"Some starships have been lost. The rulers of a dozen or so little kingdoms are hopping mad about it. They suspect that Shorr Kan is responsible." Song Durr cackled admiringly. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he were. He's the hell and all of a king. Give him a little more time and he'll rule all the Marches . Him, that didn't have a pan to cook in when he first came here." He added, "My hand will be quite ruined, Brother N'Chaka,"
"Not just yet. How were these ships lost?"
"They simply disappeared. Somewhere out beyond Dendrid's Veil."
"Dendrid's Veil. That would be a dark nebula? Yes. And who is Dendrid?"
"The Goddess of Death."
It seemed a fitting name. "And why do they blame Shorr Kan ?"
Song Durr stared at him. "You must be from way back in. That's no man's land out there, and there's been a lot of pawing and picking at it . . . quarrels over boundaries, annexations, all that. A lot of it is still unexplored. Shorr Kan has been the most daring and ambitious in his activities, or the most unscrupulous, whichever way you want to put it, though they'd all do the same themselves if they had the courage. Also, we haven't lost any ships." He rubbed his skinny nose and grinned. "I'd like to be a fly on the wall when they have that conference."
Stark said, "Brother Song Durr, let us be two flies."
The old man's eyes popped. "You mean, get right inside the palace?" He pulled sharply against Stark's grip. "Oh, no."
"You mistake me," Stark said. "I don't mean to break in like thieves. I mean to walk in, like kings."
Or like ambassadors. Envoys, from another time and place. Stark wondered if Aarl were listening, in his misty Martian citadel two hundred thousand years ago.
Song Durr stood, rigid in all his stringy sinews, while Stark told him what he was going to have to do if he wanted to keep his freedom.
In the end, Song Durr began to smile.
"I think I would like that," he said. "Yes, I think that would be better than another stay in the convict pens. I don't know why . . . if it were anyone but you, Brother N'Chaka, I'd take the pens, but somehow you make me believe that we can get away with it." He shook his head. "You do have large ideas, for a country boy."
Cackling, he led the way toward the surrounding streets.
"We'll have to hurry, Brother. The Star Kings will be arriving soon, and we mustn't be late to the party!"
The procession of the Star Kings glittered its way from the landing place at the far end of the palace square, where the hover-cars came down, along the central space held open by rows of tough-looking guardsmen in white uniforms, toward the palace itself. There were jewels enough and royal costumes of divers sorts, and faces of many colors, four of them definitely non-human; a brilliant pageant, Stark thought, and suitable to the place, with the magnificent towers looming above in the fierce green glare of the sun, the vast crowd, the humming silence, the intricately carved and fluted portico where Shorr Kan, Sovereign Lord of Aldeshar, sat upon a seat of polished stone . . . a tiny figure at this distance, but somehow radiating power even so, a signal brightness among grouped and shining courtiers.
The brazen voice of a chamberlain echoed across the square, reproduced from clusters of speakers.
"Burrul Opis, King of the worlds of Maktoo, Lord Paramount of the Nebula Zorind. Kan Martann, King of the Twin Suns of Keldar. Flane Fell, King of Tranett and Baron of Leth . . . ."
One by one the Star Kings approached the seat of Shorr Kan and were greeted, and passed on into the palace with their retinues.
"Now," said Stark, and pushed Song Durr forward. From between two of the guardsmen the old man cried out,
"Wait! Wait, there! One other is here to confer with our sovereign lord! Eric John Stark, Ambassador Ex . . ."
His voice squeaked off as the guardsmen grabbed him. The chamberlain who was turning away from the last departing hover-car, looked with surprised annoyance at the commotion.
Stark stepped forward, thrusting the guardsmen apart. "Eric John Stark, Ambassador Extraordinary from the worlds of Sol."
He had shed his travel-stained garments, still patched with the red dust of Mars. He was clad all in black now, a rich tunic heavy with embroidery over soft trousers and fine boots. Song Durr had stolen them from one of the best shops catering to off-worlders. He had wanted to steal some jewels as well, but Stark had settled for a gold chain. For a moment everything went into a tableau as the chamberlain stared at Stark and the guardsmen hesitated over whether or not they should kill him where he stood.
Stark said to the chamberlain, "Tell your master that my mission is urgent, and deals with the subject of the conference."
"But you were not on the list. Your credentials . . ."
"I have travelled a very long way," said Stark, "to speak with your king. What I have to say concerns the death of suns. Are you a man of such courage that you dare turn me away?"
"I am not a brave man at all," said the chamberlain. "Hold them." The guardsmen held. The chamberlain sent an attendant scurrying toward the palace. Shorr Kan had paused in his rising, his attention drawn to the interruption. There was some hurried talk, and Stark saw Shorr Kan make a decisive gesture. The attendant came scurrying back.
"The Ambassador from Sol may approach, with an escort."
The chamberlain looked relieved. He nodded to the guardsmen, who stepped out of line, weapons at the ready, and positioned themselves behind Stark and Song Durr, who was now gloriously robed in crimson. The little man was breathing hard, holding himself nervously erect.
They strode through a rising babble as the crowd pushed and craned to see this new curiosity. They mounted the palace steps. And Stark stood before Shorr Kan , King of Aldeshar in the Marches of Outer Space.
King he might be, but he had not grown fat on it, nor unwatchful. He was still the hunting tiger, the cool-eyed predator with prey under his paw and his whiskers a-twitch with eagerness to get more. He looked at Stark with a kind of deadly good humor, baring strong white teeth in a strong hard face.
"Ambassador Extraordinary from the worlds of Sol. Tell me, Ambassador . . . where is Sol?"
That was a good question, and one Stark did not attempt to answer. "Very far away," he said, "but even so, of interest to Your Majesty."
"How so?"
"The problem facing you here in the Marches also affects us. When I heard of the conference, I didn't wait to present my credentials in the normal manner. It's vital that I attend." Was Shorr Kan ignorant of Sol because of its distance and unimportance, or because it no longer existed? In which case . . . Stark forced the thought resolutely away. If he let his mind become involved with time paradoxes he would never get anywhere.
"Vital," Shorr Kan was asking, "to whom?"
"This power beyond Dendrid's Veil, whatever it may be, is killing our sun, our solar system. Yours may be next. I would say it's vital to all of us to find out what that power is."
Deep in the tiger eyes Stark saw the stirring of a small shadow and recognized it for what it was. Fear.
Shorr Kan nodded his dark head once. "The Ambassador from Sol may enter."
The guardsmen stepped back. Stark and Song Durr followed the king and his courtiers through the great portal.
"I almost believed you myself," Song Durr whispered. His step was light now, his face crinkled in a greedy smile. "For a country boy, you do well."
Stark wondered how he would feel about that later on.
The conference was a stormy one, held in a huge high-vaulted hall that made kings and courtiers seem like dressed-up children huddled in the midst of its ringing emptiness. Some predecessor of Shorr Kan 's had designed it most carefully. The dwindling effect of the architecture was deliberate. The throne-chair was massive, set so high that everyone must look up and become aware, not only of the throne and its occupant, but of the enormous winged deities that presided on either side of the dais. They had identical faces, very fierce and jut-nosed and ugly. Eyes made of precious stones glared down at the lesser kings. Stark surmised that the original of those unpleasant faces had been the builder's own.