was an old man, slow to move but given the lead because of the respect of the others.
“Hello, Borywog!” King Omen said, grasping the man’s frail arm. “Remember what a torment I was when a child, and you my tutor? Worse than my father was! You thought you’d never teach me to spell! Remember when I wrote the name of our Kingdom as HONESTY?”
“My Lord, my Lord!” the old man cried, falling to his knees. “Never did I tell that abomination to a soul! It has to be you, Your Majesty!”
The others proceeded through the line. King Omen knew them all. The case was becoming conclusive. King Trent stood behind him, smiling benignly.
Suddenly one of the men in the line drew a dagger and lunged at Omen. But before the treacherous strike scored, the man became a large brown rat, who scurried away, terrified. A palace cat bounded eagerly after it. “I promised to stand bodyguard,” King Trent said mildly. “I have had a certain experience in such matters.”
Then Oary was at the head of the line. “Why, it is Omen!” he exclaimed in seeming amazement. “Avars, sheathe your weapons; our proper king has returned from the dead. What a miracle!”
King Omen, expecting another treachery, stood openmouthed. Again King Trent stepped in. “So nice to have your confirmation, King Oary-we always knew you had the best interests of the Kingdom of Onesti at heart. It is best to resolve these things with the appearance of amicability, if possible. Dor, why don’t you conduct King Oary to a more private place and work out the details?”
Now Dor was amazed. He stood unspeaking. Grundy appeared, tapping Dor on the leg. “Take him into an anteroom,” the golem whispered. “I’ll get the others.”
Dor composed himself “Of course,” he said with superficial equilibrium. “King Oary, shall we adjourn to an anteroom for a private discussion?”
“By all means,” Oary said, the soul of amicability. He seemed to understand the rules of this game better than Dor did.
They walked sedately to the anteroom, while King Omen continued to greet old friends and the Avars fidgeted in their isolated mass. Without Oary to command them, the Avars were ineffective; they didn’t even speak the local language.
Dor’s thoughts were spinning. Why had Oary welcomed Omen, after trying to deny him and have him assassinated? Why did he pretend not to know where Omen had been? And why did King Trent, himself a victim of Oary’s treachery and cruelty, go along with this?
Why, finally, had King Trent turned the matter over to Dor, who was incompetent to understand the situation, let alone deal with it?
Irene, Smash, and Amolde joined them in the anteroom. Oary seemed unperturbed. “Shall we speak plainly?” the Mundane inquired.
“Sure,” Irene retorted, drawing her jacket close about her. “I think you stink!”
“Do you folk comprehend the situation?” Oary asked blithely.
“No,” Dor said. “I don’t know why King Trent didn’t turn you into a worm and step on you.”
“King Trent is an experienced monarch,” Oary said. “He deals with realities, rather than emotions. He goes for the most profitable combination, rather than simple vengeance. Here is reality: I have one troop of Avars here who could certainly create trouble. I have more at the other castle. It would take a minor civil war to dislodge those mercenaries, whose captains are loyal to me-and that would weaken the Kingdom of Onesti at a time when the Khazar menace is growing. It would be much better to avoid that nuisance and keep the Kingdom strong. Therefore King Omen must seek accommodation with me-for the good of Onesti.”
“Why not just-“ Irene started, but broke off.
“You are unable to say it,” Oary said. “That is the symptom of your weakness, which you will have to eliminate if you hope to make as effective a Queen as your mother. Why not just kill me and be done with it? Because your kind lacks the gumption to do what is necessary.”
“Yeah?” Grundy demanded. “Why didn’t you kill King Omen, then?”
Oary sighed. “I should have, I suppose. I really should have. But I liked the young fool. No one’s perfect.”
“But you tried to have him killed just now,” Dor said.
“A desperate measure,” Oary said. “I can’t say I’m really sorry it failed. The move came too late; it should have been done at the outset, so that Omen never had opportunity to give proof of his identity. Then the game would have been mine. But that is the measure of my own inadequacy. I didn’t want to retain my crown enough.”
Dor’s emotions were mixing. He knew Oary to be an unscrupulous rascal, but the man’s candor and cleverness and admission of civilized weakness made it hard to dislike him totally. “And now we have to deal with you,” Dor said. “But I don’t see how we can trust you.”
“Of course you can’t trust me!” Oary agreed. “Had I the option, I would have you right back in the dungeon, and your horse-man would be touring the Avar empire as a circus freak.”
“Now see here!” Amolde said.
“If we can’t kill him, and can’t trust him, what can we do with him?” Dor asked the others.
“Throw him in the same cell he threw King Omen,” Irene said. “Have a sadistic mute eunuch feed him.”
“Smash destroyed those cells,” Grundy reminded her. “Anyway, they aren’t safe. One of his secret henchmen might let him out.”
“But we’ve got to come up with a solution for King Omen!” Dor said. “I don’t know why this was put in my hands, but-“
“Because you will one day be King of Xanth,” Oary said. “You must learn to make the hard decisions, right or wrong. Had I had more experience before attaining power, I would have acted to avoid my present predicament. Had Omen had it, he would never have lost his throne. You have to learn by doing. Your King Trent is one competent individual; it was my misfortune to misjudge him, since I thought his talk about magic indicated a deranged mind. Usually only ignorant peasants really believe in sorcery. By the time you are King, you will know how to handle the office.”
This made brutal sense. “I wish I could trust you,” Dor said. “You’d make an excellent practical tutor in the realities of governing.”
“This is your practical tutoring,” Oary said.
“There are two customary solutions, historically,” Amolde said. “One is mutilation-the criminal is blinded or deprived of his extremities, so he can do no further harm-“
“No!” Dor said, and Irene agreed. “We are not barbarians.”
“You are not professional either,” Oary said. “Still you balk at expedient methods.”
“The other is banishment,” the centaur continued. “People of your species without magical talents used to be banished from Xanth, just as people of my species with such talents are banished. It is a fairly effective device.”
“But he could gather an army and come back,” Dor protested. “King Trent did, way back when he was banished-“
“But he did not conquer Xanth. The situation had changed, and he was invited back. Perhaps in twenty years the situation will be changed in Onesti, and Oary will be needed again. At any rate, there are precautions. A selective, restricted banishment should prevent betrayal while keeping him out of local mischief. It would be advisable not to call it banishment, of course. That would suggest there was something untoward about the transfer of power, instead of an amicable return of a temporarily lost King. He could be assigned as envoy or ambassador to some strategic territory-“
“The Khazars!” Grundy cried.
“Hey, I don’t want to go there!” Oary protested. “’Those are rough people! It would take all my wit just to survive.”
“Precisely,” the centaur said. “Oary would be something of a circus freak in that society, tolerated but hardly taken seriously. It would be his difficult job to maintain liaison and improve relations with that empire, and of course to advise Onesti when any invasion was contemplated. If he did a good enough job for a long enough period, he might at length be pardoned and allowed to retire in Onesti. If not-?
“But the Khazars are bound to invade Onesti sooner or later,” Oary said. “How could I prevent-”
“I seem to remember that at this period the Nordic Magyars were nominally part of the Khazar empire,”
