"In truth, I did. Yet 'tis none the easier to bear for that."
"Then don't give her the opportunity to score on you again. Just leave her alone."
"Aye, the wisest course." The priest climbed to his feet with a handful of sheep dung. "Yet know you what you ask of me?"
"Oh, I think I've got a pretty good idea. You're not the first man to be born with hot blood."
"Easily said." The priest gave him a dark glare. "Yet what am I to do, when such temptation's forced on me?"
"Pray." Matt's smile was bleak. "I know, I will."
Dinner was, to say the least, a little on the tense side. Father Brunel kept trying to strike up a conversation with Sayeesa, who answered politely for about two sentences before she cut him off. Then, when she tried to be polite for a third sentence, she suddenly seemed to be communicating the kind of secret message that every man was born to decode. Her eyelids drooped, her mouth started to curve into a languid smile, and Matt found himself becoming uncomfortably aware of her body. Hope leaped and burned in Brunel's eyes; almost imperceptibly, he edged near her-and Sayeesa stiffened, her allure disappearing as if she'd slammed the lid on a box. Brunel's face flamed with anger.
Alisande stepped into the breach with alacrity, challenging the priest on a point of theology. Reminded of his office, Brunel sullenly turned away from Sayeesa to answer the princess.
From that point on, Alisande maintained a very energetic conversation with Brunel, while Sir Guy kept Sayeesa talking. Whenever Brunel tried to win the attention of Sayeesa, the princess and Sir Guy were always in his way. It was a dazzling display of mental footwork, but Matt found it singularly exhausting.
Finally he gave up. He gulped his last mouthful of roast moorhen, wiped his hands on a tuft of grass, and rose, turning away from the firelight.
"Lord Matthew!" Alisande's voice rang out like a challenge. "Where go you?"
"Out for a walk," Matt tossed back over his shoulder. "Don't worry. I won't do anything foolish, your Highness."
Her frown darkened. "'Ware, Lord Wizard. You yet lack knowledge of this world."
"Oh? Is there something especially dangerous about this particular stretch of moorland that you might want to tell me about?"
"Naught of which I know," Alisande said slowly. "Naetheless, be mindful - we are besieged, beset upon all sides. Not a step do we take that is not noted by our enemy. And should he catch one among us left alone, he will surely cut him out and cut him down."
"He can try," Matt said evenly, and immediately wondered at his own brass. "But I'm in a state of Grace now, your Highness, at last. And if I see anything but heather moving, I'll yell loud and quick."
"Yet may you be too far for us to reach you." Alisande glanced at Sayeesa and Father Brunel with an agonized look; then her mouth firmed with decision, and she pushed herself to her feet. "Lend me a sword, Sir Guy. If he must needs stroll about, indifferent to his danger, I'll pace beside him."
"Oh, f' cryin' out unprintably!" Matt burst out. "What do you think I am, a kid who doesn't know enough not to talk to strangers? ... All right, all right! If you don't trust me to take care of myself, I'll take a bodyguard. Stegoman! Whaddaya say?"
The dragon rose, grinning. He looked back at the princess. "I shall keep him safe. Though I bedoubt me an he will need it. Do not fash thyself, Highness."
"I shall," she said somberly, and Matt wondered at the sudden trace of hurt behind her flinty mask.
Then she turned away, closing her eyes, and Matt felt anger seethe as he strode out across the moor. What did she expect of him, anyway? What was she trying to do to him? Or...
Was he doing something to her?
For a moment, hope leaped in his chest. Illusion, the monitor at the back of his mind schooled him sternly. Never believe.
It was true, and the taste of it was like bile in his throat. He reminded himself that he was a commoner born, and Alisande was royalty. True, he was technically a lord now, but it was the birth that mattered. Princesses didn't get seriously involved with anything short of dukes.
"What troubles thee?" Stegoman rumbled beside him. "I can return, if thou wouldst be alone."
"No! I'm glad of your company," Matt said quickly. "Stegoman, why were we created male and female? It only makes problems for us."
The dragon made a low, grating sound that resembled a chuckle. "Problems? Wait till thou hast mated and hast a nest of hatchlings."
Matt looked up, startled. "You? Ah - I mean..."
"Thou didst not see me as the family sort? Nay, thou hast the right of it." The dragon's eyes gleamed. "But as an eldest son, I have watched a parent's writhings and compared them with mine own. 'Tis a wretched life, unmated and wanting - or mated and responsible. In either case, wherein lies the sense?"
"Yeah. As they say in my world, you can't live without 'em and you can't live with 'em," Matt mused. "You never do control your own life. Ever since I came here, I've been slapped about, with no idea of where I'm going or why. Somebody grabs me and throws me to somebody else, who throws me to still another. Now I'm marching across a strange moor with a knight I don't know, a princess without a throne, a priest who shouldn't be, and an ex-witch. I'm getting a little tired of it all. It's time I got back in control."
Stegoman lifted an eye-ridge. "Thou dost desire power?"
"Not to control anyone else's life - just mine. I mean, I scarcely know what I'm doing any more - or why. For all I know, I could help Alisande gain the throne, only to see her set up the kind of government I abhor."
"And what kind wouldst thou not abhor?"
"Oh - the greatest good for the greatest number, I suppose."
"Ah, thou dost speak of peasants. And what is their lot now under Astaulf?"
Matt remembered the burned village and shuddered. "Okay, you win that point. But would Alisande be any better?"
"Her blood is not corrupted," Stegoman said. "She will therefore rule like her father. I saw his reign the five years I have roamed this land, and always there was food and fuel. The barons knew their rights and duties. And each year, all had a little more than they needed. But now?" His back fins writhed in a shrug. "Hunger stalks, bandits ride, and few fields are planted. 'Twill be a long, hungry winter."
Matt sighed. "Yeah. So I guess I stick with the princess."
"Yet still thine assent lacks joy." The dragon eyed him doubtfully. "Mayhap thou must decide the why."
"Why?" Matt began an automatic answer, then stopped. His reason was no longer obvious. "You're right. Why am I doing it?" He mulled it over. "Maybe because..."
"Aye?"
"Well, I guess, back in my own world, I didn't amount to much at anything I tried; and I've tried lots of jobs. But here, things seem to work. Put the two-bit scholar, the so-so poet, the doubtful logician, and the indifferent swordsman together - and you've got a wizard. So now I have this feeling of achievement, and a chance to be a success. All the half-gifts I was born with add up to one big Gift, here."
"A talent must be trained, though," the dragon mused. "Did then thy studies provide such training in magic?"
"Well, no," Matt admitted. "Or, wait, maybe they did, in a way. I picked up some training in logic and the scientific method. With them, it's just a matter of figuring out the rules."
"Rules? But there are no rules of magic! As I have told thee."
"There must be laws and rules," Matt stated. "You just have to figure them out. Observe several events and find what they have in common; then you can see what proceeds from them. If you know how one proportion changes, you have a good guide to how the other does."
Stegoman's head performed a loop-the-loop. "I hear thy words, but thy meaning lies beyond me. Dost mean, if I have two gold pieces and wish ten, I've but to write 'two' on a parchment, then change it to 'ten', and I'll have ten pieces in my purse?"