A Wizard In Peace Read online

  "Like all the others, I was raised in hiding for fear of my father's enemies," Orgoru began. He didn't mean to go on for very long, but Gar and Dirk asked him question after question, and seemed to be so genuinely interested that he found himself telling them the story of his life, in detail. He was just finishing when Countess Gilda came back in a swirl of skirts, pouting. "So you have missed me not at all, sir!"

  "I have missed you most fantastically," Orgoru said quickly, "and only my talk with these gentlemen has soothed my spirits."

  "I do not believe you! You would as soon talk to them as dance with me!" Gilda turned on her heel to flounce away.

  Orgoru caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss upon it, as he had watched the other lords do. "Oh no, sweet sunrise, don't leave me in the darkness of longing!"

  "Well, I'll abate my severity," Gilda said, turning back with a sunny smile. "You may dance with me, then."

  "You are so kind and generous!" Orgoru cried, and led her out onto the floor.

  "As I thought," Gar said, watching them go, "delusions of grandeur."

  "Yes," Dirk agreed, "but it's charitable not to disillusion him. After all, he's not hurting anyone here-and do you really think he'd be able to lead a successful life outside?"

  "True-and it's a kindness to shelter him here. A great kindness, especially considering that all the rest of them seem to be suffering from the same syndrome."

  Dirk nodded. "Just a matter of time before they'd start going around giving orders and expecting to be treated like royalty."

  "And being beaten for their pains. Who knows how they might end?" Gar asked.

  "Rhetorical question, I hope," Dirk replied. "They'd be ostracized or exiled, and die young."

  "Yes," Gar said heavily. "So why not let them all gather here, where a central computer can keep them alive? They can be happy, of course-but they can't have children."

  "A gold-plated insane asylum." Dirk nodded. "How about those few children who are born, but are stolen by elves?"

  "The human sentries are sedated, and robots take the babies," Gar said immediately. "I hope they leave them on the doorsteps of cottagers who want children."

  "Probably-always a few woodcutters living alone in forests. But children who were raised here, would never be able to leave."

  "Yes-they'd certainly never have a normal upbringing, or learn how to fend for themselves," Gar said. "It's a great kindness, if you think of it that way."

  "It also supplies a purpose for a computer that's been abandoned by its civilization," Dirk pointed out.

  "Yes." Gar nodded. "I gather we're going to be meeting that computer soon." He looked up as Miles came drifting back with Ciletha, both with heady smiles, carefully not looking at one another-but their hands touched.

  "The hour grows late, milords," a young nobleman said, coming up to them. "You must be wearied after your travels. May I show you to your rooms?"

  Dirk bit back surprise that an aristocrat would do a porter's, job-after all, there weren't any servants here, just "aristocrats." While he was still biting, Gar said gravely, "Why, yes, thank you. That would be most kind."

  Each had a suite to himself or herself, of course. When they had bathed, cleaned their clothes in the "shower," and dressed again, Dirk and Gar met in Gar's sitting room. Miles tapped on the door a few minutes later. Gar let him in, smiling. "You seem to have had a good evening."

  "Yes." Miles smiled, letting the glow show. "Ciletha's a most wonderful woman, sirs." His brow creased. "How sad that she's in love with that lout Orgoru!"

  "Sad indeed," Dirk said with a knowing smile. "You'll have to do something about that."

  Miles looked up in surprise, then began to smile again, slowly.

  " `Lout'?" Gar asked. "Strange way to talk about a lord!"

  "There are no lords or ladies in the whole world," Miles said flatly, "only in tales for children. This Orgoru's no more noble than I am, and I've seen his kind in my own village. There're the ones who can't do anything, so they try to pretend they're better than anyone else-either that, or they just give up, eke out a living hauling and digging, and die young." He saddened. "Maddening though they are, I suppose I'd rather they tried to lord it over the rest of us, and keep getting knocked down for their pains-I wouldn't wish the other kind of life on a dog."

  "Not exactly a nice life either way," Dirk said darkly. "Better for him to be here, where he won't bother anybody."

  "No, not a bit!" Miles took fire. "What right does he have to live in luxury when he can't even do as much work as I can? And what right does he have to the love of such a woman as Ciletha?"

  "Both outcasts in their home village, I suppose," Gar said, "who grew up together, and were each other's only friend."

  "Ciletha, an outcast?" Miles stared.

  "Men don't always see a woman's real worth, Miles," Gar said, with a sardonic grimace. "In fact, I suspect these poor delusionaries don't see the world as it really is at all."

  "Still," Dirk said, "she's bound to become disenchanted with Orgoru, watching him posturing here-and paying court to that poor horse-faced Gilda. Just be there for her, and be patient, and she'll turn to you sooner or later."

  "I don't know if I can accept being second choice," Miles said, frowning. "How could I wed her if, all my life, I'd have to remember that she would have chosen Orgoru if she could have?"

  "Wait until she knows enough about him to not choose him," Dirk said.

  There was a knock at the door. Gar went to open it. "Orgoru! Come in. We were just talking about you."

  "Why, how complimentary!" Orgoru came in a step. "But I have come to ask you if you are refreshed enough to meet the Guardian before you sleep."

  "We would be pleased." But Gar's gaze lingered on Orgoru, who forced a smile to hide his discomfort.

  "He's happier the way he is," Dirk snapped. "True," Gar agreed, "but we need him."

  Dirk frowned. "You sure you know what you're doing? The human mind is a pretty delicate thing."

  "I know." Gar stared at the madman. "Let me see if there would be any danger here."

  Orgoru felt as though the giant's eyes were boring into his mind. Then, horrified, he felt something tickle, moving inside his head, and screamed, a raw hoarse cry, sinking to his knees; he barely heard Gar say, "This would be simple, though, and quite safe. He's very uncomplicated, really-a classic case, needing only. . ."

  Suddenly other "lords" burst in, crying, "Who is hurting you?"

  "They are!" Orgoru screamed, pointing at Dirk and Gar. "Seize them!"

  The false aristocrats jumped on Gar and Dirk. Dirk knocked the first two over with quick jabs, and Gar picked up a couple and tossed them away-but the hall was suddenly full of others, pouring into the room and burying the three men under sheer numbers. Miles struck about him wildly, but the city men leaned aside from his blows or blocked them, then caught his arms and pinned him against the wall. He could only stand and watch his companions being buried, and could only think how senseless this was, for he'd seen them defeat armed foresters. Neither seemed to be fighting terribly hard, and Miles guessed that they must be afraid of hurting the poor madmen. Gar roared and Dirk howled, but the "lords" overpowered them, burying them under sheer numbers.

  "Well done." King Longar came waddling through the door, his moon-face grim. "Now take them before the Guardian." The madmen hustled the three men to their feet and bundled them out the door. As they passed Ciletha's suite, she burst through the doorway, crying, "What's happening?"

  "He hurt me," Orgoru panted, coming up to her, "the big one. I felt him poking about in my mind. We're taking them to the Guardian for judgment."

  Ciletha stared at him, and Miles, watching, saw realization come into her eyes, realization that Orgoru was even more insane than she had thought. His posturing and pretenses hadn't ripped her veil of belief in him, but his claim that the giant had invaded his mind did.

  Then the madmen were hustling Miles on down the hallway, and Ciletha followed
, crying, "He can't have done it! He can't have meant any harm! He's a good man, he saved Miles twice and more, he would have saved you!"

  "I don't need to be saved," Orgoru snapped at her. "I don't want to be."

  Ciletha halted, frozen, her eyes huge, as the implications of Orgoru's words sank in. Then she ran after them, choking down sobs. They mustn't hurt Miles!

  Back into the great hall they went, around and into a sort of alcove, where they stopped. Ciletha halted too, staring in amazement at the jeweled curves and angles inlaid in the wall's surface.

  "Great Guardian!" King Longar boomed. "Here are three who would join our court, but have hurt one of our number! Judge, we pray you! Judge whether or not they are true aristocrats! Judge whether or not they are of our kind!"

  A voice resonated all about them, making Ciletha jump with fright-but the spirit showed no threat to anyone. "Which of you has it hurt?"

  "L" Orgoru stepped forward, still holding his head, and Ciletha felt a stab of pity for him.

  "How did he hurt you?"

  "He poked about in my mind!"

  None of the false aristocrats seemed at all skeptical about the remark. Looking from one face to another, Ciletha was amazed to see complete and total belief.

  The invisible Guardian didn't seem to have any doubts, either. "Let me sense their motives."

  There was no sound, no movement, but suddenly Ciletha felt as though she were surrounded by something warm and clinging, sinking in through the very bone of her skull. Strangely, though, she wasn't the slightest bit frightened-the Guardian, whatever it was, meant only to help, never to hurt.

  Then the sensation was gone, and the Guardian declared, "They are not of your kind, neither they nor the woman." Instantly, Orgoru cried out, "The woman has made no move to hurt or imperil anyone!"

  Ciletha felt a surge of gratitude and affection for her old friend, instantly followed by panic and fear for Miles.

  "We thank you, O Guardian," King Longar said, then turned to his courtiers. "Take them out of the palace."

  The crowd shouted and surged toward the portal, out through it and down the long, long flight of stairs. There they halted, turning the prisoners to face King Longar, whose face was grim. "You have abused our hospitality, and you are not of our kind. We can't have the vulgar discovering our court and flocking here to overwhelm us."

  Miles looked up at more footsteps clattering down the stairs. Dirk looked up, too, and stared. "Laser rifles!"

  Gar never took his eyes from King Longar. "So you have actually managed to learn how to operate some of the machinery here."

  "Machinery?" The king frowned. "We have magical weapons, and courtiers before us learned which parts of the Guardian's design to push in order to bring them to life."

  "We knew the nuclear generators still worked, or the robots wouldn't," Dirk said to Gar, "and some mad genius learned how to punch the right buttons to connect them to machines."

  Every "aristocrat" stiffened, their faces turning ugly, and King Longar's voice was heavy with menace. "Mad? Do you say we are mad?"

  For answer, Gar turned to him and asked, "Does the Guardian make the lightning sheet from the top of the wall when enemies come near, or have you learned how to do that, too?"

  The tension stretched so thin that Miles thought it would break him when it snapped. Then Longar exploded. "I can't believe the gall of this man! Three magical weapons are trained on him, and all he can do is ask questions! Have you no common sense, vagabond, no fear?"

  Gar gave Dirk a questioning glance. Dirk shrugged. They both turned back to Longar, shaking their heads as Dirk said, "Not really, no."

  The "noblemen" stared at them, astounded. King Longar burst out, "Why? How can you not fear?"

  With a sudden surge, Gar kicked out, sending the men who held his legs sprawling. He landed in a crouch, bowed with a snap, and the two who had held his arms went tumbling over his head, slamming into half a dozen of their fellows.

  At the same moment, Dirk doubled his whole body, pulling the men who held him closer together, then drove his elbows back as he shoved with both feet. The men who held those feet dropped them, clutching their stomachs and gagging; the armholders clung on long enough for Dirk's feet to hit ground, when he elbowed them again. They let go, and he whirled to kick at the men holding Miles's knees. They fell, howling, and Miles set down his feet with a shout of triumph. He strained forward, and the men holding his arms shouted, pulling backward. Then Miles leaped back as hard and as far as he could, swinging his arms forward with all his strength, and the two collided with each other. Free, he turned to swing at the nearest aristocrat. The man sprawled backward into two more who were running forward.

  The whole court shouted and charged at them.

  Lightning split the night, and everyone froze, turning to see Dirk and Gar holding two rifles with a third at Gar's feet.. "Grab it, Miles!" Dirk snapped.

  Miles sprinted to them and caught up the weapon. He had no idea how to use it, nor had need to-he only needed to keep it from the madmen.

  "We're going to leave now," Gar said gently. "Please don't try to follow us. I assure you, we know how to use these weapons, and we know they can scar these walls, even burn through them. We'd rather not see that happen."

  He left the other threat unspoken: that the beams could burn through people, too.

  "But-but we are noblemen!" King Longar cried. "How can you have defeated us so easily?"

  "Because :we're trained soldiers, Your Majesty." Dirk's voice was gentle somehow, even sympathetic. "Ciletha? You can come with us-or you can stay here."

  The madmen turned toward the woman, their faces ugly. "No!" Orgoru cried. "She is good, she is gentle, and not to blame one whit for what these men have done!"

  But the dark looks stayed 'on' the madmen's faces, and Ciletha shuddered, suddenly realizing how unpredictable they might be. Quickly, she ran to Miles.

  "Don't follow us, now," Dirk warned. "Miles, Ciletha, turn and go."

  Miles offered his arm as he turned around. Ciletha took it, heart pounding, and they walked slowly down the boulevard leading to the gate, with Dirk and Gar backing up-behind them, rifles pointed a little above the heads of the silent, frozen band of madmen, standing there with the moonlight silvering their ludicrous finery.

  CHAPTER 12

  Gar and Dirk kept their word-they went on out through the doorless gateway and into the forest for more than a hundred yards. There, though, Gar held up a hand and stopped. The others did, too. They stood a moment, listening. Inside the city, they heard shouting.

  The pause was enough to tear the shreds of composure Ciletha had left. She turned away from the men into the nearest pool of shadow and wept bitterly. But strong arms folded about her, and a hard-muscled chest moved to touch her cheek. She clung and sobbed, knowing it was Miles, knowing she could trust him not to think ill of her.

  "Hush, now," he soothed. "We're safe-they won't find us here. We've lost them."

  "And I've lost him forever!" she wailed. "Orgoru will never love me now!"

  The arms and chest went very still, and Ciletha caught her breath, suddenly realizing that she didn't want to lose Miles, too-but he loosened, and his hand began to caress her back again. Her whole body shuddered with a huge racking sob of relief, and she could let the tension out in weeping again.

  "Think they'll find some more of these portable cannon?" Dirk asked.

  "Of course, or they won't dare chase us," Gar told him. The shouting wasn't quite so far away now.

  "Aristocrats!" Dirk sneered. "Sure they are, running in a mob just like the peasants they really are!"

  "Be fair-I've seen aristocrats form their own mobs, too." Gar looked up as Miles and Ciletha came back into the moonlight, his arm about her shoulders. "Functional again? Good, because we have an ambush to lay."

  "Ambush?" Ciletha stared. "Aren't we trying to escape them?"

  "Only for the moment," Gar answered. "Right now, I want one of them alive a
nd unhurt-preferably Orgoru."

  "Orgoru?" Fear for her friend seized her. "Why him?"

  Gar must have heard the fright in her voice, for he said, "Don't worry, maiden, we won't hurt him just the opposite, in fact. Your friend has a sickness of the heart and mind, and I mean to cure him."

  The fear deepened, fear of having her own insight confirmed. "He's not mad!"

  "Orgoru is mentally ill," Gar told her. "They all are. They all suffer from a malady called `delusions of grandeur.' Here they can wallow in their delusions without anyone to hamper them, for the Guardian takes care of them and protects them. It's kind in its way, but it would be kinder still to cure them and let them take up useful, productive lives in the real world again."

  "Sure of that, are you?" Dirk said sourly.

  "Let them decide when they've had a chance," Gar countered.

  "But why do you care?" Miles asked, bewildered.

  "Because I've spent the last few weeks trying to find an underground-a band of people organized in secret, with the purpose of overthrowing the Protector and his armies."

  "So that's why you were talking so foolishly in that inn!"

  "If you think that was foolish," Dirk said, "You should have heard the things I've heard him say in other, uh, countries. He's calmed down considerably."

  "How is it you're still free?" Miles asked, round-eyed. "We're quick," Dirk explained.

  "We made far fewer mistakes once you were there to explain local customs for us," Gar told Miles. "I've finally admitted that there is no underground-but I still want to overthrow the iron rule of the Protector, and let the people choose their own form of government, one that will let them select their professions, travel when and where they will, and choose their own mates."

  Ciletha gasped with delight and fear, awed by the giant's audacity.

  "What has all that to do with this city of madmen?" Miles asked, bewildered.

  "They could be my underground-if I cure their delusions first."

  "Be kinder to leave them mired in mania," Dirk muttered. "Perhaps-but their country needs them. Think, my friends! In their efforts to become aristocrats, they've already learned the accent, the bearing, and the manners of the magistrates! And they know something of literature, science, and the artsI led the conversation into many different areas at dinner, and the ones who had been here awhile knew the basics of all the main areas of human thought! They even know something, about their Protector's laws and procedures, though they'll have to learn a great deal more."