Black Legion of Callisto

CHAPTER FIVE I AM BEFRIENDED BY A PRINCE

Two days after I made the remarkable discovery that my friend Valkar was in reality a pure-bred Shondakorian in disguise, events took a new turn.

Strolling down one of the broad, tree-lined avenues of the Golden City of the Ku Thad, I heard cries of distress.

Gazing ahead, I perceived a chariot with a single passenger. The team of matched thaptors drawing the chariot were out of control, hurtling and careening down the boulevard at breakneck speed. At any instant, the chariot might overturn as its wheel caught an irregularity in the pave, thus hurling the chariot’s occupant to the pave and dealing him a serious injury.

The thaptors might have stampeded from any one of a number of causes―a chance noise, a sudden movement, a flick of the whip on some tender portion of their anatomy, or sheer cantankerousness alone. For the weird bird-horses of Thanator have never been fully domesticated and are restive and unruly, and quite likely to bolt or to turn upon their rider on chance whim or the slightest provocation.

What I did was not a matter of conscious decision, or even of thought. It was purely instinctive. As the madly careening chariot approached the place where I stood, I sprang out into the street, full in its path, and waved my arms above my head with a sudden shout. I could have been trampled and maimed in the very next instant, but frankly the thought did not even occur to me.

The thaptor team came to a sudden halt and reared up in panic, slashing at empty air with their birdlike claws.

I leaped forward and seized their bridles and forced them down again. It was all over in an instant, but I must confess that I found myself shaking like a leaf, and drenched in cold perspiration from head to foot.

The lone passenger of the chariot sprang to the ground, pale and shaken as myself.

“My thanks, warrior,” he gasped. “The Lords of Gordrimator alone know what made those empty-headed animals bolt like that. But had you not chanced along when you did, I might be a dead man at this moment!”

He wrung my hand in a grateful grip and I found myself staring in amazement at the lean, dark-faced, hard-eyed young man who had been Darloona’s escort at the theater on that memorable evening!

Evidently he mistook my surprised expression for awe at his rank, for he smiled in a rather complacent manner. Frankly, I did not have even the slightest idea of who he was, for I had decided not to query Valkar on that point for fear of revealing my unusual interest in the Princess. But his next words disclosed the identity with which he naturally presumed me to be familiar.

“Yes, warrior, you have saved the life of your Prince!” he said. “And think not that the son of Arkola shall not remember and reward the heroic bravery of your deed. Your name and cohort?”

“Jandar, kojat of the third,” I said rather dazedly. He nodded, smiled, accepted my salute, and vanished in the throng.

That evening as I returned to the barracks, I was told to report to the commander at once. I entered his office and saluted Valkar, who returned my salute absently, his gaze bent upon me and an expression of some perplexity visible in his features.

“Jandar, I was not aware that you were acquainted with Prince Vaspian,” he remarked.

“Indeed, I am not,” I replied. “To the best of my knowledge, I have only seen him twice; the first time at the theater the other night, and the second time was this morning, when I chanced to halt his runaway chariot by seizing the reins of the thaptors.”

His brow cleared. “Ah, that explains the riddle! For I have received a note from the palace, commanding that you be detached from my command and assigned to the retinue of the Prince in recognition of your `loyalty, bravery, self-sacrifice, and service to the crown: It was this last that baffled me, as well it might.”

I was elated at this opportunity to get inside the palace, but somewhat puzzled at the Prince’s impulsive request.

“Do you mean to say that merely because I chanced along at just the right time to halt his runaways, I have been elevated to some sort of bodyguard of the Prince?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, not just for that alone. Prince Vaspian inquired into your full record in the Black Legion, including a report on the way you handled that bully, Bluto, at the city gate, and your remarkable record in service, your rise to command, and so forth. He seems quite pleased with your career thus far.”

“What sort of a person is this Prince?”

Valkar shrugged. “It is hard to say: I have had no personal contact with him, myself. But you must understand, Jandar, that the high councils of the Chac Yuul are ridden with rivalry and factionalism. The information that you are a veritable newcomer to the Legion seemed to delight His Highness most. You have no clan allegiances within the Black Legion, you see, and you have been with us for too brief a time to make very many close friends. Hence Prince Vaspian can trust in you to a considerable extent, where in another man he might fear a spy or even a carefully planted assassin. At any rate, he has fixed on you to join his retinue, and you are thus immediately detached from service to the third and reassigned to the palace. I shall be sorry to have you leave us.”

This remarkable accident afforded me entrance into the palace and a chance to be near Darloona, hence I was tremendously excited by my good fortune. But I strove to conceal my elation, for I perceived that Valkar was somewhat saddened that we should see no more of each other and that our paths should part here.

“I shall regret leaving the cohort,” I confessed, “and even more, I shall be sorry not to see you again. But perhaps my new assignment need not sever our friendship entirely, for surely we can continue to meet and to share our off-duty hours together, even as before.”

He smiled, but shook his head reluctantly.

“I fear not, Jandar, for a mere komor has no business in the high circles of the Chac Yuul. But I shall not forget our friendship, and perhaps after all we shall meet again at a later time.”

We bade each other farewell, and within the hour I was on the way to the palace compound with my few possessions bundled into the saddlebags of my thaptor.

At the very center of the city of Shondakor lies a square plaza, and on the northern side of this central plaza rises the ancient palace of the kings.

This palace has three main wings, and it is surrounded by parks and gardens which are themselves enclosed in a high wall, smaller, but no less strong and well guarded than the wall that encircles the vast metropolis itself. This inner enclosure forms the fortress citadel of the city and is designed to serve as the last defensive area in case the rest of the capital is

overwhelmed in siege. These things I had learned from conversations with Lord Yarrak before setting forth on my mission to rescue the Princess Darloona from the stronghold of the Black Legion.

A pass, signed with the medallion of the Prince, gave me entry into the palace enclosure, and a chamberlain led me through endless suites and corridors, anterooms and apartments, meeting chambers and feasting halls, to the north wing where the retinue of Prince Vaspian was housed.

All about me lay scenes of vivid splendor and regal luxury. No expense had been spared in decorating the sumptuous apartments of the palace. Bare woods, exquisite tapestries, precious gems and noble metals, had been lavished on the ornamentation. Pierced lamps of burnished silver shed an even glow over silken carpets and carved ivory screens. Vases of sculptured jade, amber, and gleaming onyx bore fresh-cut flowers. Standing globes of perforated brass exuded coiling threads of priceless incense to sweeten the air. Superb statues of marble or bronze were enshrined in niches along the high-roofed corridors. Gems flashed in the folds of gorgeous tapestries. The masterworks of painter, sculptor, and mosaicist adorned every room. The luxury, the opulence, the beauty of the palace decor was overwhelming. I recalled my brief tour of the citadel of Zanadar, months before, that time Lukor the Swordmaster had smuggled me within the palace of Prince Thuton in a last-moment effort to free our Yathoon comrade, Koja, from death in the arena. Even the kingly citadel of the City in the Clouds could not outshine the sumptuous splendors of Shondakor.

Prince Vaspian met me in a glorious room whose walls were hung with heavy folds of shining cloth. The Prince was clothed in glistening white silks, diamonds flashing from lobe, brow, throat, wrist, and girdle. He acknowledged my salute with a casual wave of a glittering hand and gestured for my attention.

“The servitors will take your belongings, to your new quarters,” he said in a low voice. “I require your immediate services. In a short time I will attend a council meeting with my royal father and certain other lords of the Chac Yuul, here in this very chamber. I desire you to guard my person, for among the lords of the Legion are certain enemies who wish nothing so much as the chance to injure me. Do you understand?”

“I shall do whatever the Prince requires,” I answered. “Precisely what are my instructions?”

He strode across the room and pointed to a low ottoman, one of a half circle of such.

“I will be seated here,” he said. Then, striding behind the ottoman, he drew aside the curtains with a flourish, disclosing the yawning mouth of a black unlit passage.

“You will station yourself here,” he said. “All you have to do is keep your eyes open and watch for treachery. If anyone makes a move towards me, strike to defend my person. Here you will be unseen, for the curtains are opaque unless one stands very close to their folds, in which case the fabric can be seen to be transparent. Remain completely silent, regardless of what may happen―and do not let anyone know you are there unless there is an attempt upon my life. Is this clear?”

“Perfectly,” I nodded. “And what do I do later on?”

“At the conclusion of the council, we will all file out. It would not be wise for you to emerge from your hiding place in order to accompany me, for that would give away the fact that I suspect treason and am guarding myself accordingly. Therefore, once all have left the chamber, you may withdraw. At the end of this passage you will find a secret door which leads out into a corridor. Go out into the open and ask directions of whomever you should meet. Go at once to my suite and my servitors will show you to the room set aside for yourself; remain there until I call for you. My servitors will bring you wine or food or whatever else you may require. You may sleep, if you like.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Very good. Now take your position behind the curtains, and be careful not to give away your presence by a word or a sound!”

I stepped through the shining curtains to stand in the unlit doorway of the secret passage. Standing close to the curtains I saw that it was indeed easy to see through them, for at intervals in the heavier weave, gauze-thin patches of a lighter fabric of identical hue were set, as if for this very purpose.

Vaspian withdrew swiftly from the room and I settled down to await whatever should happen.

After a few minutes, several Chac Yuul guards filed into the room and took up positions on either side of the door, holding long spears, the light from bright-paned windows sparkling off their helmets of burnished copper adorned with small cubes of silver.

Then several men entered, one by one. They were squat, burly, and heavy-thewed, obviously warriors, although no longer young men. Probably high-ranking officers of the Black Legion. They had a swaggering, piratical look about them―men accustomed to power, command, authority―men who had led the bandit legion in many battles, sieges, and forays.

Next followed my “patron,” Prince Vaspian, a haughty look on his dark, lean, and not-unhandsome face. He disdained to notice the courteous manner in which the senior officers of the Legion rose to salute him. He stalked across the room to the low ottoman he had indicated to me earlier, and seated himself directly in front of the place where I was standing.

No sooner had he taken his seat than another individual entered, and the Prince struggled reluctantly to his feet again to stand in the presence of Arkola the Usurper himself, the all-powerful Warlord of the Black Legion.

He was a remarkable personage: a most impressive man; the almost tangible aura of supreme power radiated from his powerful frame and heavyset features. Of course, he Nvas no stranger to me, for I had seen him once before, or his image, mirrored in the palungordra° I had seen in operation weeks before, in Zanadar, at which time I had overheard a conversation between Arkola and Prince Thuton of the Sky Pirates from a concealed passageway in the walls of the royal citadel.

The face of the Usurper was powerfully molded, with a square jaw and a heavy, scowling brow. His thick neck was sunk between burly shoulders, and his long, massive arms and deep chest were banded with thick sinews like heavy cables. He was no bandy-legged dwarf, like so many of the Chac Yuul, but a veritable Hercules of a man, no taller than myself, but much heavier and stronger.

His features―coarse, blunt, brutal―caught and held your attention. He had a swarthy complexion and a bullet-head covered with lank colorless hair of a peculiar consistency, unlike his son’s black hair. Gold baubles flashed in his earlobes and a chain of firerubies smoldered about his thickly corded neck. Under scowling black brows, his eyes were fierce yellow pits of somber, lion-like flame. This was no man to trifle with. This was a man born to command others. He wore simple warrior’s leather―the familiar highnecked tunic worn all over Thanator―open at the throat and displaying a thatch of body fur and the curve of heavy pectoral muscles. Emblazoned on the breast of his tunic was the dread emblem of the Black Legion, a black horned and fanged grinning skull with eyes of scarlet flame.

Flung loosely about his massive shoulders were magnificent robes of emerald and saffron velvet, heavily embroidered with stiff gold wire, falling to swish around his booted ankles.

Amid utter silence the Lord of the Black Legion took his place at the center of the half circle of ottomans, on a dais slightly raised above the level of the rest. His son, the Prince Vaspian, sat on his left hand. The ottoman to his right was unoccupied.

Now there entered into the chamber the last member of the high council of the Chac Yuul.

I had heard of him, but had never seen him before. Nevertheless, I recognized him the instant he entered the room. Ool the Uncanny, they called him, and among the conquering lords of the Black Legion he was a power to be reckoned with.

A fat, placid-faced little man in gray robes, his hands muffled in the long sleeves, came shuffling into the council chamber. A certain stillness came over the other occupants of the room.

The little man was bald as an egg, his face butter-yellow, his slitted eyes black and cold as frozen ink. A gentle smile hovered perpetually on his features. He looked as peaceful and harmless as a man could look. Why, then, did my nape hairs stiffen and a prickle of awe roughen the surface of my skin?

From the awkward silence of the others, I knew that my own almost instinctive loathing and fear of the harmless-looking little fat man was shared by them as well. About him, it seemed, blew a cold, ghastly wind from the hidden places of nature. The chill, dank breath of the Unknown … an icy, nameless wind from the dark abyss of the Ultimate Pit ….

Who he was, this little man who called himself Ool, and from whence he had come, was cloaked in mystery. No man knew his heart, and only the shadow gods he worshipped knew the secret recesses of his soul.

Some men called him wizard; others called him priest; and there were yet others, and they were not few in number, who called him a black-hearted devil in mortal flesh.

Such a being was Ool the Uncanny, warlock of the Chac Yuul, priest of the Dark Powers, servant of the Unknown.

CHAPTER SIX THE SECRET COUNCIL

Now that the seven lords of the Black Legion were assembled, the council began.

Arkola spoke in a deep, strong voice.

“Lords, you have all seen the ultimatum delivered by the messenger of the Zanadarians, and you are all familiar with our present position. What say you to the threats of Prince Thuton?”

One of the senior commanders, a grizzled, sear-faced old warrior, growled: “I say let us cast his insolent demands back in his teeth!”

One or two of the other commanders added guttural agreements to this position. Arkola cleared his throat and silence fell.

“True enough. After all, when have the warriors of the Chac Yuul shrunk from war? Yet consider: the flying contraptions of Zanadar are powerful weapons. We have no defense against attack from the skies, for all the power our fighting men display on the land.”

My patron, Prince Vaspian, spoke up, silkily.

“Surely, my father, you do not intend paying the price I had almost said, the tribute―demanded by this affrontive Lord of the Sky Pirates?”

Arkola’s scowl deepened.

“Someday, if he lives long enough, it may be that the Prince, my son, will learn that gold may be given away without loss or harm to a man, and that more gold may be gotten to replace it. Whereas a man’s life, once he has parted with it, cannot be replaced. What is a few thousand pieces of gold to us? We shall wring many times that sum from the fat-gutted merchants of Shondakor before the year is out. And, I say again, we have no defense against the flying machines of the City in the Clouds!”

“All this is true, Arkola, but never yet has any foe forced the Black Legion to pay tribute to escape from the danger of battle,” growled the grizzled old warrior who had spoken up before―his name, I later learned, was Murrak. “How will the men take it? What will it do to their morale, and to the degree of confidence they place in us, their commanders? And will not the payment of one tribute without quarrel but spur this wily Thuton to demand yet further tribute at a later date? Perhaps we should take a firm stand now; and fight it we must, for later, when we are wrung dry, we shall have to fight after all!”

Arkola permitted his grim face to relax in a grin.

“Now, those are wise, shrewd arguments, and there is much good sense behind them,” he nodded. “If the Prince, my son, had but half the wits of my lord commanders of the Legion, he would make his father proud of him. Alas, I fear the hand of a woman has softened his manhood and beclouded his mind.”

A chuckle ran around the semicircle and the dark face of Prince Vaspian flushed angrily, but he wisely refrained from making a reply. I began to get the notion that the “enemy” Vaspian fancied he had among the council was his own father.

Flushed, sullen, Prince Vaspian made no reply. His father smiled, a cold hard smile.

“And since the root and cause of our present dilemma is that same love which has somewhat softened his manly strength, it behooves my son to think twice ere he impute the warriors of the Black Legion and slander their honor. Know that if we do indeed make payment, as demanded, it will not be `tribute’ but a calculated investment which will buy us valuable time.”

Then one of the warrior lords, a balding but burly shouldered old commander spoke up, and his words froze me with a shock of unbelieving astonishment.

“Since my lord has already raised the matter, may I ask when we shall celebrate the nuptials of the Prince Vaspian and the Lady Darloona?” he asked.

I started involuntarily. For a moment I could hardly believe my ears. Darloona and this puny Prince? It did not seem possible. I strained my every sense, following the conversation.

“The Princess demands that it be very soon,” Vaspian said, and he smirked a trifle as he said it, and at the suggestion of a sniggering leer in his tones I could cheerfully have strangled him on the spot.

Arkola snorted. “Never shall I understand how the Prince my son has managed to win the affections of so strong-willed and womanly a bride-to-be,” he said with a mocking half-smile. “However, this marriage will give the seal of legitimacy to our possession of the throne, and I oppose it not.”

“She is mad with love for me,” the Prince said loudly, almost boastingly. “Every day that passes seems to her an unendurable delay!”

“Ah? Well, let us pass to more significant matters,” Arkola said.

Turning from the boastful Prince, Arkola directed his attentions to the one member of this council who had yet to speak. The little wizard-priest, Ool, had sat quietly through all this, plump soft hands folded in the deep sleeves of his robe, his bald, buttery face placid and unreadable. Like a cold, malignant little Buddha he squatted, clever slitted eyes roving from face to face, listening to every word, but never permitting the slightest shadow of a reaction to mar the calm indifference of his impenetrable serenity.

“What says the Uncanny One to these dangers that now confront us?” demanded Arkola. The little priest put his head on one side, considering. Then he spoke, and his voice was mild and gentle, soft and high of pitch.

“Like all mighty men of valor, my lord, you reduce the range of possible actions to the simple alternatives of battle or surrender. However, there remain other avenues open to us.”

“And what are they?” Arkola growled. “I confess I can see no other choice but to either pay the price the Zanadarians ask, or refuse to pay it and face a battle.”

The priest nodded, candlelight glistening on his round bald pate.

“Yet other solutions do exist,” he said mildly. “Let me call them to your attention, and to the attention of my lords. Suppose―” a sweet smile hovered about his lips and benevolence beamed in his cherubic expression “―suppose we refuse to acknowledge our debt, and yet Thuton is unable to attack us.”

Murrak, the grizzled old war leader, stared at the calm little priest in puzzlement.

“How `unable’?” he rumbled.

“From illness, perchance,” Ool purred, his face placid and his voice gentle. “There are ways, you know, my lords! A letter from this council to his hands―a letter imbued with a toxic venom―or a gift of nubile female slaves, each infected with a virulent fever―or a jeweled gaud, some precious bauble, with a sharp edge calculated to cut his fingers, an edge steeped in some poisonous decoction … .”

I have heard the voice of evil in my time, but I must confess that my blood ran cold as I listened to the soft, mild voice of this smiling little priest as he discussed the ways and means of poisoning a man without his knowledge. And I consider it much to the credit of the lords of the Black Legion, simple, hard, practical war veterans all, and no subtle Borgias, that they were almost as revolted as I at the oily, purring suggestions proffered by Ool the Uncanny.

“My Lord!” Murrak appealed to Arkola. “Never would a Black Legion warrior sully his honor by stooping to such vileness! Surely, you cannot consider ―will not consider―”

Arkola pondered the priest’s words, jaw resting on one scarred fist, his cold eyes thoughtful. I could see his mind exploring, however reluctantly, the possible avenues of action opened up by such a plan. But his grim mouth was puckered with distaste and sour disapproval was stamped into his features.

His reply temporized without actually giving a firm answer to the little priest’s proposal. Then the conversation turned to a more general discussion of fighting strength and military preparations. I gathered from the following converse that Prince Thuton of the Sky Pirates demanded payment for the person of Darloona. Some while before she had been captured by the Chac Yuul, Darloona had been a guest or prisoner of the Zanadarian monarch; our escape from the City in the Clouds had been occasioned by my chance discovery that the treacherous Thuton, while pretending to espouse her cause, had actually been negotiating secretly with Arkola over her person. He had demanded a heavy price for her, but had been willing to sell the Princess of Shondakor to her enemies.

Now that her escape from Zanadar had brought her so swiftly into the clutches of the Chac Yuul, Thuton evidently believed that Arkola had somehow had a hand in that escape which was completely untrue. But it seemed he now demanded full payment of the ransom, on the threat of all-out war. This was the dilemma in which the conquering legions of Arhola now found themselves.

Little of the conversation that ensued registered on my mind. My brain was a whirling turmoil of consternation, caused by the incredible discovery that the woman I loved would soon wed the sly, foppish Prince of the Black Legion―and by her own desire, or so it was given out. I could not and would not believe this terrible news to be true. Doubtless a helpless prisoner of the Prince, Darloona was being forced into this wedding.

Whatever the true reason for her acceptance of Vaspian’s proposal, I must know it. I must hear from her own lips that she truly desired to wed the Black Legion Prince, or I would never believe it.

A thousand thoughts went through my dazed mind. That I loved the proud and beautiful Princess with every atom of manhood in my body, mind, and soul, was known only to me. She knew nothing of my love, for never had I dared to speak of it―indeed, the full realization of my love had only burst upon me when she had been taken from my side, and hence the opportunity to speak of it had never arisen.

I know not what she thought of me. Surely, by now, her first contempt had been allayed. Through a series of confusions and accidents, Darloona had become persuaded that I was a coward and an honorless weakling. My labors in her behalf, my striving to rescue her from the grip of her wily and treacherous enemy, Thuton, must have proved to her that her original opinions of me were inaccurate. At any rate, I must hear the truth from her own lips.

And I dreaded the moment when I should learn the truth!

Not long after this, the Black Legion council broke up and the lords departed their several ways. My patron, Prince Vaspian, rose languidly to his feet, drawing about his slender shoulders a hooded cloak of dark green velvet, and left the chamber after directing a secret glance of dismissal at the hidden position where I stood, concealed from all eyes by the draperies.

In obedience to his command, I retreated from the opening and made my own exit from the chamber by means of the secret passageway whose presence he had indicated to me.

This passage, I noted, connected with yet others. The walls of the royal palace of Shondakor were thick, and it seemed they contained a maze of secret tunnels and sliding panels and spyholes even as had the mighty citadel of Zanadar.

Whim directed me to explore these passageways a bit before going to my quarters in the Prince’s suite. I had no way of knowing but what a working knowledge of this secret network of hidden passages might someday soon become valuable to me.

The walls of the tunnels were at intervals pierced with spyholes. Small shields masked these eyeholes. Sliding them aside I saw that the passageways had carried me deep within the royal precincts of the palace.

I vowed to explore just a bit farther before turning back and going about my business.

The sound of muffled voices conversing in low tones drew me to one particular eyehole. I slid the shield aside, set my eye to the tiny aperture, and found myself gazing into a sumptuously appointed apartment. From the delicacy and luxuriousness of the decorations, I assumed it was a lady’s boudoir.

I had but slender opportunity to observe the decor, however, as my attention was seized by the two figures who stood within the center of the room. They were a man and a woman, but I could not see their faces and from the faint murmur of their voices I could not even make out what they were saying to each other, except that the woman seemed to be pleading tenderly and the man giving quiet refusal.

With a shock of amazement I saw that the man was none other than my princely patron, Vaspian himself!

Or―as his back was turned to me and I could see nothing of his features―I assumed that the figure was that of Prince Vaspian. At least he wore a green cowled cloak like the one I had observed the son of Arkola to don before leaving the council chamber some little while before.

And now as he embraced the woman passionately, his hood fell back as the movement of his arms dislodged it, and I saw that he had the same sleek, black hair as the Prince.

And the next moment I made a discovery that drove the breath from my *body in a gasp of astonishment … a discovery which plunged my spirits into profound depression … a discovery at which I turned silently away with averted face and bowed shoulders, and left the maze of secret tunnels for the quiet of my room.

For in the intensity of their emotions, the man swung the woman he was embracing about so that from my secret hiding place I could see her features perfectly.

That rippling glory of red-gold hair―that tawny amber skin―that full, ripe, passionate mouth and those slanted, glorious eyes of deep emerald mystery―there could be no mistake.

It was Darloona of Shondakor, the woman I loved!

Darloona, clasped in a close embrace, her tear-wet cheeks and quivering ripe lips giving clear evidence of the intensity of her emotion, with―Prince Vaspian!

CHAPTER SEVEN MARUD’S MISSION

The apartments that formed the suite of Prince Vaspian were superb. Glistening floors of marble tile, walls of fretted stone hung with beautiful old tapestries, lit by hanging lamps of pierced silver. There were, surprisingly, very few servants. I suppose this reflected the all but neurotic suspicions the Prince held towards nearly everyone around him. There were few that he felt he could trust, least of all, his servants.

The apartments were in a far corner of one wing of the royal palace, quite secluded and separated by many rooms from the main corridors. I was given a small but comfortably furnished room situated between the Prince’s living quarters and the main palace. I suppose that Vaspian figured any foes or spies or assassins dispatched by his enemies would have to manage to get past me before they could do him whatever harm they contemplated. The whole situation would have been rather amusing if it had not been so depressing.

During my first few days as chief bodyguard in the retinue of the Prince I had little enough to do. The Chac Yuul were still, in many ways, an occupying force―a conquering horde, holding the territories they had seized and momentarily expecting to have to do battle for them. Hence there was little in the way of court functions, balls, or masquerades. Arkola held court each day towards the hour of noon, signing proclamations, judging disputes, settling quarrels. The afternoon he spent training with his warriors or reviewing them.

Prince Vaspian had little interest in either of these matters. He was a very spoiled young man, vain and suspicious, idle and without any particular interests that I could see. He was certainly no warrior, hence mingling with the Black Legion soldiers was distasteful to him. Nor did he seem interested in the internal administration of the Legion and kept well away from his father’s court of justice. It was the shadowy subworld of plot― and counterplot, political maneuvering and rivalry, that consumed him. Those of the lords of the Black Legion that I had observed thus far were, with the single exception of Ool the Uncanny, and perhaps with the exception of the Usurper himself, simple war leaders, hard, strong men of camp and field, totally disinterested in the court intrigues of the Byzantine variety favored by Prince Vaspian. I have no doubt that Murrak and the other war leaders disliked Vaspian, for he was not at all their sort, and his sharp tongue, furtive eyes, and clever words would earn him few friends in any circle. But I could hardly conceive that they were plotting against him. For the most part, they simply left him alone.

As for Arkola, he seemed alternately amused and disgusted by his son. He seemed an able administrator and a powerful leader of men, with enormous charisma and an almost total lack of scruples. The oily intrigues, the cunning hints, the psychotic aura of suspicion and deceit and fear and envy that hung constantly about his son roused him to contempt.

While Vaspian seldom showed himself at what few court functions there were, he insisted on my being present. I was supposed to report back to him the words and actions of his “enemies.” And thus I suffered through endless tribal disputes, property settlements, arguments over new laws, and the like. Upon my return to the Prince’s quarters each day I was endlessly questioned about every conceivable detail of what had taken place. In what tone of voice had this or that komor argued for his clan? To whom did this or that lord glance when a certain question was raised? Had I seen this captain of the Chac Yuul whispering to that captain? Were any notes passed at the tribal court? Endless, reiterative, and boring were these sessions with the Prince my patron; and were it not for the fact that my service in his retinue had gained me entrance into the palace where Darloona was held, I cannot but think I should long since have somehow severed relations.

As for Darloona, I hardly ever saw her, and never close enough to speak to or even close enough for her to see me. A couple of times she appeared at the evening banquet, usually on the Prince’s arm, and since I was stationed immediately behind the cushioned seat where Vaspian sat at table, the first time she made her appearance I was seized with fear that she would recognize me. But it seems that it is not the custom of the Chac Yuul to mingle with their women at table, and hence she was seated some distance from the lords of the Black Legion.

I devoured her with my eyes, being careful to cast my own gaze downwards whenever she chanced to look my way.

But the eyes of the Princess invariably passed over me without lingering for a single moment or displaying the slightest flicker of either interest or recognition.

But it seems that my surreptitious gaze had caught the attention of at least one of the Lords of the Black Legion.

For, turning my eyes from Darloona, I found the cold, slitted gaze of Ool the Uncanny fixed upon me with speculative curiosity. A slight smile hovered over the placid features of the little wizard-priest, and I turned my eyes away with a semblance of indifference, trying to convey the impression that my attention to the Princess had merely been curiosity or some other idle emotion, and that I had not really noticed that my actions were under the scrutiny of Ool.

During my tenure in the ranks of the Black Legion I had set about to learn something of its recent history.

I had heard a few puzzling and cryptic hints as to the mode whereby the Chac Yuul had taken the walled city of Shondakor on the banks of the river Ajand. It was a bit curious that the city should have fallen so swiftly and so easily to its enemies. Generally, a city so walled about with strong masonry and so closely guarded, as from its gates and portcullises and barbicans and guard towers Shondakor seemed to have been, would have been able to stand against a siege for a very considerable length of time. I had heard, ere now, some reference to the fact that Shondakor had fallen virtually without siege―that the Black Legion warriors had been within the walls in force even before the first alarm was given.

I became friendly with some officers of my own rank who were also attached to palace duty, although I was careful not to form any relationship with a member of the retinue of any of the other lords, for fear of arousing the suspicions of my patron. Plying them with liquor on our off-duty hours, I learned much of the conquest of Shondakor.

Rather than bore my reader with a lengthy account of these conversations, I shall give the gist of what I gleaned from hours of desultory talk.

It seems that there was a secret entrance into the city known to but a few. Shondakor was very ancient and many kings had held sway over the Golden City of the Ku Thad. During the long-ago days of some remote dynasty, a hidden entrance had been built whereby the main gates could be circumvented. Even the present royal house was not in possession of this secret, but the arts of Ool the Uncanny had, it seemed, discovered the whereabouts of the hidden door and by its means the Black Legion had gained entry into the city in numbers sufficient to take it before an adequate defense could be mounted.

As my reader can imagine, this news I found most exciting. If such a route could be made known to the Ku Thad force hiding in the jungles of the Grand’ Kumala, they might make very good use of this information to retake the city themselves. It would indeed be ironic if the secret entrance which had permitted the Black Legion to gain entry into Shondakor were to prove the very method of their undoing.

The secret entrance was not exactly a secret after all, as many hundreds of the Chac Yuul had gone through it before the gates were seized and the main body of the Legion entered the city.

Ere long I found one of the squat little warriors who had been among the advance guard into the city, and luckily he had a weakness for a certain strong liquor called quarra. From him I learned that the hidden route was not a secret gate in the walls, but a passageway tunneled beneath the walls and beneath the river itself! An astounding engineering feat, to be sure; and now that I knew the secret it was vital that I somehow pass it along to Lord Yarrak and his warriors. But I could hardly ride out of the city and into the jungles without arousing the suspicions of the Chac Yuul.

Fortunately, before parting from Lord Yarrak, he had envisioned the possibility that I should require a method of communication with him, and he had given me the name of a certain innkeeper in Shondakor who was friendly to the royal cause and who acted in the capacity of a secret agent, smuggling out information to the Ku Thad whenever it became needful to do so.

On one of my off-duty hours I found occasion to enter this inn, which was called The Nine Flagons, and drawing the innkeeper aside I exchanged with him the secret password which Yarrak had taught me. I entrusted to him a letter to Lord Yarrak wherein I divulged the hidden entrance to the tunnel. In that letter I also counseled Lord Yarrak to be patient and not to use the secret tunnel until such time as I gave the word, for I had yet to arrange with the Princess our escape.

The innkeeper, a large, red-faced man named Marud, promised to convey the message that very night.

“Gods, Captain,” he wheezed, for Vaspian had elevated me to the rank of komad upon entering his service. “I have kept my eyes and ears open for months, strivin’ to learn how these bandy-legged little horebs whelmed the city so sudden-like, and naught did I get for all my pains. You should only know how much free wine I had poured down Chac Yuul gullets trying to loosen a few tongues!” He chuckled, his vast, paunch quivering with seismic ripples of humor.

“They be a close-mouthed lot, yet you ha’ pried some valuable matters out,” he said.

“You will have no difficulty in getting through the secret tunnel, will you?” I asked. “I have not been able to discover if it is guarded or not, but if it is, at least no guards are stationed out in the open.”

He winked, grinning with irrepressible humor.

“Never you mind your heart about that, Captain! Old Marud has a trick or two in his old head. You just get along back to your place in th’ palace, and leave the rest of it to me. I’ll get yer letter into the hands of my Lord Yarrak, never you fear!”

And wiping his red hands on a filthy apron, the bald, fat little old innkeeper went waddling off to tend to the needs of his customers. I stood and watched him go with a bemused eye.

Vast of paunch, red of face, short of breath, the wheezing old fellow certainly did not have about him the air of a hero―he looked more the buffoon, if anything. But this very night would try his qualities to the utmost, and’ we should see if he had the stuff of heroes in him.

Rarely has so much ridden upon the shoulders of a single man.

Darloonds fate, and my own, and that of all Shondakor, lay in that letter old Marud had so carelessly stuffed into his leathern girdle. Well … we should see what happened … .

I returned to the palace without incident and made my way to the remote corner of that wing wherein the Prince’s suite of rooms was found. I disrobed and sought my pallet, but sleep did not come to me for a long time. For I was baffled by this priest they called Ool the Uncanny, and I marveled that he, an outsider, should have known of the secret tunnel under the walls of Shondakor when even the ruling dynasty of the city knew it not. (For had they known it existed, surely they would have had it guarded heavily or sealed up.)

What strange powers did this little man possess? And what role was he to play in this adventure?

At length, despite the tension and turmoil in my mind, the urge to sleep overcame me and I slumbered.

The skies of Thanator, those strange, shifting skies of golden vapor, lit suddenly with the sourceless glory of the dawn.

I became aware of running feet thudding down the corridor beyond my chamber. The shouts of distant voices came to me, and there was urgency in them although I could not make out any words. On sudden impulse I rose, drew on my leathern tunic, slung the baldric, scabbard, and sword about my shoulders, laced on my buskins, and went out to learn, if I could, the nature of this unwarranted excitement.

I intercepted a guard captain whom I knew slightly.

“What is all the disturbance, Narga? Is the palace being attacked?” I asked, laying my hand on his shoulder as he hurried by me.

“No, Jandar, nothing like that. But they have taken a spy!” he said curtly.

“Who has?”

“They who serve the Lord Ool,” was his rejoinder. “The spy was attempting to use the secret passage under the river and the walls, but was seized by the guards which the Lord Ool had commanded to be posted at that place.”

The chill breath of presentiment was blowing upon my nape.

“Is the name of the spy known?” I asked, with whatever semblance of casualness I could summon.

He nodded. “It is one Marud, a fat innkeeper of the city,” he grunted. “It seems he was attempting to convey some sort of message to the rebels in the jungle, but the Uncanny One, with his shadowy arts, gained forewarning of the plot”

“I see,” I said, and I fear my face went pale at this dire news, although so dim was the illumination at this hour that I doubt if my acquaintance noticed.

“Was be taken with the message on him?” I asked.

“No; or so I have been told. They seized him and carried him before Arkola the Warlord, but… :’

“But?”

“But he snatched a dagger from one of the guards escorting him and slew himself before he could be questioned,” he said. And then, saying he was called to his post, he bid me good-day and went on down the corridor, leaving me to my thoughts.

Alas, brave, loyal Marud! Obviously, he had slain himself rather than betray my part in this business. I felt a qualm of conscience. A man had killed himself to save me. Or, rather, to save me that I might yet serve the Princess Darloona.

Well, he was not the first patriot to die in the service of a worthy cause, and he would not be the last. But

I determined then and there that, once this dire business was resolved, and all our present dangers at an end, Marud’s sacrifice should not be forgotten nor his name go unremembered.

But one overwhelming question soon filled my mind to the exclusion of all other matters. Had Marud been seized before delivering my letter to Lord Yarrak―or after doing so?

During that morning I made inquiry as best I could, but none could answer me this riddle. Marud had been arrested in the entrance to the tunnel, but he could either have been about to leave the city or about to reenter it at the time he was seized. And no one knew which!

Unless it was Ool the Uncanny!

CHAPTER EIGHT OOL THE UNCANNY

For the next couple of days I walked cautiously, expecting at almost any time to be arrested. But nothing of that nature came to pass, nor was I under surveillance, so far as I could judge, or even under suspicion. Gradually, I relaxed, thinking myself safe and my role in the unfortunate martyrdom of Marud unknown.

My patron had dispatched me on an errand of small importance, which took me into a portion of the palace I had never visited till now.

Delivering his message, I was on my way back to Prince Vaspian’s apartments when suddenly a soft voice from behind me halted me in my tracks.

I turned to look into the cold, glinting eyes of Ool the Uncanny!

The fat little man smiled at the involuntary expression of surprise that must have shown on my features.

“Ah, it is the komad Jandar,” he purred in his silky voice. “We have not yet had the opportunity to meet, komad, although I have followed your rise in the ranks with considerable interest.”

“I am surprised that the Lord Ool has any interest at all in a mere warrior such as myself,” I said. He laughed in a most peculiar way without making a sound.

“Ah, but I am interested in everything which touches upon the safety of my Lord Prince Vaspian,” he said. “Come―you have a moment, surely―there is chilled wine in my quarters here―indulge me for a moment.”

I accepted his invitation after some little hesitation. I was in no way afraid of this fat, buttery little priest; and I was very curious to know more about him. So I permitted him to usher me into a large chamber where he evidently dwelt.

It was a spacious, sunny room, very comfortably furnished, with thick carpets and gorgeous wall hangings and cushioned chairs. He poured me an excellent yellow wine in frosted goblets of silver and set beside me a platter of small pastries and cold sliced meats. I observed to myself that this priest obviously did not live in stark poverty but liked his bodily comforts.

I also resolved not to sample aught of food and drink in his presence, lest it be embued with some narcotic of a tongue-loosening nature. So I but moistened my lips with the wine and politely refused the pastries, saying I had just eaten, which was true enough.

Ool seated himself across from me and folded his plump soft hands across his belly, regarding me with cunning, observant eyes and a slight smile which did nothing to warm the coldness of his reptilian gaze. And I became aware that he had seated me so that I faced the windows and my face was clearly illuminated, while he himself had his back to them and was in shadow.

“Now, then, komad, we can gossip for a breath in comfort …. I believe you were last in service to the Lord of Soraba?”

I replied that this was true.

“And was my Lord Kaamurath still regnant in that city when you were there?” he inquired, which rather surprised me, for when we had chosen Soraba to be my fictitious last place of mercenary service we did so on the knowledge that the Black Legion had been far distant from that city on the shores of the Corund Lai for years, and hence there was little likelihood of my having to answer any embarrassing questions about a city which I had never seen in my life.

“Why, yes,” I replied, “although somewhat aged.”

This was true, or so Lord Yarrak had assured me. For he had carefully primed me with certain items of information about Soraba in case I did have to answer any queries about my service in that city.

Ool nodded thoughtfully, and then inquired after the health of someone called Lord Urush. I had never heard of this personage, and decided to temporize. So I laughed and said that I had been a mere swordsman in the city guard and had come into only the smallest contact with the great lords.

Ool’s smile deepened. I did not like the way he smiled. Nor the cold glitter of his black eyes as they peered cunningly at me.

“Naturally, that would be so,” he purred. “Yet is it not odd that with only a few weeks service here in Shondakor you have risen to a high rank and a place beside the Prince Vaspian himself, while for all the length of your service in Soraba you remained a mere swordsman?”

I shrugged with seeming casualness, although perspiration was running down my ribs under my leather tunic.

“No, not odd at all, my lord. My commander in Soraba was a self-seeking man who sought to curry favor with the great houses of that city by promoting only their younger sons, and passing over deserving but less well-attached warriors like myself. And as you must know, my lord, it was not my military honors which attracted the favor of my Lord Prince Vaspian to elevate me to his retinue, but a lucky chance whereby I was able to rescue him from danger by halting a runaway thaptor.”

“Ah, yes, somewhat of that story I have heard ere now―a most fortunate accident indeed, as the Prince was unharmed by it, and as you rose to good fortune by this same accident. From what land do you hail, komad? Never have I met a man with eyes and hair the color of yours.”

“A country called the United States of America,” I replied.

“What an odd name! I do not believe that I have ever heard of that city. Where is it?” he inquired lazily, and still that smile hovered about his full lips.

I felt that I was being played with, but there was nothing that I could do about it. Now I knew what it was like to be a small mouse at the pleasure of a smiling, lazy, fat, and very well-fed cat.

It lies a very great distance from these parts,” I said, and truthfully enough. “I am uncertain of the direction, for I have been long from my homeland and have visited many lands since leaving it.”

“It must indeed be very distant,” Ool said lazily, “for I have never heard of it, and geography has long been a hobby of mine. Tell me, komad, do all of your fellow citizens in that land have eyes of such a rare color?”

“No, not all. We are a nation made up of several peoples who have long interbred. A considerable number of my fellow countrymen have blue eyes, however. They seem to be the most rare here.”

“Indeed they are, most rare, most rare indeed!” he said, and once again he gave that soundless laugh which made my skin crawl, although for the life of me, I could not say why. But there was something about this fat, soft, mild-seeming little wizard-priest that instinctively put me on the alert. I had the feeling that he was about as harmless as a cobra.

I brought the interview to a close at this point, pleading that I dared not be too long absent from the side of my patron.

“Ah, yes, the Lord Prince is somewhat, shall we say ―oversuspicious?” he purred, rubbing his fat little hands together. “He has the strange feeling that he is surrounded by unfriendly persons with great secrets ―an odd thing to fear, is it not? Tell me, komad, have you secrets which you hold to yourself?”

I forced an awkward laugh. “Of course, my lord! Does not every man have a secret or two?”

He laughed again, rising to usher me out of his silken little nest.

“Oh, yes―but some of us have the most astounding secrets!” he chuckled, and I did not like the sound of that remark at all.

I bowed my farewell and made my way off down the corridor. And all the way I felt his cold, glittering little eyes on me until I had turned the corner and was out of sight.

And thus concluded my private interview with Ool the Uncanny. I had the feeling that he either knew or suspected that there was something about me which I did not wish known. But he did not thereafter interfere with my actions nor make any report of me to those who were my superiors, so I could not be certain.

But thereafter I avoided him as best I could. And, luckily, Prince Vaspian did not again send me into that portion of the royal palace.

The following evening and for several nights thereafter I attended my patron at these court feasts I have ere now spoken of, so I had frequently the opportunity of seeing Darloona and of observing her in public.

Ool the Uncanny was often present on these occasions, so I was careful not to let myself seem overly interested in the Princess. I felt he was already suspicious of me for some reason, and I was anxious not to attract his attentions any more than I could help. Luckily for my peace of mind, Prince Vaspian had an unholy horror of the fat little wizard and a marked aversion to his presence, and whenever they were thrown into close proximity, as during a council meeting or one of these royal feasts, he avoided the presence of Ool in a very obvious manner. Ool did not seem to take any affront at this, but merely smiled his placid, Buddha-like smile.

Hence, although we did speak and she took no notice of me whatever, I saw quite a bit of my princess during the course of these long state dinners.

Her demeanor at these feasts was proud and reserved. Although splendidly robed and adorned with flashing gems and plates of precious metals, she seemed more of a helpless prisoner than a reigning queen-to-be. She spoke little to the other women at her table. They were mostly women of the Chac Yuul, the wives or daughters or mistresses of the Black Legion chieftains, bold-eyed, barbaric, and quarrelsome. Constantly they made slighting remarks about her apparel or deportment, and went off into gales of nasty laughter at almost everything she did, until my hands ached where they gripped tightly the hilts of my sword and dagger, and I yearned to spring down among them and scatter them left and right. But I said nothing, holding my peace, sometimes with very great effort, and I do not think that any at the feast observed anything out of the way in my manner.

When she would enter or leave the hall, always on the arm of the smirking Prince, they talked in low voices. She did not hesitate to accept his arm; neither did she greet him with any perceptible animation or enthusiasm. For the life of me, I could not figure out her true feelings for Prince Vaspian. Surely, they did not act like lovers, for all that the Prince lingered over her hand, kissing it and whispering to her in a semblance of intimacy. Her features remained pale, her expression reserved, and if she did not decline speech with him, neither did she seem to welcome it with any marked pleasure.

I began to wonder if the Prince did not perhaps have some hold over her. Had he seized some advantage over her so that she did not dare openly affront him or rebuff his fawning attentions before the chieftains of the Black Legion?

For it did not seem possible that she could love him. I have no doubt but what the proud and fiery Princess of Shondakor was capable of a strong and passionate devotion, but she was too much the woman, and he too little the man, for him to have earned her love without some manner of coercion.

You can see the dilemma that confronted me.

I had gained my entrance into the city in disguise for the sole purpose of effecting her rescue. But now―how could I be certain that Darloona, in truth, wanted to be rescued?

And I could not help remembering how, many weeks ago, when Koja and Darloona and I were all prisoners of the wily and unscrupulous but handsome and charming Prince Thuton of Zanadar, she had willingly accepted the smoothly spoken Prince as her friend and ally and, almost, her betrothed. When Lukor and I had forcibly rescued her from his clutches, at first she was violently angry with me and denounced my assistance as unwanted. Was this adventure to be a repetition of that earlier fiasco? I could not be sure, but one thing was certain: before I attempted to free her from the hands of the Black Legion, I must hear from her own lips whether or not she was in love with Prince Vaspian.

And always before my mind’s eye I saw again that terrible scene in her boudoir when she had stood, clasped in the cloaked arms of one I was convinced was none other than Vaspian, pleading passionately with him, her tear-wet cheeks and shining emerald eyes lifted to scan his visage, concealed from me by the angle at which he stood.

Had it been a love scene I had spied upon unwittingly?

If so, how could I reconcile the subdued and reserved manner of her public meetings with him, against the tempestuous emotions she had displayed when clasped in his arms in privacy?

There was simply no other course for me to follow.

I must have words with Darloona―and soon!

As my luck would have it, that very night an opportunity to speak privately with Darloona occurred.

Vaspian’s one vice, insofar as I had yet discovered, was a fondness for a certain substance called Dream Lotus.

This was a powerful narcotic which dulled the senses and set the mind whirling free amidst a thousand gorgeous but substanceless dreams. In moments of despondency or boredom, my patron would lock himself within his private quarters, imbibe heavily of the noxious fumes of the Dream Lotus, and spend the remainder of the night sunk deep in a drugged slumber.

This night, seething with fury over some fancied slight, or perhaps due to a neurotic conviction that his faceless, and as yet unknown, foes had gained a slim ascendancy, he slunk, snarling and cursing, into his den, loudly calling for his pipe and canister of the Lotus. I was satisfied that he would not stir the remainder of the night, and thus could make no unexpected call upon my presence. Since my quarters were the outermost of all his suite, I could pretty much come or go as I pleased, and so, wrapping myself in a dark cloak tossing my baldric over my shoulders, I set off for my long-delayed interview with Darloona.

I selected a poorly lit and seldom used corridor that wound into a virtually abandoned portion of the palace. There, in a dusty, neglected chamber, I scanned the wall for the secret sign which I had discovered to mark the sliding panels which gave one entry into the network of hidden passages wherewith these walls were tunneled.

I stifled an exclamation as the dim light of my flickering lanthorn showed the small cryptic symbol. In a moment my fingers had probed for and found the secret spring. There was a click, a grating of hidden gimbals, and a black opening yawned before me, into which I plunged without a moment’s hesitation, letting the heavy arras fall behind me.

I strode with rapid yet silent steps through the winding passages within the walls of the palace. On many previous tours I had familiarized myself with the small painted signs that gave indication of direction. Thus oriented, I made my way by the shortest route to the area of the palace wherein the apartments of the Princess were situated.

My heart was in my mouth as I strode through the darkness, and I must confess my mouth was dry, my brow damp with moisture, and my heart pounding to the hurried rhythm of my throbbing pulse. It was not inconceivable that the words I would soon hear from the lips of the Princess would forever change the future of my life. For―what if she truly loved Prince Vaspian of the Black Legion? What if her impending nuptials were indeed of her own free choosing, and were not somehow being forced upon her by threats of some dire punishment?

My heart turned to lead within my breast. If such were to prove the case, then the words I should hear from the lips of the incomparable Princess I loved would be tantamount to a death sentence.

For although never yet had I spoken of my love to Darloona, and although the gap between my own lowly station and her exalted rank would likely prove an insurmountable obstacle, still in the secret places of my heart there burned, clear and pure and brilliant, the small flame of hope.

That love which is completely without hope is not love at all, but a black and bitter canker eating at the heart. Would this prove to be my doom? Did she―could she―love the Prince of the Black Legion?

The answer to this enormous question I would perhaps learn in the next few moments.

And so, with what inward trepidation I give my reader freedom to imagine for himself, I approached the passages that led to the secret spyhole and sliding panel in the wall of Darloona’s apartments.

All was impenetrable gloom, yet here I must douse my lamp, for the slightest bit of light might well be visible through some crack or cranny of the walls, and it would never do to give advance warning of my presence. I could not know for certain that the Princess was alone.

Hooding my lantern under a dark cloth which I had carried for that very purpose, I went forward into utter blackness on wary, silent feet.

And froze with astonishment!

For ahead of me, limned with dim radiance against the gloom, I glimpsed the face of an unknown man.

His features were masked behind a black vizor and all that was visible was the glitter of his eyes, which were set against the spyhole in the wall. Lights from the apartment beyond dimly illuminated his profile.

Another had come to spy upon Darloona in the dark!

I drew back in mingled consternation and alarm, and I fear I stumbled slightly in the blackness, for my foot dislodged some bit of loose stone. The clatter of the stone seemed horribly loud in the utter stillness of the black passageway, and at the sound the unseen watcher snatched his face away from the peephole and, thus, vanished completely.

With drumming pulses, my breath coming in quick short gasps, I stood silent, searching the blackness with every sense for the slightest sign of my opponent’s position. I could not see or hear him, but I sensed his presence. My flesh prickled and my nape hairs stirred, as if with some sixth sense I registered the pressure of invisible eyes.

Then a beam of blinding light struck me full in the eyes―a naked steel blade flashed for my heart―and in the next instant I found myself fighting for my life.