'Ware the Dark-Haired Man

by Robert Reginald

  “Damn you!” Kipriyán yelled. “You’re so goddam noble all the time. How could I ever have sired such a prissy little prince?”

  He struck again, this time hitting the Silver Bird and crying out in pain as the sculpture suddenly flashed a bril­liant white. The king shook his hand to remove the sting, and then began stalking his son once more. There was very little room on the platform, and Arkády knew that it was only a matter of time before his father would corner him. He had to think fast!

  Then an idea came to the prince, while he was dodging yet another blow, this one grazing him slightly on the arm. As he rolled to one side, the prince centered him­self and uttered a spell of transformation. He abruptly rose to his feet arrayed as a huge, shaggy monster covered with straggly black hair.

  “Ahh!” moaned the king, waving his hands and dropping his knife as he backpeddled rapidly away from the hideous apparition.

  When his knees hit the stone railing, he lost his bal­ance, and his hands began flailing about in a futile effort to keep himself from going over backwards.

  Arkády desperately lunged out for him, just man­aging to grasp one swinging foot as his father toppled over the edge. There was a “klunk” as the king’s body slammed into the stone side of the tower, knocking him unconscious, and the prince thought his arm would break from the strain of holding his burly father’s heavy body.

  He called upon all of his resources, and focused them upon the implements adorning the fingers of his out­stretched hand. Each flared its signature color in turn, and then slowly, oh so slowly, he dragged the limp figure of his father back up over the railing. Then he collapsed briefly from sheer exhaustion.

  A moment later, he sent out a mental call for assis­tance, and his brothers, who had been waiting down below, quickly came to his rescue. Together they carried King Kipriyán back to his quarters, where he was dosed with the “szósz” and “kókk” and other such sedatives and put to bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “THUS DID GOD DELIVER HIS TRUE SERVANT”

  Later that morning, which was Sunday and the Feast of Saint Praxedês, the Patriarch Timotheos appeared for the first time in public since his deposition, celebrating the main mass at Saint Konstantín’s Cathedral at the hour of tritê.

  The people of Paltyrrha demonstrated their support for their primate by filling the church to overflowing, the crowds spilling out into the side altars and even into the square. Prince Arkády and his sister Arrhiána represented the royal family, being prominently visible in the first row. Their appearance there caused much comment, for most of the populace had been unaware of their recent release from prison.

  In his sermon, Timotheos used as a starting point a text from Jeremiah 52:31-32, which said:

  “In the thirty-seventh year of the exile of Je­hoiachin King of Judah, in the year Evil-Merodach became King of Babylon, he re­leased Jehoiachin from prison on the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth month. He spoke kindly to him and gave him a seat of honour higher than those of the other kings who were with him in Babylon.”

  “Thus,” the patriarch eventually concluded, “did God deliver his true servant from those who would have persecuted him.”

  The moral of his homily was not lost on the good people of Paltyrrha.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “THEN DOCTOR MELANTHRIX...”

  The Grand Vizier Melanthrix finally woke from his self-medicated sleep around midday, abruptly sitting up­right with a clear sense of something having gone terribly awry. His head and back ached abominably, and his linen sheet was stained with blood where several of the scabs from the wound he had incurred on the previous day had broken open during the night.

  He rose with a groan, ate a piece of ripe fruit, washed his face with warm water, and dressed himself in the garish new robe he had just obtained. But when he went to his door to exit, he found the locking mechanism jammed, and could not release it. Probing the device with his ley-ring, he found it packed solidly with mud and clay that had now hardened into an almost rock-like mass.

  He used his private mirror to reach the palace laun­dry, and from there made several discrete inquiries which convinced him that all was lost. His patron had been taken, and all possibility of stopping the change in government had vanished. Had he been his usual self the previous evening, he might have been able to act then, but now it was too late. None of the guards would follow his lead, of that he was certain.

  He returned to his quarters, and packed his few be­longings in satchels, ready to leave if the circumstances should require a quick exit. As the day progressed, and no one made an effort to contact him, he began ferrying cer­tain rare items back to his distant home.

  Then Doctor Melanthrix sat down to wait.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “THIS IS YOUR FREEDOM, THIS IS YOUR LIFE”

  Later that afternoon the royal family gathered for a private meeting at the house of Dowager Queen Brisquayne in Kórynthály. In addition to the hostess, also present were Queen Polyxena, Hereditary Prince Arkády and his wife, Princess Dúra, Princess Arrhiána, Prince Zakháry, Prince Kiríll, Prince Andruin, Princess Sachette, and Queen Ez­zölla, as well as King Kipriyán.

  The monarch had been drugged several times during the night, with the stronger “szósz” being reapplied in the morning; his hands were physically restrained in front of him with leather ties. He looked very tired and weathered, and sat slumped in an old, overstuffed chair, his head hanging down.

  “We must determine what to do,” Prince Arkády began. “I’ve already spoken to the patriarch, and the church will support whatever decision we make. We must decide today, and whatever we do, it must be announced and promulgated at a meeting of the Royal Council which I’ve called for tomorrow morning.

  “First, let me summarize what we have already ac­complished,” he continued. “We have freed three members of our family from the dungeon, together with numerous high lords and others who had been sequestered there over the last six months and beyond. We cannot allow them to be reimprisoned.

  “Secondly,” he noted, “we have taken the king by force after he tried to kill me. All of us were involved in this action except Dúra and Zölla and Granny. We have drugged the king and held him captive against his will. So long as he remains king, these are crimes of high treason against the state.

  “Thirdly,” the prince added, “we have de facto re­stored the patriarch to his lawfully elected position. We cannot undo this.

  “Finally,” he summarized, “we have done these things in contravention of the king’s will because we be­lieve he is no longer fit to rule. Due to the import of these events and their logical consequences, I must ask each of you to speak in turn and give your opinion.

  “Mother?” he said, turning to Polyxena.

  The queen rubbed her eyes, and then looked up at her eldest son.

  “My children,” she stated, “I believe your father is ill, and that he will not recover his balance. Therefore, I think Arkásha must replace him as king immediately.”

  “I concur,” replied Arrhiána. “I don’t like having to take this step, but I see no other choice before us if Kórynthia is to survive.”

  “I too agree,” Zakháry added, “but only if that damn’d Melanthrix goes as well.”

  “I’m with Zack,” Kiríll noted.

  Queen Brisquayne now spoke up. “Things have gone too far to turn back. The people are tired of war and privation. The women are clamoring for their lost hus­bands, sons, and fathers. They will not support another such expedition.”

  “I cannot allow my little Ari to be taken away from me,” Dúra cried. “Any man who would do something like that to his own grandson does not deserve to be king.”

  “Papá has lost his way,” Sachette indicated. “If he cannot govern himself, how can he govern a nation?”

  Then it was Andruin’s turn. “I wasn’t here to see what’s been happening, but I know what the clergy is say­ing. To insult and de
grade the holy patriarch is a sin against both God and the church. It also sets a dangerous precedent if allowed to stand. Sorry, Papá,” he murmured.

  Finally, the new Queen Ezzölla had her say. “I don’t know,” she said. “I hate to see such actions taken against any lawful monarch. At the same time, there have been terrible abuses reported to me. I just don’t know.”

  “Father, do you wish to speak?” Arkády inquired.

  The king lifted his head to look at them, betrayal written in his eyes.

  “You’ve already made your decision,” he spat, “so why should I bother? Thirty-two years ago I was girded with the sword at Ióv. The great Tighris himself gave me the power to rule Kórynthia, and rule it I have, saving it from the barbarian hordes, leading it back from devasta­tion, rebuilding the land, and bringing it prosperity. Now you want to kill me as my reward. Well, Arkásha, there’s no doubt that you finally have the ultimate power within your grasp. So do it and be damned, all of you!”

  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, be­fore Prince Arkády spoke again.

  “Very well,” he said, “we’ve given our separate opinions, and we have all agreed, all but one, that King Kipriyán is unfit to rule. So who do we replace him with?”

  “You must become king, brother,” Arrhiána replied.

  “What about a regency?” Kiríll interjected.

  “A regency implies that the occupant of the throne will someday return to it,” Arrhiána indicated, “and I don’t think that’s feasible here.”

  “Then what do we do with Papá?” Zakháry in­quired. “I won’t agree to having him tried.”

  “We could give him some special title,” Arkády stated, “and an estate nearby as an honorable retire­ment.”

  “That would only work,” Arrhiána noted, “if the place was closely guarded and we controlled the guards.”

  “Agreed,” the prince said. “Mother, what do you think?”

  Polyxena’s face was lined from the strain of the last few days.

  “That would be acceptable to me,” she agreed. “I would, of course, join your father in retirement.”

  “Pah!” Kipriyán boomed. “You go on talking about me in the third person, as if I’m not even sitting here. Why don’t you just kill me and be done with it!”

  “Because, father,” Arkády responded, “I don’t want to do to you what you obviously intended to do to me and mine. That’s the basic difference between us. I’ll give you a simple choice, and I’ll offer it to you only once. Agree to renounce the throne unconditionally and irrevocably, or face attainder for treason against the state. You have until the hour of apodeipnon to make your decision.”

  “Please, Kipriyán!” his wife pleaded. “We still have our dignity. We still have each other. Please choose life.”

  The king looked around the room like a trapped animal, his eyes darting here and there, his arms struggling to free themselves from the leather bonds. Finally, he slumped again in his chair.

  “Damn you all,” he uttered. “Damn you to Hell, Arkády, for doing this to me. After all I gave you....”

  Then the king sighed very heavily, and looked over at the queen. “Very well, I will sign the document. Bring it to me by supper.”

  Prince Arkády let his breath out, his tension finally easing. He nodded to Arrhiána, who pulled out a sheaf of parchment.

  “I have it here, father,” she indicated, holding the scroll out to him. “This is your freedom, sire. This is your life.”

  Brisquayne brought pen and ink. King Kipriyán didn’t even bother to read the document, but initialed it with his usual flourish. Brisquayne sanded it quickly, and passed it back to Arrhiána, who also examined it.

  Then the entire family signed the parchment one by one, carefully putting their names below the king’s as wit­nesses to the deed.

  Finally, it was done.

  “I am truly sorry, father,” Arkády stated, “that we had to do this to you. This is for the better, even if you don’t understand that fact now. You and mother will re­main our guests here for several days, until we make the ap­propriate arrangements.”

  Then he stood at formal attention, the others fol­lowing suit.

  “All hail, King Kipriyán!” he intoned, thumping his breast with his right hand.

  “All hail, King Kipriyán!” came the muted replies.

  Then Hereditary Prince Arkády bowed deeply to his mother and father, and left the room, being followed, one by one, by each of the royal princes and princesses of the Kingdom of Kórynthia.

  A new era had begun.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “THIS IS SO GRAND”

  On the following morning, the Feast of Saint Ban­dreillos, a meeting of the Royal Council of Kórynthia was held at the hour of tritê in the Great Hall of the Tighris.

  Earlier that day, the Grand Vizier Melanthrix had been rousted from his quarters, and brought before Hered­itary Prince Arkády.

  “Lord Fértö,” the prince had greeted the old man. “There have been a few changes since our last meeting, and I want to make certain that you understand full well the role that you will play this morning.”

  The philosopher had peered around the room at the score of guards standing at rigid attention.

  “Where’s the king?” Melanthrix had inquired.

  “Indisposed,” had come the response.

  “We see,” the grand vizier had mused.

  “I sincerely hope you do,” Arkády had stated. “You will read into the official record a document which I will give you. You will make the appropriate statements in response, and register the parchment in your book. Then you will be dismissed from office into an honorable retire­ment, with the thanks and gratitude of the state and its king.”

  “We see,” Melanthrix had said again.

  “Then you will do as I ask?” Arkády had pressed.

  “Do we have a choice?” the philosopher had queried.

  “What do you think?” had been the prince’s re­sponse.

  “We will do as you require.”

  Melanthrix had bowed, his silver chains jingling.

  “Please escort the grand vizier to his quarters,” Arkády had ordered two of the guards, “and remain there with him until the time of the council meeting.”

  Then he had turned again to Melanthrix.

  “Oh, yes, Lord Fértö, we just discovered that there’s something wrong with the door to your apartment,” the prince added. “It was removed a few moments ago. They’ll have it back in place by this evening. My apolo­gies for the inconvenience.”

  The grand vizier withdrew with a flourish of low bows.

  Now the Great Hall was filling with all of the sur­viving lords and ladies of state, as well as the patriarch, metropolitans, and archbishops and bishops currently visit­ing Paltyrrha. Representatives of the people were also al­lowed in the back of the room, to act as witnesses for the world at large.

  “My lords and ladies!” boomed the voice of the Hankyárar of Konyály, “His Royal Highness, Arkadios Hereditary Prince of Kórynthia, the Royal Family, and the Royal Council!”

  Then the prince and his family and councilors en­tered, attired in all of their glittering robes, dresses, and tu­nics.

  They seated themselves around a table that had been erected below the king’s throne for that purpose.

  Doctor Melanthrix abruptly stood at the end of the table furthest from the throne, and picked up a parchment trailing several multi­colored seals.

  “My lord prince,” he intoned as loudly as his voice would allow. “My lord prince, we have before us a special communiqué from Kyprianos iii, King of Kórynthia.”

  “Please read us your communiqué,” Arkády in­structed.

  The hall suddenly became as still as the day of final judgment, as everyone waited expectantly for the words to come. Then the grand vizier began:

  “Kyprianos iii King of Kórynthia, Overlord of Pommerelia, Mährenia, Morënë, and Nisy
ria, sends greetings unto the High Council of the Land.

  “My lords and ladies:

  “Whereas we have been beset by the trou­bles of old age and ill health during this past six­month, and

  “Whereas we have become burdened thereby with the affairs of state and the necessities of waging war, and

  “Whereas we seek to find some solace from these cares after four decades of ser­vice to the land and the people,

  “Now, therefore, we do hereby irrevoca­bly renounce, reject, and abdicate our throne of Kórynthia in favor of our eldest son and heir, the Hereditary Prince Arka­dios Kyprianidês von Tighris.

  “Given under our hand at Tighrishály Palace, on the xxist day of July in the xlist year of our reign.

  “Kyprianos Vasileus Kôrynthias

  “Witnesseth:

  “Arkadios Prinkêps Prôtos

  “Kyrillos Prinkêps

  “Zacharias Prinkêps

  “Andreas Prinkêps

  “Briskeina Khêra Vasileia

  “Polyxena Vasileia

  “Ezzôlla Vasileia Pômmerêlias

  “Doura Prinkêpissa

  “Arrhiêna Prinkêpissa kai Khêra Komêssa Arrhênês

  “Sakhetta Prinkêpissa”

  There was a roar of approval from the multitude that rattled the windows and shook the halls. This was a popu­lar announcement indeed. The grand vizier kept motioning for silence, and finally the crowds quieted enough for him to be heard. He held the document up for everyone to see, and slowly rotated it so the seals and signatures were visi­ble, if not legible.

  “Highness,” Melanthrix continued, “the signature of the king appears genuine, as do the signatures of the wit­nesses. The seals are also correct. We call upon the wit­nesses who are present here, and make formal inquiry unto them: did King Kipriyán sign this document in their pres­ence?”

  “He did,” averred Prince Arkády.

  “He did,” repeated Dowager Queen Brisquayne, Princess Arrhiána, Prince Kiríll, Prince Zakháry, Prince An­druin, Princess Sachette, Princess Dúra, and Queen Ez­zölla. Queen Polyxena was absent tending her hus­band in Kórynthály.