“Well?” demanded the King, hoarsely.
“The King’s orders have been obeyed.”
“How?”
“A sword-stroke from behind as we rode northward. The body has been safely disposed. Let the King be at peace. Bardya is no more!”
“Swear to me by all that you deem holy! Did the sword cut penetrate the brow?”
“It did. I swear by all the gods of the hills and valleys, by Ahriman and by the spirits of my fathers!”
The King shuddered. Mingled relief and fear shone in his countenance.
“I have had strange proof of the truth of your words, Prexaspes,” he said. “Surely you are in league with devils! I knew you belonged to the Magian sect, but I did not know their power. How did they know the manner of Bardya’s death? How could they show it?”
Prexaspes smiled. He had learned what had transpired before the King.
“Without their aid it would have been impossible to have accomplished the destruction of the Prince,” he answered. “It would be well if the Great King should show favor to the Magi. They can help him much. With the assistance of the diviners and those who have familiar spirits, who can speak with the spirits of the dead and with the gods of the hills, the King will be able to detect those who might plot against his life. Nothing can be done but what they may find it out if they desire. They help and protect their friends.”