“I am Urtarra, astrologer at the court of King Marcurades,” the man said. “I am sorry at having brought you here by such devious means, but…”
“Devious!” Dardash snorted his contempt. “It was the simplest and most childish trick ever devised.”
“Nevertheless, it worked.” Urtarra paused to let the implication of his words sink in. “I do hope that doesn’t mean that you are simple and childish, because if you are you will be unequal to the task I have in mind for you.”
“You’ll learn how childish I am,” Dardash promised, his anger growing apace with his new certainty that he was not about to be slain. “You’ll learn a great deal about me as soon as I am free of these bonds.”
Urtarra shook his head. “I have already learned all I need to know about you, and I would not be stupid enough to release you until you had heard my proposal and agreed to work for me.” He eyed Dardash’s robust frame. “You look as though you would wreak considerable damage, even without magical aids.”
Dardash almost gasped aloud at the extent of the other man’s presumption. “I don’t know what miserable little desires you harbour, but I can tell you one thing—I will never serve you in anyway.”
“Ah, but you will!” Urtarra looked amused as he rearranged the cushions on which he was seated. “The fact of the matter is that I have certain unusual talents, powers which are related to your own in a way. I am a seer. I have the gift of being able to part the veils of time and divine something of what the future holds in store—and I have seen the two of us making a journey together.”
“A seer?” Dardash glanced at the planetary symbols on Urtarra’s robes. “I don’t regard fiddling with abacus and astrolabe as …”
“Nor do I, but young King Marcurades does not believe in any form of magic, not even my modest variety. He is a philosopher, you must understand—one of that breed of men who put their faith in irrigation schemes rather than weather spells, armour rather than amulets. It would be impossible for me to remain at his court were I to use my powers openly. Instead, 1 must pretend that my predictions spring from the science of astrology. I have nothing against astrology, of course, except that it lacks…um…precision.”
“Your own visions are similarly lacking,” Dardash said with emphasis. “I have no intention of making any journey with you, 1 nor will I serve you in any…What sort of chore did you have in a mind, anyway? The usual unimaginative trivia? Preparing a love potion? Turning useful lead into useless gold?”
“No, no, no—something much more appropiate to a magician of your standing.” Urtarra paused to stare into Dardash’s face, and when he spoke again his voice was low and earnest. “I want you to kill King Marcurades.”
Dardash’s immediate and instinctive response was to begin a new struggle to break free of his bonds. He writhed and quivered on the litter, straining to loosen or snap his restraints, but the thongs were stout and had been expertly tied, and even his unusual strength was of no avail. Finally he lapsed into immobility, sweating, his gaze fixed on the roof of the tent.
“Why exhaust yourself?” Urtarra said reasonably. “Does the life of the king mean so much to you?”
“My concern is for my own life,” Dardash replied. He had scant regard for rank—a prince had no more standing in his scheme of things than a pot-mender—but the young King Marcurades was a rare phenomenon in that he was a ruler who was universally admired by his subjects. In the five years since he had ascended to the throne of Koldana, Marcurades had secured the country’s boundaries, expanded its trade, abolished taxes, and devoted himself to far-sighted schemes for the improvement of agriculture and industry. Under his aegis the populace were experiencing stability and prosperity to an unprecedented degree, and in return they were fiercely loyal, from the most illustrious general right down to the humblest farmworker. Dardash found it difficult to conceive of a project more foolhardy than the proposed assassination of such a king.
“Admittedly, no ordinary man could undertake the task and hope to live,” Urtarra said, accurately divining Dardash’s thoughts, “but you are no ordinary man.”
“Nor do I take heed of flattery. Why do you wish the king dead? Are you in league with his heirs?”
“I am acting only for myself—and the people of Koldana. Let me show you something.” Urtarra raised one hand and pointed at a wall of the tent. The material rippled in a way that had nothing to do with the breeze from the sea, then seemed to dissolve into mist. Through swirls of opalescent vapour, Dardash saw the erect and handsome figure of a young king standing in a chariot which was being drawn through the streets of a city.
Cheering crowds pressed in on each side, with mothers holding their infants aloft to give them a better view, and maidens coming forward to strew the chariot’s path with flowers.
“That is Marcurades now,” Urtarra murmured, “but let us look forward and see the course which is to be followed by the river of time.”
Conjured images began to appear and fade in rapid succession, compressing time, and by means of them Dardash saw the king grow older, and with the passage of the years changes occurred in his mien. He became tight-lipped and bleak-eyed, and gradually the aspect of the royal processions altered. Great numbers of soldiers marched before and behind the king, and engines of war were in evidence. The crowds who lined the routes still cheered, but few infants or maidens were to be seen, and the onlookers were noticeably shabbier of dress and thinner of face.
The prescience which Dardash was experiencing was more than simply a progression of images. Knowledge, foreknowledge, was being vouchsafed to him in wordless whispers, and he knew that the king was to be corrupted by power and ambition, to become increasingly cruel and insane. He was to raise armies and conquer neighbouring countries, thus augmenting his military might. Marcurades was to turn his back on all his enlightened reforms and civil engineering projects. Finally he was to attempt to increase his domain a thousand-fold, plunging the entire region into a series of terrible wars and catastrophes-resulting in the total annihilation of his people.
As the last dire vision faded, and the wall of the tent became nothing more than a slow-billowing square of cloth, Dardash looked at Urtarra with new respect. “You are a seer,” he said. “You have a gift which even I can only envy.”
“Gift? Curse is a better word for it.” For an instant Urtarra’s smooth face looked haunted. “I could well do without such visions and the burden of responsibility they bring.”
“What burden? Now that you know what is preordained for Koldana and its people, all you have to do is journey to some safe country and live out your life in peace. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“But I am not you,” Urtarra said. “And the events we saw are not preordained. Time is like a river, and the course of a river can be altered—that’s why you must kill the king before it is too late.”
Dardash settled back on the litter. “I have no intention of involving myself in anything so troublesome and dangerous. Why should I?”
“But you have just seen the miseries that are held in store for multitudes—the wars and plagues and famines.”
“What’s that to me?” Dardash said casually. “I have my own problems to contend with, and very little time in which to do it. I’ll make you an offer—you release me now and I will promise to go my separate way without harming you or any of your company.”