The Goblin Tower

Chapter Eight THE SEA OF GRASS

IN THE MONTH OF THE RAM, A COLD WIND ROARED ACROSS the steppe of Shven. The gently rolling plain stretched away northward to a flat horizon unbroken by tree, house, or hill. The long grass was a faded yellow-gray, for the new spring crop had not yet come up. When the grass was scanty, it showed the wet, black soil beneath. An occasional water course traced a shallow, winding dale across the plain; here grew small willows and alders along the swollen stream. Snow lingered in patches in the shade of these trees.

Riding the same animals on which they had set out from Trimandilam over three months before, Jorian and Karadur trotted briskly across the steppe. They were coated with mud to their middles, for every plop of their animals' hooves sent up a little black fountain of liquid mud.

Arriving at Halgir, at the strait that divided the Inner Sea from the smaller Sea of Sikhon, they had been compelled to waste a month until the weather moderated enough for them to cross the water. The enforced rest, however, had been welcome, for Karadur had been near to death from exhaustion. Even Jorian, whose strength was beyond that of most men, had been badly fatigued, as much from the ape-men's diet as from physical effort.

During this pause, Jorian's injured hand had healed, and they had outfitted themselves for the journey around the northern shores of the Inner Sea. Jorian's boots, which had been falling apart from the dampness of Komilakh, had been repaired. Karadur had obtained a pair of felt boots in place of his sandals. Both had procured knee-length sheepskin coats and fur caps.

Leaving Gilgir, across the strait from Halgir, they had followed the coast, except where they could save distance by cutting across the base of a cape or peninsula. They counted themselves lucky to have seen scarcely another human being for nearly a month.

Once they had passed the burnt-out ruins of a village in a dell. One of the peasants who had dwelt there lived long enough to tell his tale. The village had supposedly been under the protection of Hnidmar, the cham of the Eylings. But they had prospered too obviously, so Hnidmar ordered them destroyed, lest their success draw more settlers to the steppe, which would thus be fenced and plowed and ruined as a grazing ground.

They slept near streams, where they could cut enough brushwood to make beds that at least kept them up out of the mud. Twice, Jorian had supplemented the food they had brought with them by shooting a steppe antelope with his crossbow. Once they sighted a small herd of mammoths, beginning their northward spring migration to the distant forests of Hroth, but they prudently let these animals alone. They also gave a wide berth to the unicorn, a huge, hairy, short-legged, barrel-bodied beast not unlike the nose-horn of the tropics, save that its single horn arose from the middle of its skull, over the eyes.

Few towns arose along the north shore of the Inner Sea. There was Gilgir, at the end of a long, tapering peninsula—one of the "Fangs of Halgir"—facing Halgir across the Strait of Halgir. Gilgir and Halgir were muddy shipping and fishing villages, whose people were mainly of the flat-faced, slant-eyed type found in Ijo and Salimor. Through these settlements passed a small trickle of trade, and ships plying between Salimor and the ports of the Inner Sea often stopped there. But Halgir's trade with the hinterland was scanty, since the ape-men of Komilakh were hardly profitable customers.

The largest port of the north shore of the Inner Sea was Istheun, at the head of the Bay of Norli. It was the only Shvenic city to boast a wall and a fair degree of self-government. This was possible because of the protection of the cham of the Gendings, the strongest of the Shvenic hordes. Jorian and Karadur trotted along the coast towards Istheun in hope of finding a ship for Tarxia there.

They were riding through a depression in the steppe, when Jorian remarked, "This damned jade's canter is fairly smooth on the nigh foot but rough on the off. On the latter, every time the saddle goes up I feel as if I were on my way to heaven. I'm trying to train the idiot to run only on the nigh…"

The wind moaned and fluttered the dry grass. Jorian said: "There is nothing like travel to teach one of the beauties of home.

"You have omitted the mountains and deserts," said Karadur.

"If I ever climb the High Lograms or travel to Fedirun, I'll add some stanzas…" Jorian paused, reined in, and held up a hand. "Man ahead," he said in a low voice. "Hold Oser for a moment."

Slipping off the roan, Jorian handed the reins to Karadur. Then he took off his cap and ran up the next rise, bending double lest his head show against the skyline. Soon he was back.

"Just a couple of herders, watching horses. We must be getting close to one of the hordes. We'd best double back to the last stream and camp, whilst I ask Tvasha whether to ride in boldly or to slink around their flanks. Dip me in dung, but by all my reckoning we ought to have reached Istheun long since!"

"As Cidam the philosopher said: 'A journey and a sickness always last longer than expected, a purse and a jug of wine shorter,'" said Karadur. "At this pace, we may yet get to Metouro in time for the Conclave. We shall need to stop in Tarxia to draw breath. One of my faction dwells there."

"Who's he?"

"An old magician, hight Valdonius."

"Can he be trusted?"

"Certes; Valdonius is known as a man of strictest integrity."

"Well, let's hope he prove of more probity than Rhithos and Porrex, of whom you were equally confident!"

Karadur was silent for a while, then said: "O Jorian!"

"Yes?"

"Would the magical profession beguile you? I need an apprentice, for that my last one died years ago."

"What did he die of?"

"The poor ninny left a gap in his pentacle when invoking a hostile demon. I am sure you would have better sense. How say you?"

"By Thio's horns, me, a magician? I know not. I've harbored ambitions to be a clockmaster, merchant, farmer, soldier, and poet, but never a spooker."

"Well, you will have a chance to judge my colleagues at the Conclave."

Looking less cheerful than was his wont, the green god Tvasha asked Jorian: "Where are my flowers?"

"Oh lord," said Jorian, "How canst thou expect me to find flowers at this season on this cold prairie? If thou wilt but wait a fiftnight, I will give thee enough flowers to make up for all arrears."

"I still want my posies," said the god pettishly. "In Tirao there was never any difficulty about offerings of flowers the year round."

"This is not Tirao," said Jorian, trying to stifle his impatience with this childish deity. "Here flowers bloom at certain seasons only."

"Then I hate this place! Take me back to my dear, familiar jungle!"

"Look here, O god," said Jorian, "I dug thee out of the dirt of Culbagarh, and faithfully have I worshiped thee daily ever since. If thou wilt not act thy divine age, I'll tell thee what I shall do. The next time we pass an arm of the Inner Sea, I will fling thee as far out into the waters as I can. Belike thou wilt find the sturgeon and the herring more congenial worshipers."

"Oh, very well, very well," grumbled Tvasha. "I will let thee owe me the flowers. What wouldst thou of me this time?"

"I fain would know about the horde that lieth across our path: who they be and who be their cham."

Tvasha vanished from his plinth, leaving Jorian alone in the dark, misty hall. Then the god reappeared.

"It is the horde of the Gendings, camped about the city of Istheun, and their cham is Vilimir."

"Oh! Is this the same man who was a refugee at the court of Xylar last year?"

"That I know not, albeit I could doubtless find out. Was thy Vilimir a lean man of middling height, clean-shaven, with long, hay-colored hair streaked with gray, and scars on his face and his right hand?"

"That was he. The old cham must have died or been overthrown. Canst thou advise me whether, having once befriended the fellow in his need, to trust myself within his grasp now?"

"Oh, I think thou wilt be safe enough, my dear Jorian. At least, I detected no thoughts of villainy passing through his mind when I looked in upon him just now. I did get the impression of a shrewd, hard-headed wight."

"That was my impression of him, when he visited Xylar. Farewell!"

When Jorian awoke, he told Karadur of his latest interview with Tvasha. "I am still not altogether sure of a friendly welcome," he said. "Vilimir seemed to me too much of a cold-blooded realist to be swayed by gratitude. What would you advise?"

"Oh, Jorian, let us by all means trust ourselves to him! Only thus can we find a ship to Tarxia, and my poor old bones will not endure much more jouncing and shaking across this endless plain. Besides, if we tried to circle about his array, that would delay us for days as well as compelling us to make the journey by land. This in turn might make us late for the Conclave."

"Very well," said Jorian, and saddled up. By noon they had reached the main camp of the Gendings, on a slight rise in the land north of the seaport of Istheun. Beyond Istheun could be seen the steely glitter of the sun on the waters of the Bay of Norli, where several of the undecked, canoelike little ships of this region were setting out on their first voyage of the season under their single brown, square sails. Istheun itself was a crescent-shaped town embracing the end of the bay. A wall of rough fieldstone, atop which a score of windmills whirled merrily in the brisk breeze from the steppe, surrounded the town.

The black tents of the Gendings covered a vast area. Outside this space, troops of nomad soldiery were exercising. They practiced charges, feigned retreats, and shooting from the saddle at full gallop. The bulk of the Gending army was composed of light-armed horse-archers, but the richer among Cham Vilimir's subjects made up squadrons of heavy-armed lancers, covered from head to foot in chain or scale mail and riding big horses, also partly armored. High officers watched the exercises from the backs of tame mammoths.

Nobody paid any special heed to the two nondescript riders, covered with dust and dried mud, who ambled up to the huge red-and-black pavilion in the midst of the array. Jorian and Karadur hitched their beasts to a post, and Jorian told one of the sentries, in Shvenic:

"King Jorian of Xylar is fain to pay his respects to the Grand Cham of the Gendings. He knows us."

"Said you king?" replied the sentry, looking Jorian up and down. "I have seen kings ere this, but never one clad as a beggar, with no escort but a diddering ancient on a spavined ass." He was a big young man, almost Jorian's size, with long golden hair in braids and a mustache that hung down to his collar bones on either side. He wore baggy woolens, a mail shirt, a fur cape, and a bronzen helmet with a wheel-shaped crest.

"The fact is as we have stated," said Jorian evenly. "Will you have the goodness to announce us?"

"His Terribility is exercising his troops. Will Your High and Mighty Majesty have a seat in the vestibule until his return?" The sentry gave a low, mocking bow.

"We thank you, soldier. We shall have things to say to you anon."

The sentry turned away with a sneering laugh. After a wait of an hour, a party of Gendings approached the pavilion on mammoths. The drivers made the huge beasts lie down in front of the pavilion, while the riders leaped to the ground. The mammoths rose and moved off while the riders entered the vestibule.

"Quite so, Your Terribility."

Vilimir gave a wolfish smile. "Well, this is a surprise! We beheld your escape from Xylar—an artful feat, that—but never expected to see you here. Come on in."

Presently they were seated on carpets in the main tent, where Jorian received a flagon of ale. His golden ornaments tinkling when he moved, Vilimir said:

"And now, king-that-was, what brings you to Shven?"

"A small errand for the holy father Karadur, here. This is a fine case of turnabout, is it not? How long have you been cham?"

"Three months, since one of our uncle's wives poisoned the ok) scoundrel. We could never ascertain which one, so we had to kill them all to make sure that justice was done."

"How prospers the horde?"

"Just now, we are preparing for war against the Eylings. Hnidmar needs to be taught a lesson. We sent an envoy to protest a raid into our territory, and he sent the man back without his hands. But tell us of yourself."

"Well, for one thing, your sentry—the young one with the long-foot mustachios—used me in a most insolent manner when I approached your tent."

Vilimir shrugged. "You cannot expect a simple nomad to treat any ses8or as a fellow human being." Jorian looked sharply at Vilimir, wondering if the cham, too, meant to insult him. But Vilimir went smoothly on, "You must have seen some strange sights in your journey through the unknown southern lands."

"That I have!" Jorian began to narrate some of the high spots of his journey, when he became aware of a curious languor creeping over him. He scarcely had the strength to hold up the flagon. Great Zevatas, he thought, surely I haven't drunk that much?

He tried to go on, but his tongue seemed reluctant to obey his brain. The hand holding the flagon relaxed, spilling ale. Jorian glanced at Vilimir with sudden suspicion.

The cham snapped his fingers, and a noose dropped over Jorian's shoulders and tightened, pinning his arms. A second snaked out and added its grip to the first. With a muffled roar, Jorian staggered to his feet. But the Gendings who held the other ends of the lariats were big, powerful men, who easily checked Jorian's befuddled lunges.

"What is this?" he ground out at Vilimir, who sat smiling.

"Why, only that we need money for this war with Hnidmar, and the reward offered by Xylar for your return will serve this purpose."

Jorian's tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size, but he forced it to obey. "You damned treacher! By Imbal's iron yard, I could have sent you back to your uncle likewise, when you came to Xylar."

"No doubt; but, being a silly, sentimental sessor, you missed the chance. It only goes to prove that the greatest sessor is no more than a bug beneath the heel of the lowliest nomad. Put our new fetters on him."

A pair of heavy manacles of shiny new steel, joined by a foot of chain, were snapped on Jorian's wrists and locked with a key.

"The best Tarxian workmanship," said Vilimir. "You should feel complimented, my good Jorian." The cham turned to Karadur, who sat trembling. "And now, O wizard, what of you? The Xylarians would doubtless like to get their hands on the he-witch who compassed their ruler's escape; but, being vile money-grubbers like all sessors, they would probably add nought to the reward. On the other hand, we need a competent wizard. The last one we had, we slew when he could not answer the question of who poisoned our uncle. As a third alternative, we can simply order your head smitten off right now; perhaps that were the simplest solution. Which is your choice?"

"I—I will remain your humble servant."

Jorian cast a bitter look at Karadur, who avoided his eye. The cham said:

"Brakki! Place Master Jorian in the pen and put a trustworthy guard over him. He is, I warn you, skilled at escape from such gyves. Sequester all property of value with him, save his raiment. Make up an escort —ten men should do—to carry him hence to Xylar. Let me think— Xylar is allied with Vindium against Othomae; Othomae is allied with Metouro against Govannian; Metouro is allied with Tarxia against Boaktis, Govannian is allied with Aussar against Metouro. Therefore, Xylar is allied with Vindium, Govannian, and Boaktis against Othomae, Metouro, Assar, and Tarxia, whilst Solymbria, Kortoli, Zolon, and Ir are neutral. The best route were, therefore, through the Ellornas into Boaktis, avoiding Tarxian land, and thence through Solymbria and Ir into Xylar. Is that clear?"

"Aye, Your Terribility," said the man addressed as Brakki.

Then Jorian's legs folded beneath him, and he sank to the carpet unconscious. In his swoon, he found himself again facing the green god Tvasha. Instead of approching the deity reverently, he roared:

"Why didst thou not warn me this knave lay in wait for me?"

Weeping, the god blubbered, "A thousand pardons, good Jorian! I am but a small, weak god, of limited powers. Do not, I pray thee, think hard of me! I could not bear it. And now farewell, for they are robbing thee of the little green idol, and I must preforce serve this villainous cham henceforth. May stronger gods than I go with thee!"

With Jorian in the middle, the escort wound along trails that snaked up and down the valleys of the eastern Ellornas. Moisture dripped from trees which, just bursting into leaf, loomed up out of the mist. Early wildflowers spangled the wet earth with little stars of yellow and blue and white. When the mist lifted, the higher peaks on either hand were seen to be still covered with snow.

The Ellorna Mountains and the Lograms further south formed twin barriers, walling off the land of Novaria between them. This land formed a broad peninsula, which joined Shven to the north with Fedirun and Mulvan to the south, and which also sundered the Inner Sea from the Western Ocean. Between these two mighty ranges lay the roughly rectangular stretch of hill and plain called Novaria, the Land of the Twelve Cities.

The existence of these ranges had allowed the twelve city-states of Novaria to flourish, constantly squabbling and warring with one another, despite the menace of the nomadic hordes of Shven to the north, the predatory desert-dwellers of Fedirun to the south, and the might of Mulvan to the southeast. The few passes through these mountains were easy to defend.

Since both the fierce steppe-dwellers of Shven and the teeming, docile multitudes of Mulvan looked upon the sea with horror, shipping in the Inner Sea was largely in the hands of Novarians and the mixed folk of Janareth and Istheun. Hence there was little danger of a seaborne invasion of Novaria from the greater powers to north and south—unless one of the Twelve Cities, blinded by hatred of some neighbor, brought in shiploads of these dangerous outsiders to help it in a local quarrel. This possibility kept Novarian chancellors and ministers awake nights, for they knew their own folk. They knew that, when their passions were sufficiently aroused, there was no perfidy they would not commit and no risk they would not run to gain an advantage over the immediate object of their wrath.

Jorian still rode his big chestnut roan, Oser, although his hands were manacled. Another rider led Oser, and the loop of a lariat, in the hands of still another, encircled Jorian's neck. Brakki had wanted to send Jorian on a sorry nag and keep Oser for the chain's herds, since horses big enough to carry a large, armored man were highly valued on the steppe. But the commander of the escort, a Captain Glaum, pointed out that Jorian was the heaviest man in the party. If they mounted him on some worn out little rabbit, the beast would collapse, and they would have to buy or steal another mount along the way. Therefore, Brakki had sent Jorian on Oser, warning Glaum that he was to defend the life of the horse with his own.

So they wound among the hills. As day succeeded day, the peaks on the right grew taller and more snow-covered. This was the main spine of the Ellornas. The party kept to the southern foothills, skirting the lands of the Twelve Cities. Jorian, glancing to his left at the forested ridges, was sure that if he could only get over a few of them, he would be in Tarxian territory.

And what then? Being allied against Xylar, Tarxia would probably not extradite him. But he had no money and no weapons. The gold he had taken from Rennum Kezymar, his sword, dagger, crossbow, and mailshirt—even his little green god—had all been taken from him. He knew nobody in Tarxia, which stood at the farthest remove from Xylar of any of the Twelve.

Jorian repeated the one Tarxian name he had heard from Karadur— the wizard Valdonius. If the project of fetching the Kist of Avlen to Metouro was now dead, Jorian would presumably be free to go about his business. But he had better make sure that his geas was lifted and that he knew what his business was. In any case, Valdonius of Tarxia seemed as good a person to start with as any.

For the first few days after leaving Istheun, there had been little talk between the Gendings of the escort and their prisoner. They had not treated him badly, but their attitude was that of an unfeeling but practical man towards his domestic animals. They did not wish to injure him, because such hurts might diminish his value; but they did not mean to take any nonsense from him, either.

As the party left the plains of Shven and climbed into the lower Ellornas, relations thawed as Jorian's ebullient spirit asserted itself. The fact that he spoke fairly good Shvenic and could make small jokes helped. And Jorian resorted to crafty tricks to arouse their interest. For instance, while his escort made camp, he remarked:

"These ridges look much like those of the Lograms, a hundred leagues south of here. They remind me of the time that wizard-smith was going to temper his blade by running it red-hot up my—but that would not interest you."

"What mean you?" said Glaum. "Go ahead, tell us."

"Oh, you nomads know all and believe nothing a sessor says. Why should I bore you with my tales?"

"We will not let you arouse our curiosity and then tease us, for one thing," said Glaum. "Now talk, or by Greipnek's prick, I will twist this rope until you do!"

"Oh, very well," and Jorian was off on the tale of his adventure with Rhithos the smith.

By the time they were well into the Ellornas, it had become an evening routine for the Gendings to demand: "Jorian! Tell us a story!"

Glaum made sure that, at any time, at least two men were watching Jorian with weapons ready. He divided the night into watches, during which two watched Jorian while two others stood regular sentry duty.

"We might run across a bear newly emerged from its den," he explained, "and in the higher mountains, the cave men attack small parties. Please Greipnek, neither shall befall us; but we mean to be ready if it come."

One day, Jorian caught snatches of talk that made him suspect that the party would soon turn south, threading its way through the passes into Boaktis. Therefore, he had better escape forthwith if he wished to reach friendly Tarxian territory. That evening he outdid himself as a storyteller.

"If I did have the wit of King Fusinian of Kortoli," he said, "I should have given you thickheads the slip long since; but alas! I fear I am as stupid as you. You remember my telling you about Fusinian, the son of Filoman the Weil-Meaning, a few nights ago? He was a small man, but lively and quick-witted, so that they called him Fusinian the Fox. And I have told you of the time he sowed the Teeth of Grimnor and was driven out of Kortoli.

"After he recovered his kingdom and his lovely queen, Thanuda, all went well for a time. And then one day, the queen vanished, leaving her boudoir in confusion, as if she had been carried off by violence. Naturally, Fusinian was much distressed. Their two children aggravated his grief by tugging at his garments and asking, when was mummy coming home?

"As soon as this disappearance transpired, Fusinian sent out searchers, and issued proclamations, and offered rewards, and consulted knowledgeable persons to try to find out what had become of his beloved. One of the first of whom he inquired was his court wizard, Doctor Aichos, who cast horoscopes and studied the flight of birds and evoked spirits, all to no avail. Then Fusinian consulted with all the other licensed wizards and wizardesses in the kingdom, with no more success.

"At last he resorted to the one person he had sworn he would never hire again: the witch Gloe, who dwelt in a cave in the mountains of southern Kortoli. GI06 had been giving the Kortolian monarchy bad advice for two generations. Moreover, she was determined to make herself the court wizard in place of old Aichos, and this was the price she had exacted from the kings of Kortoli on the previous occasions of her employment by them. As things fell out, her spells had always failed in one respect or another, so the kings had never felt obliged to give her this post.

"Now, rendered desperate, King Fusinian rode south and sought out Gloe's cave. When he asked her what had befallen his consort, she answered readily:

" 'Oh, that. A troll, who has lately moved hither from the Ellorna Mountains, has taken up his abode in the Marvelous Caverns. A fiftnight ago, I received word from one of my familiar demons that this troll had brought a woman thither.'

"Now, the Marvelous Caverns were well-known to Fusinian, for his father, Filoman the Weil-Meaning, had caused them to be explored and mapped, and Fusinian himself had visited them as a youth. They were a series of limestone caves, opening into a ravine a few leagues from Gloe's cave. Few, however, had visited them, because they were very difficult to get into and had the repute of being haunted by evil spirits. Fusinian asked Gloe:

" 'Can you cast a spell upon this troll, to draw him forth from his cave and destroy him?'

" 'Alas, nay, sire!' replied the witch. 'Know that, whereas trolls have no inherent supernatural powers, they are singularly proof against spells cast upon them by others. The only spells of mine that might work require lengthy preparations, and also require that the object of the spell hold still during the operation.'

" 'Then I suppose I shall have to pursue this monster into its cave myself and seek to slay it,' quoth the king.

" 'I advise that not,' said Gloe. 'This is an egregiously tough old troll, yclept Vuum. Your weapons will glance from his scaly bide as from a granite statue, and such is his strength that he could pick you up and tear you in pieces, limb from limb, and scatter the pieces about his ravine.'

" 'Then I will come with a company of my doughtiest soldiers, and overwhelm him by numbers.'

" That will not do either, Your Majesty. For the Marvelous Caverns open out midway up a cliff, and they can be entered only by lowering oneself down by ropes from the top of the cliff. Furthermore, the single entrance to the caverns is narrow, so that your men could come at Vuum only one at a time and thus be destroyed in detail.'

" 'If this is so, then how does Vuum come in and out?'

" 'Because he is a troll, his fingernails and toenails are so thick and talonlike that he can force them into cracks in the rocks that your eye would never notice. Thus he can scale the cliff as easily as a squirrel runs up a tree trunk.'

" 'How about mounting a ballista across the gorge from the cave and skewering him with a dart when he shows his head?'

" 'So keen are his senses and so great his agility that he would see your missile coming and dodge back into the cave.'

" 'Well,' said Fusinian, 'if my time has come, it has come. Whatever the odds, my honor will not permit me to leave this vermin in possession of my dear wife.' •

" 'What do you purpose to do?' asked Gloe.

" 'Why, to fare to the Marvelous Caverns, have myself lowered down the cliff, enter the cave, and essay to slay this Vuum.'

" 'Oh, sire! Whatever will Kortoli do without you? We nearly perished under your dear but foolish father. If you die now, we shall face a long regency ere your eldest wean reaches manhood, and you know what perils that entails. Had you any chance at all, I would bless your undertaking. But consider: this troll is half again as tall as you, and twice as wide, and weighs thrice as much. His hide is as hard as that of the crocodiles of Mulvan, and he can crumble rocks with his fingers—'

" 'Wait,' said the king. 'Twice as wide as I, said you?'

" 'Aye, and all made of thews of iron—'

" 'Let me think,' said Fusinian. 'I am trying to remember the map of the Marvelous Caverns prepared in my father's reign. Look at you, O Gloe: If I immobilize this Vuum, can you blast him with some spell or other?'

" 'Well, sire, there is a lightning spell I long ago learnt from a holy man of Mulvan. It is nearly as dangerous to the user as to the victim; but in this case I should be willing to try it. However, I want your word that, if I succeed, I shall be granted my license and made your court magician—'

" 'Yes, yes, I knew that was coming,' quoth Fusinian. 'You shall have what you ask if, and only if, your levin bolt perform as you have promised. Now I go to prepare my assault.'

"So the king rode back to his capital, and there he selected his swiftest steed, and his keenest weapons, and a hundred of his most stalwart warriors. And another thing he took with him was a set of bagpipes, such as are used by the shepherds of the hills of Govannian, which the king had been trying to learn to play. The general opinion in Kortoli was that the sound of this instrument was hideous enough when played by a competent piper, but when the king made noises upon it the result was ghastly beyond all description.

"Since Fusinian was king, nobody but Thanuda dared to tell him to his face what they thought of his piping; but from the way they hemmed and hawed when he asked their views, he very soon wist their true opinion. So he took to practicing in a cell of his dungeon, where nobody would be bothered save a prisoner or two. Being a humane man, Fusinian allowed them time off their sentences in return for their having«to listen to his playing.

"The king also took the map of the Marvelous Caverns prepared under Filoman and studied it as he traveled. And in due time he came to the ravine whereunto opened the entrance to the Caverns. He took a position on the bluff over against the ravine from the cave entrance and played his bagpipes.

"After he had played for a while, and his hundred stalwart warriors had covered their ears, the troll appeared at the mouth of his cave, roaring: 'What is that hellish racket?'

" 'It is no hellish racket, but the sweet strains of my bagpipes,' said Fusinian.

" 'Well, why are you subjecting me to them?' said Vuum.

" 'Because I am King Fusinian, whose queen you have abducted, I want her back, and I want you out of my kingdom.'

" 'Oho!' said the troll. 'So it is our little mouse of a king, is it? Know, worm, that I mean to keep your woman for myself, and if you do not stop pestering me, it will be the worse for you.'

"After they had bandied words thus for a time, Vuum came out of the cave, climbing down the sheer cliff by his nails like a bat, and came roaring up the other side of the gorge to destroy Fusinian and his men. The men loosed a volley of quarrels from their crossbows, but these merely bounced off the scaly hide of the troll. Then Fusinian and his party vaulted into their saddles and galloped off, and the troll could not catch them. But as soon as Vuum returned to his cave, Fusinian was back at his post, serenading him again.

"And so it continued for many days, with the king making both days and nights hideous with his pipes and then fleeing away whenever Vuum sought to retaliate. At length even the iron strength of the troll began to fail, and he contented himself with lurking in the mouth of his cave, hurling stones and insults at his tormentor. Fusinian took cover when the stones came whizzing over, and the insults bothered him not a whit.

"At last the troll called across the ravine: 'O King, if you would fain have your wife again, then agree to fight me man to troll! I will wrastle, or box, or fence, or fight with spears, axes, clubs, or knives, or duel at a distance with the longbow or the crossbow or the sling or the twirl-spear. Can you think of any more ways for us to settle our difference?"

" 'Since I am the challenged party/ quoth Fusinian, It is mine to choose the weapons. And I will not wrestle, or box, or fight with swords, spears, et cetera, because I know your strength and hardihood all too well. But I will undertake a fair contest with you.'

" 'And what might that be?'

" 'We shall have a foot race, in your own caverns. We shall start at the entrance, and run back along the main corridor, and around the big loop, and out to the entrance again.'

"After some argument over details, the troll agreed that this was a fair contest. Then Fusinian said: 'Now, as to terms. If you win, I will go away and leave you in undisturbed possession of the Marvelous Caverns and of Thanuda. If I win, you shall yield me Thanuda and depart forthwith from my kingdom.'

"Again they argued, but when Fusinian began to blow up the bag of pipes, Vuum quickly assented. Then Fusinian said: 'Not that I mistrust you, my good troll, but to make sure that there occur no untoward event when I am in your cave, you shall bring Thanuda to the bottom of the ravine and leave her there whilst we stage our contest. My men have orders, in case of treachery on your part, to take the woman and flee, not even trying to rescue me.'

" 'But what about treachery on your part, my lord King?'

" The mere fact of my being within your reach takes care of that,' said Fusinian. 'You could squash me like a bug if I played you false.'

"So Fusinian descended to the bottom of the ravine, and Vuum did likewise, carrying Thanuda on his shoulder. And then the troll took Fusinian on his shoulder, and bore him up the cliff again to the mouth of the cave, and Fusinian said afterwards that the journey on this stinking monster's scaly shoulder was the hardest of all his trials to bear. But at last they reached the cave, and the troll gave Fusinian one of the little lanthorns lit by captive glowworms that he used to illumine the darkness, whilst he took another one. Then Fusinian put his head out of the cave and called down to his wife:

" 'All right, dear, you may give the signal.'

"So she called up: 'Ready! Set! Go!' and Vuum and Fusinian were off like the wind, or as nearly like the wind as they could in the darkness of the cave, with its uneven floor and the stalactites and stalagmites to dodge.

"Being a' small man and fast on his feet, Fusinian knew he could get off at the very start faster than his lumbering antagonist, who was a fine runner once he got going but slower to reach his best speed. And sure enough, Fusinian found himself bounding along two paces ahead of Vuum. Vuum had the advantage of knowing the Caverns better than Fusinian, who had not been there in a decade, and he began to gain upon Fusinian. But then he ran his head into a stalactite, so that it broke off and huge chunks of limestone rained down upon him. Being a troll, he was not gravely hurt, but the accident threw him off his stride and enabled Fusinian to gain another pace upon him.

"Now, Fusinian knew from his study of the map of the cave that in the main loop, whereof he had spoken, there was a narrow place. And when he got to this strait, he turned his body sideways and nimbly slipped through. But Vuum, following him, got stuck. He must have known about this narrow place, but it would seem that he had never tried to see if he could pass through it. Fusinian paused to call back a few choice insults, whereupon the troll, roaring savagely, tried even harder to push through the strait but only jammed himself in more tightly than ever. As you can see, trolls are not a highly intelligent race, ranking somewhere near the ape-men of Komilakh in this regard.

"And so Fusinian reached the entrance once more and called up to his men—some of whom had come around to the top of the cliff above the cave—to drop a rope down into the ravine. And when Fusinian got his breath back, he let himself down by the rope and seized Thanuda in a loving embrace. Then they climbed to the other side of the gorge, and the king called upon the witch Gloe to perform.

"Gloe had been bringing her cauldron to a boil and putting into it the eye of a newt, and the toe of a frog, and other unwholesome substances. And she uttered a mighty spell and incantation, so that the sky darkened, and a cold wind blew, and rain fell, and the air was filled with the rustle of unseen wings, and a foetor as of the Pit filled the air. And she pointed her wand at the entrance to the cave, and a bolt of lightning flashed from the cloud overhead and struck the side of the mountain— but not the cave entrance. She tried again, and the lightning struck the other side. For an hour she aimed her wand and spoke the words of power, and each time the lightning flashed and the thunder boomed, but never could she seem to hit the mouth of the Marvelous Caverns. When the thunder was not crashing, they could hear the bellows of the trapped troll inside the Caverns.

"Then the thunder cloud wafted away, and Gloe collapsed in exhaustion, without having once struck the target. And whilst Fusinian and Thanuda and the warriors stood about in a daze, half deafened by the thunder and wholly soaked by the shower, a deep rumble was heard.

The earth trembled and moved, and the cuff crumbled with a mighty roar, and the entrance to the Marvelous Caverns vanished in a roaring slide of rock and gravel, and the air was filled with choking dust Some of the other side of the ravine gave way, too, and had not Fusinian snatched his queen away from the brink, they would have fallen with it As it was, the ravine was now half filled with rubble, and no trace of the Caverns or of the troll could be seen, save a peculiarly sticky green fluid, which oozed out from between the rocks.

"So that was the end of the Caverns and of Vuum, and they returned to Kortoli City rejoicing. Then Gloe demanded the post of court magician, and Fusinian refused on the ground that she had not in fact slain the troll by her levin bolts, which had all gone awry. The coming of the earthquake at that opportune moment, he said, had been a happenstance. Gloe, on the other hand, maintained that even if her lightnings had not gone into the cave and struck Vuum, they had so disturbed the balance of natural forces as to bring about the earthquake. Hence, she had really performed her part of the bargain, even if not quite the way she had intended.

"The dispute waxed bitter, for Fusinian was too just a king to order Gloe summarily suppressed for dunning him. At last Thanuda suggested that they bring in an impartial outsider to arbitrate. So they put the question to the theocrat of Tarxia, who decided in favor of Gloe. Since Doctor Aichos was ripe for retirement anyway, it looked as if the change could be effected with the least possible disturbance. But Gloe had not enjoyed her new post a fiftnight when she caught a phthisic from some other courtier and died in three days. So Aichos' retirement proved only temporary after all.

"Thanuda assured her consort that Vuum had done nothing worse to her than to make her play draughts with him by the hour. But presently it transpired that she was with child. And when the child was born, it was bigger and more robust than any child ever seen in Kortoli. Moreover, as it grew, its skin developed a rough, scaly appearance, not unlike the hide of a crocodile.

"Happily, the boy was not the heir apparent, having two older brothers; and, if not especially intelligent, he was good-natured and docile. Named Fusarius, he grew up to be a famous warrior, being twice as strong as the average man, with a hide of such remarkable toughness that he hardly needed armor, although he wore it in battle, disliking the scratches and bruises that would have been mortal wounds had they befallen other men.

"About the paternity of Fusarius, Fusinian doubtless had his own private thoughts. But, being a philosophical man, he made the best of things."

Jorian glanced around. One of his escorts had gone quietly to sleep, curled up against the base of i tree. Of the rest, several should have been sleeping so as to be wide awake when their watches began. Instead, they were all hanging eagerly' on his words.

"They tell a tale," he went on, "about this Fusarius and the lonesome lion…"

So he continued for hours, reeling off story after story: some dredged out of his memory, some made up on the spot. Speaking in a low, undramatic voice, he shamelessly padded the tales and strung them out, deliberately keeping them from becoming too exciting. In consequence, by midnight every man of the escort was asleep. Watches had not been posted, because Glaum had dozed off before he thought to do so. The clearing buzzed gently with the snores of the Gendings.

Jorian rose to his feet. He searched inside his waistband for the one possession, besides his clothes, of which he had not been robbed: the little bag of pick-locks. The Gendings had been so elated over his weapons and money belt that they had neglected to search his garments more minutely. Once Jorian had one of the bent wires in his hands, it was only a matter of a few breaths before the manacles opened.

He laid the fetters down carefully to keep the chain from clanking, and picked up the scabbarded sword that one of the escort had laid on the ground beside him. It was a straight, two-edged horseman's blade, even longer than Randir, with a plain cross-hilt. Jorian did not like it so well as the one he had taken from Rhithos the smith; but it would do.

He would like to have stolen one or more purses from the Gendings. They had, he knew, brought a considerable sum of money wherewith to bribe the officials of Solymbria and Ir if it should prove necessary in order to hustle Jorian through those countries without interference. But, since each man had his purse firmly tied to his girdle, Jorian did not see how he could do this without the risk of awakening somebody.

Oser swiveled his ears and made a small equine sound as Jorian, moving like a shadow, stepped to him, stroked his nose, and untied him. For such nocturnal work, he would have preferred a horse of a darker color than the chestnut roan, but this factor was much outweighed by the fact that this animal knew him, whereas the others did not and might make a row if he tried to lead one of them away.

Holding the reins in one hand and the stolen sword in the other, he quietly led Oser out from among the other animals and up the nearest ridge to the south. Atop the ridge, out of sight of the camp, he paused to study the stars. The crescent moon had set two hours before, but the stars, visible through the branches of trees not yet in leaf, gave him his direction. With a quiet smile to himself, he set off down the further slope towards Tarxia.