Mage Quest - Wizard of Yurt 3 (16 page)

At the second farm there were two little girls in starched white aprons and tight braids, who kept creeping up to see us and then dashing away in giggling excitement. Ascelin looked after them in what I considered inexplicable melancholy until I realized that they must remind him of his own twins.

By the third day, our road joined the first of the much more heavily used roads that crossed the passes further south, carrying trade and travelers between the eastern and western kingdoms, even though the main routes to the East were stil to the west of the mountains. Now there were regular inns; their rooms, though smal, were scrupulously clean and the feather-beds were nearly as soft as the ones in the Lady Claudia’s guest rooms. Cheese seemed to be featured at every meal.

The second inn had a pigeon loft. The innkeeper was a little dubious about trying to send a pigeon message any distance, especialy over the high passes. He warned us darkly about the difficulties of messages that had to be transferred several times. But Joachim sent Claudia a letter, Hugo wrote his mother, and both the king and Ascelin sent letters to their wives. None of them told me what they put on the tiny rectangles which were al the pigeons could carry.

After a week in the mountains, our route began, almost imperceptibly at first, to lead us lower and away from the highest peaks. Then we rounded the base of a mountain and saw before us not another mountain but a glimpse of a distant blue plain. Ascelin, who had been striding in the lead, stopped short.

“This is as far east as I’ve ever gone,” he said. “We’re leaving the little mountain republics here; once we reach the plain we’l be in the eastern kingdoms.”

“Then we’l be leaving peaceful territory,” said Hugo, “to go into a land of war.”

“Wel, almost,” said Ascelin. “You have to realize that these mountains are so peaceful in part because al the restless young men go down to fight in the pay of the eastern kings.” There was a tiny church in the bend of the road. Although from the outside it was dark and undistinguished looking, the inside blazed with candle light on luxurious silk hangings and golden reliquaries. “Both those thankful to be coming down out of the mountains,” read Joachim from his guide, “and those starting the hard and perilous climb up into them, have traditionaly left a smal offering here.” I would have been happy to stay in the mountains. As we wound down toward the distant plain, I once again began worrying about how to protect our parry. I had been brought along as a wizard to do so, but so far was rather short on success. In odd moments I tried to work out new variations of spels, wondering which ones might stop an army. Back when the wizards in the west had stopped the Black Wars, I thought, they had either been much more proficient at magic than I or else they had not had their best friends held hostage by the enemy.

As we came down the final steep slope into the eastern kingdoms, the rocky outcroppings on either hand yelow with gorse, we saw that the road ahead of us went through a massive stone gate. It was, I thought, rather useless as a gate because there was no wal, but as a symbol of a boundary it was very dramatic. It was at least twenty feet high and sprouting from the top were the carved stone heads of wolves.

As we approached the gate from one side I saw a dusty cloud rapidly approaching from the other. With a little quick magical probing, I discovered it was three mounted knights.

In a moment, the others saw them, too. Hugo, Dominic, and Ascelin glanced at each other and drew out the swords they had bought, at what they al said were highly inflated prices, up in the mountains.

But I said, “Wait a minute,” and rode forward, shielding myself and my mare with what I hoped was a suitably strong protective spel. When the riders were thirty yards away, I acted.

I puled out a pebble to which I had earlier attached an almost fuly completed ilusion and threw it as hard as I could. It bounced under the arch of the gate and turned into a dragon.

My dragon reared up, shooting fire, though the dramatic impact was somewhat lessened when its head passed directly through the stonework of the gate. The riders puled up hard, as wel they might, desperately circling their horses as they tried to stay on. But showing surprisingly good discipline, in a few seconds they dropped back and raised their spears.

I was ready for those, too. I used magic to jerk their spears in quick succession from their hands and sent the weapons arching harmlessly away. They reached for their swords, with a presence of mind I admired, but I belowed, “Stop!” in a voice amplified by magic.

Dissolving my dragon into a shower of sparks, I rode slowly forward, one empty hand raised before me. They had certainly stopped. Folowing King Warm’s example, I tried to pierce them with my eyes, at the same time adding a few strengthening details to the spel that surrounded me.

“What do you mean, Wizard, trying to enter this kingdom with an act of undeclared war?” demanded the leader of the knights before me.

“I am not at war with anyone,” I said with dignity. “We are peaceful pilgrims. But when I saw armed men galoping to attack my party, I felt I must act at once to protect us.” The knights looked at my cloak, embroidered with the cross, then past me to the others. “You’re armed men yourselves, in spite of your pilgrim’s tokens.”

“Only in self-defense,” I said. “We were recently set upon by bandits who nearly kiled our chaplain.”

The leader looked at me thoughtfuly. I decided not to try to look honest and trustworthy for fear it would appear an unconvincing mask. “If you mean no harm,” he then yeled to the rest of the party from Yurt, “put up your swords and approach slowly.”

King Haimeric, I was pleased to see, kicked his horse forward immediately and the others were forced to folow. We al met under the arch of the gate where my dragon had stood a moment before.

“We are, as my wizard told you, simply pilgrims,” said the king. “You can see I’m not even wearing a sword myself. At the moment we’re making for the Church of the Holy Twins.”

“The Holy Twins?” asked one of the knights facing us. He hesitated for a moment then said slowly, They don’t get very many pilgrims there any more.”

“Why not?” said Dominic, quickly and brusquely.

The leader eyed him for a moment. “It’s probably just a foolish story,” he said, “but hardly anyone’s been buried there for a good fifty years.”

“What’s a story?” Dominic persisted. I, like him, had the chiling impression that there was something terribly wrong about the church, and these knights knew it.

“Just a tale of the sort told to frighten children. Supposedly a long, long time ago, in the darkest part of the night, an evil wizard steeped in the black arts brought the dead body of a magnificent warrior there for burial. There was something about the wizard, a sense that he might even be able to communicate with the dead, that made other people much less wiling to see their relatives lying there .... but I told you it was just a sily story,” he finished briskly.

“Our wizard practices only white magic and we wish no evil to anyone,” said King Haimeric. “Are you going to let us proceed?”

“Al right,” said the leader in sudden decision. “But I warn you, Wizard, that you’re going to get your group into trouble if you go through the eastern kingdoms attacking border guards without provocation.

At least in this kingdom, we’re not at war right now, and we don’t intend to be.” He wrote us out a pass which he said we should show to any patrols we met.

“I admired your dragon,” King Haimeric said to me as we rode on. “And I know Dominic and Ascelin think it necessary to carry weapons. But shouldn’t you have told the knights we were pilgrims right away, ratfier than threatening them?”

Given another chance, I would do exactly the same thing. I started attaching a new spel to a new pebble and thought complacently that if I had lived during the Black Wars and the other wizards had needed me, I would not have embarrassed myself.

II

The church where Dominic’s father was buried was in the center of a smal town. Both Ascelin and I kept glancing suspiciously to either side as we rode through the noisy, twisting streets, but it was impossible to pick out potential enemies from so many people.

A final twist of the street led us to a covered passage and then to an open square, with the church in the center. Here, unlike the rest of town, it was quiet and peaceful. I had expected something sinister, but we found nothing of the land. The church was built entirely of cobblestones, with alternating layers of darker and lighter stone. What should have been the main entrance, under the front porch, was bricked up, but Hugo found a smal, unlocked door at the far end.

The twin saints to which this church is dedicated,” read Joachim from his guidebook, “were soldiers in their youth, until Christ appeared to them in a fiery vision in the middle of battle and they repented of their sinful ways. But soldiers in battle stil cal on their aid in time of peril and many are buried in their church.” The Holy Twins, I thought, must not have listened to Dominic’s father—or, for that matter, to a number of other soldiers, either. It was an enormous though rather dusty church. Virtualy al the stones with which the floor was paved and many of the lower blocks in the side wals were inscribed with the names of warriors buried over the centuries near their saintly patrons.

The guidebook suggests this was a very busy pilgrimage church,” said Joachim, “but it must have been written before the incident the border guards mentioned.”

“This end is al old graves,” said King Haimeric. “The inscriptions are almost worn away. Let’s try the other end.” Hugo, who had gone ahead, suddenly caled back to us, his voice echoing under the high stone roof. “I think I’ve found him!” Set into the wal about halfway down was a stone with newer carving than most in the church. The king fumbled with his eyeglasses and bent closer. Even in the dim afternoon fight, we could read the inscription easily. “Hie iacet Dominicus princeps Yurtiae,” it said in the old imperial language: “Here lies Prince Dominic ofYurt.” King Haimeric stood with his hands folded, silently contemplating the grave of his younger brother.

“We should have come here years ago,” said Dominic after a moment.

The king nodded. “But I always felt more responsible for the living than for the dead. If I had come when your father first died, your mother would have wanted to come too and brought you with her, even though you were a child. And then somehow the years passed and I never made the voyage.”

“What’s this?” asked Hugo suddenly, bending closer. “It looks like the carving of a snake.”

It certainly did. In the corner of the stone slab was cut a tiny picture of a coiled snake, with what looked like a jewel resting on its coils. The image was strangely familiar.

“Take off your gloves, Dominic,” said the king. His nephew slowly puled off his riding gloves. Gleaming on his second finger, his ruby ring had as its setting a gold snake that matched the carving. “I thought at the time,” said King Haimeric, “that those bandits were too hasty. They took our horses and our luggage, but they missed the single most valuable object we had with us.” Excluding whatever Claudia might have given Joachim, I thought.

“This ring was among the jewels my father sent back to Yurt with a faithful servant when he died,” said Dominic. “Why would its image be carved on his tomb?”

“Let me see it,” I said.

Dominic gave me an odd look but started tugging at the ring. He had not had it off for years, during which time he had grown quite a bit heavier, and it took a minute.

As I took it in my hand, Hugo, who was stil examining the stone behind which Dominic’s father was buried, spoke again. “I think this stone is loose.” We al bent down again to look. As the sun moved, a stray beam found its way from the high windows down to near floor level. The stone was not completely flush with the wal around it but protruded ever so slightly on one side. Hugo wrapped his gloved fingers around it and began to tug.

“What are you doing?” demanded Dominic, pushing him away.

But the king put a hand on his arm. “If the stone is loose anyway, perhaps we are meant to open the tomb. I have felt badly al these years that it was impossible to bring my brother’s body back to Yurt to be buried with our parents and ancestors. Perhaps we should take his bones with us now.”

“Excuse me, sire,” said Hugo, “but are you realy planning to cross the eastern kingdoms, go to the Holy Land, and then travel al the way home again with bones in your luggage?” But he was again tugging at the stone.

It came loose al at once and he fel back. The tombstone hit the paving with a bang that echoed through the church. I anticipated a waft of foul air, but there was nothing of the sort. Al of us gave each other quick, uneasy looks, then went down on our knees to look in. Since I was holding Dominic’s ring anyway, I lit it up with magic and held it out at arm’s length, reaching into the tomb.

I was not sure what I expected to see, but it was not an untidy pile of tumbled bones. “What have they done to him?” asked King Haimeric in distress. Dominic said nothing, but his color slowly darkened to brick red.

In the tiny glow of the ring, we could see bare bones lying among the scraps of what had once been clothing. A belt buckle and a brooch lay at one side. The skul was at the back, a thin gold circlet loose around it and turned to an incongruously jaunty angle. The empty eye sockets glared at us balefuly.

“Someone’s opened the tomb, looking for something,” said Ascelin.

“This ring,” I said in sudden conviction. “And they didn’t find it”

“By the way,” said Joachim, who had not spoken since Hugo started puling at the stone, “I wonder where the priests of this church are.” Ascelin leaped to his feet and reached for his sword. “A trap. Ishouldhaveknownit. We’l have tofightourway out.”

Joachim put his hand on the prince’s hilt to push the sword back into its sheath. “Don’t forget that this is a house of God and no place for weapons of violence.”

“Stay back,” I said. “There’s only one way they can come in. I don’t want any more of you held hostage before I can disarm them.” I flew the length of the church, wishing for the calm courage to match my words and hoping Joachim would not cal after me that God’s house was also no place for violent magic.