The Sword of Rhiannon

XIV. Daring Deception

But it was not Ironbeard who spoke. It was Boghaz, it was Boghaz alone who, came out onto the balcony, very downcast and sad.

“Emer sent me,” he said. “She told me the tragic news and I had to come to say good-by.”

He took Carse’s hand. “The Sea Kings are holding their last council of war before starting for Sark but it will not be long. Old friend, we have been through much together. You have grown to be like my own brother and this parting wrings my heart.”

The fat Valkisian seemed genuinely affected. There were tears in his eyes as he looked at Carse.

“Yes, like my own brother,” he repeated unsteadily. “Like brothers, we have quarreled but we have shed blood together too. A man does not forget.”

He drew a long sigh. “I should like to have something of yours to keep by me, friend. Some small trinket for memory’s sake. Your jeweled collar, perhaps—your belt—you will not miss them now and I should cherish them all the days of my life.”

He wiped a tear away and Carse took him not too gently by the throat.

“You hypocritical scoundrel!” he snarled into the Valkisian’s startled ear. “A small trinket, eh? By the gods, for a moment you had me fooled!”

“But, my friend—” squeaked Boghaz.

Carse shook him once and let him go. In a rapid undertone he said, “I’m not going to break your heart yet if I can help it. Listen, Boghaz. How would you like to gain back the power of the Tomb?”

Boghaz’ mouth fell open. “Mad,” he whispered. “The poor fellow’s lost his wits from shock.”

Carse glanced inside. The guards were lounging out of earshot. They had no reason to care what went on on the balcony. There were three of them, mailed and armed. Boghaz was weaponless as a matter of course and Carse could not possibly escape unless he grew wings.

Swiftly the Earthman spoke.

“This venture of the Sea Kings is hopeless. The Dhuvians will help Sark and Khondor will be doomed. And that means you too, Boghaz. The Sarks will come and if you survive their attack, which is doubtful, they’ll flay you alive and give what’s left of you to the Dhuvians.”

Boghaz thought about that and it was not a pleasant thought.

“But,” he stammered, “to regain Rhiannon’s weapons now—it’s impossible! Even if you could escape from here no man alive could get into Sark and snatch them from under Garach’s nose!”

“No man,” said Carse. “But I’m not just a man, remember? And whose weapons were they to begin with?”

Realization began to dawn in the Valkisian’s eyes. A great light broke over his moon face. He almost shouted and caught himself with Carse’s hand already over his mouth.

“I salute you, Carse!” he whispered. “The Father of Lies himself could not do better.” He was beside himself with ecstasy.”

“It is sublime. It is worthy of—of Boghaz!”

Then he sobered and shook his head. “But it is also sheer insanity.”

Carse took him by the shoulders. “As it was before on the galley—nothing to lose, all to gain. Will you stand by me?”

The Valkisian closed his eyes. “I am tempted,” he murmured. “As a craftsman, as an artist, I would like to see the flowering of this beautiful deceit.”

He shivered all over. “Flayed alive, you say. And then the Dhuvians. I suppose you’re right. We’re dead men, anyway.” His eyes popped open. “Hold on there! For Rhiannon all might be well in Sark but I’m only Boghaz, who mutinied against Ywain. Oh, no! I’m better off in Khondor.”

“Stay, then, if you think so,” Carse shook him. “You fat fool! I’ll protect you. As Rhiannon I can do that. And as the saviours of Khondor, with those weapons in our hands, there’s no end to what we can do. How would you like to be King of Valkis?”

“Well—” Boghaz sighed. “You would tempt the devil himself. And speaking of devils—” He looked narrowly at Carse. “Can you keep yours down? It’s an uncanny thing to have a demon for a bunk-mate.”

Carse said, “I can keep him down. You heard Rhiannon himself admit it.”

“Then,” said Boghaz, “we’d best move quickly before the Sea Kings end their council.” He chuckled. “Old Ironbeard has helped us, ironically enough. Every man is ordered to duty and our crew is aboard the galley, waiting—and not very happy about it either!”

A moment later the guards in the inner room heard a piercing cry from Boghaz.

“Help! Come quickly—Carse has thrown himself into the sea!”

They rushed onto the balcony, where Boghaz was leaning out, pointing down to the churning waves below.

“I tried to hold him,” he wailed, “but I could not.”

One of the guards grunted. “Small loss,” he said and then Carse stepped out of the shadows against the wall and struck him a sledgehammer blow that felled him, and Boghaz whirled around to lay a second man on his back.

The third one they knocked down between them before he could get his sword clear of the scabbard. The other two were climbing to their feet again with some idea of going on with the fight but Carse and the Valkisian had no time to waste and knew it. Fists hammered stunning blows with brutal accuracy and within a few minutes the three unconscious men were safely bound and gagged.

Carse started to take the sword from one of them, and Boghaz coughed with some embarrassment.

“Perhaps you’ll want your own blade back,” he said.

“Where is it?”

“Fortunately, just outside, where they made me leave it.”

Carse nodded. It would be good to have the sword of Rhiannon in his hands again.

Crossing the room Carse stopped long enough to pick up a cloak belonging to one of the guards. He looked sidelong at Boghaz. “How did you so fortunately chance to have my sword?” he asked.

“Why, being your best friend and second in command, I claimed it.” The Valkisian smiled tenderly. “You were about to die—and I knew you would want me to have it.”

“Boghaz,” said Carse, “your love for me is a beautiful thing.”

“I have always been sentimental by nature.” The Valkisian motioned him aside, at the door. “Let me go first.”

He stepped out in the corridor, then nodded and Carse followed him. The long blade stood against the wall. He picked it up and smiled.

“From now on,” he said, “remember. I am Rhiannon!”

There was little traffic in this part of the palace. The halls were dark, lighted at infrequent intervals by torches. Boghaz chuckled.

“I know my way around this place,” he said. “In fact I have found ways in and out that even the Khonds have forgotten.”

“Good,” said Carse. “You lead then. We go first to find Ywain.”

“Ywain!” Boghaz stared at him. “Are you crazy, Carse? This is no time to be toying with that vixen!”

Carse snarled. “She must be with us to bear witness in Sark that I am Rhiannon. Otherwise the whole scheme will fall. Now will you go?”

He had realized that Ywain was the keystone of his whole desperate gamble. His trump card was the fact that she had seen Rhiannon possess him.

“There is truth in what you say,” Boghaz admitted, then added dismally, “But I like it not. First a devil, then a hellcat with poison on her claws—this is surely a voyage for madmen!”

Ywain was imprisoned on the same upper level. Boghaz led the way swiftly and they met no one. Presently, around the bend where two corridors met, Carse saw a single torch burning by a barred door that had one small opening in its upper half. A sleepy guard drowsed there over his spear.

Boghaz drew a long breath. “Ywain can convince the Sarks,” he whispered, “but can you convince her?”

“I must,” Carse answered grimly.

“Well then—I wish us luck!”

According to the plan they had made on the way Boghaz sauntered ahead to talk to the guard, who was glad to have news of what was going on. Then, in the middle of a sentence, Boghaz allowed his voice to trail off. Open-mouthed, he stared over the guard’s left shoulder.

The startled man swung around.

Carse came down the corridor. He strode as though he owned the world, the cloak thrown back from his shoulders, his tawny head erect, his eyes flashing. The wavering torchlight struck fire from his jewels and the sword of Rhiannon was a shaft of wicked silver in his hand.

He spoke in the ringing tones he remembered from the grotto.

“Down on your face, you scum of Khondor—unless you wish to die!”

The man stood transfixed, his spear half raised. Behind him Boghaz uttered a frightened whimper.

“By the gods,” he moaned, “the devil has possessed him again. It is Rhiannon, broken free!”

Very godlike in the brazen light, Carse raised the sword, not as a weapon but as a talisman of power. He allowed himself to smile.

“So you know me. It is well.” He bent his gaze on the white-faced guard. “Do you doubt, that I must teach you?”

“No,” the guard answered hoarsely. “No, Lord!”

He went to his knees. The spear-point clashed on rock as he dropped it. Then he bellied down and hid his face in his hands.

Boghaz whimpered again, “Lord Rhiannon.”

“Bind him,” said Carse, “and open me this door.”

It was done. Boghaz lifted the three heavy bars from their sockets. The door swung inward and Carse stood upon the threshold.

She was waiting, standing tensely erect in the gloom. They had not given her so much as a candle and the tiny cell was closed except for the barred slot in the door. The air was stale and dank with a taint of mouldy straw from the pallet that was the only furniture. And she wore her fetters still.

Carse steeled himself. He wondered whether, in the hidden depths of his mind, the Cursed One watched. Almost, he thought, he heard the echo of dark laughter, mocking the man who played at being a god.

Ywain said, “Are you indeed Rhiannon?”

Marshal the deep proud voice, the look of brooding fire in the glance.

“You have known me before,” said Carse. “How say you now?”

He waited, while her eyes searched him in the half light. And then slowly her head bent, stiffly as became Ywain of Sark even before Rhiannon.

“Lord,” she said.

Carse laughed softly and turned to the cringing Boghaz.

“Wrap her in the cloths from the pallet. You must carry her—and bear her gently, swine!”

Boghaz scurried to obey. Ywain was obviously furious at the indignity but she held her tongue on that score.

“We are escaping them?” she asked.

“We are leaving Khondor to its fate,” Carse gripped the sword. “I would be in Sark when the Sea Kings come that I may blast them myself, with my own weapons!”

Boghaz covered her face with the rags. Her hauberk and the hampering chains were hidden. The Valkisian lifted what might have been only a dirty bundle to his massive shoulder. And over the bundle he gave Carse a beaming wink.

Carse himself was not so sure. In this moment, grasping at the chance for freedom, Ywain would not be too critical. But it was a long way to Sark.

Had he detected in her manner just the faintest note of mockery when she bent her head?