For Love of Evil Read online

  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. S
omething 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 importan
t," 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!"