He started to speak, then bit back the words, thought them over carefully, then swallowed, hoped he wasn't being as great a fool as he thought he was, and said, "Of course, I could try..."
The chill was gone; a warmth seemed to wrap him, and the thought sprang unbidden into his mind, that he had just reestablished contact with the valiant souls who had gone before him, whether to victory or martyrdom—and that thought made him realize that his refusal had been, in no matter how small a measure, his own cutting off of that contact.
If you wanted to belong to the club, you had to pay your dues. "Saint Iago," he breathed, "help me now, for I feel like the world's greatest coward!"
And the help was instant, the warm, consoling, comforting presence within him, reassuring, bracing, and filling the void of his fear with courage.
Staggering, Matt pushed himself to his feet, smiling up at the sky, his emotions a silent prayer of thanks, realizing that he was bound by his oath again, though he hadn't spoken it aloud—as much bound as he ever had been through foolish and hasty words.
He stood that way a moment, becoming aware of his surroundings again, noticing that the moon was near the zenith of its night's path.
Then he turned away and went to wake Narlh for his watch.
CHAPTER 8
The Sophisticated Cyclops
Matt didn't remember sleeping that night, and certainly didn't go anywhere, but his mind made a major expedition. It roved here and there from one thought to another, touching on idea after idea but never considering any one for very long. All in all, he should have waked exhausted, but when he finally saw the sky lightening with dawn and gave up, he was surprised to find himself feeling fully rested and craving action. He put it down to one of the many minor miracles that are continually happening and never really noticed much.
On the other hand, maybe the episode with the angel had been a dream. Or was the distinction academic?
Over a breakfast of very well-done venison, he told Narlh, "I've changed my mind."
"Keeps it clean." The dracogriff took another bite of haunch and asked chewing, "Whatcha got in mind?"
"Going into the heart of Ibile," Matt answered. "Eventually to the castle of the sorcerer-king, I suppose."
Narlh nearly choked on his venison. Then he started coughing, and Matt jumped up, pounding between the beast's shoulder blades. Narlh took a long gasp, then bellowed, "Are you crazy?"
"Probably," Matt conceded.
Narlh swallowed the offending venison and demanded, "Just what the hell do you think you can do in Orlequedrille?"
"Haven't the foggiest," Matt admitted. "But I'll know by the time I get there."
"Yeah, 'cause you'll get there in pieces! Or trussed up and ready for the torture chamber, if you're lucky! King Gordogrosso doesn't waste perfectly good captives by chopping their heads off, y' know—he kills them as slowly as he can, and with every last ounce of pain, 'cause he loves watching it!"
Matt shuddered and had second thoughts. Then he had thirds, and shook his head with adamantine resolve. "I'll have to chance it. There are too many people who'll go on suffering if I don't."
"And too many monsters who'll start suffering if you do!" Narlh scrambled to his feet. "Not me, Wizard! That's too dangerous for any decent man or beast!"
"I won't try to talk you into it." Matt worked at keeping his tone level. "I can't ask anybody to commit suicide with me—especially if it's going to be slow."
"Good! 'Cause I know a nice little valley, no men, no dragons, no ugly little sorcerers looking for monster blood! You go your way, and I'll go mine! Good-bye!"
"Good luck," Matt called after Narlh's retreating tail. He watched the dracogriff waddle away for a few minutes, then sighed and knelt to throw dirt on the flames. When the camp fire was dead out, he turned, wishing he had a pack to shoulder, took up his staff, and started away downhill, with the sun at his back.
It would have been nice to have company, he mused—especially since he was beginning to get a very cold feeling inside. He sent up a quick plea to Saint Iago, to lend him some strength—and was surprised to feel warmth spreading through him, and confidence, and serenity. He was even more surprised to realize that he was beginning to think that if he died, he died—but at least he'd know he had tried his best. And this life didn't really matter much, measured against the next. Here in this world, he might not have become all he could, but at least he would have died trying.
Which meant, of course, that he'd enter the afterlife still trying to become greater of heart and soul. It began to make sense, that martyrs became automatic saints...
"On the other hand, that's probably where the bad men are that made my hatchling-hood hellish."
Matt nearly jumped ten feet in the air. "Yiiiii! What in the name of..." Then he realized that Narlh's huge nose was just beneath his elbow and heaved a sigh of relief. "Did anybody ever tell you that you move very quietly?"
"Not so mousy as that," the dracogriff returned. "If you can't pay any better attention, boy, you're going to be fried."
"Lesson noted." Matt glanced at the monster. "I thought you were going to a nice, quiet valley."
"Yeah—until I remembered I've still got a sorcerer on my tail. For a while, at least, I just might be safer with you than without you."
"Besides, you might find the men who made you miserable?"
"I was kinda thinking about that. If I do, see, they're bound to be trying to destroy you, 'cause they're evil, and you're not—so I'd have a great excuse to fry them."
Matt frowned. "Don't plan on revenge, Narlh. It's just as likely to destroy you as them."
"What're you, a preacher all of a sudden? Besides, I know that! Anybody in Ibile knows that! Try for revenge, and you put yourself into the hands of the Evil One—and the king and all his henchmen are the Devil's agents! No, revenge in Ibile just sets you up as a victim—unless you're one of the top sorcerers."
Matt frowned. "Then, why..."
" 'Cause if I'm defending you, I'm not trying for revenge." The huge dragon head grinned at him. "But just sort of along the way, I bump off the ones I've got a grudge against. Neat, huh?"
"Very," Matt said slowly, "except that your real motives might weaken your case a little."
"Not if I'm acting as an agent of Good. Look, what changed your mind all of a sudden, huh?"
Matt took a deep breath and said, "An angel."
"See what I mean?" Narlh started making the weird sound that passed for his laughter again. "I got 'em knocked!"
"I see." Matt sighed. "And I have to admit I'm glad of your company. You realize, of course, that we stand a very good chance of going down in flames."
"As long as it's not hellfire." Narlh shrugged. "With that sorcerer on my tail, I'm likely to be drained, anyway. But with a wizard to help, the odds are a little better."
"Yes, except that I'm leading you into greater danger," Matt said. "Still, look on the bright side—I might have strong enough magic to make them kill us quickly, in self-defense."
"There you go!" Narlh agreed. "Of course, if you decided to turn back, I wouldn't object."
"Be a little disappointed in me, though?"
"No, not really." The dragon head turned toward him, frowning. "Why do you say that?"
"Because I would be." Matt turned his face downhill. "Well, let's march. Looks like it's going to be a long day,"
They'd only been on the road an hour or two before Narlh grew impatient with the slow pace and flew back to the campsite to pick up the saddle. Matt climbed aboard, and the dracogriff set off at what was, for him, a comfortable pace. Actually, it wasn't bad for Matt, either, once he got used to the notion of leaning forward in the saddle, to prevent the whiplashing that came from the monster's long, lazy leaps, and caught the rhythm of the slight posting he needed. Not much, though—Narlh's gait was like a horse with innersprings.