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CHAPTER SEVENTH The Gray Men The
adventurers gave no heed to the path they
followed after leaving the cave of the reformed thieves, but their
horses
accidentally took the direction of the foot-hills that led into the
wild
interior Kingdom of Spor. Therefore the
travelers, when they had finished their conversation and begun to look
about
them, found themselves in a rugged, mountainous country that was wholly
unlike
the green plains of Heg they had left behind. Now, as I have before
said, the most
curious and fearful of the island people dwelt in this Kingdom of Spor. They held no friendly communication with their
neighbors, and only left their own mountains to plunder and rob; and so
sullen
and fierce were they on these occasions that every one took good care
to keep
out of their way until they had gone back home again. There was much gossip
about the
unknown king of Spor, who had never yet been seen by any one except his
subjects; and some thought he must be one of the huge giants of Spor;
and
others claimed he was a dwarf, like his tiny but ferocious
dart-slingers; and
still others imagined him one of the barbarian tribe, or a fellow to
the
terrible Gray Men. But, of course, no one knew positively, and all
these
guesses were very wide of the mark. The
only certainty about this king was that his giants, dwarfs, barbarians
and Gray
Men meekly acknowledged his rule and obeyed his slightest wish; for
though they
might be terrible to others, their king was still more terrible to them. Into this Kingdom of Spor
Prince
Marvel and Nerle had now penetrated and, neither knowing nor caring
where they
were, continued along the faintly defined paths the horses had found. Presently, however, they were startled by a
peal of shrill, elfish laughter, and raising their eyes they beheld a
horrid-looking old man seated upon a high rock near by. "Why do you laugh?" asked
Prince Marvel, stopping his horse. "Have you been invited? Tell me — have you been invited?"
demanded the old man, chuckling to himself as if much amused. "Invited where?" inquired
the prince. "To Spor, stupid! To the Kingdom of Spor! To
the land of King Terribus!" shrieked
the old man, going into violent peals of laughter. "We go and come as we
please," answered Prince Marvel, calmly. "Go — yes!
Go if you will. But you'll
never come back — never! never! never!"
The little old man seemed to consider this such a good joke that he
bent nearly
double with laughing, and so lost his balance and toppled off the rock,
disappearing from their view; but they could hear him laugh long after
they had
passed on and left him far behind them. "A strange creature!"
exclaimed the prince thoughtfully. "But perhaps he speaks
truth," answered Nerle, "if, in fact, we have been rash enough to
enter the Kingdom of Spor. Even my
father, the bravest baron in Heg, has never dared venture within the
borders of
Spor. For all men fear its mysterious
king." "In that case," replied
Prince Marvel, "it is time some one investigated this strange
kingdom. People have left King Terribus
and his wild subjects too much to themselves; instead of stirring them
up and
making them behave themselves." Nerle smiled at this
speech. "They are the fiercest
people
on the Enchanted Island," said he, "and there are thousands upon
thousands who obey this unknown king. But
if you think we dare defy them I am willing to go on.
Perhaps our boldness will lead them into
torturing me, or starving me to death; and at the very least I ought to
find
much trouble and privation in the Kingdom of Spor." "Time will determine
that," said the prince, cheerfully. They had now ridden into
a narrow
defile of the mountains, the pathway being lined with great fragments
of
rock. Happening to look over his shoulder
Prince Marvel saw that as they passed these rocks a man stepped from
behind
each fragment and followed after them, their numbers thus constantly
increasing
until hundreds were silently treading in the wake of the travelers. These men were very
peculiar in
appearance, their skins being as gray as the rocks themselves, while
their only
clothing consisted of gray cloth tunics belted around the waists with
bands of
gray fox-hide. They bore no weapons except that each was armed with a
fork,
having three sharp tines six inches in length, which the Gray Men
carried stuck
through their fox-hide belts. Nerle also looked back
and saw the
silent throng following them, and the sight sent such a cold shiver
creeping up
his spine that he smiled with pleasure. There
was no way to avoid the Gray Men, for the path was so narrow that
the horsemen could not turn aside; but Prince Marvel was not disturbed,
and
seemed not to mind being followed, so long as no one hindered his
advance. He rode steadily on,
Nerle
following, and after climbing upward for a long way the path began to
descend,
presently leading them into a valley of wide extent, in the center of
which
stood an immense castle with tall domes that glittered as if covered
with pure
gold. A broad roadway paved with white
marble reached from the mountain pass to the entrance of this castle,
and on
each side of this roadway stood lines of monstrous giants, armed with
huge axes
thrust into their belts and thick oak clubs, studded with silver
spikes, which
were carried over their left shoulders. The assembled giants were
as silent
as the Gray Men, and stood motionless while Prince Marvel and Nerle
rode slowly
up the marble roadway. But all their
brows were scowling terribly and their eyes were red and glaring — as if they were balls of fire. "I begin to feel very
pleasant," said Nerle, "for surely we shall not get away from these
folks without a vast deal of trouble. They
do not seem to oppose our advance, but it is plain they will not
allow us any chance of retreat." "We do not wish to
retreat," declared the prince. Nerle cast another glance
behind,
and saw that the Gray Men had halted at the edge of the valley, while
the
giants were closing up as soon as the horses passed them and now
marched in
close file in their rear. "It strikes me," he
muttered, softly, "that this is like to prove our last adventure."
But although Prince Marvel might have heard the words he made no reply,
being
evidently engaged in deep thought. As they drew nearer the
castle it
towered above them like a veritable mountain, so big and high was it;
and the
walls cast deep shadows far around, as if twilight had fallen. They heard the loud blare of a trumpet
sounding far up on the battlements; the portals of the castle suddenly
opened
wide, and they entered a vast courtyard paved with plates of gold. Tiny dwarfs, so crooked that they resembled
crabs, rushed forward and seized the bridles of the horses, while the
strangers
slowly dismounted and looked around them. While the steeds were
being led to
the stables an old man, clothed in a flowing robe as white in color as
his
beard, bowed before Prince Marvel and said in a soft voice: "Follow me!" The prince stretched his
arms, yawned
as if tired with his ride, and then glared upon the old man with an
expression
of haughty surprise. "I follow no one!" said
he, proudly. "I am Prince Marvel,
sirrah, and if the owner of this castle wishes to see me I shall
receive him
here, as befits my rank and station." The man looked surprised,
but only
bowed lower than before. "It is the king's
command," he answered. "The king?" "Yes; you are in the
castle of
King Terribus, the lord and ruler of Spor." "That is different,"
remarked the prince, lightly. "Still, I
will follow no man. Point out the way and
I will go to meet his Majesty." The old man extended a
lean and
trembling finger toward an archway. Prince Marvel strode forward,
followed by
Nerle, and passing under the arch he threw open a door at the far end
and
boldly entered the throne-room of King Terribus. |