“Such is the folly of men,” spoke the wizard, stiffly erect.
“Indeed,” sniffed Gerard. “Well, be that as it may. The King has made his wishes clear. The matter stands thus. King Roy has had a dream, a most terrible dream, or so it seems, and certain of my colleagues”—here he gestured vaguely toward a small body of men who appeared in the entry beyond—”took it upon themselves to alarm His Majesty and to intimate that this dream bodes ill for the realm. I, of course, have no truck with these fantasies, for it is plain to the man of reason that dreams are nothing but dreams, and thus—I am frank with you, sirrah—it seems misguided to raise such commotion about a paltry matter. You are here thus against my advice, but we must make the best of it. In this respect, I am certain that you, as a man of science, will see the matter in the same light as do I, and thus aid me to assuage King Roy’s fears and dispel the fog of misgiving which currently clouds his brain.”
“Indeed, sirrah,” spoke the wizard, “being, as you so rightly put it, a man of science, I am forced to hold precisely the opposite opinion, if so pallid a term as ‘opinion’ can be used to describe the crystalline certainty of my views.”
“What?” demanded the courtier. “Do I understand you to believe in dreams?”
“Certainly not. You mistake my meaning. I do not believe in dreams, but in Reason, which resides in dreams, however obfuscated and difficult to interpret. You grasp, of course, the distinction?”
Zulkeh squinted at the courtier and awaited acknowledgment. He, in turn, squinted back. Once again Gerard examined the eccentric raiment of the sorcerer and the oddities of his apprentice.
“I am not at all sure that I do,” he said at length. “But the King has called for you and I will therefore introduce you to the August Presence. Whatever else, do nothing to alarm him.”
With that, Gerard passed through the far entry, Zulkeh and Shelyid following behind. Beyond, they perceived a drawn and haggard visage, who rose from a rather shabby throne, eyes streaming with tears.
“Oh Gerard!” moaned this figure. “Who have you brought to torment me now?” His face contorted, became vicious with remembered treasons. “I have kenned your plot—you seek to drive me mad!”
King Roy tottered forth, gesticulating with some energy. “And what are my loyal subjects about today? Setting mantraps for my police? Cutting down my forests? Poaching my game? Eating my herds? Scoffing my heralds? Stoning my tax collectors?”
He scuttled forward, in an obliquely crablike manner, and thrust his face into Zulkeh’s. “And who’re you?” he demanded.
“I am Zulkeh,” spoke the mage, “the sorcerer whom you summoned.”
“I summoned?” King Roy frowned. “Why, yes, so I did.” He peered at Zulkeh suspiciously. “You don’t look like a sorcerer.”
Before Zulkeh could respond, the King waved his hand in a gesture of infinite weariness.
“Well, I’m the King of Goimr. And believe me, it’s no picnic. When my grandfather was King nobody fooled with him, let me tell you. If they did, he took their property, sold their family into slavery, and cut them up to feed his racing dogs. But today the plebes are so wanton nobody knows who their families are, and all their belongings are already mortgaged to the Consortium. The last peon I cut up for feed gave my kennel the runs and I missed the sweepstakes.” King Roy paused, disconsolate. “I needed the money, too.”
Zulkeh made to speak. “Your Majesty’s Chief Counselor, Gerard—”
“That traitor!” shrieked the King. He leveled a quavering finger at Gerard and the other courtiers, who were gathered on the opposite side of the room. “They’re all miscreants, the lot of ’em. I pay them a fortune to sit on my Council of Ministers, but their avarice knows no bounds. Gerard, here, is in the pay of the Ecclesiarchs, and that one—there!—he’s the Minister of War, runs a pool on the exact time of my assassination. Were it not for my sense of duty I’d abdicate and let that ingrate who claims to be my son try his hand at this miserable business, assuming he could learn to count his fingers.”