Wielding a Red Sword (5 page)

Naturally the news was spread throughout the group before their dialogue was done. “I am sorry to lose you,” Pythia said as he prepared her for the evening show.

“But I will continue helping you!” he protested in his new singsong.

“The master has already scheduled a replacement,” she said. “Your belongings are being moved to Orb’s wagon. It is not meet for you to handle me after today.”

“But I am not—”

“Oh yes you are,” she said, smiling. “The mermaid is threshing the water angrily with her tail; she had hoped you would work it out with Orb at a sufficiently later date.”

He had to laugh. “Thank her for me,” he sang. “You and she have done more for me than perhaps you realize.”

“Oh, we realize,” she said. Then it was time for her act.

That night he spent in Orb’s wagon. Contrary to the popular impression, they did not make love; it was enough simply to talk, getting to know each other in pleasant new detail. When at last they slept, they slept embraced, but that was all—and more than sufficient. The very touch of her caused him almost to vibrate with melody. What made it even more delightful was his realization that she reacted similarly to him. The love of the ideal woman—for the first time, his awareness of his handicap became secondary. It had helped bring him to this, and he would not have had it otherwise.

On another night they did make love. It was the first time for her, for she was truly a chaste woman. He had explained that aspect of the life of a prince, fearing that this would dismay her, but she only said: “You never loved before.” And that was true and it made the rest as inconsequential as his stutter had become.

In fact, his thorough experience enabled him to do the most that he could for her, so that there were no awkward confusions or embarrassments or discomforts. “But all
of this, with any other woman, would not compare to the merest touch of your hand,” he told her sincerely.

“What, even the most beautiful of women?” she inquired archly.

“You are that.”

She laughed. “How can you know?”

“I
do
know. The most beautiful concubines of all the kingdom were culled for my pleasure in the palace.”

She sighed, not perturbed. “I realize this is true. It is surely a rare compliment.”

“They might as well have been oxen,” he sang.

“So I am the best of all the oxen you have known?”

“They were beautiful women!” he repeated quickly, and they both laughed.

So it continued, for the long months of the monsoon, as the group wended its slow way northwest toward Sind. Geography hardly mattered to Mym; his delight was wherever Orb was. She had a rare talent in her singing, but even that no longer mattered; he cared nothing for talent, only for her.

They crossed the Indus, taking a slow ferry, and did their show for the folk of another language. It didn’t matter; the appeal of the show was universal.

But still Orb did not discover the thing she looked for, the Llano. This did not frustrate her; she was content to seek it in this fashion for a lifetime, with Mym beside her.

But as they reached the outskirts of Karachi, an armed, mounted party descended on the group. The march came to an abrupt halt. The cavalrymen wore the livery of Gujarat, and this was beyond the territory of that kingdom, but the group was in no position to protest.

An officer consulted with the master, then strode directly to Orb’s wagon. “Prince, we have come for you,” he called.

So they had known all along where to find him! Mym was dismayed but not really surprised. Probably that business with the thuggees had given them the hint, and they had simply kept track of the touring group thereafter. But why were they acting now?

There was no way to avoid them; they had the group
surrounded, and they were alert. They were also first-class cavalry; he knew which was which. He stepped down out of the wagon. “What is your business?” he sang.

The officer did a double-take. Evidently he had not been advised of this detail. Mym wore the whiteface makeup that he used for more than the mime act, and of course they had expected him to stutter.

But in a moment the officer recovered. “The Prince, your brother, is dead,” he said formally. “Pride of the Kingdom, you are now the Designated Heir.” He made a formal token bow. “You will return with this honor guard to the captital, where the Rajah awaits you.”

Disaster! Mym had never been close to his brother, indeed, hardly knew him, but this sudden death was a shock to all the family, himself included. His elevation to Designated Heir was a worse shock. “H-h-how did he d-d-d-die?” he stammered, forgetting to singsong.

“Sir, he died in battle against Rajasthan, honorably.”

“But we are not at war with Rajasthan!” Mym protested in singsong.

“It was a routine incursion.”

Just a border skirmish—and naturally his bold brother had gone out personally and gotten himself killed and brought this mischief on them all.

Orb came out. “You must go,” she said. “Your Kingdom needs you.”

“Damn my Kingdom!” he sang.

“I will go with you, my love.”

“No,” the officer said firmly. “The Prince alone must come. He will marry a princess of the Rajah’s choosing.”

“N-n-n-never!” Mym cried.

“We are instructed to pay the woman an adequate sum,” the officer said. “She will not be in want. But she is not to see the Prince again, by order of the Rajah.”

“An adequate sum!” Orb exclaimed indignantly.

“It is here,” the officer said, proffering her a small package.

They were quite serious. Mym knew that there was no way to talk them out of this; the Rajah’s word was absolute. He bit his tongue.

Orb, bemused, accepted the package, but did not look at it.

“You will be given a few minutes to make your parting with the woman,” the officer said. “You will not need to take any belongings, Prince; we shall provide you with suitable raiment.”

The blood flowed in Mym’s mouth. His skin paled. Tiny bubbles appeared at his lips.

The officer kneeled before him, proffering the hilt of his sword. “If it pleases you, Prince, strike off my head first, and any others you wish. We shall not take arms against our leader. But you will return to the Kingdom.”

“Mym!” Orb screamed, understanding. “They are only doing their duty! You must go with them!”

He paused. She was correct—but even if she had been in error, he realized that he would not expose her to this. She was not a creature of mayhem.

He turned his head and spat out the blood. Then he took the officer’s sword, reversed it, and handed it back. “A moment,” he said, in this instance not stuttering.

“As my lord wishes,” the officer said, seemingly unruffled. He sheathed the sword.

Mym turned to Orb. “I will return to you,” he sang. “After I persuade my father that I will not serve. Until that time, I give you this.” He brought out the ring that was shaped like a little snake.

“But what is it?” she asked, her eyes glistening with tears.

“It is a royal charm. Wear it, and it will answer any question. One squeeze means yes, two mean no, and three mean it can not answer in that fashion. It will also protect you, if you ask it to.”

“Protect me?”

He put the ring on his own finger.
Demonstrate
, he thought.

The little snake came to life. It slithered into his palm; then, as he brought it to Orb’s hand, across to hers. It reared up momentarily, issuing a tiny hiss, then coiled around one of her fingers and went metallic again.

“You mean—it bites?” she asked, amazed.

“Deadly,” he sang. “But only on command. This you can always trust. Wear it and be secure.”

“Until you return,” she said.

He nodded. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Some of his makeup smeared on her face, but that didn’t matter. She was too lovely for any smear to alter.

He stepped to the officer. “Now I will go with you.” he sang.

They brought up a fine horse, and Mym mounted. He paused to wave to Orb and to the others who had befriended him. Then he rode out.

 
3
 
PRINCESS

The Rajah was older than Mym remembered him. Of course, Mym had been no closer to his father than to his brother; it was not the royal way. He had encountered the man, physically, perhaps no more than a dozen times in his life, and most of those during his childhood, before his mother had had the bad judgment to bear a daughter and had been divorced and dismissed from palace life. Mym had had no close family life thereafter, and realized now that this had been a considerable part of what he had sought and found in Orb—true love and closeness between individuals. He was not about to give it up.

Still, the sight of his father was something of a shock. It was not just that the man was old, but that he was both grand and ill. He was elegantly robed, of course, which was his normal state, with golden embroidery and a necklace of bright rubies, but his bearing was a thing beyond dress. The Rajah could have been naked and still radiated authority. His illness showed in the sallowness of his complexion and the hollowness of his cheeks. Obviously magic had buttressed his health, but there were limits even to magic, and the man was inevitably descending
toward his release of this body. No wonder he was concerned about the state of his Heir.

“It is necessary for the Heir to have an heir,” the Rajah said. “You will be betrothed to a princess of the royal house of Maharastra, a politically suitable alliance. We are now negotiating the dowry.”

“Sire, I will not be betrothed,” Mym sang.

The Rajah gazed at him, nodding. “So it is true. The wench taught you another mode of speech. This is an improvement, though still not ideal.”

“The wench,” Mym sang between his teeth, “is the only one I will marry.”

The Rajah considered. “Do your duty by the princess, and in due course you may recover the wench as a concubine.”

Mym turned his head and spat.

The courtiers jumped, and a royal guard went so far as to touch his sword, but the Rajah did not react. After a moment he made a tiny gesture with one hand, dismissing his son.

Mym bowed and backed away, departing the Presence. It had not been a very positive encounter.

He was put under house arrest at an attractive palace on the outskirts of Ahmadabad. Naturally he was not tortured or imprisoned or coerced by magical means; he was the Heir. But neither was he given his freedom. He knew he would be freed the moment he gave his word to cooperate, but he would not give that word. The word of a sovereign was inviolate and never given insincerely. So he languished in total comfort, provided with gourmet meals, phenomenal entertainment, and expert instruction in any art that might interest him.

Two weeks into his confinement, he tried to escape. He was unsuccessful, as he had known he would be; he was merely testing the defenses. In the past, his father had not cared about his whereabouts; now the Rajah did care, and that made all the difference. Mym could not escape.

After the first month, an ambassador from the Rajah came to pose the question: would he now consent to the
betrothal? Mym turned his head again and spat, and the ambassador departed.