For there sat Darloona―my lost, loved Darloona!
She was pale but composed, and gorgeous in a gown of creamy lace with gems blazing at her throat. Accompanying her was a dark-faced, sardonic young man I had not seen before. He had a hard, mean look to his eyes, which were quick and cold and clever, and a thin-lipped mouth I did not like. His skin had the swarthiness of a pure-bred Chac Yuul, but his hair was sleek and black, inherited (I later learned) from his mother, a Zanadarian. He wore the most splendid uniform imaginable. It was a blaze of glittering decorations and gilt.
I paled, gasped, and bit my lip, glancing at my companion to see if he had noticed my sudden start.
To my utter amazement I saw that Valkar, too, had paled, going white to the lips, and that a strange emotion flamed in his grim cold eyes as he stared aloft at the Princess and her unknown escort.
The mystery deepened! And it was soon to deepen even more.
Busy with my thoughts, my mind a turmoil, I fear I paid scant attention to the remainder of the drama that evening, and to this hour I do not know whether the Masked Prince disclosed his identity to the magician Zarakandus in time to prevent Ylidore from marrying the wealthy merchant who had betrayed her intimacy with the landless warrior to the choleric baron into whose hands at all costs the mysterious letter must be prevented from falling.
But I suspect my own inattention went unnoticed, for Valkar himself seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts that evening.
After the theater we repaired to a better-class wineshop in the neighborhood to share a bottle. And there occurred an accident that only served to increase my curiosity regarding my friend. For the mystery of his background took a wholly new twist.
A serving girl by accident stumbled, spilling a goblet of wine on Valkar, splashing his face.
It was a trivial accident and he laughed aside the girl’s apologies, wiping the wine from his face with his scarf.
The accident would have gone unnoticed, had it not been for one small detail. I chanced to notice the kerchief as Valkar replaced it within his tunic: a smudge of dark tan substance discolored it.
Glancing at my friend, I noticed that the side of his face from which he had wiped the spilled wine now showed clear golden amber where before it had been dark tan.
A moment later, Valkar excused himself and left our booth to seek the sanitary facilities. Upon his return a moment later, the patch of clear golden skin was no longer evident.
I was intrigued, but kept my silence and made no comment, nor did I presume upon our friendship to pass a perhaps embarrassing question.
But I began to wonder why Valkar held a command in the Black Legion in disguise!
For he was no outcast half-breed as he had claimed.
The swarthy skin, which indicated Chac Yuul blood, and the black hair, which suggested Zanadarian parentage, had gone curiously with the emerald eyes of Shondakorian ancestry.
Now I suspected that beneath the false coloring of skin and hair, Valkar of Ganatol was a full-blooded Shondakorian.
But why the masquerade?
Who was Valkar?
BOOK TWO
THE BOOK OF VASPIAN
CHAPTER FIVE
I AM BEFRIENDED BY A PRINCE
Two days after I made the remarkable discovery that my friend Valkar was in reality a pure-bred Shondakorian in disguise, events took a new turn.
Strolling down one of the broad, tree-lined avenues of the Golden City of the Ku Thad, I heard cries of distress.
Gazing ahead, I perceived a chariot with a single passenger. The team of matched thaptors drawing the chariot were out of control, hurtling and careening down the boulevard at breakneck speed. At any instant, the chariot might overturn as its wheel caught an irregularity in the pave, thus hurling the chariot’s occupant to the pave and dealing him a serious injury.
The thaptors might have stampeded from any one of a number of causes―a chance noise, a sudden movement, a flick of the whip on some tender portion of their anatomy, or sheer cantankerousness alone. For the weird bird-horses of Thanator have never been fully domesticated and are restive and unruly, and quite likely to bolt or to turn upon their rider on chance whim or the slightest provocation.
What I did was not a matter of conscious decision, or even of thought. It was purely instinctive. As the madly careening chariot approached the place where I stood, I sprang out into the street, full in its path, and waved my arms above my head with a sudden shout. I could have been trampled and maimed in the very next instant, but frankly the thought did not even occur to me.
The thaptor team came to a sudden halt and reared up in panic, slashing at empty air with their birdlike claws.
I leaped forward and seized their bridles and forced them down again. It was all over in an instant, but I must confess that I found myself shaking like a leaf, and drenched in cold perspiration from head to foot.
The lone passenger of the chariot sprang to the ground, pale and shaken as myself.
“My thanks, warrior,” he gasped. “The Lords of Gordrimator alone know what made those empty-headed animals bolt like that. But had you not chanced along when you did, I might be a dead man at this moment!”
He wrung my hand in a grateful grip and I found myself staring in amazement at the lean, dark-faced, hard-eyed young man who had been Darloona’s escort at the theater on that memorable evening!
Evidently he mistook my surprised expression for awe at his rank, for he smiled in a rather complacent manner. Frankly, I did not have even the slightest idea of who he was, for I had decided not to query Valkar on that point for fear of revealing my unusual interest in the Princess. But his next words disclosed the identity with which he naturally presumed me to be familiar.
“Yes, warrior, you have saved the life of your Prince!” he said. “And think not that the son of Arkola shall not remember and reward the heroic bravery of your deed. Your name and cohort?”
“Jandar, kojat of the third,” I said rather dazedly. He nodded, smiled, accepted my salute, and vanished in the throng.
That evening as I returned to the barracks, I was told to report to the commander at once. I entered his office and saluted Valkar, who returned my salute absently, his gaze bent upon me and an expression of some perplexity visible in his features.
“Jandar, I was not aware that you were acquainted with Prince Vaspian,” he remarked.
“Indeed, I am not,” I replied. “To the best of my knowledge, I have only seen him twice; the first time at the theater the other night, and the second time was this morning, when I chanced to halt his runaway chariot by seizing the reins of the thaptors.”
His brow cleared. “Ah, that explains the riddle! For I have received a note from the palace, commanding that you be detached from my command and assigned to the retinue of the Prince in recognition of your `loyalty, bravery, self-sacrifice, and service to the crown: It was this last that baffled me, as well it might.”
I was elated at this opportunity to get inside the palace, but somewhat puzzled at the Prince’s impulsive request.
“Do you mean to say that merely because I chanced along at just the right time to halt his runaways, I have been elevated to some sort of bodyguard of the Prince?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, not just for that alone. Prince Vaspian inquired into your full record in the Black Legion, including a report on the way you handled that bully, Bluto, at the city gate, and your remarkable record in service, your rise to command, and so forth. He seems quite pleased with your career thus far.”