'Ware the Dark-Haired Man

by Robert Reginald

“I understand your feelings, Kiríll,” he said, “but I gave the man my word of honor that he would be safe from any reprisals from the state, and would also be allowed to retain his title, if he co­operated with this morning’s acces­sion council. It was essential to maintain the legal forms, so that there would be no possible challenge to the succes­sion in the future. Having given my pledge, I must deny your petition. The matter is closed.”

  “Is there any other business?” Lord Vydór inquired, looking around the room. “Hearing none, I declare this council adjourned.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “THE MAN’S LIKE A CAT”

  “It’s obvious to me,” Prince Kiríll said, “that the king’s not going to make any move against that quack Melanthrix so long as he’s treating Prince Ari for his pains.”

  “I hear he’s moved out of the palace into an apart­ment in Kórynthály,” Zakháry noted. “Lord Fértö, indeed! The man isn’t even highborn. Old Fartö, mayhap!”

  “I just don’t like him hanging around father,” Kiríll continued. “I just wonder how much of Papá’s illness is due to his meddling. Unfortunately, my little surprise didn’t pan out.”

  “I wondered if that was you,” Zakháry commented. “It almost worked.”

  “The man’s like a cat,” his brother stated. “Nine damn’d lives, and every one of them evil. I’m determined to try again. I wonder if he’ll be attending this proposed conference in September.”

  “Probably not,” Prince Zakháry said. “He would have no reason to come. No, I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of Melanthrix again, except in our brother’s apart­ments. And I’m not willing to frighten the children by trying something there. I just don’t think that’s right.”

  “You won’t get any disagreement from me,” Kiríll mused. “Then we’ll just have to beard the cat in his own lair, won’t we? I suggest that we use the same source that I employed last time.”

  “La Guilde des Assassins?” Zack asked.

  “Indeed,” his brother agreed. “They’re profes­sional, strictly confidential, and they accept anyone who pays. I’ll make the arrangements myself.”

  “Then let’s hope Doctor Melanthrix has just one more life left to give,” Zakháry stated.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “WHEN WILL IT BE OVER?”

  But the object of their discussion was at that mo­ment in the Hanging Garden of Queen Landizábel, talking to Princess Grigorÿna and her thirty-two dolls.

  “I don’t understand why Grandpapá had to go away,” Rÿna said.

  “It’s difficult to explain, my dear,” the old man replied.

  “But I thought the king had to die before there could be another one,” she commented.

  “Well, usually that’s true,” Melanthrix agreed, “but in this case King Kipriyán voluntarily abdicated his rights.”

  “What does it mean to ab-, ab-uh-di-cate?” the girl asked.

  “It means that the king no longer wants to be king, and so he gives his crown to someone else,” the philoso­pher indicated.

  “Why did Grandpapá no longer want to be king?” Rÿna pressed.

  “Because the king felt bad about the things he had done,” he said. “And because he was no longer really a king anymore, and hadn’t been for a long, long time.”

  “How do you become a king, Melánty?” she queried. “Can I be one?”

  The old astrologer laughed.

  “No, my dear,” he said, “women are called queens, not kings, and they’re usually the wives of the monarchs, not rulers in themselves, more’s the pity. The world would be a better place if they allowed queens to sit on the throne of Kórynthia. If that were true, then the Princess Grig­orÿna, yes, you yourself, might well become the queen, since you’re the eldest child of the reigning king. And a good queen you would make, we think.

  “But as to your other question, little one,” he con­tinued, “there are many, many stories about how men be­come kings. Some say that God makes a king. Some say that the order of birth within the royal family determines who will be king, although that has not always been the case with the Tighrishi, who have sometimes displaced the true king with a false one. And some say that a king makes a king. You can make up your own stories, and they will certainly be as good as ours.”

  “I like your stories, Melánty,” Rÿna exclaimed, throwing up her two hands and clapping, “and so does my chorus.”

  “You do seem to have more of them these days,” the philosopher noted, looking over at the four lines of eight dolls each, all gazing up at the great tower.

  “Well,” she said, “Ouisa keeps inviting more of her friends to join the game. She says it’s not over yet.”

  “And when will it be over?” he gently asked.

  “When the king is dead,” the little girl replied.

  Then all of the dolls slowly turned their heads and looked at him.

  “When the king is dead,” they echoed.

  And Doctor Melanthrix was suddenly very, very afraid.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “HE IS WORTHY!”

  A month and a half later, on the Fourth Day of September, which was also the Feast of Saint Moses the Prophet, King Arkády presided over the opening of an un­precedented confluence of the greatest minds of Kórynthia, to discuss the future development of that kingdom. Invited were the best-known statesmen, noblemen, philosophers, writers and scribes, artists and artisans, churchmen, theolo­gians, craftsmen, military men, and musicians, four hun­dred in all, who gathered together in the Great Hall of Tighrishály Palace.

  The king gave the opening address.

  “Lords, ladies, and gentlefolk,” he intoned. “I have called you here today to begin the process whereby we re­define ourselves as a nation. Kórynthia has suffered a great tragedy. Although some few of our soldiers found their way home this past month after the prisoner exchange and ransoming of officers, it is clear that our losses at Killing­ford were catastrophic, approaching twenty-five thousand men. Many of the survivors have suffered wounds from which they will never fully recover. Half or two-thirds of the great houses of the land lost a title-holder or heir, and some few had all of their menfolk disappear into the killing fields. The crops currently being harvested cannot fully be captured, because we lack the hands to bring them in. Ev­erywhere the land and the people cry out. We will endure a harsh winter this year.

  “All of you here have experienced these losses first­hand,” he continued. “You know the depth and the breadth of the problems we face. We are not equipped to cope with a crisis of such dimensions. We must rethink ourselves, and redefine our laws, our customs, our very fabric to pro­vide some hope for the future.

  “I ask all of you to contribute your ideas, your good will, and your innovative thinking. These are just a few of the challenges we face:

  “First, we must reform the laws governing the transmission of land, so that the widows of Killingford will have some means of securing their futures, and will have dowries to provide them with new husbands.

  “Second, we must reform the laws governing the transmission of titles of nobility, so that the wholesale extinction of the great houses can be prevented.

  “Third, we must reorganize the army, and create a standing force of professional soldiers that will be able to respond quickly to threats in the future.

  “Fourth, we need to encourage immigration from neighboring lands to provide the manpower that we need to perform basic tasks.

  “Fifth, we must strongly encourage the bach­elors of the realm to marry the widows and female heirs of Killingford, by of­fering benefits to those who choose to comply, and by penalizing those who do not.

  “Sixth, we must encourage new marriages and remarriages through large-scale cer­emonies sponsored by the state, with dowries and free land being distributed to these couples to provide them with a basic start in their life together, and the Church must be encouraged to give dis­pensations for these joint services.


  “Seventh, we must redistribute the lands of the extinct estates and titles as widely as possible, possibly using them as a basis for dowries for those widows and female children who need them to remarry.

  “Eighth, we propose constructing a memorial for the dead of Killingford at Paltyrrha, and another at Kórynthály dedicated to the memory of Prince Nikolaí, our much belovèd brother.

  “Ninth, we propose the construction of a permanent bridge across the Paltyrrh River to link the old and new parts of the city, and to mitigate against the an­nual spring floods. Never again can we allow a waterway to divide our country in two during a time of great crisis.

  “Tenth, we propose the construction of addi­tional permanent roads connecting Pal­tyrrha with the outlying provinces.

  “Finally, let all of our people join hands in making the future bright with possibil­ity, for the great and small and all of those in between. Let us spend the next generation building a new Kórynthia, one that will benefit all of the people yet to come.”

  Then the king sat down. Slowly there came the shouts from the crowd, gathering ever-increasing strength as more and more of the attendees rose in their seats to thump their breasts.

  “Axios! He is worthy!” they yelled, beating upon the tables and upon themselves. “Axios!”

  The roar was so loud that it could be heard through­out the palace and even into the streets outside, where the vendors and their donkeys turned and cocked their heads at the unusual sound.

  “Axios!” they shouted again, and would not be silent. He was worthy indeed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “NOW WE WILL SEE WHO IS KING AROUND HERE”

  But not everyone agreed with that assessment, for at that very moment in Kórynthály, former King Kipriyán was plotting to regain his throne.

  Attending him were Doctor Melanthrix, Lord Télen, Lord Munkás, Count Éskak, and Sergeant Poliodór.

  “Report!” the king ordered.

  Poliodór was first.

  “I have secured the loyalty of at least half of the Palace Guard,” he stated, “and have arranged that most of the others will be off-duty tomorrow at the hour of tritê. My men will be the only soldiers present at the conference, where all the chief men, including your sons, will be gath­ered together for the opening of the second day. If we control the exits, we control all those attending.”

  “Excellent,” Kipriyán commended. “Lord Télen, what about you?”

  “Captain Kérés will be attending the conference,” the baron reported, “and I have arranged that his men will be drawn to a disturbance in the church. When they rush in, my troop will bolt the doors until such time as we re­ceive your signal.”

  “Munkás and Éskak?” the king inquired.

  “We’ll have our mounted lancers ready at Katonaí Field,” the count stated. “As soon as I get the word, we’ll enter the city and secure the strongpoints.”

  At that moment, the door opened to admit another conspirator, Lord Lásky, he who had been humiliated at the “Hole.”

  “Please accept my apologies, majesty,” he offered. “My men are also ready to strike. As soon as the sign is given, we’ll lock up the prison tight, and rush to the gen­darmerie to secure the police force.”

  “Very well,” Kipriyán boomed. “Doctor Melan­thrix and I will transit on the morrow to Tighrishály Palace, and then proceed to the Great Hall, where I will finally be re­stored to my proper place. The traitors will be seized and tried on the spot. You six shall constitute the nucleus of the new Royal Council, with Lord Fértö once again become grand vizier. You all have your instructions. Now leave me.”

  One by one they exited, returning to their posts, all except Melanthrix.

  “Now,” Kipriyán said, “Now we will see who is king around here.”

  Then he smiled his terrible smile, full of crooked teeth and absent of any humor. Doctor Melanthrix just smiled along with him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  “I SING AN INCANTATION”

  Queen Polyxena looked up from her crystal, passing her hand over the globe to clear the image. She knew now what her husband intended to do, and just who was in­volved. She took a piece of red wax, rolled it into a small ball, and pushed a miniature metal rod into it. This she impressed with a mental message to Queen Brisquayne, outlining the conspiracy as she had viewed it. Then she exited her bedchamber and went out into the garden, closely followed by one of her husband’s guards.

  She reached into a pocket of her apron, and began scattering grain to the pigeons which gathered by the dozens on the veranda tile, peck, peck, pecking at the bits of food. The soldier Vladlén, clearly bored by the pro­ceedings, sat down on a nearby bench, and shielded his eyes from the hot sun while he dozed.

  In her mind the Queen called out to the black-feather’d raven, Lady Milyutÿnis, asking her

  To brave the wild winds and pierce the rough skies,

  Come to her mistress by whichever way she flies,

  Do for her this service which she doth command,

  Lest ill shall prevail and good shall not stand.

  “Mageuô melê,” she breathed through her lips, too softly for anyone save the bird to hear, “I sing an incanta­tion.”

  A wind began to blow, gently at first, and then harder, ever harder, until the pigeons all scattered to the four quarters of the world, and the guileless guard Vladlén slept on, oblivious to the magic falling ’round his head, and the Lady Milyutÿnis, that great black bitch of a bird, swooped down upon the place and took the message in her beak, leaving only a single ebon feather drifting lazily in her wake as a sign that women’s work had been well ac­complished that day. The Queen Polyxena daintily stooped down, picked up the leaving, and twined it in her hair. Then there was peace again upon the earth.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “YOUR LIFE IS IN DANGER”

  Elsewhere in Kórynthály, Dowager Queen Brisquayne returned to her home at hektê to eat a light lun­cheon. Although the afternoon was hot, a copse of oak trees behind her house provided a shady spot in which to rest and enjoy the freshening breeze blowing in from Ar­rhénë. She sat on an old stone railing, feet draped over the edge, and bit deeply into a late peach, the sweet juice run­ning down her double chin.

  The most recent word from Neustria was encourag­ing: her great-grandson was flourishing, and there had been no further sign of Mösza (or Mirza, as she had called herself there) since the incident of the birthing. She knew that Mösza could never return to Kórynthia, that the compul­sion planted in her would kill her if she tried, and so Brisquayne felt safer here in her own place than she did anywhere else.

  There was a squawk just above her, and the queen turned to see the coal black image of a raven rocking back and forth on one of the lower branches of the tree, its mouth held open by a small object clutched in its beak. Then it hopped down next to her and sauntered over, showing no fear. Brisquayne held out her hand, palm up, and the bird dropped a nugget of wax into it. It squawked again, and flew off.

  The queen crushed the wax pellet gently between her thumb and forefinger, and felt something hard inside. She carefully worked the metal casing out into the open air, and then concentrated her mind, probing the little message pod by pressing her psai-ring against it.

  Quayne, she heard Dowager Queen Polyxena’s voice in her head, Kipriyán intends to retake the throne to­morrow, with the help of Doctor Melanthrix, Count Éskak, Lord Lásky, Lord Télen, Lord Munkás, and Sergeant Po­liodór. They will occupy key points both in the city and here in Kórynthály, and then strike during the first session of the second day of the conference. Please warn the king. Also, my dear, I sense a movement in the æther directed at you personally. Your life is in danger, so please take care. I send this message via my faithful friend, Lady Milyutÿnis, and I remain your loving daughter-in-law, Polyxena.

  So the old bastard hasn’t learned his lesson yet, Brisquayne mused. Well, we’ll see about that!

  She
tossed the peach pit into the trees. Rubbing her hands together to get rid of the juice, she headed back to­wards the house, where she used her private viridaurum to transit to Tighrishály Palace.

  She caught Princess Arrhiána just outside her apartments, as she was leaving for the second session of the conference.

  “I wonder if I could see you privately for a mo­ment,” Brisquayne inquired.

  “Of course,” Arrhiána responded, sensing her ur­gency.

  They returned to the princess’s carefully-protected study.

  “Just before leaving Kórynthály,” the dowager queen said, “I received this pod from Xena. I think you’d better touch it.”

  Brisquayne handed over the pellet.

  After reviewing Polyxena’s mental message, Ar­rhiána sent a runner for the king, with a note asking him to come at once without making an obvious exit from the meeting.

  A quarter of an hour later, King Arkády joined them. After “reading” Polyxena’s warning, he ordered an impromptu meeting of the Royal Council for later in the afternoon, after the second session of the conference had ended, ostensibly to review the first day’s events. He also ordered Lord Lásky to appear before the council to give a report on security measures needed at the keep of Legalsó Vár. Then he sent for Captains Fösse and Kérés.

  Fösse reported first, and was informed of the situa­tion.

  “Can you handle Sergeant Poliodór?” Arkády asked.

  “Now that I know about their plans and have a good idea of who’s been turned, yes, sire,” the officer replied.

  “Take whatever measures that are required,” the king ordered.

  Arkády handed the soldier a handwritten paper.

  “This gives you my personal authority to command any troops within the city,” he said. “Be discrete and be ruthless, captain: I do not want the traitors to know that we know, until we spring the trap. And make certain that only the guards loyal to me are in attendance at the council meeting this afternoon.”