Savage Games of Lord Zarak

by Gilbert L. Morris

  “Well, I suppose that’s true enough, but he has such an arrogant streak in him!”

  Bettis thought but did not speak. Not as arrogant as yours, Lady Lara. She changed the subject by saying, “Now will you have your bath?”

  On the day following his unpleasant encounter with the Lady Lara, Roland finally had a chance to speak with Sarah and Josh. He had been cleaning the stables again and was wheeling his load out to the garden when he saw the two of them. They were spreading the manure that he had brought the day before. “Josh, Sarah!” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

  Both Josh and Sarah turned with surprise. “Roland!” Sarah cried. “We’ve been worried, wondering what happened to you.”

  “Nothing really too bad so far,” he said. “What about you?” He saw at once that both Sarah and Josh were pale and looked half-starved. “Aren’t they feeding you?” he asked.

  “Aw, we’re all right,” Josh said. “The food’s terrible, and they work us from dawn until long after dark, but we’re all right.”

  “Me too,” Roland said. “What do you think the others are doing? Do you think there might be a rescue attempt?”

  “Not a chance,” Josh said. “Look at those castle walls.”

  The three talked while Sarah and Josh raked manure.

  But then a guard came along and said, “Get to work, you!” He swished his short whip and struck Roland across the shoulders. “Get back to your work! And you two, let’s see that dirt fly!”

  There was no more chance to talk with Josh and Sarah, but Roland found himself glad that they were all right. They’re having a rough time, he thought and was a little surprised at himself. He had never before felt much concern for anyone but Roland Winters.

  Later that afternoon, when he was back at grooming the horses, he heard the clanging of swords out in the courtyard. Curious, he decided he would lead Lady Lara’s mare to the blacksmith at the far end of the court. Then he could see what was going on.

  At once he saw that several officers including Lord Zarak and his henchman Sheriff Cranmore were engaged in sword practice. A small crowd stood watching. He would have passed by, but Lady Lara’s voice rang out. “Slave, stop! Where are you going with my horse?”

  “She needs a new shoe, my lady. I was taking her to the blacksmith.”

  “Let me see!”

  “It’s her right rear hoof, my lady,” Roland said. “You can see that part of the shoe is worn off. It’s going to make her lame if it’s not replaced.” Lady Lara’s eyes opened wider. “Well, you do know something about horses after all.”

  “A little, my lady.”

  Then there were shouts, and both Roland and the princess turned to see that Sheriff Cranmore had been victorious over one of the soldiers. He had his sword tip pressed against the man’s chest.

  “Don’t kill him, Cranmore,” Zarak said, laughing.

  “He may be good for something. Maybe for serving in the kitchen.”

  The sheriff turned away from his defeated foe. He was grinning broadly. “Not much competition around here.”

  Lady Lara cast a glance at Roland. “You probably never saw anyone who could handle a sword as well as Sheriff Cranmore. You would have no one in your country capable enough to beat him.”

  An impish impulse came over Roland just then. He knew that everyone was listening, and he said loudly, “Oh, I’ve seen a few. My younger brother could take him. He would probably carve him up like a turkey.”

  Sheriff Cranmore’s eyes blazed. He came over and put the tip of his sword under Roland’s heart. “I’ll kill you for that, slave!”

  “No, no, Cranmore. Let him fight you!” Lord Zarak said. “That will give you opportunity to carve him up as you please.”

  Roland saw the swift glance Zarak exchanged with Cranmore. The two understood each other. “All right,” the sheriff agreed. “Give the beggar a sword.”

  One of the soldiers advanced and handed a sword to Roland, hilt first. The man’s expression was not encouraging. He said, “Well, I hope you’ve had a full life, because it’s over now.”

  Even Lady Lara showed alarm. “You can’t fight him!” she cried. “You’ll be killed!”

  Roland took the sword, hefted it, and tried to hide the light of battle he was sure was in his eyes.

  “You can sing at my funeral, Lady Lara,” he told her. “I know you’d enjoy that.”

  A surprised mutter went up from the soldiers, and Lord Zarak said loudly, “The slave is insolent. Make it short and sweet, Cranmore.”

  The sheriff laughed and swung his sword in the air. “Come to me, slave!” he said. “Would you rather have my blade in your throat or in your heart?”

  “As you please, Sheriff Cranmore,” Roland said. What he knew and the others did not know was that all of his life he had practiced with a sword. He had been a champion when he was only sixteen years old and had never been beaten since. He also had seen Cranmore fight and had studied his style. Now he simply stood before the sheriff with his blade half-lifted.

  “He doesn’t even know how to hold the blade,” Cranmore jeered. “Well, this will be a lesson in swordsmanship for you, slave, but you won’t stay alive to profit by it.”

  Lady Lara watched Cranmore spring forward with the clear intention of ending the battle with one swift blow. But the slave’s blade flew up, misdirected the sheriff’s aim, and the thrust drove by him.

  Humiliated by his failure, Cranmore clenched his teeth and began a series of rapid lunges. The ring of steel on steel filled the courtyard, and other servants and soldiers were drawn to the conflict. Many looked down from the windows.

  Lady Lara could scarcely believe what she was seeing. She realized that Roland could have killed Cranmore more than once. I never saw anyone who could handle a sword like that, she thought. He is just playing with the man!

  On the sidelines, Lord Zarak was furious. He shouted, “Kill him, Cranmore!”

  The sheriff was trying his best. Around and around the two went. Now Cranmore was breathing hard.

  There was a smile on Roland’s lips as he easily parried the sheriff’s sword thrusts. And then, abruptly, with a strange, twisting movement, he drove forward, and the tip of his blade was inside Cranmore’s guard. He wrenched away the sheriff’s sword, and it went spinning high into the air. Instantly Roland placed the tip of his blade on Cranmore’s throat. “Would you rather have it in the throat or in the heart, my lord?”

  “Stop him!” Zarak cried.

  Instantly soldiers surrounded Roland and took away his sword. Zarak shouted, “You’ll be executed for this!” But Lady Lara said, “This is my slave, my lord, and it was your plan that failed. I cannot help it if your underlings are incompetent.”

  She turned then to Roland. “Come with me, slave. You may take my horse to the blacksmith. Then I have work for you to do.”

  The crowd watched in silence as Roland went to retrieve the mare and follow her.

  When they were out of hearing distance, she said to him, “You are in great danger. Cranmore is a very dangerous man.”

  “But why should you care?” The exercise and the challenge and the victory had obviously quickened Roland’s boldness. “I’m just a slave, and you don’t care about slaves.”

  “That’s not true,” she protested angrily. “I care for Bettis.”

  “And what about those that are starving outside this castle? What about the slaves who work here night and day so that you can live in comfort?”

  Lady Lara never could stand criticism. She slapped his face. “I’ll have you thrown back into the dungeon!” she cried. “You can’t talk to me like that!”

  “You see? I was right.” There was no quieting him. “You don’t care for anybody but yourself.”

  “Guard, put this slave in the dungeon!” she screamed.

  Lady Lara watched as he was led away. Oddly, she found herself trembling. She stabled the horse herself and then went to her chamber.

  Bettis came to her at
once. She was sure the maid had watched the duel from the window.

  “What is wrong, my lady?”

  “That Roland! That slave! He told me that I didn’t care for anybody but myself.”

  First, it seemed that Bettis was going to keep a tactful silence. But then she simply said, “He is a good man, Lady Lara.”

  “He is a slave.”

  “Still, if he were a prince and had come on a powerful warhorse, clothed in armor, would you not look on him with favor?”

  Lady Lara stared at the girl. “Well, he’s not, and he didn’t, and I’ve had him thrown into the dungeon. He’ll learn how to treat me with respect.”

  8

  The Quarry

  All right, you. Come with me.”

  Startled, Sarah looked up at the tall, forbidding woman who stood before her. It was Dagmar, who was in authority over the slaves that worked in the kitchen.

  “Come where?” Sarah asked. She glanced over at Josh, and he appeared to be as startled as she was. The two had been scouring pots and pans, and both were greasy and filthy.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve this honor,” the woman sneered, “but Lady Lara’s maid is sick. Her command is that you will take her place.”

  “Me?” The woman’s news startled Sarah, but she knew there was no arguing with it.

  Dagmar had been cruel to both Sarah and Josh—as she was to the rest of the slaves. Now her muddy brown eyes were filled with unusual hatred. “Come along,” she said. “You can’t serve her lady stinking like the swine.”

  Josh nodded, saying, “Go on, Sarah. It’ll be better for you than this.”

  “Silence, slave!” Dagmar cried. “And you, girl, come along.”

  Dagmar led Sarah to a room just off the kitchen and said, “You’ve got to be cleaned up. Have you ever had a bath?”

  “Yes. Of course, I’ve had baths.”

  “Well, don’t be so proud of it. There—the water’s heated.” She pointed to a metal tub. “Get in there and scrub yourself.”

  What a blessed relief to soak herself clean, Sarah thought. She found that a bar of soft soap had been left for her. She even washed her hair.

  And then Dagmar returned with—wonder of wonders—clean underwear, a pair of black shoes, and a simple gray dress. “Put these on,” she ordered. She watched as Sarah scrambled into the clothes. Then she commanded, “And do something with your hair!”

  There was nothing to do with except a comb and a brush, but Sarah did her best. It felt so good just to be clean again. Whatever happens to me from now on, she thought, I got a bath!

  “All right. All right. You’ll have to do. Go up those stairs. Ask the guards to direct you to the lady’s rooms. And mind your manners, or she will have the hide taken off your back.”

  Sarah found her way without difficulty to the chamber of Lady Lara.

  The guard gave her a stare, then winked. “You’ve sure come up in the world now. Better go on in. Her ladyship’s been waiting for you.”

  Sarah entered the door that the guard opened and saw Lady Lara standing by the window, looking out. “They told me to come to you, my lady.”

  “Yes. My maid’s ill. You’ll have to serve in her place. You probably don’t know anything about waiting on ladies.”

  “Not a great deal, but I’ll do my best, my lady.” “All right. I need to change clothes, and then you must do my hair.”

  Lady Lara watched her new maid work and was amazed to find that she was very capable indeed. The girl’s hands were gentle, and she had a way of arranging hair that pleased the lady very much. “You do well,” she said. “As well as Bettis, and she has taken care of me all of her life.”

  “You have beautiful hair, my lady. Very beautiful, indeed.”

  For some time Lady Lara simply relaxed. She was highly pleased with all the attention she got and with the quickness of the slave. “What is your name, girl? I forget.”

  “Sarah, my lady.”

  “Well, Sarah, how is your other friend doing? What’s his name?”

  “Josh.”

  “Yes. Josh. Is he being treated well?”

  “No, my lady. I fear not.”

  Lady Lara had asked the question just out of curiosity. She really had no interest in slaves. She stared at the girl, surprised at her answer. “And you. I suppose you haven’t been treated well, either?”

  “I do not complain. My lady asked me, and I told you. We’ve both been half starved and worked until we couldn’t stand up.”

  Lady Lara did not know whether to be angry or not. However, I did ask the question, she thought. I can’t get angry with the girl if she gives me an answer. And she is polite enough.

  “Your other friend has been returned to the dungeon. Did you know that?”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t know. What has he done?”

  “He was insolent. To me!”

  The hand on Lady Lara’s hair seemed to tremble slightly. “I’m truly sorry to hear that, Lady Lara,” she said.

  “Has he always been as insolent to his betters as he is now?”

  “I have not known him very long, my lady.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “What would you like to know, my lady?”

  “He puzzles me. He’s the best swordsman I’ve ever seen, and yet he’s rebellious and insolent. He can’t learn his place.”

  “Perhaps it would help to understand, Lady Lara,” her new maid said quietly, “that he has never been a slave before. He has always been free—indeed, as we all have been. Imagine, if you can, if you yourself suddenly were made a slave. It would be very difficult for you, would it not—my lady?”

  Lady Lara was silent. She kept on looking at her reflection in the mirror as the girl arranged her hair. She studied Sarah’s face in the glass and saw no insolence there. Then she turned around and looked directly into her eyes. She said, “I don’t see any hatred or rebellion in you. But when I look into Roland’s eyes, I see anger.”

  “He is a confused young man, my lady. But he has some fine qualities. He has been spoiled, and that is never good for anyone.”

  “Spoiled how?”

  “In every way, I fear. He comes from a wealthy family, he has always had everything he wanted, and perhaps you have noticed how fine looking he is.”

  “Why should I notice what a slave looks like?”

  “Well, perhaps not. But other girls have found him so. It is impossible that they should not. I myself think he is one of the finest looking boys I’ve ever seen! Strong, and tall, and that red hair and green eyes!” Sarah went on. “I think he’s very handsome, my lady.”

  “Well . . . perhaps if he were cleaned up. Then he might be presentable.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  For some time, Lady Lara asked Sarah questions. She found herself growing very curious, indeed. At last she said, “And what are you three doing here? How did you come to this land, and why did you come?”

  Somewhat cautiously, Lady Lara thought, Sarah began to speak of their travels and of an unusual person named Goél. She told of the courage and the goodness of Goél and how he had saved her life and the lives of her friends many times.

  “I have heard something of this Goél,” Lady Lara said. “But I thought he was merely a story made up.”

  “No, indeed, lady. He’s more than that. He is real. If you ever meet him, you will know that there is nobody like him. Nobody at all.”

  Lady Lara did not talk further about Goél, but as she allowed Sarah to help her dress, she was thinking deeply about what she had just heard.

  The cell door suddenly swung open, and Roland blinked in confusion as he was dragged out into the passageway.

  “Come along!” the guard said roughly.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Don’t ask questions. You will be safer that way.”

  Roland kept quiet, and the guard guided his steps. After they had made several turns, he was pushed through a door and slammed down into
a chair. The room was dark except for a single light that shone into the darkness from above.

  “Stay seated. I want to talk to you,” someone said from behind him.

  Instantly Roland knew that voice. He had heard it often enough to recognize it. The speaker was Lord Zarak. And for some reason, Roland became suddenly afraid. If physical danger were being threatened, he might have faced it with more courage, but there was something evil about this very room.

  “You will answer my questions,” Zarak said. The king’s counselor moved around into Roland’s line of vision. He had removed the medallion he always wore and was slowly swinging it to and fro, so that it reflected flashing rays of light. His voice became soft as he began to ask Roland about many things.

  There was something about the medallion that Roland could not understand. In the first place, he was unable to take his eyes off it. And as he watched it swing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, his mind seemed to be grasped in a way that he had never known. The voice of Zarak went on asking questions, asking questions, and Roland had to struggle in order to answer without giving away any important facts.

  I can’t let Zarak know that there are other Sleepers out in the forest. He would hunt them down.

  That was Roland’s resolve, but it was very difficult to carry out. He also noticed that a strange incense was burning. The incense, as well as Zarak’s voice and the medallion, seemed to paralyze his mind.

  And dimly he remembered what he had been told by Josh and the other Sleepers: There are strange powers at work in this world, and the battle will not be a battle with swords or arrows so much as a battle for the mind. Lord Zarak is powerful in the dark arts. If you ever encounter him, you will have to be able to stand in the spirit.

  On and on the questioning went. By now Roland could barely sit up.

  Then he heard Zarak’s voice say triumphantly, “There. You see, Your Majesty, he has condemned himself.”

  Roland had no idea what it was he had said. He still felt half drugged by the sight of the medallion, by the voice of Zarak, and by the smell of the incense. He did manage to look up and see that there was now a third person in the room—King Falmor.