Fadecourt skipped aside, only to trip on the dracogriff's tail.
The knight barreled straight on, heading right toward Yverne.
Matt howled and threw himself forward in a flying tackle, just the way he'd seen it done in the movies.
He slammed into his quarry right behind the knees, and the knight went sprawling. Matt's shoulder added its pain to balance that of his opposite leg. He tried to scramble up, but only managed to roll over onto his elbow—where he saw Yverne, standing over the man with a pike point poised over his face, crying, "You bastard! You bully, you false knight! How could you be so dishonorable as to strike at a poor, defenseless maid?"
"Yes," Matt agreed. "Totally despicable."
"You should hesitate to speak for shame, sir!" Yverne reproached him. "You, who do not scruple to strike the lowest blow!"
"So," Matt said, "did he."
Fadecourt resolved the argument by stepping forward and kicking the sword out of the knight's hand. "Your life is the lady's, sir. Beg her indulgence, or die."
"I yield me," the knight groaned. "Claim what forfeit you will.
Triumph gleamed in Yverne's eye, but she kept the spear poised "Why, then, my forfeit is this—that you kneel to God and swear to lead a life of virtue, defending the weak and punishing the wicked, as a knight should!"
The knight groaned. "Mercy, lady! To seek to live virtuously in King Gordogrosso's Ibile is to seek one's own death!"
"Not to mention the loss of your house and land, of course?" Matt put in, as Narlh gave a disgusted snort.
"That also," the knight agreed morosely.
"You have but to choose," Yverne said sweetly. "A short life of virtue, or a long death in Hell."
"Maybe not," Matt said thoughtfully. "We're not all that far from the border—if you move fast, you might be able to make it into Merovence before King Gor—before the king catches up with you."
The knight shuddered. "You know not Gordogrosso's power."
"I know he doesn't dare do anything in Saint Moncaire's domain," Matt said sharply. "Get far enough into Alisande's territory, and the king can't touch you."
"Even in Ibile, there is some defense," Fadecourt advised. "Seek the sacraments of your faith, sir, and maintain your soul in a state of Grace, and you put yourself beyond the reach of the evil king."
"My soul, perhaps," the knight said mournfully. "Not my body."
"Even your body may be protected, by sacramentals—by the wearing of scapular and crucifix, by the carrying of holy water and rosary."
"It is, at least, a chance, sir," Yverne said with pity.
The knight lay immobile for a moment.
"Of course," Matt said, "you could let him repent, then kill him instantly."
"For shame, sir!" Yverne cried.
"Wouldst kill in cold blood!" Fadecourt demanded, shocked. "I gave the other his death wound in battle, Lord Matthew! The coup de grace only finished more quickly what had been wrought in hot blood!"
"I suppose so." Matt sighed. "It was just an idea."
"One well intended, I am certain, sir," the fallen knight said, "but I quail at the thought of the centuries in Purgatory awaiting one who has lived so vile a life as I have. Nay, I thank you all and will accept your kind offer. I will brave the king—and if I die in torment, at least it will be brief."
Matt had a vision of a medieval torture chamber, and what he had heard about making the pain last for days. But the knight was right, it was brief—compared to his probable sentence in the domain of the spiritually deficient.
"Kneel, then." Yverne withdrew the spear point.
The knight rolled up to his knees, joined his hands in prayer, and bent his head.
The companions waited.
After a short while, the knight raised his head "I have made my peace with God, as well as I may. And I swear, by all that is holy, to try with all my heart to live a virtuous life henceforth, defending the weak and punishing the wicked. Now I must needs find a priest"
"Rise," Yverne said.
The knight stood, and Fadecourt clasped him by the hand, slapping his shoulder. "Welcome back to the world of the living in spirit, brother!"
"I thank you." The knight managed a smile. "Yet forgive my abruptness, but I must ride as soon as I may."
"Aye." Fadecourt stepped back. "Away with you, then!"
The knight looked about him, at something of a loss. "Wizard...if I may..."
"Oh, sure." Matt snapped his fingers.
A sharp whinny split the night, and the knight's charger came trotting up. It pulled up beside its master and blew. The knight managed the ghost of a smile, patted the beast's neck, and mounted.
"Ah," Yverne breathed, "so there was hope for him, ere he met us."
Matt wasn't quite sure what she meant, unless it was that love for a horse was better than no love at all.
"I shall chance finding sanctuary, ere the minions of Satan find me," the knight said, turning his horse's head toward the west.
"Remember the sacramentals," Matt advised.
The knight gave him a sardonic smile. "And what such may I take from here, Lord Wizard?"
"Hymns," Matt said. "After all, the lyrics rhyme. There's a definite chance that singing holy songs will protect you, at least a little."
The man looked startled, then nodded slowly. "Aye, there is truth in what you say. At the least, it cannot hurt me. I thank you, Wizard."
"You're welcome. Uh, do you know any hymns?"
"One or two, from my childhood. Hail, Wizard, lady, cyclops! Hail, great beast! Hail, and farewell!" And he turned, riding off into the darkness, disappearing in the murk. But they could still hear him, chanting a Latin hymn in a loud, off-key baritone.
Fadecourt winced at the man's grating voice. "Nay, I doubt not he will be quite safe indeed."
"You can say that again," Matt agreed. "Who'd want to come anywhere nearer any singing like that than they had to?"
Privately, he suspected that the knight would renege on all his promises as soon as he was out of sight and return to his lord's castle—what difference did honor make, in Ibile?
But he hoped he was wrong.
CHAPTER 14
Negative Narcissus
When they started out the next morning, patched up and refreshed, they chatted happily with each other, in perfect accord. Matt decided that he must have made up for his lapse with the stick and restored his companions' faith in him.
The slope was angling downhill, and the land they had ridden yesterday was now discernible as a mountain behind them—but a mountain without the plateau that would have held the enchanted forest they had marched around and around. That forest had disappeared, and their path wound down in switchbacks through a maze of evergreens, dark and massive to either side of the path, but the roadway filled with light, due to the angle of descent. This forest had very little underbrush, and certainly no aura of evil; it filled their heads with the clean scent of pine and spruce.
But they came out of the forest about noon and, as they rode on after the midday meal, they began to see deciduous trees. They were stunted and gnarled, though; every other tree seemed to be smothered by a vine whose leaves were so fine they resembled fungus, and between the trunks, the underbrush was a waist-high tangle of thistles, thorns, and leprous-looking blossoms.
"Ugly-looking plant life they have around here," Matt noted.
Fadecourt nodded, looking around him with heavy brow, and his tension was almost palpable. "We have come down out of the borderland, Lord Matthew. We are in Ibile now."