Black Legion of Callisto

CHAPTER NINE A FIGHT IN THE DARK

This was far from being the first time I had ever fought for my life, and it was not likely to be the last. But I sincerely pray to whatever gods may be that never again shall I find myself in so hopeless and desperate a situation.

A battle in the narrow confines of a secret passage is bound to be a difficult one, but when both you and your opponent are totally invisible to each other, the result is chaos.

I could hear the sound of his heavy breathing, the rasp of his buskins against the stone floor, the cling and click and slither of our swords―but in the complete darkness, I could see nothing, nothing at all!

My own sword was clear of its scabbard in a trice and I managed to engage and parry his blade to one side, but it was so close that his point drew a thread of scarlet agony across my chest, slicing through my leathern tunic. A fraction of an inch deeper and I would not be here to tell the tale.

I fought a purely defensive bout, and it took all of my science to keep that unseen sword tip from my throat. I paced backwards, step by step, yielding to his advance, and all the while I searched my wits for some way to disengage and flee―for at any instant the sound of our combat might arouse the occupants of the suites beyond the wall, and the passage might be filled with guards. My imposture would be revealed, I would be taken prisoner, and all of my hopes of giving succor to the Princess in her peril and her captivity would be dashed into the blackest depths of despair.

But, in the meantime, it was all I could do to defend myself against the attack of my invisible opponent.

Never have I fought so brilliantly as in that hour. If it had not been for the thousand tricks and tactics of advanced swordsmanship I had learned during my tutelage under the guidance of Lukor, one of the greatest swordsmen of all Thanator, I would have been slashed to ribbons or spitted upon my opponent’s blade in a trice.

Whoever he was, he was a master swordsman in his own right. And this was, when I later had the leisure to ponder it, a bit puzzling. For doubtless he was some lord or warrior of the Chac Yuul, and the Chac Yuul are by no means schooled in the finer points of the art of fence: They are mounted warriors, for the most part, used to chopping away with heavy cutlass-like cavalry weapons, and far more familiar with the uses of spear, battle-ax, and morning star, than with the rapier. Yet my opponent was a marvelous swordsman of consummate skill and of a degree of science that came near to equaling my own. And, with all due modesty, I may safely claim to be one of the finest swordsmen on all of this jungle world of terror and mystery.

The duel was fast and furious, but it did not occupy very much time. In fact, it was over in a few seconds.

For I had backed by now into the corridor, and yielding before the furious assault of my unseen foe, suddenly I stumbled again―this time over my own lantern―and fell flat on my back.

In falling, my foot tore away the cloth whereby I had shielded the glow of my lantern. The sudden burst of brilliant light must have bedazzled and even temporarily blinded my foeman, for his blade faltered, and although be could probably have put a length of steel through my breast as I sprawled prone and momentarily stunned, he blundered.

In the next instant I sprang to one knee and my own blade flashed in a lucky stroke. So dazzled was he by the sudden flare of illumination that he did not parry the stroke and the tip of my steel caught him in a shallow cut across the cheek, just below the black silken vizor that masked his unknown features.

It was only a slight scratch, but it would nevertheless take some days to heal, and it occurred to me that should I chance to encounter my unknown assailant in the next few days, I should be able to identify him by the wound.

Seizing the opportunity for flight, he sprang backwards, ducked into a side branch of the secret passage, and was gone in an instant.

I sprang to my feet, ready to give pursuit, but the sound of clattering footsteps came to my ears and I heard curt, questioning voices and the clank and clamor of metal accouterments, and knew that someone had heard the sounds of our duel in the dark and had given the alarm, summoning the guards.

Thus it was that I hastily retraced my steps to avoid the chance of discovery. And I did not that night, after all, have the opportunity to hear from the lips of my beloved princess whether or not she had truly given her heart into the keeping of another.

For the next day or two Prince Vaspian kept me busy to such an extent that it was impossible for me to contrive a private interview with the Princess.

The morning following my duel in the dark against a mysterious foe I scrutinized the Prince’s features closely, without appearing to do so, and was curiously relieved to discover his face innocent of the slightest scratch. I say “relieved,” but actually my emotions were somewhat more mixed. I knew the Prince knew little of the art of fence, and thus it did not seem likely that it was the son of Arkola with whom I bad battled in the black gloom of the secret passage, for who ever my unknown opponent had been, he was a brilliant swordsman of superb skills.

And yet, since it had been the Prince who had instructed me in my first knowledge of the secret passages, I knew that he was well aware of them; and as Darloona had once been mistress of all this palace, and presumably was privy to a knowledge of the network of passages within her own walls, and since I believed the two of them were lovers, he was the most likely candidate to have been my nameless foe. For I had yet to encounter another person in my explorations of the secret passages.

Two days after my duel in the dark Prince Vaspian required me to attend him at a court function of such importance that his presence was commanded by the Usurper. Certain officers of the Black Legion were to receive acclamation for their bravery or ability at command, and all the lords of the Chac Yuul were required to be present.

The function took place in a mighty hall, high-ceilinged and lit by a thousand tapers. The hall was thronged with barbaric warriors and splendid chieftains adorned in all their wealth of savage finery, and among them all the Prince my patron shone in the jeweled splendor of his raiment. Nodding plumes crowned his burnished helm, gems glittered from the hilt of his sword, and badges and honors of precious metals encrusted his tunic and girdle.

As he circled the hall, I paced silently behind him, a pace or two to the rear. My stay in the Black Legion had not yet covered a sufficient interval of time for me to have made the acquaintance of any of these chieftains, and thus it was with some surprise that I felt a hand clap me on the shoulder and turned about to meet a friendly smile in a familiar face.

“Ah, Jandar, it is a pleasure to greet you again!” cried a warm voice, and I realized that it was my former comrade and commander, Valkar of Ganatol.

“How do you like palace duty?” he inquired. “Somewhat different, I am certain, from the hard life of barracks and practice field, eh?” He laughed and I forced a smile, but ere we could exchange snore than a few words my Prince shrilly demanded my presence, darting a suspicious glance at Valkar, and I was forced to bid the komor a hasty adieu.

“Some night when you can get free, meet me at the wineshop beside the forum―do you recall the place where we shared a bottle after the theater that night?” he called. I smiled and nodded, but had to turn away for the Prince’s hand was on my arm and his jealous eyes were taking in every detail of my chance acquaintance.

“Who is that fellow to whom you spoke?” he hissed.

“It is the chieftain Valkar under whom I served in the third cohort, Lord―surely you recall questioning him about my record of service, after I was lucky enough to halt your runaway thaptors?”

“Ah, yes; I remember him now,” he muttered, and the light of jealousy and suspicion died from his pinched, sharp features; however he retained his clutch on my arm. “Do not stray away from my side again, Jandar; I require your constant attendance, for here I am virtually surrounded by those who call themselves my friends but who secretly plot behind my back.

I nodded and obediently fell into place behind him, and it was all that I could do to keep a wooden expression on my features. Shock, astonishment, and surprise whirled through my brain.

For it would have been indeed a pleasure to renew my friendship with the gallant, gentlemanly Valkar, had it not been for the scratch on his cheek―the scratch my sword had made two nights before, when we had battled in. the dark!

The remainder of that festive evening is but a blur to me. Strive as I may, I can recall but a giddy panorama of plumed warriors and beautiful women. Resounding speeches were made and toasts were drunk, but I recall neither the speeches nor those whom the toasts saluted.

For I could not expunge from my mind that it was Valkar whom I had battled in the darkness of the secret passage―Valkar whom I had surprised in the very act of spying upon the apartment of the Princess Darloona―Valkar who had been prowling the secret passages, masked and cloaked, in the darkness of the night!

After returning to my quarters following the close of the festivities, I disrobed and stretched out on my bed, but sleep came not easily to me. My mind was a bewildered turmoil of unanswered questions and unsolved mysteries.

I remember that night at the theater to which Valkar had made reference, and I recalled the strange intensity of his gaze and the pallor of his features as he gazed upon Darloona, seated at the side of Prince Vaspian in the royal box.

At the time his tension and the alertness of his gaze had puzzled me, but only slightly, and in the flow of events I had all but forgotten the incident, which seemed in retrospect of little importance. But now I was no longer certain just how important it might have been.

And I recalled, as well, an incident in that wineshop to which Valkar had also referred, the wineshop to which we had repaired after the play. The chance stumbling of a servant wench had spilled wine upon the features of my companion, and in wiping his face he had accidentally wiped away some of the swarthy hue of his features. And thus it seemed that Valkar, even as I, was an impostor.

Tossing and turning on my bed, unable to slumber, I puzzled over these baffling mysteries and wondered exactly who and what my friend Valkar really was, and what was his true reason for joining the Black Legion?

And even more important―was he my friend, or my foe?

Long had I anticipated a private interview with Darloona and the opportunity came about at last, but in the most unexpected manner possible.

The impending nuptials of Vaspian and Darloona were now very close. Only a week remained before they would solemnize their vows before the idol of the dark god worshiped by the Chac Yuul barbarians.

And yet another deadline was drawing close, as well. For the ultimatum delivered by Prince Thuton to the Black Legion was almost due for its answer. Thuton demanded a mighty ransom for surrendering his interests in the person of the Princess of Shondakor, and in default of the prompt payment of that price he had sworn to bring the awesome aerial navy of Zanadar down upon the city in war. Soon, very soon, the lords of the Black Legion must decide upon a course of action.

And so must I. For I could not plan any rescue of Darloona until I had heard from her own lips whether she was being forced into marriage with Prince Vaspian, or whether she truly had given him her heart and hand. But how could I get to see her?

The solution to my dilemma came from, of all persons, Prince Vaspian, himself!

He hailed me, a day or so after my chance encounter with Valkar, and bade me attend him.

“Soon, as you know, the Princess Darloona and I shall be wed,” he said, and I inwardly writhed in revulsion at the oily, self-satisfied smirk wherewith he accompanied his words. “I have a small gift for my bride-to-be; generally, my tokens are delivered by the hand of my confidential valet, Golar, as you must know; alas, he is busy on another errand this evening, so I entrust the task to you.”

I suppressed, with some difficulty, the exclamation of delight which rose to my lips. I do not think that so much as a flicker of surprise or eagerness crossed my features, although within my heart I was shaken by this sudden flash of good fortune. And I am positive that Prince Vaspian observed nothing of my feelings.

“As my prince commands,” I said quietly.

He smirked. “There’s a good fellow!” Then he pressed into my hands a gorgeous ornament that blazed with precious gems unknown to me and gave me minute directions so that I might find my way to the secluded chambers wherein the Princess dwelt, and a note from his hand that would get me past the guards.

I should explain that while Darloona was not technically a prisoner, she was kept under the closest possible watch and no one might gain entrance into her presence without passing the examination of those watchers assigned to guard her. This surveillance aside, she was permitted the greatest latitude and could command whatever she wished.

Without delay I made my way to her suite by the shortest possible route. As I approached her quarters my heart was thumping like that of a foolish schoolboy on his first date, my mouth was dry, and I was mentally composing my speech to her.

The guards stationed at her door halted me, examined the Prince’s sign manual which I carried, and became extremely uncomfortable.

“Komad, we mean no affront to our lord the Prince, but the Lady Darloona has given us express instruction that she be not disturbed this evening. Since the Warlord, Arkola, has commanded us to obey the Princess in all things, save permitting her to elude surveillance, we thus cannot allow you to pass.”

“But it is a message from her betrothed!” I protested. “And surely the Princess cannot have retired to her couch so early in the evening as this. Can you not―”

The officer shook his head with reluctant firmness.

“We are not permitted to transgress against her wishes in such matters,” he said. “It is the command of the Lord Arkola that she be given the illusion of freedom and that her privacy be not intruded upon, save in matters of the most dire necessity. We must, therefore, refuse to let you pass.”

My face reddened. “But I am expressly commanded by Prince Vaspian to deliver this gift―

“And I am expressly commanded by the Lord of the Black Legion to obey the wishes of the Princess,” he said curtly. Then, misunderstanding my distress as a rather natural fear of returning to my patron with his commands unfulfilled, he softened: “You can, of course, leave the gift with me and I shall see that it is delivered into the hands of the Princess personally. Or you may simply return tomorrow morning and deliver it yourself.”

I was seized by a fury of impatience and frustration, but I could not afford to argue. For how could I explain that if I waited till tomorrow, the Prince’s confidential valet, Golar, would be back on duty and since a task of this nature was usually assigned to him, I would thus lose my one opportunity to seek a private interview with Darloona without risk of arousing the suspicions of the Chac Yuul?

As there was no recourse, I nodded and turned away, but the turmoil in my breast was such that I did not go far. It was perfectly infuriating to be this close to my goal and unable to progress a single step further.

On sudden impulse I turned aside into certain seldom-used side passages and followed them, searching for the unobtrusive sign which I knew denoted a sliding panel which would give me entrance into the system of secret passages within the palace walls.

Ere I had gone far I found that for which I sought. A swift glance revealed I was alone and unobserved. My fingers found and depressed a spring concealed in the carven detail of the wall. A panel slid ajar and I stepped into the darkness.

Without difficulty, so familiar bad I become with the system of secret passages by this time, I made my way to the apartments of the Princess. My hand was upon the spring that would open a panel and give me entrance into her boudoir, but a sudden flash of caution bade me survey the room before entering it so abruptly. I found the nearest spyhole, slid aside its cover, and set my eye thereto, peering into the room.

To my astonishment, once more I found myself gazing upon my beloved in the arms of another. A tall man, cloaked and hooded in dark green―surely, it was the same man whom once before I had discovered thus engaged in a tender embrace with the Princess Darloona―a man whom I felt certain was none other than my patron, Prince Vaspian, himself.

But this was most peculiar indeed! Why on earth―or on Thanator, for that matter―would Vaspian have gone out of his way to send me to the Princess with his gift when be was en route to her quarters himself and could easily have delivered the jewelry in person? It simply did not make sense!

Alas, while I stood paralyzed with astonishment at this most puzzling and unexpected development, the hooded man turned swiftly from the embrace of Darloona, bade her farewell, thumbed the spring, and opened the sliding panel.

Before I could rouse myself to action―before I could move away into the dark recesses of the passage or even think of so doing, the secret door opened, bathing me in the light of the room and the cloaked and hooded figure stepped into the passage where I stood frozen and confronted me face to face.

For a moment we both stood motionless, gripped by the surprise of this sudden and unexpected encounter.

Then Darloona’s lover forced an unsteady laugh, and said, “Doubtless, friend, you are thinking the same thing, but―whatever are you doing here, Jandar?”

CHAPTER TEN VALKAR UNMASKED!

It was not Prince Vaspian at all, but Valkar! By the light of the small lantern he carried I could see him quite clearly, the guarded expression of his face, and the way his right hand hovered rather near the hilt of his rapier.

It should not have come as such a surprise as it did. I should really have been prepared for this discovery. After all, had I not encountered Valkar, masked, peering into the Princess’ suite some days earlier? Had I not marked his face with my sword during that terrible duel in the dark, and had I not identified him as my unknown assailant at the court function, when I saw the fresh scar on his unmasked face?

However, I had by now convinced myself that the cloaked man I had seen holding Darloona in his arms was my patron, Prince Vaspian; and such is the power of self-conviction that it had not even entered my mind that her lover might be someone else. Now that I began to see things in heir true light, I realized that the Prince and Valkar were about the same height and build, and that they wore cloaks of identical design and hue, which was not surprising, as most warriors of the Chac Yuul wore cloaks of this design―I bad one, myself―and the hair of both was sleek and black.

Valkar saw the blank expression of surprise on my face, and the tension left his handsome features. He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “But we cannot converse here, where the guards beyond Darloona’s door may hear the muffed tones of conversation and become alarmed. Indeed, it is surprising that they did not become earlier alarmed at our recent sword duel―for now I believe that it was you, Jandar, who surprised me peering into the apartments of the Princess to see if she was alone, and who gave me this small scar on the face! Come, I know a place nearby where we can be alone and where no one is likely to overhear us.”

He led me to a secluded chamber which, from the accumulated dust and other tokens of neglect, was very seldom visited. There he lit a half-consumed candle in a silver holder, threw off his cloak, and turned to regard me with a half serious and half humorous gaze.

“I suspect, old friend, that you are here for much the same reason as I―to effect the escape of the Princess Darloona,” he said.

“I am. It was for that reason alone that I entered Shondakor and sought a place in the fighting forces of the Chac Yuul,” I admitted. He nodded.

“It is the same with me. But I do not recognize you as a defender of the cause of the rightful queen of Shondakor,” he mused. “Never do I recall having seen you at the court of the Princess, nor even as being among the warrior nobles who fled into the Grand Kumala with the Princess when the treacherous arts of Ool the Uncanny permitted the Black Legion to enter and seize the city. Why, then, this desperate mission? Who are you, Jandar?”

“I am not a Shondakorian, but a stranger from a far-off land,” I admitted. “I am the man who assisted the Princess to escape from the clutches of the Yathoon Horde when they took her prisoner in the jungle country; and, still later, when she was held captive by Prince Thuton of Zanadar, it was I, together with a friendly renegade Yathoon chieftain named Koja and a gallant old Swordmaster from Ganatol named Lukor, who rescued her from the Cloud City of the Sky Pirates, only to lose her to a patrol of Black Legion warriors. Since her present captivity by the Chac Yuul is in part my own fault, I resolved to gain a place in the Legion and see if I could not undo my failure to adequately protect her by yet once again effecting her freedom and returning her to her people. Thus I disguised my identity with a false history even as you, Valkar, are disguised with cosmetics! For I know that you are truly a Shondakorian, a man of the Ku Thad, and that the color of your skin and hair is false.”

This fact that I knew he was disguised came as a bit of a shock to Valkar, and I think that it was this, that I had known for some time of his disguise and had not ever revealed it to the authorities, that convinced him that I was a friend and a defender of the Princess. He blinked, his expression sobering.

“How long have you known this?” he asked slowly.

“Ever since that night in the wineshop when the serving wench spilled wine on you, erasing some of your false skin-coloring,” I said. He nodded grimly.

“Against such accidents no man can adequately guard,” he admitted. “I recall the incident well; since you made no remark, and gave no sign of having noticed, I assumed that I had managed to repair the damage to my makeup before you observed.”

Then his eyes grew thoughtful and he laughed.

“Is it not odd how fate plays small tricks upon we mortals? You and I, I think, instinctively liked and trusted each other and soon became fast friends―both of us spies, infiltrating the ranks of the Black Legion for the same purpose, but neither aware that the other was here for the same reason as himself! It is almost as if our secret sympathy and common cause communicated by some sixth sense, finding a kindred soul to which it felt drawn for unknown reasons.” Then he shrugged and a friendly smile warmed his sober features.

“For all these months I have been here in Shondakor, unable to effect Darloona’s rescue, although I did manage to win a high rank among the host of the Chac Yuul. Whereas you, Jandar, enter the Legion and almost at once attract the patronage of that sneaking horeb, Prince Vaspian, and are able to come and go in the palace as you please, where I can gain entrance only by the most extraordinary use of caution and agility. I congratulate you on your good fortune! Between the two of us, we may be able to render aid to our Princess.”

“If she truly desires our aid,” said I, gloomily. He asked my meaning with some surprise, and I recounted to him something of my own suspicions regarding Darloona―suspicions that had been roused by her ambiguous behavior with Prince Vaspian and by her seemingly willing acceptance of his suit. I pointed out reluctantly that I could see no reason why a woman so fiercely proud as Darloona should accept the cowardly and psychotic Vaspian as her consort-to-be unless, by some incredible chance, she had actually fallen in love with the son of Arkola.

“Darloona,” I concluded glumly, “is no tender maiden to be frightened into a marriage by threats of punishment. She is strong-willed, a warrior princess if ever there was one, and I cannot believe that she would permit any threatened danger to force her into a marriage where love was not. Indeed, I can hardly imagine any threat that could coerce the Princess of the Ku Thad into a wedding with that whining little monster. Unlikely as it seems, she must truly love him!”

He listened to my suspicions with a meditative mien. My reasoning was now somewhat shaken, you will perceive, by the discovery that it was not Vaspian I had surprised in a clandestine embrace with the

Princess of Shondakor in the seclusion of her boudoir, but Valkar himself: yet it was true that she had accepted him as her betrothed and that she did not publicly repulse the affections of the Prince. So her behavior in this regard was still a mystery to me.

When I had finished, Valkar wasted no time in setting me to rights on this point.

“Let me relieve your mind on this question, Jandar, my friend,” he said vigorously. “The Princess loathes and despises Prince Vaspian as any proud and noble woman of her high birth and breeding could. She has told me that she would rather sheathe a dagger in her heart than accept the hand of Vaspian before the dark altars of the Chac Yuul.”

I looked at him with some surprise.

“If this be so,” I mused, “why then does she not repudiate her promise to wed the Prince?”

His voice was somber and his eyes smoldered with repressed fires as be explained the puzzle.

“She dares not. For Vaspian holds the key to the safety of her people. You see, the policies of the Black Legion are decided by a consensus of the high council of the Lords of the Legion, one of whom is Prince Vaspian.

“So I have been given to understand.” I nodded.

“And, hitherto, whenever the question arose of whether it would not be wise for the Legion to protect its rather shaky and insecure control over the citizens of Shondakor by mass executions and imprisonment―a logical, if cold-blooded, course of action which Arkola himself approves most heartily―Prince Vaspian holds the deciding vote, for the council is neatly divided upon this question.”

“But why should Vaspian object?; Surely, not from any humanitarian considerations, for he is as cold-blooded as the rest of them.”

“True.” Valkar smiled grimly. “But Vaspian hates his father and wherever possible opposes him in public measures out of sheer spitefulness. Hence he has always cast his vote against the measure in the past, whenever it has come up on the agenda of the council meetings. But he has threatened Darloona in secret that if she does not agree to become his bride, he will raise the matter again and this time cast his vote upon his father’s side. It is virtually the only way the Prince can injure his father, whom he hates for being more of a man than himself, and he takes great delight from openly frustrating Arkola’s will. And against this sort of rebellion, of course, even so powerful a leader as the Warlord is helpless, due to the very laws of the Black Legion, and their customs and traditions.”

I nodded, remembering the open hostility I had observed between Vaspian and Arkola at the council meeting I had attended some days ago.

Valkar continued: “As for Darloona, the only thing the unhappy girl can do to prevent the mass slaughter of her helpless people is to promise to wed the slimy little monster. Thus she dares not repulse his attentions in public.”

Why had I never thought of this logical answer to the mystery of her behavior? As the true realization of Darloona’s ghastly plight burst upon me, cold sweat bedewed my brow and I tasted the metallic, bitterness of dread.

Of course it was impossible that Darloona could have given her love to the cowardly, whining Prince!

But it was equally impossible that, even with the aid of my newfound ally, Valkar, I could ever persuade Darloona to escape the city with me. For the vengeful and malicious Vaspian would punish her betrayal of him by bringing about the mass execution of the unarmed and captive populace―and she knew it!

Was there ever a dilemma so completely hopeless?

There was utterly nothing that I could do to prevent the woman I loved from marrying the man she loathed and despised from the very bottom of her proud heart.

After a time I roused myself from these grim thoughts and queried my friend Valkar, asking if he had any ideas as to how we could help Darloona resolve her problems.

He shrugged gloomily.

“None whatsoever,” he admitted. “Ever since I managed to locate the secret entrance into the palace, whereby to effect my secret interviews with the Princess, I have begged her to flee the city by my side, but to no avail. It is impossible for her to consider such an action, for to do so would mean that she dooms to death the very people who love and trust her, and whom she has sworn to protect. Alas, my poor cousin! She is helpless in such a situation.”

“Cousin?” I asked.

“Why, yes. I thought you knew―how stupid of me not to explain who I am. My name really is Valkar, but as you know I am not a Ganatolian, but a prince of the Ku Thad. My father is Lord Yarrak, the Uncle of the Princess, and the leader of the Ku Thad during her captivity.”

“I see; yes, I know Lord Yarrak well, he has been my host for some weeks, prior to my joining the Black Legion. Odd that he never mentioned a son―especially a son who had infiltrated the Black Legion in disguise ―when he knew I was planning the same sort of thing myself!”

“Not at all, Jandar. My father doubtless believes that I am dead, long since slain in the street fighting when the Chac Yuul first entered the city months ago. We became separated in the confusion, and when the warrior nobles escaped from the city, bearing the Princess away to the safety of the jungles, I remained behind. I was protected by friends among the common folk and stayed in hiding for some time, until matters quieted down. Before I managed to make my escape, the Princess had been captured, and so I remained here without seeking to join my father and my people. Friends in the city helped me disguise my golden skin and flame-red hair, and as a Ganatolian mercenary I gained a place in the ranks of the conquerors, hoping to assist the Princess, my betrothed, to escape later on―”

I fear some involuntary exclamation must have escaped my lips as Valkar spoke these words.

He broke off, staring at me.

“Why, what is it, Jandar? What is the matter? What have I said to disturb you? Why, man, you are white to the lips!”

I forced my features into a semblance of calm and steadied my voice with a considerable effort of will.

“Your―betrothed” I repeated in a low voice.

He shrugged a little and laughed in a self-deprecating way.

“Why―yes. The Princess and I have been betrothed since our childhood. A formal alliance of the two major branches of the blood royal―you understand; that sort of thing.”

“I did not know,” I said faintly. I felt exactly like a man who had just been kicked in the stomach. And I hope it did not show.

“In Shondakorian custom,” he went on idly, “a prince or a princess of the royal house will very often be pledged to marry his or her cousin from earliest ages. Darloona and I would most likely have been married by now had not the Chac Yuul invasion somewhat disrupted the normal flow of events.” He chuckled ruefully at this enormous understatement.

“But whatever is it, Jandar? Didn’t you know that Darloona and I were to wed?”

“In all truth, no.”

He laughed helplessly. “But, surely you must realize that only the fact that Darloona is to be my queen would force me to this dangerous extremity! Only to save my bride-to-be would I take such enormous risks as trying to maintain this masquerade and walk in disguise among the very ranks of they who are my enemies and the enemies of my house.”

I nodded wordlessly. I knew exactly what he meant.

And thus was I struck down into the very depths of despair, as must any man be, when he discovers that his best friend also loves the woman whom he loves, and has, in fact, already won her love and her promise of marriage!

All these long months of being hopelessly in love with a woman who despised me, who considered me a coward, a fumbler, and a fool―I thought I knew by now what hell was like.

But I had yet to learn what hell could really be!

CHAPTER ELEVEN IN THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR

Yes, I knew what Valkar meant when he said that only his great love for the Princess would have driven him to take such a desperate risk as venturing into the very ranks of the Black Legion in disguise.

I knew it all too well! For I, too, loved Darloona with a hopeless and consuming passion. My devotion to her was almost beyond the ability of words to describe. And only the fact that the woman I loved, the peerless Princess to whom I had given my heart, was in terrible danger would have driven me to the desperate extremity of penetrating the conquered city as an impostor.

Of course I knew exactly what Valkar meant! For I had been driven by the same emotion to risk precisely the same dangers as had he.

I thank God that the parallel did not occur to him, but of course he could have no reason to suspect that my devotion to Darloona was spurred by a passion identical to his own. Had he known this, I think I would have died of shame.

Neither he nor Darloona must ever have reason to suspect that I love her. Never by word or deed, by look or glance, must I permit either my best friend or the woman I love to guess the depths of my adoration.

It is a foolish passion, I admitted, that I, a homeless and wandering adventurer, a stranger come by chance or accident from another world, a lowly born member of an alien race, dared to love the splendid Princess of Shondakor―what a mockery!

I had known that my love was a hopeless one, of course; known it even before discovering that Darloona had sworn to wed Prince Vaspian of the Black Legion. Her contempt for me, freely expressed upon many occasions; her unfortunate experiences at my bungling and incompetent hands; these and many other factors had given an indication to me that I had been most foolish to admit my love, even to myself!

And so my position had long been a hopeless one. But worse was yet to come!

For the hopelessness of my situation was only increased by a feeling of horror and dread, when I came to realize that the woman I loved was being forced into a marriage with a man she despised―a marriage which she dared not oppose or avoid.

But now I had truly descended into the depths of despair.

For if Valkar and Darloona were in love, and sworn to each other, how could I hope to win the woman of my dreams, even if by some miracle I managed to free her from her vows to Vaspian and from the captivity of the Chac Yuul?

Black, bitter depression filled my aching heart. For I remembered that glimpse through the spyhole. I had seen Valkar with Darloona clasped in a passionate embrace, I had seen her shining eyes lifted to his, her tear-wet cheeks, and had heard the soft warmth of her pleading voice.

I had thought that my only friend in the city of Shondakor was now my accomplice and ally in the task of freeing the woman I loved from those that held her prisoner. And now it seemed that he was my rival for her heart. Nay, no rival, but already the victor in the unequal contest, for he had long since won her love.

And I wished that I had never set foot on the jungled surface of this strange and terrible and beautiful world, and that I had never looked upon Darloona, Warrior Princess of the Ku Thad!

The next day or two passed by without any occurrence of note. I fear I went about my duties like a mindless automaton, or a somnambulist. I hardly managed to pay attention to the things which went on around me. So deeply was I plunged into a black mood of utter despair that my drugged condition and leaden mood must have been obvious to everyone who encountered me. I responded with dull monosyllabic replies whenever anyone chanced to speak to me. I must have looked like a man stricken by some horrible discovery, some overwhelming calamity.

And that is precisely what I was.

But fortunately the Prince my patron dwelt secluded from the more populous sectors of the palace, and as my duties were few and I remained in my room most of the time, few if any could have noticed my depression.

Concluding my secret meeting with Prince Valkar of Shondakor, and without seeking an interview with the Princess Darloona, since it was now futile even to hope, I returned to Vaspian’s suite.

The Prince was greatly annoyed that I had not been able to obey his wishes and deliver the trinket to his betrothed, but it was a matter of the smallest importance, and the following morning when Golar had returned to his duties, he dispatched his confidential valet with the ornament and that was that.

Usually alert and sensitive to the slightest moods of those around him, because of his psychotic fears of plots and spies and his consuming suspicions of the motives of everyone he encountered, the Prince was so caught up in the last-minute preparations for his impending nuptials, now mere days in the future, that I strongly doubt if even he noticed anything out of the way in my behavior. At any rate I saw little of him and spent most of the time in my room, busy with my doleful thoughts.

I believe there can hardly be a more terrible situation in the human condition than to discover that your closest friend has wooed and won the heart of the woman you secretly love. I, at least, have never before tasted such black bitterness, and I pray to the unknown Lords of Gordrimator, whom the Thanatorians call gods, that I never taste such again.

Valkar and I parted on pledges of mutual assistance, and we arranged to meet secretly a few days before the wedding of Darloona and Prince Vaspian.

What this meeting was supposed to accomplish, I do not believe either of us knew. But as a last-minute attempt to rescue the woman we both loved from the grim results of her folly, we hoped to arrive at some solution to the dark dilemma in which we were immersed.

It may well be that Prince Valkar had thought of the same possible solution to our mutual problem which had also occurred to me. For there was one way out of this corner.

Prince Vaspian could―die.

Never have I slain a man in cold blood, and I did not face the prospect with any particular joy. Although the Prince disgusted me, and the manner in which he smirked and strutted and preened himself over his so-called “conquest” of the most beautiful woman of all Thanator stung me to a fury of loathing, he was personally weak and vain, frivolous and ineffectual―and I could not consider the slaying of such a weakling as anything more noble than sheer murder.

I have always considered myself a man of honor. But like all men, I have once or twice in my life done something of which I was not proud. To strike down this smirking fool in cold blood, to pit my vastly superior skill with the sword against his feeble arm and uncertain hand, would be rank cowardice.

Yet I must do it, if I wished to save Darloona from his unclean lust.

I wrestled with my conscience during those black, bitter hours. just how much did I owe this woman, who did not return my love and was to wed my friend? Must I stain my honor with cold-blooded and cowardly murder for a woman who, after all, despised me?

To this torrent of doubts, there was only one answer possible.

I owed Darloona everything that I could give her, even the sacrifice of my unstained honor, or my very life, if she should require it. And I did not have the right to demand so much as the favor of a single smile in return.

For when a man loves, he loves wholly, he withholds nothing of himself, or it is not truly love. This sort of chivalry may sound old-fashioned, and perhaps it is, but my love for her was beyond any question of payment or price.

And thus I agonized for days. My situation rapidly became all but intolerable. Valkar was my closest friend, my confidant, my coconspirator. That he had won the love of my peerless Princess should not have caused me pain, for whom better should Darloona marry than a man like Valkar?

He was brave, intelligent, noble, and strong. He was a brilliant officer, a mighty prince, and his mission here in entering the city of the Chac Yuul in disguise, in a desperate one-man attempt to rescue the woman he loved from the very strong hold of her enemies, was heroic almost to the point Madness.

Why, then, should I begrudge him the love of the most beautiful woman of two worlds? Because of my own selfish passion?

It was absurd! My own love for Darloona was strong and deep and sincere, and it would endure to my last heartbeat. I would adore Darloona and fight for her while a single breath remained in my body, while a single drop of blood remained to animate my flesh.

But I was not even nobly born, much less a powerful prince, heir to a kingly house and a great fortune. My passion for her was hopeless. Darloona needed a man beside her on the throne who had been trained since childhood to rule. Such a man, of course, was Valkar. I could just imagine what kind of a prince consort I would make! Why, what did I know about being a king? The only thing I knew how to do was pilot a helicopter―and get myself into trouble: I had a real talent for doing that.

But I am as human as the next fellow, and I fear that I was often rather curt, sullen, and incommunicative with Valkar whenever we met to consider the various possible ways we could rescue Darloona from her impending marriage.

I did not mention the possibility of slaying Prince Vaspian. The onus for such a crime must rest on me alone; Valkar must know nothing of it in advance. When the time came, when it became necessary―I should simply do it.

Thus things went on for some days and the time of the marriage came near.

And then the most extraordinary accident occurred. To this hour I can remember the lift of my spirits, and the amazement which accompanied this resurgence. Valkar, I am sure, knew nothing of what was happening within me, although my depression and sullen spirits must have been obvious to all.

We were sitting in a corner table sharing a bottle of wine. Such was my preoccupation that I had thoughtlessly let fall some reference to Darloona’s love for Valkar, and of the strength of his emotion for her.

He looked surprised for just a moment, and then voiced a rather apologetic laugh.

“I fear that you have misconstrued my words, Jandar,” he said awkwardly.

“How is that?”

“Why―all this talk of how much Darloona loves me. We are, of course, the very best of friends, and have been ever since our childhood. But, alas, we do not love each other.”

He laughed, a trifle sadly.

“Ours is, as I thought you must surely understand, a marriage of political alliance. As far as I know, Darloona has never yet been in love with me, or anyone else.”

“And you―?”

He grinned a bit wearily.

“Oh, I shall make her the finest husband possible, and I admire and like her enormously, but I have never been in love with her.”

“But I saw you clasped in each other’s arms―I saw her lift tear-stained cheeks and pleading eyes to your face!”

“That must have been when she was begging me to flee from the city and get out before my imposture was discovered,” he said idly. “She was in an agony of apprehension lest I be found out and punished, on her account. But here, Jandar! You have turned white as death again! Are you all right, old friend?”

I suppose the shock of this wonderful discovery must have been visible on my features, but I know that Valkar could not have known the depth of joy in my heart.

The woman I loved was yet heart-free―and I could hope, at least!

CHAPTER TWELVE AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

The next day or two Prince Vaspian kept me busy in the palace and I had no time for any further meetings with my fellow conspirator. But we had arranged a last-minute rendezvous at the wineshop, to take place just a couple of hours before the wedding, which was to be solemnized at the hour of midday.

At this last meeting we planned to coordinate our efforts to rescue Darloona, and, although I feel certain that Valkar did not suspect it, part of my own plans for that fateful hour included the cold-blooded murder of Prince Vaspian.

The day arrived.

The palace was a bustle of preparations; Vaspian preened and strutted like a peacock, leered and smirked over his impending nuptials until I grimly realized that it would be not at all unpleasant to put a yard of steel through his despicable heart.

The time for my rendezvous approached. Vaspian had no particular need of me until the hour of the ceremony arrived, and so I did not find it difficult to make my way through the palace to the nearest exit.

Whatever Valkar and I should decide to do, my own plans were fixed and certain. The task of playing the assassin was mine; it could only be mine, for only I could come and go freely in the private apartments of the Prince; only I had the opportunity to request a private audience with him immediately prior to our departure for the Hall of Hoom, as the devil god of the Chac Yuul was known, before whose high altar the nuptials would be celebrated by Ool the wizard-priest.

And at that private audience I would accomplish the murder and be gone; such was to be my lonely fate.

Or so I thought at the time!

But va lu rokka, as the fatalistic philosophy of the Yathoon hordesmen has it. That which is destined shall come to pass, whatever your plans may be.

And, as things turned out, it was not after all my destiny to meet with Valkar at the wineshop that morning.

Fate had a few surprises in store for Jandar of Callisto!

It was my plan to leave the royal citadel by a side entrance which, while well guarded, was rather neglected. Few used it, as most of the lords and chieftains of the Black Legion preferred the more accessible main gate. But as my mission was of a somewhat surreptitious nature, and I did not desire to attract any more attention than I could help, I chose to leave by this side gate. And it is upon just such small matters as these, the passing whims of a moment, that the fate of empires and the destiny of worlds sometimes hang.

For as I strode through the gate, nodding at the guards who knew me for Prince Vaspian’s man, I encountered a Chac Yuul war party entering the palace with two prisoners in tow. When I glanced with casual curiosity at the two captives, I got the surprise of my life.

For they were my old comrades, Koja and Lukor!

Koja, the towering Yathoon, loomed above the squat Black Legion warriors by head, shoulders, and upper thorax. His bare, glistening, chitinous forelimbs were bound behind him with tough leather thongs. His bald, ovoid head, crowned with segmented feelers, bore only the slightest resemblance to a human visage. His horny, immobile face and huge solemn eyes were physiologically incapable of registering changes of emotion, and he regarded me with an unfathomable gaze.

As for Lukor, the peppery little Swordmaster of Zanadar was somewhat the worse for wear. His somber-colored garments were torn, dirtied, and disheveled. His shock of snowy hair was disarranged. He was bleeding from a number of small scratches and minor cuts, and I have no doubt that those who had captured him had not done so without discovering that it is not an easy thing to disarm a swordsman of such masterly skill. His face was stiff and expressionless as he saw me, but from the flash of excitement in his eyes I knew that he had instantly recognized me despite the unexpectedness of our meeting.

As for myself, I fear I retained less composure than did my two old friends. I believe I paled, and an expression of shocked surprise doubtless crossed my features at this unexpected meeting.

The komad in charge of the war party saw the expression of astonishment that crossed my features. But, luckily, he did not identify my expression as one of recognition: had he done so I would have been hard put to explain how a warrior of the Black Legion could have known a Ganatolian swordmaster and a Yathoon hordesman.

Instead, he misinterpreted my surprise as mere startlement at seeing a Yathoon warrior in the city of the Ku Thad. For while the various human races of Thanator frequently take service in alien cities, and while it is not at all rare to encounter a Perushtarian tradesman in Zanadar, a Canatolian warrior serving in the ranks of the Chac Yuul, or a Ku Thad dwelling in Ganatol, the great, solemn-faced, stalk-limbed arthropods of the Horde stay with their own kind and are not ever found in service with the forces of the human nations of this world.

Proud of his capture, the squat, bandy-legged little komad grinned hugely, hooked his thumbs in his girdle, and nodded at the two silent prisoners.

“Fresh bodies for the Games, eh, friend?” he chuckled. “The Warlord will be pleased with them. Why, we have not taken a capok prisoner in years. ‘Twill be a pleasure to see this one stand against a yathrib for the Nuptial Games. I have always wanted to see one of them in action with those ungainly whip-swords of theirs.”

I had gained control of my features by now and permitted them to register slight curiosity.

“Aye, true enough, komad,” I said indifferently. It came to me suddenly that, in honor of the marriage of Prince Vaspian and Darloona, the Chac Yuul would hold one of their bloody gladitorial festivals in the great arena of the palace compound that very afternoon. My blood ran cold at the thought. How could I free my friends, while attempting to save Darloona from the arms of the Son of Arkola? I did not think it possible to accomplish both; and yet I could hardly abandon Koja and Lukor to so horrible a fate as death in the arena. Both had saved my life ere this, at the hazard of their own.

“You are the komad Jandar, are you not?” the little officer inquired. “I believe I have seen you in Prince Vaspian’s retinue ere now.”

I nodded, and he identified himself as one Loguar, an officer in the fourth cohort of the Legion.

“Where did you get these two?” I asked, with what I hoped would sound like idle curiosity. Loguar was happy to swagger his triumph and needed no spur to his loquacity.

“Caught them in the lower city,” he said, meaning the slums of Shondakor, a dilapidated area of old tenements down by the river docks. “Sneaking along in the shadows, they were, and up to no good, that was obvious. The old one put up a terrific battle, for all his white hair. A devil with the sword, that one! Five of my lads will be months in the mending, and three others will fight for the Legion never again, for they are gone to Gordrimator.”

By this, Loguar meant they had been killed, or so I surmise. Oddly enough, for a barbaric world of walled cities and tribal monarchs, the various nations of Thanator have only the most rudimentary kind of a religion. They worship a pantheon of divinities called “The Lords of Gordrimator,” by which name they term the planet Jupiter, to which this world of Thanator is the fifth satellite; but the word “worship” may be too strong, for never yet have I met with a priest of this religion or nor have I seen anything that could be described as a cathedral or a temple.

Indeed, the only priest of any description I have heard of on Thanator is that inscrutable little being, Ool the Uncanny, and he is more wizard or enchanter than priest. But I had vaguely heard of the Thanatorian belief that the souls or spirits of the warrior dead travel to Gordrimator, which seems to be envisioned as a sort of paradise or afterlife, so I understood what he meant.

“Odd to see a Yathoon hordesman in the city,” I commented. “Where are you taking them, if I may ask?”

“To the Pits,” shrugged Loguar, meaning the dungeons beneath the royal citadel. “There they will be safe and secure until the Games.”

“Very good. Doubtless someone will wish to question them as to their reasons for being in the city?”

He grunted and spat. “The Warlord generally questions prisoners, but on this day of days I doubt he would be interested. Well, I must be off with my prizes.” He grinned, and tossed me a companionable salute. Then he strode off into the palace with his war party and the two captives.

I stood aside as they went past me, and as tall gaunt Koja went by he clacked out one word in his harsh metallic tones.

“Horaj,” he said.

He spoke in a low voice and I doubt if any heard him, or if they did, they paid him no notice. The more ignorant of the humans of Thanator, among which the Chac Yuul must certainly be numbered, consider the great stalking warriors of the Yathoon Horde as little more than monsters, and certainly they do not count them as intelligent beings on a par with mankind. Hence if any of the members of Loguar’s war party heard the single word which Koja enunciated, they put it down to a bestial grunting. But I have dwelled in the war camps of the Horde and I know that while the arthropods are degraded and cruel and belong to the lowest rung of civilization, being merely nomad warrior clans devoid of the nobler sentiments and immune to the beauties of the arts, they are nonetheless as fully intelligent as men.

What did Koja mean by that single word horaj, which he doubtless spoke for my ears alone? Horaj means “urgent.”

By this enigmatic term, did he mean to communicate that he possessed vital information for my ears alone? I could put no other construction on his remark. And surely Koja and Lukor had not run the risk of entering the city of Shondakor for any other reason than to communicate with me.

I paused in the entranceway for a few moments, indecisively.

The forced marriage of Darloona was but hours away. And if Valkar and I were to attempt any sort of rescue, we must lay our plans at once. And even now he awaited my coming in our wineshop rendezvous.

But I must forgo that meeting, for all its urgency.

I turned on my heel and reentered the palace.

Despite the fact that time was running out, I could not delay having speech with Koja and Lukor. Some mission of overwhelming importance had caused them to dare the risk of entering the city of the Ku Thad. And I must find out what it was.