Karadur: "A false name? Tsk tsk! Not ethical, my son."
"So? You forget that, ere I was king of Xylar, I served a year in the Grand Bastard's foot guards. Many in Othomae will remember me if encouraged to do so."
"You heed not fear. The Grand Duke and the Grand Bastard are both alike opposed to Xylar, because the land they rule is wedged betwixt your former kingdom and the Republic of Vindium, which has an alliance with Xylar against Othomae. The lords of Othomae would not turn you over to the Xylarians."
"Perhaps not, but they might not be able to stop kidnappers from Xylar. The judiciary will stick at nought to complete their bloody ceremony. Besides, what's more unethical about a false name than about coercing me into stealing that damned trunk full of mouldering magical parchments from the king of Mulvan, as your Forces of Progress has done?"
"Why—ah—there are many differences…"
"Name one," said Jorian.
"That were easy—it is to say—oh, you are not spiritually advanced enough to understand. It is a matter of purity of motives—"
"I understand jwell enough that, if I'm caught between here and Trimandilam because of some silly scruple of yours, you shall get no chest of wizardry screeds. A headless man makes a feckless burglar."
"Ah, well; your contention has a certain plausibility, although were I not so fatigued I could doubtless think of a counter-argument."
"What name will you adopt, if you can bring yourself to do anything so unethical?"
"I shall call myself—ah—Mabahandula."
"By Imbal's iron pizzle! That's a mouthful. But I suppose 'twere useless to feign yourself other than a Mulvani." Jorian repeated the name several times to memorize it.
Karadur winced. "Tsk, tsk. I would you did not blaspheme so freely, even in the names of your pretty local godlets. What shall your name be, if you arrive first?"
"Hmm—Nikko of Kortoli. I had an Uncle Nikko."
"Why not pass yourself off as a Zolonian? The isle of Zolon is farther away and hence safer."
"I have never been to Zolon and cannot feign their foul dialect. But I was reared in Kortoli, and a use the Kortolian country speech when a speak withouten thinking. How now, old kimmer, canst tha riddle me?"
"It is well. If I fail to appear at the Silver Dragon, inquire about the town for the wizardess Goania. She has custody of the instruments we shall need to liberate the Kist of Avlen from the wicked wight who now wrongfully holds it—the so-called King of Kings."
"Goania, said you? That I will. And you, my friend, do not in your absent way forget the name of the city and wander off to Govannian or Vindium and then wonder why I fail to join you."
"Never mind my absent way!" snapped the wizard. "Simply follow my injunctions and leave the rest to me. And guard that flapping tongue. On the scaffold, I thought your cheerful chatter had surely undone us. You had better drink nought but water, since wine and beer loosen your tongue at both ends."
"And if I wander about drinking strange waters, I shall come down with some fearful flux or fever and be wellnigh as useless to you as without my head."
"Well, at least measure your drinks; liquor and loquacity are your besetting weaknesses. And now, let us bow our heads in prayer to the true gods: the gods of Mulvan."
The wise man droned a prayer to Vurnu the Creator, Kradha the Preserver, and Ashaka the Destroyer. Then Jorian uttered a short prayer of his own to Thio, the Novarian forest god. He shook hands with Karadur, who said:
"Be wary and discreet; subdue the lusts of the flesh; seek moral perfection and spiritual enlightenment. All the true gods go with you, my son."
"I thank you, Father," said Jorian. "I'll be as discreet as a clam and as pure as a snowflake."
He strode off into the deepening gloom of the forest. Karadur, looking after him, began winding the magical rope around his waist. The song of nocturnal insects soared through the gathering darkness.
Chapter Two
THE GRAND BASTARD'S SWORD
THE MONTH OF THE BEAR HAD BEGUN WHEN JORIAN reached the house of Rhithos the smith. In the foothills of the Lograms, all the leaves of the hardwoods had now turned to brown and scarlet and gold, while on the higher slopes the evergreens retained their somber, dark-green hue. Beyond these green-clad ridges looking black beneath the overcast, clouds half hid the white peaks of the central chain. A rain of red and yellow leaves, slanting down through the gray autumnal air and rocking and spinning in their fall like little boats on a stormy sea, drifted athwart the clearing where stood the house of Rhithos the smith.
The smith's house was larger and more substantial than one would expect for the dwelling of a solitary man. It had a first story of mortared stone and above it a half-story of logs, with a high-peaked roof. Besides the main house, a one-story extension or shed, at right angles to the main axis of the building, contained the smithy. Thence came the clang of hammer on anvil.
At the other end, against the house wall, stood a large wooden cage. Huddled in the cage was an ape-man from the jungles of Komilakh, far to the southeast. Near the edge of the clearing rose the stone curbing of a well, whence a young woman was drawing water. As Jorian arrived with his crossbow on his shoulder, she had just raised a bucketful by the windlass and was resting the bucket on the curb preparatory to emptying it into the jar. Across the clearing from the well, a tethered ass was munching hay.
As Jorian started across the clearing, the girl gave a startled movement; water slopped out of the bucket. Jorian called:
"God den! Let me give you a hand with that, lass!"
"Who are you?" she said, still poised on the edge of flight.
"Jorian son of Evor. Is this the house of Rhithos the smith?"
"Aye. We've heard you were coming, but we expected you many days ago."
"I got lost in the damned woods," said Jorian. "With this blanket of cloud I could not find myself again. Hold the jar whilst I tip the bucket!"
As he poured the water, Jorian looked the girl over. She was tall— within a hand's breadth of his own height—and had a mane of black hair. Her features were a little too coarse and irregular to be called pretty, but she was still a striking, forceful-looking woman with fine gray eyes. She said, in a rather deep, harsh voice:
"No wonder you got lost! Rhithos maintains a confusion spell over all the land you can see from here, to keep hunters and woodsmen out."
"Why?"
"For the silvans. In return, they fetch us food."
"I thought I glimpsed a little fellow with long, hairy ears," said Jorian, carrying the jar towards the house in the girl's wake. The ape-man awoke and growled at Jorian, but a word from the girl quieted the creature.
"The spell was supposed to have been lifted to let you in," continued the girl. "But one cannot turn off a spell as neatly as snuffing a candle. You have nice manners at least, Master Jorian."
"Na, na; we former kings must keep up our good repute." Jorian broke into his rustic Kortolian accent. "And sin a be no king the now, a needs must swink for ma supper."
The girl opened the door to a large room. Scrolls, crucibles, and magical instruments were scattered about on tables, chairs, and benches. The house furnished solid rustic comfort, like the hunting lodge that Jorian had inherited from his predecessors as king of Xylar. The floor was of wooden planks. Weapons hung on the walls, skins of bears and other beasts carpeted the floor, and decorated cushions bestrewed the benches.
The girl led the way along a passage to the kitchen. Jorian staggered as he hoisted the jar to the counter beside the sink.