Alak advanced under gleaming pikes and knelt before the king. Morlach was burly, middle-aged, and long-bearded, wearing a coronet and holding a naked sword on his lap. At his left, the place of honor—most of this species were left-handed—sat an older «man,» clean-shaven, hook-nosed, bleakfaced, in yellow robe and a tall bejeweled hat marked with a golden X.
«My duty to you, puissant lord Morlach. Far have I, unworthy Wing Alak of Terra, come to behold your majesty before whom the nations tremble. From my king unto you, I bear a message and these poor gifts.»
The poor gifts made quite a heap, all the way from clothes and ornaments of lustrous synthetic to flashlights and swords of manganese steel. Ryfin’s Planet couldn’t legally be given modern tools and weapons—not at their present social stage of war and feudalism—but there was no ban on lesser conveniences which they couldn’t reproduce anyhow.
«Well met, Sir Wing Alak. Come, be seated at my right.» Morlach’s voice rose, and the buzzing voices, already lowered in curiosity, stopped at once. «Be it known to all men, Sir Wing Alak is in truth my guest, most holy and inviolable, and all injuries to him, save in lawful duel, are harms to me and my house which the Allshaper bids me avenge.»
The nobles crowded closer. It was not a very formal court, as such things go. One of them came to the front as Alak mounted the high seat. The Patrolman felt a tingle along his back and a primitive stirring in his scalp.
Samel Varris.
The refugee war lord was dressed like the other aristocrats, a gaudy robe of puffed and slashed velvet, hung with ropes of jewels. Alak guessed correctly that a royal guardsman ranked very high indeed, possessing his own lands and retinue. Varris was a big dark man with arrogant features and shrewd eyes. Recognition kindled in him, and he strode forward and made an ironic bow.
«Ah Sir Wing Alak,» he said in Thunsban. «I had not awaited the honor of your calling on me yourself.»
King Morlach huffed and laid a ring hand on his sword. «I knew not you twain were acquainted.»
Alak covered an empty feeling with his smoothest manner. «Yes, my lord, Varris and I have jousted erenow. Indeed my mission hither concerns him.»
«Came you to fetch him away?» It was a snarl, and the nobility of Wainabog reached for their dagger.
«I know not what he has told you, my lord—»
«He came hither because foemen had overwhelmed his own kingdom and sought his life. Noble gifts did he bring me, not least of them one of the flame-weapons you folk are so niggardly with, and he gave wise redes by which we hurled back the armies of Rachanstog and wrung tribute out of their ruler.» Morlach glared from lowered brows. «Know then, Sir Wing Alak, that though you are my guest and I may not harm you, Sir Varris has taken oath as my guardsman and served right loyally. For this I have given him gold and a broad fief. The honor of my house is sacred… if you demand he be returned to his foes, I must ask that you leave at once and when we meet it shall be the worse for you.»
Alak pursed his lips to whistle, but thought better of it. Handing out a blaster—! It was unimportant in itself, the firearm would be useless once its charge was spent, but as measure of Varris’ contempt for Galactic law—
«My lord,» he said hastily, «I cannot deny I had such a request. But it was never the intent of my king or myself to insult your majesty. The request will not be made of you.»
«Let there be peace,» said the high priest on Morlach’s left. His tone was not as unctuous as the words: here was a fighter, in his own way, more intelligent and more dangerous than the brawling warriors around him. «In the name of the Allshaper, we are met in fellowship. Let not black thoughts give to the Evil an entering wedge.»
Morlach swore.
«In truth, my lord, I bear this envoy no ill will,» smiled Varris. «I vouch that he is knightly, and wishes but to serve his king as well as I seek to serve yourself. If my holy lord abbot»—the title was nearly equivalent—«calls peace on this hall, then I for one will abide by it.»
«Yes… a sniveling shavechin to whine peace when treachery rises,» growled Morlach. «You have enough good lands which should be mine, Abbot Gulmanan—keep your greasy fingers off my soul, at least!»
«What my lord says to me is of no consequence,» answered the cleric thinly. «But if he speaks against the Temple, he blasphemes the Allshaper.»
«Hell freeze you, I’m a pious man!» roared Morlach. «I make the sacrifices—for the Allshaper, though not for his fat-gutted Temple that would push me off my own throne!»
Gulmanan flushed purple, but checked himself a bit, narrow lips together and made a bridge of his bony fingers. «This is not the time or place to question where the ghostly and the worldly authorities have their proper bounds,» he said. «I shall sacrifice for your soul, my lord, and pray you be led out of error.»
Morlach snorted and called for a beaker of wine. Alak sat inconspicuously till the king’s temper had abated. Then he began to speak of increased trade possibilities.
He had not the slightest power to make treaties, but he wanted to be sure he wasn’t kicked out of Wainabog yet.
Heavily dosed with anti-allergen, Alak was able to eat enough of the king’s food to cement his status as guest. But Drogs brought him a case of iron rations when the Galmathian came to attend his «master» in the assigned palace apartment.
The human sat moodily by the window, looking out at the glorious night sky of clotted stars and two moons. There was a fragrant garden beneath him, under the bleak castle walls. Somewhere a drunken band of nobles was singing—he had left the feast early and it was still carousing on. A few candles lit the tapestried dankness of the room; they were perfumed, but not being a Ryfinnian he did not enjoy the odor of mercaptan.
«If we got several thousand husky Patrolmen,» he said «and put them in armor, and equipped them with clubs we might slug our way in and out of this place. Right now I can’t think of anything else.»
«Well, why don’t we?» Drogs hunched over a burbling water pipe, cheerfully immune to worry.
«It lacks finesse. Nor is it guaranteed—these Thunsbans are pretty hefty too, they might overpower our men. If we used tanks or something to make ourselves invincible it’d be just our luck to have some gallant fathead of a knight get squashed under the treads. Finally, with the trouble at Sannanton going on, the Patrol can’t spare so large a force—and by the time they can, it might well be too late. Those unprintable traders must have told half the League that Varris has been found. We can look for a rescue attempt from Caldon within a week.»
«Hm-m-m… according to your account, the local church is at loggerheads with the king. Maybe it can be persuaded to do our work for us. Nothing in the Prime Directive forbids letting entities murder each other.»
«No—I’m afraid the Temple priests are only allowed to fight in self-defense, and these people never break a law.» Alak rubbed his chin. «You may have the germ of an idea there, though. I’ll have to—»
The gong outside the door was struck. Drogs humped across the floor and opened it.
Varris came in, at the head of half a dozen warriors. Their drawn blades gleamed against flickering shadow.
Alak’s blaster snaked out. Varris grinned and lifted his hand. «Don’t be so impetuous,» he advised. «These boys are only precautionary. I just wanted to talk.»
Alak took out a cigarette and puffed it into lighting. «Go on, then,» he invited tonelessly.
«I’d like to point out a few things, that’s all.» Varris was speaking Terran; the guards waited stolidly, not understanding, their eyes restless. «I wanted to say I’m a patient man, but there’s a limit to how much persecution I’ll stand for.»
«Persecution! Who ordered the massacres at New Venus?»