CHAPTER 8

“Welcome among us indeed!” cried the duke. “And in proof of it, here is your own suite-the Azure Rooms! Put your hand to the panel, for no one else’s will open it now.”

Wondering, Orgoru touched the door, It swung open to reveal a huge room with cream-colored walls and deep blue trim and curtains. Even the people in the pictures on the walls wore blue clothing, and they were all lords and ladies, gods and goddesses, with a few servants here and there to remind him of his station in life.

“Enter, Your Highness, enter!” the duke urged.

“Yes, enter,” the countess echoed, with smoldering eyes. Orgoru looked into them, swallowed heartily, and entered. The crowd tumbled in with him, vying for his attention as each showed him a new marvel.

“This is your sitting room. Here you can be alone in luxury as befits your station!”

“Behold your hearth!” An older noblewoman gestured at the small fireplace in the corner. “You’ll never need it for more than decoration, of course-these rooms stay warm all through winter, cool all through the summer!”

“If you wish to dine,” said a tall young man in scarlet clothes, “here is your table.” He touched a horizontal bar in the wall, and it slid out, extending legs to become a table indeed “Only speak aloud what you wish to eat, and you shall find it on the table when it appears!”

“It seems a pretty picture-frame, does it not?” Another beautiful young noblewoman-they were all beautiful, all these people, as he had known they would be, but none seemed as beautiful to him as Countess Gilda-gestured at an ornate but empty picture-frame. “But speak the word, and it will fill with moving images, images that show a whole story. Picture! Show me The Romance of the Rose!”

The picture came to life, with gloriously clad men and women moving about, straight and courtly, the very paragons of gentility. Orgoru fixed the title of the picture in his memory-he felt lumpen and awkward among these people, and wanted to make sure he knew how to move properly.

“Though there are also books!” A fellow prince gestured toward a floor-to-ceiling case filled with leather-bound editions.

“Amazing!” But Orgoru’s stomach sank-how could he admit to these cultured people that he didn’t know how to read? “This is the most marvelous of all!” The countess plucked a slender volume from a waist-high shelf, opened it, and held it before Orgoru. “See! It speaks!”

He stared down at a pointed shape with a crossbar, while a voice from the book intoned, “This is the letter A, sometimes pronounced ah.’ ”

“A treasure,” Orgoru said with feeling, and his heart went out to the countess.

How gracious, how tactful of her, to show him that he had the means to learn to read at hand! And how deep her insight, to know that he needed it!

She closed the book and slipped it back onto the shelf, then turned to a door, saying, “Here are more wonders.” This door opened at her touch, and the crowd ushered him into the chamber. It was half the size of the sitting room, floor hidden by another azure carpet with designs of leaves and flowers, with a huge four-poster bed centered in one wall. Orgoru gawked, imagining lolling in such luxury when the most he had ever known was a pallet stuffed with straw. He felt a hand touch his, and looked down to see Countess Gilda smiling up at him with mischief in her eyes. He stared back, frozen, pulse hammering, but she laughed and spun away to another door. “Your dressing chamber!”

They hurried him in, still vying with one another to show him its wonders. There was a cupboard that made the dirt fall from him, a tub that filled with hot scented water by itself (they assured him that it was safe, and baths within its waters were restorative and were delights in themselves), and another cupboard that always had clean garments for him (old ones dropped on its floor simply disappeared by morning). Instead of a razor, there was a cream to spread on his skin, and when he wiped it off, his beard would be gone-and would stay gone for a month!

“Refresh yourself,” the duke invited, “then come join us in the great hall. Only say where you wish to go, and a spot of azure will appear on the wall, and move before you to guide you to us.”

“Do not make us wait long,” Gilda breathed, reaching out to touch him one last time as she stepped through the door.

They all went out behind her, laughing and joking, rejoicing that there was one more nobleman among them-and another of royal blood, tool Orgoru’s heart overflowed with gratitude to them all, for taking him to their collective bosom so quickly, and without question. Yes, surely he would come to join them as quickly as he could! But not in these peasant clothes, this disguise that had helped him escape from bondage. He closed the door to the dressing chamber, kicked off his heavy shoes and his tunic, and stepped into the cleaning booth.

He was amazed how fresh and new he felt when he came out, and that without a drop of water touching his skin! He wiped away his beard as they had shown him, then opened his closet-and discovered doublet and hose that were so beautiful they took his breath away. They were silver with azure embroidery and a short azure cloak with azure boots. Over them hung a short linen garment that was strange, but after puzzling over it for a little, he drew it on and up about his hips, where it clung as though alive. It was a strange and not entirely pleasant sensation for a man whose loins had always gone ungirded, but if it was the custom here, he would accept it. Then he pulled on the glorious doublet and hose and stood in front of his mirror, amazed at the transformation. Here was no dumpy unkempt peasant, but a tall, lean aristocrat with shining hair and a severe, handsome but noble face that he scarcely recognized as his own.

He strode to the door, feeling ready to take his rightful place among the glittering people.

When the sun neared the horizon, Gar turned off the road into a small woodlot.

“Time to think of camping, my friends.”

“It does look like the best shelter we’re apt to find,” Dirk sighed. “Of course, there might be an inn at the next village……”

Miles shuddered. “By your leave, sirs, I’d rather not stay at an inn. I know it’s foolish of me, but I feel as though if I stay a whole night within reach of the Watch, they’re more likely to catch me.” Again, he was amazed at his own temerity in speaking to gentlemen before he was spoken to.

But they didn’t seem to notice. “I can understand that all too well,” Dirk said,

“and I’d have to say you’re smart. Sure, staying in the woods for a whole night is considerably saferfewer faces to see us, and much less chance of a forester happening by.”

“Especially the foresters who’re chasing us,” Gar agreed. Fifty yards from the road, the underbrush tapered away, leaving large patches of clear ground under thirty-foot spruce trees; their lower branches were bare. Gar drew rein. “This will do for a campsite. Miles, would you go seek wood, please, while Dirk and I pitch the tent?”

“Ssurely, Master Gar.” Miles went, amazed that the big man had asked, rather than commanded.

However, he had begun to become as much afraid of traveling with them as of traveling alone. The way Master Gar was talking, he’d have the Protector’s spies down on him in a week or less, with the guardsmen in tow-and the punishments for speaking treason were every bit as bad as those for refusing to marry. Worse in immediate pain, just as bad in ruining a man’s life-what little was left of it would be spent in the Protector’s mines. So Miles began to gather wood, then gathered more and more, working his way farther and farther from the campsite.

He was careful to hold on to his armload of sticks, though-if Gar or Dirk came looking for him, he would rather seem to be too stupid to know when he had enough kindling, than to have them realize he was trying to escape.

Of course, there was no reason for him not to leave-they had said, more than once, that he wasn’t a prisoner, that he was free to go whenever he wanted. They might not even chase him-but Miles didn’t want to take chances.

“Ho!” A hard hand clapped down on his shoulder. Miles cried out and twisted, excuses coming to his lips-and saw not Dirk’s face, but a stranger’s, under a forester’s green cap with the red feather showing he commanded a band. Two more hands seized his arms from behind, and the firewood flew clattering.

“Light,” the forester commanded, and someone unshuttered a dark lantern. Several other shapes loomed near, and Miles’s heart sank. How he wished he had stayed with Gar and Dirk now!

Gar and Dirk … He remembered how they had played with the minds of the men who had stopped them. Maybe he could talk his way out of this, convince them he was a traveler whose permit had been stolen, lost now, and hungry …

Then a figure with a hip-length robe and chain of office stepped into the lantern-light and, though shadows made the face grotesque, Miles recognized the bailiff of his village. His stomach hollowed; lying would do no good now.

“Is this your man?” asked the chief forester.

The bailiff shook his head. “Mine was clean-shaven and long-haired; he might have trimmed his mop, but he could never have grown so thick a-No, wait!” He squinted, then reached out and yanked the moustache loose.

Miles cried out with pain.

“By the Protector, it is you!” the bailiff cried. “Thought you’d be smart to cut the hair from your head and glue it onto your face, did you?”

“No, actually,” said a deep but mild voice. “That was my idea.”

The bailiff whirled, startled-then looked up, and up, to Gar’s face. He took an involuntary step back, overwhelmedand Miles saw his chance. He stuck out a foot; the bailiff went sprawling. The foresters cried out, and the hands on Miles’s arms loosened. He tore himself free, spun, and stuck out a foot again as he shoved with all his might. The forester who’d been. holding him howled as he fell. The bailiff looked up, saw Miles leaping toward the darkness, and shouted with anger. Then his voice choked off as Gar lifted him by the back of his collar, holding him out at arm’s length.

As one, the foresters turned on Gar. Dirk lashed out a kick, and one man fell; Gar threw the bailiff into two more, but three others drew swords and charged him, shouting.

Safe in the dark, Miles swerved and spun about. These men had saved him once, and had just done it again. He couldn’t leave them to fight his fights for him.

He caught up his heaviest stick of firewood and ran back, just as Gar’s huge fist sent two men sprawling. The bailiff was struggling to his feet, lugging out his own sword. Miles struck with the club, and the bailiff fell senseless. Miles felt a moment’s anguish; he had known the man since childhood, and he’d often been kind. Then panic surged, for Miles had struck an officer, and knew he’d hang if he was ever caught.

Better not to be. He turned to see the last forester slashing at Gar; the big man caught his blade on a knife big enough to be a short sword. Miles shouted; the forester whirled about, startled, and Miles swung his stick. The man fell, but three more foresters were struggling back to their feet. They all fell on Dirk as the smaller of the two targets.

Gar yanked two of them off the ground by the scruffs of their necks. Dirk blocked the third’s swing with his own sword and slammed a fist into the other man’s chin. He fell, unconscious.

“What about you two?” Gar held them up so their faces were level with his. “I know you have to report what you’ve just seen, but if I let you go, will you promise to take the rest of the night getting home?”

The men both glanced at the bailiff and the chief forester, and saw they were out cold.

“You could say you’ve been lamed and had to limp,” Dirk suggested helpfully. “We could even make it true.”

“No, no! We’ll manage to lean on one another!” one man choked out. “Only let us free!”

Gar set them down gently. They pulled their necklines free of their larynxes and took deep, rattling breaths.

“Of course, we’ll keep your swords,” Dirk said.

They glanced at one another, not at all happy about it, then held out their weapons, hilts first.

Dirk took them and passed one to Miles. “Be off with you now.”

The two foresters limped off into the night, leaning on one another, doing a very convincing job of looking maimed. “They’ll bear word,” Miles warned.

“So will the others, when they come to,” Dirk told him. “And we’re not about to kill men who’re only trying to do their jobs and be loyal to their ruler.” Gar rubbed a sore arm. “Ouch! That `holding ‘em at arm’s length’ stunt is impressive, but it hurts.”

“You … you saved me again,” Miles stammered. Dirk shrugged it off. “What are friends for?”

Miles felt as though he were about to drown in guilt. Here he had been trying to run away from them, and they had fought for him!

“Well, we’re outlaws now, too,” Dirk told him. “Of course, we were outlaws before, but the bailiffs didn’t know that.”

“And those foresters you let go will bring the reeve’s guards down upon us!”

“Can’t be helped,” Gar said. “We’ll have to hide now, like any other outlaws, and I’m afraid we can’t wait to reach these Badlands of yours. What’s the best hiding place that’s close?”

“You’re in it.” Miles spread his arms. “The woods. All the woodlots hereabouts are like streams, flowing into the huge lake of the forest. We have only to make sure we stay among the trees, and we’ll reach the depths soon enough. Of course, the foresters might find us even there…”

“And are very likely to find us before we get to the forest,” Dirk said grimly.

“Well, let’s fetch the horses and find a deer trail. If it has room for stags, it has room for mounted men.”

Half an hour later, Miles led them through the woods and toward the forest. He had only been in this particular woodlot once before, seeking shelter on the way to the reeve’s town, but he remembered it well enough to know how to go toward the deeper forest. As he went, he wondered how Dirk and Gar had come to be near when he needed help.

Because they had been following him, of course-to make sure he wasn’t captured.

They had realized he had been gone too long, and had set off to make sure he hadn’t run into trouble! Another tidal wave of guilt swamped Miles.

Orgoru came into the great hall, and found the tables set. His fellow aristocrats laughed and chatted with one another, and he could see that flirtation was a well-established game among them.

“Welcome, Prince of Paradime!” called a tall, middle-aged man with a crown on his head.

Orgoru halted and stared.

“Ah, how well you look, now that you are refreshed!” The Duke of Darambay swooped down to catch him by the arm and lead him to the crowned man. “Your Majesty, may I present Orgoru, the Prince of Paradime! Orgoru, kneel to your sovereign, King Longar!”

Awed all over again, Orgoru knelt to the tall man with the high and noble forehead, the Roman nose, whose royalty fairly shone about him. “Your Majesty! I

… I thank you for your hospitality!”

“Gladly given,” rumbled the kingly voice. “Welcome among us, Prince of Paradime!

Tonight we celebrate, rejoicing that a new brother is come among us! My lords and ladies, to the festive board!”

They sat and began to dine, laughing and chatting, and using their silverware so easily and naturally that they scarcely seemed to be aware of it. Orgoru did his best to imitate them, blushing more than once when he reached for a fork of strange design but saw his neighbor take another, or used his knife in his right hand when they used theirs in their left. No one seemed to notice, though, and if they did, they only smiled, amused but also as though at a fond memory, and Orgoru realized all over again that he was only going through what all of them had undergone when they had finally been restored to their own kind, after a lifetime of exile. Strange that none of them seemed to have been born here….

The conversation flashed and glittered about him, filled with allusions to stories and sciences that Orgoru had never heard of. He resolved to read every book in his room, and quickly, too.

“I think that perhaps my courtiers spend too much time in pleasure,” King Longar rumbled. “We have the Guardian to teach us anything we wish to know, after all!”

“Yes, but learning, too, is pleasure, Your Majesty,” a young prince said (Orgoru could tell his rank by his coronet, larger than the duke’s).

“I can only praise such pleasuring,” the king rejoined, “though I certainly cannot object to the sorts you seek from one another, either.”

Orgoru looked about the table to see what he was talking about, and noticed how many men were kissing ladies’ hands or counting their fingers, how many long lashes were fluttering, and how many ladies peeked over their fans at men across the table.

Finally the ordeal of the meal was over, and the duke introduced Orgoru to four young noblewomen, one after the other, each beautiful, none so beautiful as Countess Gilda. Lady Amber was tall and graceful, asking, “Will you dance the gavotte with me, Prince?”

“I would be delighted,” Orgoru stammered, “but I don’t know the dance.”

“Why, then, I will teach it to you! Only lead me out!”

The floor of the great hall was polished to a glow, and the dancers took their places as the music began. Lady Amber taught him the gavotte, with good-natured jokes to cover his clumsiness; the young Duchess of Dorent made him practice the dance, with lighthearted teasing about his long years in exile having robbed him of courtly graces; Lady Louette taught him the minuet, and he practiced it with the Marquise of Corobaer-but it was Countess Gilda who taught him the waltz.

She teased him into gracefulness, rallied him into remembering the steps, and by the end of the tune, he was whirling about the floor with her body pressed close to his, blushing furiously and laughing at her jests, breathless with exertion and desire.

“I am wearied, I must confess,” she told him. “Come, let us find something to drink.”

“As my lady wishes,” Orgoru said, and followed her to one of several niches in the inner wall. “Chablis,” she said into the air, and slid back a little door to take out a goblet bedewed with condensation and brimming with a white fluid. She told Orgoru, “The punch is quite good tonight,” and he took the hint, saying,

“Punch,” to the air, and wondering what drink could sound like a blow. Then he slid the door back and removed a small round cup with a handle scarcely big enough for a single finger. Turning back to look at the throng, he almost dropped his cup, for as the couples whirled by in the waltz, he saw several joined mouth-to-mouth as they swung, several others caressing openly.

“Surely you’re not shocked by the behavior of noble folk,” Countess Gilda protested. He turned to deny it, but saw the wicked gleam in her eye. “Come,”

she said, and led him behind a tall tapestry that hung from the curved wall. In the dark recess behind it, she reached up to cup a hand around the back of his neck and pull his head down, and not very far, for she was almost as tall as he.

He resisted for only a startled moment, then bent to find her lips with his-and learned how wondrous a kiss could be.

When ihey parted, she laughed, with a little breathless giggle. “There now! I’ve taught you two things, and only one of them the waltz!”

Orgoru opened his mouth to protest that he had kissed -a woman before, but before he could lie, she was leading him out into the hall again, just as the dance ended and several couples left the floor. She stepped back into the circle, holding up her hands and saying, “Come, my prince. Perhaps you can practice both new skills at one time.”

Orgoru stared a moment; then his pulse leaped, and so did he, back to the circle to catch Countess Gilda giggling to him. Behind her, he noticed several couples leaving the hall arm in arm, but he had no time to be amazed or scandalized, for the music began again, and off they went into a mad, intoxicating whirl, body to body, mouth to mouth.

He was so caught up in the wonder and excitement of it all that he never noticed there were no servants, other than the magic spirits who did everything to serve them, never noticed that the only living people here were all aristocrats. It seemed so right, so fitting, and he would frankly have resented any peasants who intruded.

It also never occurred to him to wonder what would have happened if he had failed the tests of these city people, or if the Guardian hadn’t pronounced him to be of their kind. He was only glad that he was, at last, where he belonged.