That evening, while Zueppa sipped his wine in the guard house at the international bridge, a small party of huntsmen arrived and presented their passports. With them were two prisoners, a beautiful girl clad in brown armor, and a huge, hairy marsh-man, whose sole article of attire was a loin cloth.
The young captain, after examining the passports of the huntsmen, looked at the prisoners. “And who are these?”
Vernia threw back her visor.
“The soldiers of Reabon do not question their rulers,” she said.
The captain stared in open-mouthed amazement, then turned to a soldier who came up behind him.
“A striking resemblance to our princess,” he muttered.
“She is an impostor,” said the soldier. “Were we not warned of her coming?”
Vernia glanced imperiously at the two men before her. “Have you forgotten the homage due your princess? Procure me a fast motor vehicle at once and have done with your insolence if you would see the light of another day.”
Both men quickly bowed, with right hand extended, palm downward. Then a figure darted swiftly up behind them and kicked the bowing captain over on his face. In a flash Vernia recognized Zueppa.
“How now, idiots?” he shouted. “You were warned by our worthy sovereign, Destho, yet you make obeisance before this impostor. Seize and bind her as you were ordered.”
With a growl of fury, the hairy marsh-man leaped for the wily commander, but a score of soldiers rushed in and soon had him bound and helpless.
“Where did you get this brute, huntsmen?” asked Zueppa, looking at the still-struggling marsh-man.
“We captured him in the woods as he tried to steal our prisoner from us.”
“Bring him to the castle of Prince Destho,” he commanded. Then he lifted Vernia into his swift motor vehicle and sped away.
Some hours later the vehicle drew up before a massive gate. Zueppa answered the challenge of the guard and the lifting motors hummed sonorously. Vernia, half fainting, was taken from the vehicle and carried through a low arched doorway and along a dimly lighted corridor to a sparsely furnished suite of rooms where she was given over to the none-too-tender care of a tall, gaunt female slave.
The slave carefully locked the steel door and put the key in her belt pouch. For the first time in history, a ruler of Reabon was a prisoner within the borders of the empire.
On the evening of the sixth day, Vernia lay face downward on her couch when footsteps sounded in the corridor. Her armor and hunting suit had been taken from her and replaced with the scarlet apparel of a princess. She sat up as a man entered—Prince Destho.
“Greetings, fair cousin,” he said, placing a tray before her and locking the door. Destho had always been handsome in a flashy sort of way. Now as he stood in the gold and scarlet raiment of a rogi of Reabon, Vernia marveled at the change in his bearing.
“Your insolence is in keeping with your treason,” she said.
“A thousand pardons if I have offended you, but I could not properly make obeisance in your presence, since our positions are reversed. Last year, you ruled supreme in Reabon; today I rule. I expect from you the deference due your sovereign.”
“Expectation is far from realization,” she replied.
“We shall see. There are ways of taming a proud spirit which may not have occurred to you—but pray do not force me to speak of them. I have come to offer you a pleasant and honorable way out of your difficulty.”
“Which is…?”
“It would have been easy to kill you, you know. My associates urged that course, but I would not listen to them. The throne was my ambition, but I sought more than that—to wed the most beautiful woman in all Zarovia.” He raised his hand. “Hear me out, fair cousin; you cannot reverse history now. In ten days I will be Emperor of Reabon, while you are an expatriate. You know the laws that bind even the supreme ruler. The expatriate is an outcast, subject to seizure as a slave by the first free citizen who discovers him —or her. I would save you from that indignity.”
“And what is this pleasant and honorable way out of the difficulty?”
“A marriage to your future emperor before the ten days are up. I will make you my empress, and together we will rule the mightiest empire in all Zarovia.”
“So you would return the half of my birthright in exchange for my hand in marriage. It is a most magnanimous offer.”
“It is far from being the worst I could make you. Where, on all Zarovia, could you find a man better suited to be your mate? My royal blood is on a par with yours. My bravery has been proved by the very coup that has. placed you in my power. As for my looks, I assure you there are a thousand beautiful damsels who do not think me unhandsome and would jump at the offer I am making you.”
“Your royal blood is an accident of birth, and your bravery is that of a man who seeks combat with those weaker than himself. I spurn your offer, traitor Destho. Pray, leave me now. Spare me the further insult of your insufferable presence.”
Destho cleared the space between them and seized her roughly by the shoulders, forcing her back on the scarlet couch. “Take heed, lest the insult of my presence become a reality. I could…”
His words were cut short by the thunder of a heavy fist on the steel door. Furiously, he released the half-fainting girl and answered the summons, opening the door but a little way.
“How, now, Zueppa?” he demanded angrily. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? Did I not, give you explicit orders not to disturb me for other than the most urgent business?”
“It is because of your highness’s command that I have come. A messenger has just arrived with startling news of a revolt in the kingdom of Uxpo. He awaits your presence in the audience chamber.”
“Another revolt in Uxpo? By the bones of Thorth! Will that kingdom never cease to trouble us?”
He turned to Vernia. “I regret that I must leave you thus hastily, fair cousin, but I will return presently to continue our interesting discussion.”
He bowed sardonically from the doorway, then closed and locked the door after him. Vernia heard the retreating footsteps of the two men grow fainter in the corridor, finally dying away in the distance. She sank back on the couch.
She had heard the conversation of the two men, but, at first, placed no significance on the fact that there had been another revolution in Uxpo. Gradually, however, it came to her that there could be but one man with the ability to lead the Uxponians to a successful revolt—Grandon of Terra!.
Some time later the gaunt slave woman came in to remove the dishes containing her untouched meal. Though she had always been sullenly taciturn in the past, Vernia resolved to question her.
“Have you heard aught of a revolt in Uxpo, Marsa?” she asked.
The sour features of the woman brightened perceptibly.
“It is the talk of the castle,” she replied. “The capital has fallen into the hands of the Fighting Traveks and every Reabonian soldier has been killed, captured or driven from the kingdom.”
“You seem elated at the news,” said Vernia, noting the unusually cheerful demeanor of her custodian.
“And well I may be,” she answered, “for I am of Uxpo. I was captured and brought here a slave by the armies of your father, Emperor Margo. These are the most glorious tidings I have heard in years.”
“No doubt the revolt was led by Bordeen, commander of the Fighting Traveks,” said Vernia in as casual a manner as she could assume.
“By Bordeen, say you? Hardly, though