Sayeesa and Alisande stood at the base of the tower, bright in the moonlight. They sauntered toward the soldiers, looking at the knights and footmen with sneering contempt.
"How is it every man's a dog, when moonlight and a figure fair play upon his mind?" Sayeesa demanded.
"'Tis true," Alisande agreed. "Their tongues grow thick; they sweat and drool like feeble dolts."
"Aye. They withstand fire and steel, arrows, and the hail of bolts - but show them once a woman's form, and they'll crawl upon their bellies to be near her."
Were they out of their minds? They were fairly daring the soldiers to try rape!
Then Matt looked at the faces about him and saw them darkening with sullen anger - but looking at Sayeesa and Alisande, not the succubi. He looked at the women again. They were both beautiful in the torchlight; but the beauty was in their faces, for their bodies were draped and hidden. Somehow, neither looked the least bit sexually attractive at the moment. Even Sayeesa seemed to carry a frigid shield before her. Anger and scorn brightened her face, but the anger was cold, and all that radiated from her was chill. They were rousing anger, but also stilling lust. Matt found himself remembering that this was Sayeesa's area of power; but he hadn't known she could quench lust as well as she could raise it.
"Let them say what they will," one man-at-arms growled. "If I must choose 'twixt their like, and the ones without the walls, I'll go to those outside-or call them in!"
He scrambled to his feet and ran for the stairs. A dozen men shouted approval and ran after him. The rest snapped out of their dazes and made flying grabs at the renegades, who twisted aside and ran down the stairs, heading for the gate.
"Stop them!" the abbot bellowed. "Slay them as they fly, if you must! They must not near that gate!"
The porters sprang to readiness, whipping out their swords, and nearby brown-robes caught up staves.
"Max!" Matt bellowed. "Stop 'em!"
The Demon appeared between the two bodies, then exploded into a sheet of flame, filling the stairway just in front of the charging renegades.
The leader shrank back against the men behind him. They clambered back up the stairway as a party of Moncaireans clattered down to meet them, grappling their former fellows. There was a brief, chaotic clamor, shouting and the clash of steel; then it was stilled, as the Moncaireans dragged unconscious renegades off to a lockable room.
"The spell's not broken yet!"
Matt looked up, startled by the fury in Sayeesa's voice.
"See you not what happens there?" she demanded, pointing.
Matt looked out over the wall and saw some of the things the succubi were doing. He also heard the harsh, wet hiss of in-drawn breath all along the wall.
"These men are goodly and strong," Sayeesa snapped, "yet they are only men, and many will not withstand that sight! Hide them, Wizard, ere your army's broken!"
"Uh-yeah." Matt pulled his eyeballs back into his head with an almost-audible snap and nodded, catching his breath. "You're right. Yeah. Sure.
It boiled in, filling the air just beyond the battlements, thick enough to hide the succubi from sight. The defenders shook themselves, seeming to come out of a trance.
"Nay! What hell-brought spell was that which almost sucked us to our doom?" one gasped.
"Cover your mouths," Matt called. "The wind might blow our way!" To Sayeesa, he asked, "How long till the sorcerers get the idea, do you think?"
"Not long," she replied. "They'll forego them spell, when they see there is no profit to it."
Double sticks thudded against the outer wall, and mail-clad men scrambled up over the battlements.
"Invaders!" Matt bellowed, and the cry ran along the wall as knights lugged out swords and footmen hefted their pikes, turning on the attackers with a roar of delight; they were charged with tension and needed an outlet. The parapet turned into churning chaos, filled with the clangor of swords and the bawling of soldiers. But attackers kept pouring in, and the garrison was weakened.
"We must die in this last hour!" The princess loomed up next to Matt, her sword a flickering death about her. "Can you not expel this army of sorcery?"
"I was thinking along that line." Matt wielded his sword, blocking blows, feeling the charge of spiritual power that had been building in him as more and more knights went to the chapel.
As the dust dwindled and disappeared, the battlements began to glow with pale fire, brightening till it nearly hurt the eyes. All the soldiers froze in superstitious terror, with oaths and cries of fear.
"It's cold fire," Matt cried. "It will not hurt the godly!"
The Moncaireans came out of their trance with a shout. Discipline took over as the abbot bawled, "Attack!" The, soldier-monks went to it with a roar. The attackers backed away in fear, until they realized their choice was between St. Elmo's fire and certain death from steel. Then they clambered back into the battle, but it was too late. The Moncaireans had gained momentum, and the enemy soldiers fought in fear. Bodies flew from the wall; men screamed and clutched the steel that bit them. From there on, it was a cross between a slaughter and a clean-up session.
Matt decided not to give the sorcerers a fighting chance. He took a breath, searching his memory and adapting:
Nothing seemed to happen, and Matt felt a stab of dismay.
Then he realized that this spell might take a few minutes to work.
Soldiers were pouring down the scaling ladders! The battlements were almost clear, except for the dead and wounded. The Moncaireans began to push the scaling ladders over with bellows of joy, and the attackers were running back to their own battle line, while their captains bawled threats, trying to rally another charge. Troops being shoved forward met fleeing troops returning; they clashed and churned into swirls of shouting confusion.
Then a high, piercing shriek wafted dimly over the noise of battle-men in absolute terror. Matt's eyes snapped to the far side of the enemy army. Something had taken a nice, semicircular bite out of the back of the enemy line-no corpses were left, just empty grass where a hundred men had stood.
The Snark, it seemed, was a Boojum!
Howling shrieks of fear and confusion filled the field, and the whole attacking army turned into one vast-muddle, while the silent semicircle expanded and kept expanding.
Then the growth stopped. Somehow, the enemy sorcerers had managed to stop the Boojum without knowing exactly what they were fighting.
Matt tried another spelclass="underline"