The Starfollowers of Coramonde by Brian Daley Page B

singeing his hands. The bench had begun to burn
where the sword had rested against it.
    Gil circled,
the short-hairs of his neck on end with electricity, trying to get between the
child and the thing that hovered near it. Instead, the thing floated over the
dry-sink and retreated to the far wall, dangerously at bay, gathering itself to
strike out. He followed, waving the weapon dubiously. Putting himself to block
the baby from immediate harm, he tried to decide what to do.
    A hand on his
shoulder; Andre. The hand was steady as stone, its grip imperatively strong.
Gil gave him room. Andre moved nearer the being, pointed his index finger at
it. It swelled to attack. He roared a string of syllables that meant nothing to
the American, and the intruder was rent like smoke in the wind. It pulled
itself together again, radiating its perturbation. Gil waved Blazetongue,
cheering. “Eat him up, deCourteney!”
    Wrath,
usually a stranger to Andre’s face, had transformed it. His lips quivered, his
eyes slitted, but the finger was unswerving. He loosed the string of syllables
again. This time the being was dissipated beyond its ability to recover,
dismissed.
    It was the
old, unscary Andre who took the baby to his shoulder, to soothe her. Gil
watched fire die along Blazetongue.
    “What—what
was that thing?” he got out finally. The wizard ignored him. “Y’know, Andre,
you could have just said you didn’t want to give out the burning spell. You
didn’t have to lie.”
    The
thaumaturge came to him, bouncing up and down a fraction, which the baby
enjoyed. “What in the world are you talking about?”
    “The goddam sword’s what I’m talking about, man! You did one helluva job just now, but you were
still jazzing me about not knowing the spell of the sword.”
    Andre stopped
bouncing. Gil tensed.
    “Let me
inform you of two facts,” the wizard said. “The first is that what you saw was
a guardian entity. It appeared when you meddled with Rydolomo’s seal; it was to
avoid just such an accident that I forebore to wear Calundronius today. Next
time you go poking about such perils, I should be grateful if you would arrange
to deal with whatever problems arise by yourself.”
    Gil eyed the
disturbed seal of Rydolomo guiltily. Andre plodded on. “And the second item is
that, as I said, I do not know the conjuration for the fire of Blazetongue. Do
I make myself quite lucid?”
    “So, who lit
it up? ’Cause I sure as hell didn’t.”
    Andre smiled
smugly and patted the baby’s back. She burped softly. Gil stared in disbelief
from wizard to child and back.
    “You’re
kidding. Aren’t you? Kidding?”
    The other
sighed. “I am not certain how, yet it was indisputably she. Now, I presume you
have no objections to my cleaning up here. You have, I take it, other things to
which you should be attending?”
    “I’m going.
I’ve gone.”
    In the
stairwell, he blew thoughtfully on his blistering hands. One other item’s
for damn sure; the next thing I unseal’s going to have a drink inside it.
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    Thou’rt slave to fate, chance,
kings and desperate men.
    John Donne
    “Death, Be Not Proud”
     
    ON his way to Springbuck’s study
the next day Gil met Van Duyn.
    “MacDonald,
I, ah—”
    “You craved
my presence?”
    The scholar
agreed wryly. “There’re things you and I should clear up; it may be awhile
before we see one another again.”
    They found a
window seat. Gil sat gingerly, protecting his shoulder. His occult contact with
Dunstan, and the belief that he was on the right track, had calmed him. He’d
been able to sleep, a dreamless rest that had refreshed him. The lacerating
feeling of futility was gone.
    Van Duyn
rubbed his hands. He wasn’t sure he credited his countryman’s alleged samadhi -experience,
his Enlightenment. “Katya is going back to Freegate. With her country on a
wartime footing she has little option. I’ve decided to go with her. The
Highlands Province will be