Matt felt the hair at the nape of his neck prickle. But at least, he knew now where he was-in the tomb of Hardishane, the ancient Emperor. And those of the armored contingent were his Knights of the Mountain.
He stepped forward, taking his courage in both hands. "With all due respect, Sir Guy - can you be so sure?"
"Quite sure." The Black Knight gave him a reassuring smile.
"He speaks aright." Hardishane's voice rumbled with infinite regret. "There is no need for us yet, brave companions."
The whispering murmur filled the cavern again, a sad, disappointed sigh. It was eerie enough to chill Matt's thoughts for a moment. When they thawed, he began to wonder how Sir Guy had known what an Emperor confirmed.
And when had Sir Guy Losobal become Sir Guy de Toutarien?
"And who is this man you have brought guesting among us?" Hardishane demanded.
"He is Matthew, rightful Lord Wizard of Merovence, Majesty," Sir Guy answered, "a scholar of words and their power. Yet he is also loyal, courageous in battle, and sometimes humble to a fault. He is stout of heart and hardier than he knows. There is none I would rather have for shield-mate."
Matt stared at him, amazed to the point of shock.
"He is, then, worthy," Hardishane pronounced. "And who should be a better judge than Sir Guy de Toutarien?"
"Your Majesty does me too much credit," Sir Guy murmured.
"I do not." It was almost a rebuke. "Yet worthy as this wizard may be, he must bide in the chapel the whiles he is among us here."
Quarantine? Matt wondered. Maybe just a wise precaution, in case the wizard turned out to be a sorcerer.
"Escort him to the chapel, then." The dead Emperor seemed almost amused. "And show him there a pallet, for methinks that he is like to topple with his weariness."
Or maybe, Matt decided, it was plain old discrimination-they were knights, and he wasn't. They couldn't have the hoi-polloi mixing with their betters. He should have resented it, but he just didn't have the energy.
Sir Guy bowed and turned away. Matt turned with him automatically.
"Worthy knight."
Sir Guy turned back, eyebrows raised. "Majesty?"
"Moncaire must have the measure of this man."
Sir Guy inclined his head respectfully. "Your pardon, Majesty - but I believe he has taken it already."
"Well enough, then. To the chapel."
Sir Guy turned away again, and Matt stumbled after him, wondering what that business about measurements was. And what would Saint Moncaire have to do with it?
The chapel was a side cave, a nice little intimate grotto nestling up against the great hall. There were no pews-that had been a relatively late addition in churches-but the altar was gilded and very elegant, gleaming richly in the light of the single candle next to it. It was the only light in the place; mostly, the chapel was shadow.
Sir Guy led him to the back of the cave and put out a hand to stop him. "Here is your bed."
Matt couldn't see anything. He stuck out a tentative foot and felt-fur brush against his shin, nearly to the knee. He sighed and started to fold into it, when one last stabbing worry straightened him. "Sir Guy ... Malingo... are you sure.. ."
"Entirely, Matthew. There is not room for the slightest beginning of a doubt. Puissant as Malingo is, his power's not sufficient to find this cave; and even if he could, he'd not dare come in. His entrance here would be just such a sign as Hardishane awaits. He and his knights would rise, to charge throughout the Northern Lands, subduing all to remake the Empire anew. They would, in passing, obliterate the sorcerer who waked them. Rest your heart from fear and all concern."
Matt nodded, sighed, and let himself fold, tumbling forward. An ocean of fur pressed up against his side and cheek; his eyes closed automatically, and the darkness pressed in. After all, it had been at least three days since he'd had a full night's sleep.
"Matthew." Fingers touched his shoulder, and Matt came awake, tensed for battle, but feeling as if he were filled with sand. He could just barely make out Sir Guy's face, hovering over him. The knight had taken off his armor and had found a maroon robe of very rich material, belted at the waist. So this was how the local other half looked in their off-hours.
"Rise," the Black Knight said gravely, almost sternly. "You've slept the candle down."
Candle? Oh, yes-the one they used for telling time here, with alternating bands of red and white; each took an hour to burn through.
"How big a candle?" Matt muttered.
"Twelve hours," Sir Guy replied. "Rise and take up vigil."
Matt had never seen Sir Guy look so serious. He rolled off the pile of furs and came to his feet, frowning. "What's happening?"
But the Black Knight only turned away, beckoning. Matt followed, with a scowl.
Sir Guy paced down the nave to the altar. Matt stopped beside him and looked down at a suit of plate armor, just like Sir Guy's, only newer-brand-new, in fact; bright, silvery, untarnished steel.
"Kneel," Sir Guy instructed. "Begin your vigil."
Matt looked up, frowning. "Shouldn't we be back on the road? There's a war on, you know."
"The war may yet be lost, if you keep not this vigil."
Matt stared at him, but Sir Guy gazed back, unperturbed, with such a thorough sureness that Matt found himself turning and kneeling by the suit of armor. He tried one last, feeble protest. "Are you sure this is necessary?"
"Absolutely. Good fortune to you - and 'ware temptations. Newly wakened though you are, your eyelids will grow heavy. Impatience, ennui, hidden night-fears-all will assail you. Let them not disturb your watch. Be sure, 'tis vital. If you fail in this, dire actions will follow."
"But nobody's gonna come in and try to steal this stuff! Odds are, they couldn't even lift it! It can't walk off by itself, you know!"
"I do not know that, nor do you." Sir Guy's fingers dug into Matt's shoulder, almost as hard as his gauntlets. "Have faith in me, Matthew. I've never asked it ere this time. Have faith."
He turned away and was gone.
Faith! Matt looked up at the altar, glowering at the tabernacle. That's what it all came down to here, wasn't it? But he didn't doubt what the knight had said about this vigil's importance-to Matt's own life. Face it, he was a lackey here. He had no more place in that company of heroes outside than a private had in the officers' mess. If he tried to go back in there uninvited, those dead knights would find some way to skewer him. They didn't look as if they could lift their swords-but they didn't look as if they could still talk, either. Magic ruled here.
Okay. It was necessary for him to stay out of the way, and this was really a very polite way of making sure he did-instead of telling him to keep out, they gave him a job to do and told him it was important. Nice piece of face-saving; he'd be a fool to reject it and force them to get ugly. They were really being very nice.
But it rankled.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he got at being shuttled out of the way, so he wouldn't clutter up the space for the big guys! He had half a mind to charge out there and ...
You will be tempted. Sir Guy's voice seemed to ring through his head, and Matt sawed back on his emotions, suddenly alert to danger from inside himself. Even here, Evil could reach in to tempt him into a rash act that just might result in having his head handed to him. And, as he'd had pointed out to him far too often for comfort, if he failed, Alisande's bid for her throne failed with him.
He rolled back off his knees, folded his legs tailor-fashion, and settled himself for a long night, summoning the patience that had lasted him through long, dull undergraduate lectures. But patience wouldn't come.
Then think, he told himself. He was supposed to be a scholar with inner resources that should cope with any amount of unfilled time. This was a church, a place of religion, so he might as well pray, if he couldn't do anything else!