“Well, it is, in a way,” Alisande muttered. “To more man their mere presence, I should think! But you know your husband will be overjoyed when he learns this glad news, Majesty-and sorely saddened if you should lose the babe while riding after him!”
“I must,” Alisande declared, though every fiber of her being cried out to stay home within the thick, safe walls of her castle and let all the silly affairs of die world go by, except for the single truly important business of cherishing the grain of life within her. But the babe must not be born fatherless! “I must ride.” She lifted her head, rising above the residue of nausea by sheer willpower. “I let him go from me once-I shall not make that error again!”
The ladies fell back before the sheer power of her personality, but the eldest objected, “The welfare of the kingdom requires an heir!”
‘The welfare of the realm requires the Lord Wizard!“ Alisande retorted ”Do not ask me how I know this-it is the magic of this land, that monarchs know what is best for their countries and their people!“
“Good monarchs, at least,” one of the younger ladies murmured-to herself, she thought, but Alisande turned to her, nodding. “We all remember the days of the usurper who slew my father and had no feeling for the welfare of the land or the people! We must not see such days come again!”
“Therefore you must not risk yourself,” Lady Constance scolded, “or the heir!”
“I must.” Alisande pushed herself to her feet. “If I do not, if I let myself be shorn of my wizard, the realm shall be imperiled. I must ride!”
But how, Alisande wondered, would she ever fight a battle, if she was to start each morning with her head over a basin!
The “clandestine route”-presumably known only to every smuggler in the territory-was really pretty good; it consisted of a series of caves, joined by sizeable tunnels. They had to be sizeable, after all, since the goal of developing the route had been to smuggle not people, but goods. Matt could see, by the light of his torch, the marks of pickaxes where some of the passages had needed a bit of widening-maybe more than a bit. But from a functional point of view, it was marvelous-Pascal led him behind a small waterfall on the Merovencian side of the border and into a cave that widened as they went farther in. They had to stop to light torches, of course, but there was a whole stack of them, with jars of oil to soak their tow-wrapped ends, sitting about ten feet in from the mouth of the cave-far enough to stay dry, close enough to still be in the light There was even flint and steel. All they had to do was open one of the jars, dunk the torch ends in, and strike a spark with the flint and steel-re-covering the jar first, of course. Then Pascal set off into the lower depths with Matt following, wondering how many of the royal customs agents on both sides of the border knew about this route. After all, a secret known to two people is compromised, and a secret known to three is no secret at all, so with this route being common knowledge to the border families, it was scarcely possible that the excise men wouldn’t know about it-which led to the interesting question of why they ignored its use. At a guess, Matt hazarded, a trickle of trade was to the mutual advantage of both countries-after all, the Latrurian lords no doubt wanted Merovencian wines, and the aristocracy of Merovence probably prized the spices and silks brought in by Latrurian merchants. On the other hand, open and widespread commerce would have robbed the royal exchequers of tariff income. Matt saw the light at the end of the tunnel and reached out to touch Pascal’s elbow. “Remember the manticore.”
“Never fear,” Pascal assured him-but he went ahead a little more cautiously, reciting: “When the Merovencian smuggler meets the manticore in pride, He will shout to scare the monster, who will quail and turn aside. Then the monster will remember where his true allegiance lies, And will hearken to the orders of the man who bids him rise!”
As a verse, it was good, but it didn’t sound like much of a spell, and Matt was amazed that the young man still went on without trembling. He began to mutter his slow-down spell under his breath again, getting it ready just in case… Then Pascal stepped out of the cave, and a yowl split the world. At the last second Matt found he didn’t have it in him to let the kid die alone. He jumped out of the cave, yanking his sword out, seeing the speed-blurred brindled mass hurtling toward them, all teeth. Then Pascal shouted, “Down, monster! Down, to a son of the wizard who tamed you!”
Matt had never before seen a beast put on the brakes in mid-leap. It was really quite a sight-the manticore twisted in midair as if it were trying to change directions. It did, actually, swerving aside from Pascal and plunging right toward Matt, teeth first. Matt yanked a sugarplum out of his pocket and threw it, bull’s-eye, right between the serrated teeth. Then he jumped, as far as he could to the side-right, in fact, on the other side of Pascal. The manticore’s jaws clashed shut automatically, and its throat throbbed with a single swallow even as it twisted in midair again, to land on all four feet. The monster looked very surprised, actually closing its lips for the first time since Matt had met it. Then it began to look very, very pleased. “Delicious! What part of your anatomy was that, O Wizard?”
“Not part of me at all,” Matt said, “just some leftover dessert from the banquet two nights ago. I was saving it for a treat.”
“I must give you thanks! Perhaps not enough to spare your life, but thanks nonetheless! Quite the most delicious tidbit I have ever munched.” Then the manticore began to stalk toward Matt again. “Hold!” Pascal held up a palm, and Matt had to give him maximum points for bravery, but absolutely none for intelligence. Then he deducted from his own score, because the monster stopped on the instant, then crouched down and rubbed its head against Pascal’s leg, making an appalling grating noise that Matt vaguely recognized as a gigantic purr. The youth trembled, but stood his ground resolutely. However, he didn’t take his eyes from the monster for a second as he asked Matt, “When did you pick up that sugarplum?”
“Right after dinner, while you and Charlotte were settling your futures,” Matt answered. “How did you get that cat to obey?”
Pascal glanced down and shrugged. “I know not; ‘twas truly my grandfather’s verse. He it was who first tamed this manticore and forbade him to eat human flesh or steal food of any sort, in return for which Grandfather gave him a bullock a day, or two sheep when the cattle were all eaten.”
“Delicious!” The manticore looked up eagerly. “I had never eaten so regularly before! I mourned when the old man died, but grew hungry within a day. Still, in honor to his memory, I would not eat cattle, sheep, or people within his parish-so I fared south to Latruria, and have been here ever since! But it has been a dog’s existence, young man-nay, not even fit for a dog! Taking what meat I may, then fleeing with it before the knights or sorcerers come… Fighting with armies of peasants for my meals, which is painful, though tasty… Enslaved to one sorcerer after another, to feed on grain and their enemies only! Have you come to free me, then?”
Pascal hesitated, and Matt leaned close to mutter, “If you don’t, he has to serve whatever sorcerer sicced him on me-by eating me! Not your problem, I know, but…”
“But if I free him completely, he may turn on me!” Pascal muttered back. Not softly enough; the manticore said, “Never! I would never munch the flesh and bone of my Master Fleuryse! Nor drink his blood, no matter through whose veins it flows!”
“You really must have liked the old geezer,” Matt observed. “Vastly! He could have slain me, aye, slain me as easily as tamed me! Yet he chose to spare my life, and moreover to feed me!”