Part 58 (1/2)
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Miscellanea323.
The Phoenix on the Sword
(First submitted draft)
The Phoenix on the Sword
(First submitted draft)CHAPTER 1.”My songs are torches for a king's pyre!”
”At midnight the king dies!”
The speaker was tall, dark and lean; a scar near his mouth added to his already sinister aspect.
His hearers nodded, their eyes grim. One of these was a short, fat, richly dressed man, with a weak petulant mouth and s.h.i.+fty eyes. Another was a sombre giant in gold-chased mail. The third was a tall wiry man in the garb of a jester, whose unruly yellow hair fell wildly above flaming blue eyes. The last was a dwarf with a cruel aristocratic face, whose abnormally broad shoulders and long arms contrasted strangely with his stunted figure.
The first speaker glanced unconsciously at the close-barred doors and velvet-hung windows, and smiled bleakly. ”Let us take the oath of the Dagger and the Flame. I trust you of course.
Still it is better that there be a.s.surance of a sort for us all. I note tremors among some of you.”
”That is all very well for you to say, Ascalante,” broke in the fat man petulantly. ”You are an outlaw, anyway, with a price on your head you have all to gain and nothing to lose, whereas we ”
” Have much to lose and more to gain,” answered the outlaw imperturbably. ”You called me out of my desert fastnesses far to the south to aid you in overthrowing a king well, I have made the plans, set the snare, baited the trap and stand ready to take the prey but I must be sure that I will not be left holding the bag. Will you swear?”
”Enough of this futile talk!” cried the man in jester's garb. ”Aye, we will swear this dawn and
324.tonight we will dance down a king! 'Oh, the chant of the chariots, and the whir of the wings of the vultures ' ”
”Save your songs for another time, Rinaldo,” laughed Ascalante. ”This is a time for daggers, not rhymes.”
”My songs are torches for a king's pyre!” cried the minstrel, whipping out a long dagger. ”Ho, slaves, bring hither a candle! I shall be first to swear the oath.”
A slave whose dusky skin revealed his Stygian blood, brought a long taper and Rinaldo p.r.i.c.ked his own wrist, bringing blood. The others followed his example, then gripping hands in a sort of circle, with the lighted candle in the center, they allowed the drops of blood to trickle upon the flame. While it hissed and flickered, they repeated:
”I, Ascalante, a landless man, swear to the deed avowed and silence covenanted, by steel and flame and blood, and the Oath unbreakable.”
”And I, Rinaldo, first minstrel of Aquilonia!” exclaimed the poet.
”And I, Volmana, count of Karaban,” said the dwarf.
”And I, Gromel, commander of the Black Legion of Aquilonia,” rumbled the giant.
”And I, Dion, baron of Attalus, rightful heir to Aquilonia's throne,” quavered the fat man.
The candle went out, quenched by the falling blood-drops.
”So fades the life of our enemy,” quoth Ascalante, releasing his companions' hands and regarding them with carefully veiled contempt. He had broken too many oaths himself to regard even this vow otherwise than cynically, but he knew that Dion, whom he trusted least, was superst.i.tious. There was no reason to overlook any safe-guard, no matter how slight.
”Tomorrow,” said Ascalante abruptly, ” I mean today, for it is dawn now Count Trocero of Poitain, seneschal of the king, rides to Nemedia with Prospero, king Conan's righthand man, with most of the Poitanian troops and a goodly number of those Black Dragons who form the king's bodyguard. With the exception of the few squads of this regiment now in the palace, all the rest are at present patrolling the Pictish frontier thanks to the increasing activities of the barbarians along the western border. Once Conan is dead the people will rise and welcome the new regime, and the king's friends, hastening to avenge him, will find the city gates locked against them and the rest of the army particularly the Black Legion ready to defend the new dynasty or rather the old dynasty restored.”
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