The Fumbling Rescuer

By Hugh Pendexter III

When Ambloq,
Neophyte Cleric, and his First Henchman, Eldon, are assigned to rescue Crown
Prince Mardjan from the Archnages
tower, he stumbles into a second assignment to rescuestyle='mso-spacerun:yes'> Crown Princess Valeria. In the process
he bumbles into marriage, flees pirates, and is tried for his life by the class=SpellE>Morchants Guild in Caravestria.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Fendrian Assassins
and Priestesses of the Pythoness pursue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 1, 2003
• ISBN: 9781414029580

Hugh Pendexter III

Publications Poems The Pantessey --- A mock epic about a panty raid A Prosody --- Study of poetic forms -- examples from my poetry Adventures and Venturers Poems of the Sacred Academic Observatiions Hail Suburbia! Poems of Affection Doctor Faustus and Other Poems Children's books Tales of the Croicheted Cat Oz and the Three Witches Farhold Island The Crocheted Cat in Oz Wooglet in Oz Fantasy Novels Free Transport The Fumbling Rescuer The Fumbling Kingmaker The Paladin's Rogues The Quince Quest

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© 2003 by Hugh Pendexter III All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the

author.

ISBN: 1-4140-2958-6 (e-book)

ISBN: 1-4140-2957-8 (Paperback)

Contents

I The Kidnaped Prince

Ii The Captive Princess

Iii Judgment In Caravestria

Glossary

About The Author

This Book is

DEDICATED

to

Diane Cornn Brown

and

William A. Brown

Who have often adventured with Amloq and his crew.

I

THE KIDNAPED PRINCE

Letter from Eldon, Son of Emerion to his sister, Elita:

Crossroads Inn, Troxia

April 13, 7012 c.y. [Year since Creation]

Dear Elita,

When you first insisted that I write a journal of my adventures and send sections of it to you whenever I found a messenger to take them back to Cwemmerion, I confess I thought the idea rather pointless. We all expected Princess Eloemisiel’s junket to Troxia would be nothing but a shopping spree. We guards were only a ceremonial train rather than a fighting force, so that adventures were more likely to be commercial than military. In fact, the Princess and her Chaplain are such accomplished spell crafters that, even if trouble should occur, they would be much more likely to defend her guards than to depend on us for safety. As a result, I fear my account of our journey to Gawmbridge was tedious enough, and I was surprised at the pleasure you expressed in the letter I found waiting at the inn.

But in tonight’s installment I am bewildered to find myself reporting an ambush and some important diplomatic meetings, as well as a street skirmish in which I was actually imperiled. Furthermore-and this still amazes me-I suddenly find myself henchman to a short-lived one and embarked on a mad human venture in association with one of the Rockborn. Strangely enough-though I fear our father Emerion will be annoyed at my consorting with the lesser races-the Princess approved my decision.

It is late in the evening, and I have just finished writing my account of the last ten days. I do not remember exactly how much I wrote about our meeting with Lord Paramour in my first journal, so that I must apologize for any repetition of that gossip in tonight’s account. Lord Paramour looms larger in my life than I could have dreamed two weeks ago when he first joined our party on our way down from Cwemmerion. Not only is he a significant figure in the power struggle that is growing around us; he is also the sponsor of our current expedition. You should send your next letter to me at Lord Paramour’s Hold, as his Lordship’s castle will be the base from which we set out on our new assignment. Please give my devotion to Emerion and our dear Mother.

Your affectionate brother,

Eldon, son of Emerion

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Eldon’s Journal: April 3-13, 7012 c.y.

When Lord Paramour’s party first overtook us last Saturday on the road from Scropeshold to Troxia, we guardsmen snapped into a defensive perimeter around the Princess and her Chaplain, swords drawn and shields at ready. He hailed us cheerfully and gestured toward his empty-handed yeoman guards, then stepped forward, open palms extended for our inspection.

The Princess giggled as she waved to him and reassured us, It’s all right, it’s only Lord Paramour. He’s an old friend and ally. We let him pass, and heard him warn the Princess, My lady, a messenger just came to Lord Scrope’s Hold with a warning that a family of Trolls has set up housekeeping under the bridge over Gawmmouth to prey on travelers." This was such obvious nonsense that we all expected her to laugh in his face and send him on his way. The Princess was certainly not taken in by such an obvious ploy to scrape acquaintance, yet she amazed us by smiling her most charming smile as she mockingly proposed that we join our parties in order to deliver the highway from the imaginary menace. United, our ten guardsmen and his party of twelve yeoman guards from his estate-as I have since discovered, they are deadly bowmen and quite competent with sword and halberd-added up to a formidable force.

He promptly took station riding at the Princess’ right, and his yeomen moved out to cover our flanks as if in anticipation of an immediate attack. Within a couple of hours, we had occasion to be grateful for the reinforcement. We had just slogged through the ford of a shallow brook and were starting up the wooded slope beyond when a loud voice ahead of us bellowed, Ambush!

From behind a large boulder near the top of the hill scrambled a tall gaunt figure in a dark caftan, waving a massive staff. Ambush! he yelled, and ran toward us. Several men with crossbows sprang out behind him. Just as they loosed a volley of quarrels, the figure stumbled and fell to the ground, rolling limply as the bolts whizzed above him. As he scrambled to his feet, two men armed with short swords and shields broke through the crossbowmen and attacked.

We Starborn guards immediately formed our defensive circle around the Princess and her Chaplain; the ladies began casting Shield spells. Lord Paramour, long sword in hand, rode up the hill to challenge the swordsmen, while his yeomen drew bows and sent a volley of arrows whistling above the stranger to drive the crossbowmen back behind the rocks. The yeomen then dismounted and formed a line with arrows nocked at the ready.

The scarecrow who had warned us scrambled quickly to the cover of the woods upstream, and crashed away with the noise of a stampeded ox. I assumed we had seen the last of him.

Suddenly a flight of crossbow bolts whizzed in from the woods upstream of us, felling two of the yeomen and thudding into our hastily upraised shields. The yeoman’s arrows sped up the hill and downed one of the swordsmen. As soon as we saw the Shield spells glimmering around the ladies, we guards dismounted and charged afoot. Five followed Lord Paramour up the hill and the rest of us ran upstream toward the hidden crossbowmen . At that moment a battle cry from downstream announced a mounted attack from the woods there. Clearly we faced a carefully planned ambush which, but for the ragged stranger, might well have overwhelmed us before we could organize our defense.

Trusting the longbowmen and the Princess’ magic to handle the new attack, we continued our charge against the upstream crossbowmen, knowing that another volley of quarrels would shortly cut some of us down. But just as they rose above their screen of underbrush to shoot, the gaunt stranger floundered behind them, wildly swinging his staff at their heads and howling like a berserker. His attack actually knocked two of them down and upset the aim of the other five, so that their bolts zinged harmlessly above our heads. Before they could drop their bows and wield their daggers, we were upon them, and that wing of the attack collapsed. We killed three of them, and the rest fled into the woods. We turned immediately to join our comrades who were badly outnumbered at the top of the hill. The stranger stumbled behind us.

Lord Paramour’s longbowmen and a Sleep spell from the Princess disposed of the downstream attack; the yeomen were drawing swords and axes as they ran up the hill to help Lord Paramour and our fellow guardsmen, three of whom were already down from crossbow fire. Our charge from the upstream side threatened to flank the bandits at the brow of the hill, and they swiftly retreated to better cover. Lord Paramour, oblivious of the bolts that whistled past him on every side, swung his horse around the boulders, slashing heads as he rode. Our guardsmen were now able to use the nearest boulders as cover, so that the crossbowmen lost their advantage.

The gaunt stranger rushed to the fallen guards and, ignoring the missiles, began binding wounds. By the time we reached the brow of the hill, the bandits had retreated to their horses. Having no stomach for an even fight, they mounted and thundered along the trail. Lord Paramour pursued them for half a mile or so, then turned back. We regrouped at the top of the hill and found that, thanks to the stranger’s ministrations, our casualties were all going to survive. He and our Lady Chaplain began praying to cure the most seriously injured.

Lord Paramour rode up and almost dropped from his horse. One of the fleeing bandits had sped a parting quarrel into his shoulder, and his blood flowed freely from the wound. The stranger knelt beside him, pressed his hands against the shoulder, lifted his closed eyes toward the sky, and stayed frozen in place so long that we thought he had lost consciousness. Lord Paramour’s pallid face began to take on color; the stranger opened his eyes and withdrew his hands. The crossbow bolt lay cupped in his palms.

You’ll be all right now we’ve gotten that thing out, he said softly, laying the missile beside his Lordship and scrambling to his feet. He bowed deeply to the Princess and said, My lady, I thank you for rescuing me from the bandits. They wanted to force me to work with them.

Nay, we are much in your debt for warning us and for helping when you could have escaped. And Lord Paramour owes you much gratitude for your prompt attention to his wound.

Despite our concern lest the ambushers return with reinforcements, we decided to rest our casualties and camp at the top of the rise. We found a small glade surrounded by boulders. By posting one guard on the highest rock and three others to protect the breaks in the ring of boulders, we could see all around us and prevent surprise along the narrow approaches.

Once we had built camp and prepared supper, we crowded around the newcomer. Lord Paramour, whom we had laid by the fire, struggled to a sitting posture and studied him intently. You’re a strange looking duck, he remarked, but I am deeply in your debt. I am Lord Paramour, and I would know what reward you ask for saving my life.

I am Ambloq, a Neophyte Cleric, my Lord, pupil of Lord Wulfstan, High Priest of Troxia. He bowed so deeply that he lost his balance and almost knocked his Lordship into the fire.

Ambloq is very tall and gaunt, probably the clumsiest sapient being I have ever met. He was obviously very poor: in fact, his only possessions seemed to be his threadbare brown caftan and his massive ash staff. He grabbed my shoulder to steady himself and apologized vaguely to everybody, I fear I am not very well co-ordinated. I trust I did not hurt your Lordship.

Lord Paramour laughed as he shook his head. I’m not a fragile flower. But tell us, Ambloq, how did you happen to be just at the right spot to warn us of the ambush?

I have pledged myself to serve Lord Wulfstan, the High Priest of Odin at the temple in Troxia. At the close of my first training session, he sent me on a quest into the forest seeking exactly the right branch to shape into a staff. Lord Wulfstan warned me that I must stay in the forest until I could feel the spirit of the trees-until I could become so close that the right tree would give me the branch I needed, because the wood from which a cleric fashions my staff must be precisely suited to his nature, and must be a free gift-not stolen, nor may a cleric merely pick up his wood like a scavenger. Last week I slept under a great ash tree and dreamt that it spoke with me, promising to provide for my need. When I awoke, this limb broke off just above my head and dropped at my feet. He held his staff out to us.

You see, the wood is perfect; the grain is straight and tough, and there are no knots nor weak spots. I thanked the tree and set about rough shaping my staff. Of course it needs much more work, and Lord Wulfstan will, if he is pleased with my choice, carve runes of power along its side. But even now, it serves me well as a weapon and tool.

The staff was, in fact, far from rough. He had shaped it with beautiful simplicity, preserving its slight natural curvature and using the natural knot at one end as a knob either for grasping or striking. He had even oiled it and rubbed it to a dull glow.

While I was working over my staff, this band of robbers pounced upon me and gave me the choice of dying or serving them as a healer and rough blacksmith, for I have had some training in that craft. Dying didn’t appeal to me, so I chose to serve.

They seem to have trusted you, the Princess observed. Don’t bandits usually fetter or cripple their prisoners?

Oh, they kept me in chains for several days, but last week another band of robbers attacked them, and I helped fight them off with my staff and chains and then healed some of those who were worst wounded. They decided I was too clumsy to escape and would be more useful unfettered. I didn’t really mind helping them against other bandits, but when the messenger came yesterday with orders to ambush you, I couldn’t stand by and let them kill innocent people. So I stumbled out and warned you. He chuckled.It’s a good thing I am so clumsy; if I hadn’t fallen on my face when I did, they’d have perforated me.

Lord Paramour grinned. I’ve never had a cleric in my service before, he said, but having seen you fight and felt your healing touch, I should be glad to take you on as my chaplain.

I should be honored, my Lord, he replied. So long as your service does not conflict with my service to Lord Odin, I will serve you faithfully.

Oh, I’ve plenty of human enemies to worry about. You don’t need to worry that I’ll bring down the wrath of a Guardian by attacking his temple or committing sacrilege.

And so Ambloq took his place in our party. Since he was the only one without a horse, he slowed our already leisurely march. He didn’t even have his own rations, but ate whatever Lord Paramour doled out to him. Some of us snickered at his scarecrow figure, plodding along at the rump of Lord Paramour’s richly caparisoned warhorse. Yet his Lordship treated him with surprising respect-even with considerable deference to his judgment.

Nevertheless, if at that time any of my comrades had suggested I would become Ambloq’s henchman within two weeks, I would either have knocked him in the ditch for the insult or just laughed off the bad joke. Yet, as you will see, that’s exactly what happened last evening.

Of course we found no Trolls under the Gawm bridge, and the Princess has not ceased to tease Lord Paramour about it. Nevertheless, remembering the ambush, our parties remained together, and his Lordship and my Lady have obviously enjoyed each other’s company. After crossing the bridge, they chatted and bantered with such complete disregard of the road that it took us a whole day to cover the fifteen miles between Gawmbridge and the Crossroads Inn, a comfortable place just outside the Overlord’s Gates to Troxia.

Standing at the junction of the road from Gawmbridge with the narrower track that leads northwest to the bridge over the Upper Gawm, the Crossroads Inn provides reasonable comfort at tolerable prices for a substantial flow of travelers.

To avoid the Warlord’s heavy tax on any goods entering the city, we left our mounts and heavy baggage at the inn, and on Monday morning we approached the city on foot-my Lady and her Chaplain rode in a sedan chair which she was able to hire from the landlord. Lord Paramour, now fully recovered, walked easily at her side, and Ambloq shambled behind him. We and the yeomen marched in formation surrounding them.

As you may remember, about fifty years ago Lord Trox the Overlord, by battling first the wild Pigborn and later the retreating remnants of Imperial power, built up Troxia into an independent city-state. After he took the city from the Imperial Governor’s inadequate garrison, the first thing he did was to rename the city after himself-it had been known as Emperia-and rebuild the walls on a far more massive scale; then he hired engineers and laborers from the whole area to divide Wumblemouth just upstream of the walls so that about a third of the water flowed around the city to form a huge moat which rejoins the main river at the harbor. The Overlord’s Causeway bridges this moat and the bordering fens, becoming Palace Way as it enters the northwest corner of the city.

Lord Trox, has since managed to keep free from the domination of the surrounding lords, simply by staying behind his moat and walls, keeping his army in top condition, and playing on the jealousies of his would-be attackers. He is the wiliest, most tyrannical ruler I know of, but he has stayed alive and in power for half a century, and he seems to be succeeding in his plan to pass the government on to his dissolute heir, Lord Troxson, who, two years ago, took the title of Warlord.

Did you realize that ten years ago, when Lord Trox was helping our master King Karbathian to fend off the Rockborn invaders who swarmed down from Kharshveht across the hills west of Norfaring Way, he was at the same time helping these same Rockborn ravage the Fendrian border? And at the same time he made his port facilities available for Fendrian river boats to launch a series of piratical raids against us. Yet he managed to keep his activities hidden long enough to be accepted as the neutral mediator in the mutual peace treaty of 7004 between Cwemmerion, Kharshveht, and Fendria-a treaty from which he profited considerably. Whatever you may think of his morals, you cannot help admiring his shrewdness.

Troxia itself is a shopper’s paradise, so long as the shopper has enough armed guards to protect his life and property not only from the local thieves, but from the young Warlord’s patrolling bands of City Guards. The old Overlord’s Constabulary are reasonably honest, but Lord Troxson’s Guards think nothing of fleecing the victim after they have driven off the thieves. And since the young Lord took over as Chief Justice four years ago, the legal system has become so corrupt that a clever manipulator can get away with any crime, except against the nobility. All he needs is money to bribe the guards and the judges. Honest men have lain for years in prison because somebody with money wanted a house, a girl friend, or even revenge for a fancied insult.

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When we reached the outer Overlord’s Gate, the Captain of the Guard demanded a gold piece toll from every one passing on the Overlord’s Causeway across the moat. My

Lady was preparing to put him to sleep for his effrontery, but Lord Paramour counted out thirty gold pieces for the twenty-seven of us and kept chatting with the Captain so long that we were ready to drop from the heat of the sun beating on our chain mail. Ambloq stood patiently by his patron, like the village idiot watching a dog fight, listening with a kind of blank concentration.

At last, Lord Paramour clapped the Captain on the shoulder, and they started across the causeway arm in arm, with Ambloq stumbling right behind them. It wasn’t until we reached the Inner Gate that we discovered what his Lordship was up to. The guards there demanded two gold pieces per person, but the Captain brushed them off and got us all through without either a toll or a fight. The Captain marched us a mile or so along Palace Way until we reached the Golden Griffin Tavern, where he said there would be ample accommodation for both his Lordship’s yeomen and my Lady’s guards. Lord Paramour bought him a drink, and in the course of casual conversation persuaded him to carry a personal note to the Overlord himself. Soon afterwards they parted like old friends.

The inn has two large upstairs dormitory rooms at either end of a long corridor, so that we guards didn’t have to share our room with the Apeborn yeomen. Since the royal suite, which my Lady took for herself and Chaplain, was only a short distance down the hallway from our room, the guard outside her door could easily summon help in case of trouble. Lord Paramour chose a room directly across the hall from hers. Several of us wondered whether it was prudent for her to permit him to lodge so near her suite, but none of us on night duty actually saw anything unusual. I must confess to some uneasiness about what could have been concealed by magic.

We guardsmen were very suspicious of the strange coincidence of our meeting with Lord Paramour and the unusually skillful ambush which followed. Ambloq had mentioned a messenger who ordered the attack, and we wondered whether the bandits had been acting for one of the local lords, or even for a war faction in Karshveht or Fendria.

And I don’t believe our meeting with Lord Paramour was an accident, my watch-mate told me. I think it was planned, and the Princess and he are up to something more than shopping here in Troxia.

Nevertheless, my Lady shopped like an addict. The next three days she dragged us from jeweler to haberdasher to dressmaker, while she ordered what took her fancy to be boxed and delivered to her lodgings at the Crossroads Inn. Then she visited tailors, men’s jewelers, and armorers to buy gifts for her father and brothers. Of course we guards had a chance to make a few purchases on our own. You should receive a small box by the next messenger. It is a trifle, but I thought it quite handsomely made. When, on Thursday, the Princess began buying magical components at chemists and magic shops, we knew she had nearly finished.

Since we were constantly in attendance on the Princess’s shopping, we saw little of Lord Paramour and his followers. But Thursday night, while we were eating dinner in the private dining room of the Golden Griffin, his Lordship’s party staggered in bleeding and battered, but carrying booty which they obviously thought worth their pains. Ambloq’s share, aside from a large angry knot on his forehead and a very nasty cut in his side, was a respectable suit of chain mail, a battered helmet that made him look even more like a totem pole, and a deadly looking mace, from which he spent the evening cleaning off dried blood. His ash staff bore several sword cuts and his caftan was rent in three more places, but he suddenly had enough money the next day to go to the tailor shop and buy a new caftan and a substantial bottle-green cloak of very good quality wool.

That evening we made a point of joining his Lordship’s men after dinner. It cost us a few drinks, but it was worth it. Ambloq, who drinks only unfermented kvatch-a heavy beverage made from parched grain-gave us a reasonably clear account.

We were waiting outside a jeweler’s shop while his Lordship was picking out a diamond brooch, when a gang of thieves waylaid us . They surrounded us with drawn daggers and demanded everything we had of value. Nobody thought that thieves would take on such a large band, especially in daylight, so that we were completely surprised. Of course we had no intention of giving them a farthing, so we had quite a tussle of it. We ploughed into them; several of us got stabbed in the first rush, then I took a massive swing at one of them and knocked myself silly when my staff hit my head. He gingerly touched his bruised lump. I don’t remember much after that. I must have gone berserk, because I remember swinging my staff pretty wildly. And then I remember a couple of yeomen holding my arms and telling me it was all over.

He really went crazy after that knock n the head, said one of the yeomen. He went yelling and swinging his stick at anything he could reach. We had to duck a couple of times to keep from getting smashed, but he led the attack, and then there wasn’t only a couple of the thieves alive to run away. He cracked the skull of one bloke who was fixing to stab me in the back, and he saved a couple of the others."

The upshot was that, when they got through stripping the fallen, the yeomen all voted him a full share of the booty. By the time the City Guard came along to investigate the noise, his Lordship had come out of the shop and his men had pocketed everything worth taking. He bribed the sergeant in charge of the guards to dump the thieves’ bodies into the moat and forget that he had seen his Lordship’s men; so nobody got arrested. I couldn’t find out how much Lord Paramour paid the sergeant, but he paid it out of his own purse rather than from his men’s pool of booty.

When we first entered the city, my Lady and Lord Paramour made appointments for conferences with Lord Troxson, the young Warlord. I don’t think they were very happy about the results of those talks. But on Friday, apparently in answer to the note Lord Paramour sent by the guard captain, a contingent of the old Overlord’s Constabulary arrived at the tavern to escort them both to confer with Lord Trox himself. Since the old Overlord normally leaves responsibility for the local government to his son, this episode confirmed our suspicions that the Princess’s shopping spree concealed a more serious mission. If she was negotiating on behalf of King Karbathian about concerted action-perhaps with respect to the Fendrian regency-that would explain the Constabulary guards and the involvement of old Lord Trox. It would also explain the Princess’ willingness to join with Lord Paramour’s party on the way to town, since his Lordship’s hold lies between Troxia and Fendria along the southern border of Cwemmerion, and he would, therefore be a key participant in any agreements about the region.

We had wondered why Lord Paramour traveled all the way east to cross Northmouth in Lord Scrope’s territory instead of taking the direct route from his own hold. But if he had conferred in advance with Lord Scrope, and his rendezvous with the Princess was not accidental, then his detour made sense.

I confess to being relieved, as I had found it difficult to reconcile myself to a romantic liaison between the Princess and an Apeborn-no matter how charming the human might be. Of course he still hovers around her as if she was his mistress, and she was wearing a new diamond brooch when she stepped into the sedan chair which was to carry her to the appointment with the Overlord. We also noticed that Lord Paramour sported a handsome grey cloak and soft leather boots which could only have come from workshops of our Elder Race. I know you will laugh at my concern and remind me that we have a cousin who is half human. Truly, I am not so race-proud as our honored father, but since our Lady is King Karbathian’s daughter, I am inclined to share Father’s concern for keeping the Starborn blood lines, at least the royal ones, pure.

Obviously the arrival of the Overlord’s escort left both Lord Paramour’s yeomen and us guardsmen free to explore the city on our own. The meetings took up the whole weekend, and we found time to visit the temple museum of the Overlord’s battle trophies as well as the great Colosseum, where the Overlord still occasionally plays living chess with gladiators for pieces. The museum includes a remarkable trove of booty taken from the Imperial Governor when he was expelled from the northern territories as well as artifacts seized from the

Rockborn and from our own people. The old man certainly has kept his armies busy over the last fifty years.

We were disappointed at the Colosseum. All that was going on was the Warlord’s brutal judicial butcheries: convicts condemned to hack at each other with daggers and others condemned to defend themselves with their bare hands or with staves against great cats imported from the Northwest Wilderness. I understand that the Overlord’s famous chess matches are beautiful demonstrations of the fighter’s art put on by professionals. Sometimes the nobles themselves-even visiting princes-deign to play. Of course deaths or even serious injuries are rare when the combatants are skillful and the duels to determine whether taking moves succeed are decided, not by death or even unconsciousness, but on a complex system of pointing. The young Warlord, however, is convinced that the people prefer the kind of bloodletting which has disgraced the Imperial arenas for the last two hundred years.

We planned to head back to the Crossroads Inn for the night on Monday and then proceed home Tuesday morning. There had been some talk of the Princess accompanying Lord Paramour to his Castle, but since the conferences with Lord Trox, she is very anxious to return to Cwemmerion.

Early Monday morning the Constabulary escort arrived to take us down Palace Way to the Overlord’s Palace, where Lord Trox himself reviewed our little band and took formal but cordial leave of his Lordship and the Princess. From there we were escorted down Garden Road to Judgment Way and on to the Warlord’s palace. Here, instead of reviewing us himself, the Warlord sent a heavily decorated general to convey his farewells, and to dismiss the Overlord’s Constabulary guard, which turned and marched back to the Overlord’s Palace.

Lord Paramour was furious that the Warlord neither took the trouble to greet us personally nor to provide an escort from the City Guard to replace the Constabulary whom he had dismissed, but the Princess patted him playfully on the shoulder and suggested they take advantage of the absence of an escort to visit the Great Market again.

The Market grew up at the intersection of Market Boulevard and Tradeway, but both streets are now lost in the maze of alleys and plazas. The most expensive shops are housed in permanent structures which surround the Market, but the most interesting places are the tents, shaded stalls, and kiosks randomly dotted over the paved and unpaved expanses. On the north side, between Victors’ March and Dolorous Mall, is the Exchange, where the merchant princes of Caravestria transact their business. At the southwest corner stands the eerie Temple of the Pythoness with its twisted columns and spiraled towers.

At the edge of the temple plaza a number of us stopped to lunch on spicy Troxian sausages, hot from the charcoal braziers of the vendor, who apparently rented his stall from the temple. Several of the yeomen were bargaining loudly for trinkets to take home to their girls.

While we were mopping our chins, a spectacular woman came from the east portico of the temple and approached us. She was tall even for a human female and amply endowed for motherhood. Her hair, which hung below her hips, was like the silvery underside of aspen leaves when the wind prepares for a storm. She wore a clinging robe of sky blue silk, fastened with a silver brooch of two entwined serpents clasping their tails in their mouths. As soon as Lord Paramour spotted her, he left us without even excusing himself and swaggered up to her. She seemed undismayed when he accosted her-in fact I’m quite sure she intended the meeting—and in a few minutes he brought her back to join us. He introduced her to the Princess as Bodvarka, a young Priestess of the Pythoness.

The Princess pointedly did not invite the newcomer to share her sedan chair; nevertheless Bodvarka remained with us as we strolled informally west along Market Boulevard. By the time we emerged from the West Market into Webway, the Priestess had displaced my Lady’s chair at Lord Paramour’s side. As you can imagine, the Princess was fuming, and her Chaplain had some difficulty keeping her from launching a spell. As we started north along West Moatway Boulevard toward the main gates, the Priestess’ silken hip was massaging his Lordship’s as they walked.

Moatway Boulevard, like Riverside, perches atop the massive retaining walls with only a narrow three-foot-high breastwork to prevent chariots and pedestrians from falling into the water twenty feet below. The boulevard itself is over fifty feet wide. Since we were casually strolling rather than marching in any formation, we were caught unprepared by a wild whooping and screaming behind us. Looking back, we were horrified to see seven or eight two-horse racing chariots careening two and three abreast along the boulevard. Lord Paramour grabbed Bodvarka in his arms and carried her off into an alleyway, shouting, Scatter!

My Lady’s bearers dropped her chair and fled, so that four guardsmen had to stop to pick it up and whisk it to safety. Most of his Lordship’s men escaped by scrambling up the buttress that faces the moat. Several of my comrades were knocked down, and the one walking beside me fell under the wheels of a chariot.

Those of us still on our feet drew our swords and charged. The lead chariots hurtled on down the boulevard, but we got at several of those behind and, I’m afraid, did more than rough up the drivers, who were obviously youngsters of the nobility. Lord Paramour later told us they were noble pages of the Warlord’s court, who were practicing for the next week’s chariot races in the Colosseum.

The pages who could still drive raced screaming into the side streets to the east of us. Then, before we realized what was happening, a troop of City Guards set upon us with pikes and halberds. It was pretty brutal for a while. I took a crack on the head that knocked me down, and found myself staring up at a descending halberd blade. Just at that moment Ambloq’s new mace swung between me and death, snapped the handle of the halberd, and knocked my attacker flat. Then the clumsy Cleric stumbled astride my feet and smashed left and right with his mace, taking a couple of mean cuts in the process, but definitely giving out more punishment than he took.

Suddenly it grew still. My Lady had thrown a sleep spell on sixteen of the City Guards, and Lord Paramour and his yeomen quickly drove the rest of them pell-mell down the boulevard.

Double quick to the city gate, his Lordship ordered. We must get out of town before the gate guards get word of this and try to detain us. This was supposed to be a peace mission.

He and his men started trotting in perfect formation. My Lady flourished her wand, and she and her Chaplain disappeared with a loud pop. Clearly those of us who could not escape were to be sacrifices to diplomacy and left to the mercy of the Warlord’s courts. Those of my brothers-at-arms who could still walk grabbed the fallen and staggered after the yeomen. I was struggling to my feet when Ambloq grabbed me by the right shoulder to hold me still, placed his left hand firmly over the gash on my head, shut his eyes, and began mumbling his prayers.

Immediately I felt warmth flooding my body and rushing to my head. In moments I realized that he had stanched the flow of blood. My mind cleared, and I was able to move my head without pain.

Quick, he said. You can run now and help some of the others. And off he loped back to a comrade bleeding on the pavement. I caught up with our Lieutenant, who was staggering under the weight of a guardsman who had fallen under the Princess’s Sleep spell. With two of us slapping his face, he quickly came around, and we could grab another injured mate and carry him at a fast walk.

Ambloq and his patient passed us at a trot. Then he caught up with our Ensign, who was limping painfully, and cured him. Apparently that was the last of his spells, for he then lent a shoulder to our last straggler and half dragged him along. As a result, we all made it in time to follow Lord Paramour and his yeomen out through the inner gate and along the causeway. By the time we reached the outer gate, the guardsmen were obviously signaling from the city, but his Lordship waved a bag of gold pieces under the duty sergeant’s nose and got us out. My Lady was waiting just outside the gate, ready to ensorcel the guards if Lord Paramour’s golden magic failed. Our Ensign got us organized into marching order, set stretcher bearers to carry the remaining wounded, and led the way back to the Crossroads Inn.

After I had helped bed down the seriously wounded and got washed up and bandaged, I sought out Ambloq in the bar parlor. May I buy you a mug of ale? I asked.

Make it kvatch, if you don’t mind. I can’t afford to fog my mind with fermented stuff. He sprawled over the bar and grabbed one of the mugs the landlord set out. This shopping turned out to be a more thirsty business than we bargained for.

I am deeply in your debt, I told him. That halberd would have finished me.

No debt. You would have done the same for me. He raised his mug to eye level and waved it precariously toward me. To fellowship! he pledged.

I saluted him with my mug and met the opaque gaze of his black eyes. To fellowship!

He took a long pull at the mug, then set it down. I don’t think that fracas was an accident, my friend, he said.

I lifted an eyebrow and waited.

It was too well timed, he continued. We had barely turned into that boulevard-the first street wide enough for chariots to maneuver-when the Warlord’s pages swept down on us. No warning and no attempt to avoid us. We reacted pretty predictably, and immediately out of nowhere came a whole platoon of the Warlord’s City Guards. Do they ask questions? Do they arrest us? No! They start swinging halberds so that we are forced to attack the City Guards in order to stay alive.

You think the Warlord wanted to make trouble?

"Exactly. He hadn’t planned on your Princess and Lord Paramour getting through to the old Overlord. He expected to provide formal entertainment for the visiting dignitaries without committing Troxia to any course of action. But once Lord Trox stepped in, he came to some important agreement with Lord Paramour,