The Unbeheaded King

by L. Sprague DeCamp

  "Nonsense!" said Abacarus. "I did not guarantee success, and I warned this upstart…"

  Both the doctor and Jorian began shouting, until the magistrate banged his gavel and yelled: "Silence, you two, on pain of imprisonment! This is a hard case, the more so since neither of you has a written contract. One would think that men of your age would have sense enough to put such things in writing, with competent legal advice.

  "Now, our calendar is crowded. The earliest trial date I can set is— let me see…" He ruffled through documents. " Twill be the fourteenth of the Dragon."

  "By Heryx's brazen balls, that's half a year away!" exclaimed Jorian.

  Judge Flollo shrugged. "It is the best we can do. Time, as the philosophers at the Academy are wont to say, is incompressible. Of course, if you two should settle out of court, no trial would be needed. Master Jorian, Mistress Goania's avouchment will suffice to leave you at liberty pending the trial. But you understand that, if you fail to appear and we cannot catch you, the penalty will fall upon her."

  Jorian and Abacarus exchanged glares. The sorcerer said: "My resources are not yet exhausted, Master Jorian."

  "Nor mine," said Jorian.

  Two nights later, Jorian had snuffed the candle in the room he shared with Karadur and stretched himself out beneath the blankets, when he became aware of something else in the room. Out of the darkness a luminous form was taking shape. At first it was so faint that he thought it a mere photism—one of the lights one sees with one's eyes closed. It wavered and shimmered with a faint bluish radiance, resembling a cowled figure. Nothing but blackness could be seen beneath the cowl where its face should be. Then came a moaning voice: "Pay your debts! Pay your debts!"

  "Karadurl" said Jorian. "Wake up! Do you see what I see?"

  "Unh?" The aged Mulvanian sat up and yawned. "Oh, ah, aye, I see it. This is termed a dunning specter, sent by Abacarus to plague us. Tis patent that he is not fain to wait till the month of the Dragon for the decision on his case."

  "Pay your debts! Pay your debts!" wailed the figure.

  "What should I do about it?" asked Jorian.

  "There is naught much that you can do, short of paying Abacarus his claim."

  "That I will not do. Even if I wished, I do not have seven hundred and fifty nobles left. What about these specters? What can they do?"

  "These entities inhabit the Second Plane. They are easy to invoke and harmless, since they do not achieve substantial materialization on this plane. Whilst not intelligent, they are obedient to the sorcerer's commands, like a well-trained dog. The thing is immaterial, so your sword would pass through it without resistance. A project at the House of Learning in Iraz was to ascertain how, without forming solid vocal organs, these specters could natheless agitate the air of this plane to form articulate sounds—"

  "Pay your debts! Pay your debts!"

  "Well," said Jorian, " 'tis damned inconvenient. The thing I most look forward to in the world is my first night after Estrildis and I are again united. But imagine how it would be if, just as she and I prepared to enjoy our mutual passion, this thing appeared with its croak!"

  "At least," said Karadur, "this entity will assist you to adhere to the continence on which you have virtuously resolved."

  "Oh, bugger my continence! Will it go on like this all night?"

  "Pay you debts! Pay your debts!" groaned the specter.

  "Nay," said Karadur. "After a few hours it will become fatigued and fade away—until the next night."

  "Pay your debts! Pay your debts!"

  "You are a great bore, spook!" growled Jorian. "Now shut your gob and go away!"

  He pulled the covers over his head; but for the next hour or two, moans and wails of "pay your debts!" kept him awake.

  The next day, since Lodegar's mill was idle for want of grain, Jorian went to Goania. He said: "I am no lighthearted manslayer, but I have punctured a few knaves in my time. If I could get within a sword's length of Abacams—" He gripped his hilt, secured to the scabbard by peace wires.

  "Do not even think of it, boy!" snapped Goania.

  Jorian smiled. "I like to think of you as my favorite aunt. And why should I not let some of the stuffing out of this great child's doll?"

  "Because the Grand Duke's police keep a sharp eye on you, even if you are not aware thereof. You would only end up on the headsman's block, not to mention the trouble you would cause your friends."

  "Well then, have you any sort of counter-sorcery against him?"

  She pondered. "Aye, I can call up a similar specter from the Second Plane to harass Abacarus. But think twice! First, 'twill cost you money, albeit I am willing to let that debt ride until you can afford to pay. Secondly, Abacarus is an able wizard. He can throw a protective shield about his abode, like that which the Xylarians put up against my second sight."

  "Does it bother Abacarus to erect and maintain these shields?"

  'To some degree. They consume psychic energy."

  "Then by all means send a dunning specter against him. Tell it to say: 'Cease your extortions!'"

  Goania promised. Next day she told Jorian: "As I said, my specter had barely begun to harass Abacarus when he threw a shield about his chambers in the Academy. When he went home in the even, it followed him, intoning its message; but when he reached his house, he soon erected another shield against it."

  "Can he make a private shield around himself, that shall move with him?"

  "Nay. These shields must needs be anchored in soil or in a fixed abode."

  "Well then, keep it after him when he goes betwixt his home and his oratory."

  The next evening, Jorian idled in the cold, crisp air, along the path outside the Philosophy Building of the Academy. Weird blue lights flickered in the windows of Doctor Abacarus's tower, so Jorian knew the sorcerer was still at work. At length the lights went out, and soon Abacarus issued from the building.

  Behind a tree, Jorian watched as the wizard strode along the campus path, his vast belly bobbing. Presently a dunning specter like that which harassed Jorian appeared close behind Abacarus and began to howl: "Cease your extortions! Cease your extortions!"

  Abacarus turned. Jorian could not see his expression, since the near-darkness was relieved only by starlight and the feeble glow of an oil lamp on a bracket beside the main door of the building. But the sorcerer made gestures, and Jorian's own dunning specter appeared, wailing: "Pay your debts!"

  A clutch of undergraduates came along the path. They halted, and Jorian heard one say: "Great Zevatas, here's a duel of wizards! This should be fun to watch!"

  "If they do not blow up the whole Academy in their strife," said another.

  "I fear no spooks!" said still another. "I'll show you!" The youth picked up a stone and hurled it at Jorian's phantom. The stone passed through the specter without resistance and struck Jorian in the chest.

  "Ho!" roared Jorian, grabbing his unusable sword. He started toward the group, who scampered away and disappeared. When Jorian turned back, Abacarus had also vanished. Jorian set out for the Silver Dragon, with the specter hovering over his shoulder and moaning: "Pay your debts!"

  During the next fortnight, Jorian continued to be haunted by Abacarus's sending, while Goania's dunning specter harassed Abacarus as opportunity offered. The sorcerer, Jorian learned, found it necessary to change his habits. A night worker, he took to keeping farmer's hours, up with the dawn and home ere sunset, so as not to be caught abroad at night away from the protection of his shields.

  Jorian found other resources in the campaign of mutual harassment. He hired urchins to paint abacarus is an extortionist on the walls of the Philosophy Building. He hired a beggar to stroll about the campus bearing a sign reading abacarus is an extortionist. When the campus police tried to arrest the beggar, a gang of undergraduates took the oldster's side and started a small riot, under cover of which the beggar slipped away.

  When Abacarus filed a suit for damages against Jorian for harassment, Jorian filed a coun
tersuit alleging the same tort. Judge Flollo looked sourly at the two litigants, saying:

  "We cannot schedule these trials until next year. Why do not you two go to some barbarous land where dueling is legal, or trial by combat, and have it out?"

  As the month of the Bull came on, Doctor Gwiderius told Jorian: "My colleague Abacarus wishes me to tell you that he is willing to discuss a compromise."

  So Jorian found himself again in Abacarus's office in the Academy, facing the stout sorcerer across a huge desk. Abacarus said:

  "Come, my good Jorian, this is no way for mature men to behave. Let us find a modus vivendi, ere the lawyers suck us dry. Otherwise we shall spend more on legal and court fees than the sum at issue."

  "Well, sir?" said Jorian.

  "Would you consider settling for half?"

  "Never. Methinks it's plain, by all Novarian laws—the which I have studied—that I owe you not a copper penny more than I've paid. In fact, a clever lawyer could make a good case for the return of the seven hundred fifty I paid you erstwhile."

  "If that idea pleases you not, have you a proposal to offer?"

  Jorian thought. "How about submitting our dispute to an impartial arbitrator? Loser to pay the arbitrator's fee."

  Abacarus pursed his lips and twiddled his fat fingers. "Not bad. We have some retired judges in Othomae, who could be counted upon to render a just verdict."

  "Oh, no!" said Jorian. "An Othomaean judge would be prejudiced in your favor, since I am a foreigner. I should prefer a Kortolian judge; I am sure—"

  "Rubbish! With our Othomaean judges, at least I have some notion of their fairness. But I know nought of Kortolian justice. For aught I know, any of your people were willing and eager to take a bribe to find for you."

  "Kortolian justice is every bit as just as yours!"

  "Belike, but how shall you prove it? Must we fight it out, as Flollo suggested? If you challenge me, I will naturally choose magical spells as the weapons."

  "How about this?" said Jorian. "If I can find a jurist of high repute from a third Novarian state, will you accept him?"

  "I would consider it with a favoring mind. I should have to make inquiries ere deciding. And this time, let us put our undertaking in writing!"

  Jorian rose. "I agree. Let's leave it at that. Meanwhile, if you will banish your dunning specter, I will call ofif mine, as well as my other partisans. Whilst I fear not your phantom, it does make a good night's sleep hard to come by!"

  Chapter Five

  THE SNOWS OF ARAVIA

  NOT TILL THE SECOND OF THE BULL WAS JORIAN READY to go. In the evening, be was packing his gear when a knock announced Vanora.

  "Jorian," she said, "you are a fool to undertake this journey alone. You need at least one extra pair of eyes to watch for dangers, and an extra pair of hands to pull you out of quicksands and other traps."

  "You may be right," said Jorian. "But, alas, I know no one here suitable. Doctor Karadur is too old and feeble. Your friend Boso has barely brain enough to tie his own shoe laces, besides which he loves me not."

  "I could go," she said. "I'm strong, and as you well know, I've roughed it ere this."

  Jorian shook his head. "Nay, my dear, I've been all through that. Your body may be up to the task, but I fear that your temper be too stormy and uncertain for me. I thank you for the offer."

  "Be not a fool, Jorian! You need someone, and I'm the only one to hand. Your tale of a curse on your prick was but a farrago to frighten me; Goania says such a spell were impossible."

  "I am trying to tell you, I don't wish a female companion save my wife!"

  "Oh, that little farm bitch! Forget her. When you win to her, you'll find one of the local lads has been tupping your prize ewe. After all, you and she have been apart now for over two years—"

  "You had better go back to Boso and let me get on with my packing," growled Jorian.

  "Look, Jorian darling, you need not bed me along the way if you're not fain to do so—"

  "Curse it, Vanora, get out! Will you go, or must I throw you out?"

  "You mangy scrowle!" she yelled. Jorian ducked as a shoe came flying at his head. "I'll teach you to cast off an honest woman!" A second shoe followed.

  The door opened, and Boso's broad face looked in. "What in the nine hells goes on here?"

  "He tried to rape me!" screamed Vanora, looking about for something more to throw.

  "What!" roared Boso. "You lure my woman up here, and when she won't go with you, you ravish her? I'll teach you to steal honest men's women!"

  "She lies!" shouted Jorian. "It was not—" Then he had to defend himself against Boso's bull-like rush. In an instant, they were floundering about, punching and kicking. A chair went over with a crash.

  Feet pounded on the stair, and Rhuys looked in. "Here, here!" he said. "Stop that! If you're fain to fight, take your quarrel outside!"

  When they paid no heed, Rhuys vanished but soon reappeared, armed with a bung starter and followed by his two sons and the stable boy. Boso had Jorian's head in the crook of his arm and was striving to punch Jorian's face with his free fist, while Jorian tried to block Boso's blows and to kick his shins.

  "Seize them!" cried Rhuys.

  The four newcomers grabbed the combatants and tried to pull them apart. They failed, because Jorian and Boso were both large, strong men. Suddenly Boso released Jorian's head and turned to throw a wild swing at the stable boy. The blow hurled the youth back against the wall. Rhuys and his sons pounced upon Boso. While the sons clung to Boso's arms, Rhuys whacked him over the head with the bung starter. Boso subsided. Jorian stood back, breathing hard, with bruises on his face and blood running from a cut lip.

  "What befell?" asked Rhuys.

  Sitting on the floor, Boso wagged his head and mumbled. Jorian began: "Mistress Vanora came up to have words with me, and Boso thought—"

  "He lies!" screeched Vanora. "Jorian tried to rape me, and Boso came to my aid!"

  "It was just the opposite!" shouted Jorian. "She besought me—"

  "Quiet, both of you!" said Rhuys. To one of the sons he said: "Baltho, run and fetch Mistress Goania. She'll soon find out by her arcane arts who's lying." To Vanora he added: "I shan't be stonished if Master Jorian has the right of it. We've had trouble with you two before."

  "Come on, Boso," said Vanora, taking the stout man by the arm. "They're all against us. Everyone hates us." She hauled him to his feet, and the pair went unsteadily out. As she left, she spat at Jorian: "I hate you!"

  "Come back, Baltho!" Rhuys called after his son. "The wizardess will not be needed."

  "There's your answer," said Jorian to Rhuys. "Now may I get on with my packing? God den, Lady Margalit!"

  The lady-in-waiting appeared in the doorway. "What's all this direful noise?"

  "Master Rhuys will explain," said Jorian. "As for me, I must be off ere daylight; so pray excuse me." Rhuys and his young men filed out.

  Margalit shrugged. "I merely wished to ask if you would mind my sending a letter to my Queen, telling her I am well and will return when I can? A courier departs on the morrow for Xylar, and I can send it by him"

  "Hm," murmured Jorian. "I mind not your reassuring her; but I crave not to have my present roost revealed. Else we shall have a squad of Shvenic lariat men come to drag me off for an over-close haircut."

  "I could say I wrote from Vindium or Govannian."

  "Ah, but if anyone question the courier, he'll tell whence he brought the letter." Jorian frowned. "I have it! Write your letter, without saying whence it comes. I'll inclose it in a letter to my mother in Kortoli, wherein I shall ask her to send the enclosed epistle to Xylar by the next courier."

  Margalit sighed. "At that rate, with postal service in its present parlous plight, my letter will not be delivered until summer. By then my position may have gone to another. But I feel responsible to my Queen for you. She'd not thank me for getting her a headless husband."

  "Neither should I," said Jorian. "Not that a hea
d ever has much to say after it has been sundered from its body. The operation impairs clear thinking."

  "If you are leaving early," said Margalit, "I must write my letter forthwith."

  Three days after leaving Othomae, Jorian arrived at the inn recommended to him, the Golden Ibex. This inn stood on a secondary road in the foothills of the Lograms. Over the nearer hills could be seen the snowclad peak of Aravia.

  Jorian rode the horse he had bought. This was a middle-aged gelding, useless for mounted combat or desperate chases; but Jorian hoped he would not need a mount for such purposes, and this animal had been for sale cheap. Jorian named the horse Fimbri, after a carpenter to whom he had once been apprenticed. He led the mule, which he called Filoman, after a notably foolish former King of Kortoli.

  "The trail to Aravia leaves the road here," said the taverner, Turonus. "I would not try to ride a horse up to old Shenderu's cave, for the latter part of the journey is too steep and rocky, and the snow too deep. If ye walk leading your pack mule, ye should do all right, an ye fear not the ghost of Captain Oswic."

  "What's that tale?

  "In my grandsire's time, they say, Oswic led a band of brigands in these parts, terrorizing the land for leagues around. At last the Grand Bastard, that was then, sent a company of soldiery against Oswic. They trailed him and his band up the slopes of Mount Aravia, until they reached a level place overlooking a steep slope. Here Oswic and his men chose to make a stand; for they outnumbered the soldiers. Moreover, beyond that point the slope became too steep for riding, and they would have had to abandon their horses and struggle up the slope afoot, belike to be picked off by archers in the open.

  "Oswic made a fiery speech, that 'twere better to die on their feet than to live on their knees; and that whereas death in battle was a possibility, it was a certainty if the soldiers laid hands upon them. Then he flourished his sword and led a charge down upon the soldiers.

  "The banditti were well armed, and after the first shock the soldiers began to give way. But then Oswic raised his sword on high in an inspiriting gesture and began a shout of victory. So intent was he upon harkening on his men that he failed to guard himself. A soldier rode up behind him and smote off Captain Oswic's head, which went rolling down the slope, bumping the bases of trees and rolling on. Some of the soldiers swore that the severed head continued to shout exhortations to the robbers; but I misdoubt this. Without lungs to blow air through the vocal organs, how could a head cry out?