that much magic at one time. We have to remember that the king is still on the watch for us, with possibly not the nicest of intentions. Let’s not make it too easy for him to zero in on us.”

“Perhaps magic is not necessary.” Arouetto pointed at the ink pool. “Can you not show us more of their surroundings? There might be some famous landmark among them.”

‘Well, I can try,“ Matt said dubiously, but he muttered a few words, something having to do with zooming out, and the figures grew smaller and smaller in the center, until they could see a hill high behind them, with a castle of reddish rock on its top, a castle with tall, spidery towers that surely could not have been held up just by piling one stone block on another-and a central keep surrounded by scaffolding, where some of the upper arrow slots had been widened to real windows, where glass winked in the late aflernoon sun. ”It is the king’s castle!“ Arouetto’s eyes glowed with success. ”The king’s castle, and we regard its western face, but from somewhat south! See how he is remaking its keep into a light-filled gracious palace!“ He looked up at Matt. ”You did not send your young friends very far outside Venarra, did you, Lord Wizard?“

Matt swallowed thickly and said, “No, I guess I didn’t. Arouetto. I’ll admit there wasn’t much time, but I guess I could have been a bit more specific than that.” Prologue

“Lucky the king doesn’t seem to think they’re very important.” Saul looked up at Matt.

“Okay, now we know where they are-but how do we get there?” Matt turned to Stegoman. After a minute the dragon opened one eye. “I could swear I can feel the pressure of thy thoughts, Wizard.”

“You may be a psychic saurian,” Matt answered. “Say, Stegoman, how do you feel about night flights?”

“How far is Venarra from Reme?” Matt called against the wind. “Only fifty miles, as the dragon flies!” Sir Guy called back. “Then we are nearly there,” the huge voice rumbled towards them. “Hold tightly to one another, small folk, and Sir Guy, hold tightly to my neck!

Where is this grove, scholar?”

“West by southwest of the castle!” Matt called. “Right Seigneur Arouetto?”

“Even so!” the scholar called back. “How close to it?” Stegoman demanded. “Perhaps half a mile-certainly outside the city wall!”

“Just land behind a grove big enough to give you cover,” Matt advised. “Then I shall!” Stegoman banked to the right, curving around and spiraling down. Matt risked a quick glance back at Saul; he was grinning with delight, the wind whipping his long hair behind him.

Between them, Arouetto was pale and tight-lipped, but game, not complaining. Matt turned back to watch the rest of Stegoman’s approach. He didn’t know how the dragon was managing to find his way without even moonlight, but he wasn’t about to ask. There was a jolt as Stegoman’s feet touched the ground, but Matt had felt worse jolts in a jet. The dragon ran a little way, which was worse than the jouncing of the thermals, but he cupped his wings to help slow himself down, and in a few minutes was sagging to the ground. “Off, I prithee!

Thou art a heavy load!”

“I regret that I had to wear armor, good beast, but I could not risk being without it,” Sir Guy said, hopping off. Matt leaped down in time to catch Arouetto, and Saul slid off the dragon’s back grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Anytime you want to go for a spin, Stegoman, just let me know!”

“I will be delighted,” the dragon huffed, “if there is only the one, or at most the two, of you.”

“Sorry you had to carry so many.” Matt came around to the dragon’s front, resting a hand on his friend’s head. “Needs must,” the dragon replied. “Let me rest, Matthew, while you seek this friend of yours.”

“Well, I don’t really expect them to be up this late.” Matt turned to his companions. “Would Prologue

you stay and keep Stegoman company, Sir Guy? The rest of us need to scout the territory, so we’ll know where we’re going come daybreak.”

“I need no guardian!” the dragon exclaimed indignantly. “Surely not!” Sir Guy sounded just as indignant as Stegoman. “But we would be poor friends indeed if we accepted your labor on our behalf, then went off to leave you! Nay, friend, I will stay with you.”

“Well, so long as you know it is not necessary,” Stegoman grumped. “What of the horses, Sir Guy?”

“I doubt not they have gone back to the Vatican, and the pope will keep them for us, as Matthew asked in his note…”

Their voices dwindled under the susurrus of the leaves as Matt pushed his way into the grove with Arouetto and Saul. “They should be in this direction.”

“Should be? They are!” Saul halted, pointing ahead. “Listen!” Matt stopped and heard a high, clear tenor voice with the rippling of a lute beneath it. He couldn’t make out the words, but somehow the tone of it left no doubt that the young man was singing the praises of his lady. “What have we got here, a bunch of college students?” Saul demanded. “Not a college, perhaps, for they are not even clergy, let alone cardinals,” Arouetto said, eyes glowing, “but certainly students. I recognize the earnestness of debate without rancor, with singing in the midst of it-though I’ve never seen such outside the walls of a seminary, and never with lasses among them.” He turned to Matt. “You did well to send your young friends here.”

Matt shook his head. “Pure blind chance… Wait a minute! Maybe not! I was trying to cut through the inertia of Latruria, so I sang the first Latin song that came to mind!”

“Gaudeamus Igitur?” Saul looked up, startled. “The very first college drinking song?”

“ ‘Let us therefore rejoice,’ ” Arouetto translated. “I should like to hear the rest of that, Lord Wizard.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you will!”

“If that’s the case,” Saul said, “I’m not surprised they’re still up. Midnight’s a little early for a bunch of students to be going to bed.”

“Yes, I remember.” Arouetto’s smile fairly glowed in the dark. “Still, they look to be farmers.

Even with the boundless energy of youth, I would have thought they would have lapsed into Prologue

the sleep of exhaustion ere now.”

“I’ll bet they only farm from sunup until mid-morning,” Matt said, “then sleep till mid-afternoon, and farm until dark.”

“That is but half a day!”

“No, it’s probably eight hours. They just sleep during the heat of the day, that’s all.”

“Assuming that they sleep,” Saul said. “Lacking evidence to the contrary…” Matt sighed.

Arouetto pushed forward. “Let us go nearer! I would hear their song!” They started forward again, but something huge and furry stepped out to block their path, and a deep voice rumbled, “Well met, Wizard!”

Saul fell back with a curse, and Arouetto with a gasp-but Matt grinned. “Manny! How did you find me?”

“I did not,” the manticore told him, “and since I could not, I found Pascal instead. But he has no money, and has put off the problem by promising the farmers all about that you will pay for my meat when you come.”

“Talk about faith! But yeah, I broke out of prison, and I’ll give him a few ducats to settle up.

Anybody trying to pick on him?”

“No, worse luck,” Manny sighed, “for I would not have felt bound by my promise to you if there had been an assassin to munch. His life seems to be tranquil enough when you are not about, Wizard.”

“He’s not the first one to feel that way,” Matt said. “Well, let us have a chat with him, Manny.

Stay low.”

“As you wish, Wizard,” Finally, the huge double grin flashed. “It is good to see you again.”

“Hey, you, too.” Matt raised a hand to pat the tawny wall. “Go hide now, okay?”

“Go well.” Manny disappeared into the darkness and shrubbery. There were a few moments of silence. Then Arouetto asked, in a trembling voice, “Was that a manticore?”

“Sure was,” Matt confirmed. “Knew I couldn’t fool you.” Prologue

“Man, you have some of the oddest friends!” Saul expostulated. “You should know, Saul.

Well, let’s meet my latest acquaintances and find out what their song is.”

“Their” turned out to be right, because half a dozen voices joined in on the chorus. As they came out of the trees, the words of the last verse became clear. Sure enough, it was promising everlasting love and joy, if only the damsel would come away with the singer-and there he was, seated at a table in the open air, lit by a few candles inside cut-off bottles and gazing into the eyes of his beloved: Pascal; and the woman who was staring back at him adoringly was Flaminia. Matt stopped still in astonishment. “Which is your young friend, Lord Wizard?” Arouetto asked. “The one who was singing,” Matt said. “I didn’t know he could.” Arouetto turned and looked, then smiled. “Love can lift a man to accomplish miracles, Lord Wizard.”

“Miracles is right! As far as I knew, he was tone-deaf!”

“Guess you didn’t know him as well as you thought,” Saul said. “No, I guess not. And he let me carry the whole burden of the minstrel routine!” Matt strode ahead, caught between relief to see his two young friends so happy and well, and anger at Pascal for holding out on him.

Pascal kissed Flaminia, and the other youngsters cheered. The lovers didn’t even notice-they took their time and were just breaking off when one of the other young men noticed Matt. The youth looked up, alert and ready to defend, but open and provisionally affable. “Good evening, friend. Why have you come?”

Pascal looked up, then leaped to his feet. “Friend Matthew!” He jumped up to clasp Matt by the shoulders. “I rejoice to see you well! I will own that I had some concern for you, alone there in the town.”

“And I was a little worried about you” Matt said, clapping him on the shoulder, “but I see you came out okay. How’d you connect with these people?”

“Why, I found myself in the middle of their fields, and they were kind enough to take us in.”

“Small enough kindness, when we needed extra hands,” a towheaded young man said, and the redheaded young woman next to him added, “For one with a voice like that, we can easily find room!”

“I thank you, friends,” Pascal said, “but I hope that I do my share in the fields, too.”

“Oh, without question!” said a burly young man whose blond hair contrasted oddly with his deep suntan, “and you have a bond with the land. Indeed, you seem to know as much about the raising of a crop as I do.”

 

Prologue

“Thank you, Escribo.” Pascal smiled. “I am a squire’s son, after all, and have known this work all my life.”

Matt noticed that he didn’t say he had actually done the work. “Your crops seem to be doing well, though.”

“They do.” Escribo nodded. “And with luck, we will reap well for our first harvest.”

“First?” Matt looked around. ‘This is your first year, then?“

“It is,” Escribo said. “The king lowered the taxes, and my father used the money to buy land from those who wished to work in Venarra. For five years he has bought more land and given employment to the landless youth of the district-but this spring they all chose to go into Venarra for work. My father nearly despaired, for he could never have worked so much land by himself-so I left my work at the inn in Venarra and came back to help him. But even together, we could see we would never be able to till so many acres-so I called in my friends, who had spent many hours in the inn but never had more than a few days’ work at a time, and they came out to help us.”

“We are city-bred, though,” said another of the girls, “and know nothing of the land.”

“You are apt pupils,” said Escribo, and everyone laughed. Matt realized it was some sort of inside joke, but even as he was deciding not to ask, Arouetto said, “Whose words had you studied before, then?”

“Why, those of the courtiers who took rooms at our inn,” said Escribo, “for it is the finest in Venarra, and noblemen lodged there with their families, until King Boncorro could make room for them in the castle. That is why there was so frequently a week’s extra work for a dozen other younglings.”

“And why they were always hanging around, waiting for more.” Matt nodded. “So you overheard the noblemen talking of poetry?”

“More often their tutors, lecturing their sons over wine,” Escribo answered. “We began to find their talk fascinating, and tried our hands at it. But there were also the painters and sculptors that the king had brought to beautify his castle, and the builders of the new palace he is raising, and merchants coming to sell goods to the court, with tales of the wonders of the Moslem cities.”

“And the merchants had picked up some of the knowledge of the Moslem scholars?” Prologue

“Even some of the books,” a dark-haired young man said. “They allowed us to read a chapter or two while they dined.”

“But none of us have the gift of verse that our new friend has.” Escribo turned to Pascal. “And he says he has had no training in it!”

“I have not.” Pascal blushed. “And you are kind, but I have little skill.”

“Perhaps you are too modest,” Arouetto said. “Let us hear your verses.”

“Why, you did,” Escribo said, “even as you came up.”

“You sing your own words, then? Excellent! But we did not hear the beginning of it.”

“He sings of other things besides love,” a black-haired young man said. ‘Tell him of the work in the fields, Pascal.“

“Oh, no, good Lelio!” Pascal cried, alarmed. “To a few good friends, aye, but to a stranger…”

“You are too modest.” Flaminia slid up against him, resting her bead against his chest. “Let the words flow, Pascal, that I may be swept away on their tide.” Pascal looked down at her in surprise, then smiled and said, “Well, for you, then, dear Flaminia, but not for him.”

“Let him eavesdrop,” she said. Pascal sighed and began to sing. Matt stood in a daze, listening to the syllables cascade from Pascal’s lips. They tinkled and swirled about him, dazzling and bearing him along in their flow, but somehow never lodging long enough for him to extract any meaning from them. Then it was over, and Matt caught his breath. The boy was fantastically talented! But the sense of the words had eluded him; the only coherent thought that stayed behind was that this song wouldn’t work much in the way of magic, for it had only been describing the land and the work and Pascal’s state of mind, and would make no change except to bring back the good feeling he bad gained from the land. Good feelings?

Exultation! “You have a gift like that,” he said, “and you wanted to waste your time chasing a knighthood?”

Pascal’s face darkened; he lowered his gaze as his friends broke out in a chorus of protest.

When they had quieted, he raised his gaze to Matt and said, “These are only idle amusements, Matthew-a wonderful pleasure in themselves, but surely only for filling the idle hour, never for a life’s work.”

The chorus of protest struck again, but this time Arouetto’s voice joined it, and went on when Prologue

the others had quieted. “The souls of all men need rest and nourishment, young man, aye, and uplifting, too! If you are gifted in that, you may do more good than a whole company of knights!”

Pascal stared, astonished, but so did Escribo. He turned to Arouetto and demanded, “How can he, when it is all loveliness and no meaning?”

“Aye,” Lelio seconded. “Our friend Pascal makes the most lovely strains of sound in the world, but how can he enlighten men when the meaning slips from our grasp even as we listen?”

He smiled at Arouetto as he said it, but it was a challenge, with resentment against the intruder behind it. The scholar only smiled down at him, though, and said, “Have you never heard that a poem should not mean, but be?‘

Lelio stared-and so, for that matter, did the other young folks.Pascal finally broke the spell to protest, “But it does have meaning! It speaks of the way I felt as I labored, of the insight I gained suddenly, of the union between myself and the earth and Flaminia and us all!”

“It does, most surely,” Arouetto agreed, “and if we sit down and read through those words, we can extract that meaning and state it clearly and concisely-but it is far better to experience the poem as a sensory delight, and absorb the meaning in the process.”

“But might we not then be persuaded of a principle we would never approve, in clear and sober judgment?” a plump girl asked. “Well asked, Berylla!” Lelio seconded. “You might indeed,” Arouetto told her. “That is why you should analyze the poem before you have heard it too many times-but do not deprive yourself of the pleasure of hearing it without weighing it at least once, and better, several times.”

“Who are you?” Lelio asked. “Lelio!” Berylla cried, shocked. “No, it must be asked!” Lelio insisted. He leaned forward, frowning up at Arouetto. “For the same reason you have just told us to analyze a poem, we must know whose words we hear, that we may judge the lightness of any one idea of yours within the context of your whole philosophy. Who are you?”

“I am no philosopher, but only a poor scholar. My name is Arouetto.” The circle of young folk froze, staring. Then Berylla stammered. “Not-Not the Arouetto who has translated Ovid and Virgil for us?”

“Not the Arouetto whose Story of Reme is the talk of all the tutors?” Prologue

“Not the Arouetto whose Geography is the boon companion of every merchant?”

“I must admit my culpability.” But there was a gleam of amusement and triumph in Arouetto’s eye. “A chair for the scholar!” Lelio leaped up, offering his own, while Escribo ran to fetch another. “Wine for the scholar!” Berylla filled a goblet and set it in front of him.

“Anything the scholar wants,” said another girl, with a deep soulful look. “Why, I want what any scholar wants,” Arouetto sighed, “the company of keen minds and their questions, filled with the enthusiasm of youth.”

“Oh, that you shall have in plenty!” another young man assured him. “Is it true that you read Greek, but have not yet translated Homer?”

“I have not yet had that audacity,” Arouetto confirmed. “But you must! For if you do not, how shall we ever read those epics, which are fabled to be so excellent?”

“I cannot yet truly appreciate the spirit of the Athenians,” Arouetto protested. “But at least you can appreciate it-and we cannot, who have never read any book written by the Greeks!”

“What of Pythagoras?” Escribo pushed the extra chair over to Lelio and sat down in his own.

“Can you explain why he was both mathematician and musician?”

“Ah! That, young man… What is your name?”

“Escribo, sir!”

“Escribo, Pythagoras was, above and beyond all else, a mystic, who sought nothing less than to understand the whole of the universe and the nature of human existence! Music and mathematics alike were means to understanding this whole, that is all.”

“Music, a means to understanding the universe?” Flaminia leaned forward, staring. “How can that be?”

Arouetto began to tell them. Saul sidled up to Matt and asked, “How’s it feel to be the Forgotten Man?”

“A little deflating,” Matt confessed, “but under the circumstances, I don’t mind at all.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because I think I’ve found just the thing to wangle a way into King Boncorro’s favor.” Prologue

Saul glanced at the seminar in surprise, then back at Matt. “Just don’t suck them into anything that’s going to go sour, okay?”

“No,” Matt said slowly, “I don’t think there’s too much chance of that.” They watched and listened with delight and fond memories, until finally Pascal sat bolt-upright and cried, “My Heavens, the hour! And we must hoe tomorrow!”

“Let the weeds grow,” Escribo told him. “One day will not hurt the crops so very much-but we may never again have such a chance to hear a true scholar speak!”

“We must not keep him if he grows weary,” Berylla cautioned.

“Weary, when so many good-hearted young folk are pouring energy into me? Never!” Arouetto smiled. “I shall talk as long as you, my young friends!”

“The professor’s ego trip,” Saul sighed. “Hooks ‘em every time.”

“Even so, there are a lot worse ways of boosting your ego,” Matt reminded him. “Besides, it only works on real teachers.”

“And just what do you think you’re going to do with them?”

“Crash the seminar, of course.” Matt glanced at the stars and made a quick guess at the time.

“Even so, I think I had better turn in-I’m going to need my energy tomorrow.” He waited for a lull in the conversation, then called out, “Escribo! Mind if I lie down in your barn?”

“Barn?” The young man started up, looking guilty. “No, my friend! You must have a proper bed!”

“Tomorrow night,” Matt told him. “Right now, I wouldn’t dream of busting up the conference-and hay will make a fine bed, better than most I’ve had lately.” He turned to the scholar. “Good night, Arouetto. Next time, charge tuition.” Chapter 25

“Look, I gave you a day to rest up,” Matt said, “and I warned you we would have to leave around noon. Can I help it if you stayed up all night talking again?”

“But when I have been alone so many years,” Arouetto groaned, “young and eager minds are so hard to resist!”

 

Prologue

“I understand, and I wish more of my professors had thought that way. But now we have another prospective student for you to talk to.”

“And who is that?”

“The king. Okay, Saul, grab his other hand. Ready? Chant!” They had worked this out before they told Arouetto-decided they needed to make the most dramatic entrance possible, and worked out the verse that would do it They stood in the center of the farmyard, calling out, “Stouthearted men, which fondly here admire Fair sounding discourse, studious delight, Transported to the throne room bright Of King Boncorro, where courtiers aspire To curry favor, and claw their way up higher!” Nothing happened. Well, actually, for a moment they felt a terrific straining around them, a feeling of being caught in the center of a whirlpool made of two forces pulling and pushing against one another and trying to stretch them out of shape in the process-but the whirlpool suddenly seemed to snap back against them, rocking them all. “What was that?” Arouetto gasped. “That was our transportation spell, crashing headlong into King Boncorro’s protective spell,” Matt said. “Blast! He’s too strong! Even the two of us together couldn’t break through!”

“Well,” Saul said, eyeing Stegoman, “we do have another means of transport that’s almost as dramatic.”

“More so, in its way.” Matt turned to his old friend with a sigh. “Sorry to have to ask you again, Stegoman-but would you mind terribly much flying into the jaws of mortal danger again?”

As they circled around the castle, Arouetto reached over Matt’s shoulder to point. “What troop of glittering cavalry is that?”

“Queen Alisande!” Matt yelped. “That’s no army-that’s my wife!”

‘Think we ought to wait for her to catch up?“ Saul called. Matt thought about it while Stegoman swept through another quarter turn, coming closer. Below him, people in the courtyard began to scream and point, or run, according to their taste. ”No,“ Matt said, ”let’s go on in. A little more surprise won’t hurt.“

Five miles away Ortho the Frank pointed at the wheeling form and cried, “Your Majesty! ‘Tis the dragon Stegoman!”

Alisande looked up, surprised, then cried, “Surely it is he! But why does he not come to us?” Prologue

“He goes to the king’s castle instead, your Majesty! There must be a most strenuous reason!”

“Matthew in danger!” Alisande’s hand fell to her sword, then windmilled up to signal to her army. “Ride, men of mine! Your master is endangered! Ride, and bring down that fell keep if we must!”

The army shouted behind her and kicked their horses into a canter. Matt and Saul muttered quick ricochet spells, and the crossbow bolts and spears fell clattering to the parapet as Stegoman glided over. People shrieked and scrambled out of the way as he lowered down toward the courtyard; the effect was of a big circle opening in the daily traffic, and Stegoman came to rest in it. Then he lifted his head and roared, letting out a blast of flame. ‘Take my master to the king! And woe unto him who tries to smite me!“ Matt slid down and turned to ease the scholar to the ground as Saul and Sir Guy helped lower him, then leaped down beside them. “Stay here,” Matt told Stegoman, “unless there’s danger.

If there is, take off and circle until we come out.”

“Gladly.” Stegoman glared about him, paying special attention to any of the guards who seemed to be trying to pluck up nerve. “Which of these churls would seek to hinder me?”

“Sorcerers,” Matt answered, “though I suspect the main one is going to be too busy to worry about a bat wing in his bailey. Still, let’s make it tougher for him.” He began to march around Stegoman, chanting, “Weave a circle ‘round him thrice! Whoever nears him, shrink with dread! For he on anthracite hath fed, And been drunk on spirits of petrol twice!”

“Rather more than twice,” Stegoman said, “if ‘spirits of petrol’ refers to mine own flame. It is unkind of you, Matthew, to remind me of my unsavory past.”

“Sorry, old saurhead,” Matt apologized, “but I’m more concerned with reminding any potential attackers than you.”

“Well, I will suffer it,” Stegoman sighed, “and so will they, if they seek to meddle.” He glared around him again. “Be about your business, now, so that we may leave soonest.”

“Gotcha. Good luck.” Matt turned away toward the door of the keep. Saul caught up, with Arouetto in tow and Sir Guy as rear guard. “Think anybody will get in our way?”

“Somehow,” Matt said, “I doubt it.” He turned toward the door to the keep, to test his theory.

The guards at the door wavered, then crossed their pikes, though not with much precision.

“His Majesty wanted to know when I escaped from the prison to which he sent me,” Matt said as he came up. “He would not appreciate having me stopped.” Prologue

He didn’t even miss a step. The guards wavered, but Sir Guy barked, “Stand aside!” Foot soldiers obeyed knights; that was all there was to it. They yanked their pikes aside and shoved the door open. Matt went right on in, with Arouetto and Saul close behind him. They marched into the throne room and found it packed with courtiers as usual-but they were just pulling back as a footman madly fought his way through to the throne. Matt stopped just inside the doors, waiting until the servant had managed to clear the last of the courtiers and was running up on the dais; then Matt called, “Don’t bother telling him we’re coming. It’s old news.”

The footman spun about, staring in horror. Matt started down the aisle, calling out, “You did want to know when I escaped, didn’t you, your Majesty?” King Boncorro stared in surprise-but Chancellor Rebozo, behind him, turned pale, looking as if he had seen a ghost, pointing a trembling hand at them. King Boncorro gave Matt a smile of amusement that threatened to turn into a wolfish grin. “Indeed I did, Lord Wizard! You seem to be more powerful than I had thought! But how did you manage it?”

“I got out with a little help from my friends.” Matt nodded at Saul and Sir Guy. Rebozo cried,

“Who is that with you?”

Matt ostensibly ignored him. “Your Majesty, this is Saul, the Witch Doctor, and this-”

“The scholar Arouetto!” Suddenly, Rebozo had gone from shock to rage. His staff snapped down to point at the scholar, and he began to chant in the arcane tongue. “No, Rebozo,” Boncorro said-but for once the chancellor ignored him, perhaps did not even hear him; he just kept chanting, his voice rising with menace. King Boncorro flashed him a look of irritation. “I said, enough!” He raised an open hand, palm toward Rebozo, and snapped out a short sentence that sort of rhymed, in a language Matt didn’t recognize-but Rebozo rocked as if he had been struck with a body blow. “I appreciate your attempts to protect me,” said the king,

“but I wish more information before we send this scholar back to his refuge.” Matt stared, shaken. He already had some idea of Rebozo’s power-and for the king to be able to counter it so easily meant he had far more power than Matt would have thought possible in so young a man. It made it worse that Saul was looking very interested. “I didn’t catch any names in that couplet, Matt-no evil ones, and no holy ones, either.”

“There were none,” Arouetto assured him. Saul shot him a keen glance. “You know that language.”

“Both of them.”

 

Prologue

“Well, scholar!” Boncorro turned to him. “It is long since I have seen you-and I cannot say it is unpleasant. How is it you have chosen to grace us with your presence?” Arouetto spread his hands. “Your Majesty, the residence you have afforded me is luxurious, but it is also lonely.”

“So you have come for companionship? But how did you manage to leave?” Boncorro turned to Matt. “That was, I take it, your doing?”

“Yes, your Majesty. He struck me as just the sort of person you would enjoy having around your court.”

Rebozo started forward in panic-and jarred to a halt, as something unseen stopped him. The whites showed all around his eyes. “I must admit that I have enjoyed his conversation in the past,” King Boncorro said, “but Rebozo advised me that his ideas would undermine my rule, and I believed him. Indeed, I find no reason to question my chancellor’s advice, even now.”

“I do, your Majesty,” Matt said. “In fact, this scholar’s thoughts are moving toward the same goal as your own.”

There was no outward change in Boncorro’s face or body, but somehow Matt felt the impact of a great deal more interest. “Is he truly!”

“Yes.” Saul spoke up unexpectedly. “He’s looking at the potential of human beings by themselves, your Majesty. He hasn’t said much about magic yet, but he did get into that the other night, discussing the theories of Pythagoras.”

“A heretic and blasphemer!” Rebozo burst out. “Pythagoras? The prime misleader of all human minds! Majesty, do not listen to them! They will lead you to your doom!”

“ ‘Heretic’? ‘Blasphemer’?” Boncorro turned a skeptical eye toward his chancellor. “Odd words, from one who acknowledges Satan as his master.”

“Even to Satan he would be an infidel! He disregards the supernatural persons, while he pursues supernatural power! He-”

“Indeed! This Pythagoras seems to have investigated exactly the questions that I, too, pursue!

Why have you never told me of him before, Rebozo?” The chancellor turned ashen again. “Why… because… because…” Prologue

“Because it might sidetrack you from the Hell-bound trajectory he has plotted for you, of course,” Saul said sourly. “Even I can see that, and I’ve never met either of you before!”

“Has he really?” King Boncorro turned to him with a stare that would have made an elephant nervous-but Saul only glared back at him. “Come off it, your Majesty! You know that everyone you meet is trying to lead you toward their own goals, for their own purposes!” The whole throne room was dreadfully quiet. “Why, yes, I do know that,” Boncorro said easily. “It includes yourself, of course.”

“Of course,” Saul said with his sardonic smile. They locked gazes for more than a minute, as the silence stretched thin. Finally, Boncorro stirred and said, “It is refreshing to speak with an honest man.”

“Diogenes would have approved of him,” Arouetto said. The gimlet gaze switched to him.

“Who was Diogenes?”

“Majesty, no!” Rebozo cried in agony. King Boncorro shot him a glare. “Would you keep me from learning, then? Yes, because it might weaken your influence over me! I grow weary of this, Rebozo.”

The chancellor stared at him, and there was a flash of irritation in his face-or arrogance, even-but it faded instantly, into strain and trembling. King Boncorro held him in the focus of his glare a few seconds longer, then turned back to Matt. “Is this what you sought to accomplish by bringing your friends, Lord Wizard?”

“Frankly, no,” Matt said slowly, “though I did think you and Saul would find you have a lot in common, at least intellectually.”

“Then why did you bring them?”

‘To issue you a challenge,“ Matt answered. ”I challenge you to come and watch the scholar Arouetto talk with a group of young scholars for only one evening.“ The throne room was silent again, but Boncorro’s brow was wrinkled in study now, not in threat. Then Rebozo moaned, and Boncorro said, “I see what you would gain thereby-you hope to interest me so much that I will turn to Arouetto’s teaching, and away from Rebozo’s.

But why should this concern you?”

“Because,” Matt said, “what happens in Latruria influences my people in Merovence-and whose counsel you listen to affects how your Latrurian folk will affect my Merovencians.” Prologue

“So you fear that, if I follow Rebozo’s line of thought, my people will subvert yours,” Boncorro said. “But I have no concern over what happens to your people-only to my own, and that only because their welfare affects mine. Why should I accept this challenge of yours?”

“Because,” Matt said, “what you learn might enhance the welfare of both your people and yourself.”

King Boncorro stared at him again. All the courtiers held their breath and waited, sensing that their own destinies hung in the balance. Finally, Boncorro said, “There may be some substance in what you say-be quiet, Rebozo! But I require more evidence than your opinion alone.”

Matt’s stomach thought about sinking. “What kind of evidence did your Majesty have in mind?”

“Some sign of your intentions,” Boncorro said, “some sign of the validity of your ideas. I will give you a challenge, Lord Wizard-to answer two specific questions that Rebozo has been unable to answer to my satisfaction.”

“What questions are those?” the chancellor cried. The king held up his index finger. “One: who killed my father, and why?” He raised his middle finger beside it. “And two: who killed my grandfather-and why?”

“But I have answered both!” the chancellor cried. “It was the groom Accerese who slew your father! And it was the bandits who killed your grandfather!” Boncorro seemed not to hear him, only gazed at Matt. “Of course,” Matt said slowly, “I would have to find you the answers to both questions in such a fashion that you were satisfied that I had found the truth.”

“You would.”

“Don’t bite,” Saul said beside him. “He’s dealing from a stacked deck.”

“Yes, but I’ve got an ace up my sleeve.” Matt took a deep breath and said, “Very well, your Majesty. I accept your challenge.”

“No!” Rebozo cried, and Boncorro snapped, “Be still, Rebozo! If there is no validity to what he says, he will fail. How long will you need to find your answer, Lord Wizard?”

“About half an hour.” Matt pushed back his sleeves. “Starting right now.” He held out his Prologue

hands, fingers spread to look impressive, and chanted, “When we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves, To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost Which blames the living man.”

He took a deep breath, then went from Arnold to original, “What goes around, comes around-all debts get paid, If not in cold cash, then in shame and in pain. A life for a life, and a save for a savior- Spiro, arise! Come pay back your favor!”

“You need not compel,” said a sepulchral voice, “I was more than willing to aid you; you had only to ask.”

There he was, floating in midair, twice as large as life-Spiro the ghost, barely visible in the dim light of the throne room. The courtiers drew back with cries of horror. On the dais, Rebozo stared, trembling; his moan turned to a very soft keening. Matt breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, oldster. I didn’t know what kind of morass you were going to have to wade through to get here.”

“Well, there was a net of spells that needed parting,” Spiro admitted. “What would you have me do, Lord Wizard? Oh, yes, I know who you really are, now! Even in Purgatory the dead know far more than they did in life!”

Someone moaned in the crowd, and several others took it up. “Thanks, friend,” Matt said, aware of the effect. “Ghost!” There was urgency in King Boncorro’s voice. “How is it you are in Purgatory, but not in fire?”

The ghost turned slowly to regard the king with hollow eyes. “I owe you no answers.”

“Then do it for charity, I beseech you! I have great need of spiritual answers! Tell me, I pray!”

“Nooo,” Rebozo moaned. “No, no, no…”

“Well, I shall,” Spiro said, relenting. “An act of charity will aid me greatly now. Know, King, that I was not wicked enough to need the worst of tortures to cleanse my soul enough for Heaven. I dwell in a desert, baking under the heat of a blazing sun by day, and freezing at night. I do not complain; I deserved far worse.”

“Thank you,” Boncorro whispered, wide-eyed. “You are welcome.” The ghost turned back to Matt. “What do you require, Wizard?”

“I need to speak to two ghosts,” Matt said. “One of them is probably in Hell, or, just possibly, Purgatory. The other is probably in Heaven; we think he was a martyr.” Prologue

“I cannot make my voice reach to Heaven,” said the ghost, “but I shall seek throughout Purgatory, and can call down to Hell. What is the name of the depraved soul?” Matt took a deep breath. “King Maledicto of Latruria!” The courtiers gasped. Rebozo’s keening tapered off into shocked silence. But Spiro gave Matt a hard smile. “He is in Purgatory; I have seen him in its most abysmal depths. I shall summon him for you.”

Matt realized that King Maledicto had been older than he had thought-a lot older. “You do not summon a king!” Boncorro cried. “Worldly rank means nothing here,” the ghost retorted,

“only the goodness of the soul. Maledicto, come!” And the king’s ghost was there, smaller than Spiro’s, no longer malevolent, face contorted in agony. “What would you have of me, squire?” he gasped. “A debt to the living, and to Heaven, King-that-was!” Spiro turned to Matt. “Ask!”

“Who killed you?” Matt demanded, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. “Who killed you, and why?”

“Why? Because I repented and sought to confess!” Maledicto’s tortured eyes lit with triumph.

“And through the brave defense of two knights who held off my slayer, I succeeded! They are not here; I think they have gone to Heaven, with the monk who shrived me!”

“But how is this?” King Boncorro cried. “You, who slew and tortured so many! You, who caused so much agony through your devotion to Evil! How could you have come to repent?”

“Who speaks?” The king’s ghost turned. “Ah! My grandson, alive after all! I rejoice to see you living and well! Take care of your soul! Do not follow me!”

“I will not!” Boncorro assured him, seeming to regain strength by that renunciation. “Why did you repent?”

“My son’s death cut the heart out of me,” the ghost answered, “and your disappearance took what little spirit remained, for I saw there would be nothing left to show I had ever lived.

Indeed, if I had known you lived, I might have rallied and reformed, for you were hope for the future-but without you, tomorrow was already in ashes. There was, of a sudden, no purpose in my life, for even pleasure had palled. After ten years of meditating on that matter, and nerving myself for the death I knew would follow, I repented and went to a confessor secretly. As soon as I began to confess, the Devil knew, as I had been sure he would, and sent a masked sorcerer on a fiery monster to kill me-but thanks to the intervention of my two stalwart knights, the only two of my court who I was sure were secretly religious, I managed Prologue

to be shriven first-so the sorcerer slew not only me, but also the priest who had given me absolution.”

“But who was the sorcerer?” Boncorro demanded. “I know not,” King Maledicto sighed. “He was masked, and my soul is not yet risen enough to know more than it did in life.” Suddenly, the flames billowed up higher around him. He cried out in pain, then called, “I must go, I cannot stay longer! Bless you, my grandson! Turn to God, and to Good!” Rebozo cried out in pain at the name of the Lord, and so did many of the courtiers. The flames billowed up about the ghost, and when they died down and faded, he was gone. “That is all that I can do myself,” Spiro’s ghost told them. “As I have said, my words cannot reach to Heaven-but there is one among you whose voice can.” Boncorro stared in shock. “Who?” Matt asked, eyeing Rebozo nervously. “Him!” Spiro’s finger lanced out at Arouetto. “His life has not been blameless, but nearly so-his only real vice has been in failing to see enough of the wickedness that is in humankind, and in not seeking out his fellow people, to do good for them! He has helped those who have come to him, but has not sought them out. Withal, his soul is still solidly good, and bound for Heaven!”

“So that is why you wished him gone.” King Boncorro fixed Rebozo with a glare that held not only conviction, but also sentence. Matt glanced at the chancellor. The man was wild-eyed and trembling. Matt braced himself for trouble-a man in that state might do anything, and this was a sorcerer. “Pray, scholar!” Spiro enjoined. “Pray that the soul of Prince Casudo may appear! The time is right, the moment crucial! If Heaven hears your prayer, the martyr may come!”

Trembling, Arouetto bowed his head over his folded hands and murmured something in Latin. Light burst through the throne room, banishing Spiro’s ghost. It faded, pulling in on itself-and a shining specter floated there before them, three times their height. It was the form of a man in his thirties, bearded and lithe, with a look of exultation in his eyes. “Father!” King Boncorro cried, and Rebozo sank keening to his knees. The ghost turned and looked down; then its face softened into lines of doting. “My son! How my heart swells with joy to see you grown, and not fully corrupted! Oh, forgive me for having left you lorn!”

“I did, I did long ago!” Boncorro cried. “It was not your doing, after all! But I cannot forgive your murderer, or forgive God for taking you from me!”

“Ah.” Prince Casudo’s face saddened. “But you must not blame God, my son. You must blame it on me, for I wanted to die.”

“You… wanted to leave me?” King Boncorro’s voice was a hiss; his eyes stared wide. “Oh, no, Prologue

not that, never!” The ghost’s hands came up as if to embrace, to hold. “But I did wish to die, for I was racked with a temptation that I knew must be my downfall!”

“Temptation?” Boncorro stared. “You?”

“Oh, yes! Do not think, my son, that simply because I had resisted so many temptations already, that I did not suffer them!”

“But what kind of temptation could have swayed so saintly a man?”

“The temptations of a beautiful serving maid,” Prince Casudo sighed, “brought to this court by Chancellor Rebozo, and somehow preserved from my father’s clutches. Sweet she was, though no virgin, and with a face and form that would have distracted a stone! And I was no stone, my son, oh, no-but she was of too low a station for a prince to marry…”

“You loved a woman other than my mother?” Boncorro’s face was almost white. “Love? Ah, no, to my shame, little enough of love was there, but a great deal of lust, an ocean of lust, crashing in on the beach of my celibacy all at once, in a tidal wave! Do not think too harshly of me, I pray-remember that I had been eight years without a wife, that the chambermaid was very attractive and flirtatious, that I found myself tempted to the point of succumbing-and that I knew myself well enough to know that if I fell, I would try to justify the deed, to find some excuse for it, to persuade myself that the sin was right and good, so that I could maintain the liaison even though I could not marry her! Those excuses would have Jed me little by little to embrace the Devil’s blasphemies, until, believing I was damned, I would have declared myself a servant of Satan, who would then have given the throne into my hand-and rather than saving Latruria, I would have taken the kingdom with me to damnation. Nay, I resisted the beckoning ofher gazes and swayings, I refused the unspoken invitation in her eyes, I resisted the spoken invitations that came after, but my blood pounded so furiously in my veins that I knew I could not hold out forever! I besieged the gates of Heaven with my prayers, that the Lord would remove this temptation from me! I reminded myself time and again that God would not send me a trial too great for me to bear! But at last I pled with the Lord that, if he would not remove the temptress from me nor purge the lust from my heart, that he would take me home to the safety of Heaven! This was my sin, to ask to be removed from the strife of life! It is my fault, and none of the Lord’s, if He heard me and granted my prayer by relaxing His protection so that the assassin’s knife delivered me from my own weakness!”

“Weakness indeed!” Boncorro cried. “It was given to you to care for a kingdom, and to care for a son who would one day also care for that kingdom! How dare you desert me so! How dare you desert your kingdom!”

“But I never did, never truly!” the ghost pleaded. “Oh, aye, I quit this life, and could not be Prologue

with you in the flesh, nor hold you when you were racked with grief nor counsel you in your confusion-but I was always with you as closely as I could be, ever hovering near to strengthen your mind and soothe your heart! Oh, I have not preserved you completely from Satan’s wiles-but if your heart was in turmoil and you felt a sudden calmness, that was me, channeling God’s grace to you! If you dreamed a nightmare, racked with confusion and fear, and I appeared to banish the monsters and show you magical wonders-that was more than a dream, it was I in the spirit! If you were tempted to hate, tempted to revenge, and a cool impulse stayed your hand and calmed you, that impulse was mine! I have never truly deserted you, my son, but have always been with you, in your heart and in your mind and, as much as I could, in your soul, strengthening you against temptation and counseling you against the sins of lust. It was I, it was always I, and I shall always be there to guide you and to give you solace, if you do not truly forsake the Lord God!” Boncorro sat, staring at the ghost, as the color slowly came back into his face. Then, finally, his form relaxed and a single tear flowed from his eye. “God bless you, my father! I forgive you again, for in your place, I could have done no less, to save my kingdom-and my son, for I can only imagine the nightmare my life would have become if you had declared for Evil!”

“But can you forgive God?” the ghost whispered. Silence answered him, a silence that held the whole throne room and stretched on and on as young King Boncorro stared up at him, a boy no longer, but a man in the fullness of his strength-of body, of mind, and of will. Then at last he spoke, and his voice was low. “Yes, I can-but only because it has just dawned on me, through your talk, and… was that you, moving in my heart just now, to open it to grace?” The ghost did not answer, but his eyes shone. “It comes dimly to me,” Boncorro went on,

“that God may have worked for the best of us all-that my own orphaning has certainly made me the man that I am today, and that God may have wanted that, for His own reasons-but perhaps also for the welfare of the people of Latruria.” Behind him, Rebozo winced. “I can begin to forgive Him, at least,” Boncorro went on,

“though I may need to understand a great deal more of His plan before I can seek to make amends. Tell me more, that it may make greater sense to me! Why were you murdered?”

“You have guessed it, and guessed aright,” the ghost told him. “As soon as my murderer realized that I intended to turn to God, to turn my whole country to God if I gained the throne, he bent all efforts to assuring that I would not do so. Assassins began to appear about me-”

“The groom Accerese?”

“No, not he! Never he! The poor man only found my body-he did not wield the knife! Nay, he dwells here in glory among the Saints-for the small sins of his life were redeemed by the pain Prologue

of his death, and his cleaving unto God until the last!”

“So much for your tortures, Rebozo,” Boncorro said, not even looking over his shoulder at the crumpled man who winced and whimpered at every mention of the Deity’s name. “But God protected you, my father?”

“He did,” the ghost said, “but I also exercised unceasing vigilance, ever wary, and foiled many an attacker myself, by an adroit move and the blocking of a blow. One learns such things, growing up in a court filled with intrigue.”

“Yes,” Boncorro said softly, “one does.”

“It is even so for you, my son. When your chancellor realized you, too, intended to be a reformer, he set the assassins on your trail-but you proved too wary for him, aye, and your magic too powerful.”

Now Boncorro did swivel about to glare at Rebozo, who snapped upright, hands raised to fend him off. “Your Majesty, no! I will admit that I did set the hounds at first, but when I saw you would not turn religious, I was reassured and called them off! I bent my efforts thenceforth to corrupting you, only showing you the ways of ecstasy, the pleasures of power and debauchery and revelry!”

“And you made good progress, did you not?” Boncorro’s gaze was steely. “Yes, until this Merovencian spell caster came!” Rebozo cried. “It would not have been necessary to seek your death!”

“No, not at all,” Boncorro said grimly. “I listened to you; yes, I yielded to temptation and gathered a harem of wenches! I condoned prostitution and its coercing of women into degradation! Oh, you did well for your master, Rebozo, but I begin to see that he was not me!” He turned back to the ghost. “Who killed you, my father?”

“No, my son!” The ghost held up his hands in supplication. “I would not have you seek revenge! That path leads to Hell!”

Boncorro stared up at him for a minute, eyes narrowed. Then he said, “Your rebuke is wise-I shall not revenge!” But he squared his shoulders, raising his chin with an air of authority his father had never shown. “But I am the king, as you never were, and I must render justice, as you never did! Tell me, for the sake of that justice-who murdered my grandfather? Who murdered you?”

“How could he know who slew your grandfather?” Rebozo cried, trembling. “He was dead!” Prologue

“Dead, but in Heaven-and though the Saints may not know everything, they know a great deal more than the living. Is it not true, my father? Do you not know, and that without a shadow of doubt, who killed Grandfather?”

“I do,” Casudo’s ghost admitted. “It was the same man who murdered me. He slew me when I proved to be incorruptible, not knowing that a week longer would have seen my fall from grace; he killed King Maledicto when he found him confessing his sins, then instantly became the loudest mourner of all.”

“Who was it, then?” Boncorro’s voice was steel, and it was no longer a son speaking to a father, but one young man speaking to another. “Alas!” the ghost cried. “It was the single man most trusted by your grandfather and yourself-”

“You lie, foul phantom!” Rebozo screamed, leveling his staff. “It was the Lord Chancellor Rebozo!” the ghost cried.

Chapter 26

Rebozo screamed a cursing verse in the archaic language, and the staff spat green fire. “Die, foul phantom! Get thee hence!”

Prince Casudo only folded his arms across his breast, closing his eyes and tilting his head back in prayer as the flames wrapped about him. But King Boncorro glared at the chancellor, his lips moving, unheard in the midst of Rebozo’s maniacal screams of hatred-and a giant snake coiled up from the floor to wrap Rebozo in its coils. Rebozo stared at the flat wedge head, only a foot from his face, and screamed in horror before the snake’s coils choked off his breath. His staff fell clattering to the floor, and the green fire stopped, showing Prince Casudo’s form still there, shining more brightly than ever. King Boncorro rose from his throne, eyes narrowed under lowering brows, and stalked toward the chancellor, slipping a stiletto from his belt. “No, your Majesty!” Rebozo rasped with the last shreds of breath. “This phantom is not real! It is only a phantasm made by the scholar Arouetto!”

“How great a fool do you think me?” King Boncorro glanced at the snake. “Loosen enough to give him a taste of breath! He shall die by my knife, not your coils.” Then, to Rebozo again,

‘He is no wizard, but only a scholar-and has nothing to gain!“

“He has the Knowledge! If he knows the way, he can do the deed! And he has everything to gain, for he is the true and legitimate heir to the throne of Latruria.” Boncorro froze. Then he whipped about, glaring at Arouetto. “Is this true?”

“Be sure it is true.” Sir Guy stepped forward, his hand on his sword, just a step from Prologue

interposing himself between Arouetto and the young king. “He is the last descendant of the last Caesar.”

“But I do not wish to rule!” Arouetto protested. “I have no taste for court life and less for intrigue! I abdicate, here and now, where all may hear me, in favor of King Boncorro, for his reign may cure the ills of Latruria! I wish only to be left to my books in peace!”

“I have heard it,” Sir Guy said, “and I will abide by it. He is no longer the heir. The throne is yours.”

Boncorro scowled down at them for a very long minute. Then he said, “I thank you, scholar. I shall keep the throne-but you may not have your life of peace, for I require your services and your advice. Rebozo has betrayed me three times over. He shall die for that. You shall be my new chancellor.” Then he turned, raising his knife to execute the sentence. “No, my son!” cried the ghost. “Do not send him to Hell! Let him confess his sins, let him repent!” Boncorro hesitated, the dagger poised. “It is foolish to loose a snake to strike at your heel, my father.”

“Do not loose him! Find him a priest this very day, let him confess, then behead him and burn his body! But do not burden your soul with his damnation!”

“This is not prudent,” Boncorro said. “The way of virtue is frequently imprudent, but always wise! Do this for me, my son-though I know I do not deserve it of you!”

“You deserve it ten times over.” Boncorro sheathed his knife. “Your desertion does not outweigh ten years of love and care of a very small child. He shall have his chance for Heaven.” He gestured, shouting a quick verse, and the snake dwindled, turning into iron, and clanking hard about Rebozo’s wrists and ankles as fetters and chains. But Rebozo had been given the respite he had needed to recover. With one quick motion he stooped and caught up his staff, crying, “Now, all my old henchmen! Strike, or know your doom! Smite this princeling, or die at the stake!” Then he shouted an unintelligible phrase, snapping the staff out toward Boncorro-and the snake reappeared, coiling up about the king. Sir Guy shouted,

“Havoc!” and sprang up on the dais, his sword whirling toward the serpent’s head. Boncorro saw him and ignored the reptile, gesturing and shouting his own rhyme… But his shout was answered by fifty others, as courtiers stepped forward, slipping wands from their sleeves and chanting verses in the archaic language-even as a fiery monster appeared between Rebozo and the king, blasting Boncorro with its fire as the tailor leaped astride the creature his magic had called. But flame met a thousand glinting points that rushed toward Rebozo, and caught the monster instead. It screamed with rage, thrashing in pain, but leaped at the king… And a score of other monsters, lamias, gorgons, and nightmares of horn and sting and teeth, screamed in delight and converged on Matt and his friends, while another score rushed Prologue

toward Boncorro. Saul spread his hands, shouting, “Ou sont les neiges d’antan? Les laissez-les faire ces monstres Devienent froids, geles et dursf” Matt shouted out, “Into the cradle, endlessly rocking, Go the horrible creatures immediately flocking! Bars o’er those cradles are instantly locking!” Half of the monsters slowed, halted, and stood frozen; the others shrank down, their shrieks of dismay rising up the scale as cradles appeared behind them. They fell backward and in; iron grids clashed shut over the tops of the cradles, holding them in. But other sorcerers were shouting other verses, and fires sprang up all about them. The ceiling rained knives and swords, the floor sprouted vipers and scorpions. Matt and Saul spun about and about, trying to quell one horror after another, yanking out verses in a very eclectic blend of classic poetry and TV commercials. Cans of insecticide appeared about them, sprinkling death on the vermin; fire extinguishers sprang into existence to combat the flames; giant steel umbrellas sent the cutlery cascading. But they were on the defensive, scarcely managing to keep up; the sorcerers definitely had the initiative. On the dais, Boncorro was whirling, shouting verses in old tongues and new, sweat running down his face as he countered one nightmare form after another. He made his floor turn from mire back into solid stone, and set up dozens of shields and swords to parry and fence those weapons that Rebozo brought into existence. Meanwhile, Sir Guy was manfully battering at Rebozo’s steed, taking its blasts of fire on a shield that magically dispersed the creature’s flames instead of conducting them. Sir Guy was singed and cut in three places on his face, but the monster was bleeding flame from a dozen, screaming in rage and frustration, for the knight danced about it, never in one place long enough to bite-and, worse, he was singing! “Ran! Tan! Terre et del! Terre et del, et sang vermeil! Ran! Tan!

Terre et del! Bois le vin gaulois!”

It was magic all his own, warrior’s magic, and the courtiers who weren’t wizards paused in their pressing back toward the doorways, heads coming up, wide-eyed. Matt took his cue.

“Allons, enfants de la patrie! Le jour de gloire est arrive! Contre nous de la tyrannie!

L’etandard sanglant est leve! L’etandard sanglant est leve! Entendez-vous, dans la campagne, Mugir, ces feroces soldats, Qui vienent jusque dans nos bras! Egorgez nos fils, nos compagnes!

Awe armes, mes dtoyens! Formez vos bataillons! Marchons, marchons, quand le sang impur Abreuve nos sillons!”

It wasn’t their language, but the words worked anyway, and the zeal imparted by the song.

With a massive shout, the courtiers turned on the sorcercers, who turned to blast them… A maddened yowl broke from the archway, and the manticore sprang in, fur bristling. It flew into the sorcerers, double jaws closing on one after another and tossing them aside. The remaining sorcerers screamed with fear and shrank back-but, unfortunately, so did the rest of the courtiers. Then a massed shout thundered from the archway, overriding the noise from within, and a hundred knights strode into the throne room, swords mincing the sorcerers’

 

Prologue

monsters and cutting a way through to the sorcerers themselves. Behind them a golden-haired fury strode, a golden circlet about her helmet, sbouting in rage, “Slay the foul fiends who would imperil my love! Rally to the Lord Wizard, to the Witch Doctor, and to the Black Knight!”

Behind her, Stegoman’s huge head shot in through the door. A dozen sorcerers shouted and sprang to block his way, wands swirling, but the dragon roared in fury, and the sorcerers howled and fell, rolling in flames. Unarmed courtiers sprang aside, and the dragon charged toward the dais as hundreds of men-at-arms came running into the throne room to strike the sorcerers down. Rebozo’s monster saw Stegoman and sprang to meet him with a howl like a siren. The dragon roared in answer, and flame blasted flame. But behind them King Boncorro, undistracted now, turned on his traitorous chancellor and wove an unseen net in the air as he sang. Rebozo shouted in alarm, flourishing his staff and shrieking a verse-but before he could finish it, ruddy flames blasted up about him, freezing him in agony, and for one brief instant a dark horned form seemed to loom behind him before the flames abruptly ceased, leaving only a pile of ashes. The fiery monster disappeared at the same instant, leaving only a fading shriek behind it-and every sorcerer in the hall screamed in pain, back arching, and fell rolling to the floor in agony. Sir Guy lowered his sword, panting, and told the king, “Well struck, Your Majesty!”

“But I did not,” Boncorro panted, staring at the heap of ashes with widened eyes. “My spell only inspired the agony of my traitorous courtiers! The flame that took him, that was not mine!”

“Even so,” Sir Guy said grimly. “When the queen’s army burst in, the end was clear, and the Devil gave his old punishment for failure.”

“Queen Alisande?” Boncorro looked up and saw the blond avenging angel wrapped in the arms of the Lord Wizard, who broke off murmuring endearments long enough to say, “You know, there’s something to be said for an army.”

“Yes, and I thank your Majesty for its use.” King Boncorro looked up at the ghost, who stood staring down at the carnage, aghast. “Mercy to so depraved a soul as that is unwise.”

“No,” the spirit muttered, shaking its head in denial. “It is always right, always! And a king must always do what is right!”

But Boncorro shook his head. “I think that there are times when a king must do what is prudent instead-and you must forgive me, my father, but on this Earth, I am called to be a king, not a saint.”

Matt and King Boncorro lingered unobtrusively in the doorway of the twenty-by-twenty Prologue

studio, watching the sculptor at work in the light from the wide northern windows. After a little while, Matt moved onward, beckoning to the king, who nodded and followed. When they were away from the door, Boncorro said, low-voiced, “His progress is amazing! And you say Arouetto has given him only a very little criticism and suggestion this past fortnight?”

“Only a little,” Matt confirmed, “but the kid paid attention. He respects Arouetto, you see.”

“Even though our scholar admits he is no sculptor?”

“No-because he admits he is no sculptor. But he does claim to be a connoisseur, and no one disputes it. At least, not twice-though whether that’s because they’re dazzled by his arguments, or just don’t want to sit through another hour of his explaining the merits of various paintings and statues, I don’t know.”

At another doorway, they paused to watch several painters at work; at a third to watch a string quartet practicing; and a fourth time to watch singers rehearsing an opera. As they went on, Matt said, “Arouetto even has hopes of persuading the actors from the marketplace to try performing a script one of his students is writing. It will take some doing, convincing them to memorize lines instead of making it up from a scenario as they go along, but I think he might manage it.”

“He is a most persuasive man,” Boncorro admitted. “He is,” Matt agreed. “I’m amazed that he manages to stop persuading when he’s teaching… here.” They paused in another doorway to see Arouetto sitting in a circle with the young men and women from Escribo’s farm, discussing an issue with great earnestness. “But there is as much sense in seeing the world as divided into male and female principles, as in seeing it divided into Good and Evil!” Escribo maintained. “Nonsense!” cried Lelio. “There is good in the world, and there is evil! Our teacher’s recent victory is reason enough to believe that!”

“No one denies it,” Berylla replied. “It is a question of which is greater, that is all.” Lelio stared. “Do you say that the female principle can be greater than Good?”

“No-that it can exist within the principle of Good!” She turned to Arouetto. “Could that not be valid?”

“Perhaps,” Arouetto said, “if you remember that, in the Far Eastern dualism, Good proceeds from male and female existing in balance, and Evil springs from one or the other being too prominent.”

“Evil being a lack of balance, and Good being balance?” One of the girls looked up sharply.

 

Prologue

“That has a familiar ring! The Greeks?”

Arouetto nodded, visibly restraining his glee. “Flaminia, you seem to remember the quotation.”

“ ‘Moderation in all things,’ ” Flaminia said, eyes wide in sudden understanding, “including moderation!”

“That is it,” Arouetto said. “But tell me, could there be any connection between that principle and the motto, ‘Know thyself’?”

“Far more than a motto, teacher!” another youth objected. “It is indeed.” Arouetto’s eyes shone. “But how do you see that, Amo?”

As Amo began to answer, Pascal’s head suddenly snapped up, his eyes widening in amazement. He thrust himself to his feet and strode off to a writing desk in a corner, where he began to scribble furiously. “Thus the poet gains inspiration,” Boncorro murmured, shaking his head in wonder. “This is something I can never truly understand, Lord Wizard!”

“That’s all right, your Majesty-for all their talk about it, none of them can really understand the ordering of a state.” Matt turned away, beckoning Boncorro out of earshot. “A few other scholars have already begun to hear of this villa and have come to talk and teach-in just two weeks! One is teaching rhetoric, another is teaching logic, and a third is teaching mathematics and music.”

“An odd combination.”

“No, he’s the Pythagorean in the bunch. I’m trying to get him to tell me about Pythagoras’

ideas about magic, but he claims the mystic master didn’t believe in the stuff-he just taught how the world worked and the parts interacted.“

“But if you understand that, you can work out ways to make wonders happen!”

“He doesn’t realize that, fortunately. The man’s a genius, but I don’t think he has very good judgment.” He glanced back at Arouetto. “I don’t think your new chancellor is doing a very good job in government.”

“He has already tried to resign, but I persuaded him to be chancellor only of this new center of study. He is ambitious; he hopes to build a community of scholars who will, together, pursue all human knowledge.”

 

Prologue

“Is he going to call it a ‘university’?”

“If you mention the word, I am sure he will adopt it. Still, he is generous in his advice, when I ask it-and I have begun to select other men to do the work of the state. But I shall never again give any one man such broad powers as I entrusted to Rebozo-so Arouetto shall keep the title of chancellor, and I shall develop others for the men who do the work of government.”

“Wise policy. You have very good judgment, your Majesty.”

“I appreciate the praise, Lord Wizard.” But Matt could see the young king brace himself against flattery. “Well, I’m glad you accepted my challenge and watched Arouetto teach, at least-and even gladder that you seized upon the idea of bringing them all into the castle without my having to mention it.”

“Which, I am sure, you would have-but there was so much value evident in the idea, that even I could not blind myself to it.” Boncorro smiled. “Already, the noblemen have begun to take artists into their households, and their wives have begun to invite scholars to their social gatherings. There is a positive stampede to catch a tame poet!”

“Which means there will be a lot of charlatans showing up, very fast. Might I encourage your Majesty to test very thoroughly anyone claiming to be cultured?”

“Wise advice.” Boncorro didn’t say he had already thought of it-he only said, “I must become as much a connoisseur as Arouetto-but I think the becoming will be a joy, and an excellent means to rest and refresh my spirit after a day of intrigue and striving.”

“There is something to be said for night school,” Matt admitted. “Uh, I’ve, uh, taken the liberty of strolling through the marketplace in my minstrel’s costume, and out into the suburbs…”

“Spying again, Lord Wizard?”

“Yes, but for you this time.”

“And for Queen Alisande, of course.”

“Well, of coursel And already I’m hearing peasants singing arias while they work, and seeing people really beginning to look at all those pieces of statues left over from the Caesars. People are even beginning to debate what is Right and Virtuous on the street corners. Of course, one of those corners is in the red-light district…” Prologue

“But even there, the discussion should render some improvement in the way they treat one another.” Boncorro nodded. “I can no longer deny it. Lord Wizard-my actions have been aimed at making people good, for my father was good, and that is the quality I will always admire secondmost.”

“Second? May I ask what the first is?”

“Strength,” said the king. “Survival. But come, Lord Wizard-we will be late in meeting the pope’s ambassador.”

Matt exchanged glad greetings with Brother Thomas, then introduced him to the king, and right away the whole meeting had a much less formal tone. Before they could even mention any matters of state or the purpose of the visit, Matt told Boncorro, “Brother Thomas is studying the notion that magical power is not good or evil in itself, and doesn’t come from either God or Satan-that only the knowledge of how to use it comes from Good or Evil, and makes the magic what it is.”

“Really!” said Boncorro with keen interest. “All-well, yes, but I may not speak of that, your Majesty,” Brother Thomas said uncomfortably. “The pope has not given me leave and is not sure that what I say can be correct.”

“Correct?” Boncorro gave him a hard smile. “But surely, just between two men who pursue knowledge, we may speak of it! It is not as if you were going to preach it from the rooftops!

Now tell me, if magic does not come from God, what are miracles?”

“Oh, something else altogether!” Brother Thomas fell without even realizing it, and the two of them were off into an hour’s conversation that had overtones of argument, but undertones of keen enjoyment. They finally got around to mentioning the pope’s objectives over dinner.

“His Holiness sends his thanks for freeing himself and his clergy, your Majesty, and allowing them to preach openly, without fear of persecution.”

“It is my pleasure.” Boncorro smiled. “And quite possible, now that most of the leading sorcerers in the land have revealed themselves in trying to aid Rebozo, and have been dealt with. Tell his Holiness that I am pleased by his attentions.”

“I shall,” said Brother Thomas. “He hopes that you will return this visit of courtesy and come to the Vatican to visit him.”

The room was silent. Finally, the king spoke. “I thank his Holiness, but I fear that matters of state are too demanding at this time. I will send my ambassador, however.”

“Ah,” Brother Thomas said with regret. “You are still shy of religion, then?” Prologue

“Let us say that I am not yet ready to become an ardent Catholic, Brother Thomas-but I have begun to see a great deal of merit in many of your Church’s views and am beginning to think God may exist after all. However, I will invite his Holiness to appoint a chaplain to my court-provided he is yourself.”

“Your Majesty!” Brother Thomas said, dazed. “I am not worthy! I am not even a priest!”

“Then perhaps you had better be ordained,” King Boncorro said shortly. “Now, good friar-you were saying that mathematics is, in essence, only a language for describing how the universe works. Might it not, then, be a means of effecting magic?” And they were off again, with Brother Thomas explaining that trying to understand the universe was one more way of trying to understand its Creator, and that mathematics, therefore, could be another route to God. Matt leaned over to Saul and said, “Maybe we ought to introduce the printing press. After all, we want this learning to reach the masses, don’t we?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Saul retorted. “Bring in the printing press, and your university will degenerate into ‘publish or perish.’ ”

Their last day began with an impressive ceremony in the throne room, at which Boncorro knighted Pascal. Then, while he was still dazed, he declared the poet and Flaminia to be man and wife. Dazzled even more, the poet left the king’s presence to begin his honeymoon. Then they all went out of the castle into the bailey, where Alisande’s knights stood bridled and ready, and Stegoman huffed beside Sir Guy, impatient to be off. But Manny lay purring, watching Pascal and Flaminia move toward the entrance tunnel. He rose to his feet. “I must follow where his spell leads me, Wizard.”

“Well, somebody’s got to keep him out of trouble. His Majesty has sent word through all his reeves that any farmer who sells you a cow can just bill his Majesty. But don’t stuff yourself, okay?”

“I shall be circumspect,” the manticore promised. “Farewell, Wizard! Summon me at need!” He bounded off after the young couple, who were too busy gazing into one another’s eyes to notice him. Matt had to admit he wasn’t entirely sorry to part company with the manticore.

All those teeth made him nervous. Then he turned and felt the fire of instant jealousy. King Boncorro was paying entirely too much attention to his sister monarch-and the attentions were anything but brotherly. His eye gleamed as he bowed to the young queen, her habergeon again lashed behind her saddle, standing demurely clad in a gown that nonetheless should have been classified as a diplomatic weapon. Boncorro kissed her hand, and may be excused if he lingered, for she was very beautiful. May be. Matt had to remind himself that the king wasn’t really making advances-but his blood boiled anyway. “I regret Prologue

that you could not accept my invitation to stay longer, your Majesty,” King Boncorro said. “I am honored, your Majesty.” Alisande gave the handsome young man a roguish smile, making Matt’s blood boil. “But I must needs tend my own kingdom, and I have been absent too long.”

“Ah, well!” Boncorro sighed. “Perhaps I might return this visit?”

“We will always be glad to welcome yourself and your knights at our court, your Majesty-my husband and I together.”

A flash of irritation crossed Boncorro’s features, but he took it in good part, turning to Matt and saying, “I suppose I should count it a compliment, Lord Wizard, that you have never allowed me more than a minute’s conversation alone with your enchanting wife.”

“A compliment… ? Oh! Yes. Of course. Definitely,” Matt said. “Well, I must despair of the opportunity, then,” Boncorro sighed, “for I would not wish the early death of the Lord Wizard, when he has aided me so vastly-even though that may not have been his intention.”

“A live ally is always worth more than a dead rival,” Sir Guy pointed out. “True, true,” Boncorro admitted. “But if you should have a daughter, your Majesty, and if she is as beautiful as yourself, I will pray for an introduction.”

“For your son, perhaps, your Majesty.” Alisande dimpled. “But first I must see to an heir.”

“Well, we’re working on it,” Matt reminded her. “No,” said Alisande, looking directly into his eyes. “I am. Your part is done.”

“What do you mean?” Matt frowned, and the jealousy boiled over. “What is this? One look at a handsome king, and I’m suddenly redundant? I mean, I know he’s-” Sir Guy coughed. “Lord Wizard,” he said, “I think her Majesty’s meaning has escaped you.”

“What do you mean? She was saying my part in it was-” Matt broke off as realization hit him, and stared at Alisande. She smiled, as much with relief as with joy. “Oh, darling!” Matt gathered her to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”