The Return of Tharn Part 31

"I don't see," Jotan burst out, "what this has to do with any of us.

Certainly we are not involved."

"The name he gave," Jaltor went on, as though there had been no interruption, "was Garlud!"

In the sudden, shocked silence that followed the measured tread of a guard in the corridor outside came clearly through the closed door.

"I don't believe it!" Jotan shouted. He leaped from his chair to face the monarch. "Ever since I can remember you and my father were the closest of friends!"

"And long before that Jotan," Jaltor said quietly.

"Yet because some common killer gave his name, you believe such an impossible story? My father could have no reason for wanting you dead.

What have you done to him?"

Jaltor ignored the last question. He said in the same quiet voice: "Not a common killer, Jotan. It was old Heglar who so named your father."

The young Ammadian n.o.bleman fell back a pace in complete amazement. "Old Heglar? Why, he wouldn't...." His voice trailed off.

"Exactly. Heglar would not lie."

Jotan lifted a shaking hand to rub his forehead in a kind of dazed helplessness that struck to the heart of every person in the room. "No,"

he said, his voice suddenly loud, "I do not believe it. Where is my father? Let me talk to him."

"Where," Jaltor said coldly, "would apt to be any man who plotted the death of Ammad's king?"

Slowly Jotan's hand fell from before his eyes as the meaning of those chill words came home to him. "You--you _killed_ him? Garlud? My father?

Your friend?"

Nothing altered in Jaltor's sober expression--and in that Jotan read his answer. With a strangely inarticulate snarl he launched himself at the king, seeking to lock his fingers in that deeply tanned neck.

Curzad leaped from his place at the door, brushing past the paralyzed onlookers, and reached out to engulf the crazed young n.o.bleman in his strong arms. Jotan, helpless in that iron grip was borne back, tears of rage and frustration streaming from his eyes.

Jaltor raised a steady hand to his bruised throat, his expression unchanged. "Confine him in the pits, Curzad. Later I shall decide what is to be done with him."

Tamar started up from his chair in angry protest. "What kind of justice is this?" he cried. "Will you send a man to his death because grief causes him to----" He stopped there, stricken into abrupt silence by what he saw in the ruler's eyes.

It took the combined efforts of Curzad and two of the corridor guards to subdue Jotan sufficiently to get him out of the room and on his way to the pits. When the room was quiet again, Jaltor dropped into an empty chair across from Alurna and the two young n.o.blemen.

"Now," he said, "I can tell you the whole story."

And tell them he did, from start to finish. "So you see," he summed up, "why Jotan must be kept captive. Had I told him the truth nothing would have satisfied him until his father was freed and another method used to force the real accomplice into the open. When this unknown conspirator learns that Jotan's party has returned from Sephar, apparently without Jotan himself, he is going to be more puzzled than ever. A puzzled man makes mistakes--which is what we want him to do."

Alurna shuddered. "But the pits! If they are like the ones beneath Sephar, you are punishing terribly two men who are innocent of wrongdoing."

"You must understand," Jaltor reminded her, "that the possibility exists that Garlud is guilty. I have lived long enough to know that ambition can drive the n.o.blest of men to ign.o.ble acts. Old Heglar's dying words cannot be lightly dismissed."

"You," he continued, nodding to Tamar and Javan, "are free to return to your homes. Should anyone ask what has happened to the leader of your party, tell him that--well, that the lions got him. That will fit in with what happened during the night that you were attacked by Sadu."

The two young n.o.blemen rose to leave, greatly relieved by Jaltor's explanation, but still concerned. After they were gone, the monarch said to Alurna:

"I know you must be worn out from your long journey from Sephar. But sit there a little longer, if you will, and tell me the circ.u.mstances of my brother's death."

It required the better part of an hour for the dark-haired princess to relate what had taken place in Sephar nearly three moons before. She spoke often of Jotan during the account, and the tenderness in her eyes at mention of his name told Ammad's king more than she realized. And when she told of Dylara's disappearance and the possibility that Sadu had devoured her, Jaltor caught the unconscious satisfaction in her tone.

For a little while after she had finished, Jaltor sat staring thoughtfully into his wine goblet. Then: "Urim's mistake was to coddle that rascally high priest. In Ammad the priesthood is no problem at all; we keep them few in numbers and with no power to create unrest. Long ago I put a stop to the Games honoring the G.o.d-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud.... Perhaps some day I shall find a means of avenging the cowardly a.s.sa.s.sination of Urim, your father and my brother."

He smiled gravely into her eyes. "Do not worry about Jotan, my princess.

Soon, I hope, he will be free again and you shall have your chance to win him."

Alurna's gray-green eyes flashed momentarily ... and then she too smiled. "Ammad's king is a wise and understanding man," she murmured.

Jaltor straightened and put down his goblet. "And now I shall show you to the suite of rooms which I ordered made ready for your use. Come."

For a long time after the slave woman detailed to serve her had gone, Alurna lay wide-eyed on the soft bed. Moonlight through the room's wide window formed a solid square on the floor, and in its ghostly radiance the furnishings seemed shadowy and unreal.

It was the first bed she had been in for a long, long time and sleep should have come to her the moment she touched the pillow. But too many thoughts raced through her mind to permit sleep--thoughts jumbled and confused.

Ever since Jotan had rejoined the main body of his men after his unsuccessful search for Dylara, he had been moody and distraught. Those warriors who had accompanied him and Tamar on the hunt seemed confident--out of Jotan's hearing!--that the jungle had gotten her, just as it had claimed the lives of countless others.

And now that the way was clear to win him, Alurna slipped easily into a new role--a role of silent understanding and ready sympathy. Slowly and unconsciously Jotan had begun to respond to treatment. It might take several moons, she realized, before he would begin to look upon her as a desirable woman in addition to a warmhearted and friendly companion.

But she could wait--for many moons if necessary.

Now the intrigue of some unknown enemy of Jotan's father had given the young n.o.bleman new worries. If only there was some way to help him--some method by which she might earn his grat.i.tude. Grat.i.tude, she knew, was an excellent base on which to build romance.

Somewhere in the bowels of this very building Jotan and his father lay in dark, damp cells, put there on the orders of her own uncle. As king of Ammad and brother of her father he was ent.i.tled to her loyalty and respect. But when it came to the point of choosing between Jaltor and Jotan ... there was no doubt in her mind as to her ultimate decision!

As she lay there on her back, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the ceiling beams, a plan began to shape itself in her mind--a plan which, as details took concrete form, brought a faint smile to her lips.

And still smiling, Alurna fell asleep....

As the Ammadian patrol bore down upon him with leveled spears, Tharn's blackwood bow seemed to leap into his hands and two arrows flashed across the intervening s.p.a.ce. Two of the warriors toppled and died under those flint arrow heads, but before the cave lord could release a third he was forced to leap hastily aside to prevent impalement by three thrown spears. So narrow the distance now that his bow was useless, and so he tore his knife from its place at its belt and, with the silent ferocity of a charging lion, hurled himself upon the remaining four guards.

Two more of the Ammadians collapsed in death, their heads almost severed as polished flint tore into their throats. The remaining pair, upon seeing that and hearing the b.e.s.t.i.a.l snarls issuing from that broad chest, drew back sharply, wavering on the verge of outright flight.

Tharn, sensing their indecision, tensed to renew his charge and put them to rout.

A cacophony of loud shouts from behind him told of the arrival of reinforcements. There were eight of them this time, still a good thirty yards away but fast approaching.

Instantly Tharn, his knife sweeping high for a thrust, lunged at the remaining two warriors who turned and fled a short distance before circling back to join the second group. Tharn stopped, caught up his bow and brought down three more of the enemy as he began a slow withdrawal.

Lights were beginning to show from some of the palace windows; at any moment an arrow from above might strike him down.

Suddenly a door in the palace wall burst open and a white-tunicked figure came bounding across the lawn toward him. Tharn's bow was on its way into position to send an arrow leaping to meet this new attack when a familiar voice called out his name.