He turned back to Breaorgh, feeling a chill grow within him. Now came the dangerous part - Prince Hal. Would the identity with Richard hold? It should - Hal and Richard were just opposite ends of one Shakespearean continuum. A case could be made that they were almost the same character, at two extremes - the character called King.
Well, nothing ventured ...
"Nay, ye canna mean that I am such!" Breaorgh bleated. "How could there be some beauty under my fell carcass?"
But he wanted to believe it. His eyes were almost normal, his hair cascaded down, and his fangs were just two white dots above his lower lip.
Matt grinned and went on.
"And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off. I'll so offend, to make offence a skill, Redeeming time when men think least I will."
Breaorgh had a very thoughtful look when Matt finished. The only sound was the soft rustle of falling hair.
"'Tis a lie!" But Breaorgh didn't sound too sure. "There is nothing of the good or honorable that I do hide. I am what I have always been-an ugly monster, and of monstrous temper! Am I not?"
"Look at your feet," Matt suggested.
Breaorgh stared, startled. Then, in spite of himself, he looked down - and stared again. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the rest of his body.
"I yet would not call him clean-limbed," Sir Guy said judiciously, "but I've seen more hair on a country squire. And his fangs have quite vanished."
Matt had been so busy staring at the hair, he'd missed the final transformation of the face. "Hey! He looks almost handsome!"
Breaorgh looked up, fear in his eyes-the kind that can turn to fury. "What fell sorcery is this?"
"Wizardry," Matt corrected. "Looked in a mirror lately?"
The ogre glared. "A what?"
That was right, peasants wouldn't know about mirrors in this culture. "A slowly moving river," Matt suggested. "A pond. A puddle, even! Go look - you'll be surprised."
Breaorgh started to turn away, then hesitated, glancing at them sidelong.
"Don't worry, we'll still be here when you get back - not because we want to, maybe; but we'll be here."
Slowly, Breaorgh turned and started walking toward the slope he'd come from. His stride lengthened, quickened; then he was running up the slope, round a cliff-and was gone.
Matt heaved a huge sigh of relief and let himself hang limp inside his armor. "Of course, I wouldn't say the operation was a total success."
"Wherefore not? He is now clean-favored, even comely - if he bathes."
"Well, maybe. But there's still a little matter of an extra two feet of height..."
"A small concern," Sir Guy said airily. "Must you demand perfection? I cannot think there's a baron living that would not welcome him with joy into his private army."
Rock growled in a minor avalance, and Breaorgh came skidding and sliding down the slope. He hit the floor of the pass, pounded toward them, and skidded to a stop ten feet away.
Stegoman took a quick breath.
"Swallow it," Matt said quickly; and the dragon gulped, then belched, looking extremely discomfited.
"'Tis a miracle!" Breaorgh was wild-eyed, mouth hovering on the verge of a smile. "I am clean! My face is as it was before the change came on me! Ye are a wizard sure!"
"Well, now that you mention it," Matt said, "yes."
The ogre gave a cry of joy and dove at them, plunging his hands into the rock-pile. Matt shrank back inside his armor, then realized that Breaorgh wasn't reaching for him-he was heaving up boulders and pitching them away like softballs, plowing and digging his way into the talus slope like some monstrous puppy. Rock chips flew, and somewhere in the cloud of granite, Breaorgh cried, "I must see your foot!" He heaved away a last bushel of gravel and fell to his knees, seizing Matt's iron shoe. It was, amazingly, free.
So was the rest of him, for that matter. He glanced over at Sir Guy; the knight and his horse both stood clear of the rock-slide, too.
"I swear unending loyalty to ye!" Breaorgh bowed his forehead to the bedrock and jammed Matt's foot down on his neck. "This is the sign of it, your foot upon my head! I am your man, as long as I may live!"
"Uh, well..."
"Wizard!" Sir Guy said severely. Matt met his eyes and swallowed. Customs!
"I accept your service," he said to Breaorgh, "and gladly. I'll have great need of men; we're expecting a major battle any day now."
"Truly?" Breaorgh dropped Matt's foot and looked up, his face lit with glee. "May I, then, fight for ye?"
"Indeed you may!"
"You shall see the way of it," Sir Guy explained, "when you know to whom you have sworn fealty."
Breaorgh glanced at Matt's blank shield and frowned. "I see no arms."
"He has not yet been granted them; for he's the first in knighthood of his line. But as you've guessed, he's more than knight is, he is a wizard. This is Matthew, rightful Lord Wizard of Merovence."
Breaorgh froze, bug-eyed again.
Matt nodded sympathetically. "You see how it goes. I'm told that, once having accepted the title, I can be sure Malingo will try and do something about it."
"Be assured he will!" Breaorgh scrambled to his feet. "But ye have no hope of besting him! The royal line to-which ye've sworn lies in dungeon at far Bordestang!"
"No longer." Sir Guy moved in a little closer. "The wizard hath freed her."
Breaorgh squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a quick shake. "Do I hear aright?" He turned to Sir Guy. "And the princess wanders free?"
"Free and toward these mountains." Sir Guy nodded.
Breaorgh's throat worked; he licked his lips. "Then I have sworn to aid her?"
"Well, in effect, yes," Matt answered, "if you meant what you said about being my vassal."
"Aye!" the giant roared. "I rejoice far more now in my oath! For the queen I'll fight!" He whirled away, tossing his sword up, catching the hilt, and slamming it back into the scabbard. "Nay, Lord Wizard! Lead me on! Set tasks before me -- I'll do them all, and more! I'll hew and chop as none has, since Colmain was turned to stone!" He jarred to a halt, a sudden, thoughtful look coming into his eyes. "If I brought ye more ogres, say a round score, and they did aid ye in this fight-would ye, then, serve them as ye've served me?"
Matt took a deep breath, thinking fast. For all he knew, Breaorgh's colleagues might not even be of human blood. He had a vision of a twelve-armed, ten-foot tree trunk, with a mantishead... "If I can," he said slowly. "I can't promise anything more than that, Breaorgh. If I can figure out ways to change them back to normal, I will - but I can't be sure. I can only promise that I'll give it my best shot."
"More than that, no creature could ask of ye!" Breaorgh cried. "That the greatest wizard in the land will try his best - 'tis hope, at least! Nay, ye'll have a score of ogres battling for ye, Wizard!" He leaped away, sprinting across the pass, up the slope on the other side, and disappeared into a cleft between two cliffs.
Matt tried to mop his brow, but all he got was a clang that resounded through his head. "Ouch! I keep forgetting!"
"And have you, then, forgot me also?" A bright spark of light danced out of his armor to hover in front of his face. "I could have felled him and moved the rocks that bound you in an instant, Wizard!"
It was Matt's turn to be dumbfounded. In the heat of battle, he'd forgotten all about the Demon.