They had put Joachim in his old room off the chapel. He looked up soberly as I came in. “A monster from the land of magic is heading toward Yurt,” I said without preamble.
“How close is it?” he asked quietly.
“Not close, not yet,” I said, sitting down. “But if it hasn’t left yet, it will be doing so shortly.” I told him quickly about the strange problem with the wizard’s telephone in the northern mountains, the phone which could make only one call a day.
“I should have realized then that it had been deliberately broken,” I said. “And I should have insisted that it be fixed. Someone summoned a dragon earlier today, but without using a particularly powerful spell. The wizard up there turned it back, but because he then called the wizards’ school to tell them about it, he won’t be able to make any other calls for another twenty-four hours. In that time, anything else could-and surely will-come over the border, without his being able to give warning.”
“How long will it take the monster to reach us?”
I noticed that Joachim was gripping his crucifix. “That’s not going to be very useful,” I said. “I know I’ve explained this to you before: the forces of wild magic are
“And I have explained to you before,” he said with a lift of one eyebrow, “that there is plenty of evil in the world that is not embodied in demons.”
He was right, of course, but this seemed to me a situation where magic was going to have to be opposed by magic. “It’s at least three thousand miles up to the edge of the land of magic,” I said. “It took us a week in the air cart, although I’m sure a monster could fly far faster than that. I presume it will reach here sometime tomorrow.”
“If it indeed is heading for Yurt,” said Joachim, and I knew he was thinking of his cathedral.
“You’ve left your church well protected. Besides the king of Caelrhon and various knights, you’ve got Vor and his workmen.”
“We’re even better protected here,” said Joachim. “You’re an excellent wizard.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong.
“Well,” I said, “we’d been guessing something like this would happen. Maybe we should just be glad we were right. Do you think we should have them cancel Paul’s coming of age ceremonies?”
Joachim shook his head. “Your renegade wizard seems to have excellent information on what’s happening in Yurt and Caelrhon. If we hide, he will too. We have to get him out into the open.”
I stood up. “I’m going back to my room to work on my spells. If you’re working on your prayers this evening, pray for me.”
III
The castle was up at dawn on a beautiful late summer day. I had only dozed fitfully after finally putting away my books. I walked out over the drawbridge for a look at the northern sky.
The grass was damp with drops of dew glinting in the rising sun. Bird songs reached me from the meadows and the woods below the hill. The knights’ tents were still quiet, but I saw smoke starting to rise from the Romneys’ camp. The clear sky was absolutely empty, and the fresh air seemed to promise a morning in which nothing evil could possibly happen.
When I walked back inside a few minutes later, the courtyard had already filled with lords and ladies, dressed in their best finery and talking excitedly. The frantic preparations the constable and his men had been making the last few days seemed to pay off. Soon we all found ourselves eased unobtrusively into rows according to our stations. Gwennie, the constable’s daughter, grown-up and formal in blue and white starched livery, helped arrange us.
I caught Theodora’s eye and smiled. Regal in lilac silk, she was attracting both curious and admiring glances.
A clear passage was left down the center of the courtyard. Talking died away as two men came out from the great hall, unrolling a long red carpet. They stretched it out through the gates and over the drawbridge, then onto the hilltop beyond. The castle’s brass choir began to play, clear, bright notes, a song of triumph and joy.
And then Paul appeared. He had come down the narrow stairs from the chapel and through the great hall and now, following the red carpet, he stepped into the courtyard. He wore blue and white velvet and had a white velvet cap on his golden hair. He looked straight ahead as he walked. The brass choir continued to play, but the only other sound was the clinking of the silver spurs on his heels.
As he walked out through the gates, the rest of us moved forward to follow. A clear space had been left on the hilltop, between the drawbridge and the knights’ tents. Here the constable’s men had brought the throne from the great hall. Paul stood beside it, leaning on the arm, looking toward all of us and not quite seeing us.
We wizards do not have public ceremonies, coronations or enthronements, celebrations of critical turning points in one’s life. When our lives changed, as mine irrevocably had, it was due to more private events.
The last notes of the processional faded away, then the members of the brass choir hurried to join the rest of us in a respectful semi-circle around Paul and the queen. The greatest lords, including the royal family of Caelrhon, were at the front, with the rest of the guests and the royal staff behind them. The Romneys, I noticed, were standing in front of their caravans a little way down the hill, watching attentively.
“My people!” said the queen. Her voice and the calls of birds were the only sounds. Even the Romney children, clustered around their parents, were wide-eyed and silent. “For six years I have served as regent of Yurt. It is now time to turn that rule over to your new king. Prince Paul, my son and the son of your late King Haimeric, is eighteen today. Today he comes of age, and today he shall be king!”
Surreptitiously I again looked toward the north. If my calculations were right, we might still have a few hours of safety. Joachim stood calmly on the far side of the crowd, surrounded by the chaplains and priests whom several of our guests had brought with them.
“I swear,” the queen continued, “that he is King Haimeric’s son, born to be king. You all have grown to know him well, and, I hope, to love him.” The queen, all in red, looked radiant. The golden circle of her crown glinted in her midnight hair. Most of the guests were looking toward Paul, but Vincent, I noticed, had his eyes fixed on her. “Do you all agree that he should be your king, to lead you in war, to lead you in peace, to lead you in wisdom and judgment?”
“We agree.” “We agree.” “We agree.” The murmur went quickly through the crowd. Only the priests said nothing. The Church was not under the authority of kings, and therefore could not agree or disagree to their coronations. I wasn’t sure of the official status of wizards here, but I certainly agreed that Paul should be king.
“Then come forward, Paul, to receive the crown of Yurt!”
He came slowly forward, pulling off his cap, and went down on one knee before his mother. The great royal crown of Yurt sat on a stand beside her. It was plain hammered gold except for the diamond set into the front.
The queen was speaking again, describing the duties of rule, but I had trouble concentrating on what she said. The disruption of the telephones, I thought, might all be a ruse, and whatever was going to attack us might not now be flying down from the north, but might instead already be here.
I knew that the gorgos who appeared at the old bishop’s funeral had not just flown south that morning, for it had already been seen earlier. In the intervening time it must have been in or near Caelrhon, under a powerful binding spell, waiting to be released. What might already be here in Yurt?
I started delicately probing for magic and was so surprised I almost cried out when I found it at once. There was another magic worker here, neither me nor Theodora. But then I realized it was only the old magician. I spotted him for the first time, standing with the Romneys, his squinting eyes almost the only part of his face visible behind his thick beard. He appeared a little less ragged than when I had seen him last; I guessed his jacket came from the Romneys. He looked in my direction as I looked in his, and, although I could not be sure at this distance, his look seemed venomous.
A spy for the renegade wizard, I thought with abrupt certainty. He had been sent here by his master to watch for the best moment to attack.
The queen had finished the formal recital of a king’s responsibilities. Paul gave the formal acceptance of
