Matt sat still for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I seem to remember something about that, from my childhood catechism-seriousness, knowledge, and wilclass="underline" the three components of a mortal sin. It has to be wrong enough to be mortal; you have to know it's that bad; then you have to decide to go do it."
Sir Guy nodded. "Thus said the priest. The act itself, it seems, is not necessary."
"But he reneged on the decision! He reversed it! He drew back! He didn't do it!"
"Nay; for there came another moment of decision. On the verge of committing the act, he became uncertain; and had he, at that moment, decided again to do the deed itself, he would have committed a second mortal sin."
"Come on!" Matt tossed his head in exasperation. "Two sins for the price of one? What is this, bargain week at the Devil's booth?"
"It would seem that it is."
"So even though he's never been anything but celibate, he considers himself a sink of depravity."
"He does, Lord Wizard, he does. And can you gainsay him?"
Matt started to answer, then remembered which universe he was in, and bit back on the response. Even in his own universe, the traditional theology agreed with Brunei. These days, of course, there was some talk about a sort of relative morality ...
He shook his head. This was Aristotle's universe, not Einstein's. Nothing was relative, here; there were only absolutes.
Father Brunel was educated in local theology, which came perilously close to also being local science. No doubt he was right-in this universe. No doubt, at all-or he wouldn't have turned into a wolf.
The sun was out of sight behind the peaks, firing the Western sky, when they rode down into a small valley nestled among three mountain peaks. Alisande reined in her horse. "Here is our camp for the night."
Matt frowned and looked around. It was a pretty place, but not much by military values. "Have you been here before?"
"Nay; but I know of it, and Sir Guy has doubtless seen it."
"Oh?" Matt raised an eyebrow at the Black Knight. "What do you think?"
"That we must see the dawn here, Sir Matthew." The knight swung down from his horse. "Come, setup camp."
Matt clambered down from Stegoman, still dubious. "If you don't mind, Your Highness-why here?"
"Because," said Alisande, "one of two yonder peaks is Colmain."
Matt stared. "Which one?"
"That I cannot say. 'Twill take some time to ascertain it, more than there's light left."
"Oh?" Matt raised an eyebrow. "How are you going to go about it? Ask the natives?"
"None would live near here; 'tis said to be cursed. Yet I will know, wizard, just as I know now that we are near him."
"But how..." Matt cut off the rest of the sentence and turned away to hunt fuel. It made sense, of a sort; and he was sure
Alisande wouldn't be able to tell him how she knew, other than that she'd have a feeling. Which figured. When Saint Moncaire brought Colmain to life in the first place, he'd probably included Hardishane's genetic imprint, or its spiritual equivalent - a sort of psychic fingerprint. And being psychic and therefore of energy, it would resonate to its harmonic waveform-the "print" of Alisande's soul. Just as Matt could feel forces gathering about him when he worked a spell, so Alisande would be able to feel Colmain's presence.
Which meant the spirit still lived, in the rock...
Matt veered away from the idea and laid kindling on a flat stone. "Hey, Stegoman! Got a light?"
"Must I?" the dragon growled.
Matt looked up, frowning. "What makes you so surly all of a sudden? ... Oh. Your tooth."
The dragon nodded miserably.
"I thought it had rotted away, since it hasn't bothered you in so long! Better have it out, or it will really get fierce."
"Must I?" But Stegoman already sounded resigned.
"No question about it." Matt stood up, wiping his hands on his metal pants. "We might be fighting a battle tomorrow - and it would kind of slow you down."
"Well, then, if it must be, it must!" The dragon sighed. "Only be quick about it, Wizard - and render vanished a part of my body!"
"Oh, don't worry, you won't feel a thing - while I'm doing it." Matt pulled up some grass and went over to the dragon. "Lie down and open your mouth."
Stegoman grunted, folding his legs, and laid his head on the ground, opening his great mouth. Matt eyed the huge fangs suspended over his hands and decided that anesthetics were a great idea.
It was easy to tell the bad tooth; it was much darker than the rest. Matt squeezed the grass over it, watching drops of juice strike the bad tooth as he chanted:
The last drop splattered onto the tooth. Matt drew his hand back. "Okay, close your mouth."
Stegoman let his upper jaw close and frowned, lips working. "Wha've 'oo duh? I ca' fee' my hung."
"Hung? Oh, tongue. It worked faster than I thought. Well, let it sit a bit longer." He got up and sent to Sir Guy. "Do you carry a kit for fixing flats-uh, for changing horseshoes?"
The Black Knight nodded. "Certes. What knight would not?"
"Got a pair of tongs for drawing nails?"
Sir Guy nodded again and went to rummage in his saddlebags. He came back with a huge pair of pincers.
Matt took them and returned to Stegoman. He found the Operation had drawn everyone but Alisande to watch. She would probably come, too, when she was done shooting dinner.
Matt knelt, grumbling. "Now I know why they call it an operating theater... Open wide, Stegoman."
The dragon opened his mouth but kept his eyes closed. Matt tapped the tooth with his finger. "Feel anything?"
"Ngo."
Matt put on a little pressure. "Now? ... Now? ... Okay, brace yourself." He took a deep breath, jammed the pincers tight as he shoved with his foot, and threw all his weight against the handles.
He stumbled backward, holding a huge, dripping tooth silhouetted against the evening sky.
"Ow," Stegoman said, but not loudly.
"The tooth-hole bleeds," Sayeesa observed. "Should it not be bound?"
"Bound? Oh, packed. Yes, but..."
"Here." She thrust a wad of lint into his hand. "Torn from my petticoat. I had thought you might forget."
Matt packed the lint into the bleeding socket. "Okay, Stegoman, you can close your jaw now."
The dragon lowered his upper jaw gingerly, letting the full weight onto his lower jaw gradually. Then he opened his eyes. "I feel no pain now." He seemed to have recovered control of his tongue.
"Well, some of the drug's still in you. When it wears off, there'll be some pain. But it will pass - and stay gone!"
"My thanks, Wizard. And fear not-if there's pain, I'll bear it. Guard my tooth."
"Like a diamond." Matt turned to Sir Guy. "You wouldn't have a scrap of leather, would you?"
"Such as would serve for mending a bridle? Aye."
The knight brought it from his saddlebag. He must have belonged to the Coast Guard; he was always prepared.
With a circle of the leather and a thong, Matt fashioned a bag just large enough to hold the tooth. He held it out to Stegoman. "I could tie it around your neck."
"Aye, do so. Then he who would pluck it from me must slay me to get it!"
Half an flour later, Matt finally decided to draw the packing out, muttering:
The wound looked clean. Matt watched it for a time to be sure there was no seepage. He started to throw the lint onto the fire, then stopped, remembering his sympathetic magic and what burning the blood might do to Stegoman.