There was not much more to it, that night. They embraced, then separated, aware that such intimacy was premature. She had only come to inform him that her father had acceded to her employment by the Sorcerer's son, and wanted to know the rate of pay. She would come in the morning for work.
"Yes, of course," Parry agreed. He was so relieved that she had come that he had no concern for the details. He guided her to the fire, and brought her bread and milk.
"I should do that," she said.
"Tomorrow you shall," he said, smiling.
"My father thinks I am to be your mistress," she confided. "He wants an extra coin for that."
"He shall have it!" Parry agreed before he thought.
She averted her gaze. "Then it is true?"
"Only if you wish it. I told you before—"
"You desire me?"
"Yes."
"But will not force me?"
"Yes."
"And if I do not wish it?"
Parry spread his hands. "I want only what you wish to give."
She shook her head. "I do not understand you, Parry."
He tried to explain. "I could pay a village girl, and she would do whatever I asked, because of the money. But she would not love me, only my money. I want your love, and that I cannot buy."
"I wish I could believe."
"I wish I could make you believe."
She glanced sidelong at him. "I thought you would give me a reason."
He was puzzled. "What reason?"
"That you wished to catch a unicorn."
He laughed. "And for that I would need a virgin! I should have thought of that!"
"Is it true?"
"That you can catch a unicorn only with a virgin? Yes, in a manner. It is possible without, but the animal is killed in the process."
"I meant, that this is why you want me?"
He spread his hands. "No. I could have gotten an ugly or stupid virgin for that. You are neither."
"But you could make me feel safer with you if you tell me that it is for the unicorn."
"It is an assurance I cannot give you."
"Then why do I feel reassured?"
"Because you realize I am telling you the truth, and that is more important than a facile rationale for your presence."
She considered. "Am I really neither?"
"Neither what?" he asked, unable to follow her thread.
"Ugly or stupid."
"Oh! Yes."
"You could take me now, and I would not protest."
"Do you love me?"
"I fear you."
"I will wait for your love."
"But I fear you less than I did."
"That is good." He liked the fact that she spoke her mind directly. Some in the village evidently took that for social ignorance, but he took it for innocence. "I must go home now. But I will return in the morning."
"I will walk you home."
"No. It is not fully dark yet, and I must conquer my fear."
"Then let me give you a spell to ward away bad animals." She considered again. "Yes, that would help." He gave her a pouch that exuded a foul odor. "Open this at need. Hang it outside your cottage, or it will drive out your family."
She tittered. "Bad animals!"
He nodded. "The smell is versatile."
She departed, and he clenched his hands together in an expression of sheer joy. He would win her!
Jolie came the next morning, and the morning thereafter. He prevailed on her to wash herself; she was distrustful of this peculiar requirement, but acceded and became clean in the new dresses he provided. Her hair became lustrous, and her skin as smooth as milk. But when she went home each evening, she donned her old garment and smudged her face with dirt, so as not to cause suspicion.
She was, as he had judged, a bright girl, and Parry used mesmeric techniques to teach her more rapidly and fully, just as the Sorcerer had used them on him. There was an enormous amount to learn, for sorcery was mainly a matter of knowledge and experience in the correct lores; true magic could be mastered only by those with special talent and dedication. Few folk had the cleverness or the patience to do it well; most who claimed to be adept were to some degree charlatans, buttressing their minimal magic with illusion. She learned to read, and to fight, and the arts, so that she could study on her own or defend herself from molestation or play prettily on the little harp he gave her. Her flesh quickly filled out, because of the good feeding, and she became the woman of his picture: not the Madonna, but as beautiful.
This progress did not pass unnoticed in the village, despite her effort to conceal it. Rags and dirt could hide only so much. The peasant boys oriented on her, and Parry had to give her a spell to repel them. But he knew this would not be effective for long, for she was nubile and the other girls her age were getting married.
Jolie's emotional progress was as dramatic as her physical and intellectual progress. One day she accompanied him with her harp as he sang, and drew on the magic she was learning to make of it far more than a single instrument. He had always had a fine voice, but with her it was better than ever. The music was truly beautiful.
Then she set the harp aside. "Parry, today I am fifteen. Will you marry me?"
He choked. She had caught him entirely off guard.
"You said you wanted my love," she continued. "You have not touched me, because you wanted my love, not my body. I love you now, and would give you all that I have. Please marry me."
He gazed at her. She was no longer pretty, or beautiful. She was stunning. All that he had foreseen in her had been realized in greater measure than anticipated. He had loved her virtually from the start, for her potential, but had reined it in, in the interest of giving her room to grow. His love had become direct as her potential was fulfilled.
He could have said a great deal. He did not; it wasn't necessary. "Yes, Jolie. I will marry you."
She flung herself at him. "You had me worried!"
He had her worried??
They kissed. Jolie's original fear had become an equal measure of passion. But in a moment he drew back.
"You have second thoughts?" she asked, perhaps having one herself.
"I want to marry a virgin."
"And you think I am not?"
"I think you will not be, if we embrace much longer."
"But I would be cheaper if despoiled," she pointed out teasingly. Her confidence had grown enormously. He realized that it was her attitude that accounted for much of her beauty; now she believed in herself.
"It is a burden I must bear," be said with mock sadness.
They risked another kiss, but kept it restrained.
Parry had to pay an exorbitant bridal price for her, because of the enhancement of her value he had fostered. But the Sorcerer, pleased with his son's judgment and success, arranged it, and the ceremony was held.
Some anonymous party, perhaps jealous, arranged to have a unicorn driven at the group. The ploy failed; Jolie, radiant in her bridal gown, called to the animal, and it came to her and suffered her to stroke its head. All the nasty gossip about her relationship with Parry was by this stroke abolished, and its perpetrator made ludicrous; now none could doubt she was still a virgin. Parry was especially pleased by the look of astonishment on the face of Jolie's father, who had thought that he was overcharging for her, and that Parry had paid only to maintain the pretense of illicit dealings.
Parry and his bride retired for the evening to their house. Seldom had such a precious commodity been thrown away with such abandon!
The following two years were for them such as legends could be fashioned from. Parry became a full sorcerer in his own right, and Jolie joined him in his practice. For appropriate fees they saw to it that the local weather was good for crops, that the King's taxes fell on the village less strenuously than before, and that the Lord of the Manor prospered. So did the local peasants; their dire poverty became only nominal, and some individuals even became fat.
But their main effort was shrouded from village view. The Sorcerer precipitated it. A few days after the wedding, he paid a call on his son. He was now a venerable figure with a white beard. He had been traveling more widely as his son took up the burden of local service, and had been absent for weeks at a time.
"As you know, Parry, I did not adopt you by choice—but had I the choice to make again, knowing how it turned out, I would have done it eagerly. You have been a source of great pride to me."
"Thank you, sire," Parry replied. The Sorcerer seldom expressed himself so directly and positively.
"Not the least of it has been your way with this woman," the Sorcerer continued. "You fixed on her with unerring accuracy, and developed her with consummate skill. As a result, you now have far greater power than you could otherwise have had."
"And joy, too," Parry murmured. Jolie arranged to flush prettily, though her naivete had been among the first of her qualities to change. She now knew, indeed, that she had been the best Parry could have chosen, and that she had lived up to her potential. He had been the diamond cutter; she had been the diamond.
"I do not begrudge you that joy," the Sorcerer said. "But it was for another purpose I challenged you to acquire the best possible woman. Even as I adopted you for cynical reason, and gained more joy of it than I deserved, you acquired her for reason, and your joy of her is incidental."
Both Parry and Jolie gazed at him, realizing that his visit was not at all social. Something serious was afoot.
"Through my arts I divined that the Horned One has slated great evil for this region," the Sorcerer continued. He did not name Lucifer directly, because that would invite mischief.
"But this is a poor region, even after our efforts," Parry protested. "What interest could such a being have here?"
"It is the entire southern region of France that has evoked the interest," the Sorcerer explained. "Our village is not the object, because I have labored long to mask its improvement from the notice of the Crown, for tax purposes. But elsewhere in the region peasants and their masters are doing well, too, partly because of the Albigensian heresy."
"Heresy?" Jolie asked. Parry kept silent, because he knew something of the matter. Heresy meant trouble, certainly!
"You of the country and village remain loyal to the tenets of the Church, but in the growing towns men are becoming more liberal. They question the corruption of the priests, and indeed the entire priestly hierarchy. They are dualists, seeing only good and evil without shades between, and to them the choices are clear enough without the intercession of the priests. Indeed, they see little need for any interpretation between themselves and God."
"But that means there is no need for—" Jolie said.
"For the Church," the Sorcerer concluded. "And that is heresy, plain and simple."
"But if they do honor God—"
"Forgive me if my cynicism offends your sensitivities, daughter." The Sorcerer had called her that since her marriage to his son. "I do not subscribe in my heart to any religion; I cannot afford it, professionally. I see no reason why a man should not honor God directly, in his own way. But consider the welfare of the Church, if the people should choose to bypass it. If they no longer tithed. No longer attended services or honored the sacraments. No longer heeded the word of the Pope."
"Why, it would destroy the Church!" she exclaimed.
"Therefore the very notion is heretical. The Church cannot tolerate that which would destroy it—and the notions that are prospering among the Albigenses would indeed destroy it. The Church has kept its place by being vigilant in the suppression of rival notions, and it shall surely continue so. Its power is being threatened, and like any creature it will react with ferocity."
"But are the Albigenses so bad?" she asked.
"No, they are not bad at all; they are good folk, as these things go. They are industrious and increasingly educated, and though they subscribe to asceticism, those who associate with them are more tolerant of wealth, in fact, some of the Lords are using the precepts of the Albigenses to avoid the payment of taxes to the Crown."
Trouble, compounded! Parry had to speak. "So the Evil One sees an opportunity for mischief, because of the irritation of the Church and the Crown!"
"It is not smart to annoy both at once," the Sorcerer agreed. "The times are charged; any spark will set things off. Now that spark has occurred, and I recognize the handiwork of the Evil One. He cares nothing for Church or State, only for mischief, for in troubled times his harvest increases."
"Spark?" Parry asked.
"A Cistercian monk has been murdered. That provides the catalyst for action. We cannot abate it now."
"What will happen?" Jolie asked.
"There will be a crusade against the Albigenses. They did not kill the monk, but they opposed his teachings, and they will not be able to defend their innocence. The Pope will determine that the Albigenses must be abolished. They must recant their heresy, renew fealty to the Church, and pay their taxes, which are in arrears."
"But they will not do that!" Parry exclaimed. "They are stout folk, firm in their belief and their independence, and they have powerful support."
"Hence the crusade. They will be converted by force. Their heresy will be abolished. But there will be much pain in the doing of it. That is why we must prepare."
"A crusade," Parry said. "Troops will come here?"
"Yes. We are on their main route; this I have determined. Our time is limited; within a month they will be here. I regret I was involved in absorbing research and did not survey the political situation earlier; the crisis was well developed before I was aware."
"How can we prepare?" Jolie asked.
"We must get away from here with our valuables," the Sorcerer said. "Quietly, leaving no trail. In the north the disruption will be minimal; we can survive there nicely."
"But what of the folk here?" Parry asked. "They cannot move."
"They are lost. They cannot be helped."
"But surely if the warning is given—"
"That will only make our own escape complicated. We cannot afford to alert them."
Parry knew his father. The Sorcerer was not an evil man, but a practical one; if he said the local folk could not be helped, it was surely so. Yet he had to argue. "The Lord of the Manor—he could do something! If we tell him privately of the threat—"
"I have done so. He refuses to believe there is genuine danger. He will not change."
"Change?"
"I explained to him what would be required to save his demesnes and the welfare of the villagers. He and all others must renounce the Albigensian heresy. They must swear renewed fealty to the Christian doctrine as espoused by the Church. They must pay taxes and penalties."
"But such penalties can be ruinous!"
"True. Therefore he will not budge. But he courts disaster. I gave him good advice."
Parry nodded. The cost of compliance was too great; the Albigenses and the Lord of the Manor preferred to take the risk of noncompliance. They lacked the perception of the Sorcerer; they did not accept the full validity of his divinations. "Then we must flee," he agreed.
"But I cannot desert my family!" Jolie protested.
The Sorcerer stood. "Talk to her, son. She must be persuaded." He departed, for he had preparations of his own to make.
Parry talked to her. It was no good; she was too much a creature of her community, and she loved her family. It was one of the good things about her, and he could not fault her for it. But he knew they had to get away.
He compromised. He fashioned a temporary retreat in the forest whose location was secret from all but himself and Jolie and his father. When the soldiers of the crusade came, they would hide there. After the soldiers passed, Jolie's family would either be all right or it wouldn't; she would be free to leave then, having remained near during the crisis.
To this she agreed. They set about their preparations for the disaster.
The soldiers of the crusade evidently had advance information. They struck first at the Sorcerer, knowing that the most effective local resistance would be organized here. They could handle peasants, but magic was more formidable. They sent a mission to burn his house and slay him, before moving on to the Manor.
The Sorcerer had seen them coming, of course. This had required not divination but plain common sense. He had moved his key supplies and texts out long before, but to allay suspicion had left enough of the lesser material at his residence to give the impression that he had been caught by surprise. For similar reason he had to defend it. Parry was there to assist, while Jolie hurried afoot to the village to bring out her family. She had not yet mastered form-changing, so was limited by her human body.
Parry and his father would change to avian form and fly away after making a respectable and unsuccessful defense of the Sorcerer's house. It was a loss that had to be taken; after that they should be free of pursuit, and could relax. They would seem to die here, so that no fear of them remained. Their route north had been planned; they knew at which taverns to stop, and where to stay for the nights. They would be like other refugees, unidentified.
They watched the troops arriving. It was a contingent of about a dozen: common soldiers wearing helmets, hauberks and boots, carrying bills.
Parry studied the soldiers. He had in the course of his education learned the basics of military outfitting, as well as those of combat itself. "Never can tell when such knowledge will be important," the Sorcerer had told him. Now he appreciated that importance, for he was able to determine the nature of the force ranged against the house.
These were common soldiers from all over France. Their helmets were standard sugar-loaf types, basically metal caps shaped like the pointed end of an acorn. Knights had better headgear, but commoners could not afford it. Their hauberks were long coats of mail worn over their jacks: quilted garments that protected the body from bruising when the mail was struck. This, again, was standard, though the quality of individual hauberks varied. The main distinction was in their weapons: the bills. These were assorted pole arms, with heavy curved blades mounted on poles, buttressed by points and spikes. The helms and mail might be provided by the one who organized the crusade, but the weapons tended to belong to the individual soldiers, who became proficient by long familiarity and practice. Each local smithy had his own variant, and the locals swore by it, and used it in preference to other variants. The particular curve of the blade, the sharpness of the hook, the length and stoutness of the spike—these served to identify the regions from which the weapons came. The bill had started as an agricultural implement, and some were still used as such, but most had been modified for war. Certainly it was an effective weapon in the hands of one who knew how to use it.
Parry had entertained a notion of fighting off the soldiers and saving his father's house, which still contained much of value. He saw now that this had been unrealistic; only formidable magic would suffice, and the makings of that would be better saved for later use. The Sorcerer was correct: they would have to let this house be destroyed, and make it seem that the two of them died with it; it was the only practical way.
"Now we must show ourselves," the Sorcerer said. "They have to know we are within when they torch it, so that no doubt of our deaths lingers. This may not be easy."
Parry swallowed. He was aware that their supposed deaths could all too readily become genuine if they miscalculated in any way, or simply had bad luck. Escape was easy; escape after seeming death was more complicated.
The leader of the squad hailed the house. He wore a surcoat over his mail, which meant that he did not expect to fight. "Sorcerer! Come out and renounce your heresy!"
It was a ritual challenge, done in the name of the crusade, which was theoretically to convert the heretics. Once the demand had been made and rejected, the soldiers would be free to do what they had come for, in the name of God. Normally they would take plunder, for this was the most substantial part of their recompense, but the orders for this mission were surely to destroy the house and occupants without ceremony or delay. They would not want to give the Sorcerer opportunity to demonstrate his power.
The Sorcerer opened the door and stepped out. Parry followed. Neither was armed with any physical weapon. "Will you spare my life and that of my son if I do?" the Sorcerer called.
The leader seemed to consider. "Funny you should ask that." Then he gestured to his men. "Take them."
The soldiers came toward the two, their bills poised. They looked grim.
"Do I have your word you will not harm us if we submit?" the Sorcerer asked.
The leader did not answer. The soldiers closed in. That was answer enough.
"That's what I thought," the Sorcerer said. He flung out his right hand, throwing powder. It glinted in the sunlight, forming the shape of a dragon that glowered at the soldiers.
The men backed hastily away, their fear of the Sorcerer becoming justified.
"Don't be fooled by his tricks!" the sergeant cried. "It's illusion! It has no substance! Just march right through it and cut him down!"
The men hesitated, but then, at the continued urging of their leader, they braved the dragon and found it was true. It was only a specter fashioned from the powder, having no more substance than that powder. It was theoretically possible to conjure real animals, but this was well beyond the Sorcerer's ability, while illusion was cheap.
But the delay had allowed Parry and the Sorcerer to retreat into the house. Stage One had been negotiated: the soldiers now had no doubt of the Sorcerer's presence and nature.
"Surround the house," the sergeant commanded. "Don't let them escape."
Parry watched from the windows as the men spread out. They remained wary, though they had overcome the illusion of the dragon.
"Now torch it," the sergeant said. "And kill them as they come out."
"But what about spoils?" a soldier demanded. "There must be good stuff in there!"
"Our orders are to kill the Sorcerer and destroy his house," the sergeant said firmly. "No spoils here. Anything you took could be enchanted to kill you in your sleep. That's how they operate."
The soldier was silent. His fear of the supernatural overrode his greed. That was just as well, for the Sorcerer would have had to kill any men who entered the house, lest they interfere with the escape.
They hauled brush and straw to the walls of the house, half the men working while the others guarded them with their bills. When they had a fair pile of dry material, they brought a torch and started the fire. It blazed up vigorously, sending clouds of smoke aloft.
The Sorcerer turned to Parry and nodded. This was exactly what he had planned for. They had navigated the situation without a hitch.
They waited until the fire was raging all around the house. Then they climbed to the loft, where the Sorcerer opened a panel he had prepared. They had an avenue to the outside, now concealed by the billowing smoke.
The Sorcerer changed form, becoming a hawk. He spread his wings and flew up into the swirl. Parry became a crow, and followed. Changing shape was relatively easy, once the appropriate level had been achieved; it was the change of mass that was difficult, and the mastering of the ability to use the altered body to fly. As far as Parry knew, they were the only two human beings in France who could do this. In time Jolie, too, might accomplish it.
"There they go!" a soldier cried.
"I got the hawk," the sergeant snapped. "You take the crow."
Parry saw to his dismay that they had two crossbows, and seemed competent in their use. The sergeant let fly his shaft, and it transfixed the hawk. Parry swerved—and the shaft intended for him missed, brushing his right wingtip.
The Sorcerer fell. Parry could not help him, for he was defenseless against the deadly shafts of the crossbow. He winged strongly toward the trees, losing himself among their branches before the soldiers could reload.
The soldiers had known what to expect! They had come prepared for the form-changing. This had been a more competent trap than the Sorcerer had realized. Their accuracy of information was unnerving, apart from its effect on the Sorcerer. Most ignorant peasants believed that sorcerers could accomplish anything, no matter how outlandish; most educated folk prided themselves on their ability to doubt, so professed not to believe in magic at all. Between the two extremes, a clever sorcerer could prosper, as Parry's father had, using only that minimum of magic required to accomplish his purposes. But this party had targeted him precisely, and so accomplished the mission: Sorcerer dead and house destroyed.
Parry had escaped largely by luck. He had been the second to fly, so the less-accurate soldier had been assigned to him. He had dodged involuntarily, and thereby saved his life.
He soon lost the soldiers; it was impossible to pursue a black bird flitting through low shadows. When he was sure he was safe, he paused to rest and take stock.
Then the full realization of his father's fate struck him. The Sorcerer was dead! All his plans for escape and success elsewhere were ended, by that single shot from the crossbow.
Parry's surge of grief was overridden almost immediately by rage. He would go back and destroy those foul soldiers! He would make a fire that would engulf them, as their fire had engulfed the house! It required only minimal magic to start a fire; then it fed itself. His father would be avenged!
But then a new concern overtook him. Jolie! She was at the village, and if they had known of the Sorcerer, they might know of her, too. If they sent a contingent to the village—
He spread his wings and flew into the air. The crow could travel more swiftly than the human being, cross-country. Part of what made this form so difficult was adapting his consciousness to fit within it; that alone had taken Parry months of practice, but now he blessed that effort.
Even so, it took him many minutes to cover the distance. By the time he reached the village, he knew from the clamor that his worst fear had been realized. The soldiers of the crusade were there, and they were before the house of Jolie's family. Something was happening there, and Parry dreaded to imagine what.
He landed and returned to his human form. He was naked. He had not yet developed to that sophistication of transformation that enabled him to change his clothing, too. But he had prepared for such an event; he had a cache of clothing in a hollow tree just beyond the village.
He hurried to this now. Just as he was reaching into it, a harsh voice sounded: "We have you. Sorcerer!"
Parry jumped up, whirling on the man, but found himself facing a cocked crossbow aimed at his chest. He froze in place.
"Before you try magic, know this," the crossbowman said. "We have your girl, and she will die the moment you oppose us. Then we shall hunt you down, too; we know how to do it."
Evidently they did! Twice now, in two places, the soldiers of the crusade had sprung successful traps. They had known exactly where to find his father and himself, and who else to look for. It was too neat. There had to be magic involved—and until he knew its source and nature, he would have to cooperate. Unless his hand was forced.
They marched him, naked, into the village. None of the villagers was in evidence; the soldiers had evidently cowed them and sent them to hide in their cottages while waiting for Parry. Now they had him. He could change form and escape, or conjure a weapon and attack; he was not at all helpless. But he was sure they were not bluffing about Jolie, and he could not risk precipitating harm to her.
They did have her. Another sergeant held her by the arm. Her dress was torn, and the other soldiers were ogling what showed. She had evidently fought, but been overcome; the white cross on the sergeant's tunic was smeared with dirt. Because she lacked the ability to change form, she had been unable to escape that way. How he wished now he had taught her that, and let some of the other arts wait!
Still, she did have effective abilities. She could mesmerize, if she could gain and hold the direct gaze of a single person. If they could maneuver things so that she could stun her captor with a glance, then Parry could change to a horse and carry her swiftly away.
"Bind him!" the sergeant commanded. "Blindfold him, too; that will stop his magic!"
They were wrong in that; Parry had limited second sight, so that he could see almost as well without eyes as he could with them. They were underestimating him, and that was an asset. He needed every advantage he could muster!
They bound him tightly with rope, and put a hood over his head, tying it closely about his neck. They thrust him against the wall of the cottage.
"I don't know," a soldier said. "I've heard those sorcerers cannot be bound if they don't want to be. How do we know he isn't pretending helplessness until he's ready to wipe us out?"
The sergeant considered. "You're right. We were warned to take no chances. If anything goes wrong at the old sorcerer's place, we want to be sure we've got this one secure. So we'll test it. Keep the crossbow on him, and kill him if he moves."
"But he could wait till night, then make a vision to distract the guard and break away," the soldier pointed out.
That soldier was too smart!
"I had a good test in mind," the sergeant said. "I'm going to take the wench inside and have some fun with her. If he can get free, that's when he'll do it. If he doesn't budge, we'll know he's secure."
The sergeant was too cocksure. He knew less about sorcerers than he thought. Parry could break free anytime, but he would not—because it was not his safety but Jolie's he was concerned with. But the sergeant was giving her the opportunity she needed. The moment he tried to rape her, she would mesmerize him. Because they would be out of sight of the soldiers, she would be able to stun him and tie him up. Then Parry would burst free and change and carry her away.
Ah, but there was the crossbow. With his second sight, he could see the soldier clearly. Parry was facing away from him, but it didn't matter; second sight did not depend on direction.
He generated an image that caused his own body to seem to blur. The soldier blinked, but this blurring was not of his eyes but of the subject. Parry's form wavered rhythmically, in a manner that induced mesmerism. The soldier's mind became clouded, and then the soldier drifted gently to sleep, his eyes still open and his weapon still pointed. But now he would not fire when Parry moved.
Parry diverted his sight to Jolie. Her parents' cottage was empty, or perhaps the people were bound in the stall half of it, leaving the living chamber clear. Jolie was tied, her hands bound up behind her head, her ankles crossed and tied in that position. That made it possible for her legs to spread, but not to kick. She was lying on the straw bed.
The sergeant was in the process of removing his hauberk. The mail garment covered him from head to knee, and was heavy; a sexual act would be problematical in it. So the sergeant drew it off over his head, and pulled his arms from the mitten-sleeves. Now he stood in his jack, the padded undergarment.
He approached Jolie. He took hold of her shoulders and made her look him in the face. "Scream, wench!" he said. "I want your man to hear!"
She did not scream. She stared at him, using the mesmerizing gaze.
The sergeant laughed. "Your tricks won't work on me, wench! I have an amulet to protect me from them!" He touched a silver medallion that hung from his neck. "We were warned about your kind!"
Parry had not thought of that! Most of the power of mesmerization lay in the recipient's belief; a countercharm destroyed that belief, and therefore the effect.
The amulet dangled near her face. Jolie lifted her head and took it with her teeth. She wrenched it away.
The sergeant cursed. He grabbed for the amulet, but Jolie's gaze caught his own, and now her power was unfettered.
The sergeant threw himself back, and brought up his hands, covering his eyes, breaking the contact.
She scrambled up as well as she could with wrists and ankles bound, pursuing him. She had to catch his eyes again, to complete the mesmerization. Then she could make him untie her, and she would be ready for Parry to act.
But the sergeant, aware of this threat, scrambled to fetch his sword. His hand caught it as Jolie made it to her knees and lurched to her feet despite the bindings. She hopped at him.
Parry realized he couldn't wait. He drew on his reserve of strength and snapped the rope that bound his hands. Then he snapped his feet free. This was more physical discipline than magic; the cords that were effective against the average man did not have too much extra capacity.
"He's escaping!" a soldier cried. "Shoot him!"
The crossbowman, jolted from his trance, pulled the trigger. The arrow fired out. But Parry was already out of its line, and it struck the ground. He ripped the hood from his head.
His second sight remained. While he moved, avoiding the soldiers, he saw the sergeant lift the sword and jam it at Jolie's approaching body.
Parry leaped for the door, changing to wolf form as he did. But fast as he was, he was too slow. As he burst inside, the sergeant's sword plunged through Jolie's chest, and was withdrawn: a swift but deadly strike. The man oriented for a second, more precise attack.
Parry reached the sergeant. His teeth closed on the sergeant's throat and sliced through the flesh, tearing out the jugular vein and puncturing the carotid arteries. The sergeant was dead on his feet.
But so was Jolie. She and the sergeant fell together, their blood mingling.
Parry sniffed Jolie. The sword had driven through her right lung. She was grievously wounded, but alive.
He shifted to human form. "Jolie, look at me," he said, taking her head in his hands.
Her pain-glazed eyes gazed into his. Instantly he mesmerized her. "You feel no pain," he said. "Your body will bleed no more. You will sleep in stasis until I wake you. I love you."
Her eyes closed. Her bleeding slowed. She would endure for the time required. This had been part of her training: to respond instantly to healing mesmerization.
Quickly he took the soiled sword and used its edge to slice the mattress. He cut stout strips and fashioned them into a harness.
A soldier's face showed in the doorway. Parry glanced at him, and exerted his power of mesmerization. "I am your sergeant," he said. "I have dealt with the sorcerer. I have not finished with the wench. Remain clear until I emerge."
The soldier nodded and retreated. Parry returned to his work. It was easy to deal with a single enemy, but difficult to deal with many in this manner, because he could focus his mesmeric gaze on only one at a time. The single soldier's intrusion had been a stroke of luck in an otherwise disastrous situation; it gave Parry time to do what he needed.
He rigged the harness to support Jolie's body. Then he formed the long straps of it into two great loops, such as might encircle the body of a horse. He fitted Jolie into her part, then stood in the loops, draping one around his neck and the other around his midsection. Then he heaved Jolie up to his back, bent forward, and changed to horse form.
His abruptly larger body took up the slack, filling out the loops. Now Jolie was bound to his back. He shook himself, nudging her into proper place so she could not slide around and down. Then he leaped out the door.
The soldiers gaped. Parry took advantage of their momentary inaction to locate the crossbow and stomp it with a forehoof. Then he galloped out of the village, unscathed.
He was in animal form, but his human intellect remained, as it had in the other forms. That was a key part of the magic. A person who transformed without making allowance for the mind could be in bad trouble! But it was not easy to master, and this was one reason that Jolie had not yet reached this stage. If only Parry had realized earlier that she would need it!
There was no pursuit. The death of the sergeant and the speed of Parry's escape must have thrown the soldiers into confusion. That enabled Parry to go almost directly to the prepared retreat in the forest.
Once there, he reverted to his human form and took Jolie down from his back. He carried her into the shelter and eased her to the mattress.
Now he drew on his expertise in medicine. He had herbs and elixirs to reduce pain, cleanse infection and promote healing. Few folk realized the importance of cleanliness in such matters; the worst threats to life were not huge monsters, but invisibly small ones that multiplied in dirt. The wound was bad, but his magic should fix it.
But he realized now that the trip to the retreat had been hard on her. Had he attended to her immediately, in the village, he could have done her a great deal of good. But he had, had to use a stopgap measure, and then carry her, and she had bounced on his back. Her wound had been aggravated, and the blood had flowed despite the control lent by her mesmerized state. Now she was in serious trouble. Her breathing was labored, for only one lung was functioning adequately.
He worked desperately, but there was much he could not do. His father had greater expertise—but his father was dead. Parry didn't know how to make up for the extensive internal bleeding he realized had occurred. He had no substitute for blood! He would have given her his own, but knew that wouldn't work; the humors of one person inevitably fought those of another, and made the transfusion worse than none at all. She had to survive on her own blood—and she no longer had enough.
Perhaps if he gave her plenty of nourishing liquid to drink it would restore the blood. But to do that, he would have to wake her. He didn't like that, because she would then become aware of her pain; yet there seemed to be no choice.
He prepared broth, thick with the needs of life. He set a warm bowl of it beside her. Then he roused her with a word. "Wake," he said. "Wake, Jolie."
Her eyelids flickered. "Parry," she breathed—and winced.
"You were wounded," he said quickly. "A sword thrust. You have lost blood. But I have you safe, and if you will drink this good broth—"
Slowly, she shook her head. "Parry, I hurt," she gasped. "Please let me die."
He was horrified. "Jolie, I'll never let you die!"
"It is no use," she whispered with half a breath. "I love you, but I cannot—cannot survive. The pain is ter—terrible. Kiss me and let me die."
It was worse than he had supposed. She would never have yielded to mere pain; she was a stout girl at heart. She knew her body, and knew it could not be saved.
He had to honor her last request.
He leaned forward and kissed her with infinite tenderness. He felt her response. Then she sighed and sank into unconsciousness.
A hooded figure stepped through the wall.
Parry started up, astonished and dismayed. He had not heard the soldiers coming!
But this was no soldier. It was a man in a voluminous black cloak, with a deep cowl that hid his face in shadow. He leaned over Jolie, one hand reaching for her.
"Stop!" Parry cried, outraged in his grief. "She is my love and my wife! I will suffer no stranger to touch her in her last moment!"
The figure turned to him as if in surprise.
The surprise was mutual. Now Parry discerned the face—and it was a fleshless skull.
"I am no stranger," the bare teeth said. "I am Thanatos. I have come for this woman's soul."
It had to be true. The figure had stepped through the wall without disturbing it, at the very moment Jolie was sinking into oblivion.
He remembered something his father had told him. There were Incarnations, and Death was one of them. But he came personally only for those whose souls were in doubt.
"Jolie is a good woman!" Parry protested. "She has been everything to me! How can her soul be in doubt?"
The hood tilted. "I shall ascertain that for you." The hand moved again, this time reaching into Jolie's body and catching something there. In a moment it emerged, holding something like a netting of glowing spider web. It was her soul.
Thanatos studied it. "She is a good woman," he agreed. "There is virtually no blight on her soul. Yet I was drawn to her. Let me investigate."
Then, suddenly, the world stopped. Parry was frozen in place, unable to move, even to breathe, yet was in no discomfort. It was as though time had stilled. This was magic of a far superior order!
Then, after what could have been an instant or a day, motion resumed. "I have inquired," Thanatos said. "She is not evil, but the circumstance of her death precipitates monstrous evil. We do not know its nature, for we find no current evidence of it, but it is nonetheless present. When it coalesces, it will be known that this was the site of its initiation. Therefore the goodness of her soul is balanced by the evil of its situation, and I was summoned."
"She cannot go to Heaven?"
"I think she cannot escape the mortal realm," Thanatos replied. "She must remain as a ghost, until the evil abates."
"Then let her stay with me!" Parry cried. "I will care for her ghost!"
Thanatos shrugged. "Take a drop of her blood on your wrist," he said. "She can inhabit only her own essence."
Parry touched his left wrist to Jolie's wounded breast, picking up a smear of the blood.
Thanatos set the soul against that smear. It shrank into the blood and disappeared.
Parry was silent, gazing at the blood. By the time he thought to ask another question, Thanatos was gone. Parry was left with Jolie's body, and his grief.
Then he heard the soldiers coming. He had to flee, for they would kill him on sight. He could not even remain to give his beloved a decent Christian burial. That was grief upon grief.
He became the wolf and leaped from the shelter. An arrow sought him, but missed. In moments he was away and hidden among the trees. He escaped unscathed—in body.