JALTOR'S DECISION
Knuckles pounding heavily against his door awakened Garlud, nobleman of Ammad. There was an urgency in the sound that brought him bolt upright from his pillow in alarm.
"Who's there?" he called out.
"Open!" thundered a heavy voice. "Open in the name of Jaltor of Ammad!"
Hardly able to believe his ears Garlud left his bed and groped for the brazier of coals kept in one corner of the room. Igniting a tallow-soaked bit of cloth from it, he lighted two of the room's candles, crossed to the door and unbarred it.
Four stalwart warriors wearing the tunics of Jaltor's personal guard pushed into the room, leaving Garlud's major-domo, who had brought them there, hovering anxiously outside. At sight of the latter's worried face Garlud smiled a reassurance he was far from feeling and said, "Return to your bed, Bokut. I will see my visitors to the door when they are ready to leave."
He closed the door on Bokut's unrelieved expression and turned to Jaltor's men. One of them he recognized immediately as Curzad, captain of the king's guard, whose strong intelligent face was set in grim lines.
"Well, Curzad," Garlud said lightly, "your expression is forboding enough to put fear in the bravest of men. What errand brings you here?"
"My master's respects, noble Garlud," the captain replied woodenly, "and he bids me escort you to the palace at once."
"Does it require four of you to help me find my way to Jaltor's palace?" Garlud demanded, his voice suddenly sharp.
The captain's face seemed even bleaker. "I obey my orders, noble Garlud. I must ask you to don clothing at once and come with us."
For a moment it seemed that Garlud was about to refuse ... then a slight smile crooked the corners of his mouth and he turned to take up his tunic. He slipped into the garment without haste, drew the strings of his sandals tight about his ankles, then straightened.
"I am ready," he said.
It was a cold, forbidding room, its walls, ceiling and floor of bare roughened gray stone, and located deep beneath the palace of Jaltor, supreme ruler of all Ammad. Against the far wall was a narrow bed occupied by the naked body of an elderly man. It was a body thin to the point of emaciation, the ribs standing out sharp and distinct beneath yellowing skin. Two middle-aged men, their expressions grave, were gingerly applying liquid-soaked cloths against scorched blotches covering the naked man's chest. The man himself appeared to be in a comatose state, although from time to time he groaned and stirred feverishly under the attempts to soothe his suffering.
There was another man in the room—a man of such appearance that he dominated it through his physical dimensions alone. In height he was a full seven inches beyond six feet, yet built proportionately so that he did not seem that tall. His wide shoulders seemed to fill the room, his body sloping to narrow hips and long powerful legs. His face was almost startlingly handsome, with a fierce regal cast to its large, sharp-lined features. Chill black eyes of exceptional brilliance burned from beneath heavy black brows that matched the thick, slightly curling growth above a high rounded forehead. It was the face of a man of strength and intelligence, a man ruthless and proud and yet who could be given to quixotic acts of kindness, a man dictatorial but usually just, a man incapable of brooking interference.
He was pacing the room now with quick restless strides, badly restrained anger riding his expression. Once a quick turn caused him to brush against one of four stools grouped about a wooden table set on four crossed timbers, and he kicked the stool viciously aside causing it to shatter against the wall.
At the sound of splintering wood the man on the bed cried out in such utter fear that his two attendants fell back. He did not appear fully conscious however and they resumed their attempts to ease his pain.
That cry of fear had altered the pacing of the tall man momentarily and he turned his burning eyes on the men at the bedside. "Is he awake?" he asked sharply, his deep voice beating against the walls like surf against a rocky shore.
One of the attendants shook his head nervously. "Not yet, Most-High. But soon now, I think. He is old and weak and the burns are grievous."
"Time is short and he must not die—yet."
"Yes, noble Jaltor."
Again there was silence within the room, broken only by the mutterings of the half-conscious man and the heavy tread of feet as Jaltor resumed his pacing....
A brief knock at the room's only door brought Jaltor around sharply. "Enter!" he thundered.
The door opened and four guards came in. With them was a trim figured man a few years short of middle-age, his strong regular features impassive. As his escort halted he continued on into the room, pausing only when he stood facing Ammad's monarch.
"Greetings, noble Jaltor," he said quietly. "You sent for me?"
Anger and bewildered sorrow seemed to be fighting for dominance in the ruler's expression. "I thought you my friend, Garlud!" he burst out suddenly. "How could a senseless ambition so drive you that you would turn against your king?"
The blood seemed to drain from Garlud's cheeks and his eyes went wide in shocked wonder. "Turn against you?" he repeated, aghast. "What madness is this?"
Jaltor's eyes narrowed and a sneer curled his upper lip. "Before you add lies upon lies, Garlud, give greetings to a friend of yours."
With these words the king stepped aside, for the first time permitting Garlud to see the man on the bed.
The nobleman's jaw dropped. "Why, it's old Heglar!" he exclaimed. "What in the God's name has happened to him?"
"What usually happens to enemies of Jaltor?"
Garlud took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You have spoken in riddles from the moment I came in here. For almost forty summers—since we were boys together—we have been more like brothers than friends. For that reason, if no other, I believe I am entitled to an explanation instead of badgering and half-veiled threats."
Jaltor's face darkened. "I'm the one who demands an explanation! Why did you set Heglar to attempt my life this afternoon?"
"I—set...."
"Do you deny," thundered the king, "that this very morning you held a long and carefully guarded conversation with Heglar in an ante-room outside my audience hall?"
"It is true that I spoke with him this morning," Garlud said slowly. "We did not talk for long, nor were we 'guarded' about it."
"I see!" Jaltor's tone was triumphant. "And what did the two of you talk about?"
"He sought me out as I entered the room on my way to the audience chamber. He drew me into a corner and asked if I had had word from Jotan, my son, recently. I told him I had not, but that I expected him to return within half a moon, perhaps even sooner."
Understanding dawned suddenly in Garlud's face and he added: "I wondered then why he drew me aside to ask the question, but at the time I thought little about it."
"And now?" Jaltor urged mockingly.
"I am beginning to see he had a reason of his own."
"You deny any part in the plot to kill me?"
"I do."
"But you knew there was such an attempt made this afternoon?"
"I heard some such rumor."
"But," persisted Jaltor, "you did not think it necessary that you learn if your friend—your brother, as you said a moment ago—had been injured in that attempt?"
"I was assured you were not even scratched," Garlud replied quietly.
"Humph!" Jaltor paced up and down a time or two, his face working, the great hands opening and closing spasmodically. Abruptly he stopped in front of the other and bent until his face almost touched Garlud's.
"Before you walked into this room, if anyone had asked for your opinion of Heglar what would you have said?"
"That I knew him well and liked and respected him."
"Would you have said he was an honorable man?"
"Certainly."
"Have you ever known him to tell a lie?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Does he have any reason to hate you?"
"None that I know of."
"Have you any idea why he tried to kill me?"
"None. I am completely surprised that he tried to do so."
"Then why," Jaltor thundered suddenly, "did he say his attempt to kill me was engineered by you?"
Garlud met his angry glare without visible emotion. "I can hardly be expected to answer that question, Most-High, since this is the first I have heard of such a charge."
"Then Heglar lied in so naming you?"
"He—is mistaken."
Jaltor snorted. "Don't bandy words with me! When one man says he talked with another about killing a third, he cannot be mistaken. He is either telling the truth or lying. Which is it, in this case?"
"If Heglar's mind was clear at the time he so accused me, then he lied!"
"But my good Garlud," cried Jaltor, his reasoning tone a mockery, "you told me only a moment ago that to your knowledge Heglar is an honorable man and does not tell lies."
"Then it must be," Garlud said, openly serene, "that he has started to tell them now. Either that or his mind has become affected by his disease. It is common knowledge that there is a sickness in his throat and he has only a few moons of life remaining."
Jaltor turned on his heel and began his pacing anew. The four guards remained stiffly at attention near the door, their eyes fixed unseeingly on the opposite wall, their ears obviously hearing none of this. Against the far wall the two attendants continued their unceasing efforts to bring consciousness and comfort to the old man on the bed.
Without pausing in his pacing, Jaltor said, his voice more subdued now: "It is useless to throw doubt on Heglar's sanity, noble Garlud. After his bungling attempt on my life I questioned him. He told me it was his own idea to take my life, that no one else had anything to do with it. Over and over he said that, even when my questions called for no such answer, until I began to suspect he was trying to shield an accomplice. When I charged him with this he became so upset I was sure he lied. So I had my guards torture him into telling the truth. That is when he named you."
"A man will say anything to escape torture, Most-High," Garlud pointed out calmly.
"Do you think I'm not aware of that?" growled the monarch. "It was not until he endured torture I doubt I could have stood up under that he gave your name."
"Naturally, in view of our long friendship, I thought he was lying. I ordered further torture to bring out the truth. Again and again he lost consciousness under the white-hot iron, and each time we revived him he gave your name. Finally I was convinced despite my reluctance. I then sent for you to hear the charge from Heglar's own lips."
Garlud shook his head. "I cannot believe that you would so easily turn against me, my friend. One man's unsupported word—and you believe the worst of me."
Jaltor's expression did not soften. "A word wrung from a man after long torture, noble Garlud, carries beyond ordinary denial."
"Would you wish to put me to the same test?" Garlud asked grimly.
"No. You are comparatively young and a brave man. Should you will yourself to deny Heglar's charge, no amount of physical suffering would wring a confession from you."
"Your pardon, Most-High." It was one of the men at the bedside who spoke. "The man is conscious now, but I fear he is dying."
"Good." Jaltor motioned to his erstwhile friend. "Come, Garlud, hear these things from the man's own lips."
They approached the bed, the two attendants falling back respectfully. From the narrow surface Heglar looked up at them, his faded blue eyes glazed with pain, his rib-ridged chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breathing. The smell of burned flesh came from his body in sickening emanations and his lips were torn where he had bitten them in agony.
Jaltor said stonily, "I have brought the noble Garlud here to listen to your charges, Heglar. Now accuse him or clear his name!"
The faded blue eyes flickered to the erect figure of the other man. It was not until the third effort that he was able to speak.
"I failed, Garlud." The words were barely audible. "Forgive me, my friend. They ... made me tell. I am ... old. Once they would not ... have been able...."
Compassion came into Garlud's expression. "Heglar, Heglar," he said softly. "You know I had nothing to do with your attempt to kill Jaltor. What have I done to you that makes you say this awful thing about me?"
Was there a flicker of remorse in those faded blue eyes? If so, it was gone before Garlud could be sure. "It ... is useless, Garlud," the feeble voice whispered. "I had to ... tell him."
"You are dying, Heglar." Sweat stood out on Garlud's forehead. "Would you face the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud with a lie upon your lips?"
"I ... I——"
The noble's hand closed on the old man's shoulder. "The truth, Heglar! Who is the real one behind this?"
The aged eyes closed and Heglar's face began to work. "No! No! I have ... no——"
"You must tell us, Heglar! Speak, man!"
Once more the lips opened. "I—I ... Rhoa!"
Abruptly Heglar's head rolled to one side, his body went limp and with his mate's name on his lips he died.
For a long moment there was silence within the room. Garlud stood as though turned to stone, his eyes fastened unbelievably on the lifeless face of the old man. It was a tortured face; death had brought peace to it. What terrible compulsion, Garlud wondered dully, had forced an honorable man to die with a lie upon his lips?
"You have heard, noble Garlud?"
It was Jaltor's deep voice—stern, unflinching, empty of feeling. Garlud looked up into those piercing black eyes and despite himself he felt a tiny chill move along his spine.
"I heard, Most-High."
Jaltor passed a hand over his own face—a slow pressing gesture that momentarily left the skin white beneath its tan. "For the sake of our long friendship," he said thickly, "I am prepared to temper justice with mercy. Admit your part in the plot and I will spare your life. Although," he added, "I will leave you nothing else. Your wealth is confiscate, your palace will go to the noble next in line, as is our custom, and you shall be turned from Ammad. Your king has spoken!"
"And if I persist in my claim of innocence?" Garlud said evenly.
"The evidence is plain. You will be put to death."
"Very well." Garlud did not hesitate. "Order your guards to kill me then, my friend! I shall die as honorably as I lived during the years when we were friends."
Jaltor's jaw hardened. "And what of Jotan?" he said coldly.
Something akin to fear darkened Garlud's eyes. "My son? What of him? Surely your sense of justice has not so rotted that you would harm him!"
Sudden rage twisted Jaltor's countenance. "No man speaks so to Jaltor of Ammad and lives!"
Garlud's smile was undismayed. "Have you forgotten, Most-High. I have already been sentenced to death!"
"And by your attitude," Jaltor shouted, "you have sentenced your son to the same fate."
"On what grounds?"
"I need no grounds! I know your son, noble Garlud. When he hears that you are dead and that it was my order, he will attempt to avenge you. I know the love he holds for you, and it will be that mistaken loyalty which will lead him into an attempt to assassinate me. Your power is great in Ammad, Garlud; I helped you gain that power because you were my friend. Because you have won the affection and respect of many warriors they would rise to his leadership against me. All Ammad might be torn by civil war. For that reason Jotan must die!"
Garlud's face was livid with rage and his hands were trembling. "Then kill us both, you son of Gubo. You have become a fearful, evil old man who hides from shadows and who fears all men—even his friends! Kill us both that we may not pollute our lungs with the air you breathe!"
With an almost casual sweep of his mighty arm Jaltor hurled the raging nobleman into the grasp of the guards. "Confine him to the lowest pit beneath the palace!" he thundered. "Let the rats chew him a few suns before I have him torn to bits!"
Without a backward glance the king strode from the room. He made his way up flight after flight of steps, through room after room of the sleeping palace, until he reached his own wing. Through several long, winding corridors he moved, oblivious to the salutes of startled guards on night duty, until he entered his private apartment. He went directly to his sleeping quarters, curtly ordered his two personal slaves into the next room, then undressed quickly and got into bed.
But not to sleep. For over an hour he tossed on the huge bed wooing sleep that would not come. Finally he rose, drew a richly woven robe about his shoulders and stepped out onto a small balcony overlooking one entire half of the vast city six floors below.
The rays of a full moon bathed the impressive scene. Because of the lateness of the hour no lights gleamed from windows of the box-like buildings and the broad streets were deserted.
Slowly reason was beginning to take hold of him as anger faded. Was Garlud correct in saying that he was becoming an old man fleeing from shadows, suspicious of all men? He went back over the golden days when he and Garlud were young warriors taking their first taste of battle against the then scattered states that today made up the country of Ammad. He recalled the day Garlud had saved his life by leaping in front of him and taking the tearing impact of a thrown spear. Garlud had very nearly died of that wound and he—Jaltor—had remained day and night at his bedside until the crisis passed.
And that was the man he had sentenced to death! The man whose friendship had meant more to him than all his kingdom. Surely personal ambition alone could not have driven him into plotting the assassination of his best friend!
There was something behind all this that did not meet the eye. Had the would-be assassin been anyone other than old Heglar he would have dismissed his involvement of Garlud as a trumped up lie and executed the man on the spot.
Had Heglar lied? Was there some motivation so strong that the old man had been forced into bearing false witness against one of the most loved noblemen in all Ammad? Was all this some intricate plot, with Garlud instead of Jaltor as the real victim?
Jaltor, stern, ruthless and high-handed though he was, was a man with ideals and a strong sense of honor. Also, he was extremely intelligent and a veteran of the machinations of intrigue. The more he thought about this whole business the more certain he was that all the facts were not yet revealed.
For a long time he stood there on the small balcony, staring out over Ammad with unseeing eyes. After a while a slow smile came to his strong lips and he nodded his head a time or two in satisfaction. There was a way....
Leaving the balcony he strode quickly to the room's single door and threw it wide. "Quick!" he snapped to one of the startled slaves, "tell Curzad I want him here at once!"
When the captain of the guards, as alert and bright-eyed as though he had not been dragged from a sound sleep by Jaltor's summons, appeared in the doorway the king bade him enter and close the door.
"Curzad," he said, "you have known the noble Garlud almost as long as I have. Does it seem likely to you that he would be mixed up in a plot to kill me?"
The iron-faced warrior shook his head impassively. "No, Most-High. His love and respect for you are beyond doubt."
"You think I acted unwisely in finding him guilty?"
"That is not for me to say, Most-High."
"I know that! But you are not made of stone; you must have formed some opinion."
"It is not wise to hold an opinion which differs from that of Ammad's king."
Jaltor gestured with sharp impatience. "This is man to man, Curzad. Give me your honest impressions of this affair."
"If you command it, Most-High. I do not believe the noble Garlud had anything to do with old Heglar's attempt to knife you. I think the old one hated Garlud for some reason and named him because of that hatred."
"But you knew Heglar's reputation as a completely truthful man?"
"I do not say he would lie for another's purpose. But for his own ... that is a different matter."
"But he did not give Garlud's name willingly, Curzad. Only after prolonged torture could we wrest the name from his lips."
The captain shrugged. "Would you for even a moment have believed him otherwise. Old Heglar was no fool, Most-High. Were his motive strong enough for bringing ruin to Garlud he would have planned it exactly that way. An accusation lightly given is usually lightly taken."
Jaltor smote a fist into his palm. "By the God, Curzad, I believe you've hit it! Only my thought is that the plan was not his. When a man hates another both are usually aware of that hatred—and Garlud was at a complete loss to understand why he was accused."
"That is true, Most-High."
"Very well, here's what must be done." Jaltor began to pace the floor, speaking the while. "I want you to speak with the guards who were with you when I questioned Garlud tonight. Swear them to complete secrecy on the entire matter on pain of death. The same goes for the two attendants who were working over Heglar at the time."
"It shall be done, Most-High."
"Good! Now who in Garlud's household knows you brought him here?"
"We encountered only Bokut, his chief steward, and two guards—one at an outer gate and one stationed at his palace entrance."
"Very well, take those three into custody. Question them as to whom they told of the incident and place those under arrest as well. Leave no one who can spread word that Garlud was brought to the palace at my orders."
"You see what I'm getting at, Curzad? Let us say there is someone whose identity we do not know at the bottom of this plot against Garlud. Heglar makes his clumsy attempt at killing me and fails according to plan. I order him tortured to learn the names of others involved. He gives me Garlud's name."
"Now, if I believe the charge, Garlud is arrested and executed, and the mysterious someone is satisfied. But if I do not believe the charge Garlud remains free, and this unknown person must try again or give up and the matter is never solved."
"But say Garlud simply disappears without anyone knowing what's become of him. Has he learned of what was in store for him and gone into hiding, trying the while to learn who is responsible for his plight? Or have I executed him secretly? Is Heglar still alive and in a position to eventually expose the true culprit?"
"The man we want is going to have to get answers to those questions, Curzad. He'll use great care at first; but when each effort meets a blank wall he'll become increasingly desperate. Desperate men make false moves, Curzad—then is when we'll have him!"
The captain nodded expressionlessly but there was a gleam of admiration in his deep-set eyes. "And what of Garlud himself, Most-High? Shall I have him removed from the pits and placed in more comfortable quarters?"
Jaltor pulled thoughtfully at his lower lip. "N-no, I think not. Let him stew there awhile. I am not giving up my suspicions of him entirely, Curzad; old Heglar's dying statement can not be utterly disregarded until we have proof he was lying."
"And should Jotan, his son, return from Sephar while his father languishes in the pits?"
The king nodded. "I have thought of that. It may be necessary to take him and his men into custody before they reach the city itself. It would defeat my purpose were he allowed to enter Ammad and start hunting for his father. On the other hand I cannot arrest him openly; it would tell our mysterious enemy more than I want him to know."
"Let us wait a few suns to decide that, Curzad. We have the time; Jotan and his men are not due for half a moon yet. If our real quarry has not revealed himself in, say, seven suns, I shall send you and a detachment of guards out to intercept Jotan."