Villagro's grimace showed that he did not deem the joke very humorous. "Yes, yes, priest, all this we know. What is your news? How goeth the struggle to capture our subjects' minds?"
The Stygian shrugged. "All goeth poorly, my lord. The mind of Ferdrugo is easily dominated, for he is old and sickly. I have, however, encountered a problem."
"Well?"
"When I have the king under the valence of my will, I can command him perfectly. I can force him to give you the princess's hand; but the princess … not unreasonably, given the difference in your ages … balks."
"Then place her mind under your control as well, you bald-pated fool!" snarled Villagro, irked by the allusion to his age.
Cold fires flared in the Stygian's dull eyes but were swiftly banked. "This very night have I striven to that end," he purred. "My spirit came upon the princess slumbering in her suite and intruded into her dreams. She is young, strong, and vital. With the greatest difficulty, I achieved control of her brain … but even as my shadow whispered to her sleeping soul, I felt my control over the old king's mind loosen and slip away. I swiftly released the girl to reassume my mastery of her father. She awoke in terror and, although she remembers naught of my whispered suggestions, I have doubtless alarmed her. Here is the problem. I cannot at the same time control both king and princess …"
He broke off, for fire blazed up in the duke's eyes. "So it was you, you bungling dog!" roared Villagro.
Surprise and alarm flickered in the Stygian's dull gaze. "What means my lord?" he murmured. Zarono added his query to that of the priest.
The duke voiced a strangled oath. "Is it possible that my cunning spy and my canny sorcerer are oblivious to what has half the city in a buzz?" he shouted.
"Can it be that neither of you idiots knows that the princess has disappeared from the city? And that all our plans are set at naught?"
Duke Villagro had laid his plans with care. King Ferdrugo was decrepit and ailing. To insure a peaceful succession, the royal princess, Chabela, must soon wed. Who could better sue for her hand and follow her to the throne than Villagro, a widower of many years and, after the king, the richest and most powerful peer of the realm?
In the crypt beneath his ancient castle, Villagro had advanced his scheme. The privateer Zarono, of noble lineage but tarnished past, he enlisted in his cause.
To Zarono he gave the task of enlisting a sorcerer of flexible scruples, who could influence the mind and will of the aging monarch. For this mission, the wily Zarono had selected Menkara, wizard-priest of the outlawed Stygian cult of Set. Chabela's flight, however, threw all Villagro's plans awry. What booted it to control the mind of the king if the princess were no longer present to be wedded?
With stony self-possession, Menkara gradually calmed the agitated Villagro. He said: "May it please Your Grace, but such modest mastery of the occult sciences as I possess should soon reveal the lady's present location."
"Do it, then," said Villagro gloomily.
At the priest's direction, Gomani the Kushite fetched a bronze tripod and charcoal from the adjacent torture cell. The carpet was rolled back, revealing the stony pave. From beneath his robe, the Stygian produced a large wallet with many interior compartments. From this he took a piece of luminous green chalk, with which he traced on the floor a circular design like a serpent holding its tail in its jaws.
Meanwhile, the Kushite kindled a small fire on the tripod. Blowing and fanning soon raised the charcoal to red heat.
On the glowing coals, the priest poured a fragrant green fluid from a crystal phial. With a serpentine hiss, a sharp aromatic odor filled the still air of the chamber. Pale-green spirals of smoke coiled and writhed in the drowsy air.
The priest seated himself tailor-fashion in the circle of green chalk. The candelabrum was extinguished, plunging the chamber into an eerie gloom. Three sources of light remained: the red glow of the coals in the brazier, the green-glowing serpentiform circle of chalk, and the yellow eyes of the sorcerer, which blazed like the orbs of some nocturnal beast.
The voice of the Stygian rose, chanting: "Iao, Setesh… Setesh, Iao! Abrathax kuraim mizraeth, Seteshr''
The harsh, sibilant words died to a droning whisper, then faded away. The only sound was that of the slow rhythm of the Stygian's breathing. As he sank into a trance, his yellow orbs were veiled by his eyelids.
"Mitra!" gasped Zarono, but the vise-like grip of the duke on his arm enjoined him to silence.
The coils of smoke writhed and diffused into a luminous, jade-green cloud.
Patches of light and dark appeared in the vapor. Then the watchers gazed upon a life-like scene within the cloud. This scene snowed a small ship, caravel-rigged, racing across a nighted sea. On the foredeck stood a young girl, her rounded form apparent through the heavy cloak, which the wind whipped tightly against her vigorous young body…
"Chabela!" breathed Villagro.
As if his murmur broke the spell, the glowing cloud eddied and fragmented. The coals went out with a hiss. The priest fell forward, his bald brow thudding against the floor.
"Whither is she bound?" Villagro asked Menkara when a swallow of wine had revived the sorcerer.
The Stygian pondered. "I read the name of Asgalun in her mind. Know you of any reason why she should seek Asgalun, Your Grace?"
"That is where the king's brother, Tovarro, has his present seat," mused the duke. "As ambassador, he roves from one Shemite city to another, but that is where he now is. I see it! She will flee to Tovarro and beseech him to return to Kordava. With that meddlesome fellow here, the gods only know what would befall our plans. Well, then, what's to do, since your powers cannot dominate both king and princess simultaneously?"
Zarono stretched out a hand toward the silver tray, murmuring: "With Your Grace's grand permission?" At Villagro's nod, Zarono helped himself to a piece of fruit. "Methinks," he said between bites, "we should get another sorcerer."
"That makes good sense," said the duke. "Whom do you suggest, priest?"
The Stygian brooded without expression. "The chief of my order," he said at last, "and the mightiest magician now incarnate on this plane, is the great Thoth-Amon."
"Where does this Thoth-Ammon reside?"
"He dwells in his native Stygia, in the Oasis of Khajar," replied Menkara. "I must, however, warn Your Grace that the mighty talents of Thoth-Amon are not to be purchased with mere gold." A bitter smile curled the swarthy lips. "Gold can buy little men, like me; but Thoth-Amon is a veritable prince of sorcery. One who commands the spirits of the earth has no need of material wealth."
"What, then, can tempt him?"
"One dream lies close to Thoth-Amon's heart," purred the priest. "Centuries ago, the cults of the accursed Mitra and of my own divinity, Set, warred here in these western realms. Such were the twists of fate that my cult was thrown down, while the Mitra-worshipers were exalted over us. The worship of the Serpent was outlawed, and all of my order were driven into exile. Now, if Your Grace would swear to throw down the temples of Mitra and rebuild the fanes of Set in their place, and elevate great Set over the upstart gods of the West, then I daresay that Thoth-Amon would lend his power to your schemes."
The duke chewed his lip. Gods, temples, and priests meant nothing to him, so long as the temples and their hierarchy paid their taxes. He shrugged.
"It shall be so," he said. "I will swear it by any gods or demons your wonder-worker names. Now, here are your tasks:''
"At dawn, you shall put to sea. Set your course to the southeast and intercept the vessel bearing the princess. Seize her and destroy the ship, leaving no survivors to tell the tale. Your Petrel, Zarono, should easily overhaul the little Sea Queen. Having secured the lady, you shall continue on to Stygia. You, Menkara, shall guide the party to Thoth-Ammon's stronghold and serve as my ambassador to him. When you have enlisted him in our cause, you shall return to Kordava with him and the princess. Are there any questions?"