“Would you be willing, Marsa, to do a favor for Grandon of Terra, the savior of Uxpo, if the opportunity offered?”
“I would willingly risk my life for him, even as he has risked his for my beloved country,” replied Marsa fervently.
“And would you be averse to performing the task if it favored me as well?”
The brow of Marsa clouded. “You have always been the most bitter enemy of Uxpo. My husband was slain by your father’s soldiers and I was enslaved by them. You, in turn, twice led your armies into Uxpo for conquest and pillage. You ordered the execution of our valiant King Lugi and sent Prince Thaddor himself to wear his life away in the marble quarries. A favor to you could not possibly be a favor to the King of Uxpo.”
She took up the tray and turned to go.
“One moment, Marsa,” entreated Vernia. “There is reason and justice in what you say; nevertheless, I am sure I can convince you that you will favor Grandon of Terra by assisting me.”
Marsa paused. At length she said: “I must go now, but I will return presently. There can be no harm in listening.”
“Return as soon as possible,” replied Vernia as the slave inserted the key in the lock, “or you may be too late.”
The dreary minutes dragged into hours, and hope was fast falling when footsteps sounded in the corridor and a key rattled in the lock. Vernia rose and moved toward the door with hope renewed—then paused in alarm —for the doorway framed the burly figure of Zueppa. To her surprise, he bowed low with right hand extended palm downward, then paused respectfully, waiting for her to speak.
“What spirit of irony brings you to make mock-obeisance at this unseemly hour?” asked Vernia.
“I come not in irony, your majesty,” replied Zueppa, “but in all humility to crave forgiveness for the great wrong I have done my sovereign, and to offer my services.”
“You could not choose a more fitting time for such an offer—and if it be genuine, for full forgiveness and perhaps an additional reward, should it be merited.”
Zueppa softly closed the door.
“I betray a secret that would forfeit my life if divulged in this castle, when I tell you that I am in sympathy with Uxpo. Though my father was a Reabonian noble, my mother was from Uxpo, and it was with her and with her country that my sympathies always lay. One in this castle who is loyal to Uxpo had enlisted me in your cause. When you were my country’s most bitter enemy, I plotted your downfall. But Prince Destho, has become even a worse enemy to Uxpo than you were, and now that the conditions are reversed I am willing to change my position for a royal promise—the sole conditions to be, first, a proclamation freeing my countrymen, and second, a pardon for myself.”
“I have already promised another to free Uxpo,” replied Vernia, “and I willingly add to it the promise of complete and unconditional pardon for you if you can do one of two things—either arrange my escape to Reabon before my year is up, or immediately send a message to Grandon of Terra, in order that he may come to my rescue.”
“I had already thought of the former plan,” said Zueppan “and made some preparations for it. I will leave now and send Marsa to you with clothing in which you will pass for a castle slave. When all is quiet I will return and conduct you through a secret passageway to a place outside the castle where I keep a swift motor vehicle. We will thus be able to reach the capital by morning.”
“And Tholto, the marsh-man. I would have him released also.”
“Tholto escaped from our guards as they were bringing him to the castle. No doubt he is back in his native haunts by now.”
As he bowed low and departed, hope rose in the bosom of Vernia.
After Zueppa closed and carefully locked the door of her chamber, he made straight for the quarters of the slaves, but his way was blocked by a castle guard before he had gone a dozen steps.
“Out of my way, fellow,” he roared, expecting cringing obedience.
The soldier met his frown calmly. “His Highness, Prince Destho, commands your immediate presence in the audience chamber.”
Zueppa turned, without a word, and followed the guard. “It is the end,” he thought. “Our plot has been discovered.” In spite of his misgiving, however, he proceeded serenely to the foot of the throne and made obeisance. To his surprise, Destho received him cordially, descending from the dais to take him by the hand.
“Come, let us walk in the garden, excellent Zueppa,” he said. “I would confer with you about our plans for the recapture of Uxpo. The stuffy air of the castle fogs my brain.”
“I should be happy to learn,” said Zueppa, preceding Prince Destho into the garden, “that your highness favorably considers my admonition to abandon the reconquest of Uxpo until established firmly on the throne. Much can happen in a short time, and it is possible…”
His words ended in a gasp of pain. Moaning feebly, he slumped to the ground, as a dagger sank to the hilt in his back. Destho tore the weapon from the wound and calmly wiped it on the clothing of the prostrate man.
“Thus should all traitors die. I have been lenient with you, after all, for you are a double traitor; first to your princess, then to me.”
He turned and entered the castle. On reaching the audience chamber he summoned the captain of the castle guards.
“Has Marsa been confined in the dungeon?” he asked.
“She has, your highness, with heavy manacles and the spiked collar about her neck as directed.”
He dismissed the captain with a nod, then picked up a long, flexible tube, one end of which passed into the floor behind the throne. On the free end was a bell-shaped contrivance which he held to his ear. He listened intently for some time, then smiled grimly, as he heard the sound of subdued sobbing.
The tube connected with a sound amplifier which was concealed behind a grating in the room where Vernia was imprisoned.
The plans of Prince Destho for the reconquest of Uxpo were materializing rapidly, as he breakfasted leisurely in the throne room of his castle several days later. He had sent no less than fifty hired assassins to slay Grandon, and, if this failed, had a huge army of thirty thousand men assembled’ in and around his stronghold, ready to march on the rebellious kingdom.
A courier, dusty and bedraggled was hurried before the throne.
“How now, Torbo?” asked Destho, glancing down at the courier. “What tidings from Uxpo?”
“Grandon of Terra has been slain and his body lies in state at the royal palace!”
“Great news, if true. Who slew him?”
“I do not know, but it is rumored that the men who succeeded in the attempt were, themselves, slain.”
“Did you see the body?”
“I did, your majesty, and the features were so horribly mutilated as to be unrecognizable. I also regret to inform your majesty that your chief assassin, Malcabar, was slain yesterday morning.”
Destho turned to his councillors. “We will not disband our army yet,” he said. “I must have a further confirmation of this.”
A few minutes later, two of the castle guards entered, ushering between them a tall, bearded man in the uniform of a soldier of Reabon. All three made the customary salute before the throne, then they rose, and the two guards stepped back, leaving the tall soldier in the center of the floor.
“Whom have we here?” asked