The Secular Wizard Read online

  Rebozo stood there behind his king, watching and trembling as Maledicto shouted, "Why did you slay my son?"

  "I did not! I did never!"

  "More," King Maledicto snapped, and Rebozo, trembling and wide-eyed, nodded to the torturer, who grinned and pressed down with the glowing iron. Accerese screamed and screamed, and finally could turn the sound into words. "I only found him there, I did not kill... AIEEEE!"

  "Confess!" the king roared. "We know you did it—why do you deny it?"

  "Confess," Rebozo pleaded, "and the agony will end."

  "But I did not do it!" Accerese wailed. "I only found him... YAAHHHH!"

  So it went, on and on, until finally, exhausted and spent, Accerese told them what they wanted to hear. "Yes, yes! I did it, I stole the dagger and slew him, anything, anything! Only let the pain stop!"

  "Let the torture continue," Maledicto commanded, and watched with grim satisfaction as the groom howled and bucked and writhed, listened with glowing eyes as the screams alternated with begging and pleading, shivered with pleasure as the cracked and fading voice still tried to shriek its agony—but when the broken, bleeding body began to gibber and call upon the name of God, Maledicto snarled, "Kill it!"

  The blade swung down, and Accerese's agony was over.

  King Maledicto stood, glaring down at the remains with fierce elation—then suddenly turned somber. His brows drew down, his face wrinkled into lines of gloom. He turned away, thunderous and brooding. Rebozo stared after him, astounded, then hurried after.

  When he had seen his royal master slam the door of his private chamber behind him, when his loud-voiced queries brought forth only snarls of rage and demands to go away, Rebozo turned and went with a sigh. There was still another member of the royal family who had to be told about all this. Not Maledicto's wife, for she had been slain for an adultery she had never committed; not the prince's wife, for she had died in childbirth; but the prince's son, Maledicto's grandson, who was now the heir apparent.

  Rebozo went to his chambers in a wing on the far side of the castle. There he composed himself, steadying his breathing and striving for the proper combination of sympathy and sternness, of gentleness and gravity. When he thought he had the tone and expression right, he went to tell the boy that he was an orphan.

  Prince Boncorro wept, of course. He was only ten and could not understand. "But why? Why? Why would God take my father? He was so good, he tried so hard to do what God wanted!"

  Rebozo winced, but found words anyway. "There was work for him in Heaven."

  "But there is work for him here, too! Big work, lots of work, and surely it is work that is important to God! Didn't God think he could do it? Didn't he try hard enough?"

  What could Rebozo say? "Perhaps not, your Highness. Kings must do many things that would be sins, if common folk did them."

  "What manner of things?" The tears dried on the instant, and the little prince glared up at Rebozo as if the man himself were guilty.

  "Why... killing," said Rebozo. "Executing, I mean. Executing men who have done horrible, vicious things, such as murdering other people—and who might do them again, if the king let them live. And killing other men, in battle. A king must command such things, Highness, even if he does not do them himself."

  "So." Boncorro fixed the chancellor with a stare that the old man found very disconcerting. "You mean that my father was too good, too kind, too gentle to be a king?"

  Rebozo shrugged and waved a hand in a futile gesture. "I cannot say, Highness. No man can understand these matters—they are beyond us."

  The look on the little prince's face plainly denied the idea—denied it with scorn, too. Rebozo hurried on. "For now, though, your grandfather is in a horrible temper. He has punished the man who murdered your father..."

  "Punished?" Prince Boncorro stared. "They caught the man? Why did he do it?"

  "Who knows, Highness?" Rebozo said, like a man near the end of his fortitude. "Envy, passion, madness—your grandfather did not wait to hear the reason. The murderer is dead. What else matters?"

  "A great deal," Boncorro said, "to a prince who wishes to live."

  There was something chilling about the way he said it—he seemed so mature, so far beyond his years. But then, an experience like this would mature a boy—instantly.

  "If you wish to live, Highness," Rebozo said softly, "it were better if you were not in the castle for some months. Your grandfather has been in a ferocious temper, and now is suddenly sunken in gloom. I cannot guess what he may do next."

  "You do not mean that he is mad!"

  "I do not think so," Rebozo said slowly, "but I do not know. I would feel far safer, your Highness, if you were to go into hiding."

  "But... where?" Boncorro looked about him, suddenly helpless and vulnerable. "Where could I go?"

  In spite of it all, Rebozo could not help a smile. "Not in the wardrobe, Highness, nor beneath your bed. I mean to hide you outside the castle—outside this royal town of Venarra, even. I know a country baron who is kindly and loyal, who would never dream of hurting a prince, and who would see you safely spirited away even if his Majesty were to command your presence. But he will not, for I will see to it that the king does not know where you are."

  Boncorro frowned. "How will you do that?"

  "I will lie, your Highness. No, do not look so darkly at me—it will be a lie in a good cause, and is far better than letting you stay here, where your grandfather might lash out at you in his passion."

  Boncorro shuddered; he had seen King Maledicto in a rage. "But he is a sorcerer! Can he not find me whenever he wishes?"

  "I am a sorcerer, too," Rebozo said evenly, "and shall cloud your trail by my arts, so that even he cannot find it. It is my duty to you—and to him."

  "Yes, it is, is it not?" Boncorro nodded judiciously. "How strange that to be loyal, you must lie to him!"

  "He will thank me for it one day," Rebozo assured him. "But come, now, your Highness—there is little time for talk. No one can tell when your grandfather will pass into another fit of rage. We must be away, and quickly, before his thoughts turn to you."

  Prince Boncorro's eyes widened in fright. "Yes, we must! How, Rebozo?"

  "Like this." Rebozo shook out a voluminous dark cloak he had been carrying and draped it around the boy's shoulders. "Pull up the cowl now."

  Boncorro pulled the hood over his head and as far forward as it would go. He could only see straight in front of him, but he realized that it would be very hard for others to see his face.

  Rebozo was donning a cloak very much like his. He, too, pulled the cowl over his head. "There, now! Two fugitives dressed alike, eh? And who is to say you are a prince, not the son of a woodcutter wrapped against the night's chill? Away now, lad! To the postern!"

  They crossed out over the moat in a small boat that was moored just outside the little gate. Boncorro huddled in on himself, staring at the huge luminous eyes that seemed to appear out the very darkness itself—but Rebozo muttered a spell and pointed his wand, making those huge eyes flutter closed in sleep and sink away. The little boat glided across the oil-slick water with no oars or sail, and Boncorro wondered how the chancellor as making it go.

  Magic, of course.

  Boncorro decided he must learn magic, or he would forever be at others' mercy. But not black magic, no—he would never let Satan have a hold on him, as the Devil did on his grandfather! He would never be so vile, so wicked—for he knew what Rebozo seemed not to: that no matter who had thrust the knife between his father's ribs, it was King Maledicto who had given the order. Boncorro had no proof, but he didn't need any—he had heard their fights, heard the old man ranting and raving at the heir, had heard Prince Casudo's calm, measured answers that sent the king into veritable paroxysms. He had heard Grandfather's threats and seen him lash out at Casudo in anger. No, he had no need of proof. He had always feared his grandfather and never liked him—but now he hated him, too, and was bound and determined never to be like
him.

  On the other hand, he was determined never to be like his father, either—not now. Prince Casudo had been a good man, a very good man, even saintly—but it was as Chancellor Rebozo had said: that very goodness had made him unfit to be king. It had made him unfit to live, for that matter—unsuspecting, he had been struck down from behind. Boncorro wanted to be a good king, when his time came—but more than anything else, he wanted to live.

  And second only to that, he wanted revenge—on his grandfather.

  The boat grounded on the bank and Rebozo stepped out, turning back to hold out a hand to steady the prince. There were horses in waiting, tied to a tree branch: black horses that faded into the night. Rebozo boosted the boy into the saddle, then mounted himself and took the reins of Boncorro's horse. He slapped his own horse's flank with a small whip, and they moved off quietly into the night, down the slope and across the darkened plain. Only when they came under the leaves did Prince Boncorro feel safe enough to talk again. "Why are you loyal to King Maledicto, Rebozo? Why do you obey him? Do you think the things he commands you to do are right?"

  "No," Rebozo said with a shudder. "He is an evil man, your Highness, and commands me to do wicked deeds. I shall tell you truly that some of them disgust me, even though I can see they are necessary to keep order in the kingdom. But there are other tasks he sets me that frankly horrify me, and in which I can see no use."

  "Then why do you do them? Why do you carry them out?"

  "Because I am afraid," Rebozo said frankly, "afraid of his wrath and his anger, afraid of the tortures he might make me suffer if he found that I had disobeyed him—but more than anything else, afraid of the horrors of his evil magic."

  "Can you not become good, as Father was? Will not... no, of course Goodness will not protect you," Prince Boncorro said bitterly. "It did not protect Father, did it? In the next life, perhaps, but not in this."

  "Even if it did," Rebozo said quickly, to divert the boy from such somber thoughts, "it would not protect me—for I have committed many sins, your Highness, in the service of your grandfather—many sins indeed, and most of them vile."

  "But you had no choice!"

  "Oh, I did," Rebozo said softly, "and worse, I knew it, too. I could have said no, I could have refused."

  "If you had, Grandfather would have had you killed! Tortured and killed!"

  "He would indeed," Rebozo confirmed, "and I did not have the courage to face that. No, in my cowardice, I trembled and obeyed him—and doomed my soul to Hell thereby."

  "But Father did not." Boncorro straightened, eyes wide with sudden understanding. "Father refused to commit an evil act, and Grandfather killed him for it!"

  "Highness, what matter?" Rebozo pleaded. "Dead is dead!"

  "It matters," Prince Boncorro said, "because Father's courage has saved him from Hell—and yours could, too, Rebozo, even now!"

  There was something in the way he said it that made Rebozo shiver—but he was shivering anyway, at the thought of the fate the king could visit upon him. Instead, he said, "Your father has gone to a far better place than this, Prince Boncorro."

  "That may be true," the prince agreed, "but I do not wish to go there any sooner than I must. Why did Father not learn magic?"

  "Because there is no magic but evil magic, your Highness."

  "I do not believe that," Prince Boncorro said flatly. "Father told me of saints who could work miracles."

  "Miracles, yes—and I don't doubt that your father can work them now, or will soon. But miracles are not magic, your Highness, and it is not the Saints who work them, but the One they worship, who acts through them. Mere goodness is not enough—a man must be truly holy to become such a channel of power."

  Prince Boncorro shook his head doggedly. "There must be a way, Chancellor Rebozo. There must be another sort of magic, good magic, or the whole world would have fallen to Evil long ago."

  What makes you think it has not? Rebozo thought, but he bit back the words. Besides, even Prince Boncorro had heard of the good wizards in Merovence, and Chancellor Rebozo did not want him thinking too much about that. What quicker road to death could there be, than to study good magic in a kingdom of evil sorcery?

  "Will Grandfather ever die?" Boncorro asked.

  Rebozo shook his head. "Only two know that, Highness—and one of them is the Devil, who keeps the king alive."

  The other, Prince Boncorro guessed, must be God—but he could understand why Rebozo would not want to say that Name aloud. Not here in Latruria—and not considering the current state of his soul.

  It was half a year before Chancellor Rebozo came to Baron Garchi's gate again.

  "Welcome, welcome, Lord Chancellor!" cried the bluff and hearty lord. "Come in and rest yourself! Take a cup of ale!"

  "Ale will do."

  The implication was clear, so Garchi sighed and said, "I have wine, if you'd rather."

  "Why, yes," Rebozo said. "The cool white wine that your country is so famous for, perhaps?"

  "The very stuff." Garchi reached up to clap him on the shoulder, but thought better of it. "Come in out of the sun!" He started to lead the way, then remembered himself and bowed the Lord Chancellor on before him.

  Rebozo acknowledged the wisdom of the move with a nod, then asked, "How is your charge?"

  "Oh, the lad thrives! Our country air is good for him—and it is also good for him to run and play with my own cubs."

  Rebozo fixed him with a steely glare. "They do not mistreat him, I trust?"

  "Not a bit," Garchi assured him. "Oh, there was the beginning round of fights, as there always is with boys..."

  "You supervised it carefully, I trust!"

  Garchi nodded, a little nettled. "Carefully, but without their knowing. When it got too rough, one of my knights just 'happened' to come by."

  "How rough?" Rebozo snapped.

  "Well, your little wolfling had my middle boy down and was setting in to beat him with a fierceness that took me quite aback, I can tell you. My youngest had already picked a fight with him and been soundly trounced—they're the same age, I'd guessed—and my eldest was standing by, looking as if he was going to jump in to help his brother, for all I'd told him not to. Lad's fourteen," he explained.

  "But your knight stopped them?"

  "Aye, and saved my middle boy a nasty beating, I fancy! Had to take your lad aside and explain to him that fights between boys don't need to be for life or death, that it's only a little more serious than a game."

  "I'm surprised he believed you."

  "Not sure he did, but he's been nowhere nearly so vicious since—and they've had their dustups, of course, for all they've been fast friends from that first day; boys will be boys, y'know."

  "They will," Rebozo agreed, with the air of one who doesn't really understand. "Where are they now?"

  "Oh, out rabbiting, I expect. Quite taken to hunting, the lad has, though he's so dammed serious about it that it makes me chill inside." He gave the chancellor a keen glance. "Is he really yours? Thought powerful sorcerers like you didn't indulge."

  "We do not, but you need not concern yourself with whose bastard he truly is."

  "Oh, I don't, I don't," Garchi said quickly. "Shall I send for him?"

  "No, I've time enough to wait an hour or two—and refresh myself. You will have a bath drawn?"

  "They're heating the water now," said Garchi, who didn't understand this obsession with washing. "I'll have the boy sent 'round to you as soon as he comes in, eh?"

  "Oh, let him clean up first. After hunting, I expect he'll need it."

  It was only an hour later that Boncorro stood before the chancellor—or the other way around, perhaps; Rebozo was amazed at the way the boy made him feel as if it were he who had been summoned. The lad was smiling, though. "It is so good to see you again, my Lord Chancellor!"

  "I am sorry that it has been so long, Highness," Rebozo said. "I had to wait until your grandfather sent me on a tour of the provinces, to remind the lords of the
tax they owe him."

  "Of course. I knew I would have to wait long for news of home."

  Rebozo took the hint. "Your grandfather continues in good health, and has somewhat emerged from his gloom. He still lapses into long periods of brooding, though, and gazes out the window at nothing."

  "I should feel sorry for him," Boncorro conceded.

  "Yes, perhaps," Rebozo said, a trifle disconcerted. "And how have you been faring, your Highness?"

  "Oh, well enough, though it was somewhat rough at first. I have friends now, or acquaintances, at least."

  "Yes, Lord Garchi tells me you have made companions of his sons, and that you were hunting even now."

  "They are skilled at that." Actually, the boys had led Boncorro to a knothole they had discovered, where they could peek into the chambermaids' sleeping quarters. They had taken turns watching the strapping young women disrobe and slip into their beds. Boncorro had dutifully taken his turn, though he couldn't really understand why his playmates seemed so excited about the whole matter. Way down deep, he had felt some stirring within him as he watched a well-curved peasant lass go through her ablutions, and he had to admit it had been somewhat pleasant—but surely nothing to make such a fuss about.

  "I remembered it was your birthday soon." Rebozo drew a package from beneath his robe. "I regret we cannot celebrate it more elaborately—but take this, as a token of good wishes."

  Boncorro took the package, astonished. "Why, thank you, Chancellor! What is it?"

  "Well, there would be no surprise if I told you." Rebozo smiled. "Go ahead, unwrap it."

  Boncorro did, and held the book up, staring. "A book of spells!"

  "You had said you meant to learn magic," Rebozo explained. "They are only simple spells, scarcely more than a village herb wife would use—but enough for a beginning."

  "Yes indeed!" Boncorro stared at it, round-eyed. "Thank you, Chancellor! Thank you deeply!"

  "Guard it well!" Rebozo raised an admonitory finger. "Simple or not, those spells could cause a great deal of trouble if everyone were to know and use them. Let no one else open it! The first charm inside is one that will keep any but you from opening that cover—learn it at once, and use it often!"