The twelve earls of Mordh were seated at the head of the huge ancient table. Red firelight seemed to splash them with blood, throwing their grim bony faces into eerie visibility against the sliding misshapen shadows. Outside the windows, the mighty autumn wind flung sleet and rain at the castle walls and roared about its towers.
Dorlok, who had called the meeting, spoke first. His deep voice was low, and the storm snarled over and around its rumble: «To me, at least, the situation has become intolerable. When so-called honor clashes with basic instincts—and just how much honor does our dead king have left?—there is only one choice if we wish to remain sane. The king must go.»
Yorm sprang out of his seat. The light gleamed bloodily on his slitted yellow eyes. Three of his fists were clenched, the fourth half drew his dagger from its sheath. «Treason!» he gasped.
«As you like.» Dorlok’s scarred face twisted in a snarl. «Yet I would say that we have a higher duty than our oath to the king. As earls of Mordh, which now rules the entire planet and thus our entire species, we are pledged to preserve the integrity of our race and traditions. This the king, corrupted by the she-devil Franna, has lost. He is no longer a warrior, he is a drinker and idler in his palace—the swords of Mordh rust, the people cry for battle, and he sits under the complete dominion of his mistress. This won’t be the first time a king has been deposed—and we will be driving her off the throne rather than him.»
More than half of the earls nodded their heads in dark agreement. Valtan murmured: «I wonder if she is of this planet at all? Could she not be some devilish robot invented by the Patrol’s unholy agents? Her very nature is alien to all we know.»
«No, no, my agents have checked very carefully on her background,» said Dorlok. «She is the daughter of a Mordhan spaceman who sold her on Sol III after he had run up a great gambling debt—sold her to a man of the very Patrol which seeks to destroy slavery, or says it does! Franna was educated in the Solar System, apparently with the ultimate object of becoming the king’s mistress. I have reason to believe plastic surgery was used to make her the most beautiful of our race, and certainly her education in the arts of love—At any rate, she did come back here, enslaved the king, and now for ten years has run the country—the planet—the system! And—undoubtedly on behalf of the cursed Patrol!»
«It was an evil day that the Galactic explorers landed here,» said Valtan glumly.
«To date, yes,» answered Yorm. «Of course, it was more or less accidental. If they had known we are a carnivorous people to whom combat is a psychological necessity, they would probably have left us in our feudal state. As it was, the introduction of Galactic technology soon enabled Mordh to subjugate the rest of the planet.» His yellow eyes flamed. «And now… now we could go out and fight on a more glorious scale than the old heroes dreamed… go out conquering among the stars!»
«Except that Franna holds the king slothful while we eat our hearts in tameness and kill ourselves in silly little private duels for lack of better occupation,» said Valtan. «But we are sworn by our honor to obey the king. What to do? What to do?»
«Kill her,» snarled another.
«Little use—the king would know who had done that, and have us all slain—and soon the Patrol would find some other agent of control,» said Dorlok. «No, the king must go, too.»
Yorm shook his head. «I won’t do it. No one in my family ever broke his word and I won’t be the first.»
«It is a hard choice—» mused Valtan.
In the end, seven of the great earls of Mordh were prepared to assassinate the king. The others held back but Dorlok had, before calling this meeting, sworn them to secrecy about it. They would not help in the killing, but they would not hinder it and be glad enough to see it done.
Dorlok swept his cloak about him.
«I’ll let you know my arrangements tomorrow,» he said.
He went to a certain remote room in the castle and let himself in with a special key. She was waiting, and his heart turned over at her loveliness.
«Well?» she asked.
His voice was thick as he gave her the names of the rebellious earls. She nodded gravely. «I’ll see that they are arrested tonight,» she said. «They’ll have their choice—exile to the second planet or suicide.»
Dorlok sat down, burying his head in two brawny hands, the other two hanging limp in his lap. «Now I’m forever damned,» he groaned. «I really, deep inside, believe in what I told them when I was provoking them. Those ‘weak links’ were actually the hope of Mordh. And I’ve sold them—for you.» He lifted desperate eyes. «And I’m even betraying my lord the king, with you,» he said hopelessly. «I love you—and I curse the day I saw you.»
Franna stroked his mane. «Poor Dorlok,» she murmured softly. «Poor, helpless, honest warrior.»
Alak abandoned his car in an alley near the spaceport and set out on foot through the dark tangle of narrow streets and passageways which was the Old City. The decayed district clustered on the west side of the port and its warehouses, and had become the hangout of most of the city’s criminal elements. It was not wise to go alone after dark through its dreary huddle, and twilight was beginning to creep over the capital. But Alak had no choice—and he had become used to such thieves’ quarters.
Presently he located Yamen’s tavern and slipped cautiously past the photoelectric doors. The place was crowded as usual with the sweepings of space, including a good many nonhumans from remote planets, and he was grateful for the dim light and the fog of smoke. There was a live show performing on a tiny stage, but even its nudity was no recommendation and Alak did not regret having to sit with his back to it in order to watch the door. He sat at a small table in a dark corner and slipped a coin in the vendor for beer. When it arrived from the chute it was warm and thin, but it was at least alcoholic. He sipped it and sat gloomily waiting for something to happen.
That didn’t take long. A Rassalan slithered into the chair opposite him. The reptile’s beadily glittering eyes searched under the man’s cowl. «Hello,» he said. «You might buy me a drink. Wouldn’t snub an old friend, would you?»
«Hardly, when the old friend would let out a squawk as to my identity if I did,» said Alak wryly. He set the vendor for the acrid and ultimately poisonous vurzin to which he knew the Rassalan was addicted, and put in the coin. «How are things, Slinh?» he asked.
«So-so.» The little dragonlike creature shrugged his leathery wings. «But the sivva-peddling racket is getting unsafe. Voal’s narcotics squad is cracking down. I can’t complain—made my share on this planet—but I’m about to leave Luan.» His black passionless eyes studied Alak’s foxy face. «I suppose you are, too.»
«Why so?» asked the Solarian cautiously.
«Look Sarb Duman—I might as well stick to the alias you’ve been giving around here, though the police have been broadcasting a certain other name for the past half hour or more—let’s be sensible. When an unknown with apparently limitless resources starts organizing the crooks of a planet for something big whose nature he won’t reveal exactly, a being who’s seen something of the Galaxy begins to have suspicions. When the police suddenly pick up all this stranger’s contacts and start televising ‘Wanted’ notices for him with a different name and occupation appended—well, any high-grade moron can guess the story.» Slinh sipped his drink, adding smugly, «I consider myself a step above moron. Seems I have just now heard rumors of arrests in the army, too. Seems there has been a revolutionary tendency—Could the mysterious stranger have any connection?»
«Could be,» said Alak. He didn’t inquire into the nature of the so quickly spreading rumors, or how they had got started. Someday the Patrol must investigate the evidence hinting at some race in the Galaxy which had not chosen to reveal its telepathic abilities but to use them instead for private advantage. At the moment there was more urgent business.