He found out as his voice slowed, taking several seconds for the last two syllables, and his voice slid down an octave. The sorcerer had thickened the air about them, somehow; his friends could scarcely move through the molasses! And to make it worse, Matt could scarcely get out a single word, let alone a whole poem!
Meanwhile, here came the Knights of Evil, hurtling toward them like express trains...
And grinding down to near immobility, as they hit the perimeter of the spell, where time slowed down to a treacle.
Matt's spirits soared—the sorcerer had almost paralyzed his quarry, but his buddies couldn't get to Matt and his friends any faster than the fugitives could get away! And it might take Matt a long time to get a spell out, but it would take the knights even longer to reach him.
Matt took a deep breath, or at least a very slow one. Now there was time to think up a counterspell.
His friends began to move faster, but the enemy knights were still fighting their way through treacle. All well and good—but the duke's sorcerer would catch on and call off his own spell any minute. He was already staring—at a guess, no one had ever countered that enchantment before.
"Vile thing, I think I hate you!" the sorcerer screamed.
"Beware!" Yverne clutched at Matt's arm. "He calls on his master, dread Gordogrosso! 'Tis the power of the sorcerer-king you now must face!"
"Maybe, but it will be wielded by a journeyman." Matt spoke up bravely, in spite of the shot of dread that trickled through him.
Fadecourt gently disengaged Yverne from Matt's arm. "Let him be, milady. He must think of naught but countering the sorcerer's power."
The sorcerer lifted his wand and shouted a spell in the unknown language, then cut the air with his wand overhand, ending pointing it at Matt.
"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" Matt shouted.
A gout of light sped from the tip of the wand, widening as it neared Matt, breaking into a pack of hyena heads, gibbering with insane laughter as they reached for him with bloody fangs.
Matt realized he hadn't made a rhyme. He added, "From those who with ill charm would rend us!"
Light seared, and a troop of spectral monks was suddenly there between the two-forces—a whole choir, lifting its voices in a hymn. Behind it, the arches and frescoes of a church could be seen dimly.
The hyenas screamed and went tumbling back toward the wand, biting and chewing at each other in their haste. But through the monks, Matt could see the knights and men-at-arms, charging full out. His heart leaped into his throat—he couldn't do anything to stop them! For even as the hyenas hit the wand, the sorcerer banished them with a couplet and a riposte, then shouted another rhyme as he moved the wand slowly back and forth from side to side—and the choir began to waver and thin.
"Stay and sing!" Matt cried. "Thy blessings bring!"
Suddenly, he understood that the choir of monks wasn't really here—it was only intervening, lending the power of the hymns it was chanting; it was really in a monastery somewhere in Merovence, and his appeal for help had only sent the defending power of its prayers. But the soldiers charged right through the vision with a howl of blasphemous curses. Fadecourt stood ready, with Narlh beside him, mouthing bad names. But the cries of blasphemy suddenly turned to cries of alarm, and knights and footmen alike plowed up the ground in their haste to stop, gibbering with fear at the sight they beheld. For all of a sudden, the ghost was there again, the same one who had been chasing Yverne, three times as large as he had been—but he was facing away from her now, reaching up and snatching off his head. With one hand, he thrust it out at the soldiers, eyes and mouth filled with fire, the other hand swelling monstrously, fingers flickering out into tentacles as it reached for the soldiers.
They screamed and ran, like the proverbial bats. Only their captain actually changed form, though—and he was flying away as fast as his leathery wings could take him. The choir disappeared, its heavenly song eclipsed by the howls of fear. The soldiers barreled back up to the top of the rise, knocking the sorcerer spinning in their flight. He wailed, flailing about for support, and caromed into a tree, clutching the bark with both hands. Then he looked up at the ghost again—and saw it shooting straight toward him. His mouth widened in an unheard scream, and he turned tail and ran, tripping and stumbling over his robe.
"Amazing!" Fadecourt stared after them. "You are indeed a doughty wizard, Lord Matthew!"
Matt shook his head. "Not that much. Oh, I called up the choir, sure—but the ghost came entirely on his own!"
"I had feared he had come to seize me!" Yverne shuddered.
"Nay, not a bit, lady!" Fadecourt protested, reaching up to clasp her hand with both of his. "He did protect us, not prey upon us! Ne'ertheless, an he did chase you, I doubt not the Lord Wizard would banish him."
"Looks as if he already did," Narlh growled.
"Huh?" Matt looked up. "Hey, wait a minute! I didn't mean..."
But the ghost was gone. Completely.
"Well, that's a puzzle." Matt scratched his head, frowning. "Whose side is he on, anyhow?"
"Ours, at the moment," Fadecourt answered.
"Yeah, but don't be too quick to think he's a good guy," Narlh growled. "Could be he just wants the sweet and tender thing all to himself."
Yverne shrank back at the gleam in the dracogriff's eye.
"Oh, don't worry, I don't eat your kind," Narlh snorted. "You don't even smell good."
Yverne stilled, conflicting emotions warring in her face. Matt could sympathize—after a line like that, he wouldn't know whether to feel reassured or insulted himself.
Then a nasty suspicion seized him. He stepped out over the talcum circle, carefully, prowling into the night.
"Hey!" Narlh leaped to catch up with him. "Where you goin' ?"
"To make sure that scouting party really did run," Matt snapped. "They could just be hiding over the top of the rise, waiting for us to follow."
"Yeah, sure, and you're walking right into their hands if they are! No way, human! Wait for your guardian monster, y' hear?"
Matt slowed and waited, smiling. "Very reassuring, y' know?"
"Don't get mushy," Narlh warned. "Okay, up to the top, now—but only the top! Right?"
"Only the top," Matt agreed. Together, they stomped up to the top of the rise and looked down the other side. The moonlight glinted on an empty glade.
"I didn't think they looked as though they were about to stop," Narlh grunted.
"I'm delighted they didn't," Matt assured him. "That was the first taste I've had of Ibile's sorcerers—and I don't like the flavor."
"Oh?" Narlh looked down at him. "Different from the bad guys in Merovence?"
Matt nodded. "There's a—slimy feeling about this one, somehow. As if he'd been soaked in evil for a few years."
"Try a few centuries."
"I think he did. Besides, he used a wand."
"You don't?" Narlh stared, shocked. "That's right, you don't! Better get one fast, bucko. They all use 'em, here."