Sir Erls, Chancellor of State and one of Casmir"s most trusted advisers, shortly entered the hall: a small sharp-eyed sharp featured person of middle age, with fine silver hair and pale ivory skin. Casmir had no great liking for the fastidious Sir Erls. However, Sir Erls served him with punctilious efficiency, and Casmir ignored all else.
Casmir indicated a chair; Sir Erls, after a stiff bow, seated himself. Casmir asked: "What do you know of Sir Cory, who rests in the Peinhador?"
Sir Erls spoke with instant facility, as if he had expected the question. "Cory is second son to Sir Claunay of Falonges, now dead. The first son, Sir Camwyd, took the estate, which is to the north of Western Province in the Troagh, close under the Ulf border. Cory could not adapt to the plight of the second son, and tried to murder Sir Camwyd. During the night a dog howled; Sir Camwyd was wakeful and the deed was aborted. Cory became a fugitive, then an outlaw. He ranged the Troagh and conducted ambushes along Old Street. He was captured by Duke Ambryl, who would have hanged him out of hand had not Cory declared himself one of Your Majesty"s secret agents. Ambryl stayed his hand and sent Cory here for your own disposition. He is said to be a person of good address, if a black- hearted scoundrel, ripe for Zerling"s axe. That is the sum of my knowledge."
"Perhaps Sir Cory used a premonition after all," said Casmir. "Have him brought here at once."
"As Your Majesty commands." Sir Ens" voice was carefully toneless. He left the hall. In due course a pair of jailers brought Cory of Falonges into the hall, with chains at his wrists and a rope around his neck.
Casmir inspected Cory with cool interest. Cory was of middle stature, strong and agile, with a stocky torso, long sinewy arms and legs. His complexion was sallow, his hair dark, his features heavy and hard. He wore the garments in which he had been captured; originally of good quality, they were now torn and bedraggled and stank abominably of the dungeon. Nevertheless he returned King Casmir"s inspection with incurious composure: alive and alert but resigned to his fate.
The jailers tied one end of the rope to a table leg, so that Cory might not spring unexpectedly upon King Casmir, then, at Casmir"s nod, they retired from the hall.
Casmir spoke in an even voice: "You informed Duke Ambryl that you worked in my secret service."
Cony gave a nod of the head. "So I did, Your Highness."
"Was not that a bold remark to make?"
"Under the circ.u.mstances, I prefer to think it an inspiration of the moment. It illuminates my resourceful intelligence and indicates my desire to put myself and my skills at your service."
Casmir smiled his cold smile. "You had not previously made these ambitions clear."
"True, Sire! I have postponed the act too long, and now you discover me in shackles, to my shame."
"Shame for your crimes, or shame for your failure?"
"I can only say, Sire, that I am not accustomed to failure."
"Ha! That, at least, is a quality which I admire. Now then, as to employment in my service: it may be a game you shall play in earnest."
"Willingly, Sire, since the work would seem to reprieve me from dungeon and axe."
"That is the case," said Casmir. "You are evidently both clever and unscrupulous; these are qualities which I often find valuable. If you succeed in the work I am about to propose, you shall not only have earned your amnesty but also a substantial reward."
Sir Cory bowed. "Your Majesty, without hesitation I commit myself to your mission."
Casmir nodded. "Let us be clear at the outset. If you betray me, I will hunt you down with all my resources and bring you back to the Peinhador."
Again Sir Cory bowed. "Sire, as a realist I would expect nothing else. Tell me only what I must do."
"The deed is simple enough. You must kill King Aillas of Troicinet, Dascinet and the Ulflands. He is now at sea with his navy, but you will presently find him at Doun Darnic, in South Ulfiand. I must not be implicated in the work."
Cory compressed his lips and his eyes glittered in the torch light. "It is a delicate task, but not beyond my skill."
"That is all for tonight. Tomorrow we will speak again. Guards!"
The jailers entered the room. "Take Sir Cory back to the Peinhador; allow him to bathe, provide him fresh garments, feed him as he chooses and house him securely on the first level."
"As you wish, Sire. Come along, dog"s-body."
Cory spoke haughtily: "Henceforth, address me as "Sir Cory", or beware my displeasure!"
The jailer gave a sharp tug on the rope. "Whatever your name, be quick about it; we are not as clement as His Majesty."
Later in the afternoon of the next day King Casmir once again interviewed Sir Cory, this time in the Room of Sighs, above the armoury. Sir Cory was now dressed decently and came unshackled. King Casmir sat at his usual place, with the beechwood flagon and the beechwood wine cup ready at hand. He motioned Sir Cory to a bench.
"I have made certain arrangements," said Casmir. "On the table is a purse, containing twenty forms of silver. Fit yourself out as a merchant of medicinal ointments, with a horse, a pack animal and suitable stock-in-trade. Fare north along the Sfer Arct to Dazleby, proceed to Nolsby Sevan, then north along the Ulf Pa.s.sway. You will negotiate the Gates of Cerberus and Kaul Bocach the fortress; continue six miles beyond to a wayside inn showing the sign of the Dancing Pig. There you will find four men awaiting you-blackguards as deep-dyed as yourself, if not worse. They were destined to join Torqual"s band, but first they will a.s.sist you in your endeavour. You shall use them as you think best."
Casmir looked at a list, then spoke with distaste. "This is an unusual group! Each would seem to exceed all the others combined for sheer villainy. First, I cite you Izmael the Hun, from the woods of Tartary. Next is Kegan the Celt, who is as thin as a ferret and no less avid for blood. Next: Este the Sweet, with curling golden hair and a limpid smile. He is Roman and claims kinship with the house of Ovid the poet. He carries a frail bow, like a toy, and shoots arrows which seem little more than slivers, but he can put out a man"s eye at a far distance. Last is Galgus the Black, who carries four knives at his belt. Such are your paladins."
"They would seem, rather, creatures out of a nightmare," said Cory. "Will they do my bidding?"
Casmir smiled. "So I hope. They fear Torqual, certainly. He may be the only man alive who daunts them. For this reason you must act in Torqual"s name. There is a secondary benefit; when you are successful, as I hope, Torqual will be blamed for the deed and not I."
"How will Torqual regard this project?"
"He will make no objection. I reiterate: my name must never be used. Is all clear to you?"
"Except as to a single point: am I required to work under Torqual"s orders?"
"Only if it eases your task."
Cory pulled thoughtfully at his long chin. He asked: "May I speak with full candour?"
"So far we have done little else. Speak!"
"I have heard rumours that your secret agents seldom survive to enjoy the fruits of their toil. How am I guaranteed that I will live to enjoy my success?"
"I can answer only in these terms," said Casmir. "If you have served me capably once, I may well desire that you serve me again, which you will not be able to do if you are dead. Secondly, if you distrust the arrangements, you have the option of returning to the Peinhador."
Cory smiled and rose to his feet. "Your arguments are cogent."
CHAPTER SEVEN.
On Lally Meadow, well within the Forest of Tantrevalles, was the manse Trilda: a structure of timber and stone situated where Lillery Rill emerged from the forest on its way to join the Sweet Yallow River at the far end of the meadow.
Trilda, now almost a hundred years old, had been constructed to the order of the magician Hilario, whose previous residence had been Sheur Tower, on an islet off the north coast of Dahaut: a place too rude, cold and cramped for Hilario, a person of discriminating tastes. With great care he drew up his plans, specifying each detail with precision and reviewing at length the relationship between each part and the whole. To perform the work of construction, he hired a troop of goblin carpenters, who declared themselves to be highly qualified craftsmen. Hilario started to discuss the plans with Shylick the master carpenter, but Shylick took the plans from Hilario, glanced through them, and seemed to a.s.similate everything at a glance, and Hilario was much impressed by his perspicacity.
The carpenters set to work immediately; with remarkable zeal they dug, delved, hewed and sawed, hammered and pounded, fretted, fitted, and spun long shavings from their bodges,* so that, to Hilario"s astonishment, the work was finished overnight, complete to a black iron weatherc.o.c.k on the chimney. As the first red rays of sunlight entered Lally Meadow, Shylick the master carpenter wiped the sweat from his forehead. With a grand flourish he presented his reckoning to Hilario, with a request for immediate payment, since the troop had urgent business elsewhere.
*bodge: an outdoor lathe powered by a line running from a springy overhead tree branch to a treadle which turns the spindles of the lathe
Hilario, however, was a man of cautious temperament, and was not to be influenced by Shylick"s engaging mannerisms. He commended Shylick for his briskness and efficiency, but insisted upon inspecting the premises before paying off the account. Shylick protested, to no avail, and with poor grace accompanied Hilario as he made his inspection.
Almost at once Hilario discovered several mistakes in the work, and evidence of over-hasty or even slipshod methods. The contract called for masonry of "sound, substantial blocks of fieldstone"; the blocks inspected by Hilario proved to be simulations prepared from enchanted cow droppings. Checking further, Hilario found that the "stout timbers of well-seasoned oak" described in his specifications were in fact dried milkweed stalks of little strength, disguised by another crafty enchantment.
Hilario indignantly pointed out these deficiencies to Shylick and demanded that the work be done properly, to exact standards. Shylick, now glum and out of sorts, did his best to evade the extra toil. He argued that total precision was impossible and unknown to the cosmos. He claimed that a reasonable and realistic person accepted a degree of lat.i.tude in the interpreta tion of his contract, since this looseness was inherent in the communicative process.
Hilario remained inflexible and Shylick became ever more excited, striking at the floor with his tall green hat, and his arguments ever more abstruse. He stated that since the distinction between "seeming" and "substance" was in any case no more than a philosophical nicety, almost anything was equivalent to almost anything else. Hilario said gravely: "In that case, I will pay off my account with this bit of straw."