The Dragon and the Gnarly King Page 10

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden realization that Carolinus had appeared here without being called. That was not a thing the Mage normally did—Jim usually had to hunt him down, if it was possible to get hold of him at all.

  "Well—thank you for coming," said Jim, hastily.

  "No need to thank me. I'm not here as a courtesy to you," said Carolinus. "And I haven't come. This is just a projection of me you're talking to. I haven't come because I couldn't."

  "Why not?"

  "None of your business. Or in other words, never mind," said Carolinus. "I want to talk to you about more important things."

  Jim stared at Carolinus' projection. Why project, he wondered? He had always assumed his Master-in-Magick could go anywhere he wanted, anytime.

  True, there had been one exception to that—a time when Carolinus had become sick. It seemed to be the case—as far as Jim knew—that in this world, magic could heal wounds, but not cure illnesses.

  Now Jim scrambled to his feet, to stand there in his shorts and a light shirt—in this era everybody normally slept naked; but in spite of the clothing, he immediately felt cold. Hastily, he threw more wood into the fireplace; and the fire blazed up. He turned back to Carolinus.

  "In any case," he said, putting aside with an effort his first bad temper and trying to smooth Carolinus' memory of it with cheerfulness and a friendly voice, "it's good to see you, whether you're here in the body or in a projection. I don't suppose, by the way, that you'd be able to tell me how I could send a projection of myself?"

  "Haven't the slightest idea," said Carolinus.

  After trying very hard almost from the start of Jim's apprenticeship with him, Carolinus had finally managed to wean him from the belief that the older man would teach him magic. Carolinus had done this mainly by leaving Jim to solve his own magical problems. And as Jim had learned more about it, the real truth of magic had dawned on him: as a fully developed ability—like music or painting—it was not something that could be taught. It could only be learned.

  True magic was a creative Art; and beyond certain elementary skills and rules, every magician had to develop his or her own way of doing it—Jim woke up to the fact that Carolinus was glaring at him.

  "Forgive me," said Jim hastily. "My mind wandered."

  "As usual, if you don't mind my saying so," replied Carolinus. "In any case, I can't keep projecting to you here all night long. I've got something important to tell you. That's why you see me here."

  "What is it?" asked Jim, feeling a sudden chill snake of worry inside him. "Nothing to do with Angie or Robert?"

  "No," said Carolinus, shortly. "Never mind that now. I don't have much time, and I've got two commands to give you. One is to get in touch with Kineteté if you need help. The other is at all costs to keep the King—our King here in England—on his throne."

  "Keep the King on his throne?" echoed Jim. How was he supposed to do that? He fumbled for words to explain what a wild idea it was to suggest that he could be in a position to do any such thing; but Carolinus went on speaking.

  "Remember," he said, "keep your wits about you. Even in times when Magick will not work for you—you already know there are such times and places—" He paused to look sharply at Jim. Jim remembered how his powers had not worked, the time he had been marooned in the Kingdom of the Dead. But Carolinus held up a hand before he could speak.

  "—even at such times," he went on, "the accomplished Magickian is not without resources. And Magick Draws."

  "Carolinus," Jim said, "what—"

  Carolinus blinked out. He was gone.

  "Carolinus!" called Jim. There was no answer.

  Jim concentrated on Carolinus, visualizing him as he had just seen him, and invoked his magic to take him to the older magician.

  Nothing happened.

  For the first time since Carolinus had made him acquainted with the magic he had picked up by winning at the Loathly Tower, Jim's magic had refused to work for him.

  It could not have run out—not yet. He had held back from asking the Accounting Office—that strange functionary that kept track of Magickal energies—to add more magic to his account, as Carolinus had arranged that he should be able to do. He had not asked for more because Carolinus had made such a point of his hanging on to what he had—and Jim had begun to suspect that trouble might lie down the road, if he requested more magical energy to spend.

  But, he had been saving. He must still have not merely a little, but a good amount of magic left. Just to check on this, however, he visualized his hand holding a rose. The feeling in his head that he got when his magic worked clicked in, at the same time that the rose appeared.

  "Ouch!" he said—he had stuck himself on a thorn. He extricated himself and returned to the nearly unbelievable fact that his magic had refused to do something for him.

  Perhaps Carolinus had arranged to block any attempt by Jim to join him? It was the only possibility that came readily to mind; but if Carolinus had done that, why had he? Jim returned to his bedroll and, as the fireplace light waned once more, thought over what Carolinus had said. In the past the Mage had sometimes been out of touch with Jim, but this did not feel the same.

  And how could he, Jim, possibly have any say in whether the present King of England, Edward the Third, retained his throne? Baffled, his mind fell off into a tumbling whirl of questions, and scrambles for answers that only begot more questions. Faces and names and ideas seemed to tangle themselves about him in a chaotic mess.

  To top it all off, Carolinus' order to seek help from Kineteté could be as wild a notion as that of his keeping King Edward on his throne. Kineteté was one of the other two greatest Magickians of this world. Jim had only seen her once from a distance, but she had looked a formidable woman—and if Carolinus was any example of AAA+ wielders of Magick, she would not be the easiest person to work with.

  Both things were impossible. No one could field this mix of information, half-information, and no-information and make any sense out of it. All he could do was let himself be carried around in the whirlpool, round, round, and around…

  Jim found sunlight lancing through the arrow-slit in the wall and hitting him right in the eyes.

  And Chandos was standing over him, completely dressed, armored, and armed—and clearly ready for the saddle.

  "… And pray forgive me," he was saying, with no tone at all of real apology in his voice, "but it is time we were on our way; and I know you would not like to venture on today's ride without some food and drink. The High Table is still set for us; and if you dress and arm quickly, you may still have time for both before we need to be in the saddle. Since you do not have a squire with you, shall I send one of my men in to help you dress and arm?"

  "No, no," said Jim, scrambling to his feet. "I'll be down in a moment. Just someone to get my baggage is all I need."

  He became aware of Chandos staring at him, and realized that his unusual bed-wear was attracting the other knight's attention. "I must apologize," he went on hastily, "matters—a matter of magic—kept me awake most of the night."

  "That's quite understandable, Sir James," said Chandos, backing away and still eyeing Jim's shorts and shirt curiously. "Well, I will be down at the High Table myself for another few minutes."

  The knight went out and a Castle servant came in. Jim tumbled into his clothes and armor—with some help after all from the servant. He belted his sword around himself; and, taking his casque, hurried down to the Hall, where Chandos and Sir Bertram were sitting at the table. No one else was around, but the two looked at him with enough disapproval—mixed with interest—for a dozen.

  Less than fifteen minutes after that, his food and drink a weight in his stomach, Jim found himself riding out of Penrith Castle with Sir John and his troop. Within twenty minutes more, they were riding through dense woods, where there was sometimes a road and sometimes not. But the guides sent along by Sir Bertram led them surely, occasionally skirting rises of land, until about mid-
afternoon, when they were told that they had entered the Skiddaw Forest.

  They passed small mountains that rose two to three thousand feet fairly abruptly. There was little difference between the trees that surrounded them—oak, ash, and birch—and the forest growth that had been with them most of the way on the ride up here. As leaders of the expedition, Sir John and Jim were informed by their guides that their route led around Blencathra and between Knott and Great Calva—these all being more mountains.

  In late afternoon they came to a clearing large enough for a campground, and with a stream running nearby. The ground of the clearing sloped southerly, and there was already a ramshackle sort of wooden structure at the upper part of it, almost beside the stream—a simple, one-room hut, possibly a hunter's cabin, or something of the kind.

  This was automatically awarded to Jim and Sir John. To Jim's relief, it was quite clean-smelling and lacking in the clutter and the garbage and filth that too often was found in such chance dwellings. It was lightless but for a few cracks in the wooden walls, which themselves looked as if they would blow over in the first wind to come along; but there was a fire-pit at one end, with a smoke-hole fairly close above it, where the steeply slanted roof came down close to the end wall.

  "If you will take the charge in keeping here, Sir James," said Chandos, as their possessions were being brought in, "I believe I, with a dozen of the men and one of our guides, will ride the boundaries, so to speak, of this our woodland area. Is that agreeable with you?"

  "Absolutely, Sir John," said Jim, glad to be out of the saddle. A fire was already being kindled for them in the fire-pit, and some cold meat and bread were being set out on a tarpaulin-like cloth, in case those of the upper class felt hungry. Jim very much wanted to be by himself to think.

  Chandos went off, taking not only his dozen men, but his three young knights. Jim stood outside the hut and watched the small party disappear into the trees, with a touch of admiration. It was like Chandos to think first of surveying the immediate terrain, just in case this was where they would have to fight.

  Slowly, he turned back to the door of their shelter. Inside, the fire was doing nicely; and the man-at-arms doing duty as a personal servant to Sir John, after waiting to see if anything more was wanted, had already left. Even the smoke was being most obliging, ascending right through the smoke-hole because the breeze was blowing in the right direction to provide the needed draft.

  But he stopped at the open doorway. With Chandos in a position, so to speak, of being able to breathe over his shoulder, he wanted to avoid looking amateurish as a war-leader. He turned back to the open area in the center of the clearing.

  "Dagget!" he called.

  "Yes, m'Lord," said a slightly hoarse baritone, behind him and just to his right. He turned his head to see a brown face made hideous by a scar that began at the man's right forehead, creased a broken nose below that, and puckered up the left cheek, still lower. How Dagget had survived such a wound was beyond Jim. Below the face, the body was stocky and compact—a man in his middle years, who now came around to face Jim.

  Chandos had not brought a squire with him, either; but Dagget seemed to perform all a squire's duties, as well as be Chief man-at-arms to the accompanying troop.

  "I was coming to m'Lord to see if he had commands for me," added Dagget, as he stopped, facing Jim.

  "I'd like to see the men you've set on watch around us here," Jim said.

  "Pray follow me, m'Lord."

  It turned out there were five of them, spaced just into the woods about the open area. Having viewed all of these with what he hoped looked like a knightly interest, Jim went back to the shelter and dismissed Dagget.

  Free of duty at last, Jim entered the structure and poured himself some wine. He settled himself on some of his baggage, with more of it behind him against the wall to serve as a backrest.

  All the way on the ride here, he had been thinking about Carolinus' cryptic words, but he had only thought himself into circles that led nowhere, trying to understand what he could possibly have to do with the King of England, or with the Mage Kineteté.

  Magick Draws—Carolinus had ended with those words. But what could they mean? Tired, his mind tried to fashion a rhyme with the words—and he suddenly remembered that old superstition his servants believed in: Naming Calls.

  The superstition seemed to mean that if you used the name of some evil thing, it would come to you. Did that sort of thing work with Magic? How could that be?

  Carolinus had also been talking about times when Magick did not work for a Magickian. So what was it that Magick could Draw when you had no magic?

  Well, if a magician had no magic of his own, someone else could still have some… he remembered now that one of the things he had experienced, in his education in the Magick Art, was that peculiar feeling inside his mind that told him when his magic was working.

  Could he also tell when the magic of someone else was at work? Maybe accomplished Magickians could sense, somehow, when Magick was being worked—would it be only near them? Or could they sense it anywhere?

  He also remembered, now, times when Carolinus had warned him, in their magical conversations at some distance, that others might be listening. So Magickians could be aware of the Magickal works of others.

  But what did all this have to do with anything—and with him?

  Or, did it instead have to do with Kineteté, whom Carolinus had also mentioned? Jim found himself not relishing the idea of contacting her.

  He had only seen her once, at a time when she had been acting as a sort of referee in a magicians' duel that Carolinus had been involved in. A duel that had come about when a certain Oriental magician had objected to Jim's use of hypnotism in his magic.

  Kineteté had seemed a very formidable type.

  Still, having seen her, he would be able to visualize her, and so reach her by magic—

  At this point, the door to the hut suddenly opened, and Jim looked out at the red light of sunset filtering through the trees, light that was immediately blocked out by the iron figure of Chandos, who stepped in, pulling the door closed behind him.

  "It is well I went out when I did," said Chandos, striding right past Jim to the fire-pit and warming his hands above it.

  Chapter Ten

  For the first time, Jim realized that with the waning of the day the temperature had dropped enough that he was grateful for the fire, in spite of the fact that they were in the middle of summer. But they were also in the northern part of England, and at some altitude.

  He followed Chandos to the warmth of the flames.

  "You were saying that it was as well that you went out when you did, Sir John," he said, looking at the knight across the fire-pit.

  "Indeed!" said Sir John, glancing up at him from the flicker of the flames. This was a totally different person than the courtly Chandos Jim had known before. "Our trouble-makers are already here. If I had not insisted on riding a sweep about our camp, we would never have known it. As it happened, we were able to spy them. Apparently whoever directs them thinks very much like Sir Bertram, since they have come to almost the same spot for their encampment. They are less than half a mile from us."

  "How did they get here so soon?" Jim asked.

  "Damned if I know!" said Chandos. "The best information I had was that they weren't even formed. But they must have begun gathering a week or more ago, from the look, of their camp. Whether they have all their numbers, I do not know."

  He shrugged. "It were best we move quickly," he said. "At present they are about our number, or possibly a little more. But ten of them are knights; and each will probably have at least one squire, making a leading strength of a score used to carrying the heavy lance in combat, or at least trained to. We have the two of us, three young, untried knights, and no squires whatsoever—though Dagget is as good as one."

  He paused to refill his wine cup. "On the other hand," he went on, "my men-at-arms are veterans in war, and experienced aho
rseback. The best can form line with us. I did not recognize any particularly worthy coats of arms among the shields I could see displayed—except for that of your friend Sir Brian."

  "Brian?" said Jim. "He can't be up here yet. He visited my Castle, just the day before you reached Malencontri yourself. Did you see him?"

  "No," said Chandos shortly. "They have tents, of course, and he must have been inside. But I saw that great white warhorse of his tethered with the other destriers. There is no mistaking him. A horse worth a King's ransom. I forget his name."

  "Blanchard," murmured Jim, automatically, his thoughts galloping.

  "It was our laggard way of coming up here!" said Chandos angrily. "I should have brought us at a better pace. We could have improved our travel time by at least two days, perhaps as much as three."

  His gaze shifted a little from Jim's face, and without troubling to turn around, Chandos suddenly raised his voice.

  "Dagget!"

  The door creaked open almost immediately, and the dark, stocky figure, recognizable in outline against the last of the sunset, stood there.

  "Sir John?"

  "We sup!" said Sir John, still without turning around. "Food and drink! And place us a table in here, with somewhat for us to sit on."

  "Yes, Sir John."

  The door closed, Dagget and the sunset were gone again. Chandos turned, walked over to the place where the meat, bread, and wine had been laid out, and helped himself to a clumsy sandwich. He brought this back and stood again at the fire, looking across it at an angle to Jim.

  "Dagget has ridden at my back for some years," he said. "He will have us to table shortly. After that, we can talk."

  Sir John's recommendation of his man was not overdone. In surprisingly short time, Jim and the older knight were seated on thick, tightly-bound piles of fine branches heavy with leaves, with doubled saddle-cloths thrown over them, and were looking at each other across a short table. It had been made by elevating the building's one small bed on mounds of clay from the nearby stream, the bed had then been covered by another saddle-cloth, and then with a snowy table-cloth from Sir John's baggage.