I gave up any hope of trapping Sengrim with a binding spell, or even of being able to oppose his spells individually. I briefly considered summoning him, regardless of whether summoning was the greatest wizardly sin, but then I would only have his deranged mind even closer to mine.
My only hope was to build around him a magic structure that would make it impossible for him to practice any magic within it. I had told Joachim, what seemed years ago, that I might have to put such a spell on their cathedral. At the time, I had had no idea how to do so; now, after spending the last week with my books, I might.
That is, if I even had a chance to finish assembling the spell. With Paul out of the way, the wizard turned his magic knives on me. The barrage went on for ten seconds, and I jettisoned my growing spell to repel them.
“Answer me!” I cried when the knives stopped coming. “I had nothing against you! Why are you so set against me?” I snatched up the remnants of the spell I had started building before it faded away completely.
“They always preferred you down at the school,” the wizard said bitterly. This was better. I could listen to him and work on my spell at the same time. But Paul was starting again what I feared was a suicidal advance.
“They made you, you, wizard of Yurt nineteen years ago,” he cried, “even though you’d barely been able to graduate, even though as wizard of Caelrhon I deserved to be transferred to the more senior kingdom and had already applied! And this spring they invited you, you, with your inferior magic, to the school to teach, something they’ve never offered me!”
I’d never known a wizard who lost his mind before. Normally I would have been interested in observing the symptoms.
“Even when you abandoned the principles of wizardry by making friends in the Church, the school refused to believe the worst about you!”
I almost had my spell together. If I could keep him talking just a few more seconds, if Paul would only stay back, if the spell even worked-
He didn’t give me a chance to find out. “And you can’t even begin to match spells with me!” he cried. “Can you do this?”
He held both arms straight out, and lightning flashed from each hand. Thirty feet on either side of him, crevices in the earth opened up, opened directly beneath the queen and Theodora.
I had no time to think, only time to react. I couldn’t possibly save them both. I grabbed the queen with magic and tossed her to safety.
As I flew toward the crack where Theodora had vanished, the pillar of fire reappeared, swirling with diabolical laughter. But as I dropped down the crevice I finished my spell and hurled it at him.
The crevice was some twenty feet deep. Theodora lay limp at the bottom. I snatched her up and flew out as the ground shifted with a roar and the crack slammed back shut.
I had him. Highly startled, the wizard stood within my trembling spell, his magic stripped from him. His barrier around the lists collapsed, and with it many of the people who had pressed against it. I dropped to the ground, Theodora in my arms. Her eyes were shut but she was still breathing.
“It won’t work, Daimbert!” roared Sengrim. “I may not be able to work magic while I’m standing here, but I can walk right out of your spell!” And he proceeded to do so.
But he had not counted on Paul. The young king’s long, stealthy advance had finally reached its goal. He sprang forward, naked sword in his hand, and thrust it with all his strength into the wizard’s back.
Blood spurted over Paul’s silver armor. He wrenched off his helmet; a stripe of red across his eyes showed where the blood had penetrated the visor. He slowly pulled his sword back out of the wizard’s body and wiped his face with the other hand.
Clasping Theodora against me, I went to look. The wizard lay without moving. It all came back to me why I had taken Paul to the borderlands: I had wanted his sword arm between me and danger.
The flow of blood from the hole in the wizard’s back slowed to a trickle and stopped. I turned him over with one foot. He flopped lifeless, his eyes open and empty. “Thank God,” I said. “He’s dead.”
“My God,” said Paul, his face under the blood completely white. “I’ve killed him.”
II
The constable had, of course, arranged for a doctor to be present at the tournament. I dragged him away from attending to our guests. Due to good fortune and to Paul, none of the knights or spectators had been killed, although most had burns, bruises, or at least badly strained muscles. The worst off were two knights who had been less quick than Paul at getting off their spooked horses-one had cracked ribs and another had a crushed leg where his horse had rolled on him.
“She’s going to be all right, I should think,” the doctor said sourly, looking at Theodora lying stretched out on the queen’s bed, absolutely still except for the faintest rise and fall of her chest. “She got a bad scare and a bad knock on her head, but her skull’s not cracked, and I don’t think her neck is broken. Sleep’s the best thing for her. Now, if you’ll excuse me-” He escaped back to the wounded knights before I could say anything else.
I had already flown madly around the castle’s hill, ripping up whatever leaves and twigs seemed at all promising for herbal magic, and had made a poultice which I put on the bump on her head. The doctor had shaken his head at it but said nothing.
I took her hand. “Theodora,” I said, both aloud and directly to her mind. “It’s me, Theodora.” There was no response.
Joachim put his head in, as sober as I had ever seen him. “How is she?”
“The doctor claims she’ll be all right. But I’m not so sure.” I seized him by the arm. “Please, will you pray for her?”
He opened his mouth to say something but stopped. Instead he nodded.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said desperately. “You heard Sengrim call her a witch. You think a witch is something evil, but it’s not-it’s only what wizards call women who know a little magic. She does know magic, a little magic, but she’s not evil. You talked to her. You must know that. Please, Joachim.”
He took a deep breath and eased his arm out of my grip. He looked at her for a moment, then turned his enormous dark eyes on me. “I realized all along that she knew magic,” he said quietly. “I told you she reminded me of you. All I had been going to say was that I was already praying for her.”
I sat down on the bed next to her. “Will you stay with us?” I asked timidly.
“I can’t. Your royal chaplain has just told me that Paul’s up in the chapel, lying sobbing on the floor in front of the altar. I’ve got to go talk to him.” He was gone before I had a chance to answer.
The queen sat with me later that day, watching Theodora. It was still daylight, though it felt like the middle of the night. The rest of the festivities had been cancelled. The castle around us seemed silent as a tomb.
“Her color looks a little better,” said the queen, though I hadn’t noticed any change myself.
“Suppose she never wakes up?”
“She will,” said the queen positively, though she had no basis on which to be so positive. But I appreciated the gesture and tried to smile. “Thank you for saving us all again-especially me,” she continued. But then she remembered that in saving her I had let Theodora tumble down the crevice. She became silent, rubbing absently at a bruised arm.
“How’s Paul?” I asked after a moment, because staring at my clasped hands seemed fairly fruitless. “Have you talked to him?”
“Only very briefly. The bishop spoke with him at some length. He’s never killed anyone before, of course-and as a mother I’d hoped he’d never have to. When I talked to him, he was both horrified that he’d killed the wizard and deeply distressed at the blow he thought he’d done to his honor by attacking him from the rear. He’s asleep now-sleep can do a lot when someone is eighteen.”