The jailers tied one end of the rope to a table leg, so that Cory might not spring unexpectedly upon King Casmir, then, at Casmir's nod, they retired from the hall.

Casmir spoke in an even voice: "You informed Duke Ambryl that you worked in my secret service."

Cony gave a nod of the head. "So I did, Your Highness."

"Was not that a bold remark to make?"

"Under the circumstances, I prefer to think it an inspiration of the moment. It illuminates my resourceful intelligence and indicates my desire to put myself and my skills at your service."

Casmir smiled his cold smile. "You had not previously made these ambitions clear."

"True, Sire! I have postponed the act too long, and now you discover me in shackles, to my shame."

"Shame for your crimes, or shame for your failure?"

"I can only say, Sire, that I am not accustomed to failure."

"Ha! That, at least, is a quality which I admire. Now then, as to employment in my service: it may be a game you shall play in earnest."

"Willingly, Sire, since the work would seem to reprieve me from dungeon and axe."

"That is the case," said Casmir. "You are evidently both clever and unscrupulous; these are qualities which I often find valuable. If you succeed in the work I am about to propose, you shall not only have earned your amnesty but also a substantial reward."

Sir Cory bowed. "Your Majesty, without hesitation I commit myself to your mission."

Casmir nodded. "Let us be clear at the outset. If you betray me, I will hunt you down with all my resources and bring you back to the Peinhador."

Again Sir Cory bowed. "Sire, as a realist I would expect nothing else. Tell me only what I must do."

"The deed is simple enough. You must kill King Aillas of Troicinet, Dascinet and the Ulflands. He is now at sea with his navy, but you will presently find him at Doun Darnic, in South Ulfiand. I must not be implicated in the work."

Cory compressed his lips and his eyes glittered in the torch light. "It is a delicate task, but not beyond my skill."

"That is all for tonight. Tomorrow we will speak again. Guards!"

The jailers entered the room. "Take Sir Cory back to the Peinhador; allow him to bathe, provide him fresh garments, feed him as he chooses and house him securely on the first level."

"As you wish, Sire. Come along, dog's-body."

Cory spoke haughtily: "Henceforth, address me as ‘Sir Cory', or beware my displeasure!"

The jailer gave a sharp tug on the rope. "Whatever your name, be quick about it; we are not as clement as His Majesty."

Later in the afternoon of the next day King Casmir once again interviewed Sir Cory, this time in the Room of Sighs, above the armoury. Sir Cory was now dressed decently and came unshackled. King Casmir sat at his usual place, with the beechwood flagon and the beechwood wine cup ready at hand. He motioned Sir Cory to a bench.

"I have made certain arrangements," said Casmir. "On the table is a purse, containing twenty forms of silver. Fit yourself out as a merchant of medicinal ointments, with a horse, a pack animal and suitable stock-in-trade. Fare north along the Sfer Arct to Dazleby, proceed to Nolsby Sevan, then north along the Ulf Passway. You will negotiate the Gates of Cerberus and Kaul Bocach the fortress; continue six miles beyond to a wayside inn showing the sign of the Dancing Pig. There you will find four men awaiting you-blackguards as deep-dyed as yourself, if not worse. They were destined to join Torqual's band, but first they will assist you in your endeavour. You shall use them as you think best."

Casmir looked at a list, then spoke with distaste. "This is an unusual group! Each would seem to exceed all the others combined for sheer villainy. First, I cite you Izmael the Hun, from the woods of Tartary. Next is Kegan the Celt, who is as thin as a ferret and no less avid for blood. Next: Este the Sweet, with curling golden hair and a limpid smile. He is Roman and claims kinship with the house of Ovid the poet. He carries a frail bow, like a toy, and shoots arrows which seem little more than slivers, but he can put out a man's eye at a far distance. Last is Galgus the Black, who carries four knives at his belt. Such are your paladins."

"They would seem, rather, creatures out of a nightmare," said Cory. "Will they do my bidding?"

Casmir smiled. "So I hope. They fear Torqual, certainly. He may be the only man alive who daunts them. For this reason you must act in Torqual's name. There is a secondary benefit; when you are successful, as I hope, Torqual will be blamed for the deed and not I."

"How will Torqual regard this project?"

"He will make no objection. I reiterate: my name must never be used. Is all clear to you?"

"Except as to a single point: am I required to work under Torqual's orders?"

"Only if it eases your task."

Cory pulled thoughtfully at his long chin. He asked: "May I speak with full candour?"

"So far we have done little else. Speak!"

"I have heard rumours that your secret agents seldom survive to enjoy the fruits of their toil. How am I guaranteed that I will live to enjoy my success?"

"I can answer only in these terms," said Casmir. "If you have served me capably once, I may well desire that you serve me again, which you will not be able to do if you are dead. Secondly, if you distrust the arrangements, you have the option of returning to the Peinhador."

Cory smiled and rose to his feet. "Your arguments are cogent."

CHAPTER SEVEN

On Lally Meadow, well within the Forest of Tantrevalles, was the manse Trilda: a structure of timber and stone situated where Lillery Rill emerged from the forest on its way to join the Sweet Yallow River at the far end of the meadow.

Trilda, now almost a hundred years old, had been constructed to the order of the magician Hilario, whose previous residence had been Sheur Tower, on an islet off the north coast of Dahaut: a place too rude, cold and cramped for Hilario, a person of discriminating tastes. With great care he drew up his plans, specifying each detail with precision and reviewing at length the relationship between each part and the whole. To perform the work of construction, he hired a troop of goblin carpenters, who declared themselves to be highly qualified craftsmen. Hilario started to discuss the plans with Shylick the master carpenter, but Shylick took the plans from Hilario, glanced through them, and seemed to assimilate everything at a glance, and Hilario was much impressed by his perspicacity.

The carpenters set to work immediately; with remarkable zeal they dug, delved, hewed and sawed, hammered and pounded, fretted, fitted, and spun long shavings from their bodges,* so that, to Hilario's astonishment, the work was finished overnight, complete to a black iron weathercock on the chimney. As the first red rays of sunlight entered Lally Meadow, Shylick the master carpenter wiped the sweat from his forehead. With a grand flourish he presented his reckoning to Hilario, with a request for immediate payment, since the troop had urgent business elsewhere.

Hilario, however, was a man of cautious temperament, and was not to be influenced by Shylick's engaging mannerisms. He commended Shylick for his briskness and efficiency, but insisted upon inspecting the premises before paying off the account. Shylick protested, to no avail, and with poor grace accompanied Hilario as he made his inspection.

Almost at once Hilario discovered several mistakes in the work, and evidence of over-hasty or even slipshod methods. The contract called for masonry of ‘sound, substantial blocks of fieldstone'; the blocks inspected by Hilario proved to be simulations prepared from enchanted cow droppings. Checking further, Hilario found that the ‘stout timbers of well-seasoned oak' described in his specifications were in fact dried milkweed stalks of little strength, disguised by another crafty enchantment.