Sam Carter moaned silently. He tried for the hundredth time since the
journey began to shift his legs into a position where the insides
would not be rubbed raw by the rough hair of his horse-like mount. He
resolved for the dozenth time that one of the "inventions" he would
import from the southern provinces would be a good, comfortable saddle.
Another would be silk; the rough fabrics worn by Kahl's subjects were a
fair substitute for the mount's hide.
"Ho, southerner!" Prince Kahl wheeled his mount back from the head of
the column and waited until Sam had caught up, then he fell in beside
him. "How goes it? Does my second favorite mount suit you well?"
"Very well indeed, graciousness," said Sam. "I cannot in honesty recall
when I've had a more--_ouch!_--instructive ride!"
"Good!" Kahl leaned over and slapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be
glad to know we've but three more hours to go before reaching the
summer palaces."
"Only, uh, three more hours?" The sinking sensation in Sam's stomach
had nothing at all to do with the undulating motion of his beast. "Ah,
that is good news, your graciousness. We'll be there almost before we
know it."
Sam wished Kahl would go away and leave him to his misery, but the
prince seemed disposed to talk. "I think there will be many surprised
faces in my father's court tonight. Eh, southerner?" He chuckled, and
then burst into raucous laughter as he considered the idea further.
"And to think, it will all be perfectly legal! You have the papers
safe, my friend?"
"Yes, your graciousness," said Sam, sighing and patting his saddlebags.
"Good! Don't lose them--I'd hate to see you missing your head!" He
laughed again, while Sam's stomach turned several more flipflops. "The
sight of blood always did make me sick."
There were sixteen men in the mounted party, including a dozen of
Kahl's private guard, the captain of the troop and the High Priest
of the Sun God, the nation's officially sponsored religion. The High
Priest was a little old man, bent over more from age than from the
discomforts of the journey. Originally Sam had planned for one more
member, but that had become unnecessary when he learned that the High
Priest was also President of the Royal College of Chirurgeons. The
latter role was even more important to his plans than the former. Now
all that worried Sam was the possibility that the priest might not live
to the end of the journey. He was inflicted with a hacking cough that
sent chills racing up and down Sam's spine every time he went into a
fit.
Kahl grew weary of bantering small talk with a man really fit to come
up with witty replies. He wheeled his horse again and dropped back
to the end of the column for a moment, saying something to the High
Priest, then he spurred his mount back to the head of the line, falling
into his original position beside the Captain of the Guard. The two men
were soon lost in reminiscences that had bored Sam to tears, every time
he had been an unwilling audience.
* * * * *
Another hour passed miserably, while the sun mounted to the zenith and
began the long summer afternoon drop back down to the horizon. The
members of the Guard and Kahl pulled short stubby loaves of bread and
cheese from their saddle bags and munched as they rode on, washing the
food down with vigorous pulls at the wine-skins that took the place
of water canteens on the planet. Sam had first thought the constant
imbibing of alcohol to be a national vice. Then he ran tests on half a
dozen waterholes. Thereafter he drank wine himself.
Now, however, he was completely without an appetite. Looking back over
his shoulder, he saw that the priest was in the same boat. Suddenly,
without knowing why, he pulled his mount up and waited until the priest
caught up with him, then fell in at the end of the column.
"How goes it, Reverence?"
The priest looked up, watery eyes registering surprise at his company.
"Oh, southerner." He broke into one of his coughing spasms. "Ahhh, not
well, southerner. Not well at all. The Sun God does not ride with me
this day--not that he's deserted me, you understand: he never rides
with me. The Sun God has more sense than a foolish old man who should
be staying home in the comfort of his apartments, not galivanting
around the country-side like a frisky kitten."
"I wish he had imparted some of his wisdom to me," said Sam. "I confess
I feel as you look, Reverence. No disrespect intended, believe me. It's
just that the ardors of this journey have taken much toll from both of
us. And I swear, by the Sun God himself, you are bearing up much better
than I."
"A man who has traveled as long and as far as you talking this,
southerner?"
"It's the way you travel, Reverence. The greatest part of my journey
was by ship." It had been; Sam merely neglected to specify that it was
a spaceship. "Ocean travel has its own peculiar discomforts, but for
myself, I'll take it every time."
"Tell me, southerner," said the priest, "why do you make this trip?"
"Prince Kahl wished it," he replied.
"Ah, but there is more to this than lies on the surface. Why should
Kahl bring you, a stranger and a subject of another house, along on a
venture that may well cast the future course of events for this entire
nation?"
"Prince Kahl seems to feel that, ah, I might, because of my experiences
in other lands, serve him in some minor capacity of usefulness." Sam
chose his words with care. The old man was entirely too observant for
his liking.
"Kahl is an astute man," said the priest. "However, he is also a hungry
man, and such a man on the verge of starvation will eat things that in
more normal circumstances he would pass up without so much as a first
look. Ideas are much like food, southerner."
"The philosophers of my country have a saying, Reverence. 'Man does
not live by bread alone.'"
"Much wisdom is afloat in the world, disguised in strange ways." With
that, the priest went into another coughing spell, after which he
refused to pick up the threads of the conversation. Carter gave up, and
spurred his mount back to his original place in the column.
* * * * *
The rest of the trip passed in, for Sam, self-commiseration. The lower
the sun sank, the hotter the temperature seemed to climb. Several times
he found himself with wineskin raised to lips. The native beverage was
little stronger than the plain water he would have preferred, but even
so he found himself more than a little tipsy by the time they crested a
low range of hills and saw the summer palaces nestled by the side of a
lake in the valley below.
The column dismounted in an inner courtyard, and Kahl, Carter and the
High Priest strode past the protesting chamberlain into the King's
private apartments. The King was lying on a couch, eating fruits served
by a manservant and listening to poetry being read to him. He looked up
when the trio came in.
"My son! This is indeed an unexpected honor. What brings you from the
city on a day so hot as this one?" He smiled, but his eyes were sharp.
"Greetings, Father," said Kahl, bowing low. "I bring you important news
from the Council of Priests. Reverence!"
"Your Most Graciousness." The old man was already nearly doubled over.
When he bowed, Sam half expected to hear his forehead crack the tiles
of the floor.
"Well, Reverence?" The king accepted another fruit and sucked on it,
keeping a watchful eye on his son. _He suspects something!_ Sam thought.
The High Priest produced a scroll from his robes and ceremoniously
broke the seal. Unrolled, it was short for the dynamite it contained.
"Your Most Gracious Person," he read. "The Council of Priests, meet
and determined in the Holy Temple of the Sun God this fifth day of
the seventh moon of the fifty-first year of the reign of Obar, King,
announce to all and sundry within the domains of Obar, King, that he
has incurred the wrath and displeasure of the Holy God, the Sun God,
and henceforth from this day shall no more be known as Obar, King, but
as father of Kahl, King."
He let the scroll snap back into its cylinder, bowed again, then handed
the scroll to Obar. "Your graciousness." Then he turned to Kahl. "Your
Most Graciousness." One final return to Obar. "One more message from
the Council, your graciousness. They hope you will accept their eternal
pleasure and gratitude for the excellence of your reign."
* * * * *
All during the reading, Obar had been staring at the High Priest, a
ghost smile half-crinkling the corners of his mouth. The half-eaten
fruit now fell to the pavement with a sodden _plop_! He licked his lips.
"This.... This is some sort of a joke?"
"No joke, Father," said Kahl, a little too heartily for Sam's liking.
"But how?" Obar shook his head. "How dare you?"
"I'm merely exercising my duty to our subjects, Father. You've grown
old. You're no longer capable of carrying out the duties of king."
"No." He refused to believe. "You ... you have no right. _I_ am king!
How can you.... How can you just walk in here and tell me that I'm not?
What gives you this right?"
"The same source that made you king in the first place," said Kahl.
"The Sun God."
"Nonsense! There is no Sun God!"