Then the other prince was ushered in, gasping and coughing from running. His face paint was patchy, as if he had been interrupted during his morning touch-up. Nevertheless, even Tarion had conceded that the fat man was far more convincing as a warrior now than he had been in Nag. He was still just as fat, though.
Kammaeman informed him that the queen was dead. Golbfish expressed suitable regrets, but he was probably even less upset than his half brother had been. No one had ever described old Emchainne as likable, and she had conspired to have this son murdered in front of her eyes.
"So either you or Tarion must be recognized as her successor,” Kammaeman announced, belaboring the obvious. “As he has betrayed our trust, you are our choice. Even if he hadn't, of course! I mean, we had already decided that. Long live the king!"
"Thank you, Battlemaster,” the blubber-man said. “Joalia will find that her trust in me is not misplaced."
Kolgan chuckled in the background. “There may be some delay in arranging your coronation, though."
"Yes,” Kammaeman said. “First we shall have to hang your brother. However, you have my word. As soon as we return to Nag, he is a dead man, and you shall have the throne."
"I am very grateful, sir."
"I suppose we had better have him proclaimed in the camp?” Kolgan said.
"I suppose so.” Kammaeman sounded displeased.
There was a pause, then Golbfish said, “That will present difficulties. I shall automatically become hordeleader.” He even sounded like a prince now. How extraordinary!
"You are welcome to it,” the Liberator said.
"But I swore before the goddess that I would fight in the ranks."
Dosh looked up in amazement, and saw that the two Joalians were equally at a loss. As for the Liberator ... Face paint tended to mask expressions, but his jaw was hanging down.
Then everyone spoke at once: “That is not necessary!” ... “Do I understand that you wish to remain a simple warrior?” ... “It does you great honor!"
Golbfish shrugged. “If you will permit it, Battlemaster, that is what I request. I wish to fulfill my oath. When we return to Nagland, then I shall be free to assume my new duties."
"By the five gods!” Kammaeman exploded. “I confess I did not expect this of you ... Your Majesty."
"It is gravely out of character, I agree,” the fat man said, and chuckled. For a brief instant that chuckle made him their equal, or even their superior, and they responded with smiles and laughter. Then he sank back into his humble warrior role. “But my people will approve. Lately I have been studying leadership, under a remarkable teacher. Do I have your permission to withdraw?"
He must have been given a nod of consent, for he went strutting out, stalking past Dosh without even a glance of distaste.
"Miracle!” the battlemaster said. “May the gods be praised! D'ward, what have you done to him?"
"Me? Nothing! Nothing at all!"
"Somebody made a man of him!"
"Well it certainly wasn't me!” Kolgan said, laughing.
They all stood up. Then, of course, they remembered Dosh.
"Yuuch!” Kammaeman said. “What do we do with this dreg? Either of you gentleman need a catamite?"
"Throw him out and let the Lemodians have him,” Kolgan suggested, looking down from his enormous height. His red beard twisted in an expression of extreme contempt. “He can only tend to corrupt the camp if he is allowed to stay. I despise such degenerates."
That was hardly honest, Dosh thought, considering that Kolgan had borrowed Tarion's houseboy twice since leaving Nag, for massage and other purposes. He was a stingy tipper, too.
The Liberator sighed. “Can you run, lad?"
"Run, sir?"
"I could use a messenger.” He looked to Kammaeman. “If I send warriors, they spend half the day chattering when they get there."
The battlemaster chuckled. “I believe you! Take him by all means. If he causes trouble, though, he'll have to go."
"I think he'll behave, sir. Will you, Dosh?"
Dosh stood up shakily, hardly able to believe his ears. “Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir!” Personal messenger for the Liberator? Wonderful! How pleased his real master would be with him!
"Come on, then. Here, you carry my shield until we can get some clothes for you."
They all went outside, blinking at the sunlight. As he set off through the camp with the Liberator, Dosh tried to hold his head up and ignore the laughter and jeering his appearance provoked. It wasn't easy, though. There was a lot of it.
"Clothes first,” D'ward said. “Then we'd best get those stitches done as soon as possible.” He grinned down at Dosh. He was tall. “Perhaps you'd better try some face paint!"
Dosh laughed as a good servant should when his master makes a joke. He discovered that laughter hurt his face.
"Then food,” the Liberator went on. “I wonder if we can find you some decent boots? Hatchet, knife? ... I assume you're going to make a break for it?"
"No, sir. I want to stay with you, sir. I'm terribly grateful for—"
"Stuff that! I don't need your flattery. Why didn't he kill you at the end, when you wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know?"
"I think he was fond of me in his way."
"Curious fondness. All right, stay. I do need a messenger. But you will not sleep anywhere near me, understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"He offered you to me several times, did you know that?"
"He offered me to many people, sir. Many accepted."
The Liberator pulled a face under his paint and looked away.
Then Dosh felt a sudden blaze of inspiration and joy. He had completed his mission! He had solved the riddle in the prophecy: Eleal shall be the first temptation and the prince shall be the second. Prince Tarion had tempted the Liberator by offering him Dosh. That was all there was to it! The prophecy had already been fulfilled, so now he could report back to his master, his real master, his divine master.
V
Pawn Takes Castle
25
A SCHOOLBOY OF ABOUT THIRTEEN CAME OUT INTO THE CORRIDOR and offered Alice his seat in the compartment.
She smiled winningly at him. “That's very kind of you, but I'm all right here. Thank you, though."
Blushing, he went back inside and slid the door shut.
Since Swindon, the train was far less crowded. It was possible to talk in the corridor.
"Tell me what happened after you arrived in Lemodvale and Tarion departed."
Stooping to peer out the window, Edward scowled. “I'd just as soon not talk about it, actually. Have you noticed how much luggage everyone seems to have? I think they're running away from the air raids in London."
"Possibly. And you're running away from my question."
He sighed. “I'm not proud of what happened! It was a mess. Kammaeman may have been a crafty politician, but he was no general. He hadn't done his homework."
He drew cucumber shapes on the greasy window and explained the geography. “Thargia had taken Narshvale, which had been Joalian. The Thargians are the bullyboys of the Vales, like the Prussians in Europe or the Spartans in Greece. Nobody calls out the Thargians!
"But Joalia needed to save face to keep its other colonies loyal. The original plan was to cross over Lemodvale and attack Thargvale itself, while it was still digesting Narshvale. It was to be a punishment raid—loot, rape, burn, and scram. Of course, the Thargians would have retaliated, probably the next year. I expect Joalia was counting on Nagvale taking the heat. That's what junior allies are for, isn't it? It was all business as usual, and nasty.