'Ware the Dark-Haired Man

by Robert Reginald

  Thus it was that the dæmon Vörshchkelidôg, upon further reflection, grew less and less satisfied with its trans­action, and finally approached its superior being, with some trepidation.

  “This entity has a difficulty,” it stated, explaining the situation.

  Then it listened to a very lengthy response and a question.

  “No,” the dæmon responded to its better, “no time specified.”

  There was some further conversation, before Vör­shchkelidôg finally grinned.

  “Most satisfactory,” it said, working its tusks to­gether. “Most bufoniously warty.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “I CAN’T WAIT TO GO TO WAR AGAIN”

  Three days later, on the Feast of Saint Silas the Silent, another council meeting was held. The first order of business was to swear in the three new members, the Generals and Lords Rónai and Reményi, and Doctor Melanthrix.

  The first two ceremonies proceeded without opposi­tion, but when Melanthrix stepped forward, his silver chains jangling, Prince Zakháry immediately raised an objec­tion.

  “I accuse the sorcerer Melanthrix of treason,” he stated, “for disrupting the working at the Schilling-Ford. He is unfit to join this council.”

  “Absurd!” the king responded. “I won’t hear of it. Doctor Melanthrix has been my friend and confidant for almost three decades. During that period he has treated me for many different afflictions, each time successfully. His loyalty is without question. The charges are dismissed with prejudice. This matter will not be raised again. Under­stood?”

  Kipriyán glared down at his son, who abruptly sat back down in his chair, not willing to challenge his father directly.

  “Agreed!?” he demanded again.

  “Agreed,” Zakháry said, looking down at the pat­terns on the table.

  “Very well,” the king added, “let’s proceed with the real business of this meeting. General Lord Rónai, what’s the status of our forces?”

  The new council member rose in his place, and pulled out a sheaf of notes.

  “Well,” he stated, “I was able to stop the decommi­sioning of the Arrhéni and Velyaminóli Brigades, and they’re now on their way back to Myláßgorod. I expect them to arrive there in about a week. The king’s summons has also gone out to the provinces, and we’re just now be­ginning to get the responses. We should have about ten thousand troops ready to march by mid-August. Most will have received only the minimum of military training, but the enemy will have no better. They will not be expecting our return.”

  “Good,” said Kipriyán. “What about the situation in Pommerelia? What are we doing to re-establish our­selves there?”

  “We have moved our perimeter lines out from Borgösha and Karkára,” Rónai continued, “using the rivers there as natural defenses against the partisans. We have also reinstated regular patrols up and down the valley.

  “However, the small garrison at Lockenlöd Castle is under siege by the new Count of Einwegflasche, Lord Kor­tis, and while they’re in no immediate danger of falling, neither can they do anything to expand their sector of influ­ence to the south. We need to reinforce them within a month, or at the most six weeks, or we face the real threat of losing that fortress.”

  “Thank you, general,” the king commended. “It’s good to have someone on this council who can think more positively.”

  Turning to the grand vizier, he inquired: “How are the people taking all of this?”

  Gorázd Lord Aboéty nervously clutched at his throat, ostensibly scratching at his beard. He sipped a cup of water before responding.

  “There, uh, may be some discontent among certain quarters, sire,” he indicated. “I...that is, I believe it would be wise for your highness to consider a possible reconcilia­tion with the church before we embark on this new expedi­tion. Tomorrow is Sunday, and no masses will be said anywhere in the country. This will be the first time most of the people will have noticed the interdict. I do not think they will be happy.”

  “Don’t you, now?” Kipriyán scoffed. “Grand Vizier, you are relieved of your position. Please hand over the chain of office.”

  Gorázd went completely pale.

  “But sire,” he said, “I have always been loyal, al­ways! I have been your man, yours alone, for twenty-eight years. What have I ever done to deserve such treatment?”

  “What have you not done, you incompetent in­grate?” the king yelled. “You dare to speak such insolence to me? You’ve obviously consorted with the Dark-Haired Man! Be glad that I don’t take your life as well.”

  “Yes, highness,” Gorázd meekly replied, sit­ting back down and removing the great gold seal hanging ’round his neck. He passed it down the table to the monarch.

  King Kipriyán looked pointedly around the room.

  “If there is anyone else here who’s disloyal or disre­spectful,” he boomed, “be advised that my leniency has its limits. I am the king, and I will have no other kings before me. Is that understood?”

  He beckoned to Melanthrix, who walked around the table to approach him. The king grabbed the philosopher’s arm, turned him around, embraced him, and then placed the chain of office over his neck.

  “I give you the new Grand Vizier of Kórynthia,” he intoned. “Gorázd, turn the pen and register over to him,” he ordered.

  Gorázd looked ill, but he did as he was ordered.

  “I further declare that all of my councilors shall henceforward be tested weekly for mental aberrations by Doctor Melanthrix,” Kipriyán stated. “Anyone who refuses to be tested shall be sent to the ‘Hole’ until he recants. Anyone who is tested and found disloyal shall be tried for treason and executed immediately. Record it!” he ordered Melanthrix.

  “As you wish, sire,” the philosopher stated, and be­gan scribbling in the black book.

  “I must object!” Prince Arkády declared, jumping to his feet. “Sire, this is unbecoming a monarch of your stature. These brave men have followed you through the gravest tests anyone could ever have faced, through battles and dangers and the hazards of war. They have proven themselves steadfast and loyal beyond any possible doubt. To treat them in such a cavalier fashion after all they have done for you and for Kórynthia is at the least ungracious. No one questions your right to make decisions. We will follow you to the ends of the earth, if that is what you command. But don’t do this. Please.”

  King Kipriyán flushed, his Adam’s apple working up and down as he digested his eldest son’s remarks. Then he sneered at Arkády, in such a blatant fashion that even the seasoned politicians on the council flinched at the sight.

  “So, you finally show your true colors,” he hissed. “Now that you’re no longer hereditary prince, you have no compunctions about turning on your dear old father. Well, I’ve had quite enough of your insolence, boy. It was you who caused our retreat from Pommerelia, when I was abed with indigestion, it was you who cost us victory when all we had to do was march on a defenseless Balíxira. God for­give me that I ever sired such a coward and a weasel. You’ll be the first one tested by Doctor Melanthrix, oh yes, and you’ll like it too, won’t you, boy?”

  He laughed, throwing his head back.

  “I respectfully refuse,” Arkády threw back at him.

  “Then to the ‘Hole’ with you and be damned,” the king blurted out. “Guards, seize him!”

  They moved to comply.

  “Perhaps, sire, you should be the first one tested,” the prince suggested. “You seem to need it more than the rest of us.”

  The king just smiled.

  “Now you’re edging into treason, my dear boy,” he declaimed. “You’ll be held for trial indefinitely, until I de­cide what to do with you. Record it, Melanthrix!”

  “Yes, highness,” the Grand Vizier complied.

  “And as for that cripple you call your son,” Kipriyán continued, “he is obviously not thriving well where he is. Therefore, I order him to be taken from his family and sent to the cloister, th
ere to be raised as a monk in perpetual service to the church.”

  The members of the council glanced at each other in amazement, but the king just ignored them, rubbing his beard as if considering some great question of philosophy.

  “Yes, I have it!” he added. “We’ll send him to that hell-hole, Saint Svyatosláv’s Monastery, in northern Zán­drich. Let him spin out his life shivering through the long winters there.”

  “Majesty!” Arkády yelled. “Please don’t do this, I pray you. My son isn’t strong. He wouldn’t survive even one winter in Zándrich. If you’re upset with my insolence, then punish me, not my innocent boy.”

  “Please, Papá,” Princess Arrhiána interjected, “please have mercy. Everyone knows you’re a great king. You’ve not been yourself recently, I know, but....”

  “Not myself!” the king shouted. “Not myself?! I’m feeling more like myself every day, daughter. I’m feeling great!, better than I’ve felt in my entire life, now that I can see the traitors so evident in my own family. No wonder we retreated from the field. We had traitors in the field and traitors at home. You can join your brother in the dungeon. Arrest her!” he ordered.

  “And take that damned bitch of a blind sister with you as well,” the king added, “since you took it upon your­self in the first place to remove her from the convent with­out my permission.

  “Does anyone else want to express an opinion?” he continued, looking around and through each and every one of them.

  He grinned again, baring his yellow fangs like an old gray wolf.

  “Oh my,” he added, “I’ve having such fun today! I can’t wait to go to war again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “I CAME TO SEE THE GHOST”

  “Father’s gone mad!” Kiríll whispered to Zakháry.

  He looked out over the city of Paltyrrha from the rampart at the top of the Tower of Glass. They had ven­tured here to ensure absolute privacy in their conversation, and even so, kept their voices deliberately, almost rever­ently low. After all, there had been madness aplenty on the tower recently, too.

  “It’s Melanthrix,” Zakháry replied. “I’m convinced of it. He’s poisoning the atmosphere at court. But there’s just no way to get rid of him. I’ve thought and I’ve thought, Kir, and I can’t find a means. When he’s here, he floats around father like a bee attracted to honey, so close that the King’s Guards protect him just as much as father. And no one knows where he goes outside of Paltyrrha when he disappears. His quarters are closely guarded, within and without, and cannot be accessed by anyone save himself. He doesn’t even allow the palace maids to clean his room.”

  Prince Kiríll pondered the situation for a moment, fingering the statue of the Silver Bird.

  “What about ambushing him outside his apartment?” he proposed.

  “That was the first thing I considered,” Zakháry re­sponded, “but he never enters or exits his door unless there’s a guard posted. He has the room directly across from Princess Arrhiána, so there’s always a great deal of traffic there, and plenty of gendarmes. When the guard is reduced at night, he apparently uses transit mirrors to go directly from one place to another, if he even remains in the palace, which I can’t tell. There are no open windows in his flat—they’ve all been boarded up—and he rarely eats or drinks except at formal banquets, and then only what ev­eryone else is eating and drinking. I repeat, there’s no way to get to him.”

  “There’s always a way, brother,” Kiríll pronounced. “Maybe we can hire it done.”

  “Professional assassins?” Zack scoffed. “Oh come now, are we reduced to that? We sound like some dis­placed, debauched princeling from Köstrzyn or Venicia. No, I won’t do that, on general principle. If we can’t ac­complish it ourselves, perhaps with some help from our friends, then we probably deserve him.”

  “I won’t argue with you,” his brother noted. “Of course, if father ever finds out, in his present state he might....”

  “Not might! Would!” Zakháry stated. “But I still think we have to take the chance. We can’t let things con­tinue as they’ve been going. Sooner or later, there’ll be some serious disaffection out there, both among the sur­viving nobility and in the populace, and all of our lives will be at stake. I think father’s time is rapidly coming to an end.”

  He sensed a movement behind him, and whirling around, pulled a wicked dirk from his belt.

  “Who’s there?” he hissed.

  “It’s just me!” Princess Grigorÿna declared, step­ping from the shadow of the open staircase. “I came to see the ghost, Uncle Zack.”

  “The ghost?” Kiríll inquired.

  “The ghost of Aunt Tréssa,” she said quite sweetly, curtsying. “I talk to her sometimes. She tells me things. Things about Melánty.”

  “What do you know about Melanthrix?” Zakháry asked.

  “Oh, lots of things,” she chirped. “I know more than you do. I know he’s been a bad boy, and bad little boys and bad little girls have to be punished. That’s what happened to Aunt Tréssa.”

  “What do you mean?” Zack added.

  “You’ll find out,” Rÿna pouted. “I know something you don’t know,” she sang, “I know something you don’t know,” and darted back down the stairs.

  “That little girl has gotten very strange of late,” Kiríll commented, watching her depart.

  “However, to get back to the subject at hand, brother,” he continued, “I again urge caution.”

  “You’re always urging caution,” Zakháry noted.

  “And I’m always right, aren’t I?” his brother replied. “We must watch and wait and be very, very care­ful while father is in this mood. Let him chase other ene­mies. Our time will come. And when it does, that damned charlatan will wind up floating down the Paltyrrh River.”

  Prince Zakháry chuckled at the thought.

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s get back to the family.”

  As they headed down the open staircase, however, they failed to notice the head of the Silver Bird slowly turning to follow their passage. After they were gone, it opened wide its shining beak, and issued forth a butterfly, which promptly flew away from the castle towards the southeast, at a speed and height that put a lie to its shape.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “PRAY FOR POOR OLD KÓRYNTHIA”

  Early that evening, Queen Polyxena sought a private audience with former Patriarch Timotheos, who in a ges­ture of conciliation had been released from prison that same day after giving his parole d’honneur to appear for trial, and after agreeing to lift the interdict from the Kingdom of Kórynthia. They met in the loft of the Church of Saint Ióv in Kórynthály.

  “Holiness,” she said, “thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “The pleasure is mine, highness,” the patriarch ac­knowledged.

  “I’ve lost my way, Timotheos,” she stated. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel as if my world is crum­bling away beneath me, but I can’t seem to stop the ero­sion. Kipriyán is not himself. He seems almost possessed by the devil. He’s changed more and more since this Dark-Haired Man business started late last year.

  “And suddenly he’s getting worse, much worse, fa­ther. He’s imprisoned three of our children. How could he do this if he were sane? Another is buried among the tombs out back. Our grandson is being sent to a monastery, and I fear for the safety of the others. You’ve been illegally removed from office. The grand vizier has been deposed and replaced by a man of questionable morals. Kipriyán has been excommunicated. Is the world coming to an end?”

  Tears were running down her white cheeks in the twilight. Nearby, a dozen fruit flies buzzed ’round and ’round in their endless mating circles, lazily catching the last rays of the setting sun shining through the great circular window behind them.

  “My queen,” the patriarch began, “I am myself re­duced to little more than a parish priest in just a week. It’s a humbling experience for one who’s
spent his lifetime in service to the church. Yes, your husband’s ill, that much is certain, and if you oppose him directly, you will be sub­jected to the same unreasoning anger that has been visited upon your children.

  “You have, it seems to me, only two choices,” he continued. “You can accept who and what he has become, and close your eyes to the injustices that are being perpe­trated in his name, or you can respond to your conscience, which is another way of saying to God’s word, and take steps to oppose him. Both choices offer potential conse­quences that are terrible to contemplate.

  “As for advice, well, I can only tell you what I would do in your circumstance, and you know what that is. I’m the chosen representative of God on earth, and so I don’t have the right to follow any commands save His, or any precepts except those sanctioned by His holy word. That’s why I had to do what I did, and that’s why I cannot release the king from his state of peril until he truly re­pents. Other men follow his lead: if they see him success­fully challenging the moral authority of the church, then chaos will ultimately result. I won’t allow that to happen, even if it means my own death.

  “We all have choices,” he concluded. “Sometimes the price of doing nothing is greater than that of taking ac­tion. You must decide for yourself, however. Trust in God, Queen Polyxena. Take your strength and your wis­dom from Him. He will always show you the right way, if you listen to Him. Now, please do me the honor, my queen, of praying with me in this, our shared time of trou­bles.”

  He led her then to a side chapel devoted to the memory of Saint Auréa the Martyr, and they each lit a can­dle as a beacon of hope for the future, and knelt down most humbly in front of the altar of the Lord.

  As they quietly prayed, she sensed a movement among the shadows to the right, feeling a presence that reached out gently to soothe her mind. Her eyes opened wide, as she strove to penetrate the growing darkness.