The Wing Alak Stories Read online

  "No, my lord. He is in good health, his wounds are negligible. But —somehow the grace of the Allshaper fell on him." The abbot made a pious gesture; as he saw Alak, one eyelid dropped.

  "What mean you?" Morlack dithered and clutched his sword.

  "Only this. As he regained consciousness, I offered him ghostly counsel, as I always do to hurt men. I spoke of the virtues of the Temple, of sanctity, of the dedicated life. Half in jest, I mentioned the possibility that he might wish to renounce this evil world and enter the Temple as a brother. My lord, you can imagine my astonishment when he agreed . . . nay, he insisted on deeding all his lands and treasure to the abbey and taking the vows at once." Gulmanan rolled his eyes heavenward. "Indeed, a miracle!"

  "What?" It was a shriek from the king.

  The monk who was under guard suddenly tore off his hood. Varris' face glared out. "Help!" he croaked. "Help, my lord! I've been betrayed—"

  "There are a dozen brothers who witnessed your acts and will swear to them by the mightiest oaths," said the abbot sternly. "Be still, Brother Varris. The Evil has reentered your soul, I shall have to set you heavy penances."

  "Witchcraft!" It whispered terribly down the long hall.

  "All men know that witchcraft has no power inside the walls of a sacred abbey," warned Gulmanan. "Speak no heresies."

  Varris looked wildly about at the spears and axes that ringed him in. "I was drugged, my lord," he gasped. "I remember what I did, yes, but I had no will of my own—I followed this old devil's words—" He saw Alak and snarled. "Hypnite!"

  The Patrolman stepped forth and bowed to the king. "Your majesty," he said, "Sir Varris-that-was had first choice of blades. But if you wish to inspect them again, I have them here."

  It had been easy enough, after all: two swords with retractible hypodermic needles, only they wouldn't do you any good unless you knew of them and knew where to press. The flitter's machine shop could turn one out in a couple of hours.

  Alak handed them to the king from beneath his cloak. Morlach stared at the metal, called for a pair of gauntlets, and broke the blades in his hands. The mechanism lay blatant before him.

  "Do you see?" cried Varris. "Do you see the poisoned darts? Burn that rogue alive!"

  Morlach smiled grimly. "It shall be done," he said.

  Alak grinned, and inwardly his muscles tightened. This was the tricky point. If he couldn't carry it off, it meant a pretty agonizing death. "My Lord," he answered, "that were unjust. The weapons are identical, and Sir Varris -that-was had first choice. It is permitted to use concealed extra parts, and not to warn of them."

  "Poison—" began Morlach.

  "But this was not poison. Does not Varris stand hale before you all?"

  "Yes—" Morlach scratched his head. "But when the next engagement is fought, I shall provide the swords."

  "A monk," said Gulmanan, "may not have private quarrels. This novice is to be returned to his cell for fasting and prayer."

  "A monk may be released from his vows under certain conditions," argued Morlach. "I shall see to it that he is."

  "Now hold!" shouted Wing Alak in his best Shakespearean manner. "My lord, I have won the duel. It were unlawful to speak of renewing it—for who can fight a dead man?"

  "Won it?" Varris wrestled with the sturdy monks gripping his arms. "Here I stand, alive, ready to take you on again any minute—"

  "My lord king," said Alak, "I crave leave to state my case."

  The royal brow knotted, but: "Do so," clipped Morlach.

  "Very well." Alak cleared his throat. "First, then, I fought lawfully. Granted, there was a needle in each sword of which Sir Varris had not been warned, but that is allowable under the code. It might be said that I poisoned him, but that is a canard, for as you all see he stands here unharmed. The drug I used has only a temporary effect and thus is not, by definition, a poison. Therefore, it was a lawful and just combat."

  Morlach nodded reluctantly. "But not a completed battle," he said.

  "Oh, it was, my lord. What is the proper termination of a duel? Is it not that one party die as the direct result of the other's craft and skill?"

  "Yes ... of course—"

  "Then I say that Varris, though not poisoned, died as an immediate' consequence of my wounding him. He is now dead! For mark you, he has taken vows as a monk—he did this because of the drug I administered. Those oaths may not be wholly irrevocable, but they are binding on him until such time as the Council releases him from them. And . . . a monk owns no property. His worldly goods revert to his heirs. His wife becomes a widow. He is beyond all civil jurisdiction. He is, in short, legally dead!"

  "But I stand here!" shouted Varris.

  "The law is sacred," declared Alak blandly. "I insist that the law be obeyed. And by every legal definition, you are dead. You are no longer Sir Varris of Wainabog, but Brother Varris of Grimmoch —a quite different person. If this fact be not admitted, then the whole structure of Thunsban society must topple, for it rests on the total separation of civil and ecclesiastical law." Alak made a flourishing bow. "Accordingly, my lord, I am the winner of the duel."

  Morlach sat for a long while. His mind must be writhing in his skull, hunting for a way out of the impasse, but there was none.

  "I concede it," he said at last, thickly. "Sir Wing Alak, you are the victor. You are also my guest, and I may not harm you . . . but you have till sunset to be gone from Thunsba forever." His gaze shifted to Varris. "Be not afraid. I shall send to the Council and have you absolved of your vows."

  "That you may do, lord," said Gulmanan. "Of course, until that decree is passed, Brother Varris must remain a monk, living as all monks do. The law does not allow of exceptions."

  "True," grumbled the king. "A few weeks only ... be patient."

  "Monks," said Gulmanan, "are not permitted to pamper themselves with special food. You shall eat the good bread of Thunsba, Brother Varris, and meditate on—"

  "I'll die!" gasped the outlaw.

  "Quite probably you will depart erelong for a better world," smiled the abbot. "But I may not set the law aside—To be sure, I could send you on a special errand, if you are willing to go. An errand to the king of the Galactics, from whom I have requested certain books. Sir Wing Alak will gladly transport you."

  Morlach sat unstirring. Nobody dared move in all the court. Then something slumped in Varris. Mutely, he nodded. The armed brethren escorted him out toward the spacefield.

  Wing Alak bade the king polite thanks for hospitality and followed them. Otherwise he spoke no word until his prisoner was safely fettered and his boat safely space-borne, with Drogs at the control panel and himself puffing on a good cigar.

  Then: "Cheer up, old fellow," he urged. "It won't be so bad. You'll feel a lot better once our psychiatrists have rubbed out those kill-compulsions."

  Varris gave him a bloodshot glare. "I suppose you think you're a great hero," he said.

  "Lord deliver me, no!" Alak opened a cupboard and took forth the bottle of Scotch. "I'm quite willing to let you have that title. It was your big mistake, you realize. A hero should never tangle with an intelligent coward."

  Table of Contents

  First Appearances

  Table of Contents

  The Double-Dyed Villains

  Enough Rope

  The Live Coward

  Magazine illustrations