“You transported her in the royal litter?” Flayh interrupted.
“Of course—well, she wouldn’t walk—”
“So you advertised her importance by carrying her in. a golden litter!” Flayh roared.
“I—I thought it would be worth something—” Flayh stared at him. “It’s outside if you want to see it—”
“Oh, is it?” Flayh smiled; then the smile decayed into a sneer. “And why should I want to see an empty royal litter of the house of Talith, hmmm?”
“Ah… it’s… ah, pretty—” Pezi stammered. Then he gulped.
Flayh sighed. “All right,” he said. “Leaving aside the fact that we possess illegally one of Talith’s carved transport litters which is of absolutely no value to anyone now-leaving aside the fact that you advertised to that Chaon contingent exactly whom you were carrying away to Lamath—leaving all that aside, Pezi—go on.” Pezi scratched his head, then clasped his hammy hands together and struggled hard to get his story straight in his head once more. Then taking a large breath, he began again. “I—I refused to let him see my cargo, so he threatened me. I mean, there he was, one head in front of me, one head in back of me, neither of them more than a foot from my body!”
“Get on!” Flayh roared.
“I—I refused to let him see my captive, whereupon he blew the curtains open and saw the Princess. I was afraid he was about to eat her! So I told him who she was, and that it was most important that I bring her here. He made me untie her, and of course she jumped out of the litter and began to run! I gave chase, but alas—” Pezi placed both hands on his stomach. “Alas, I could not catch her.”
“Oh, really?” Flayh smiled coldly.
“Really! Then the strangest thing happened! The dragon became most confused, and began arguing with himself!
Now I followed instructions to the letter; I mean I have never addressed the dragon as if it were two dragons rather than one—”
“Of course not. You’re still here,” Flayh muttered.
“But that’s what happened! The beast screamed, and flew up into the air, and by that time the girl had taken my horse and ridden off!”
“Back to Chaomonous,” Flayh observed to himself.
“No! To Ngandib-Mar!”
“What?” Flayh grunted in surprise. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Pezi lied, “she just turned that way! Perhaps she felt she could best escape me there—”
“And she was right enough in that! You gave chase?”
“Of course,” Pezi lied again. “But it was no use. She had too much of a start, and a far better mount.”
“And then?”
“Then I got the column together, and marched all last night and all today to get here to tell you!” Flayh nodded, thinking to himself. “A young girl alone in Ngandib-Mar, on a horse wearing Ognadzu colors. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Tohn mod Neelis may even have picked her up already.” Flayh turned—to spear Pezi with his eyes. “Assuming you are not lying.” Pezi managed a weak grin. “Oh, no, sir.” Flayh continued to gaze at his nephew for a long, tense moment—then smiled. “Of course not. You must be hungry—” He stepped to one side and motioned toward the table. Pezi wasted no time getting to it.
Flayh leaned back and peered up through the trellised vines shading this enclosed garden. The sun was passing midday. In a few hours he would talk to Jagd and Tohn mod Neelis. The plan could still succeed.
Assuming, he thought again, watching Pezi stuff himself with a roasted turkey leg-assuming Pezi wasn’t lying.
Tohn mod Neelis was the elder of the house of Ognadzu in Ngandib-Mar. As such he ruled vast lands, much greater than those Flayh controlled in Lamath. For Ngandib-Mar was less an empire than a feudal confederacy, ruled in name alone by the King of the great city of Ngandib. Still, the Mar of Ngandib presented a united front to foes from beyond Dragonsgate. Though divided into small principalities and fiefdoms, the Maris, or men of the Mar, viewed themselves as one people, united against all other races.
Of course, that didn’t stop them from fighting frequently among themselves. In the centuries of thrust and counterthrust on the part of scores of petty Princes, the trading houses had carved out their own fiefs. Between them they controlled most of the highlands near the west mouth of Dragonsgate, and lived in royal splendor as parties of two worlds: rich merchant traders, and recognized lords of the feudal confederacy.
It was a very good life, Tohn mod Neelis was thinking, as he walked the ramparts of his hold and gazed down at the green fields below him. The harvest would be good this year—if events allowed the harvest to come. He raised his head and inhaled deeply of the scent of spring, brought to him by a pleasant breeze that blew his stringy gray hair wildly. It was such a simple life—what need had he for more money, for more power? He had all the money and power he needed, plus he had this—a homeland.
It was the others who pressed the plan—always pressing! Flayh and Jagd, those merchants dwelling in the flatlands, in the noise and confusion and the constant dust. They were the ones who pushed so hard for the changes—who connived to start the war. Well, Tohn thought to himself, let them have their war. But let it pass by the Mar of Ngandib. Let it waste the wheat of Lamath—but let it pass by these gentle hills.
He glanced at the sun. Soon it would be time to communicate with the others. Strange business, this, he thought as he left the parapet, walking the stone steps by memory. Strange to be planning in conjunction with the chief elder of Uda.
The two powerful houses of Uda and Ognadzu had wrestled so long together for trading supremacy that they were in danger of becoming one house instead of two. There seemed to be much truth in the old saying that merchants were all of one clan, regardless of their colors. Was he of that clan anymore? Tohn wondered. Or had he been so long in the Mar that he thought more like a Mari than a merchant? He evoked the powers on the wind that they would not force him to make a choice between the two. The powers said nothing—he knew the truth already. Should the war by chance swing toward Ngandib-Mar he would be forced to choose, and choose quickly.
As he descended into the courtyard, the powers and the problems all receded. There was noise in his keep, much of it, with dogs barking, children running, mothers shouting and laughing. It was confusion, but not the confusion of masses of strangers in transit. This was the confusion of home. Each voice was recognizable individually, if one took the time to sort it out. If the changes came, this too would be lost—but how could he stop the changes, Tohn thought to himself, pushing past two nephews playing at swords with sticks in the main inner doorway. He stopped for a moment to regard their play. “No, too high, too high!” he heard himself instructing. “Thrust, don’t hack. Let the enemy hack. He’ll wear himself out—then you kill him.” He acted this all out for the youngsters, who watched him carefully.
“You see?” he asked. They both nodded wisely, then immediately went back to hacking at one another when Tohn turned away.
He chuckled as he entered the long dark hallway into the inner court. But his chuckle died in his throat as his mind swung back again to the plan, and the war, and the changes. These little boys—would they be carrying real swords by fall? Grown suddenly old by the whim of events? There was a heavy wooden door set in the stone wall to his left. This he opened after some fumbling in the dark for the key, then closed and locked it behind him. He turned to climb a dark stairway.