The Oathbound Wizard

It worked! A jet of water shot up from the soil, just at the edge of the ring. The fireball bounced into it, then on through it—but only a sopping cinder rolled up near the half-melted figure by the fire.

Narlh lifted his head, growling and blinking sleep out of his eyes—and Fadecourt sat bolt upright, staring about him.

He saw the half-melted form and bellowed anger. But Matt couldn't spare him any attention; he was too busy working on his counterattack. He called out,

"Bend and turn, and form a curve,
Be a circle, quickly swerve.
Turn yourself into a coil—
Then hiss and strike, his spell to spoil!"

The wand suddenly began to flex, coming alive, sprouting a head, and turning back on its owner. He dropped it, waving his hands—and Matt took advantage of the lull to ready another spell.

"The fire seven times tried this,
Seven times tried that effort is,
That once more goes amiss..."

Almost at the end, Matt wondered why the enemy sorcerer didn't run—until he saw the man bend down and pick up a straight wand again.

Matt didn't delay. He chanted the last line:

"Earth may quake, and so will this!"

The earth beneath the sorcerer's feet trembled and caved in. He fell sprawling. Matt grinned and started on another verse.

"There be fools alive, I wis,
Silvered o'er, and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever..."

Suddenly, he couldn't say another word. He just stood there, mouth open, staring at the enemy sorcerer, who had picked himself up and was pointing his wand straight at Matt—and Matt couldn't lift a finger. He strained, trying to move his tongue, wiggle a little toe, move his...foot, anything—but that glowing wand tip held his gaze, seeming to grow and grow like an expanding ball, swelling, filling all Matt's vision...

He heard an angry roar beside him and saw a small boulder sailing toward the glowing ball...

Then, suddenly, the ball was gone, somebody was howling from where it had been, Narlh was racing past him and hurdling the guarding circle, out into the darkness—and Matt could move again. "What...how...?"

"A rock from the fire ring," Fadecourt said, gloating. "Betimes, Wizard, you workers of magic cease to be mindful that good, old-fashioned physical violence can take out an enemy as well as a spell. I caught him in the midriff, even as I'd aimed. He'll be meat for our monster ere he can do more."

Apparently, the sorcerer thought so, too. He saw Narlh coming, gave a howl of horror, leaped to his feet, and went limping away.

"Well, the hip," Fadecourt amended. "I missed not by much, at least."

"Hardly at all." Even as Matt watched, the running sorcerer suddenly erupted into flame. Narlh put on the brakes, just managing to skid to a stop before he was singed. The flames died down as abruptly as they'd flared up, and the night was dark again.

"What..." Matt stared. "They sure do make spectacular exits around here, don't they?"

"Aye." Fadecourt frowned. "If he did go."

Matt turned. "Why, what else could he have done?"

"Naught—but his master might have done it for him," Fadecourt explained, "in punishment for his having failed." Matt stared, horrified.

Then Narlh came panting up beside him. "Nothing...left of him. Not even an ash."

Somehow, Matt felt better about it, though he knew that didn't prove anything.

Then he remembered what the fight had been about. "The maiden—quick! We'd better get her back together, before it's too late!"

"Aye!" Fadecourt spun about, to kneel by the half-melted form. "Quickly, Wizard!"

What did you say to a half-melted lady? That it was just supposed to be a metaphor? Matt collected his wits and chanted,

"Pygmalion, Pygmalion,
Who turned cold marble into flesh,
Let your hand and eye now mesh!
A sculptor's art you must employ,
For a thing of beauty's a lasting joy!"

The wax softened, then remolded itself, pulling back into the contours of Yverne's body, separating its colors into those of her gown and her face and hair. Her chest began to rise and fall again.

Fadecourt knelt by her, touching her hand, almost shyly, and murmuring, "Maiden, wake!"

He, Matt thought, had a very bad case.

Yverne rolled onto her back, eyelids fluttering, then opening. She looked up at the three males gathered about her, then sat up, staring in alarm. "Is aught amiss?"

They just stood there, staring.

"Nay, tell me!" she demanded. "Are enemies nigh upon us?"

Narlh looked away, expelling a long breath, and Fadecourt said gently, " 'Tis past now, milady. We only waked you to be sure you were well."

"Wherefore ought I not be?"

Fadecourt gazed into her eyes before he said, "You remember naught?"

Yverne shook her head. "I lay me down, and prayed, and thought upon the day's events—and slept. What chanced whiles I dreamed?"

Fadecourt exchanged a glance with Matt, who shook his head. The cyclops turned back to the lady. "The sorcerer who pursued you came again, milady—but the wizard drove him off."

"No, be fair!" Matt turned to Yverne. "I just distracted the villain, lady. It was Fadecourt who knocked him out with a rock."

"Oh, you have saved me!" She looked from one to the other of them—but it was Fadecourt's hand she squeezed.

Matt turned away, seething. Here he'd fought for her, risked being frozen and having his mind blasted, saved her from being melted into a puddle—and she hadn't even known about it! He'd been the hero who had saved the maiden—and she couldn't remember a bit of it! There was, he decided, no justice in matters heroic.

Narlh nudged his shoulder.

Matt looked up, hauling himself out of a nice, soothing wallow of self-pity. "What's up?"

The dracogriff pulled something from under his wing, biting it by the end, then opened his mouth and let it fall at Matt's feet. "Found this out there, where the sorcerer was. He left in too much of a hurry, forgot to take it with him. Thought you might want it."

Matt stared down at the sorcerer's magic wand.

"Go on, go on!" Narlh urged. "You got to have a wand around here, Wizard, or we're all done for!"

Remembering how the wand had held his eyes and been on its way to burning out his mind, Matt was tempted to agree—but he felt reluctant. "It's a dead man's tool, Narlh. Besides, it's been used for witchcraft."

"Mayhap," Fadecourt said, tearing his gaze away from Yverne, "but when all is said and done, Wizard, 'tis only a stick of wood. I pray you, take it up and learn the use of it."

"Well—okay." Matt bent down and picked up the stick, alert for the slightest feeling of wrongness—but there was only a lingering sensation of faint unpleasantness, like the musty odor of a shut-up room. "I don't promise to be able to learn how to use it, though."

"Oh, you shall," Fadecourt said, with full confidence.

Much more confidence than Matt felt. "To tell you the truth, Fadecourt, I'm not exactly eager to use a thing of evil."