Scared out of his wits. Harpirias snorted in frustration. The king was looking restless. Already he seemed to be on the verge of pulling the great sword from the ground once again. It was time to invoke a higher authority. "Coronal!" Harpirias cried, waving his arms about importantly. "Cor-o-nal." King Toikella frowned. "Coronal," Harpirias said again, putting a snap of command into his tone. He pointed to the sky. "Lord Ambinole. Coronal of Majipoor." He groped for words. But his Othinor had deserted him in the confusion of the moment. Conversing with Ivla Yevikemk in the privacy of his room was much easier for him. Suddenly, what little Harpirias had learned of the grammar was mostly rubble and half the vocabulary was gone from his mind. But he had to speak. He remembered the Othinor word that he thought meant "lordship," and offered that: "Helminthak." The word seemed to have an effect of some sort on the king. Then Harpirias pointed at Toikella and shook his head emphatically. Lamely he said in Majipoori, "You must not kill him. Coronal say, must not kill. Must — not — kill. Servant of Coronal!"
Toikella appeared baffled. But he allowed the sword’s tip to remain embedded in the ground.
"Cor-o-nal," said Harpirias once more, enunciating slowly and carefully, as though the word were a powerful talisman. "Coronal of Majipoor. Helminthak." He pantomimed the undoing of Korinaam’s bonds and the rising of the Shapeshifter from the altar. Toikella stared at him. And stared. And stared. His eyes grew wider and wider. A low rumbling sound came from him.
He certainly must believe I’ve gone crazy, Harpirias thought.
Then he realized that the king was staring not at him but at someone or something behind him. Was that quietly encroaching band of tribal warriors about to break into all-out attack? Were the Skandars up to something?
Harpirias glanced quickly back over his shoulder.
Ivla Yevikenik stood there. In the frosty midnight air she wore only a short cloak of loosely stitched hides casually thrown over bare skin. Fear and uncertainty were visible on her face. She was the only woman of the tribe out here by the altar, and plainly she had no business being here. The look of astonishment and barely suppressed rage on her father’s face seemed to confirm that. But when she looked toward Harpirias her eyes began to shine with unmistakable love.
She sees that there is trouble and she has come out here to offer me her assistance, he told himself. At great risk to herself. That must be it. Must be.
In one swift movement Harpirias reached for the girl, caught her gently but firmly by one wrist, and drew her to his side. He folded his arm close around her so that he and she would confront the king as a single entity. Her warmth against his body was welcome in this stinging night chill.
Speaking hesitantly, doing the best he could with his lame and barely comprehensible Othinor supplemented with much pointing and miming, Harpirias told her that he was indeed in need of her help, that Korinaam must be spared from Toikella’s anger.
Did she understand? It was galling not to be able to communicate clearly in words with these people. But a little of his meaning appeared to have registered on her, at least. She spoke at some length to her father, who scowled and growled as he listened, but he heard her out, however reluctantly. When she was done he replied with no more than a few curt syllables. She spoke again; and again the king replied, more elaborately this time. He signaled to one of his men. The ropes tying Korinaam to the altar were loosened.
Haltingly Ivla Yevikenik explained to Harpirias what he already knew in essence: that the Othinor had observed Korinaam’s recent comings and goings in the high country, and they believed that it was his intention somehow to betray the village to his kinsmen of the mountains. As a suspected ally of the Eililylal, therefore, Korinaam’s life was forfeit to the Othinor. Only as a courtesy to the great Coronal Lord of Majipoor had the Shapeshifter been spared, she said. But if Korinaam made any further attempts to contact the Elilylal he would die regardless.
"No," Harpirias said. "He is not the ally of the Eililylal. He is the enemy of the Eililylal. Tell the king that."
She gave him a questioning frown. He said it all again, slowly and with gestures. There was another long colloquy between Ivla Yevikenik and the king, too low and fast for Harpirias to catch the sense of it. He heard the word "Eililylal" repeated many times. At one point the king seized the hilt of his sword and shook it furiously.
To Korinaam Harpirias said, "I could slit your throat myself. Look at the mess you’ve caused! Tell me what they’re saying now, will you? Are they going to kill you or not?"
The Shapeshifter, who had arisen and stood shivering nearby, seemed to have recovered somewhat from his terror.
"The king will permit me to live," he said in a tentative, shaky voice. "But I am to be expelled from the village at once."
"What? What? By the Divine—"
"You yourself are permitted to remain," Korinaam said. "The treaty negotiations will continue."
"Without an interpreter? And who’s going to lead us back to Ni-moya when this is over? Oh, no, no, Korinaam, we aren’t going to let you be expelled!" An idea was beginning to spring to life in Harpirias’s mind. He released his grip on Ivla Yevikenik and reached for the Metamorph instead, catching him by the loose fabric at his throat. "What’s going to happen instead is that you’re going to go up into those mountains and find the Eililylal, and you’re going to order them to clear out of the neighborhood. And you’ll make it stick with whatever spooky Shapeshifter magic you’re able to command."
Korinaam looked horror-stricken.
"What are you saying? Magic? I am no magician, prince! I am simply one who guides visitors that wish to see the north country. Find yourself some little Vroon, if wizardry is what you want. And as for ordering those people to do anything — how could I possibly do that?"
"You’ll do it, all right, and that’s all there is to it." Harpirias let go of Korinaam’s garment and shoved him a few paces away. To Ivla Yevikenik he said, "Tell your father that we offer our services in ridding his land of the Eililylal. Do you follow me? Eililylal — out. We will do! Korinaam and I, with my soldiers! Yes? No more Eililylal. By my solemn oath. But the assistance of Korinaam is needed. Needed very much. Tell him that!"
The girl smiled, turned to her father, began to speak.
"Prince, what are you promising them?" Korinaam asked. His face was a study in anguish and despair.
"What I have in mind is this," said Harpirias. "I’m going to tell you and then, if you think you have your wits about you again, you’ll explain it to the king for me. I want you to stand on your hind legs in front of him and let him know that you are a mighty sorcerer and that on his behalf you will devote all of your energies and powers to driving off the wild Shapeshifters of the mountains, whom you loathe and despise. Is that clear? Tell him that the army of the Lord Coronal of Majipoor, led in person by me, will go back up into the high country in the morning and make a maximum show of force to impress the Eililylal while you are casting your spells; and in return for all this, once the Eililylal have been duly driven off, the king will free the hostages and we will take our leave of his village and everyone will live happily ever after. Tell him that, Korinaam."
"Prince — this matter of casting spells—"
"Tell him what I want you to tell him," Harpirias said ominously. "Every word, just as I spoke it. Ivla Yevikenik will be listening, and she’ll report to me on the accuracy of your translation. Nothing will help you if you try to trick me, Korinaam. I’ll let the king know that it’s fine with me if he wants to put you back on that altar and slit your throat, and I’ll help tie you down myself. Is that understood, Korinaam? Is it?"