"They do? What for?"
Narlh just stared at him. Then he said, "If you don't know, then we're all in trouble. Do me a favor, huh? See if you can take a few lessons."
"I don't think they'll be in any mood to teach me," Matt said slowly. "Besides, if they were, I'm not sure I'd want to learn. C'mon, I saw a knife one of those soldiers dropped. That'll do me more good, I bet."
The queen called down her nobles all, being careful to leave the ones who had suffered while the usurper ruled her Merovence.
"But, Majesty!" protested the Duke of Montmartre, "what reward is this, for the loyalty of our service? Are we to have no share in the glory of this campaign?"
"You shall have the greatest share, esteemed Duke," Alisande answered, "for you and your fellow lords must bide, and ward this land of Merovence from the evil raptors who must surely pounce as soon as I am gone to the war, with the lords whom I trust only to follow their own self-interest."
"How shall you be safe, with such beasts at your back!"
"Such men as the Earl of Norville cannot be beasts, milord," Alisande explained, "or they would have been elevated, and given power, by the false King Astaulf."
"And would have died with him, I doubt not, as the Duke of Lachaise and Count Ennudid," Montmartre muttered. "Yet most of the others were numbered in Astaulf's army, Majesty, and fought against you at Breden Plain."
"As they were constrained to do," Alisande replied. "Only yourself, and the handful of lords who accompanied you in your dungeon cell, did refuse to march."
"Whereupon Astaulf took our armies and marched with them, in spite of us."
"Aye, but thereby did I know you for my most staunch adherents."
"Yet we should therefore guard your back in battle!"
"As you shall, my lord—for my royal city of Bordestang is my back, and Merovence is the rest of my body. My arm will be weakened, if you ward me not."
The duke capitulated with a sigh. "As you will have it, Majesty. Yet who will guard your person? For God forfend that a hair of your head should be touched!"
"I thank you, Lord Duke," Alisande said, smiling, "though I have hairs a-plenty. Yet be of good cheer—I will take your erstwhile cell mate, Baron D'Art, to command my bodyguard."
"Take also my eldest son, Sauvignon!"
Now it was the queen's turn to capitulate. "As you will have it, my lord," she sighed. "Though I think his fiancée will thank me not."
CHAPTER 11
Technical Wizardry
It was a problem, Matt had to admit; in fact, it gnawed at him, hollowing him out with an ache he hadn't realized was there, as he gazed at Yverne's blanket-shrouded but shapely form glowing in the light of the camp fire. Was he really a heel to find Yverne attractive? Or was that just a normal, and unpreventable, reaction?
He was engaged to an equally beautiful woman—but the "engaged" part was what made him feel like a monster. Though you have to admit, his amoral self insisted stubbornly, that your beloved can be a little intimidating.
Which was true—especially since, being his sovereign, she could have his head chopped off any time she wanted, and he couldn't ethically do anything about it.
So the hell with ethics?
Not quite—that had led him into more than one bind, in this world where magic came from either Good or Evil. He had a notion, though, that if it came to disobedience or execution, he wouldn't stick around to find out how sharp the headsman's axe was. Not that he would strike back at Alisande—he felt a stab of alarm at the mere thought. But he could go off on his own.
Come to think of it, that was just what he had done.
Stubbornly, his maverick side asserted itself again. He was enjoying this, blast it—except for the dangerous parts; and only Gordogrosso had really been a threat,—so far. All in all, he liked the feeling of being back in control of his own life again. Alisande was, when you got right down to it, a very domineering sort of female.
But wasn't that what you would expect in a queen?
A strange, sick gargling noise sounded.
Matt sat up, frowning, looking about him into the night. What kind of creature was in trouble? And what kind of trouble? He glanced at Yverne again, to make sure she was all right—and she wasn't.
Fire?
Yes, she looked as if she were too close to the fire. Matt sat bolt upright. It couldn't really be!
It was. Her form had begun to soften and grow lumpy, like wax left too close to a flame. Her outline began to flow, and Matt watched, shocked into inaction, while the cold realization diffused through him that a sorcerer was trying to destroy Yverne. Was he determined that, if he could not have her, no one would?
Or was the lady a more important figure in the power struggles of this kingdom than Matt knew?
He was frozen, appalled, sitting in mute impotence as her form grew more and more fluid, slowly sinking as if it were a jelly figure on top of a radiator. Her substance was being sucked away; she was being taken from him, just as his friends and his world had been...
The thought jolted him out of paralysis. This, he could do something about; he wasn't being held by dependence. He rolled upright onto his knees, chanting,
Yverne's form didn't grow any stronger—but it didn't melt any more, either. A strange sensation seemed to emanate from her, like waves from a pebble; Matt felt it, and more—he sensed it with every nerve his body had. It was like a touch of slime all over him, a reek in his nostrils, a discord in his ears.
He had to pull her loose from it. That last one hadn't been much of a verse, anyway—and it was progress, at least. Matt drew a breath, wiping sweat from his forehead, and intoned:
Yverne's form grew a little stronger, feminine contours coalescing from the flowing wax—but only a little. Matt gasped for breath and wiped his forehead; he could feel an ominous pressure all about him, two opposed magical "fields" gathering about him and Yverne, and they were growing stronger. The chill ran through him once more, at the thought that one misspoken word might trigger some huge release of energy—and what would happen then?
He looked about him wildly. If only he could see the enemy sorcerer, he might be able to make the magic field recoil on him. But all he could see were tree branches moving in the moonlight, up the slope on the other side of their camp, away from the stream...
There! On the side of the slope. A dark figure, silhouetted against the lighter gray of the sky, blocking the stars—and waving a glowing baton. Matt caught his breath—it was another wand-wielder! And as he watched, a ball of fire seemed to blossom from the tip of the wand and shot rolling down the hill, straight toward Yverne!
No doubt the wicked one thought that a visual symbol would strengthen his melting spell—and he was probably right, too. Matt had to think quickly.