Wielding a Red Sword

by Piers Anthony

  "I have heard of it," Mym said haltingly. And he explained how the manifestation of the Llano had been said to accomplish miraculous things. Once a young woman had loved a great warrior, but she was of lesser birth, and the warrior was not aware of her. So one day she sang him a segment of the Llano, and he was instantly captivated and loved her from that moment.

  Orb adored the story. "Of course it couldn't happen in real life," she said regretfully.

  "It could happen," he assured her.

  She looked at him, understanding. "I—but of course you're not a prince." She was trying to mitigate the possible cruelty of the situation. "Not that that matters, Mym. I—have been growing very fond of you. Even—"

  He cut her off before she could say anything she might prefer to retract later. "I-I-I-I—" But the stutter overcame him completely; he could not get the words out.

  Orb put her hand on his. "It doesn't matter, Mym."

  He shook his head. It did matter! But he couldn't say it.

  Then she brightened. "I have heard that sometimes—Mym, can you sing?"

  "S-s-s-sing?" he asked blankly.

  "It invokes a different portion of the brain, as I understand it. So some stutterers can sing clearly, even though they can't talk. Come, try it; sing with me." And she launched into one other Irish songs: "0 Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, / From glen to glen, and down the mountain side."

  Doubtfully, he joined her: "And from the trees, the leaves, the leaves are falling, / Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide."

  They both paused, astonished. He had not only managed to sing it without stuttering, he had sung it clearly and well.

  "You could make it as a singer!" she exclaimed.

  "I-I-I-I could!" he agreed, awed.

  "No—sing it," she urged him. "You don't need a song; just hold the note, any note."

  "I can!" he sang in a level note.

  "Now you can say anything you want to!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Mym, I'm so pleased!" And she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him.

  He let her do it, but did not respond. First he had to acquaint her with his own history, and he wasn't sure she would be pleased.

  "I am not what I seem," he sang on a single note, reveling in this sudden new ability while he dreaded what he had to say. "I am a prince."

  Orb sobered rapidly. "Go on," she said with sudden reserve.

  In singsong, he did. He was the second son of the Rajah of Gujarat and had been raised in a palace, his every whim obliged. His older brother was slated to become the new Rajah when their aging father died. Mym's real name was a complex construction that translated, loosely, as "Pride of the Kingdom." Of course, he explained ruefully, he had been named before it was realized that he had a speech impediment. He was of course no pride, and the name had become an irony, one that he never used. His confinement to the palace had been as much to conceal him from public awareness as to cater to his needs, for indeed his father was ashamed of him.

  But a prince remained a prince, and care was taken to bring him to the necessary level in every princely art. For if anything should happen to his brother, before there were issue, Mym would, to the consternation of all who were in the know, still assume the throne. How he could do this, when he could not even give a cohesive directive, no one dared speculate. It was vital that his brother be married early, so as to alleviate the possibility of disaster. His brother had married early—but both his wife and his leading concubine had proved to be infertile. This was an embarrassment of another nature. They were maneuvering to obtain a fertile wife, but such matters were complex. Meanwhile, Mym—and the kingdom—remained at risk.

  Mym had finally had enough of this. He did not want to assume the throne any more than his father wanted him to. He wanted only one thing—to be able to talk normally. But neither magic nor science had been able to help him; stuttering simply wasn't properly understood. So he had run away.

  It was perhaps a signal of the family's degree of concern, he sang wryly, that his escape had been accomplished so readily. It was true that he was an accomplished infiltrator, who could slide past guards as if almost invisible—that was one of the talents useful to a Rajah, when rebellion threatened—but he was aware that only the most cursory attempt had been made to locate him. The truth was that his family knew that it would be better off without him. With luck, his older brother would carry the line on through, and the stutterer could be expunged from the records.

  And so he had slipped about and spent his money cautiously, learning how to merge with the population and get along without having to speak. For a time, the challenge of surviving had kept him occupied, but then the tedium had begun to encroach. Skulking around the streets of Ahmadabad had not been much more rewarding than being waited on as a prince. He had not dared show his princely skills, lest he betray his nature, and he lacked nonprincely skills. He had ranged beyond the city, seeking what he could not define. A magic charm had helped guide him and keep him from serious mischief.

  Until he had seen and heard Orb sing and play. Then all the rest had faded away, becoming unimportant, and he had known the face and form of his ideal. And so he had come to her, revealing to her his handicap at the outset so that she would not be deceived, and had taken service with the group.

  Orb, amazed at first, was evidently acclimatizing as his narrative continued. "So you are a prince," she said.

  "Not by choice," he sang. "I desire nothing more than to remain here and be with you."

  "But I am not a regular part of this tour," she protested. "I joined at Calcutta and will leave at Karachi, in Sind, where a ship will take me elsewhere in the world. It is the song I seek, the Llano."

  "Then I would go with you and be your bodyguard," he sang.

  That reminded her. "Those thuggees—as a prince you must hate them."

  "They are a bane to our fair kingdom," he agreed. "They are vermin, to be exterminated wherever found. Most particularly when they threaten a woman like you."

  "You—trained in weapons. You can juggle five knives in the air without cutting yourself. Surely, then, you could—"

  This was the other thing he had dreaded to tell her. "I could kill them," he agreed. "And I did—and blindfolded you so that you would not see their bodies."

  Her face stiffened, and she turned away. He got up and went outside, knowing that the thing he had feared had come to pass. Orb was a lovely and somewhat innocent woman; she was revolted by physical violence. She was not temperamentally equipped to understand why or how a prince would master the secret art of controlled berserkery, the ability to kill swiftly without losing his sanity. Yet the master had been right—he had had to tell her, before she began to share the emotion he had for her. There was no way he could bear to hurt her—and if her interest in him hurt her, then it had to be abolished.

  But two days later Orb approached him. "I apologize for my reaction," she said. "I realize that if you had not acted as you did, those thuggees would have killed you—and me—and then gone on to do the same to other innocent people. They did have to be destroyed. I—I simply have a problem adjusting to—to this sort of thing. I know you are not a violent man, Mym. I know you did what was necessary. I remember that you tried to get me away from harm before the thuggees showed, and I delayed to make another purchase, so it was really my fault, too. Will you forgive me my ignorance?"

  "Forgiven!" he sang in a faint monotone, greatly relieved.

  She came close, evidently intending to kiss him. But he shied away, for they were in the open. "People are watching!" he sang.

  "Let them watch!" she exclaimed. She flung her arms about him and kissed him most soundly.

  For a moment he savored the sheer delight of the experience, for she was all he had ever dreamed of. Then he broke somewhat. "I am a prince," he reminded her. He knew that was no recommendation for her; she did not really believe in royalty.

  "I think I loved you before I knew," she replied. "I feared you were a crimi
nal or a renegade, so I fought against it, but really I knew you were not. You are a remarkable man, who has been taunted by circumstance, and now that I understand you better, I do want to be with you. I would remain here in India, if I had to—"

  "No, no!" he sang. "You must continue your quest for Llano! I would not deny you your dream!"

  "But I think I have found my dream in you," she said.

  "Only part of it, only part," he demurred. "And that part you can have without sacrificing the other. I will go with you, wherever your quest leads."

  She smiled. "You are truly the most wonderful of men." Then she kissed him again.

  Naturally the news was spread throughout the group before their dialogue was done. "I am sorry to lose you," Pythia said as he prepared her for the evening show.

  "But I will continue helping you!" he protested in his new singsong.

  "The master has already scheduled a replacement," she said. "Your belongings are being moved to Orb's wagon. It is not meet for you to handle me after today."

  "But I am not—"

  "Oh yes you are," she said, smiling. "The mermaid is threshing the water angrily with her tail; she had hoped you would work it out with Orb at a sufficiently later date."

  He had to laugh. "Thank her for me," he sang. "You and she have done more for me than perhaps you realize."

  "Oh, we realize," she said. Then it was time for her act.

  That night he spent in Orb's wagon. Contrary to the popular impression, they did not make love; it was enough simply to talk, getting to know each other in pleasant new detail. When at last they slept, they slept embraced, but that was all—and more than sufficient. The very touch of her caused him almost to vibrate with melody. What made it even more delightful was his realization that she reacted similarly to him. The love of the ideal woman—for the first time, his awareness of his handicap became secondary. It had helped bring him to this, and he would not have had it otherwise.

  On another night they did make love. It was the first time for her, for she was truly a chaste woman. He had explained that aspect of the life of a prince, fearing that this would dismay her, but she only said: "You never loved before." And that was true and it made the rest as inconsequential as his stutter had become.

  In fact, his thorough experience enabled him to do the most that he could for her, so that there were no awkward confusions or embarrassments or discomforts. "But all of this, with any other woman, would not compare to the merest touch of your hand," he told her sincerely, "What, even the most beautiful of women?" she inquired archly.

  "You are that."

  She laughed. "How can you know?"

  "I do know. The most beautiful concubines of all the kingdom were culled for my pleasure in the palace."

  She sighed, not perturbed. "I realize this is true. It is surely a rare compliment."

  "They might as well have been oxen," he sang.

  "So I am the best of all the oxen you have known?"

  "They were beautiful women!" he repeated quickly, and they both laughed.

  So it continued, for the long months of the monsoon, as the group wended its slow way northwest toward Sind. Geography hardly mattered to Mym; his delight was wherever Orb was. She had a rare talent in her singing, but even that no longer mattered; he cared nothing for talent, only for her.

  They crossed the Indus, taking a slow ferry, and did their show for the folk of another language. It didn't matter; the appeal of the show was universal.

  But still Orb did not discover the thing she looked for, the Llano. This did not frustrate her; she was content to seek it in this fashion for a lifetime, with Mym beside her.

  But as they reached the outskirts of Karachi, an armed, mounted party descended on the group. The march came to an abrupt halt. The cavalrymen wore the livery of Gujarat, and this was beyond the territory of that kingdom, but the group was in no position to protest.

  An officer consulted with the master, then strode directly to Orb's wagon. "Prince, we have come for you," he called.

  So they had known all along where to find him! Mym was dismayed but not really surprised. Probably that business with the thuggees had given them the hint, and they had simply kept track of the touring group thereafter. But why were they acting now?

  There was no way to avoid them; they had the group surrounded, and they were alert. They were also firstclass cavalry; he knew which was which. He stepped down out of the wagon. "What is your business?" he sang.

  The officer did a double-take. Evidently he had not been advised of this detail. Mym wore the whiteface makeup that he used for more than the mime act, and of course they had expected him to stutter.

  But in a moment the officer recovered. "The Prince, your brother, is dead," he said formally. "Pride of the Kingdom, you are now the Designated Heir." He made a formal token bow. "You will return with this honor guard to the captital, where the Rajah awaits you."

  Disaster! Mym had never been close to his brother, indeed, hardly knew him, but this sudden death was a shock to all the family, himself included. His elevation to Designated Heir was a worse shock. "H-h-how did he dd-d-die?" he stammered, forgetting to singsong.

  "Sir, he died in battle against Rajasthan, honorably."

  "But we are not at war with Rajasthan!" Mym protested in singsong.

  "It was a routine incursion."

  Just a border skirmish—and naturally his bold brother had gone out personally and gotten himself killed and brought this mischief on them all.

  Orb came out. "You must go," she said. "Your Kingdom needs you."

  "Damn my Kingdom!" he sang.

  "I will go with you, my love."

  "No," the officer said firmly. "The Prince alone must come. He will marry a princess of the Rajah's choosing."

  "N-n-n-never!" Mym cried.

  "We are instructed to pay the woman an adequate sum," the officer said. "She will not be in want. But she is not to see the Prince again, by order of the Rajah."

  "An adequate sum!" Orb exclaimed indignantly.

  "It is here," the officer said, proffering her a small package.

  They were quite serious. Mym knew that there was no way to talk them out of this; the Rajah's word was absolute. He bit his tongue.

  Orb, bemused, accepted the package, but did not look at it.

  "You will be given a few minutes to make your parting with the woman," the officer said. "You will not need to take any belongings, Prince; we shall provide you with suitable raiment."

  The blood flowed in Mym's mouth. His skin paled. Tiny bubbles appeared at his lips.

  The officer kneeled before him, offering the hilt of his sword. "If it pleases you, Prince, strike off my head first, and any others you wish. We shall not take arms against our leader. But you will return to the Kingdom."

  "Mym!" Orb screamed, understanding. "They are only doing their duty! You must go with them!"

  He paused. She was correct—but even if she had been in error, he realized that he would not expose her to this.

  She was not a creature of mayhem.

  He turned his head and spat out the blood. Then he took the officer's sword, reversed it, and handed it back. "A moment," he said, in this instance not stuttering.

  "As my lord wishes," the officer said, seemingly unruffled. He sheathed the sword.

  Mym turned to Orb. "I will return to you," he sang. "After I persuade my father that I will not serve. Until that time, I give you this." He brought out the ring that was shaped like a little snake.

  "But what is it?" she asked, her eyes glistening with tears.

  "It is a royal charm. Wear it, and it will answer any question. One squeeze means yes, two mean no, and three mean it can not answer in that fashion. It will also protect you, if you ask it to."

  "Protect me?"

  He put the ring on his own finger. Demonstrate, he thought.

  The little snake came to life. It slithered into his palm; then, as he brought it to Orb's hand, across to hers. It
reared up momentarily, issuing a tiny hiss, then coiled around one of her fingers and went metallic again.

  "You mean—it bites?" she asked, amazed.

  "Deadly," he sang. "But only on command. This you can always trust. Wear it and be secure."

  "Until you return," she said.

  He nodded. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Some of his makeup smeared on her face, but that didn't matter. She was too lovely for any smear to alter.

  He stepped to the officer. "Now I will go with you." he sang.

  They brought up a fine horse, and Mym mounted. He paused to wave to Orb and to the others who had befriended him. Then he rode out.

  Chapter 3 - PRINCESS

  The Rajah was older than Mym remembered him. Of course, Mym had been no closer to his father than to his brother; it was not the royal way. He had encountered the man, physically, perhaps no more than a dozen times in his life, and most of those during his childhood, before his mother had had the bad judgment to bear a daughter and had been divorced and dismissed from palace life. Mym had had no close family life thereafter, and realized now that this had been a considerable part of what he had sought and found in Orb—true love and closeness between individuals. He was not about to give it up.

  Still, the sight of his father was something of a shock. It was not just that the man was old, but that he was both grand and ill. He was elegantly robed, of course, which was his normal state, with golden embroidery and a necklace of bright rubies, but his bearing was a thing beyond dress. The Rajah could have been naked and still radiated authority. His illness showed in the sallowness of his complexion and the hollowness of his cheeks. Obviously magic had buttressed his health, but there were limits even to magic, and the man was inevitably descending toward his release of this body. No wonder he was concerned about the state of his Heir.

  "It is necessary for the Heir to have an heir," the Rajah said. "You will be betrothed to a princess of the royal house of Maharastra, a politically suitable alliance. We are now negotiating the dowry."