L. Camp: The Exotic Enchanter

The inside of the dome was painted gold, and the afternoon sunlight gilded it further. How many more sips before it was too bright to look at?

His companions at the table were also hard to see but not because of what he’d been drinking. Despite the long embroidered robe of fine green wool that Reed Chalmers wore, and the brighter silks and brocades that clad the Rus, they were all lost against the paint and gilding of the walls. Bright reds, blues, and greens patterned with gold — the prince, princess, and Mikhail Sergeivich fit right in.

“Vsevolod will ride,” Igor said. “The bards don’t call him a fierce aurochs just to flatter him. He maintains a full band at Kursk, so they can start at once.”

“The prince your brother needs to get his harvest in, as do you,” Euphrosinia pointed out.

“Who needs warriors for that? We could be over the Don and back before threshing is over!”

“And who will collect your taxes if your men are over the Don? Besides, if the rains come early, you’ll do well to return before butchering is over.”

“Hm . . . Can the two of you control the weather, Egorov Andreivich?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Highness.”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on young Sviatoslav Borisovich,” Mikhail Sergeivich commented. “He’s been talking too loudly and too long, of late.”

“The ambitions of the young,” Igor said. “Boris Vsevolodovich, God rest his soul, is a year dead. With the old stallion gone, the young one is kicking up his heels.”

“Unless God brings Sviatoslav to a better mind, he’ll be in your court before another year’s out,” Mikhail Sergeivich replied.

“Perhaps I should require his services on this expedition.”

“Would you trust him at your back?” Both Euphrosinia and Mikhail Sergeivich seemed to speak at once.

“Ah, well . . .”

“And what is that sorcerer likely to do?” Mikhail asked.

“Probably set a trap with an illusion spell,” Chalmers answered. “He’ll be aching for the chance to pay us back.”

“So will that chief,” Euphrosonia said. “Will he even keep trade-truce?”

The talk turned to boyars and princes willing and able to ride. There was no question that the Polovtsi had numbers on their side, and it was obvious that the raid on Nizhni Charinsk had shaken many of the Rus.

“The raid may have been fortuitous but no one wants to ride against a sorcerer,” Euphrosonia concluded.

“They will if I order them, and I will if I must,” Igor growled. “I have sworn to free those captives.”

“They will ride more willingly after harvest,” the princess said.

The meeting broke up shortly afterward. Chalmers and She took a turn in the palace yard to stretch their legs then returned to their room. “The last thing I expected here was a Board of Directors meeting,” Shea groused. “If I had taken a few more sips I would have sworn I was back at Garaden.”

Chalmers did not respond and Shea looked closely at his colleague. They’d survived some nasty spots in various dimensions, but this was the first time Shea had seen Reed Chalmers so close to the breaking point.

“ My wife . . . is a slave , and I can’t cut the bastards’ throats!” Shea could hear the tears, but they didn’t — quite — show.

“Reed,” Shea said, and then no more for a while. When Chalmers seemed more in command of himself, Shea continued.

“Igor’s doing the best he can, but we shouldn’t depend on him. There’s magic in this universe so what can we do with it?”

They tried to recall verses on freedom and emancipation, but their harvest was meager. Slavery was also a part of this universe, so they doubted the effectiveness of any spell based on its immorality. The few spirituals that Shea remembered emphasized freedom in the next world.

“I don’t think it would be any use trying to freeze the Don so she could walk across it, even if we could get there,” Shea concluded, looking out at the sunset. “Maybe my subconscious will trigger something tonight. The morning is wiser than the evening, even if the Rus do say it all the time. Coming to dinner, Doc?”

“Not tonight. I really have no appetite.”

Physician, heal thyself , Shea thought as he took another look at Chalmers, but he seemed safe to leave for an hour or so.

The Ohioan was not that enthusiastic about Kievan cooking, which, like that in the Fairie Queen , emphasized elaborate, highly spiced dishes. (A sturgeon stuffed with a carp stuffed with a mullet stuffed with a trout stuffed with something Shea couldn’t identify stuffed with an egg stuffed with a pea was one main dish he remembered without pleasure.) But he wished to keep on the good side of the Patriarch, whose profession naturally required him to deplore the presence of sorcerers in the prince’s domain.

So Shea put on his best robe and a seemly mien, and went down to his place at a table near the prince’s. Shea was surprised when the Patriarch sat down with him, instead of taking his seat at the high table.

“May God smile on you and your house in all their lawful undertakings,” the Patriarch murmured.

“May we always deserve His favor,” Shea replied, wondering where this was leading.

As dinner progressed, it turned out that the Patriarch, who was near Shea’s own age, wanted to hear about his travels. The psychologist edited these a bit, thinking that he’d better not admit to encountering demons and living to tell about it.

“I always loved tales, so I badgered my father into having me taught to read,” the Patriarch said wistfully. “Naturally, he thought I had a desire for the religious life.”

“Being able to read lets a man pursue all kinds of wisdom,” Shea said, hoping he couldn’t go wrong with that response.

“Or unwisdom,” the Patriarch replied. Original vocation or not he was a churchman now.

The Patriarch left right after dinner and so did Shea. Reed Chalmers was dozing in their chamber and Shea went quietly to bed himself.

* * *

Chalmers and Shea spent the next few days thinking up potential spells and wishing there were some way to test a few of them. After what Malambroso had said about the piety of the Rus, they would not have cared to test many in the shadow of the basilica, even if the Patriarch had been friendlier. Chalmers avoided company, and seldom left their chamber. Shea did not press him to socialize. Chalmers was in no mood to be diplomatic.

But there were times when Chalmers wanted no company at all, and Shea spent those in the practice yard. Regular dimension-hopping meant regular sword practice, even back in Ohio. Shea worried about leaving his colleage at these times, but there was nothing he could do, and as a psychologist he knew when to leave well enough alone.

I never thought to play shrink to Doc Chalmers, Shea thought. He’s supposed to be my mentor.

“Contagion and Similarity should work in this universe,” Chalmers summarized one morning, “and you proved that Synthesis will. There’s a strong literal element to the magic here. Your willow-bark analgesic might not have been so bitter if you hadn’t insisted on that in your spell.”

“There’s also that strong element of reality we discussed,” Shea replied. “Willow-bark tea is naturally bitter. It might not have worked otherwise.”

“Malambroso seems to have found a way around any limitations of this world’s magic,” Chalmers said bitterly. “His see-the-expected spell would be just the thing for rescuing Florimel.”

“We’ll be expected to defeat such spells. Igor doesn’t want his men confused when they have to fight.”

“He is still planning to ride, then?” Chalmers asked.

“Oh, yes. He thinks it will discourage further raids, and besides, he just can’t stand Polovtsi.”