He looked about him, gave a single nod of satisfaction, and said, “Yes, I am Rajah Randhir, though I have disguised myself as a thief. Follow me and do not ask why. Shea and Chalmers! Stand by me!”
Shea swallowed with great difficulty and walked down an avenue that opened magically within the troop, Chalmers one step behind him. As they came up to the Rajab, he said, “If I mistake the route, you will correct me. Come!” He turned about and strode away into the darkness. Shea followed, grimly reflecting on the unspoken proviso — that if Shea or Chalmers betrayed him, they would be handy for instant execution by the Rajah himself. Somehow, Shea wasn’t eager for the honor.
Through the darkened town they went, and Shea wondered at the quietness. Then, remembering that the moon was down, he realized that it was so late that the thieves had finished their bloody work and gone back to their ken. There was a singular lack of dead bodies, though. Apparently the merchants had heeded the Rajah’s warning and passed on the advice, and everyone had stayed indoors.
He found out later that he’d been more right than he knew — not only had everyone stayed sensibly indoors for once, the merchants had hired bodyguards and patrolled their shops and houses on the inside. When they had heard scraping at one place, they had hurried to it, and when the first head had poked through the hole, they had brained it neatly with a cudgel. The thieves’ partners had pulled him out at once, of course, but the bodyguards had stabbed through the hole with a spear. There had been an outcry on the other side, then silence, and after a while, the householder had taken up the patrol again, leaving one bodyguard at the hole. The only booty the thieves had taken that night had come from the few bodyguards who had been thieves themselves, and had knocked their employers senseless (or, in some cases, slain them), then let their fellows in — but there had been only two or three successful in such ruses. All in all, it had been a grumbling, dissatisfied band who had wended their way home that night — but it had included three fraudulent bodyguards who had overheard some very interesting gossip from their employers.
At the moment though, neither the Rajah nor any of his men knew that. They padded through the unnatural hush of the night until the city wall rose up before them. There, the Rajah gave the rhythmical knock he had heard the robbers give. After a moment the huge portal opened, and the porter stuck his head around, hissing, “What has kept you so late? The others have all gone on long before you, and . . .” He broke off, staring in horror at the army of armed men. Randhir clamped a hand over his mouth and yanked him through; one of his soldiers, apparently primed for the task, leaped past. Shea heard a howl of fright, suddenly cut off into a horrid gurgling, even as he saw a soldier transfix the captured porter with a spear.
Randhir dropped the body and dusted his hands. A soldier hauled the gate open, and the troop filed out after their Rajah.
“The term ‘rough Justice’ comes to mind,” Chalmers murmured.
“Rough, but legal,” Shea reminded him. “You can’t call him a vigilante when he is the government, can you?”
“Are you there, Shea?” Randhir called softly.
“Right behind you, O Lightning of Indra,” Shea calleed. After that little display, he certainly didn’t want to be in front of the rajah.
As they neared the meadow Randhir called them to a halt, then murmured briefly with his soldiers. When he went on, Shea and Chalmers had followed him tor a good ten paces before they realized that the soldiers had stayed behind. Chalmers’ step faltered, but Randhir took him by the arm, saying, “The thief-sentries will recognize you two and think nothing amiss. As for me. you see I have disguised myself as I did last night. We three, at least, will hold the attention of the guards without alerting them. Come!”
Chalmers gave Shea a look that clearly said they had no choice. They really didn’t — the Rajah had a grip of iron, and his men were watching.
Randhir whistled twice through his fingers, Just as the robber captain had done the night before. There was a pause during which Shea’s heartbeat seemed to him the loudest night sound of all; then he heard the hooting of an owl. The rajab replied with an excellent imitation of the robbers’ jackal-scream, making Shea wonder if it was a standard part of the military training in this part of the world. The six robber-sentries rose from the grass like spectres, and their leader advanced to receive the password — but before he could, Shea found out why the soldiers had stayed behind.
They hadn’t, really — they had just filed around the edges of the meadow, then wormed their way forward toward the Rajah. Now they rose from the grass and fell on the robbers, silencing them with clubs and knives, then tying up the ones who still lived.
“It is well done.” the Rajah said, smiling at the sergeant who came forward, breathing heavily. “Are any hurt?”
“Only two of our own men,” the sergeant answered. “Ramjit is wounded in the right arm and will be unable to fight more tonight. Kamal bleeds from a cut in the ribs, but protests that he can still fight.”
“Then let him see Ramjit safely home” the Rajah said, “but not until we are done with this night’s work. Bid Ramjit come with us, and wait while we assail the robbers — but see them bandaged first.”
“We have done so.” The sergeant glanced to the side, saw another soldiers wave. “They are tended, Ramjit bears the pain well. We can march, O Sword of Justice.”
“Let us go, then.” Randhir turned away into the night, But as ttey came in sight of the sheer rock wall, a figure rose atop it against the light of the predawn sky, and a shrill whistle sounded. Instantly, a hail of arrows fell on the rajah and his men.
“Back!” the rajah cried. “The thieves lie in ambush! We have been betrayed!”
Soldiers cried out in pain, and more than a few fell to the earth, pierced through. The troops gave ground, but Randhir called out, “Turn and flee! We must find a place to make our stand! Run!”
At the command, the soldiers turned and ran.
“Never argue with legitimately constituted authority, Harold” Chalmers advised.
“No, Doc!” Shea protested. “Someone tipped off the thieves’ captain! The Rajah obviously didn’t kill off all the robbers spies, but he thinks he did! If they don’t win this fight, he’ll blame it on us!”
“Why, so he will, won’t he?” Chalmers stared, thunderstruck.
So did the Rajah — but as he ran, Charya came scrambling and sliding down the cliff-face calling out, “Hola! What kind of Rajput are you, if you run away from combat?”
Randhir churned up the grass in his haste to stop and turn around. He whipped out his sword and waited for Charya to come up. “Strike at your king and the penalty is death!” he bellowed.
“Hung for the lamb, hung for the sheep,” Charya retorted. “If you take me alive, you will slay me for one reason or another. Why not regicide?” As he said it, he slashed with his scimitar.
It was a blow that would have done credit to the Lord High Executioner, but Randhir met it with a blow equally strong, that set both blades ringing.
“Doc,” Shea said anxiously, “if that blow had landed, the next rajah would have tracked us down and tortured us to death!”
“Indeed! We must protect the Rajah, and quickly!” Chalmers ripped up handfuls of long grass and began weaving them into a very rough, very clumsy fabric as he chanted,
“Weave a circle round him thrice,
That turns all blades from heart and head!
For he on royal food has fed,
And is sent to rule by Paradise!”
“Coleridge will forgive you,” Shea promised.
“Let us hope that it works.” Chalmers watched the fight with anxious eyes.
Randhir slashed a strike that would have opened Charya’s chest wide, if it had landed. But the chieftain leaped back, and the Rajah staggered as his own blow pulled him off balance. The captain gave a shout of of triumph and leaped in again, sword whirling straight toward the Rajah’s head — but Randhir managed to swing his blade
up in the nick of time. Shea gasped, thinking Chalmers’ magic shield had failed — but Charya’s blade glanced aside inches from Randhir’s face. Shea relaxed with a sigh. “Your spell worked, Doc.”
“Yes, but I don’t think anyone else realizes that.” Chalmers glanced nervously about him. “At least, I hope they do not; a reputation as a sorcerer is the last thing I need right now.”
“Don’t worry,” Shea assured him, “To everyone else, I’m sure it looked as though Randhir parried the blow.”
“I trust so,” Chalmers agreed, “but I am certain that I saw Charyas sword glance off the rajah’s blade and on toward his head, where the spell turned it aside scant centimeters from his skin.”
“Don’t tell,” Shea advised.
Charya slashed another blow at Randhir, but this time the king really did catch it on his own blade. Charya shoved against it, jumping back, then advanced on the Rajah, whose sword whirled in a figure-eight that would have minced anything it met. Charya retreated and retreated, though, his own blade up and ready for the slightest opening in Randhir’s guard.
Now came the real beginning of the fight; it seemed the opening rain of blows had been only a prelude. Having tested each other, the two swordsmen settled down to serious fencing. They withheld their steel and bent almost double, knees flexed, skipping in circles around each other, each keeping his eye well fixed upon the other, with frowning brows and contemptuous Sneers. The battle stilled as soldiers and robbers alike stopped to watch their leaders battle.
“Ah! The king cuts a caper!” cried a soldier.
“But Charya answers with a measured leap!” cried a robber.
“Aye!” his mate cried in delight. “He springs forward like a frog!”
“And the king hops backward like a monkey!”
Then, incredibly, the king began striking his saber against his shield, a steady rhythmical beat — but Shea could see the blade never wavered much from readiness to strike. Charya, not to be outdone, began to beat on his shield, too — and Randhir stooped low with a loud cry, cutting at Charya’s legs. Charya sprang into the air, though, and the blade whistled harmlessly under him. Even as he came down, though, the robber chief whirled his sword three times around his head and brought it down like lightning in a slant, toward the king’s left shoulder — but the king snapped his shield up, and the sword clashed against it and bounced off. The rajah staggered back, thrown off balance by the strength of the blow. The captain followed closely, slashing and cutting, and for a moment, it was all the Rajah could do to block with his shield and parry with his sword. Then he rallied, suddenly leaping forward and striking, and Charya had to raise his shield in defense.
On and on they fought, till they were both rasping huge ragged gasps and the blows became rough and clumsy and slow. They were so well matched in courage, strength, and skill that neither could obtain the slightest advantage.
Of course, the Rajah did have Chalmers’ magical shield — but Shea could see that Reed was watching the match far too intently, with drops of sweat starting on his brow, his whole body tense. “Somebody trying to cancel your spell?” he asked softly.
Chalmers gave a terse nod. “Our captain has some sort of supernatural help siding with him.”
“Or against us,” Shea pointed out. “Malambroso’s probably in this universe too, after all, and if we can figure out that our lives depend on the Rajah’s right now, so can he.”
“A point well taken,” Chalmers grunted. “lend a hand, can you, Harold?”
“How?” Shea asked, at a loss.
“Something, anything, to throw that robber off balance!”
“Off balance?” Inspiration struck, and Shea dropped to one knee, patting the ground about him until one hand closed on a pebble in the darkness, an irregular lump about two inches across. Carefully, Shea stood up, lowering his foot onto the pebble and chanting,
“Beneath Charya’s foot
Let this stone at once be put.
Rolling as it is discerned —
Never leave a stone unturned!”
Shea felt a sudden absence beneath his sole, and stepped down to feel nothing but grass. It was hard to tell in the half-light, but he thought he saw something small appear under the robber captain’s instep — and sure enough, Charya stepped down and the stone revolved, sliding from under his foot. He cried out in rage, arms windmilling, and landed on his back so hard that it drove the breath out of him, leaving him helpless for a moment — and when he caught his breath, he found himself staring at the point of the Rajah’s blade, six inches in front of his face, right between his eyes. “I am lost!” he cried. “Save yourselves! Flee!”
With a wail, the thieves disappeared into the forest, The soldiers shouted and ran after them.
“Bide, Shea and Chalmers,” the Raja grated. “Do you, O dexterous and cunning swordsman, now loose grasp from your hilt, or my point will pierce your brain.”
“Strike, then!” Charya cried in defiance. “Better a clean death in battle than execution in shame!”
“While there’s life, there’s hope” Shea said. “Miracles have happened before.”
“Not for one so guilty as I!” But even as he said it, that very hope wavered in Charya’s eyes, and his hand loosened on the hilt. Shea knelt and tugged the sword away.
“You speak truly,” Randhir told Charya, “for I shall do all in my power to see you executed for your crimes.”
“Can you control the whims of the gods?” Chalmers challenged. “Can you read dharma so clearly as to be able to say there is no chance of this doughty knave living? For surely, he is most admirable in his skill and courage, no matter how despicable he may be in the ways in which he uses them.”
“There is truth in that,” the Rajah admitted. “However, though the race is not always to the swift, that is the way to place your wager. Bind this knave, then set him on his feet!”
So because of the shred of hope that Shea and Chalmers had raised within his heart, Charya of the robbers was taken alive for the Rajah’s justice, not slain on the ground where the turned stone had stretched him.
* * *
The next morning, Shea and Chalmers presented themselves in the Rajah’s private audience chamber. They found Randhir standing by the window, gazing moodily out over his kingdom.
“Your Majesty,” Shea prompted, “you sent for us?”
“Indeed,” Randhir turned to face them. “I wish to thank you.”
Alarm shrilled in every fiber, but Shea forced a bland and uncomprehending smile. “Thank us? For what?”
“It could have been chance or fate that placed that stone under Charya’s foot,” Randhir said quietly, “even though we had been back and forth over the same ground before — but I doubt it. But I know his sword glanced off some invisible shield when I thought it would surely cleave my head open.
Chalmers protested. “Surely Your Majesty is . . .”
“ ‘My Majesty’ knows what I saw, and knows magic when I see it!” Randhir snapped. “Since there was no magician there, I can only conclude that it was done by one of you foreigners — or both!”
“Surely we’re not so foreign as that,” Shea objected.
“Are you not? You do not even know the proper forms of address for a king! You can address me as nothing but ‘majesty!’ ”
“Why, if that is so,” Chalmers said quietly, “we could not be very powerful magicians, or we would have known those forms.”
“Aye, if you deemed it worth your trouble! Do not deny what a Rajah knows — you are magi from Persia, are you not?”
Shea exchanged a glance with Chalmers, who sighed and turned hack to the rajah. “Not from Persia, O Fount of Wisdom, but from much farther to the west.”
“Much farther,” Shea agreed.
“And we are not magi, for they are Zoroastrian priests,” Chalmers went on, “Rather, we are scholars who study magic for its own sake.”
“Then you are magicians!”
“Just so
.” Chalmers said quietly, “magicians, nothing more — not sorcerers, nor necromancers, nor even magi, though the word ‘magic’ stems from that term.”
“I knew it!” Randhir slapped his thigh in glee. “You are indeed magi, and I thank you for your help — nay, for my life! But just how far-ranging are your powers?”
Shea stared, his mind racing. They had to say enough to make themselves look important, but not enough to make Randhir want to keep them as permanent assets. Before he could decide on the right balance, though, Chalmers said, We can work defensive magic only O Eye of Insight — spells to protect, and spells to aid. Slaying and other evil works we are more than glad to leave to those who are sorcerers and necromancers.”
“Good, good!” Randhir nodded energetically, and Shea breathed a secret sigh of relief. Once again. Chalmers’ skill at the conference table had turned the tide.
Or maybe not, “The protection you gave me during the fight,” the rajab said “can you do that for a city. For an army perhaps?”
Chalmers let his shoulders slump with disappointment. “I fear not, O Gem of Rectitude. Magic on such a scale is simply beyond my strength — or even that of our combined powers, my friend and I. It would require a virtual corps of magicians, all working together in concert — and quite frankly it is almost impossible to persuade so many of us to acknowledge any one of our number as leader or to work together without arguing.”
True enough. Shea reflected — at least, if you substituted the word “scholar” for “magician.”
“I had feared as much,” Randhir said, disappointed. “Still, I will trouble you to stay near me as we take Charya out to be executed. A dozen or more of his gang escaped, and I would not put it past them to try to rescue him at the last minute, even at the cost of slaying their Rajah.”
“How horrendous!” Chalmers said, with just the right amount of horror. “Be certain we shall stay close by you, O Rajah!”
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