Wizard Of Rentoro Part 4

He knew little about Morina, but he knew one important thing-it was still the most closely watched city in Rentoro. The present Wizard had not forgotten its leadership of the last rebellion against the first Wizard's authority. Nor had Morina forgotten the slaughter of its people by the Wolves when the rebellion was put down. News from Morina should be something no Wolf would care to delay a single moment.

The Wolf nodded and was silent for a moment, his eyes still on Blade. Blade returned the Wolf's stare, and did his best to hide the tension he felt. He was on a hair trigger, alert for the slightest sign of the leader's receiving a command from the Wizard or of the two men-at-arms going into action.

The silence lasted until Blade was almost certain that something had gone wrong and he was going to be hurled into a vicious little fight. He was fairly sure he could deal with these three, but after that- The Wolf leader turned toward his men and waved one hand. They spurred their heudas up to Blade, and one of them took out of a pouch on his belt a two-foot length of red ribbon. On it were embroidered three golden wolves, one running, one standing, and one lying, as well as several words in a script Blade didn't recognize. The leader tied the ribbon to the bridle of Blade's heuda, then raised a hand in farewell. "Pa.s.s on to the Wizard," he said.

Blade had to fight an impulse to spur his heuda to a full gallop and hold that pace until he was out of bowshot. Instead he kept the heuda to a leisurely trot until the Wolves were out of sight around a bend in the road.

So far so good. The Wolf leader had pa.s.sed him on as someone with legitimate business here, or at least not dangerous enough to stop. He'd also been given what he hoped was a safe-conduct pa.s.s, but which might be a "shoot this man on sight" message to the next band of Wolves.

Apparently the ribbon was a safe-conduct. The next three bands of Wolves Blade met stopped him, looked at the ribbon, then waved him on. Each time he kept expecting a crossbow bolt to sprout in his back, until he was out of sight or at least out of easy range.

The country was growing more rugged, with rocky hills, a few stunted trees, and cliffs overhanging the road at nearly every curve. Along this stretch, a hundred Wolves could hold off an army of ten thousand simply by rolling rocks down from the cliffs. Then suddenly the road made a hairpin turn around a last cliff. On the other side a solid stone bridge ran across a deep ravine. Beyond the ravine lush fields of grain rolled away toward a long black wall. Far away beyond the wall Blade saw four round towers. One gleamed faintly as a stray sunbeam broke through the clouds and struck the polished tiles on the domed roof.

Blade spurred his heuda to a gallop. His cloak streamed out behind him as he thundered across the bridge and down the winding road, past fields of grain swaying in the wind. There were people at work in the fields-old men and even older women, or so it seemed to Blade as he swept by. Then at last the black wall loomed before him, rising fifty feet above the stone-paved square in front of the gate.

He had reached the castle of the Wizard of Rentoro.

Seen close up, the castle was even larger than Blade had imagined it from Lorya's tales. What he could see of it showed signs of neglect. Vines grew all the way to the top of the wall, and there was a foot-wide crack thirty feet high to the right of the gate. Gra.s.s sprouted from the cracks in the stone under him.

The Wizard might be getting careless, but Blade doubted it. Even if an enemy did manage to reach the castle's walls, it would take them so long the Wizard would have plenty of time to put his house in order. Meanwhile, what was the sense in spending money and labor on things that might never be needed? The Wizard could not create workers out of thin air, or feed and clothe them with a wave of his hand.

Blade scanned the wall as far as his eyes could reach, looking for the sentries who must be up there on top of the wall. He couldn't see anyone, but he refused to believe the wall was completely deserted. Sooner or later, someone would come down to open the gate for him.

Time pa.s.sed, minute after slow minute. The rain slackened and finally stopped, and the wind died to a faint breeze. The storm was also pa.s.sing.

Now Blade had been waiting outside the castle for close to an hour. The clouds overhead were beginning to break up, but the sunlight revealed no sign of life on the wall. The gate still loomed above him, twenty feet high and thirty feet wide, made of whole tree trunks bound with iron, hung on iron hinges. The wood smelled of grease and the ironwork, shone with oil and fresh paint. No neglect here!

In the middle of the left-hand gate was a small postern, a door just high and wide enough for a man about Blade's size to pa.s.s through without stooping. On an impulse Blade went over to the postern gate and pulled on the iron ring hanging in the center of it.

With a faint squeal and groan, the postern swung open.

Blade could hardly have been more surprised if the Wizard himself had suddenly materialized in a puff of smoke and a clap of thunder. He also felt rather foolish. He wondered if anyone had been standing up on top of the wall, laughing himself silly at the spectacle of Richard Blade waiting for someone to let him through an unlocked gate.

A less pleasant question popped into his mind as well. Could the Wizard be expecting him?

Blade dismounted, led his heuda over to the nearest vine, and tethered it to a tough brown stalk. Then he drew his sword, walked back to the postern, and stepped through it into the Wizard's castle.

Chapter 11.

Blade found himself in a shadowy, musty gateway, so long that it was almost a tunnel. In the dim light it was easy to imagine the heavy stones of the arched roof overhead crashing down on him. Blade hurried toward the open postern visible in the inner gate.

He was three steps from the postern when two things happened. First, the postern slammed shut, sending echoes rolling ominously from the stone walls on either side. Blade had just time to take a deep breath, then there was a rumble from overhead, a wsssh of air, and a huge block of stone plunged out of nowhere and smashed into the pavement. In the confined s.p.a.ce the impact sounded like an explosion. The echoes doubled and redoubled, while chunks of stone flew in all directions like fragments from an exploding sh.e.l.l. One grazed Blade's leg hard enough to draw blood, while another knocked his sword out of his hand. He picked it up and looked at the stone. If he'd been six feet to the left, he would have been squashed under it like a stepped-on c.o.c.kroach.

He drew his boot knife and probed the closed postern. There was no ring, latch, or lock visible on the inside. It appeared to be securely fastened from the outside, as if by- No. Blade made up his mind. He would not let himself start thinking in terms of magic, even if this was a Wizard's castle. There would be a natural explanation for everything that might happen to him.

Blade backed away from the postern, eyes and ears probing the darkness around him. The postern in the outer gate was still open, but he certainly wasn't going to retreat at the first trick the Wizard played on him. Blade darted to the fallen stone and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the largest piece he could lift with one hand. Then he went back to the outer gate, keeping close to the wall. He reached the outer postern and wedged the stone firmly under the open door. That would force anybody who wanted to close it to do the job by hand, rather than by some concealed mechanism. Blade straightened up and turned back toward the inner gate. As he did so, the locked inner postern suddenly swung open.

Blade retraced his steps, knife drawn and hand on sword hilt. If the door started closing this time, he was going to ram his sword into the gap, then go to work on the hinges with the knife.

The postern stayed open, and Blade slipped through. He took a deep breath, then another-then threw himself flat on the ground and rolled furiously to the right. Sssst-whuk! Something flashed overhead and struck the gate behind him. Blade twisted around without raising his head and looked.

Four heavy arrows stood quivering in the gate. Each had a wooden shaft a yard long and a solid iron head almost sunk out of sight in the logs. If any of them had hit him, he would have been pinned against the gate, dead without a twitch or a cry.

Behind Blade towered the inner face of the main wall. On two sides rose vine-overgrown brick walls, on the third a line of squat trees with a timber palisade visible beyond them. The palisade was open at one end. There was no one in sight.

The inner postern was still open, but once again Blade was determined not to retreat. Instead he rose, first to hands and knees, then to a sitting position, then to a crouch. When this drew no reaction, he sprang to his feet and dashed across the open ground toward the gap in the palisade.

He dashed through the gap and saw a wide muddy ditch open before him. He was tempted to simply plough a way down one side and up the other, but instinct told him firmly that he shouldn't. So he leaped, soaring across the ditch and landing in waist-high gra.s.s on the other side. The gra.s.s not only broke his fall, it concealed him almost completely. He lay there to catch his breath.

As he did, part of the muddy bottom of the ditch seemed to come alive. The snake was a good ten feet long and a foot thick, with a triangular head and a body that showed mottled gray and purple under the mud. Blade was quite certain that if he'd walked across the ditch instead of leaping, he would have learned the hard way that the snake was as poisonous as it looked.

He rose and moved on. Someone was almost certainly watching him. He wished he knew why. He did know that he wasn't going to show fear, frustration, or carelessness if he could possibly avoid it.

Somehow, for some incomprehensible purpose of the Wizard of Rentoro, he was being tested. He was going to pa.s.s the test or die trying. In fact, that was probably all he could do, other than turn his back on the castle and the Wizard and admit defeat.

All that afternoon Blade pitted himself against the Wizard's tests and traps. He began to feel that he was in a world apart, a world where ordinary concepts of time and s.p.a.ce had no meaning. The only constants were the sense of being watched and the certainty that danger lay close at hand.

He might have lost all track of time if the Wizard's testing ground hadn't been open to the sky. The clearing of the sky and then the slow fading of the sunlight told him of the pa.s.sing hours.

There were tests of agility, there were tests of speed, there were tests of sheer brute strength-lifting a two-hundred pound beam that barred his only way forward. Each of these tests of his physical qualities also tested his ability to think quickly and logically, keep his head, and keep going forward. The Wizard's deadly maze was always offering him a safe road back, and he was always refusing to take it.

There was no sign of human activity-in fact no sign that the huge castle hadn't been swept clean of all human life by a plague. Yet Blade's instincts told him that each test took place under the eye of some hidden observer, ready to tell the Wizard if Blade succeeded, or come out to pick up the mangled remains if he failed. By the time Blade reached the castle, the Wizard would know as much about his skill and strength as anyone could want to know.

The Wizard must have been expecting him. It was hard to believe that he ran every agent coming to bring a report through this deadly obstacle course. That would kill off half his loyal people in a few months. No doubt the agents were met outside the castle and guided in, or had an easier route. Blade, on the other hand, was coming-or being sent-through the jaws of one trap after another. This could hardly be an accident.

It began to be clear that his course was taking him in a spiral, approaching the inner citadel by gradual stages. If he'd been moving in a straight line, he would have reached the citadel long ago. He began to wonder how much farther he had to go.

He also began to wonder how much longer it would be safe to move. The day was fading into twilight and Blade did not wish to face the rest of the obstacle course in the darkness. The night would hide too many subtle warnings of the traps.

He liked even less the idea of just sitting down and waiting for dawn. He hadn't seen any more of the big snakes, but he was sure they or equally unpleasant creatures were close at hand. If he sat down to wait out the darkness, would the Wizard send them out to pay him a visit? He'd have to be awake and on the alert every minute of the night, even if he wasn't on the move.

Blade decided he'd better scramble up on top of one of the walls and get his bearings, rather than plod on through the maze like a white rat in a laboratory. This might be cheating, and it might draw the attention of the Wizard or the Wolves. It still seemed a better idea than simply waiting for night to fall.

Around the next bend lay a paved triangular courtyard, with no signs of traps or obstacles. Close to one wall grew a gnarled, heavy-branched tree. Blade hurried toward it. The tree might have been made to order as a route up the wall.

In the fading light, even Blade's keen eyes could not see that the crack around one section of four paving stones was wider than usual. His foot came down squarely on the one farthest to the left. With a squeal and a crash, all four stones vanished under Blade, as an iron plate supporting them swung down on its hinges. Suddenly there was nothing but empty air and a black shaft under Richard Blade, and he plunged out of sight.

His drawn sword crashed against the edge of the shaft and the shock broke his grip on it. Before he had time to regret the loss, he landed with a thud on some thickly carpeted surface.

The fall rammed the crossbow into Blade's back, knocking all the wind out of him. He lay, unable to move for a moment, while around him in the darkness iron and wood squealed and creaked and groaned like a chorus of madmen.

Suddenly the surface under Blade shuddered violently, then tilted. He fell, this time landing on his side. He wriggled around until he could reach the crossbow and unsling it. As he pulled back the c.o.c.king lever, more squealing and groaning sounded overhead.

As Blade watched, a trapdoor swung down, leaving a gaping hole fifteen feet on a side. High above, Blade could see the evening sky, the branches of a tree, and a tower of the Wizard's citadel. Then something else went click, the surface under him vibrated-and with a terrific whang it snapped upward.

Blade soared up out of the hole in the ground like a rocket. At the top of his climb he found he'd parted company with his crossbow. Twisting in midair, he saw he was flying toward a row of th.o.r.n.y-looking bushes, with a broad expanse of something black and shiny beyond them. He twisted again, desperately trying to bring himself down into the bushes. They'd probably tear off half his skin, but the alternative was landing beyond them on the black surface. It looked like polished stone, and hitting it from this height would break half his bones.

Blade plunged down, knew a sickening moment of realizing he was going to hit the black surface, then struck it. It wasn't stone, but inky water, deep and icy cold. He plunged far under, then came to the surface sputtering and gasping.

As he sucked in a deep breath, he realized there was a strong current in the water, carrying him across the pond. He tried to swim, realized the current was too strong, and found himself being swept over the lip of a small dam. It sloped steeply down and vanished in shadow far below. He could not see the bottom, but he could see a wooden footbridge running across the face of the dam. From under the footbridge iron spikes jutted downward, the water foaming about their points. Anyone coming down the face of the dam would be impaled on the spikes, unless they flattened themselves enough to pa.s.s under.

Blade had only a few seconds to realize his situation, then a few more to act as the water swept him along. He squeezed himself as flat as possible, until his head was under the water. Pain seared across the top of his head as one spike gouged his scalp. Then he was past the barrier, sliding down into the shadows. He raised his head, took a deep breath, and in the next moment plunged out into thin air again.

This was the longest fall of all and Blade had time to wonder if it was going to be the last one of his life. Then he plunged into another icy pool with a splash so loud that it was still echoing from the stone walls as his head broke the surface.

Before Blade could do anything more, a metallic clank sounded from high overhead, then suddenly light flared close at hand. The glare after so much darkness half-dazzled Blade. It was a moment before he could make out a ledge at the side of the pool, glistening gray walls rising all around him, and seven fully armed Wolves standing on the ledge.

Blade saw at once there was no way out of there except past the Wolves and through a doorway at the rear of the ledge. He swam to the ledge and heaved himself out of the water. He stood up, water dripping from him, keeping his hands carefully in view and well away from his knife. He took a step forward, the Wolf leader waved his arms, and the six men-at-arms ran at Blade.

Blade had no time to see that the Wolves were coming at him barehanded. All he could see was that, after all he'd gone through, the Wolves were going to slaughter him. He'd never see the Wizard of Rentoro. It had all been wasted.

So rage filled him and he let out a roar of sheer fury that made even the Wolf leader jump. As the echoes of that roar boomed around the cave, Blade leaped forward, his knife rasping out and gleaming in the torchlight. He slashed at one Wolf, wheeling as he did to aim a kick at the groin of a second.

The knife sprayed sparks as it grated across the man's helmet, then drew a spurt of blood as it opened his cheek. Blade's kick missed the second man's groin, but slammed into his thigh hard enough to knock him off balance. He staggered into the path of a third Wolf, both men went down together, and Blade leaped on them.

He drove a booted foot down on a man's throat, felt bone and cartilage shatter, heard the man scream. He whirled as two men tried to grab his arms, his clubbed hands smashing both of them aside. He kicked one man in the knee and chopped him in the back of the neck as he screamed and tried to hop away on one leg. He fought like a mad robot, hammering and kicking and stabbing, until the floor ran with the blood of the Wolves and his own fists and arms were raw and b.l.o.o.d.y from pounding on steel armor.

He fought, until a Wolf got behind him for just long enough. Then pain and fire exploded in his head, he was briefly aware of staggering and falling, knew that he was lying on the floor helpless-and finally stopped knowing anything at all.

Chapter 12.

Blade awoke in a canopied bed large enough for six people, under a pile of quilts thick enough to keep him warm at the North Pole. Every muscle in his body was complaining and he was bruised and sc.r.a.ped all over, as if he'd taken a quick trip through a cement mixer.

None of this was enough to keep him in bed. Blade rolled out of bed and did a few exercises. If it came to a fight, he would do well enough. Anything less than a strong force of Wolves in top shape was going to get badly mauled if they tried anything.

With an effort, he forced himself out of this bloodthirsty mood. Why a.s.sume he was going to have to fight again, when he didn't know what orders the Wizard had given? He now realized that the Wolves had taken him prisoner, when they could have easily chopped him to pieces and fed him to the castle's watchdogs. They'd taken him with their bare hands, and some of them had been killed doing this. He'd been allowed to reach the end of his long journey alive, well, and fit to meet the Wizard. Quite probably the Wizard of Rentoro didn't want him killed.

His mind settled on this point, Blade began to inspect his room. It was one of those rooms that made him wonder if he was a guest or a prisoner. The walls were hung with tapestries, the floor covered with fleeces and furs, the bed and the other furniture richly carved out of some pale hardwood. In one corner was a silver watertap and a wooden stand with two jeweled cups, in another corner a marble toilet.

There were also bars on the one high narrow window, iron rings hanging from the walls, and a door of solid iron, heavy enough to stop a tank. He was going to be quite comfortable in this room-but he was also going to be staying in it, whether he liked it or not, until someone outside let him leave.

After three days without food or clothing, Blade began to wonder just how comfortable he was supposed to be. He'd heard and seen nothing to suggest the castle was even inhabited. He knew it was, but he now knew as well that the Wizard and his men were ignoring his existence.

Maybe they hoped to weaken him by hunger, but they wouldn't find that easy. It would be another week before they could hope to find him seriously weakened. Until then, he would be both willing and able to put up a fight. His original bloodthirsty mood was beginning to return, stronger than before.

After another three days without food, Blade's stomach shrank down and its angry rumblings stopped. Blade's mood was more savage than ever. He was about ready to kill the first person who stepped through the door, then tear him apart, roast him over a fire of tapestries and furniture, and eat him!

Blade laughed at the vision this thought conjured up. In a few more days, his situation would no longer be a laughing matter. He would start losing strength, until he would be an easy victim for even one Wolf, let alone half a dozen. Eventually he would start losing his willpower and self-control. Then what? He might not actually go mad, but he could become horribly vulnerable to whatever the Wizard might do to him. He was more vulnerable to hypnosis when his system was depressed by drugs, fatigue, illness, or hunger. Would he also be more vulnerable to the Wizard's mental powers? Would the Wizard be able to strip his mind of all defenses, extract its contents like the meat from a coconut, and turn him into a helpless puppet? Would the Wizard- Whatever the Wizard might do, he, Richard Blade, would spend no more time worrying about it. The six days of hunger must already be working on him, if he could let his mind spin horrifying fantasies this way.

The Wizards of Rentoro might once have been telepaths. In fact, Blade was prepared to believe they had been. But what about the present Wizard? Everything about the way he wielded his power over Rentoro could be explained without telepathy. Even the trances of the Wolf leaders could be nothing more than a ritual of meditation. With enough men loyal to him, the Wizard could give the appearance of having all the "magical" powers of his ancestors.

Still, telepathy or not, if the Wizard did not come within the next week, he would find Blade helpless, physically and perhaps mentally. What would happen then, Blade didn't care to guess, and firmly put any further wild fantasies out of his mind.

That night Blade enjoyed his best sleep since reaching the castle. He woke with a memory of strange dreams, to hear an almost equally strange sound. It was an iron key, turning in the lock of the door.

Blade sprang out of bed as the door opened. He crouched behind the bed as five Wolf leaders in full armor clanked into the room. Then he rose to face the man who followed the Wolves into the room.

His journey was really over. At last he was in the presence of the Wizard of Rentoro.

The man had to be the Wizard of Rentoro. It was hard to imagine anyone else being escorted about the castle by five Wolf leaders. Nonetheless, the man's appearance was something of a surprise.

Blade hadn't expected a Hollywood version of Merlin the Magician-long robe, high pointed cap, long flowing white beard, staff with mysterious carvings on it. Neither had he expected anything like the man who stood before him, arms crossed on his chest and dark face set in a tight, formal smile.

The Wizard seemed to be about Blade's own age-no longer young, but still in the prime of life. He stood just under six feet, barrel-chested, heavy-boned, with large powerful hands and legs like tree trunks. Large dark eyes stared at Blade over a hooked nose. The ma.s.sive chin appeared even heavier due to a square-cut black beard, oiled and faintly perfumed. The Wizard wore a black velvet tunic with slashed and puffed sleeves, skin-tight hose with one leg green and the other white, red leather shoes with long points, and a sash of gilded metal links. A long dagger with a silver hilt in the shape of a wolf's head was thrust into the sash.

The man had an air about him that Blade found hard to define. There was no single word to describe it, there was only a list of the qualities that seemed to be in the man. Ruthlessness, alertness, determination, and sheer strength were all part of him. Blade suspected that right now the Wizard could be more than his match in unarmed combat. The more he looked at the Wizard, the more the man made him think of some great n.o.bleman of the Italian Renaissance-perhaps a mercenary captain who'd fought his way up to rule a city, a man who could admire an exquisite statue one day and order a dozen men out for execution the next. Even without any telepathic powers, this man would not be easy to either fight or deceive.

Then the Wizard spoke. He spoke in the Rentoran language, with an accent that reminded Blade of something from Home Dimension. He was trying to remember what it reminded him of when he heard the Wizard's last words: "-so I am pleased to bid you welcome, Richard Blade."

The shock of hearing his name from the Wizard jerked Blade's attention back to the man standing in front of him. It was just in time. A moment later Blade sensed a message pa.s.sing into his mind, filling it like an echoing shout in a cave.

"Open your thoughts to me," was the message. "Open them, and let me know them. I am not your enemy."

Fortunately Blade had been warned that he might be facing telepathy and other paranormal powers. So he was not caught unprepared or ignorant of what was happening, and that saved his mind if not his life.

The Wizard gave Blade no more than a few seconds to consider the request and reply to it. Then he struck with all the power of his mind, and Blade felt in that blow the anger of a proud man who takes the slightest resistance as not only a crime but a personal insult. The Wizard was as jealous of his supremacy over the inner world of the mind as he was of his supremacy over the outer world of Rentoro.

Blade knew that he had to resist. The Wizard was hardly likely to stop with merely reading Blade's thoughts. He would go on to plant his own, until there was nothing in Blade's mind the Wizard hadn't put there-or at least nothing to keep the Wizard from controlling all of Blade's actions.

Blade knew he had to keep his mind totally occupied with his own thoughts, so there would be no room for the Wizard to plant any of his deadly messages. He would also have to fight this battle entirely on the defensive. He hoped he could keep the Wizard's thoughts out of his mind, but he had no chance of pushing any of his own thoughts into the Wizard's mind.

All this ran through Blade's thoughts in seconds. Then he settled down to his mental duel with the Wizard.

His first thought was a defiant shout against the Wizard's call, "I am not your enemy."

You are a liar! Blade mentally shouted.

You are a liar!

You are a liar!

Blade hurled that thought through his mind over and over again, more and more intensely as he felt the Wizard trying to interrupt him. If he'd been saying the words, he would have been shouting them at the top of his lungs.

You are a liar.

You must not fight me. I am not your enemy, the Wizard replied.