Matt felt his face heating and swallowed quickly. "Uh, thanks," he said, reaching down a hand. "It's already been a pleasure."
The dryad frowned prettily at his hand. "What novel custom's this?"
"Oh, just an idiosyncrasy of my people." Matt swallowed again. "Open hand, no weapon. It's our custom to clasp hands with friends."
"Oh ... I most certainly wish to be your friend." Her clasp was firm, her hand dry and smooth, like polished wood. Her fingertips wriggled with a subtle pressure that sent heat coursing up his arm to his glands. "Do come again," she breathed.
Then she spun away toward the forest, leaving a laugh that merged with the whispering of the morning breeze in the leaves, as the shadows claimed her, and she was gone.
Matt took a deep breath, sitting upright on Stegoman, shaking his head to clear it. "Well! A most ... interesting encounter."
"It was indeed," Alisande said, with an implied promise of incipient mayhem, "and I trust one was enough. Reflect on what was said, Wizard, on the crossing that's against all nature."
Matt gave her a reproachful look. "You still don't trust me. Should I be complimented?"
Alisande swung her horse about, face burning, and rode out into the meadow.
Sir Guy laughed softly behind him. "Come, Lord Wizard. Let us ride."
They cantered ahead. The mist turned deeper gold, thinning, showing them a swath of meadow. Matt saw a sheet of sunlight, laid out upon the waving grass, its near edge cut as sharply as a knife-edge by the shadow. He drew in suddenly, ten feet short of the shadow line.
"What troubles you?" Sir Guy frowned.
"I just remembered what this whole shenanigan was about." Matt swung down off the dragon. "You two ride ahead slowly with the ladies. And try to keep your neck hooked up, Stegoman, so no one can see I'm not with you."
"What hast thou in mind?" Stegoman blinked painfully against the sunlight.
"About what you'd expect. Try to make sure you keep in sight of the forest, and be ready to come a-runnin' if you hear a ruckus."
Stegoman turned his head slowly, doubtfully; but Sir Guy only asked, "What of yourself?"
"I'll stay here."
"A moment.'' The dragon blinked at him, frowning. "If the wolf should hap upon thee..."
Matt held up the silver dagger. "I'm ready - though I hope I won't have to use it."
Sir Guy frowned down at him a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away. "Come, Free Dragon! This is his fight, when all is done."
Stegoman went along, though he didn't look happy about it.
Matt stepped a few feet to the side and lay down in the long grass. The stems hid him from his companions, but also from the forest behind. He waited.
He didn't wait long.
A howl ripped from the verge of the forest.
Matt snapped his head up, looking backward, waiting.
A heavy, black form shot through the grass to his left, not five feet away. Matt leaped to his feet, just in time to see the great, gaunt wolf charge out of the shadow into sunlight.
It felt the warmth and howled, slamming on the brakes, leaning backward, clawing at the turf. It flailed about, wailing.
Hooves thudded as Sir Guy and the ladies came charging back toward it.
Then it rose up from the grass, already a grotesque and formless thing with half a face and half a muzzle, no longer a beast, not yet a man, struggling back toward the shadow line.
Matt ran forward, the silver knife out. The amorphous thing saw him coming and lunged forward desperately. But Matt leaped and landed on the terminator a half second before it.
It wailed miserably and rolled to the side, sheering off from the silver blade. It fell lengthwise, twitching, its whole form blurring, stretching out, elongating, paling - and Father Brunel scrabbled naked in the grass.
He rolled over onto his belly, face buried in his hands, sobbing in full despair.
Matt knelt, clapping his shoulder. "Calm down, Father. You're human again."
"Slay me!" The priest grabbed the front of Matt's tunic and yanked his head down. "I begged you before; I adjure you now! Slay me! End my shame!"
"No." Matt felt his face turn to flint again.
"Heed me!" The priest shook Matt like a rat, his face contorting with fury. "You would not heed me in the depth of night; look what has happed therefore! Take the silver blade and kill me!"
"Again I tell you, no!" Matt looked directly into the priest's eyes with a cold, hard stare. "I-will-not-send-your-soul-to-Hell."
He chopped down with his forearm against Father Brunel's elbow, knocking the priest's hands aside, and stood, glaring up at Alisande, daring her to disagree. But the princess only nodded judiciously.
Surprised but relieved, Matt turned back to the priest again. "Your cure is penance, Father, not death."
The priest glowered up at him; then anger faded, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head.
"Come, sir!" Sir Guy said sternly. "Hope's not fully fled! Come, on your feet, and be a man again!"
"There's no help for it, Father," Matt said, more gently. "We're not going to let you out of it. Take up the burden of humanity once again."
The priest lay still a moment longer. Then he groaned and shoved himself to his feet again-or started to. He made it to his knees, then suddenly remembered his condition and sank back, shooting an appalled, appealing glance at Matt.
"Oh, good Heaven!" Sayeesa ripped a strip of cloth from her robe in disgust and tossed it to the priest. "Gird your loins, and have no fear-the princess and I shall turn our heads."
She turned her horse, and so did Alisande; but Father Brunel only knelt, staring down at the wide grey strip in his hands, and muttered, deep in his throat, "I should not touch your garment."
"'Tis not my garment more!" Sayeesa cried, exasperated. "'Tis separate from me now, as you shall ever be! Now gird yourself!"
Alisande stared at her in surprise, then turned away, brow furrowed in thought.
Matt looked up too, amazed. Then he sighed and turned back to Brunel.
The priest was on his feet, finishing tying the loincloth into place with a twist of skeined grasses. He looked up at Matt, face grave. "'Tis better thus. I am not fit to wear a cassock."
"Will you quit wallowing in self-pity!" Matt snapped. "Haul yourself out to the arid land of manhood! Or do you think a cassock would make you neuter?"
The priest glowered down at the ground. "I could wish that it did."
"Yeah, yeah! We could be such damn fine men, if we just didn't have to cope with women! They wouldn't even distract us, if we just didn't have glands for them to lead us by! We could win every time, if we just never had a challenge! Come off it, Father! Glory comes from keeping on trying when you're losing, not from giving up!"
Brunel's head snapped up in indignant anger - and, for a moment, he almost seemed to have a man's due pride again.
Then he lowered his head, eyes still on Matt. "Aye, there's truth in what you say: despair's illusion. I, a priest, should know that. No matter how I've sinned, there's always hope I will not sin again. 'Tis deeper shame that a layman must remind me of it."
Matt nodded slowly, almost with approval. "Then be a priest, Father, and thereby be a man."
The priest frowned at him a moment longer; then he turned away, planting his fists on his hips and staring at the ground. He looked up, nodding. "I thank you, Wizard. Now stand away from me I must be gone."
Matt lifted an eyebrow. "Quite an about-face. Where are you heading?"
"To the nearest church," Brunel answered. "Where should I go?"
"Why, with us, good Father," Sir Guy said cheerfully. "Let us find this church together."
"No." Brunel shook his head. "You must ride to the West, and quickly; and I would slow your party, as I've done already."