The Usurper

by John Norman

  “We need a ram!” cried another.

  “Get it open!” cried Farrix.

  One of the armsmen staggered back, grimacing in pain. “My shoulder!” he said. His arm hung useless at his side.

  “Call out!” cried Farrix. “Some will hear!”

  “There is no one to hear,” said an armsman. “The trading hall is empty!”

  “More men!” said Farrix. “Rouse the two louts who let the prisoner escape!”

  An armsman hurried to the two slumped figures, and tried to shake them awake.

  “Hurry!” screamed Farrix. “Get them up!”

  “I cannot do so, Lord Farrix,” said the man, looking up. “Their heads are broken.”

  Meanwhile Otto, now walking swiftly, purposefully, made his way through the compound to one of the three small, temporary halls earlier reconnoitered, those serving as provisional quarters on Tenguthaxichai for Abrogastes, Ingeld, and Hrothgar.

  “Hold!” cried an armsman, blocking Otto’s way with a spear.

  “Victory to Abrogastes!” said Otto.

  “Pass,” said the armsman, stepping back.

  Otto then strode within the hall of Ingeld.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Otto looked quickly about.

  Ingeld was not present.

  He had hoped to get his hands on the throat of Ingeld.

  Ingeld, he was sure, had something of value, even if he did not know its value.

  The hall was bare, with few furnishings, only the high seat, and some benches. He saw no chests, no strong box.

  Yet the hall had been guarded.

  Did that not suggest that something of value might be about?

  Otto looked carefully about the hall. However simple, primitive, and bare it might be, there must be a place to sleep, a place to store things.

  And in such a place, a place to sleep, a place to store things, might there not be something of value?

  Liegemen might sleep about, in their blankets and furs, on the floor, but surely not the liegelord himself.

  Otto then noticed a small door, almost concealed in the rude, heavy planking of the wall. Such a door, he was sure, must lead to a small room, a storage room, a sleeping chamber.

  He strode to this door, and flung it open.

  “You!” cried Huta, spinning about in alarm.

  She stood next to a couch, presumably the couch of Ingeld. There was a ring in its foot, but she was not chained to this ring.

  “On your knees,” said Otto, “head to the rushes.”

  Instantly, the former priestess knelt, thrusting her head, with the long, flowing dark hair cascading about it, to the rude flooring of the small room.

  “Do not move,” said Otto, looking about.

  “Yes, Master,” said Huta.

  Otto saw no strongbox. Aside from the couch, the small room was not much different from the large chamber without.

  Otto turned to regard the former priestess.

  “She looks well as a kneeling slave,” he thought. “But then what woman does not?”

  “Where is Ingeld?” he asked.

  “He, Abrogastes, and Hrothgar,” she said, head down, “two days ago, took ship to Telnar.”

  Otto clenched his fists, in frustration.

  “With two prisoners?” he asked.

  “The Princesses Viviana and Alacida,” said Huta.

  “Surely it is dangerous for Drisriaks, and high Drisriaks, not agents, to venture to Telnaria,” said Otto.

  “Not only to Telnaria, Master,” she whispered, “but to Telnar itself.”

  “How can it be?” asked Otto.

  “It is arranged through the empress mother and the Exarch of Telnar,” sobbed Huta, suddenly.

  “To what end?” demanded Otto, wishing to hear the suspected answer from the slave herself.

  “To celebrate the nuptials of the sons of Abrogastes to the princesses,” sobbed Huta.

  “What is it to you, a slave?” asked Otto.

  “Nothing, Master,” she sobbed. “I am a slave, only a slave.”

  “You were taken for the collar long ago, here, on Tenguthaxichai,” said Otto, “in the time of Ortog, by Abrogastes. What are you doing here, in the hall of Ingeld?”

  “I hate the princesses!” wept Huta.

  “What are you doing here, in the hall of Ingeld?” said Otto, again.

  “He did not take me with him!” sobbed Huta.

  “Ingeld?” said Otto.

  “Yes!” she said.

  “What should that matter to you?” asked Otto.

  “I love him!” she said.

  “But you are a slave,” said Otto.

  “Yes,” she said. “I am a slave!”

  “By what right then?” asked Otto.

  “By the right of a slave, to love her Master!” said Huta.

  “Slaves have no rights,” said Otto.

  “But we love, we love!” wept Huta.

  “You can be bought and sold, like a pig,” said Otto.

  “But we love, we do love!” wept Huta.

  “You were a priestess,” said Otto, “superior to such things.”

  “A collar was put on my neck,” she said. “I learned the weight of chains. I learned to crawl to a man, the switch between my teeth, whimpering for his touch. I learned to love, not as a free woman loves, but as a slave loves, without reservation or qualification, without expectations or demands, to love helplessly, completely, and abjectly, as is appropriate for one who is surrendered, submitted, and owned.”

  “As you are here,” said Otto, “I take it that Ingeld is your Master.”

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

  “Oh!” she cried, as her head was yanked up, and bent back.

  “I cannot read,” said Otto, “but I know the sign of Abrogastes, and the sign of Ingeld. Your collar bears not the sign of Ingeld, but that of Abrogastes. And, could I read, I suspect that the legend on your collar in Drisriak, and that in Telnarian, attest not to the fact that you are the property of Ingeld, but that you are the property of Abrogastes.”

  She clutched her collar futilely weeping. “My collar betrays me!” she wept.

  “As it would any lying slave,” said Otto.

  “Do not kill me, Master,” she begged, putting herself to her stomach and pressing her lips, again and again, piteously, desperately, to Otto’s boots.

  Otto stepped back, pulling away from her, and she looked up, frightened, tears in her eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I love Ingeld,” she said. “I wanted to be near his couch. I wanted to kiss its slave ring. I wanted to touch its furs. I wanted to lie, humbly, like a dog, at its foot.”

  “What if you are found here?” asked Otto.

  “I must not be found here!” she said.

  “How did you get here?” asked Otto.

  “I was unnoticed,” she said. “When there are several slaves about, who notices slaves, or pigs?”

  “A slave such as you would be noticed,” said Otto. “You would sell nicely off a block.”

  “I am only a slave,” she said. “I slipped past the guard.”

  “How do you propose leaving?” asked Otto.

  “Similarly,” she said. “I have done it before, many times.”

  “But perhaps,” said Otto, “you shall not manage it this time.”

  “Master?” she said, looking up.

  Otto looked about the small, plain room. On one wall was some harnessing, and some loops of thongs.

  “Squirm about, as you are, on your belly,” said Otto. “Get your head facing away from me. Cross your wrists behind your back. Cross your ankles.”

  Huta obeyed, promptly. “Master?” she said, frightened.

&n
bsp; “There are thongs here, on the wall,” said Otto. “Doubtless Ingeld uses you as a Thong Girl.”

  “He does with me what he wishes,” she said.

  “Perhaps you enjoy his thongs,” said Otto.

  There are many ways in which a girl may be thonged.

  “In his thongs, I am helpless,” she said. “In his thongs I know rapture.”

  “But you do not know rapture now, do you?” asked Otto.

  Huta had now been thonged.

  “No, Master!” she said. She squirmed about, on her side, to face him. Her small ankles fought the thongs. Her lovely wrists pulled futilely against them.

  “You are well trussed,” said Otto, standing, admiring his handiwork.

  “Please unbind me, Master!” she whispered. “I cannot free myself.”

  “It was not my intention that you should be able to do so,” said Otto.

  “In time, men will search for me, the armsmen of Abrogastes. I must not be found here!”

  “Farewell,” said Otto, turning away.

  “Do not go!” she pleaded. “I will scream.”

  “Do so,” said Otto.

  “But someone would hear,” she wept. “They would find me here!”

  “That is why I did not bother gagging you,” said Otto.

  “Surely you cannot leave me here, as I am!” she said.

  “You are a slave who has been unfaithful to her Master,” said Otto. “Farewell.”

  “No, no, wait, Master!” she wept. “It can be no accident that you are here. You must have a purpose. What do you want? Perhaps I might be of assistance. Is it information you want? I might know something of interest. A slave hears much, knows much! Might I not be of help? Is there nothing I can do?”

  “I search for an object,” said Otto. “It is a medallion; it is on a chain.”

  Huta’s face went white. “I dare not, Master,” she said.

  “Very well,” said Otto, placing his hand on the latch.

  “Do not go!” she wept. “You do not want it! It is worthless! Lord Ingeld told me. It is only one of more than a hundred, perhaps a thousand, similar things. Once it was thought of great value. Now it is meaningless.”

  “Where is it?” said Otto.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “I depart,” said Otto.

  “It is a thing of Lord Ingeld,” she said. “I dare not reveal its hiding place.”

  “If it is worthless, why should it have a hiding place?” asked Otto.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “It is about,” said Otto. “I am sure of it.”

  Huta struggled, futilely.

  “There is no point in struggling,” said Otto. “Surely you are familiar with what it is, to be a well-thonged slave.”

  “I beg mercy,” she said.

  “Does Lord Ingeld know that you are aware of the location of the object?” asked Otto.

  “No,” she said. “I discovered it when alone in the hall. Dirt had been turned. I was curious.”

  “Does anyone know you frequent the hall in the absence of Lord Ingeld?” asked Otto.

  “No,” she said. “I have never been discovered here.”

  “Until perhaps an hour from now,” said Otto.

  “Mercy!” she whispered.

  “Where is it?” asked Otto.

  “In the hall, buried,” she said. “I will show you the place.”

  “The guard will remember me,” said Otto. “It will be understood I have taken the object. Your role in this will be unknown. After I have departed, I advise you to disturb the soil of the hall, in several locations, so it will seem that a search of some sort was conducted.”

  “Yes, Master,” wept Huta.

  Otto then bent to undo the thongs on the slave’s wrists and ankles.

  “Where is the place of the ‘Horse Death’?” asked Otto.

  “In the yard behind the hall of Abrogastes,” she said.

  “You will have no difficulty leaving the hall this afternoon,” said Otto.

  “How is that, Master?” asked Huta.

  “The guard will be unconscious,” said Otto.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  “What is going on here?” demanded Farrix. “Move back!”

  “I and my colleagues,” said the merchant, “have come for the feast.”

  “There is no feast,” said Farrix. “Beware that you are not trampled.”

  One of the horses growled, and shied its massive form to the side.

  “They are large, are they not?” said the merchant.

  “Beware you do not lose an arm,” said Farrix.

  “To be sure, I am early, but so, too, I see, are others,” said the merchant.

  “There is no feast here,” said Farrix.

  “Is this not the yard behind the hall of noble Abrogastes?” asked the merchant.

  “It is,” said Farrix, angrily.

  “Then this is the place,” said the merchant.

  “What do you need these cumbersome beasts for?” asked another.

  “They are half the size of a torodont,” said another.

  “I have seen some as large,” said another.

  “What are these beasts for?” asked another.

  “They are to draw wagons with crates of steaming viands from the kitchens, kegs of bror and kana,” said another.

  “Go away,” said Farrix.

  “We are here for the feast,” said another merchant, one in yellow robes.

  “There is no feast here,” said Farrix.

  “You must be mistaken,” said a merchant. “The word is all over the compound. The noble Alemanni are entertaining all the delegations with a great feast. It is celebrating the end of the selling, and in anticipation of the joyous unitings of princes and princesses. See? Here come several others, in festive regalia. There is no gainsaying the generosity of the Alemanni.”

  “There is no feast!” said Farrix.

  “Do you mean to say you have not been told?” asked another merchant. He looked about. “Where are the tables, the benches, the tents?”

  “There is no feast,” said Farrix. “Be careful there! The animals are not used to crowds.”

  “Here come more guests, at least a hundred,” said a merchant.

  “Many have brought their domicile slaves,” said another merchant.

  “And retainers,” said another.

  “You there,” said Farrix. “You, big fellow, you in the hood, you on the other side of the horse. It is dangerous. It could turn and seize you. Get away from it.”

  As the large fellow did not much move, and seemed inclined, rather, to stroke the beast, perhaps to pacify it, Farrix, angrily, moved about the large form.

  “Away!” he said, waving his arm. “There is no feast!”

  “There are different sorts of feasts,” said the large man in the saffron merchant robes. “There are feasts of blood, of steel, of joy, of vengeance, of war, of peace, of hate, of justice.”

  “You!” cried Farrix.

  A massive hand thrust forth from the saffron sleeve and seized Farrix by the throat, and shook him, and Farrix fell dazed, gasping for breath, at Otto’s feet. It took Otto only a moment or two to fasten the ropes on Farrix’s half inert, shuddering form, a rope on each limb. He then led the animals in such a way as to tauten the ropes.

  “I would lie quietly, friend,” said Otto. “A quick word and a few slaps and these four fine beasts will go their separate ways.”

  “Do not stir the beasts!” said Farrix.

  “What is this all about?” asked a merchant, curious.

  “Entertainment, for the feast,” said Otto.

  “How is he to free himself?” asked a merchant.

  “You must wait, and see,�
� said Otto.

  “You are listening to me, are you not?” Otto inquired of the prostrate Farrix.

  “Yes!” said Farrix. “Do not stir the horses. You do not know them. The slightest signal might stampede them.”

  “This is interesting,” said a merchant.

  “I think so,” said Otto.

  “What do you want?” whispered Farrix.

  “Your men are about,” said Otto, “or will soon be about, with prisoners. They may be here now, somewhere in the crowd. Call out to them. Tell them to come here, unbind the prisoners, and submit themselves for binding with the same ropes.”

  “Why should I do that?” said Farrix.

  “I am prepared to start the horses,” said Otto.

  “Wait!” said Farrix. “Einar, Eserich! To me!”

  Shortly thereafter, though Farrix need call twice, his men, with their bound prisoners, made their way through the crowd to rendezvous with their chief. And a bit after that, Julian, Tuvo Ausonius, and Rurik were freed of their ropes, which were then transferred to the limbs of the two fellows we suppose must have been Einar and Eserich.

  Rurik’s slave, Cornhair, her wrists bound behind her, and on a leash, it now dangling from her leather leash collar, had been brought along, apparently to witness the proceedings, and absorb a lesson as to what might be the fate of a slave who might prove to be less than fully pleasing. There were bruises on her arms, legs, and face. She now knelt near Rurik, her head down.

  “Free me, now,” said Farrix. “I have had done what you asked.”

  One of the horses began to scratch at the turf with its clawed paw.

  “It is getting restless,” said Otto. “I suspect it is waiting for the signal.”

  “If one bolts, the others will bolt,” said Farrix. “They have been used in this place before!”

  “Why is the slave bruised?” asked Otto of Rurik.

  “She was reluctant to afflict me with the torture of the lascivious slave girl,” said Rurik.

  “She would arouse you while you were helpless, for the sport of your captors, that they might jeer you,” said Otto.

  “Yes,” said Rurik.

  “Do not stir the horses!” said Farrix.

  “She was slow to obey the command of a free man?” said Otto.

  “Yes,” said Rurik.

  “But she saw reason,” said Otto.