"Thou hast said it," the dragon agreed. "Tell me, dost thou still think to return to thine other world?"
Matt's lips tightened. "The idea has never been far from my mind."
"Let it be," Stegoman advised him. "Abandon all homeward thoughts, Matthew Mantrell."
"Yes," Matt agreed, so softly he could hardly hear himself. One last surge of homesickness ached within him. His apartment, his friends, the life he had led ... Then it faded to a dull ache. It would always be there; but most of the time, he'd be too busy to notice.
He shrugged it off and began describing his dream in rough outline to the dragon. "I never had a dream like that on my own, Stegoman. I could have sworn it was real. And I couldn't wake myself up - it never even occurred to me to try." He shook his head thoughtfully. "I think I had a little help on that dream."
"That most powerful wizard thou didst mention aforetime?"
"Yes. I think he sent me that dream to convince me that Evil really existed here."
"How couldst thou doubt it?" the dragon growled.
"Not hard. Not hard at all - at least, in my world."
"Then it may be that thou hast committed grievous sins. Thou must be freed of them, or thou dost imperil us all. Thou hast accepted the title of Lord Wizard from the princess. Be worthy of it!"
Matt sighed, coming to his feet. He leaned back, stretching. "I guess that means I'll have to get to confession - as soon as we come across a church."
"A priest will do," the dragon rumbled. "And do not wait for one to find thee. Seek thou him - and quickly!"
Matt nodded. "Thanks for listening. I think you've done me a lot of good."
"Thee, perhaps. Not thy soul." The hint of a smile touched the corners of Stegoman's lips. "I have done naught but listen, as any friend should do." He laid his head on his forelegs. "And now, good night."
"Good night, my friend," Matt answered softly. He stood a moment longer, watching as the dragon closed his eyes. Then he turned and made his way back to his pallet.
He lay down, tucking his robe about him for as much warmth as possible. Have to do something about that in the morning. Maybe a long, blue robe, embroidered with schematics ... No, it would hamper his legs, and his life was likely to be pretty active for a while. He really needed clothing more suited to this world, though. Maybe just a doublet and hose, nothing elaborate, crimson and gold would do...
Vanity, said the monitor at the back of his mind, and Matt winced. Vanity was a vice, and he had to abstain from as many vices as possible, unpleasant as that might be.
And, of course, get to confession. Tomorrow. Or possibly next week ...
But Stegoman wasn't quite so sympathetic when Matt tried to explain the delay the next day.
"Thou dost fear the priest," the dragon growled. "Is there so much vice left in thee still?"
"Now, hold on! Why should I be afraid of just listing my sins to a guy I can't even see? It's just not fair to them!" Matt waved a hand toward Alisande, fifty feet ahead, and Sir Guy, much closer. Sayeesa rode between them, bound to Sir Guy's saddle, hands tied to the pommel. But the saddle was on a small, shaggy mare, like the one the princess rode; Sir Guy rode his charger bareback.
Strange about those mares. Matt had been willing to magic up transportation, but Sir Guy had grinned and walked out into the open plain, whistling a weird sort of melody that seemed to slide around definite pitches, never quite hitting the orthodox ones. The two little mares had come trotting up out of a screen of bushes, their eyes rolling fearfully, but coming nonetheless, to tuck their noses under Sir Guy's palms and nuzzle at his armor. They'd seemed a bit skittish about having the girls on their backs; but Sir Guy had stroked their necks, murmuring to them the while, and they'd calmed. Matt had begun to suspect the Black Knight of some magical Gift of his own, till he'd remembered that Sir Guy was a knight, a chevalier in French; literally, a horseman. Even the word chivalry came from the French cheval, which meant "horse." Apparently there was a bond between horses and horsemen in this world; and the knights, being the best of the horsemen, had the most power over the horses. Which didn't explain why Matt was still riding a dragon-but he wasn't about to argue.
Unfortunately, Stegoman was.
"Look," Matt tried to sound reasonable. "To find a church, we'd have to leave the line of march. We could lose a whole day, maybe more. I can't expect the others to go out of their way that much, just because I want to natter with a priest."
"Scouring thy soul is something more than a nattering," the dragon growled, "and thy companions know its importance."
"Oh, come on! It can't be that important!"
"Canst thou?" the dragon snapped.
Matt frowned down at him. "What's eating you, anyway?"
"My tooth," Stegoman snapped. "And do not speak to me of tearing it out from my body. It may rot in my jaw; I'll not be parted from it."
"Okay, okay! It's your agony." Matt sighed, leaning back. "After all, who am I to talk? I feel the same way about confession."
He clamped his mouth shut, shocked at what it had said; but Stegoman turned his head back, fixing Matt with a beady eye for a moment. Then he turned away again, gazing forward. "Thou hast spoken the truth to thyself. Wilt thou not now speak to the princess?
"About what?" Matt said, tight-lipped. "Calling off her war for a day, so I can find a box with a priest in it? Come on! I can't be that important!"
"The hypothetical wizard who sent thee thy nightmare thought thee so. Or the minions of Hell did, when they came to take thee."
Matt shook his head obstinately. "No. I can't buy that. It had to be a nightmare; a trip to Hell is a little too exorbitant. Why should I be important enough to rate such attention?"
"Thou art so important. What hast thou already done, without true dedication to the Good? Thou hast rescued the princess from prison and assembled protectors to aid her; thou hast buried a foul witch in the earth; and thou hast broken the spells of a lust-witch. Four times hast thou weakened Evil; three times hast thou strengthened Good. Both were balanced at loggerheads ere thy coming, a balance which thou hast already disrupted. In this coil come upon us, thou must needs be central."
A chill wind fanned Matt's back. "I definitely don't like the sound of that."
"Wherefore? Hath it too much of truth in it? Accept it, Wizard; for thou hast not overlong to accustom thyself. This coil's been eight hundred years in the making; it will not await thy convenience."
"Eight hundred years! What are you talking about? Malingo and Astaulf came into power less than a year ago!"
"That," the dragon said acidly, "is but the latest chapter in a rather long book. I have told thee how, eight hundred years agone, great Reme fell, and how chaos followed."
"And how Saint Moncaire eventually got sick of the mess and talked King Hardishane into taking over the continent, yes."
"Aye, because Hardishane had conquered the northern Isle of Doctors and Saints and was king by birth of a nation of Sea-Robbers; and was also, haply, heir to the greater part of Merovence, through his mother."
"Oh." Matt pursed his lips. "No, you left out those little details."
"Did I so? Well, 'tis no marvel; any hatchling would know it ... For the taking of Merovence and her neighbors, Hardishane assembled a company of knights of greater glory than the world ever had seen, the Knights of the Mountain. They and the giant Colmain were his spearhead and Moncaire his fortress. Hardishane ruled from the far North, the Isles and the Sea-Robbers' lands, to the Central Sea's shore; and west to the coast of Ibile, east to the farther border of Allustria."
Matt sighed and rolled his eyes up. "So what does that have to do with the current world crisis?"
"That is my tale."
Matt looked up, startled, to see Sir Guy riding at his elbow. The Black Knight had dropped back to join the conversation.