Terrible Beast of Zor

by Gilbert L. Morris

  “Come in!” the king called.

  It opened, and Alcindor entered, accompanied by an unusually subdued-appearing prince.

  “Did he come willingly, Alcindor?” the king asked.

  The aide hesitated, and then a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Yes, after he understood the situation, Your Majesty.”

  “What does this mean, Father?” Alexander asked peevishly. “Why have you had me brought here like a criminal?”

  “My orders to Alcindor were to let you know that I wished your presence. If you had obeyed of your own free will, that would have been very simple,” the king said sternly.

  Alex dropped his head, and Alquin thought a look of shame briefly swept across his son’s face.

  “Well,” the prince muttered, “I’m here. What’s the purpose of your summons?”

  King Alquin studied his son. He loved the boy dearly but was afraid that he had failed him as a father. He had been gone to the wars most of Alexander’s childhood and had not given him the example he should have. He regretted that now, but there was no way to change what had already happened.

  “You are eighteen years old, Alex,” the king said. “And I have decided that your life is worthless.”

  Alexander flushed and straightened up as though he had never been talked to like this before. “I resent that, Father!” he said furiously.

  “And I resent the life that you lead! You are a prince, and the kingdom is in grave danger. I have brought you here to tell you that from this point on your life will be different.”

  “Different! And what does that mean?” Alex demanded.

  “There will be no more drinking, no more gambling, no more parties. That bunch of leeches that follows you around, and whom you cannot see for what they are, will be dismissed from the capital. You will become a soldier and endure all the hardness of a soldier.”

  Alquin saw the rebellion flaring in his son’s eyes and was not surprised. The queen herself was silent, but the king continued talking, and he did not soften his words. “You are a disgrace to the royal family, Alex! I am ashamed of you! You are no son of mine until you prove yourself so!”

  Prince Alexander might have been wise to bow his head and surrender to the king’s demands. But it appeared that a lifetime of getting his own way was going to prevent that. He stood straight and said angrily, “I will do exactly as I please, and you will not treat me as if I were a commoner!”

  “Is that your final answer?”

  “Yes!”

  “Alcindor,” King Alquin said, “the prince will be confined to his quarters until further notice. Take him there now. He will receive no visitors; he will not be allowed to leave.”

  “Wait! You can’t do that to me!”

  “You will see what a king can do. Take him, Alcindor!”

  Alcindor escorted the prince out as Alexander attempted to fight him off. His strength was no match, however, for the strength of the stalwart soldier. The prince’s angry voice was still echoing from the hall after the door closed.

  Queen Lenore arose then and went to her husband. She stood behind him and put both hands on his shoulders. “Try not to feel too bad, Alquin. It is my fault as much as yours. We both have spoiled him.”

  Heavily the king nodded. “And what are we to do now?”

  The queen hesitated. Then she said firmly, “I think we must send for help.”

  “Military help? There is none.”

  “I think our problem is not mostly a military one. It is something else. I think we should send for Goél.”

  King Alquin lifted his eyes. Thoughts raced through his head. He was heartbroken over the rebellion of his only child. He truly wanted help. And now he whispered, “Yes. Send a courier at once and ask Goél if he will come and help us.”

  “What sort of visitor are you talking about?”

  The servant of Count Ferrod did not answer for a moment. He was a thin man with pale, shifty eyes. “I do not know how to describe him. He is not from here. He has come on a long journey, he says, and he demands to see you.”

  “What name did he give?”

  “He gave no name, but he said Count Ferrod would want to see him.”

  “Well, show him in.”

  Ferrod leaned back in his chair and glanced over at his wife. “Who do you suppose this is?”

  Countess Grenda said, “Probably someone wanting a favor. We get plenty of those.”

  However, when the door opened and the visitor entered, the count knew that this man had not come to beg favors. He was tall and powerfully built, and the hood that was thrown back from his black cloak revealed a thin, dark, strong face. He gave them a brief time to study him before saying, “My name is Rondel.”

  “What is your purpose with us—Rondel?”

  “I have come to do you a great favor.” Rondel had a black mustache and neat black beard. His skin was dead white in contrast, and there was something even dangerous looking about him. Count Ferrod found himself becoming a little uneasy. “Is your business political or personal?”

  “Both,” Rondel said at once.

  “It must be one or the other,” the countess snapped. When the man turned his cold gaze on her, she appeared to have a moment of fear. But she quickly recovered and said, “State your purpose or leave us.”

  “I will indeed do so, Countess.” Rondel moved closer, and his voice dropped. “What I have to say is for your ears only. Not even your closest friends or servants must know.”

  “What can be this mysterious business you have with us?” Ferrod asked curiously.

  “The kingdom of Madria is doomed.” “That is treason to speak so!” the count gasped. “You cannot say that!”

  “You said as much in the Council this morning, did you not?”

  “How did you know what I said in Council?”

  “I know many things, but it is not necessary to share with you how I know. What is my purpose? I have come to give you an opportunity to save yourself and to rise above your present position.”

  Ferrod and his wife exchanged quick glances. “What are you saying, Rondel?”

  “I will tell you the truth. I serve the Dark Lord.” A chill passed over the count. He had heard of the Dark Lord of NuWorld. He knew the Dark Lord’s power was creeping over the land. He also had heard of the one called Goél, who fought against it. And he knew that the king and queen had, in fact, put their trust in Goél. “I will not listen to you. It is treason.”

  “It is wisdom,” Rondel said. “The kingdom of Madria cannot stand. Your powers shrink every day, while those of the Dark Lord grow. His shadow is long, and it will grow longer. Soon the mountain passes will be taken. You will look out that window one day and see in the streets the soldiers of Zor, wearing the sign of the Dark Lord on their breasts. Then all will be lost.”

  “I do not believe it,” Ferrod said, but his voice was weak.

  “Yes, you do believe it. And I have come to make you an offer from the Dark Lord himself.” The dark man smiled suddenly. “I see that interests you. Do you think that he does not know what is in your heart?”

  “No one knows what is in my heart.”

  “No? What about this? If the king dies of his old wounds and then the prince dies of sickness or disease or in the war, who would be the next king of Madria?”

  A silence fell over the room.

  “Do not be alarmed. I realize that to speak so would be treason as things now stand, but things will not remain as they are. Give your allegiance to the Dark Lord, and you two will rule over the kingdom. You will be regents of the Dark Lord and have all power—under him.”

  Rondel talked on. His voice grew soft and steady and tempting. For some time the count and the countess listened to him.

  Suddenly the dark stranger asked, “What is your decision?”

  Count Ferrod swallowed hard. A question troubled him. “But what of the prince?”

  “The prince must not stand in the way of your greatness. He is a
fool, and everyone in the kingdom knows it. You are not a fool, Count Ferrod. Neither are you, Countess. You will not throw away what is being offered you on a worthless boy whose only talent is drinking and gambling and partying. Quick! Your answer. I will have it now. For once I leave this room, there will be no chance to change your mind.”

  At that moment Grenda proved herself to be the stronger of the two. She took her husband’s arm, and she whispered, “We must do it, Ferrod. There is no other sensible choice.”

  Count Ferrod studied his wife’s expression, then turned back to their visitor. “All right, Rondel. We accept your offer.”

  Rondel laughed. “You would be a fool not to. Now, this is what you must do …”

  3

  Josh Loses

  Golden sunlight spread over the emerald green waters, and white sand surrounded the inlet like a ring. Josh Adams came up from a deep dive, expelled his breath, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and then bobbed in the warm waters.

  Suddenly, Sarah Collingwood shot up next to him and splashed water into his face.

  “Watch what you’re doing, Sarah!” Josh protested. He reached out to duck her, but to his surprise she abruptly disappeared. The next thing he knew, he felt two hands close on his ankles, and he shouted, “Hey!” and then was jerked under.

  Kicking himself free, Josh came to the surface, sputtering and spitting out the salty water.

  Sarah came up laughing, a few feet away. At fourteen, exactly the same age as Josh, she was small and very pretty. Josh was tall, and he considered himself gangling and awkward. He hated being spindly, he hated being clumsy, and especially he hated being bested in anything by Sarah Collingwood.

  Josh and Sarah had been friends for years. Even before a nuclear war had wrecked the earth and turned it into NuWorld, they had known each other. They had awakened from their sleep capsules to find the world they knew gone forever. NuWorld was filled with strange beasts, and the geography was completely altered. Josh had soon found himself leading the young people known as the Seven Sleepers, under the direction of their mentor Goél. They were engaged in a war. It was to keep the Dark Lord from enslaving the inhabitants of NuWorld.

  Sarah looked back at the shore where the other five Sleepers were playing with a kind of beach ball. “Race you to the beach, Josh,” she challenged, her eyes sparkling.

  Josh treaded water, trying to think of some way to get out of the challenge. He knew that Sarah was a better swimmer, just as she was a better archer. In fact, Sarah was better at almost everything than Josh Adams was. Usually he tried to avoid a contest with her, but now he saw there was no escape.

  “All right,” he said.

  “Well, we have to make it a real challenge. What does the winner get?”

  “I don’t know,” Josh said. He just wanted to get the race over with.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Sarah answered. “The loser has to cook supper and serve the winner and everyone else at the table tonight.”

  Josh hated moments like this. Thinking to gain a little edge, he suddenly kicked vigorously and threw himself into a stroke, yelling, “All right!” He put his head down, his legs thrashed the water, and he swam as hard as he could.

  For a time, he even thought he might win. He had gotten a good start while Sarah was still getting ready. But then he saw that she was already pulling alongside. Another glance revealed that she was swimming steadily, doing a fine stroke, turning to take a breath of air every third stroke, and expelling it underwater. She swam smoothly and apparently without effort. As always.

  Josh tried to imitate her. But suddenly, instead of expelling air, he made a mistake and strangled as water ran up his nose. He floundered around, spitting and blinking, and by the time he got started again, he saw that all was lost.

  Sarah reached the beach several strokes ahead of him, pulled herself up, and stood waiting. “Where have you been, slowpoke? You must have taken a shortcut by way of China.”

  Josh was disgusted with himself. He stalked up the beach toward the rest of the Sleepers, his back rigid with anger.

  Sarah followed him, and, when they reached the others, of course she had to call out cheerfully, “Guess what? Josh has agreed to cook supper and serve us tonight. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “I think it’s peachy!” The speaker was Jake Garfield, a thirteen-year-old with red hair and a pug nose. He punched Josh on the shoulder. “Mighty noble of you, Josh. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  Josh glared at him and pulled away.

  Dave Cooper, fifteen and handsome with crisp brown hair, was the oldest of the Sleepers. He winked at Sarah and said, “What did you do to make him agree to do that?”

  Perhaps Sarah saw that Josh’s feelings were hurt and did not want to shame him further. She just said, “Oh, Josh likes to do things for us. You know that, Dave.”

  “I never caught him at it.” Dave shrugged. “But if you say so.”

  Abbey, the fourteen-year-old blonde with blue eyes, was lying on her back, sunning. Back in OldWorld she had been intending to become the winner of a beauty contest, perhaps even Miss America. But in NuWorld there were no beauty contests. Instead there were dragons and fierce people and the Dark Lord. She raised her head from the sand and said, “Make my steak medium rare, will you, Josh?” Then she lay back and ignored everybody.

  The remaining two Sleepers were a contrast. Reb Jackson was a tall fourteen-year-old with sandy hair and light blue eyes. He was burned by the sun and looked strong and athletic. He elbowed the small boy next to him and said, “What do you think, Wash? You think we should give old Josh a hand?”

  Gregory Randolph Washington Jones, twelve, was the youngest of the Sleepers. He flashed a toothy smile at his big friend and said, “I guess so.” Then he said to Josh, “Sure. We’ll give you a hand, Josh.”

  “I don’t need a hand!” Josh snapped crossly. “I said I’d cook the supper and serve everybody, and I will!”

  “Well, you don’t have to bite his head off,” Reb said with some irritation. “He was just trying to help.”

  Josh did not answer. Usually he was a very amiable young man, but Sarah had beaten him—again—and besides, he felt unqualified to be the leader of the Sleepers, anyway. Others, such as Dave and Abbey, were smarter. Jake could fix anything mechanical. Reb was an expert horseman, an expert with a rope. Wash could cook. Everyone could do something better than he could, and Josh had never understood why Goél had made him the leader in the first place.

  He marched on back to the cabin where they had been staying for the past two weeks, muttering, “All right, I’ll fix supper. I can’t cook as good as Wash, but I’ll do the best I can if it kills me.”

  The Sleepers were on a rare vacation. They had just come through an exhausting adventure, and Goél had sent them here for a welcome rest. The ocean was just the place, and they had been enjoying the sandy beach, the swimming, the fishing.

  As Josh entered the cabin and began preparing supper, he knew that he was behaving miserably. “I don’t know why I act like that,” he muttered. “I ought to be zapped.” Sometimes he simply could not throw off these bad moods.

  He worked hard on the supper, having decided it would include baked potatoes, carrots, corn on the cob, and juicy steaks.

  When the meal was finally ready, he walked to the door and stuck his head out. “Come and get it!” he yelled.

  Immediately all the other Sleepers began rapidly coming toward the cabin. They filed in and washed their hands. When they sat down at the table, Wash said, “Mmmm! Sure does smell good!”

  “Nice to have a servant to wait on us, too.” Dave grinned, winking across the table at Abbey. “I think you’ve found your calling, Josh. I vote that we let Josh do all the cooking from now on. And he’s a natural-born waiter besides.”

  Josh glared. He had always envied Dave his good looks and his athletic ability, and now Dave’s teasing cut him.

  Sarah glanced at his face. “I’ll help with the ser
ving, Josh,” she said quickly.

  “No, I lost the race, and I’ll pay the penalty,” Josh said shortly.

  Josh’s meal turned out to be all right. The steaks were properly done, the corn was tender, and the carrots and the potatoes were steaming hot. The only problem was the scowl on his face. Dave made it worse by continuing to needle him until Sarah murmured, “Dave, please be quiet!”

  “I was only teasing,” Dave protested.

  “Well, you’ve teased enough, so hush.”

  At that moment the door swung open. They all looked up, and every one of them let out an exclamation of surprise.

  “Goél!” Sarah cried, her eyes sparkling. She jumped up and hurried to meet him.

  The newcomer took her hands and looked down at her. “How are you, my daughter?”

  Goél was a mysterious figure. He had strange powers. But he was good, and the Sleepers had learned to trust him for help and advice. He was a tall man with light brown hair and dark, deep-set eyes. His skin was tanned to a golden sheen, and he wore a simple gray robe with the hood thrown back.

  The Sleepers were all on their feet by now, and Goél went around the room greeting each of them. Josh was last, and Goél said, “Well, Josh, and how are you enjoying your vacation?”

  “OK,” Josh said gruffly. For some reason he felt embarrassed in Goél’s presence. “Why don’t you sit down, sire, and I’ll bring you something to eat?”

  Goél’s dark eyes studied him. He knew Josh was upset. How did he know that?

  “It appears that you have been the cook today, Josh,” Goél said. “Let us do this—you sit down now, and I’ll serve you.”

  Josh was shocked. “Oh, no, that wouldn’t be right!”

  “Now do as I say,” Goél said. “Here, make Josh a place. All of you sit down and continue your meal, while I grill my good friend Josh Adams a nice steak. How do you like it, Josh?”

  “Uh … medium well,” Josh murmured.

  Goél busied himself at the stove. All the while, he kept up a steady stream of conversation, asking them about their vacation and what they had been doing. He even told them some of the activities that were going on in other parts of NuWorld.