Kesrick, page 9
“I have little time to waste, O King, by Mahoom!” said the Paynim in ominous tones. “Before the mid of morning, I would fain return to my palace of enchantments in the Antipodes with my affianced bride, and, may I make so bold as to remind you, the fortune you offered to whatever hero might despatch the Rosmarin and rescue the Princess!”
“Oh, quite so, quite so, my dear chap!” said the King, shivering in his boots (well, his carpet-slippers, actually, as he had not taken the time to don other footwear). “Daughter, I declare you married to this valiant hero! Footman, deliver the rubies to yonder gentleman, and, by all means, permit him to depart as swiftly as ever he will to the Antipodes, whatever they are! My blessings upon you both, and pray inform us of the birth of your first-born!”
“But—” cried the Princess, a bit too late, as both of her royal parents had ducked back into the palace in order to be out of the way of any further demands by the powerful sorcerer.
Gaglioffo chuckled as scurrying and white-faced servants, delivered into his greedy hands bag on bag of flashing rubies. This adventure, at least, was turning out much in the manner as he had always hopelessly dreamed one of his expeditions might result: not only was he possessed of powerful magic, but also of incredible wealth, and, as well, the delectable body of the nubile and stark naked Princess was his to toy with.
It had, all things considered, not been an unprofitable morning for Gaglioffo.
However, as one or another of the philosophers has probably noted ere now, the morning was not quite over yet.
The Egyptian wizard had traversed the immeasurable leagues of the World between his African home and the aerial coign of the Efreet in a mere matter of minutes, such was the urgency of his mission. Arriving at the place in the upper empyrean, where Azraq squatted above the clouds, revolving slowly so that the vigilant gaze of his burning eyes might view all approaches to his enchanted palace atop the Rhiphaeans, he wasted no time in apprising the astounded Genie of the manner in which Kesrick and Pteron had befooled him.
“Indigo idiot! Great lump of deformity!” shrieked the Egyptian, waving his bare and skinny arms, about which live cobras were woven after the manner of bracelets, “the sorcerer Pteron has already thieved from you certain of your treasures, and is this very moment en route to the palace of King Octamasdas in Scythia, bearing with him your precious pretties!”
“By Getiafrose, say it is not so!” roared the Efreet, in a towering fury. Zazamanc assured his accomplice in the theft of the two talismans that it was indeed so, and in a screeching whirlwind, the angry Azraq instantly vanished into the east, dwindling from view with the velocity of a meteor, while the wizard grinned in nasty triumph, displaying the rotting stumps of yellowed fangs.
Whereupon, his work done for the day, Zazamanc made a more leisurely return flight to the enchanted palace, leaving it up to the vengeful Genie to deal, as he doubtless would, and in a manner involving much blood and perhaps a little boiling oil, or flaying alive with the tails of scorpions, with the malefactors.
The victorious Gaglioffo was greedily caressing the rubies with one sooty hand, while with the other he was pawing the trembling breasts of his new wife, the Princess Arimaspia, when all of a sudden things took a dire turn.
Although the sky was clear, and it was only mid-morning, the air resounded with a deafening clap of thunder, and a boiling cloud of furious black vapor rolled about, spitting forth licking scarlet flames.
And there suddenly appeared, melting into substance, the gigantic form of the indigo-colored Efreet, brandishing a scimitar huge enough to battle against either Leviathan or Behemoth (or both). He was in a seething fury, for his round eyes rolled in his sockets like billiard balls, and jets of yellow flame shot from his ears and his nostrils.
Poor King Octamasadas, who was just sitting down to an early breakfast, was suddenly shot to his feet as the Efreet bellowed wrathfully, sounding as loud as twenty mastodons. He rushed for the balcony again, muttering under his breath, “What now, what now—?”
Seeing the courtyard occupied by a blue Genie who stood taller than the tallest of his palace towers, and furiously brandishing a scimitar big enough to cut those towers down like saplings, the King nervously inquired what was toward.
“Deliver unto me, O King,” boomed the Efreet in dire tones, “the villain Pteron! Where is this burglarious sorcerer?”
Octamasadas pointed helpfully.
“He is right there between your feet, my good fellow!” he called in quavering tones. “Please feel free to deal with him as your heart urges you—and now you must excuse me, for breakfast is served and Cook gets ever so annoyed with me when I am late for a meal!”
With those brave words, the King of Scythia ducked back into the room and sat down to breakfast in a rare good humor. “Doubtless our daughter is by now a widow,” he observed to the Queen, “which means we can marry her off to the Duke of Crim-Tartary after all!”
The unhappy Gaglioffo, had been unsuccessfully trying to hide under the belly of the Magic Horse ever since the appearance of the Efreet, who now bent to pluck him kicking and squalling into the air, holding the fat rogue between thumb and forefinger.
“So you are the burglarious sorcerer, Pteron, are you?” demanded the Efreet, in a voice like the tempest. “Then come, sir, to the just punishment for your heinous crimes!”
And with that he bore away the screaming Paynim in a whirlwind of roaring fire, which dwindled in the distance and vanished from view.
In his terror, the Paynim had dropped both of the two talismans, which Arimaspia had the presence of mind to scoop up into her fists.
And it was just an instant or two later that the sorcerer and the Frankish knight arrived on the scene, mounted upon the Hippogriff, Brigadore. Kesrick sprang from the saddle to sweep the Princess into his arms to cover her adorable face with breathless kisses.
“What has happened here?” inquired Pteron from the saddle.
“Nothing of any great import,” sighed the Princess, nigh to swooning in the strong arms of her lover. “Only that I have been wed and widowed within the space of three minutes, that the treacherous Gaglioffo has met his just reward, and that I am yours, my hero,” she sighed, returning the impetuous kisses of the Frank.
XIV
THE WANDERING GARDEN
The sorcerer looked about him at the empty courtyard. “Here there would seem to be a few bags of rubies some careless person has left lying about,” he observed with interest.
“The reward my stepfather offered for the hero who should either rescue me from the Rosmarin, or slay the brute, or both, if possible,” explained the Princess. “By rights, they should be evenly divided between Sir Kesrick and yourself.”
“Well, we shall divide them up later,” said the sorcerer, placing the bulging sacks into the wicker baskets. “And now, my boy, I suggest that you make your farewells to the Princess as brief as possible, since we should be gone from here before the Efreet discovers his error and returns to wreak his vengeance upon us.”
“We cannot leave Arimaspia here,” cried Kesrick. “We can hardly abandon her to the untender mercies of her wicked stepfather. Why, the unprincipled rogue just married her to that rascally Paynim!”
“Indeed, I have no wish to return to the bosom of my family,” the Scythian Princess confirmed. “The very next time another monster appears on the horizon, I cannot trust my stepfather not to chain me out as yet another offering. And I am more than willing to renounce whatever claims I have to the throne of Scythia; in truth,” she added, with a tender glance at the young knight, “I have an intense curiosity to see what the kingdom of the Franks is like, and would enjoy seeing the famous house of Dragonrouge.”
Kesrick broke into an exuberant smile at the prospect, and his arm tightened about her bare shoulders. His mailed sleeve was rather uncomfortable against her naked flesh, but Arimaspia did not seem to mind.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” the Princess exclaimed. “The rogue dropped these when the Efreet snatched him into the air.” And she handed them the two talismans.
“Well, by Jarhibol and Acoran!” swore Pteron, delightedly, “You are to be commended, Highness, on managing to keep your head during emergencies.” He replaced the Ring of Soliman Djinn-ben-Djinn in an inner pocket of his robe, while the knight inserted the magic Pantharb into the vacant socket on the pommel of the Sword of Undoings.
And then, without further discussion, they mounted their steeds, Kesrick taking Arimaspia before him on the saddle, and ascended into the air, leaving Sauromatia behind them.
They flew directly south, for Pteron was eager to return to his abode as soon as possible; only there, surrounded by his subservient spirits and all of his talismans and instruments of magic, might he feel safe from the wrath of Azraq. It may have puzzled his young friends why he should fear the Efreet, since he was now once again possessed of the famous Seal-Ring of Soliman Djinn-ben-Djinn, by whose power that monarch had commanded all of the three races of the Genii. The fact of the matter was that Pteron did not, as yet, know how to unleash or direct the power locked within the potent talisman, and that the mastering of the Ring would require patience, time and study.
They were now flying over the verdant plains of Persia, and, as the morning was by this time considerably advanced and as none of them had as yet eaten breakfast, they became hungry. Spying a gardenlike bower on a mountaintop, they decided to descend and refresh themselves, with which plan the sorcerer was in full agreement, believing himself well beyond the reach of the angry Efreet.
The garden was a beautiful glade filled with rose bushes and grapevines, sheltered by blossoming trees, and containing a lucent pool of clear water. All in all, it was a most peculiar thing to find upon the top of a mountain, when you pause to think about it, but nonetheless there it was.
“How lovely!” sighed Arimaspia, inhaling the odor of the roses, which were all of them in full bloom. The songs of nightingales filled the sweet air, and gorgeous Birds of Paradise fluttered from branch to branch, while splendid peacocks strutted upon the dewy sward.
Searching the garden, they found bunches of ripe grapes, as well as pomegranates, oranges, mangoes, and other viands upon which to sate their appetites, washing them down with cups of cold fresh water from the pool.
After breaking their fast, they rested on the velvet lawns shaded by flowering trees from the noonday sun, lulled into languor by gentle breezes.
“Where are we now, do you suppose? Is this not Persia?” inquired the Scythian Princess. Pteron nodded in the affirmative.
“It is indeed,” said the sorcerer affably. “In fact, the splendid capital of the country lies not far off, beyond those purple hills. I caught a glimpse of it as we descended. In that city reigned and ruled those famous kings of old remembered yet in song and story: Kahmurath, the First King of the Persians, whose son Siyamak fell in battle against Demons of the White Mountain, and Hushang the Dragon-Slayer, and the all-knowing Jamschid, and the evil Zohak, who had serpents growing from his shoulders, and Feridoon and Manuchehar and—”
But by this time the two young people had fallen asleep, for a little too much dry history acts like a potent sedative on the young, and is almost as sleep-inducing as a heavy dose of arithmetic.
Pteron regarded them with an indulgent eye, for he had by now become quite fond of both the Frankish knight and the Princess of Scythia; but he was eager to return to his residence on Taprobane so as to learn the secrets of the Ring. He wondered if this might not be the most appropriate time to take his departure: after all, the quest had now been concluded to the mutual satisfaction of all, and doubtless Sir Kesrick would be eager to return to his distant home in order to reclaim his heritage from the Egyptian wizard. There was no reason why either of the young people should wish to venture to Taprobane with their mentor, since their destinies lay in the opposite direction.
Pteron was strongly tempted to depart now, leaving them to their slumbers, for he detested farewells. So, rising, he removed two of the sacks of rubies which he placed by Kesrick’s feet, and paused only long enough to write a brief note of explanation, in which he asked his young friends to pardon him for not giving them a chance to make their farewells, and concluded by wishing them much luck and good fortune, to say nothing of happiness. This note he affixed to one of the sacks of rubies with a jeweled brooch from his robe. He then mounted the Magic Horse and flew up into the air and headed to the south.
Not very long after the sorcerer departed, a remarkable occurrence took place.
Without the slightest warning, the Garden detached itself from the mountaintop and floated into the heavens like a cloud of vapor. So gently did it drift into the sky that the movement awoke neither of the young people, and they dreamed on.
The Garden floated east, drifting idly upon the noontide breeze. It traveled with considerable speed, traversing the entire Kingdom of Persia, passing over the mountains of Turan, and crossing parched deserts, smoking volcanoes, snow-crested peaks, valleys, foaming rivers, fetid jungles, and every imaginable variety of terrain.
After two, or it may be three, hours of flight, the mysterious Garden settled again to earth, landing as gently as a drifting leaf.
Not long thereafter, Kesrick and Arimaspia awoke and looked about them in surprise, somewhat disconcerted to discover the absence of the sorcerer and his Magic Horse.
“Wherever do you suppose he could have gotten to?” wondered the Princess.
“I have no idea,” confessed the knight, “but here are what appear to be my share of the rubies.”
“And here’s a note of some sort,” exclaimed Arimaspia, stooping to unpin it. Strive as she might, however, she could make no sense out of it and handed it to her companion, who was equally puzzled by the message. This was because the sorcerer, rather absentmindedly, had written it in Chaldean, which neither of the young persons could read.
“I doubt me if the Efreet carried off our friend,” said Kesrick, “for he would unquestionably have carried us off, as well, and would certainly not have left us either the rubies or the note. So I think we can definitely rule out that contingency!”
They gave the mystery up as insoluble, and decided, with some reluctance to depart, for Kesrick viewed with zest his return to Dragonrouge and the battle with the villainous Zazamanc.
“I rather hate to leave this lovely place, though,” sighed the Scythian maid. “It is so peaceful and beautiful here, I wish we could stay forever.”
“Perhaps we shall visit it again, say, during our honeymoon?” suggested the young knight with a tender and amorous glance. The Princess veiled her eyes behind the silken curtain of her remarkably long, lush lashes, and blushed prettily.
They untied the Hippogriff and led him to the edge of the Garden, where they stopped short, astounded at the sight which met their wondering gaze. When they had gone to sleep, they had been upon a mountaintop; now, however, they inexplicably found themselves to be in the midst of a verdant plain, and in the distance the sunlight flashed and twinkled from the jeweled spires and domes of an unfamiliar city.
Kesrick and Arimaspia exchanged a mystified look.
They became even more mystified a moment or two later, when they discovered that it was impossible to leave the Garden. When they sought to do so, they met an invisible barrier which resisted their every attempt at passage.
Kesrick felt before him, but the barrier was as impalpable to the touch as it was invisible to the sight. Although he could feel nothing to bar his way, he could not advance so much as a single step beyond the place in which he stood.
“This is very odd!” muttered the knight to himself. And it certainly was, for it is difficult to imagine an impassable barrier that affords no resistance to the touch: picture it, if you will, in these terms—extend your arm to the limit, with your fingers outstretched. Although no substance meets your touch, it remains impossible to reach farther; something like that was the experience which Kesrick found in striving vainly to pass the viewless barrier.
They circled the edges of the mysterious Garden, attempting at intervals to pass the barrier, only to discover themselves at length back in the place from which they had started. Obviously, the invisible wall extended entirely around the Garden, and rose to some unguessable height as well, for Arimaspia tested it by tossing pebbles into the air. These did not rebound from any unseen surface, but merely stayed their flight and dropped to earth again.
“It begins to look, my dear, as if you have gotten your wish, after all,” said Kesrick dolefully, “for you expressed the wish that you and I could remain here forever, and if something unforeseen does not chance to occur, we may have to do just that!”
“Oh, dear!” murmured the Princess, a trifle wearily.
They returned to the margins of the pool and sat down again on the greensward. After all, there was really nothing else to do.
XV
A KNIGHT OF TARTARY
After a while, becoming bored of this inaction, Sir Kesrick went into the centermost portions of the Garden, where they had not as yet ventured, searching for whatever he might find there. Left alone, the Scythian Princess wandered back to the entrance and stood peering hopefully out, wishing that someone would come by to rescue them.
To her surprise and delight, she saw a knight cantering across the fields toward the Garden, and impetuously waved to him. He was tall and well-set-up, wearing a surcoat of lionskins over his glittering mail, and his features, or what she could see of them under his vizor, were swarthy but not unhandsome. He was mounted upon a fine black destrier.
He rode directly into the Garden and sprang from the saddle to salute her courteously. Amazed that he had been able to pass through the magic barrier, Arimaspia was momentarily speechless.
“Madame,” he said, with a frankly appreciative look at her naked loveliness, “perceiving that you are obviously a damosel in distress, I am come to offer my knightly aid. May I give you my cloak, so that you may cover yourself with, what?”
