"Then why don't you?" asked Mika, and he was rewarded by seeing the light of reason and caution creep into the man's eyes. So the fellow was not completely round the bend after all.
"Would that I could, my son," intoned the priest, "but my duties lie here. Also, I was born under another moon, and there are always many, many others who volunteer to take my place on that date."
I'll bet there are, thought Mika. I'll bet you make very, very sure of that.
The two men stared at each other, taking each other's measure.
"Untie him," said the priest with a gesture. "The turning is on the morrow. Let him spend his last day and night in comfort, preparing himself for the great honor that is to come."
The guards stripped the rope from Mika's body. At a gesture from the priest, they turned and left the room.
Mika had hoped that they would leave the rope behind, but it was not to be. As the last of them exited the cell, Mika and the priest were left gazing at each other.
"Do not think to escape," advised the priest, "for there is nowhere to go. My men are everywhere, and the building is stout. Best ready yourself for the morrow."
After a last moment's pause, the priest followed his guards. As the door opened, the princess made a dash and tried to push her way through, but the priest kicked her in the chest and slammed the door in her face, locking the metal door behind him.
"Good try, girl," said Mika as he helped her to her feet and rubbed her ribs. "You didn't stand a chance, but it was a good try."
The princess turned her head and looked at Mika as though he were a dolt. The look stopped Mika short. His hand froze in mid-pet as he tried to figure out what he had said to warrant such a look. The princess got to her feet and paced over to the door, where she stood growling. Mika followed her and looked through the bars in an attempt to discover what it was she was growling at, but all he could see was the occupant of the cell across the hall, a large, white-haired man who stood with his back to them.
There was something regal in the stance, something imperious-no, arrogant-that was it! Could it be? A wild thought came to Mika, and he stared down at the princess who stood with teeth bared, growling in a menacing fashion. It was! It had to be! It was the king, the princess's father!
"Are you the king of Dramidja?" Mika called to him in a low voice.
After a long moment the figure stirred and turned to look at Mika. Mika pulled back in astonishment. The man was very large, his huge head set on a thick neck. His chest was barrel-like and tapered into a narrow waist, with slender hips and legs that seemed too small to carry the immense bulk. It was immediately apparent that he was the king, for aside from the haughty gaze above the narrow, arched nose, there was the evidence of his eyes. One was blue, the other green.
The king cast his regal gaze over Mika, the wolves, and the ragged child, and dismissed them as unworthy of his time. He turned his back on them once more. The princess began barking angrily.
That single look, that single action, drove Mika into an instantaneous rage. "Don't you turn your back on me!" he hollered, gripping the bars between his hands. "It's your fault I'm in here!"
The king turned to look at Mika, only slightly curious. He did not speak, but quirked a single eyebrow.
"Don't even recognize me, do you?" Mika said in a cold tone. "My name is Mika, born to the Far Fringe Clan of Wolf Nomads. I have nearly come to death and have suffered grievously on your behalf. More than two score of my men and blood kin died for you, and you do not even know of our existence or care."
"You're right," the king said in a laconic tone, stroking his mustache with his forefinger. "I do not know who you are, and since I have no idea of what you speak, how can I possibly care?"
"Do you know where your daughter is?" asked Mika.
For the first time the king seemed to lose his poise. He paled, a flush of red appearing on the high bridge of his nose. He stood next to the bars and really looked at Mika for the first time.
"What do you know of my daughter?" he asked sharply. "Where is she? What has become of her?"
"You don't care about her! What you really want to know is whether or not the demi-demon Iuz got her as you planned," said Mika. He had the satisfaction of seeing the king's face go tense with shock.
"How-how do you know about Iuz?" he asked in a whisper.
And Mika told him.
"Then it is all over," the king said, sinking to the bench and burying his face in his hands. "All over."
"Don't you even want to know what happened to the princess, your daughter?" asked Mika, unmoved by the king's sorrow for his own failed plans.
"What does it matter now? All is lost," muttered the king over the rumbling growls of the princess.
"How could you have sent your only child-your daughter-to a certain and hideous death at the hands of a demon?" asked Mika, trying to give the man the opportunity to explain himself.
"You don't understand," said the king, slowly straightening to lean his head back against the bars. "You couldn't possibly understand what it means to rule, to have power. Or what it means to lose it."
"You're right," replied Mika. "Nor do I understand sacrificing a daughter to a demon."
"It was the price of power," the king said with a dismissive slice of his hand. "And besides, she was a sharp-tongued wench who would not marry. There was no pleasing her no matter what I did. I grew tired of her constant demands. She was just like her mother. always at me for one thing or another. I was glad to give her to Iuz. It was the easiest part of the bargain. The hard part was playing the grieved father. Yes, tell me. I want to know. What happened to the wench? If still she lives and Iuz didn't get her, who did?"
"I did," answered Mika, his heart gone cold inside his breast. "Here she is," he said, standing aside and gesturing with an outstretched hand toward the princess, whose growls emanated deep within her chest and issued between slavering lips.
The king gaped at the wolf and then stared at Mika. He turned his gaze back to the princess, who began to fling herself against the bars. Finally the king threw back his head and roared with laughter, great guffaws that echoed throughout the building, momentarily silencing all other sounds.
"You mean that… that wolf is my daughter, the Princess Julia, heir apparent to the throne of Dramidja?" asked the king. Tears filled his eyes as he clutched his sides and laughed till he collapsed against the bars, too weak to stand upright.
"How did you do it?" he asked at length.
"With the stone," Mika replied stiffly, holding out the gem.
The king stiffened and got to his feet, his eyes cold and hard, all vestiges of humor vanished.
"The stone," he said, thrusting his hand between the bars. "It's mine, give it to me. There might be a chance that I could…" His words faded away, and his eyes grew crafty.
"Escape? Forget it," Mika said harshly, willing to inflict as much pain as possible. "You have no hope of getting out of here. Iuz was but a middleman. His boss caused you to be imprisoned and sent me here as well."
"Maelfesh? Maelfesh!" whispered the king.
"Big guy with a kind of fiery personality," said Mika. "The kind of guy who stands out in a crowd."
But the kind did not reply. Once again he buried his face in his hands and whispered, "All is lost, all is lost."
CHAPTER 25
There was nothing more to be gained from trying to speak with the king.
Mika stroked the princess's head, far more sympathetic to her than he had ever been. With a father like that, no wonder she turned out as she did. She did not even seem to notice the gesture. Mika left her to her growling to speak briefly to Tam, RedTail, and Margraf and then contemplate his own situation. In the face of the priest's overwhelming confidence and the king's fear, Mika's plan no longer seemed quite so brilliant.