Centaur Aisle (42 page)

"You fools!" Queen Iris expostulated. "Victory in your grasp, and you squander it away on technicalities!"

"It's a matter of honesty," Dor said. "O N E S T I."

King Omen laughed, able to grasp the spelling pun within the centaur's range. "Yes, I understand. Well, I will fight Oary outside the magic aisle."

"Where your wound will weaken you, and you will have the disadvantage of using a straight sword when you are trained to a curved one," Queen Iris said. "If those aren't enough, the imposter's Avars will put an arrow in your back. Don't be even more of a fool than you need to be. Oary's trying to maneuver you into a position where his treachery can prevail. I tell you, I know the type."

Dor was silent. The Queen knew the type because she
was
the type. That made her a good adviser in a situation like this.

"But how can I prove my identity?" King Omen asked somewhat plaintively.

"Let the castle personnel come to you and touch you and talk with you," King Trent suggested. "Surely many of them know you well. They will be able to tell whether you are an imposter."

Oary tried to protest, but the suggestion made too much sense to the castle personnel. King Trent's ability to maneuver had foiled Oary's stratagems. Non-Avar guards appeared, reaching for their weapons, and they were more numerous than the Avars. It seemed that news of this confrontation had spread, and the true Onesti loyalists were converging.

Seeing himself losing position, Oary grudgingly agreed. "I will join the line myself!" he declared. "After all, I should be the first to welcome King Omen back, should he actually return, since it is in his stead I hold the throne of Onesti."

Queen Iris scowled, but King Trent gestured her to silence. It was as if this were a game of moves and counter-moves, with limiting rules. Oary was now going along with King Trent's move, and had to be accommodated until he made an open break. Dor noted the process; at such time as he himself had to be King for keeps, this might guide him.

"Come, King," King Trent said, taking Omen by the arm. "Let us all set aside our weapons and form a receiving line." Gently he took the magic sword and passed it over to Queen Iris, who set it carefully on the floor.

Oary had to divest himself of his own weapon, honoring this new move. His Avars grumbled but stayed back. Smash the Ogre moved nearer them, retaining his post. This encouraged them to keep the peace.

The line formed, the palace personnel coming eagerly forward to verify the person of King Omen. The first was an old man, slow to move but given the lead because of the respect of the others.

"Hello, Borywog!" King Omen said, grasping the man's frail arm. "Remember what a torment I was when a child, and you my tutor? Worse than my father was! You thought you'd never teach me to spell! Remember when I wrote the name of our Kingdom as HONESTY?"

"My Lord, my Lord!" the old man cried, falling to his knees. "Never did I tell that abomination to a soul! It has to be you, Your Majesty!"

The others proceeded through the line. King Omen knew them all. The case was becoming conclusive. King Trent stood behind him, smiling benignly.

Suddenly one of the men in the line drew a dagger and lunged at Omen. But before the treacherous strike scored, the man became a large brown rat, who scurried away, terrified. A palace cat bounded eagerly after it. "I promised to stand bodyguard," King Trent said mildly. "I have had a certain experience in such matters."

Then Oary was at the head of the line. "Why, it
is
Omen!" he exclaimed in seeming amazement. "Avars, sheathe your weapons; our proper King has returned from the dead. What a miracle!"

King Omen, expecting another act of treachery, stood open-mouthed. Again King Trent stepped in. "So nice to have your confirmation, King Oary. We always knew you had the best interests of the Kingdom of Onesti at heart. It is best to resolve these things with the appearance of amicability, if possible. Dor, why don't you conduct King Oary to a more private place and work out the details?"

Now Dor was amazed. He stood unspeaking. Grundy appeared, tapping Dor on the leg. "Take him into an anteroom," the golem whispered. "I'll get the others."

Dor composed himself. "Of course," he said with superficial equilibrium. "King Oary, shall we adjourn to an anteroom for a private discussion?"

"By all means," Oary said, the soul of amicability. He seemed to understand the rules of this game better than Dor did.

They walked sedately to the anteroom, while King Omen continued to greet old friends and the Avars fidgeted in their isolated mass. Without Oary to command them, the Avars were ineffective; they didn't even speak the local language.

Dor's thoughts were spinning. Why had Oary welcomed Omen, after trying to deny him and have him assassinated? Why did he pretend not to know where Omen had been? And why did King Trent, himself a victim of Oary's treachery and cruelty, go along with this? Why, finally, had King Trent turned the matter over to Dor, who was incompetent to understand the situation, let alone deal with it?

Irene, Smash, and Arnolde joined them in the anteroom. Oary seemed unperturbed. "Shall we speak plainly?" the Mundane inquired.

"Sure," Irene retorted, drawing her jacket close about her. "I think you stink!"

"Do you folk comprehend the situation?" Oary asked blithely.

"No," Dor said. "I don't know why King Trent didn't turn you into a worm and step on you."

"King Trent is an experienced monarch," Oary said. "He deals with realities, rather than emotions. He goes for the most profitable combination, rather than simple vengeance. Here is reality: I have one troop of Avars here who could certainly create trouble. I have more at the other castle. It would take a minor civil war to dislodge those mercenaries, whose captains are loyal to me—and that would weaken the Kingdom of Onesti at a time when the Khazar menace is growing. It would be much better to avoid that nuisance and keep the Kingdom strong. Therefore King Omen must seek accommodation with me—for the good of Onesti."

"Why not just—" Irene started, but broke off.

"You are unable to say it," Oary said. "That is the symptom of your weakness, which you will have to eliminate if you hope to make as effective a Queen as your mother. Why not just kill me and be done with it? Because your kind lacks the gumption to do what is necessary."

"Yeah?" Grundy demanded. "Why didn't you kill King Omen, then?"

Oary sighed. "I should have, I suppose. I really should have. But I liked the young fool. No one's perfect."

"But you tried to have him killed just now," Dor said.

"A desperate measure," Oary said. "I can't say I'm really sorry it failed. The move came too late; it should have been done at the outset, so that Omen never had opportunity to give proof of his identity. Then the game would have been mine. But that is the measure of my own inadequacy. I didn't want to retain my crown enough."

Dor's emotions were mixing. He knew Oary to be an unscrupulous rascal, but the man's candor and cleverness and admission of civilized weakness made it hard to dislike him totally. "And now we have to deal with you," Dor said. "But I don't see how we can trust you."

"Of course you can't trust me!" Oary agreed. "Had I the option, I would have you right back in the dungeon, and your horse-man would be touring the Avar empire as a circus freak."

"Now see here!" Arnolde said.

"If we can't kill him, and can't trust him, what can we do with him?" Dor asked the others.

"Throw him in the same cell he threw King Omen," Irene said. "Have a sadistic mute eunuch feed him."

"Smash destroyed those cells," Grundy reminded her. "Anyway, they aren't safe. One of his secret henchmen might let him out."

"But we've got to come up with a solution for King Omen!" Dor said. "I don't know why this was put in my hands, but—"

"Because you will one day be King of Xanth," Oary said. "You must learn to make the hard decisions, right or wrong. Had I had more experience before attaining power, I would have acted to avoid my present predicament. Had Omen had it, he would never have lost his throne. You have to learn by doing. Your King Trent is one competent individual; it was my misfortune to misjudge him, since I thought his talk about magic indicated a deranged mind. Usually only ignorant peasants really believe in sorcery. By the time you are King, you will know how to handle the office."

This made brutal sense. "I wish I
could
trust you," Dor said. "You'd make an excellent practical tutor in the realities of governing."

"This
is your practical tutoring," Oary said.

"There are two customary solutions, historically," Arnolde said. "One is mutilation—the criminal is blinded or deprived of his extremities, so he can do no further harm—"

"No!" Dor said, and Irene agreed. "We are not barbarians." "You are not professional either," Oary said. "Still you balk at expedient methods."

"The other is banishment," the centaur continued. "People of your species without magical talents used to be banished from Xanth, just as people of my species
with
such talents are banished. It is a fairly effective device."

"But he could gather an army and come back," Dor protested. "King Trent did, way back when he was banished—"

"But he did not conquer Xanth. The situation had changed, and he was invited back. Perhaps in twenty years the situation will be changed in Onesti, and Oary will be needed again. At any rate, there are precautions. A selective, restricted banishment should prevent betrayal while keeping him out of local mischief. It would be advisable not to call it banishment, of course. That would suggest there was something untoward about the transfer of power, instead of an amicable return of a temporarily lost King. He could be assigned as envoy or ambassador to some strategic territory—" "The Khazars!" Grundy cried.

"Hey, I don't want to go there!" Oary protested. "Those are rough people! It would take all my wit just to survive."

"Precisely," the centaur said. "Oary would be something of a circus freak in that society, tolerated but hardly taken seriously. It would be his difficult job to maintain liaison and improve relations with that empire, and of course to advise Onesti when any invasion was contemplated. If he did a good enough job for a long enough period, he might at length be pardoned and allowed to retire in Onesti. If not—"

"But the Khazars are bound to invade Onesti sooner or later," Oary said. "How could I prevent—"

"I seem to remember that at this period the Nordic Magyars were nominally part of the Khazar empire," Arnolde said. "They remained, however, a discrete culture. Oary might be sent to the Magyar court—"

"Where he would probably foment rebellion against the Khazars!" Dor said. "Just to keep the action away from Onesti. It would take constant cunning and vigilance—"

"What a dastardly deed!" Irene exclaimed gleefully. Surprised, they all exchanged glances. "A dastardly deed . . ." Dor repeated.

"We were cursed to do it," Irene said. "Before the moon got full—and it's very nearly full now. Let's go tell the others how Ambassador Oary is going to the Magyars."

"Purely in the interest of serving the Kingdom I love so well, to promote the interests of my good friend and restored liege, King Omen," Oary said philosophically. "It could have been worse. I thought you'd flay me and turn me loose to beg naked in the village."

"Or feed you to the ogre," Grundy said. "But we're softheaded, and you're too clever to waste."

They trooped out. "Oary has graciously consented to be your ambassador to the Magyar court of the Khazar empire," Dor told King Omen, who had finally completed the receiving line. "He wants only what is best for the Kingdom of Onesti."

"Excellent," King Omen said. He had evidently been briefed in the interim. "And who will be Xanth's ambassador to Onesti?"

"Arnolde Centaur," King Trent said promptly. "We realize that his enforced absence from his home in Centaur Isle is a personal sacrifice for him, but it is evident we need a certain amount of magic here, and he is uniquely qualified. He can escort specially talented Xanth citizens, such as my daughter, when trade missions occur."

Arnold nodded, and Dor saw how King Trent was facilitating things for the centaur, too. Arnolde had no future at Centaur Isle anyway; this put a different and far more positive face on it. Naturally Arnolde would not spend all his time here; he would have time to visit his friend Ichabod in the other aspect of Mundania, too. In fact, he would be able to do all the research he craved. There was indeed an art to governance, and King Trent was demonstrating it.

"Ah, your daughter," King Omen said. "You told me about her, during our long days of confinement, but I took it for the fond imaginings of a parent. Now I think it would be proper to seal the alliance of our two Kingdoms by a symbolic personal merger."

Dor's heart sank. King Omen certainly wasn't reticent! He moved boldly to obtain what he wanted—as a King should. Dor doubted that he himself would ever be that type of person. The irony was that he could not oppose King Omen in this; he liked the man and owed him his life, and Irene liked him, too, and was probably thrilled at the notion. The alliance did seem to make sense, politically and personally. If there were benefits to being in line for the Kingship, there were also liabilities; Dor had to give way to what was best. But he hated this.

King Trent turned to Irene. "How do you feel about it? You do understand the significance."

"Oh, I understand," Irene agreed, flushing becomingly. "It makes a lot of sense. And I'm flattered. But there are two or three little points. I'm young—"

"Time takes care of that," King Omen said. It was evident that her youth did not repel him, any more than the youthfulness of the doxy had repelled King Oary. "In fact, women age so quickly, here in Onesti, that it is best to catch them as young as possible, while they remain attractive."

Irene paused, as if tracking down an implication. In Xanth, women remained attractive a long time, with the aid of minor magic. "And I would have trouble adjusting to a life with no magic—" she continued after a moment.