“But you never found the body, did you?” the Prince said firmly.
“It was snowing, by Zoar!” the knight snapped angrily. “Do you not believe me? The snow covered everything within the hour. His horse wandered off and left him where he fell, and the snow covered him…”
“Yes, yes. I know. The snow-you watched the ambush from some distance…”
“And by the time I got there I could find but two of my own men!”
“Well it is over. Now to put an end to our other problem, this outlaw leader-what do they call him?”
“The Hawk,” said the knight sullenly.
“Yes. Strange this Hawk suddenly showing himself-and so close at hand. How do you explain it?” insinuated the Prince in a sly voice.
“I do not explain it!” The knight banged his silver goblet down upon the arm of the chair; wine sloshed up over the rim, wetting his hand. “Happenchance-it’s a coincidence, nothing more,” he said, straining to control his temper. “Or perhaps one of the worthless robbers I hired for this… this transaction returned to his den and wagged his tail for his master.”
“Possibly, possibly. There is no honor among dogs, you know,” Jaspin quipped.
The Prince sipped his wine and sat silent for a time, gazing into the fire now beginning to dwindle. “I suppose we shall have to ask our friend Hawk tomorrow.”
The knight smiled quickly and took another deep draught of his wine. “Yes, we will hear the rascal sing tomorrow.”
SIX
THE KNIGHT, Sir Bran, after finishing his wine, exchanged a few words with the Prince regarding the impending capture of the outlaw Hawk the next morning. The Prince dismissed him then and waited until he had gone before calling his chamberlain and discharging him for the night as well.
As soon as he heard the door to the outer chamber creak shut he got up and, taking the candle from the table, made his way to a darkened alcove across the room, hidden from view behind a lower portion of one of the giant tapestries. Slipping behind the tapestry Jaspin entered the alcove and, fishing among the folds of his clothing, brought out a key with which he unlocked a private door set back and cunningly secreted at the further side.
The Prince stepped silently into his secret chamber and placed the candle upon a small table waiting there and settled himself into a chair before the table.
Upon the table sat a small box resting on an elegant cloth of velvet. The box, richly enameled in fiery red and inlaid with gold tracery and pearls gleamed, its fine artistry shimmering in the flickering light of the single flame.
Prince Jaspin wasted no time but placed his hands upon either side of the box and lifted it away. On the table before him remained a curious object resting on the cloth-a pyramid of gold incised with strange hieroglyphs. The entire surface of the pyramid had been inscribed with queer and fantastic runes which were, he considered, the source of its unusual power.
Prince Jaspin gazed upon his prize with an odd glint in his eye, as if lit by some unnatural source from deep within. The pyramid always had this effect upon him; he felt bold, invincible, and clever beyond human cleverness.
The golden pyramid was the gift of Nimrood, known as the Necromancer, a cunning old sorcerer whom Jaspin employed as a partner in skullduggery. Many a night did Jaspin draw upon the secret of his strange object and the knowledge of its inventor. But of late, Jaspin received less and less assurance from his accomplice and felt seeds of deep distrust beginning to sprout.
Placing his hands on two sides of the pyramid, Jaspin closed his eyes and murmured a soft incantation. Slowly the pyramid, pale in the dancing light, began to glow with a ghostly luminescence. The glow became brighter, casting Jaspin’s features into high relief and throwing shadows of his hunkered form upon the wall. As the unearthly illumination reached its apex the sides of the pyramid began to grow indistinct and hazy, although they remained solid under the Prince’s touch. The pyramid, now lit with an almost piercing light from within, became translucent; Jaspin could see his own hands dimly through the sides. In a moment the strange device had become completely transparent, almost invisible, and Jaspin looked long into its crystal depths.
A pale green mist shrouded the interior from view, but as Jaspin watched the mist began to thin into stringy, straggling wisps. Now the form of a man could be distinguished, walking, as if from a great distance, toward Jaspin. But even as the man walked he drew closer with alarming speed so that instantly Jaspin was face-to-face, as it were, with his old sorcerer.
It was not a face to be admired. Twisted. Cruel. Two piercing eyes burned out from under a heavy, menacing brow. Despite the wizard’s obvious age, wild, dark hair shot through with streaks of white formed a formidable mane around the man’s large head. The face was creased with interwoven wrinkles, each crevice representing an evil its owner had contemplated.
“Ah, Prince Jaspin!” The necromancer hissed rather than spoke. “I was expecting your summons. I trust everything is as I said it would be?”
“Yes, your information is always good, Nimrood,” the Prince replied, his eyes gleaming. “The knight Ronsard appeared just as you predicted, and was intercepted before his work could be completed. Unfortunately, we may never know what that errand was-he was killed in the ambush.”
“A pity. He could have told us much, no doubt. But we have other ways.”
“And another of your seeds is about to bear fruit, wizard. The outlaw Hawk has surfaced again-as you suggested he would. This time we are ready for him. By midday tomorrow that irksome band of renegades will be without a leader.”
“Do not make the mistake of underestimating him once again,” the conjurer warned. “He has outfoxed you before, as you well know.” The necromancer grimaced, and his wrinkles deepened ominously.
“Do not think I will let him slip away again. My headsman’s blade is thirsty, and an outlaw’s blood is just the refreshment I shall recommend. His head shall adorn a pike in the village square. Those bandits will see how lightly I consider their threats.”
“I shall have no opposition when the Council of Regents meets and I shall be named king. The petitions are already signed.” The Prince rubbed his hands in greedy anticipation of the event. “All is ready.”
“What about the Queen?” the wizard asked slyly. “Will she agree to step down so easily? Is her power already so diminished?”
“The Queen will agree to see things as I see them. She is strong, but she is a woman. Besides, if offered the choice between Eskevar’s head, or Eskevar’s crown, I rather believe she would choose his head.”
“She may lose both, however-as will Eskevar! Ha! Ha!” cackled Nimrood.
“That is your concern, not mine. Leave me out of it. You get the King and I his crown-that was our agreement. I do not want any difficulties. I cannot afford to arouse the suspicions of the people; I need their support for the while.”
“I am your servant, Prince Jaspin,” the wizard replied. “Is there anything more you require?”
“No, I think not. All is ready, now,” the Prince replied, and added, “Is my brother comfortable?”
“Oh, yes, Eskevar is after all the King.” The necromancer laughed suddenly and Jaspin felt an unaccountable anger spring up inside his breast.
“But not for long!” he cried. “Soon there will be a new monarch on the throne. That I promise!”
The sorcerer appeared to bow low and suddenly the pyramid went dim, its sides becoming once more opaque and cold. Jaspin replaced its ornamented cover and, taking up the candle, left the room at once. He did not know why, but the mere mention of his brother’s name upset him. That night it troubled his sleep with dreams of doubt and fear.
Quentin awoke with a start in the strange room. He glanced to Theido’s bed and saw that it was empty. He threw off the coverlet and raised himself off the pallet and took up his cloak and went off in search of his friend.