“Oh gods,” Maximilian whispered, and almost let his sword fall from his hand. Cavor groaned, one hand to his forehead, then both recovered and set about their battle again.
“Now even her treasured books were denied her. Long hours she would sit on her bed, late at night, feeling their taunting shapes beneath her hands, her tearless sorrow ravaging her face. There was nothing for her now.” The Manteceros paused briefly to collect itself, then continued. “Her father grew old and died, and her brothers took wives, bringing them home to live in their house. She continued as the household drudge, creeping blindly about the house, sometimes but not always evading the sharp corners of furniture deliberately moved into her path and the stabbing fingers of her sisters-in-law. Nieces and nephews were born, and they soon learned the sharp ways of their parents. The woman learned to accept pinches and punches, and she bowed her head to fate.”
Now Cavor was crying, taking huge gulping breaths as he swung his sword about in great, useless arcs. Maximilian was no better; he leaned on his sword, one hand over his eyes, his shoulders shaking.
Garth watched them with growing concern—what was going on?
The Manteceros continued mercilessly. “After some years, she became aware of a comforting presence that lingered in the back alleyway. It was a great shaggy dog, a stray, that someone had discarded. Gradually he became used to her, and accepted careful scraps from her fingers, licking them gratefully when he had finished. He was her only friend, and somehow she conceived the idea that the dog was her lover’s soul come back to aid her. The thought comforted her. One day the dog went a-roaming, as dogs are wont to do, and he caught a squirrel, wandering madly through the back streets of Ruen. As the dog caught the squirrel the rodent bit him, and the dog yelped in surprise and let the creature go. Two days later he felt a madness building in his mind.”
The tunnel was utterly silent now, and if Cavor and Maximilian had their heads bowed in indescribable grief, then all other eyes were on the Manteceros.
“The woman was relieved when she heard the dog scratching at the door, and she hurried to give it a pat and a hug. But as she leaned down the dog snarled and bit her hand, and she screamed and tore loose, and the brothers and their wives and their numerous children came a-running through the house and dragged her inside, slapping her for her foolishness, and stomped the dog to death.
“But it was too late. She grew feverish, her body wracked with convulsing agony. Her sisters-in-law tended her only enough to keep her alive, but they wished they had not bothered when the woman finally struggled up from her sickbed. The fever had crippled her back and twisted one leg shorter than the other. Even as a drudge, she was useless.”
Maximilian had sunk to his knees in the rock, only his grip on his sword keeping him upright. Cavor had turned to stare at the Manteceros.
“There is not much left to tell,” the creature said, and a strange light came into its eyes. “They threw her out to wander the streets, where she begged what food she could and slept in doorways when she was able. She accepted the abuse meted out by those who prey on the weak and helpless, and knew her time was short. Winter approached, and winter is never kind to those lacking both home and comfort.”
Now the Manteceros reared its head up to its full height. “So she curled up about her rags and sought the only answer to her pain. I ask you now,” it cried, its voice ringing with authority, “to venture the ordeal. What was her answer? What answer could she find to her pain and her sorrow?”
Cavor shifted, stumbling as he did so. “Death,” he whispered. “What answer could there be for her pain but death?”
The Manteceros stared at him. “You are wrong Cavor. Wrong,” it said, its voice now heavy with judgement, then shifted its eyes. “Maximilian?”
Maximilian slowly raised his head, and Ravenna almost cried out at the pain evident in his eyes. Did he somehow see his life mirrored in that of the poor woman cursed to a life of sorrow?
Then, unbelievably, Maximilian smiled his wondrous smile, and hope lit his features. “She laughed,” he said, then laughed himself, the sound ringing rich and vibrant through the tunnel. “She laughed. It was the only thing left for her to do.”
“Yes!” the Manteceros said, and Ravenna could feel its flesh leap beneath her fingers. She frowned. The creature felt almost hot, as if it were running a fever itself. “Yes!”
He turned back to Cavor. “You were wrong, Cavor, because you admitted hopelessness. A true-born king would never do that. You are a man of no hope and, hopeless, I cast you from the throne of Escator.”
“No!” Cavor shrieked, and raised his sword above his head in a huge arc meant to cut Maximilian down where he kneeled.
But rage turned to puzzlement an instant later as he felt his sword seized in tight hands.
His blade had cleaved straight into the gloam above him, and now there it hung, caught in the hanging wall. Cavor struggled with the weapon, his muscles bunching and straining, but he could not shift it.
For an instant everyone stared, then, just as Egalion moved to disarm Cavor completely, the Manteceros screamed.
Ravenna was flung back against the tunnel wall by a huge surge of power and heat. She cried out, and Maximilian scrambled forward on hands and knees, pulling her away from the ball of pulsing light that had enveloped the Manteceros.
Garth shouted and started forward as well, but before he could reach Maximilian and Ravenna, the blue light resolved itself into a tall, well-built man with a head of cobalt hair and eyes that sparked with blue fire. He was almost ethereal, and his fine features were very, very beautiful.
He stared at Maximilian, and spoke low but intensely, demanding.
“Who comes to Claim? Who dares the Dream, And, daring, ——”
Maximilian returned his stare steadily, accepting the challenge. “And, daring,…laughs”, he finished, completing the stanza that had puzzled Garth and Ravenna and centuries of historians for so long.
The cobalt-haired man nodded. “Yes. Laughs.” An extraordinary and utterly exquisite smile swept his face. “To laugh is to dare, because laughter dares fate and sorrow and the weight of all injustices. You are true-blooded indeed, Maximilian, and I name you rightful king of Escator. Welcome home.”
Cavor finally let go the sword and slowly lowered his arms, still staring about in utter amazement. Then, in an instant, his demeanour changed.
“Enjoy your triumph while you can,” he rasped flatly to Maximilian, the sword still hanging over his head, then turned and fled down the tunnel.
No-one paid him the least attention.
“Who are you?” Garth whispered. “Who?”
TWENTY SEVEN
BEYOND THE HANGING WALL
Cavor rushed along the tunnel, cursing each time he stumbled, shouting his frustration on the two occasions he actually fell to crawl on his hands and knees for a few blind paces.
But always he pushed himself up and onwards, shoving guards and prisoners out of the way whenever they threatened to impede his progress, striking one man in the face with his clenched fist when he didn’t move fast enough.
He’d never trusted that Manteceros, no he hadn’t. And wasn’t it like Maximilian to come up with a trick of his own? How had he known the answer to the Manteceros’ question? How? The two must have planned it earlier. Yes, that must be it.
It made what Cavor was about to do less of a treachery and more…well, more of a balancing justice…yes, that was it. A balancing justice.
Finally he ran into the cavern by the shaft. Furst was waiting, the cage door open, and inviting.
His mouth thinned in a cold smile. “And did you best him, sire?”
Cavor cursed foully and shoved Furst into the cage. “Is all ready?”
Furst inclined his head. “Of course, sire.”
“Then do it!” Cavor screamed, “And get us out of this nightmare!”
“If you think this is a nightmare,” Furst muttered under his breath, “be thankful you’re not still down that tunnel.” He leaned down by the cage door and twisted some wires that ran down the shaft.
“Will it work?” Cavor asked anxiously, his temper forgotten in his anxiety to escape into victory.
Furst did not answer for a moment. Then he leaned back, his face contented. “It is done, sire. And, yes, it will work. All we need do now is rise into the sunlight.”
And he slammed the cage door shut and threw the lever.
The cage rocketed towards the surface.
Beyond the hanging wall the sea seethed, waiting, wanting, hoping…probing, probing, probing.