They made a rag by cutting a piece off the tail of Jorian's older shirt. Margalit got down on her knees and scrubbed. After a few moments, the invisible ghost said:
"That will suffice, my dear. The curse is lifted; I do perceive the walls of the castle fading from view.
"Oh, ere I depart, one small matter. The treasure hunters have poked and pried all over my poor castle. If ye covet the small hoard they sought but never found, pry out a stone to the right of the main fireplace: third course from the bottom, second stone from the left. Tis of no use to me. And now fare ye well! I am…" The voice faded to silence.
Jorian pried the stone loose, disclosing a hollow containing a bag of coin. When counted, the hoard came to ninety-nine Xylarian lions plus some small change.
"Ha!" said Jorian. " Tis almost exactly the sum wherewith I fled from Xylar the first time. 'Twill not buy an army or a kingdom, but at least we shan't starve for a while!"
Four days later, riding through broad farmland, Jorian said: "We should reach the Othomaean border by nightfall. We could get there sooner by hard driving, but I like not the look of FUoman's leg."
They were seated beside the road, eating. Karadur said: "Silence, I pray." His dark eyes took on a glassy, faraway look.
Jorian whispered: "He is listening for some message from the astral plane."
At last the old Mulvanian shook his head. "My son," he said, "my second sight informs me that we are again pursued."
"How far? How many?"
Karadur shook his head. "I cannot say at the distance, save that they approach swiftly."
Jorian wolfed down his last mouthful. "Finish up, my dears, and let us to horse—or to mule."
Soon they were again trotting along the road to Othomae. An hour later, Karadur said: "I caught another glimpse. I estimate them as not above two leagues behind us."
"Jorian," said Margalit, "why do you not gallop on, leaving us? We can turn into some side road and let them go past. We must not slow your steed to a trot, when you can reach the border safely ahead of them."
"And leave you to their mercies? Be not silly, wife!" snorted Jorian. "Besides, this country is too open for playing hide-and-seek with pursuers. They'd see you in no time."
"Then," said Karadur, "why not mount Margalit on the horse behind you and gallop on? I can drive the cart, and if they stop me, I am but a poor fortune-teller who knows naught of Xylar and its fugitive kings. I can change my appearance by a small illusion spell. What ails that plan?"
"Two things," said Jorian, speeding up his trot while Margalit lashed Filoman to hasten the placid mule. "Imprimus, Margalit's weight would slow Cadwil almost as much as my staying with the cart. She's a big girl. Secundus, we have been seen together enough so that they'll be looking for you as well as me."
"Belike," said Margalit, "they would not punish us severely. Karadur and I could.say you deceived us."
"Count not upon the Regency's mercies. At the least, you would likely spend most of your lives in dungeons dank. If anyone shall play fox to their hounds, ' Karadur is small and slight. You and he together weigh no more than I. You twain could gallop in tandem to the border, trusting me to dodge or cozen the pursuers."
"Nay!" said Karadur. "My old bones are too brittle for such a dash. The mere thought of perching precariously atop your great destrier makes me dizzy."
"Well, we had better do something, and speedily," said Jorian. "Try your astral vision again."
Karadur closed his eyes. After a while he said: "They are less than a league behind us. I make ten or twelve."
Margalit: "Perchance they are not concerned with us."
Jorian shook his head. "They would not push their beasts so hard, save in flight or pursuit."
For several minutes they trotted as briskly as the pace of the cart allowed. As they topped a rise, Jorian called out: "Ha! I see woods! I remember now; when I was King, this tract was the subject of a lawsuit betwixt a syndicate of magnates, who wished to cut the timber, and the Xylarian Navy, who wished to preserve the forest for future ship timbers."
"How did you decide?" asked Margalit.
"Grallon decided for the Navy, and I supported him. It was a close thing. He might have ruled the other way had not one of the magnates made the error of trying to bribe him, as Abacarus did lately."
"What then? Mean you to hide in the forest?"
"Nay; the tract is not large enough. But—Karadur, you have your magical rope, do you not?"
"Aye. But its magical charge is nearly exhausted. After two or three more usages, it will require to be ensorcelled again."
"Canst use it against our pursuers?"
"I can inflict a painful overthrow upon them, but that will not necessarily slay them."
"I would not fain kill the poor fools, but I urgently yearn to get my hands on their commander. Here is what we shall do…"
Half an hour later, the cart had been pulled well off the road and concealed behind several saplings. Jorian had cut these with his sword, trimmed them at the butt end to points, and thrust them into the ground. Out of sight behind the cart, the horse and the mule were tethered.
Karadur unwound the rope from his waist and tossed it so that it lay athwart the road. He muttered an incantation, and the two ends of the rope groped around until they found tree trunks. These ends, like questing serpents, then crept up the trunks and wound around them. The bulk of the rope still lay limply, hardly visible, in the dust.
They waited for what seemed hours to Jorian but was in fact less than half an hour. Then the squadron of horse appeared on the road, coming at a tired gallop. The panting horses were flecked with foam from hard riding. Jorian suspected that some would never be good cavalry mounts again; they had been used up.
On came the soldiers, in scarlet coats under their mail shirts, the afternoon sun flashing from their silvered helmets. The lieutenant, distinguishable by the little silver wings on his helm, rode in the lead.
"Now!" breathed Jorian.
Behind him, Karadur muttered another spell. At once the ends of the rope coiled around the tree trunks came to life, like serpents constricting their prey. The bulk of the rope rose from the dust to stand as a rigid horizontal bar at knee height.
The rope snapped into position just as the lieutenant's horse reached it, so the rider had no chance to jump his mount over this not very formidable barrier. The horse did a somersault, throwing the lieutenant ahead of him into the dirt. With a hideous clatter, the following horses piled up in a kicking heap.
Before any of the thrown soldiers had time to rise, Jorian leaped out from behind his tree and sprinted to where the lieutenant had fallen. As he arrived, the man was sitting up with a dazed look. One of the silver wings on his helmet was crumpled.
Jorian seized the lieutenant around the neck from behind and pressed his dagger against the young man's throat. "Order them back!" he roared, "or you're a dead man!"
Those soldiers who had regained their feet paused, taking in the situation. So did the three troopers who had pulled up their mounts in time to keep their saddles. Of the fallen soldiers, one lay still with his neck twisted; another was calling out something about a broken arm. Others nursed lesser injuries.
"Stand back!" wheezed the lieutenant. "Do nought to disturb this man!" He turned his head a little. "Are you King Jorian?"
"Never mind who I am. You shall come with me as hostage. Karadur!"
"Aye, my son?"
"Give your rope that other command."
Karadur muttered another spell. The rope came alive, snaking out from under a fallen horse and slithering to where Jorian held the lieutenant. The rope coiled around the captive's wrists and ankles. In a trice the lieutenant was tied as securely as a hog on the way to market.
"Order them to return to their quarters!" said Jorian. "And tell them that, the instant I see we are again pursued, away goes your tender young throat!"
The lieutenant repeated the command. The soldiers gathered in a group, arguing
in low, tense tones. Jorian guessed that they were debating whether to ignore the officer's orders, as given under duress, and try to seize Jorian anyway. Jorian suspected that he had some sympathizers, who would be glad to see him escape.
At last the soldiers mounted and rode off, the dead man draped across his saddle and another with his arm in a sling.
"I regret that young man's death," said Jorian. "One would think you people would learn that seeking to lay violent hands on me entails risks."
"I do my duty," rasped the lieutenant between set teeth.
Margalit led Jorian's horse from the woods, and Karadur followed with the mule and cart. Jorian boosted Lieutenant Annyx, whose horse had gone off with the rest of the troop, into the cart. Margalit said:
"Jorian, do you go through life taking hostages? In the short time I've known you, you have done it thrice already."
Jorian shrugged. "Only when I must. Forsooth, I never took them ere meeting you; that is just how events have fallen out."
The sun was a crimson ball on the horizon when Jorian came in sight of the fence marking the border between Xylar and Othomae. A Xylarian border guard was closing the gate on the Xylarian side but opened it again as Jorian and his party appeared. The guards gave them a bored, perfunctory glance, not inspecting the cart, wherein Lieutenant Annyx lay bound, gagged, and covered by a blanket. The horse and mule proceeded into the neutral strip, three or four fathoms wide, between the two nations. At the far end of this strip stood another fence and gate.
In the neutral strip, Jorian halted, reached into the cart, and hauled out Lieutenant Annyx. "Turn him loose," he told Karadur.
The Mulvanian incanted; the rope fell limply to the ground. Karadur gathered it up and wound it around his waist.
Annyx arose with murder in his eyes and tore the gag loose. As Jorian led his horse to the second gate, the lieutenant shouted:
"Seize that man! He is wanted in Xylar! He is a violent criminal, a kidnapper, a fugitive from justice!"
The officer of the border watch on the Othomaean side said: "Send us a formal request for extradition, laddie, and we'll see what we can do."
The lieutenant looked as if he could cry. "You damned Othomaeans never do aught we ask, no matter how reasonable! This is a flagrant case of hot pursuit, so I am entitled to demand your aid in apprehending him!"
The Othomaean grinned. "That's the first time I ever heard a man who has been carried hog-tied in a cart claim he was in hot pursuit of anyone." He turned to Jorian. "And you, my fine oriental friend, what is your business in the Grand Duchy?"
Pulling Annyx's sword and dagger out of the cart, Jorian tossed them back into the neutral zone. He got out his papers. "Here you are, sir: permit for a foreigner to reside in Othomae; permit to wear a sword; permit to hunt and fish. As for the costume, I had business in Xylar and wished to do it without losing my head."
"Jorian of Ardamai!" exclaimed the guard. "We hear fantastic tales of you. Is it true that you slew a unicorn in the Grand Duke's park with your bare hands?"
"Not quite," said Jorian. "If I remember—"
Lieutenant Annyx had picked up his weapons. He shouted: "I demand—"
"Oh, shut thy gob!" said the Othomaean officer. "This man is well known in Othomae and, from all I hear, is entitled to political asylum. Now go away like a good boy and cease to pester us."
"You shall hear more of this!" said Annyx, turning back to the Xylarian side.
"The first inn," said Jorian, "is a league or so down the road. May we be on our way, to reach it ere dark?"
Two years later, a small party appeared at the entrance to Evor's Sons, Clock-Makers, in Kortoli City. A foppishly dressed young man asked if Jorian were in. Sillius, the senior man of the firm, said:
"My brother is in but busy. May I have your name and business?"
"I am Corineus son of Holdar, and I bring a message from the Provisional Government of Xylar."
Sillius's eyebrows rose. "Wait, good my sir," he said, and disappeared. Soon he returned, saying: "I will show you the way in."
Corineus found himself in a large room used as a workshop. Tables were littered with tools and with sheets of paper bearing diagrams and sketches. In a chair at one end sat a tall, handsome woman nursing a year-old baby. At the other, Jorian, wearing a workman's leather apron over his clothes, puttered with a device of gears and levers.
It took Corineus a few heartbeats to recognize Jorian. When they met in Xylar, Jorian was clean-shaven and turbaned, with a dark-brown skin. Now he was light-skinned, bare-headed, and bearded. Corineus noted that he had put on weight, and that his black hair had receded a little.
"Your Majesty!" cried Corineus at last.
Jorian looked up. "By Imbal's iron yard!" he cried. "What brings you hither, Corineus? If you think to kidnap me back to Xylar to cut off my head again, forget it. I have taken measures."
"Nay, nought like that," said Corineus. "We have had a revolution and abolished the Regency Council, along with the custom of lustral regicide. We have a new constitution, with a king of limited powers and an elective legislature. And we want you for King!"
"Well, dip me in manure!" After a pause, Jorian smiled. 'Tell them I thank them, but nay. I have all I wish right here." He glanced toward Margalit, who smiled back. "Tell them to find some other popinjay, intelligent enough to follow public rituals but not so clever as to plot to seize absolute power."
"But King Jorian! My liege lord!" pleaded Corineus, sinking to one knee. "You are famous! You have become our national hero! The tale of your adventures—slaying the dragon single-handed, overthrowing the Goblin Tower, routing the besiegers of Iraz—is worth an epic by Physo!"
"I see the tales have not shrunk in the telling. Get some poet to make a lay, then, and send me a copy. 'Twere good for business."
"Business!" said Corineus in tones of disgust. "After all your splendid adventures, do you not find a mere tradesman's life dull?"
Jorian laughed. "Not at all, my dear fellow. As you once said, I am a tradesman at heart. We prosper. I have the respect of my workfellows, the love of my dear ones, plenty to eat and drink, and money at usury with my banker. My wife, by doing the bookkeeping, keeps us solvent.
"Furthermore I am engaged in a problem more fascinating to me than how far one must run to tire out a pursuing dragon."
"What's that?"
'To make an accurate clock powered by falling weights instead of falling water. I saw them working on such in Iraz. My little brother Kerin has gone to the Far East to learn the secret of their superior escapement."
Corineus shook his head. "I cannot imagine how one who has survived all your knightly adventures could settle down to so drab a life."
Jorian: "Since I survived those adventures by the skin of my teeth, they make fine fireside talk. But I sought them not; the goddess Elidora forced them upon me. Whilst they were going on, I should have been heartily glad to be elsewhere. Meseems that when one has had as many narrow escapes as have been crowded into the first half of my life, one is happy to spend the second half in a safe, peaceful, humdrum pursuit. At least, that's how I feel."
"Do the honor and glory of the kingship, without the hazard of execution, not beguile you?"
Jorian shook his head. "Had I never experienced it, it might. But for five years I had my fill of donning ornate costumes, and sitting through tedious ceremonies, and hearing the lying arguments of litigants and petitioners, and trying to collect enough taxes to keep the kingdom going without inciting a revolt. So tell your people I am flattered but firm in my refusal."
"But think of all the good you could accomplish!"
Jorian smiled. "That's the excuse every tyrant gives in snatching at total power. But from what I've seen of the world, plans to better the lot of the people seldom turn out as the planners hope, even with the best intentions."
"Will nought persuade you?"
"Nought whatever. Your legislature will have to muddle along without my wisdom."
Jorian grinned. "Forget the whole episode. When I was ten years younger, I did silly things, too. But let me ask you: How did you, an admirer of the old feudal regime, get involved in a popular revolutionary movement?"
Corineus looked embarrassed. "Forsooth, Estrildis talked me into it. She said 'twas the only way our marriage would ever be fully recognized as legal in Xylar. She can be very persuasive."
"I know," said Jorian. "How is she?"
"Fine, and so is the boy. She is getting—well, a trifle plump."
"Give her my brotherly love."
"Where is the old Mulvanian?"
"Karadur is a professor in Othomae, having compassed the ouster of his predecessor Abacarus. I had something—" Jorian was about to say "to do with that," but thought better of it. "He wants me to teach an engineering course at the Academy. What befell that clerk, Thevatas?"
"He was hanged."
"Indeed? My grief overwhelms me not. How fell it?"
"The Regency offered a generous reward for recovering the crown, but he held out for a seat on the Council. Believe it or not, he lusted to command the army. Losing patience, they feigned to agree and then, as soon as they had the royal headpiece, hustled him off to the scaffold with hardly a pretense of legal process."
"So perish overreachers!" said Jorian. "Now join me in a glass of wine, and then be off to tell the Xylarians what I have said. When one has been to as many places, and worked at as many trades, and suffered through as many vicissitudes as I have, if he have learnt nought else, he should at least know when he is well off!"
The Unbeheaded King Page 18
