"Nay, 'tis the blood that can win a crown out of chaos-a power of sensing what will win or lose. When a king knows a battle impossible to win, he will find a way to avoid that battle. But if he can be brought to battle, be assured he will win, though he have but a handful of knights against a multitude."
Matt scratched thoughtfully behind his ear. "Where I grew up, we thought it only human to make mistakes."
"And you think I claim to be more than human," Alisande said drily. "Nay, Lord Wizard-I know myself to be quite mortal. In matters of my own life, I may make as many mistakes as other mortals. But on matters of the public good, if a monarch makes so many mistakes that her interest becomes opposed to that of the people, she should abjure all authority over the common weal."
"Yeah." Matt smiled tightly. "But I doubt that Astaulf is going to abdicate willingly."
"True. But having become corrupted, he no longer has claim upon kingly rights and can be brought down. Thus it came about in Ibile and Allustria. There kings came to power, but their descendants grew corrupt. Taxes crushed the peasants, and the barons ran riot. Then the kings were overthrown, to be succeeded by self-made ones who were equally corrupt. Their present kings have turned to sorcery and are sunk in debauchery. Thus has Merovence been a sole bulwark against sorcery, until the coming of Malingo."
"Is that the threat that kept your family clean?" Matt asked.
Alisande nodded. "We were reared knowing we might be beset by an army of foul sorcery at any time. I, like my ancestors, was schooled with sword and Book and the myriad ways our fathers have kept our land free. I was twelve when I followed my father's army against the sorcerer Bakwrog. At fifteen, he gave me command of a thousand foot and a hundred horse against the Baron of Carpaise.
"When my father died..." Alisande's voice faltered, but she blinked and went on, iron in her tone. "'Twas at table and sudden. I was too distraught to think to examine his food, but I now believe that he was poisoned. Then, by right, I was queen. But the land had never been ruled by a woman, and many barons were unwilling to obey. Even the Archbishop hesitated to crown me."
"And while he delayed, Astaulf and Malingo marched in?"
Alisande nodded, swallowing. "They roared through the land like a storm that levels all before it. Against the folk, they brought vampires, incubi, and succubi. Harpies struck from the sky to bring panic and chaos. Thus they came from the south in one week's time." She shut her eyes, bowing her head. "Thus fell my land."
Matt was silent, numbed, shaken - and scared. "So you believe you cannot be beaten in battle - but you can't know. And we're up against a vast army with amazing mobility, a fifth column of assorted monsters, and an air arm."
"Aye," Alisande admitted grimly. "What magic forces can you raise against them, Lord Wizard?"
"Um ... That will require thought." Matt stalled. "I should be able come up with something. And I think we may have a support base to fall back on."
"Support base?" Alisande seemed puzzled. "Of what do you speak?"
"Well, I may have wanted to come here in my subconscious dreams - but I don't think I made it on my own."
She thought about that for a moment, then nodded her understanding. "You believe a more powerful wizard aided you. And you think he did it to support my cause?" She shook her head ruefully. "But I know of none such. Nay, you but speculate, and speculation gains us naught. We must depend on proven forces."
"And who are those?" Matt asked.
"The Western barons. For a hundred years, they and the dragons have guarded us from those who would have swarmed across the borders. And there are the soldier-monks."
"Soldier-monks?" Matt pricked up his ears, thinking of the Knights Templar of his own world. "I haven't heard of them."
"They are deacons and priests whose service to God is fighting the servants of evil by wielding shield and buckler. They are ever ready to defend the cause of Right. They are the Knights of Saint Moncaire and three lesser orders - the Liegemen of Conor, the Knights of the Hospice, and the Order of the Blue Cross. Their loyalty to the crown cannot be questioned, for it follows directly from their devotion to God."
"Who else can you count on?"
"Unfortunately, only Sir Guy and yourself. But if you can wake the giant Colmain, I shall need no more."
And that, Matt thought, would be quite a job, since Colmain had been spelled by a mighty sorcerer. It would probably be a lot more difficult than bringing back Stegoman from the witch's spell. Automatically, he reached for his silver ballpoint pen, touching it. It wasn't much, but it was somehow a connection with all he had known of his homeworld.
That was when he began to realize what a talisman was.
Late in the afternoon, they rode up from the plain onto an open moor. Matt felt almost daunted by the hugeness of the wasteland that rolled up toward the sky without a single tree or occasional shrub. Even the grass didn't grow very high here - probably because of low rainfall. The bleakness and loneliness made him feel swallowed by immensity.
Sayeesa felt it, too; she shuddered and wrapped her robe more tightly about herself. The rest of the party started looking very serious.
Still, it had to be crossed. By sunset, they were well out in the midst of the moor, surrounded by miles and miles of acres, and all of it scrubby.
Sir Guy pulled up his horse and smiled cheerily. "I suggest we go no further this day and I think we had best set up what defenses we can against those who prowl by night."
Somehow, Matt didn't think the knight was referring to the local wildlife.
He surveyed the emptiness with a singular lack of enthusiasm. "Where do we set up these defenses? I don't see a single good camping place between here and the horizon - any horizon."
Sir Guy shrugged. "The easier our decision, then. One place is as good as another. What says your Highness?"
"I have heard of these moors," Alisande said grimly. "By report, we will come to no decent defense for a day more at least. Aye, let us camp."
Matt dismounted, grumbling, and started looking for something that might serve as fuel for a fire.
"You are too delicate."
Matt looked up. Sayeesa knelt near him, lifting something from the scrub grass. "When you cannot find what you seek, you must needs use what you find - and here on the moor, Lord Wizard, our fuel is dried sheep dung."
Matt reminded himself that the American pioneers had burned buffalo chips. He sighed and started looking for sheep pellets. "Well, when in Rome - I mean, Reme ..."
"Aye. We must do what we must," a deeper voice said.
Matt looked up. Father Brunei was kneeling near the ex-witch, gathering similar fuel. "Yet stand away," he told Sayeesa, "and leave the noisome task to me. A beautiful woman's hands were, not meant for such." He looked up at her, and his gaze burned.
"Neither were yours," she answered curtly. "Are not those the hands that hold the Host?"
The priest smiled ruefully. "A poor parish priest must needs keep his own house and tend his own small garden, Sayeesa. There is dirt and filth aplenty in such tasks."
"You have used my name," she said somberly. "I had liefer you'd call me witch, as your peasants did."
"Why?" Brunel demanded, suddenly all 'priest again. "You should not wish the term, if you no longer are the thing. You should be mindful there is scant honesty in such a pose."
"And yours?" Sayeesa retorted. "What honesty is there in you, that you still wear the cloth?"
She rose, whirling away from him, to take her collection of fuel to Sir Guy, who had managed to cobble together a rough hearth out of stray boulders.
Matt watched her go, then turned to the priest. He wasn't too surprised to find the man's face darkened with rage. "Come on, Father - you can't deny you had it coming."