That raised several interesting possibilities, none of which Dirk really wanted to think about at the moment. To put the unpleasant implications of this out of his mind, he paid attention to what the nearest people were saying.
"The Protector himself! What would bring him so far into the countryside?"
"I don't know, but they say he travels around when folk least expect it, to see that his officials do as he tells them and don't cheat."
"Cheat him, or other folk?" The woman who had asked the question grinned. "I know, I know-neither."
"But are they sure he's coming?" a carter asked, frowning. "How do they know?"
"A crier came riding, calling out to all to clear the road, for the Protector would be passing!"
"I told you we should have made an earlier start," Dirk growled. "We might have heard the leather-lungs ourselves."
"He must be riding quite far ahead," Gar said, surprised. "We've been on the road an hour already."
"Oh, he came through last night," one woman was telling the farmwife from the cart. "The Protector is kind enough to give us all a chance to see him."
"And mobilize public support by making sure there's a cheering throng all the way along," Dirk muttered.
Far down the road, trumpets sounded. The crowd oohed and aahed, but didn't start cheering yet.
"So much for the fanfare," Dirk said. "When do we get the overture?"
The trumpets sounded again, then again and again, each time closer. The oohing and aahing became louder and louder. Then horsemen appeared, trotting down the road and calling out, "Make way for the Protector! Make way for he who guides and judges all the Commonwealth!"
Guardsmen in dark blue livery followed on horseback, lances low to push back peasants who were beginning to strain toward the road. Behind them came a severe, black-and-silver open carriage. Two men in charcoal-gray gowns rode in the backward-facing seat, watching a lean, grave, unsmiling man who waved to the people, turning from side to side. He wore black robes with a huge, weighty silver chain, a flat, broadbrimmed black hat, and a black beard shot through with gray.
The people cheered. The people went crazy, throwing their caps in the air, waving frantically, crowding forward so that the two guards who followed the carriage had to ride by its rear wheels; their halberds down to push the crowd away. Dirk and Gar craned their necks with the rest, very interested to have a look at a high executive, or whatever he was, of this strange backward planet on which they had landed. The leading guards came up, their pikes low, and Dirk and Gar leaped back with the rest.
Then the carriage spun by, and for a second or two, the Protector was looking right at them, waving rather wearily. He looked away, turning to the other side of the road, and the rear guards came up. They passed, and the crowd moaned with disappointment-though whether it was at the briefness of the Protector's appearance, or at having to go back to work, Gar and Dirk couldn't guess. They certainly stretched the holiday out as long as they could, turning to one another and talking excitedly.
"He was so lofty, so commanding!" one woman burbled to another.
"But so weary!" her companion replied. "The poor man, with the weight of us all on his shoulders!"
"I have lived all my life waiting for this day," a man sighed, "and I shall tell my grandchildren of it!"
"Was he not grand to look upon?" a youth asked Dirk, eyes glowing.
"Very impressive," Dirk replied. "You've never seen him before, then."
"I?" The youth laughed. "I haven't even seen twenty summers, sir! It would have been rare good fortune for me to have seen him."
An older man looked keenly at them. "But you have seen him before, have you?"
"One of the benefits of being in arms," Dirk answered, smiling, "and of being sent on missions now and again." Vague as the answer was, it seemed to satisfy the manperhaps because it was so vague that he could read into it whatever he wanted. He was turning away to exchange exclamations with a friend, when a clarion voice called, "Hear ye, hear ye! Listen to the magistrate!"
The companions turned and looked. A man in a dark red robe stood in the center of the road, hands folded across his stomach and almost hidden by his long, full sleeves. He was young, perhaps in his late twenties, but already had an air of authority that seemed to assume no one would even think of disobeying. Gradually, the crowd quieted, and the magistrate called out, "You have seen, good people! It has been a wonderful morning for us all, for rarely indeed are we fortunate enough to see the man who is Protector of all this land, Reeve of all reeves, Magistrate of all magistrates! Treasure the memory, and speak of it to one another, the more surely to engrave it on your hearts! But the time for gazing is past, and the time for your work has come again! Go now, to your homes and fields and shops! Talk still about the delight of it all, but go!"
The buzz of conversation started up again, and the people turned away, some back into the fields that bordered the road but most away down the cobblestones, presumably to the lanes that led to their villages.
"I think we'd better go with them," Gar said.
"Yes, as far from that red robe as possible," Dirk agreed. "I smell authority, and I'd just as soon avoid it until I know whether or not the aroma is poisonous."
They set off, quickly working their way into the center of the throng. The magistrate's guards glanced briefly at the tall figure in the brown livery, but didn't seem to think it all that unusual, for they turned back to attending their young master as he mounted a tall roan. They set off down the road, and were soon far enough away for Dirk and Gar to feel safe. They dropped back from the peasant throng until they were out of earshot.
"So," Dirk said, "it seems we lucked into getting a look at the chief executive after all."
"Yes, but is he only the executive, or the whole government?" Gar asked.
"They did call him `Magistrate of all magistrates'," Dirk said, "but they didn't say anything about who enforces the laws."
"I don't think he's a king of any sort," Gar said, "though he might serve one."
"Could be, but I think the herald would have mentioned that among his other titles," Dirk said thoughtfully. "Apparently the guy in the red robe is his local representative."
"Yes-very young to be a magistrate, don't you think?" Gar asked. "I thought the office usually went to a minor local aristocrat, or a businessman who has managed to build up enough of a fortune to build himself a big house and spread a few bribes."
Dirk shrugged. "Maybe he's just finished law school, and this is his internship."
"That seems unlikely," Gar said slowly, "but the idea of having finished some sort of training does strike a bell."
"Let's just hope it's not the alarm," Dirk replied. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a little too visible in this soldier outfit."
"So am I, but we don't know if it would be safe to travel in any other disguise," Gar said. "We need information, Dirk, in a bad way."
"Yes, and I know what that means," Dirk sighed.
Gar nodded. "A local, preferably one who's in trouble with the authorities for the right reasons."
"Yes, for doing what his conscience tells him when the magistrate tells him not to. If we don't find one, can we declare this planet to be well-governed, and leave?"
Gar was silent for the next few paces, then said, "The Protector did seem to be very popular-but that might have been simply because he was the head of the government, and a rarity. Still, if the only outlaws we find are the kind who have no conscience, or are just out for themselves no matter who gets hurt-well, yes, I suppose that will be proof enough."
Dirk loosed a huge sigh of relief.
CHAPTER 3
The youth dashed from cottage to cottage, hammering on the door and calling, "A minstrel! A minstrel! Come and hear!"
Orgoru looked up from the cane chair seat he was weaving-badly, his mother was sure to tell him-with his heart hammering. A minstrel! News of the outside world, songs of the great days of old! But Orgoru couldn't l
et his fellow villagers see how excited he was-they mocked him so often for his plumpness, his moon-face, and his clumsiness, but most of all for his fumbling attempts at conversation and his unerring knack for always saying the wrong thing, that the only way left for him to have a shred of dignity was to seem bored with everything that went on in his village, even though, in his heart, he yearned for Althea, the brightest and prettiest of the girls, for her sparkling laugh and bright eyes, for her sheer delight in life that surely must catch up any man who was lucky enough to win her favor.
But she had mocked him too, and scorned him. They all had, all the young folk of his own generation, and most of the elders-even some of the children! So he ambled nonchalantly toward the village center, even though the shouts of surprise and bursts of laughter told him that the minstrel had already begun to tell the news, and in a way most entertaining, too. Besides, he told himself, he didn't really care what happened in the world today. All that really mattered was the singing, the glorious stories of the days of old, of brave knights in shining armor, of tournaments and quests and beautiful princesses to rescue. By the time he came to the village square, he believed it himself.
And he was in time! As he came up, he saw the minstrel swing his lute from his back and begin to pluck it. He watched between the beefy shoulders of two other young men, Clyde and Dale-but Clyde glanced at him, made a face, and nudged Dale, who looked up, saw Orgoru, grinned, and stepped closer to Clyde, shoulder to shoulder, blocking the troubadour from his sight. Orgoru ground his teeth, but managed a look of disdain and stubbornly refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him move about, trying for a look around them or for a better place among the other people-who would only do the same, anyway. Orgoru knew from bitter experience that everyone would deliver the riotous joke of blocking his sight, unless Ciletha or one of the other, plainer girls took pity on him and pulled him in to share her looking-place-which would be even more embarrassing. Besides, Orgoru knew that their motives weren't just pity-they were worried about marrying, and thought any husband would be better than none. Orgoru couldn't bring himself to accept either reason for their friendship-both were too humiliating: pity and being last choice.
So he stayed where he was, pretending not to notice that Clyde and Dale had blocked his view. After all, with a minstrel, the music was what mattered-and even more, the words! He held his place, and listened.
"Prince Arthur dwelt, unknown, obscure," the minstrel began, and Orgoru's heart leaped.
"Sir Ector and his good wife raised the lad from a babe with their own son Kay, and he grew to be a fine, strapping youth. Now and again the wizard Merlin came to teach him, and to bring some hint of what passed in the great world outside-but how was Arthur to know that the slain king of whom Merlin spoke was his own father, that the lost prince of legend was himself?"
"At last the wizard came with news of a tournament...... Orgoru listened, unable to see the minstrel, but with his head ringing as he heard how Sir Kay had insisted on going to the Christmas tournament, and Arthur had gone as his squire, heard how they had come to Glastonbury and seen the sword locked in the stone to prove which man was rightful King of England. The lilting voice told him how Kay had forgotten to bring his sword, and Arthur, in a hurry to arm Kay in time for the joust, had pulled the sword from the stone instead-and been acclaimed King of all England!
The minstrel sang on, but Orgoru turned away, his head ringing, dazed with the wonder of it.
"Can't see, Orgoru?" Dale gibed. He had been watching for signs of defeat. "Aw, too bad!"
"Want to sit on our shoulders?" Clyde offered.
But Orgoru scarcely heard them-though he did hear one last minstrel's verse:
"He built his court, to withstand time, And for all courts be paradigm!"
Light exploded within Orgoru for the second time, and he staggered, nearly falling. He caught hold of a sapling in time to hold himself up, not even noticing the mocking laughter that rose behind him-for he knew now who he was! Not only what, but who! Like Arthur, he was a prince raised in secret, hidden among the common folk until he could understand his true nature, discover his true destiny! The minstrel himself had just told him his name-he was the Prince of Paradime!
He walked around the pond slowly until his legs were no longer weak, his breath no longer ragged, the light in his mind dimmed enough for him to notice other things. What wizard was this minstrel, this herald of destiny, who had brought him this understanding? Suddenly, Orgoru felt a clawing need to hear the man's voice again.
As he neared the knot of listeners once more, he heard an older man scoff, "A city in the forests? You tell wild tales indeed!"
"I should think so, too," the minstrel replied, "but the man who told me swore he had seen it himself-stone towers rising above the treetops, and beyond them, turrets even higher!"
"But who would build a walled city inside a forest?" one of the older men objected. "Wouldn't the forest be wall enough?"
"Ah!" The minstrel held up a forefinger. "But what if they built the city on an open plain, so long ago that the forest has grown up about it?"
A murmur of awe went through the crowd, at the notion of buildings so old-but a grandfather called, "Nonsense! Could they have been such poor householders that they let the woods grow to cover their fields?"
"No," said the minstrel, "if they were alive."
It took a minute or two for the significance of his words to sink in, but when it did, a murmur of fear went through the crowd-the delicious thrill of fear that doesn't threaten-and a frisson of superstitious awe. "Do you say it's deserted?" a woman asked.
"Not `deserted,' exactly." The minstrel's voice sank low. "For the man who told me of it camped by its walls that night, and swears he heard thin voices, distant laughter, even music so faint he wondered if he had heard it at all."
A moan of delighted terror ran through the crowd. "Do you say they are ghosts?" the grandfather asked.
"Perhaps. Who knows?" The minstrel affected disdain. "He didn't look, after all, for the walls were too high to climb. But he heard, he heard. Who knows? Perhaps the lords and ladies who lived in that city in its proud youth dwell there yet, alive and deathless!"
"Impossible!" the grandfather scoffed.
"Ghosts," somebody said with full assurance, and the word ran through the crowd like a ripple: "Ghosts! Ghosts!"
"Ghosts of princes and princesses," the minstrel agreed, his voice low and thrilling, hand gesturing to show them invisible royalty. "Ghosts of kings and queens! And at night they come out to feast on phantom. food and listen to enchanted music, to dance their airy rounds and court one another with wraithlike grace."
The murmur shivered, and so did the crowd that made it. But Orgoru didn't shiver; instead, his eyes glowed. He listened through the tale, hanging on every word the minstrel said, drinking each in and letting them all together build a picture of courtly refinement, of beautiful and gallant people, in his mind. But when the minstrel was done and paid, and the crowd, disappointed that the delights must end, went off to their beds, Orgoru turned away with fire in his eyes and hope singing in his heart.
"Why are you so excited, Orgoru?"
Orgoru looked up, startled. Could one of these village girls at last have realized the excellence of his hidden qualities? But he was massively disappointed; it was only Ciletha, plain and skinny-the only village maiden to treat him with civility, even friendliness. If only Althea could have seen him so! But he was grateful for kindness, whatever its source. Ciletha was, after all, the only person in the village with whom he could share his thoughts, though he didn't dare chance his secrets even with her. "Who wouldn't be excited by such a tale, Ciletha?"
"No one, but with the rest of us, the excitement goes when the tale is done," Ciletha said. "Why are you still filled with fire, Orgoru? I've never seen you like this!"
Orgoru looked around in one quick glance, to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. "Anyone else would think I was crazy
. . . ." He turned back to Ciletha. "You're the only one I would tell-but you have to promise not to tell anyone else." What did it matter if she did, though? By sunrise, he'd be gone! "I promise." Ciletha's eyes were wide and wondering.
Orgoru took a deep breath and plunged. "I've always known I'm better than these cloddish people in this village, Ciletha. In fact, I know my real parents must have been people of quality!"
Ciletha halted, staring at him in fright. "Your real parents? But, Orgoru . . ."
"You don't think these shallow fools could be my true mother and father, do you? No!" The words came in a rush now. "They must have been a magistrate and his wife at least, who had to hide me here out of fear of their enemies! But even that shrew and her husband don't know what I really am!"
"Orgoru!" Ciletha gasped. "To say such things about your parents!" Then curiosity overcame her: "What are you?"
"Tonight, listening to the minstrel, it all became clear to me-I'm a prince, sent to be raised in secret where my parents' enemies would never think to look for me-among peasants! He even told me my proper name-the Prince of Paradime!"
"He did?" Ciletha stared. "When did he say that?"
"Early on, when he had just begun to talk! And he must be a courier in disguise, sent by my true family, for he even told me where to find my own kind-in the Lost City in the forest!"
"The Lost Place!" Ciletha gasped. "But Orgoru-he said it was filled with ghosts!"
"Oh, that was for the lack-wits." Orgoru didn't even try to hide his contempt. "The courier knew full well that those were no ghosts the woodcutter had heard, knew that if he had climbed a tree by that wall, he would have seen actual lords and ladies dancing!"
"How could he have known that?" Ciletha asked, eyes huge. "Does that matter?" Orgoru demanded with a flash of irritation. "He knew, or should have-that's enough. Of that I'm sure, completely sure! That story of a man who overheard the ghosts-bah! I'm not taken in, like the rest of these clod-heads. It wasn't a woodcutter who found the city and heard the lords and ladies-it was the minstrel himself, and they brought him in and made him their courier to me! I've heard that tale he told before, only it was about the Little People who are supposed live within the Hollow Hills, and now and again take a human prisoner to watch their feasting and dancing, then give him so much wine that he falls asleep and wakes up outside the hill twenty years later! No, I'm no fish, to take such bait and let it hook my soul! I know what I know!"
A Wizard In Peace Page 3
