For Love of Evil Read online

  It was a ritual challenge, done in the name of the crusade, which was theoretically to convert the heretics. Once the demand had been made and rejected, the soldiers would be free to do what they had come for, in the name of God. Normally they would take plunder, for this was the most substantial part of their recompense, but the orders for this mission were surely to destroy the house and occupants without ceremony or delay. They would not want to give the Sorcerer opportunity to demonstrate his power.

  The Sorcerer opened the door and stepped out. Parry followed. Neither was armed with any physical weapon. "Will you spare my life and that of my son if I do?" the Sorcerer called.

  The leader seemed to consider. "Funny you should ask that." Then he gestured to his men. "Take them."

  The soldiers came toward the two, their bills poised. They looked grim.

  "Do I have your word you will not harm us if we submit?" the Sorcerer asked.

  The leader did not answer. The soldiers closed in. That was answer enough.

  "That's what I thought," the Sorcerer said. He flung out his right hand, throwing powder. It glinted in the sunlight, forming the shape of a dragon that glowered at the soldiers.

  The men backed hastily away, their fear of the Sorcerer becoming justified.

  "Don't be fooled by his tricks!" the sergeant cried. "It's illusion! It has no substance! Just march right through it and cut him down!"

  The men hesitated, but then, at the continued urging of their leader, they braved the dragon and found it was true. It was only a specter fashioned from the powder, having no more substance than that powder. It was theoretically possible to conjure real animals, but this was well beyond the Sorcerer's ability, while illusion was cheap.

  But the delay had allowed Parry and the Sorcerer to retreat into the house. Stage One had been negotiated: the soldiers now had no doubt of the Sorcerer's presence and nature.

  "Surround the house," the sergeant commanded. "Don't let them escape."

  Parry watched from the windows as the men spread out. They remained wary, though they had overcome the illusion of the dragon.

  "Now torch it," the sergeant said. "And kill them as they come out."

  "But what about spoils?" a soldier demanded. "There must be good stuff in there!"

  "Our orders are to kill the Sorcerer and destroy his house," the sergeant said firmly. "No spoils here. Anything you took could be enchanted to kill you in your sleep. That's how they operate."

  The soldier was silent. His fear of the supernatural overrode his greed. That was just as well, for the Sorcerer would have had to kill any men who entered the house, lest they interfere with the escape.

  They hauled brush and straw to the walls of the house, half the men working while the others guarded them with their bills. When they had a fair pile of dry material, they brought a torch and started the fire. It blazed up vigorously, sending clouds of smoke aloft.

  The Sorcerer turned to Parry and nodded. This was exactly what he had planned for. They had navigated the situation without a hitch.

  They waited until the fire was raging all around the house. Then they climbed to the loft, where the Sorcerer opened a panel he had prepared. They had an avenue to the outside, now concealed by the billowing smoke.

  The Sorcerer changed form, becoming a hawk. He spread his wings and flew up into the swirl. Parry became a crow, and followed. Changing shape was relatively easy, once the appropriate level had been achieved; it was the change of mass that was difficult, and the mastering of the ability to use the altered body to fly. As far as Parry knew, they were the only two human beings in France who could do this. In time Jolie, too, might accomplish it.

  "There they go!" a soldier cried.

  "I got the hawk," the sergeant snapped. "You take the crow."

  Parry saw to his dismay that they had two crossbows, and seemed competent in their use. The sergeant let fly his shaft, and it transfixed the hawk. Parry swerved—and the shaft intended for him missed, brushing his right wingtip.

  The Sorcerer fell. Parry could not help him, for he was defenseless against the deadly shafts of the crossbow. He winged strongly toward the trees, losing himself among their branches before the soldiers could reload.

  The soldiers had known what to expect! They had come prepared for the form-changing. This had been a more competent trap than the Sorcerer had realized. Their accuracy of information was unnerving, apart from its effect on the Sorcerer. Most ignorant peasants believed that sorcerers could accomplish anything, no matter how outlandish; most educated folk prided themselves on their ability to doubt, so professed not to believe in magic at all. Between the two extremes, a clever sorcerer could prosper, as Parry's father had, using only that minimum of magic required to accomplish his purposes. But this party had targeted him precisely, and so accomplished the mission: Sorcerer dead and house destroyed.

  Parry had escaped largely by luck. He had been the second to fly, so the less-accurate soldier had been assigned to him. He had dodged involuntarily, and thereby saved his life.

  He soon lost the soldiers; it was impossible to pursue a black bird flitting through low shadows. When he was sure he was safe, he paused to rest and take stock.

  Then the full realization of his father's fate struck him. The Sorcerer was dead! All his plans for escape and success elsewhere were ended, by that single shot from the crossbow.

  Parry's surge of grief was overridden almost immediately by rage. He would go back and destroy those foul soldiers! He would make a fire that would engulf them, as their fire had engulfed the house! It required only minimal magic to start a fire; then it fed itself. His father would be avenged!

  But then a new concern overtook him. Jolie! She was at the village, and if they had known of the Sorcerer, they might know of her, too. If they sent a contingent to the village—

  He spread his wings and flew into the air. The crow could travel more swiftly than the human being, cross-country. Part of what made this form so difficult was adapting his consciousness to fit within it; that alone had taken Parry months of practice, but now he blessed that effort.

  Even so, it took him many minutes to cover the distance. By the time he reached the village, he knew from the clamor that his worst fear had been realized. The soldiers of the crusade were there, and they were before the house of Jolie's family. Something was happening there, and Parry dreaded to imagine what.

  He landed and returned to his human form. He was naked. He had not yet developed to that sophistication of transformation that enabled him to change his clothing, too. But he had prepared for such an event; he had a cache of clothing in a hollow tree just beyond the village.

  He hurried to this now. Just as he was reaching into it, a harsh voice sounded: "We have you. Sorcerer!"

  Parry jumped up, whirling on the man, but found himself facing a cocked crossbow aimed at his chest. He froze in place.

  "Before you try magic, know this," the crossbowman said. "We have your girl, and she will die the moment you oppose us. Then we shall hunt you down, too; we know how to do it."

  Evidently they did! Twice now, in two places, the soldiers of the crusade had sprung successful traps. They had known exactly where to find his father and himself, and who else to look for. It was too neat. There had to be magic involved—and until he knew its source and nature, he would have to cooperate. Unless his hand was forced.

  They marched him, naked, into the village. None of the villagers was in evidence; the soldiers had evidently cowed them and sent them to hide in their cottages while waiting for Parry. Now they had him. He could change form and escape, or conjure a weapon and attack; he was not at all helpless. But he was sure they were not bluffing about Jolie, and he could not risk precipitating harm to her.

  They did have her. Another sergeant held her by the arm. Her dress was torn, and the other soldiers were ogling what showed. She had evidently fought, but been overcome; the white cross on the sergeant's tunic was smeared with dirt. Because she lacked
the ability to change form, she had been unable to escape that way. How he wished now he had taught her that, and let some of the other arts wait!

  Still, she did have effective abilities. She could mesmerize, if she could gain and hold the direct gaze of a single person. If they could maneuver things so that she could stun her captor with a glance, then Parry could change to a horse and carry her swiftly away.

  "Bind him!" the sergeant commanded. "Blindfold him, too; that will stop his magic!"

  They were wrong in that; Parry had limited second sight, so that he could see almost as well without eyes as he could with them. They were underestimating him, and that was an asset. He needed every advantage he could muster!

  They bound him tightly with rope, and put a hood over his head, tying it closely about his neck. They thrust him against the wall of the cottage.

  "I don't know," a soldier said. "I've heard those sorcerers cannot be bound if they don't want to be. How do we know he isn't pretending helplessness until he's ready to wipe us out?"

  The sergeant considered. "You're right. We were warned to take no chances. If anything goes wrong at the old sorcerer's place, we want to be sure we've got this one secure. So we'll test it. Keep the crossbow on him, and kill him if he moves."

  "But he could wait till night, then make a vision to distract the guard and break away," the soldier pointed out.

  That soldier was too smart!

  "I had a good test in mind," the sergeant said. "I'm going to take the wench inside and have some fun with her. If he can get free, that's when he'll do it. If he doesn't budge, we'll know he's secure."

  The sergeant was too cocksure. He knew less about sorcerers than he thought. Parry could break free anytime, but he would not—because it was not his safety but Jolie's he was concerned with. But the sergeant was giving her the opportunity she needed. The moment he tried to rape her, she would mesmerize him. Because they would be out of sight of the soldiers, she would be able to stun him and tie him up. Then Parry would burst free and change and carry her away.

  Ah, but there was the crossbow. With his second sight, he could see the soldier clearly. Parry was facing away from him, but it didn't matter; second sight did not depend on direction.

  He generated an image that caused his own body to seem to blur. The soldier blinked, but this blurring was not of his eyes but of the subject. Parry's form wavered rhythmically, in a manner that induced mesmerism. The soldier's mind became clouded, and then the soldier drifted gently to sleep, his eyes still open and his weapon still pointed. But now he would not fire when Parry moved.

  Parry diverted his sight to Jolie. Her parents' cottage was empty, or perhaps the people were bound in the stall half of it, leaving the living chamber clear. Jolie was tied, her hands bound up behind her head, her ankles crossed and tied in that position. That made it possible for her legs to spread, but not to kick. She was lying on the straw bed.

  The sergeant was in the process of removing his hauberk. The mail garment covered him from head to knee, and was heavy; a sexual act would be problematical in it. So the sergeant drew it off over his head, and pulled his arms from the mitten-sleeves. Now he stood in his jack, the padded undergarment.

  He approached Jolie. He took hold of her shoulders and made her look him in the face. "Scream, wench!" he said. "I want your man to hear!"

  She did not scream. She stared at him, using the mesmerizing gaze.

  The sergeant laughed. "Your tricks won't work on me, wench! I have an amulet to protect me from them!" He touched a silver medallion that hung from his neck. "We were warned about your kind!"

  Parry had not thought of that! Most of the power of mesmerization lay in the recipient's belief; a countercharm destroyed that belief, and therefore the effect.

  The amulet dangled near her face. Jolie lifted her head and took it with her teeth. She wrenched it away.

  The sergeant cursed. He grabbed for the amulet, but Jolie's gaze caught his own, and now her power was unfettered.

  The sergeant threw himself back, and brought up his hands, covering his eyes, breaking the contact.

  She scrambled up as well as she could with wrists and ankles bound, pursuing him. She had to catch his eyes again, to complete the mesmerization. Then she could make him untie her, and she would be ready for Parry to act.

  But the sergeant, aware of this threat, scrambled to fetch his sword. His hand caught it as Jolie made it to her knees and lurched to her feet despite the bindings. She hopped at him.

  Parry realized he couldn't wait. He drew on his reserve of strength and snapped the rope that bound his hands. Then he snapped his feet free. This was more physical discipline than magic; the cords that were effective against the average man did not have too much extra capacity.

  "He's escaping!" a soldier cried. "Shoot him!"

  The crossbowman, jolted from his trance, pulled the trigger. The arrow fired out. But Parry was already out of its line, and it struck the ground. He ripped the hood from his head.

  His second sight remained. While he moved, avoiding the soldiers, he saw the sergeant lift the sword and jam it at Jolie's approaching body.

  Parry leaped for the door, changing to wolf form as he did. But fast as he was, he was too slow. As he burst inside, the sergeant's sword plunged through Jolie's chest, and was withdrawn: a swift but deadly strike. The man oriented for a second, more precise attack.

  Parry reached the sergeant. His teeth closed on the sergeant's throat and sliced through the flesh, tearing out the jugular vein and puncturing the carotid arteries. The sergeant was dead on his feet.

  But so was Jolie. She and the sergeant fell together, their blood mingling.

  Parry sniffed Jolie. The sword had driven through her right lung. She was grievously wounded, but alive.

  He shifted to human form. "Jolie, look at me," he said, taking her head in his hands.

  Her pain-glazed eyes gazed into his. Instantly he mesmerized her. "You feel no pain," he said. "Your body will bleed no more. You will sleep in stasis until I wake you. I love you."

  Her eyes closed. Her bleeding slowed. She would endure for the time required. This had been part of her training: to respond instantly to healing mesmerization.

  Quickly he took the soiled sword and used its edge to slice the mattress. He cut stout strips and fashioned them into a harness.

  A soldier's face showed in the doorway. Parry glanced at him, and exerted his power of mesmerization. "I am your sergeant," he said. "I have dealt with the sorcerer. I have not finished with the wench. Remain clear until I emerge."

  The soldier nodded and retreated. Parry returned to his work. It was easy to deal with a single enemy, but difficult to deal with many in this manner, because he could focus his mesmeric gaze on only one at a time. The single soldier's intrusion had been a stroke of luck in an otherwise disastrous situation; it gave Parry time to do what he needed.

  He rigged the harness to support Jolie's body. Then he formed the long straps of it into two great loops, such as might encircle the body of a horse. He fitted Jolie into her part, then stood in the loops, draping one around his neck and the other around his midsection. Then he heaved Jolie up to his back, bent forward, and changed to horse form.

  His abruptly larger body took up the slack, filling out the loops. Now Jolie was bound to his back. He shook himself, nudging her into proper place so she could not slide around and down. Then he leaped out the door.

  The soldiers gaped. Parry took advantage of their momentary inaction to locate the crossbow and stomp it with a forehoof. Then he galloped out of the village, unscathed.

  He was in animal form, but his human intellect remained, as it had in the other forms. That was a key part of the magic. A person who transformed without making allowance for the mind could be in bad trouble! But it was not easy to master, and this was one reason that Jolie had not yet reached this stage. If only Parry had realized earlier that she would need it!

  There was no pursuit. The death of t
he sergeant and the speed of Parry's escape must have thrown the soldiers into confusion. That enabled Parry to go almost directly to the prepared retreat in the forest.

  Once there, he reverted to his human form and took Jolie down from his back. He carried her into the shelter and eased her to the mattress.

  Now he drew on his expertise in medicine. He had herbs and elixirs to reduce pain, cleanse infection and promote healing. Few folk realized the importance of cleanliness in such matters; the worst threats to life were not huge monsters, but invisibly small ones that multiplied in dirt. The wound was bad, but his magic should fix it.

  But he realized now that the trip to the retreat had been hard on her. Had he attended to her immediately, in the village, he could have done her a great deal of good. But he had, had to use a stopgap measure, and then carry her, and she had bounced on his back. Her wound had been aggravated, and the blood had flowed despite the control lent by her mesmerized state. Now she was in serious trouble. Her breathing was labored, for only one lung was functioning adequately.

  He worked desperately, but there was much he could not do. His father had greater expertise—but his father was dead. Parry didn't know how to make up for the extensive internal bleeding he realized had occurred. He had no substitute for blood! He would have given her his own, but knew that wouldn't work; the humors of one person inevitably fought those of another, and made the transfusion worse than none at all. She had to survive on her own blood—and she no longer had enough.

  Perhaps if he gave her plenty of nourishing liquid to drink it would restore the blood. But to do that, he would have to wake her. He didn't like that, because she would then become aware of her pain; yet there seemed to be no choice.

  He prepared broth, thick with the needs of life. He set a warm bowl of it beside her. Then he roused her with a word. "Wake," he said. "Wake, Jolie."

  Her eyelids flickered. "Parry," she breathed—and winced.

  "You were wounded," he said quickly. "A sword thrust. You have lost blood. But I have you safe, and if you will drink this good broth—"