Inside the castle, Mama and Papa braced Alisande with determination. “My dear, my husband and I have decided to go with our son.”
Alisande stared. “Mother Mantrell, it is bad enough that I must hazard my husband! Must I risk you, too?”
“Why, I thought you would prefer that he have protection,” Mama said in surprise.
“He has Sir Orizhan and the sergeant! But if it is protection, surely Father Mantrell would be enough!”
“To protect Matthew against a sorcerer, yes,” Mama said, “but to help him discover this conspiracy he suspects? A woman may learn things a man may miss, my dear, especially where a princess is concerned.”
“You speak of Rosamund? Surely she is of little concern in this matter! But I, I am greatly concerned, for if Drustan marches before Matthew can prove who murdered Prince Gaheris and why, I must take my armies to meet his, and who will protect my castle and children while I am gone? Much worse, who will protect them should I not return?”
“Why… there is Saul, the Witch Doctor,” Mama began.
“I should not tear him away from his researches and his family again! I pray you, Mother Mantrell, stay and help me ward my kingdom. Stay to guard your grandchildren!”
Mama glanced at Papa. He nodded—they both recognized an appeal for moral support when they heard one. Mama turned back to Alisande, reaching up to embrace her. “Of course, my dear, we will stay. We had thought to relieve your worries about your husband, but if you will fret less because we are here when he is not, we must certainly be by your side.”
“Oh, thank you!” Alisande hugged her, doubly glad because they had not pushed the issue to the point at which she had to command them as their sovereign. “It means much to me that you will stay only because I ask it!”
“I am sure that it does.” Mama touched her cheek lightly. “Just as it means much to us that you invited us to stay when we had lost our home. Now that we have a home again, and the daughter for whom I always longed, how could we leave unless you wished it? No, of course we will stay.”
“Then we must tell Matthew goodbye,” Papa said. “Let us hurry; he may be mounting even as we speak.”
“I have said my farewells already,” Alisande said, tears in her eyes. “I would rather not say them again—but go, by all means go, to give him a mother’s and a father’s blessing.”
“We shall be back in a few minutes, then.” Mama gave her a brief smile as they left the room.
Matt was checking the straps on his pack when they came out. Mama halted, staring. “Peasants’ clothing? All three of you?” Then she lifted her head, understanding. “Of course! You go to track a murderer who may well be a peasant! But what if he is a knight or lord?”
“We’re bringing a change of clothes.” Matt tapped his pack. “I don’t really expect to need them, though. Even peasants can ask shelter in a castle, and we can learn more from the servants than from their employers.”
Mama glanced at Sir Orizhan, whose face was as impassive as a slab of rock, and at Sergeant Brock, who looked somewhat grim. She turned back to her son and stretched up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Go with God, Matthew, and may He bring you back to us in safety.”
“Amen to that.” Papa stepped forward to clap a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “May the Lord shield you with His wings, and may you walk through danger unscathed.”
“Thanks, folks.” Matt gave them each a quick embrace, then stepped back. “Do two things for me, will you?”
“Of course,” Papa said.
“I didn’t get a chance to question Pargas and Laetri— they’re the prostitute and her pimp who were, ah, present, at the crime.”
His parents understood on the instant; both their faces darkened. Mama said, “I wondered at Prince Gaheris dying while committing so chivalrous an act as defending a maiden. Have no fear, my son, I shall discuss the event with the woman.”
“And I with the man.” Papa had a very stern look about him. “We shall attend to it, be sure.”
“Thanks,” Matt said. He smiled, then turned to look up at the solar window, where a lone figure was silhouetted against the candlelight. He blew a kiss to her, then turned, away toward the gate. “Come on, guys.” He waved over his shoulder at his parents.
“What is a ‘guy’?” Sergeant Brock asked Sir Orizhan.
“I have heard it used as a man’s name, but not as a word by itself.” Sir Orizhan shook his head and sighed. “I fear that is only the first of many strangenesses we shall encounter as we travel with the Lord Wizard, Sergeant. Let us go.”
They came to the second strangeness half a mile beyond the town wall, as the sky was lightening—or rather, it came to them. They were passing a woodlot when a huge shape loomed out of it and into the roadway. Sir Orizhan leaped back with a shout, reaching for the hidden sword under his cloak, and Sergeant Brock whipped his staff up to guard. Matt only grinned, though, and raised a hand in greeting. “You got my carrier pigeon, then.”
“Yes. It was delicious,” the huge shape rumbled. “I could not resist so tasty an invitation.”
“Even so, that was fast flying, Stegoman. Thanks for coming.”
“Did you think you could go gadding about and leave me behind again?”
“Not really, no. Stegoman, these are my traveling companions, Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock.”
“I greet you.” The dragon bobbed his head. “I see from the plainness of your garb that you are setting forth on a mission of some danger.”
Sergeant Brock only stared, but Sir Orizhan managed to find his voice. “So the Lord Wizard informs us, Master Stegoman. I am pleased to meet you.”
“You are very courteous,” the dragon said, “but a very poor liar. Please be assured that I do not regard knights as my natural enemies, no matter what manner of silliness you have heard in that regard.”
Sir Orizhan couldn’t help smiling. “Only the usual minstrels’ exaggerations.”
“Storytellers are to be blamed for many misunderstandings, I fear,” the dragon sighed, a sound like a blast furnace. “May I inquire as to the nature of your quest?”
“Surely you outdo most knights in your courtesy!” But Sir Orizhan’s face clouded. “Know, then, O Gracious Beast, that this sergeant and I were both set to guard a prince, and in spite of our caution, he was slain while we sought to ward him in the midst of a brawl.”
“The prince was the heir apparent to the throne of Bretanglia,” Matt explained, “and his parents have declared war on Merovence because he was assassinated on our soil, presumably by one of our people.”
“So that is why the Witch Doctor has asked Narlh to fly over that land and discover what he can!”
Sir Orizhan frowned. “Who is Narlh?”
“A dracogriff,” Matt explained, “a magically encouraged hybrid between a dragon and a griffin. He flies, but he doesn’t like it. His best friend is Saul, the Witch Doctor.” He turned back to Stegoman. “So Alisande called him in? I thought she was going to try not to.”
“From what Narlh said before he left our rookery, I gather that Master Saul discovered the matter by himself,” the dragon said. “So it is to be a war of retaliation, and you go to seek the murderer in hopes of stopping the war?”
“Yes, and before it starts, if we can.”
“And you,” Stegoman said to the knight and his sergeant, “go to redeem yourselves, and to recover lost honor.”
“We do,” Sir Orizhan admitted.
Then I will be pleased to travel in your company, since you go in the name of chivalry,” Stegoman said. “Will you ride?”
Both men fell back a pace, staring in alarm.