“Look!” cried Theiax in an anguished roar. Laus had caught up with the princess. Still struggling, she was carried aloft in the arms of the wizard, who soared from the tower on immense black vulture’s wings. “Aloft” is not quite the right word, for despite desperate flaps the pair flew lower and lower, slanted across the gap between the tower-hill and an adjacent one, and came down on the latter’s gentle stony slope.
Hobart angled toward them. Laus, holding the kicking and beard-pulling Argimanda under one arm, whisked out a wand with the other.
“Theiax!” yelled Hobart. “Come back here!” But the lion had bounded out from the protection of the shield and charged straight for the wizard with an earthshaking roar. Hobart was just near enough to see the wizard’s face working and catch a whisper of his incantation. Theiax in mid-leap shrank to the size of an alleycat; bounced and sprawled on landing.
Hobart kept running. He could hear Kai’s panting behind him, growing fainter, either because the short savage could not keep up or did not wish to. Laus went to work on Hobart, crying:
“Faborle dyor murtho
“Tarwuzei kounovir!
“Worngord houdorzhar
“Meveiler shaibaudir!
“SIRVZASHTAUI!”
Nothing happened except that Hobart’s left hand, holding the shield, tingled as though from a slight electric shock. Laus started another:
“Wargudviz vlapeisez
“Thorgwast tha zistal . . .”
But he stopped when it became obvious that Hobart would reach him before he finished. He dropped Argimanda, and in a twinkling changed from venerable wizard back into amphisbaena.
Hobart heard a squeal of fright from Kai, behind, as the monster poured down the hill toward them with the irresistible deliberation of a lava flow. The leading head was undoubtedly the dominating one; it stared at Hobart with wicked intelligence, and even looked a little like Laus. The other, thrashing about futilely on the after end, was just the head of a big snake.
Hobart instinctively put up the shield to protect himself as he swung his sword down on the horny snout. The sword bounced up with a clang, and the jaws clomped on the shield. Hobart snatched his hand back just in time. The head crunched the shield and spat out the remains, then lunged at Hobart again. The engineer skipped back out of range, swung, missed, and whirled himself clear around. He got a glimpse of Kai, dancing with terror thirty feet off.
“Get busy!” he yelled, then had to leap to avoid another lunge. He was, not, he feared, built for the part of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. He got in a crack on the amphisbaena’s snout as it recovered, but without apparent effect. Have to try for an eye . . .
“Watch out!” shrilled Kai. “He turn back into wizard, you have no shield!” Wish to God he would turn back, thought Hobart. While Laus could obviously not recite cantrips and make passes in his present form, the engineer was sure that if he returned to the human one, he, Hobart, could cut him down before he could get out another spell.
A toy-sized Theiax had bounded up onto the middle of the serpent’s back and was vainly trying to rip it open with his little teeth and claws. Kai, gathering his courage, ran in and wacked the snake’s back once with the butt of the musket; but then the other head came slithering around with open jaws, and the medicine-man scuttled back out of the way of imminent head.
“I make spell!” he called.
Hobart, wielding his sword in both sweaty hands, heard the incantation going off behind him. The air was filled with a vicious hum and then with hundreds of yellow-and-black striped insects: hornets!
In a twinkling the amphisbaena’s scaly hide was dotted with them. But they did not stay there long, once they found the job of stinging through the horny scales hopeless. They rose in a menacing cloud . . . Hobart yelled as a dozen fiery stabs of pain lanced through his skin; stumbled back, away from the monster, as he swatted at his new tormentors. That guy Siegfried had had a cinch. He heard a scream of real agony behind him; a glance showed that the hornets had gone as one hornet for the most inviting target on the Marathaian landscape: Kai’s unprotected skin. The savage dropped the musket and ran as Hobart had never seen a man run before. Then the amphisbaena was pouring down again.
Hobart spread his feet and waited. If he could only get an eye . . . The monster waited also for a few seconds, while it caught its sluggish reptilian breath. The dominating head reared back, threatening. Hobart quailed at the sight of unmistakable venom fangs as the jaws opened halfway. Out of his lateral field of vision he saw the other half looping lowly around, and the second head getting ready for business. Like a boxer’s two fists . . . The dominating head made a tentative stab forward; halted as Hobart jerked back his sword—clunk! Hobart had a flashing vision of the musket butt swung by Argimanda’s arms, come down squarely between Laus’ eyes.
“Look out!” screamed the princess.
Hobart glanced to the other side just as the second head began to lunge. He dove to one side, landed on his shoulder, and rolled to his feet again as the head shot through the air he had just displaced. It kept on going—and caught the dominating head squarely by the muzzle!
The part of the snake adjacent to the dominating head writhed in protest, but now the secondary head had worked its jaws over the whole of the dominating one. Once begun, the process knew no stopping. The secondary head’s loosely hinged lower jaw moved, right side forward and then left. As Hobart watched in fascinated amaze, the great reptilian loop shortened and thickened till the whole had the shape of an innertube; then that of a doughnut. When Hobart did not see how it could swallow itself any further, the doughnut coalesced into a scaly globe the size of a pushball; it shrank swiftly—and vanished.
Argimanda stood with her thin wet garment clinging to her and little Theiax cradled in her arms. Hobart looked at her foolishly.
“Where’d he go?” he finally asked.
“He swallowed himself,” replied the princess.
“How?”
“When I hit the thinking head I must have dazed it for the moment, so that it no longer controlled the other. And the other, being a simple serpent’s head, had to obey its instincts; once it had caught the thinking head it could do naught but swallow.”
“I see that, but where did it go?”
Argimanda said patently: “How long would you say the whole amphisbaena was?”
“Oh, about fifty feet.”
“And how fast did the inferior head swallow?”
Hobart thought. “ ’Bout five feet a minute.”
“Well then, what would you expect to happen at the end of ten minutes?”
He took her hand and led her down the rest of the hillside and back the way he had come. “Young lady,” he said at last, “you can thank your Nois the androsphinx didn’t ask that one!”
14
There was no sign of Kai, though they looked. Hobart surmised: “Probably remembered to disappear. These stings are the very devil. Any get you?”
“No, they didn’t touch me,” said Argimanda. “Can I do aught for yours, dear Prince?”
“Thanks, but I’ll stand them until we get back to camp.”
“Camp? You mean one of the tent-cities of the Marathai?”
“Uh-huh.” Hobart gave the princess a brief account of recent events. He finished: “I’m taking you back there now, and I’ll ship you off to your father first thing.”
She sighed a little. “I owe you life a second time, Rollin. There is nothing I would not do for you if I could. But—you have not changed your mind?”
“Nope. Sorry,” muttered Hobart, becoming suddenly very busy at reloading his musket. But she did not embarrass him by discussing their relationship further. Not the least painful part of his predicament was the fact that Argimanda was so considerately obliging that she never gave him an excuse for getting angry with her.
She put down Theiax, who trotted mournfully behind them, misjudging distances and bumping into things. His voice was a shrill wail as he protested: “I
am insulted! I am humiliated! Prince, can you no get my size back?”
“Nope, old fella; not my department.”
“You should not kill Laus! He could restore me.”
“Didn’t kill him, really. He committed suicide. Matter of fact,” Hobart continued, turning to Argimanda, “I haven’t done any of the noble deeds that you and the other people of this cockeyed world insist on crediting me with. It’s been just dumb luck, plus my ignoble and selfish efforts to save my own neck.”
Argimanda smiled. “Your fairy godmother must have given you modesty along with your heroism, Rollin.”
“I’m not a hero!” cried Hobart despairingly. “I’m just an ordinary, practical engineer, and not a very nice guy at that! I’m self-centered and set in my ways; my friends think I’m dull and pedantic—”
“A scholar as well as a hero!” breathed the princess rapturously. “I would not have believed such a combination of virtues possible! If you would only let me serve you, however humbly—”
“Please, let’s not discuss it!”
“Very well, my prince.” There was a trace of moisture in her eye, but she blinked it away and smiled with heartrending bravery. “I shall be happy enough, just being near you for a few hours!”
Hobart clenched fists and teeth, torn between desires to yell “Shut up!” to run off and leave this infuriatingly lovely person, and to grovel in apologies. In the end he marched briskly straight ahead, musket on shoulder and glower on face. His pace did not bother Argimanda, who swung along easily on her superb long legs. Thus they reached the escort in less time than it had taken Hobart and Kai to find the wizard’s lair.
Somebody called “Hi!” from the top of one of the hills and clumped down toward them. It was Gorvath. “I did not expect to see you so soon; or ever, for that matter! You have the lady?” The barbarian doffed his kalpak and bowed to Argimanda. “I am dazed by her beauty!” Gorvath staggered a little to show that when he said dazed, he meant dazed. He recovered and said to Hobart in a stage-whisper: “She would make a wonderful shami!”
“No doubt,” answered Hobart drily. “But we’re in a hurry; round up the boys.”
Gorvath started to go, then caught sight of Theiax, who tried to hide behind a shrub. The Marathaian stared, then burst into uncontrollable laughter. “Hahahahaha—the noble beast has shrunk! Did you wash him in too hot water, or what?” Gorvath staggered off, still laughing and holding his midriff.
Theiax caterwauled: “If I get my size back, I teach that ignorant one not to rickidule me!”
When Hobart had seen Argimanda mounted, he swung aboard his own horse, and called down to Theiax: “Think you can hold on without scratching me or the horse? Okay; jump!”
When Theiax had settled himself across the saddle, he turned his small yellow eyes up to Hobart, and asked: “What is this about you not marrying Argimanda?”
“That’s right.” Hobart repeated the protest that had now become automatic from frequent use, about not giving a damn for all the pomp an alien world had to offer.
Theiax glowered and spat: “If I get my size back, you do not walk out on my princess so nanchaloncy!”
“I know it,” chuckled Hobart. “Look here, old man, you wouldn’t want to force Argimanda into a loveless marriage, would you?”
“Not loveless. She loves you.”
“An unhappy one, then.”
“If she loves you, she is happy with you no matter. You should make her happy, just as I make happy lionesses who love me. But not anymore,” he concluded mournfully, twisting his head to inspect his diminutive shape.
“Well, damn it, an inequitable one then!”
“Inetiquable—ineq—oh, tea leaves! You are too smart man for me. Where do you go after you leave my princess?”
“Back to my own world, I hope.”
“Are there lions in that world?”
“Yes, but not where I live. They’re not allowed in the streets and houses.”
Theiax made a gentle buzzing noise that presumably indicated thought, then came out with: “I love Argimanda, but I love my dignity, too. I must not go back to Oroloia; every dog in city hears about my new size and waits to chase and humiliate me. Could I go with you?”
“I’ll think about it,” replied Hobart. “I’d have to pass you off as just an unusual kind of pussy-cat, you know.”
“I know.” The social lion dropped the subject, and spent the rest of the trip reminiscing about his love affairs with assorted wild lionesses. Hobart found the stories very rare indeed, for Theiax, being a feline, had no inhibitions in such matters. But the engineer tried not to laugh, not wishing to insult his little friend’s melancholy. Come to think of it, a confirmed bachelor ought to have some sort of pet, and Hobart’s last dog had died a couple of years previously. Theiax would have to be taught to confine his conversation to the privacy of the apartment . . .
“Sham!” cried Gorvath. “Somebody has a preceded us to the camp. Look!” He indicated a swath of trampled grass that even Hobart could see marked the passage of a large body of horsemen.
“What do you make of it?” the engineer inquired.
“I do not know, but it might be Sham Khovind and his son.”
“Suppose they attacked the camp?”
“They might have, though they could hardly have surprised it in daylight.” Gorvath with a sweep of his arm indicated the featureless plain whose grass would not have concealed anything larger than Theiax.
“Guess we’ll have to go see,” Hobart announced. Another hour’s ride brought the tent-city up over the skyline, in the form of a little dark irregularity between the blue sky and the yellow sea of grass.
“Should we scout?” asked Gorvath.
Hobart privately wished the barbarians would not consult him on matters of military strategy and tactics, but he replied: “If we go any closer they’ll see us sure. And I don’t propose to crawl ten miles on my belly through the grass. Suppose we send Theiax. He’s small enough—ouch! You little devil—”
The social lion had dug a claw sharply into Hobart’s thigh, then jumped down. He mewed: “You make fun of me! I do not let people make fun of me! I am lion, even if small!”
“Okay, okay, I wasn’t making fun of you. I was saying that your size makes you just perfect for reconnoitering the camp; there’s not another man or beast in this world that could do it as well!”
“Oh, that is different. I am sorry I scratch.” Mollified, Theiax set off at an easy lope through the grass, with which he blended to invisibility after a few leaps.
The rest of the party disposed themselves to await the lion’s return; some dismounted, others remained slouched in their saddles, eating, smoking, or snoozing. The horses cropped contentedly. Hobart pointedly avoided conversation with Argimanda and Gorvath, fearful lest he should somehow get committed to more deeds of derring-do. He snatched some sleep, but as the hours dragged by, he became concerned. The sun was well down when Theiax reappeared, trotting with lolling tongue.
“Horses!” gasped the pussy-lion. “Horses, horses, all around camp! Parathai horses, Marathai horses, even some horses from Logaia! I reckonize bridles.”
“Now what,” Hobart asked the clear atmosphere, “would Logaian horses be doing there? Any sign of fighting, Theiax?”
“No; everything is peaceful. People sing in camp.”
Hobart sighed with bafflement. “Guess we’ll just have to go see for ourselves. Hey, everybody, mount! When we get near the tent-city, stand by to run like hell if they act hostile.”
They had to skirt several herds of stock whose herdsmen waved languidly to them. There was certainly no sign of blood and tumult here. As Theiax had described, there were horses all around the camp, pegged out in orderly rows. As they threaded their way among the herds, Hobart recognized one of the royal Logaian grooms.
“Hi!” he called. “What are you doing here, Glaukon?”
“I don’t know, lord,” responded the youth. “I came with King Gordius a
s I was told to, that’s all.”
Hobart continued toward the main gate at the head of his party. As he approached it he must have been sighted, for there were trumpet blasts from within. The singing and other sounds of revelry within ceased, and out from the gate boiled a crowd of people on foot.
Hobart tightened his grip on the reins, prepared to whirl his animal around on its haunches; but the people were evidently not hostile. In the front rank were four: Sanyesh, King Gordius, ex-General Valangas in barbaric costume with short blond fuzz sprouting from his scalp, and a very old barbarian who limped forward on a stick. They were flanked and followed by assorted retainers and standard-bearers. Then what Hobart feared worse than a fight came to pass: the four dignitaries with one voice bellowed, “Hail, Rollin, King of Kings!”
Hobart had a chance of perhaps five seconds to bolt, but he lost it while making up his mind. Then they were all around him, Argimanda in her father’s arms, the others fairly hauling him off his horse.
When the tumult of acclaim died, King Gordius wrung Hobart’s hand, explaining: “I knew you’d save her, my boy! And since you’re now King of all Logaia, and Sham of the Parathai, Sham Khovind—this is he,” (he indicated the old man on the stick)—“Sham Khovind and his son agree that the only sensible thing to do is to make you King of Kings, Sham Shamzen, over all three realms!”
“But,” wailed Hobart, “I don’t want to be King of Kings—”
“Nonsense, son! You’re just the man for it!” The king took Hobart’s arm and began to walk him back through the gate. “You see we could never manage it before, because the Marathai wouldn’t accept a Parathaian or Logaian ruler; a Logaian wouldn’t take a Parathaian or Marathaian, and so on, heh-heh. But you’re neither one thing nor the other: a stranger with barbarian hair and civilized manners; as my son Alaxius rudely put it, an impossible person, wearing clothes of a non-existent color, and a puissant hero to boot. You’re the one man who can take charge of our countries, stop these silly internal wars, and make one mighty realm out of them!”
The Undesired Princess Page 13
