Myth-Told Tales

Before they could finish a

"Sorry," he called as they went flying. He cocked his head to Cordu, who stepped into the room and stood framed in the doorway with his hands on his hips. After a deliberate three-count, he strode in. His entourage, led by Chumley, crowded in after him.

Behind them came the small figure of Larica, draped in sea-blue silk with a wreath around her head, and her ladies-in-waiting. The expression on her little round face clearly said that she did not like what was going on.

The Tue-Khan, a bulky Nob with a large nose, stood up from his damask-cushioned throne. Cordu swaggered up to him.

"Where's my bride?" Cordu demanded.

The Tue-Khan looked taken aback.

"She's not present at the moment, er, son," he said. "We weren't expecting you yet!"

"Well, why not?" Cordu bellowed, his voice making the amethyst chandeliers ring among the ceiling rafters. "Shouldn't take you that long to get her ready. You're her father—command her!"

The Tue-Khan assumed an indulgent smile.

"Come now, son, you've known her all her life. She's not that easy to command."

"Well, she's going to have to learn how to take orders! Things are about to change! Get her down here! I said," he repeated, thrusting his face into the Tue-Khan's, who cowered back in his throne, "get her down here NOW!"

Chumley could have applauded. Cordu always had been the pride of the Footlight Society at university. Such a mild personality as his had to be disguised in an aggressive role. It was an absolute inspiration on Little Sister's part to come up with this scenario. It seemed to be working very well. He tipped a wink in the direction of the rafters, hoping she could see him from her vantage point.

"You've changed so much, Cordu," the Tue-Khana, Renimbi's mother said, shaking her head. "I don't like it. You must not be too rough on Re

"Yes, courtesies," Cordu said. He whispered desperately over his shoulder to Krans. "Line!"

"I want her to meet..." the Imp prompted.

"Ah, yes," Cordu said, recovering his aplomb. "I want her to meet my other wife, Larica. She's going to be Re

The Eyarllian courtiers gasped in unison.

The Tue-Khan clicked his tongue. "Son, dynastic marriages take time to arrange. We have to send for a priest, and call for guests, arrange gifts, draw up paperwork ..."

The document I signed is as good as a marriage, isn't it?" Cordu asked.

"Er, yes ..."

Cordu spread out his hands.

"Then she is already my bride. I expect you to present her to me so we can get on with the honeymoon!"

The Tue-Khana looked horrified. "Decent people don't speak of such things in public, Cordu!"

"Who said I was a decent person? After that, I intend to make some changes around here."

"What changes, my son?" the Tue-Khan asked, frowning. "I am sure Renimbi will enjoy discussing them with you, for the day when you and she rule over our joined lands."

"In Vol Grun, the man becomes head of the household," Cordu said. "She will obey my will. But why wait? We signed a contract to join our lands. That means that what is yours is mine. So, I am moving in here, giving myself a little pied-a-terre that I can drop in on when I feel like it"

"Er ... that wasn't exactly what I intended in the wording of our agreement, son."

Cordu looked shocked. "It wasn't? I thought you wanted one land, under one rule."

"In a way, over time ..."

"Why wait?" Cordu rubbed his hands together and looked around. "For a start, I think this place is too full of decorator trash. I think we'll start to get rid of some of it right now."

He signed to the others. Chumley studied the room to see what could be removed or brought down without causing permanent damage. A hundred gilt-edged chairs stood arrayed on each side of the aisle leading to the throne, places for visiting nobles to sit. Only one was occupied. That left ninety-nine to play with.

"Roarrr!"

He charged the neat rows. A dozen chairs went flying into the others, knocking them flying. Courtiers raced to get out of the way of furniture. A few cowered behind the Tue-Khan's throne. Chumley picked out a chair that already showed signs of decrepitude and tore the legs asunder as easily as parting a wishbone. CRACK!

"Cheap!" he declared.

"No!" the Tue-Khana cried. "Dear, make him stop!"

"Guards!" the Tue-Khan shouted. "Seize him!

A coterie of armored men lowered their spears and charged at him.

With one hand Chumley picked up a chair, drew it to his chest. He took three careful steps, and bowled the golden chair across the room. It spun over the floor. The guards windmilled their arms as they tried to get out of the way, but the chair caught four of them right in the knees. They fell, scattering. Two of the guards kept coming.

"Need spare," Chumley a

"Those are for people awaiting audience," the Tue-Khan said, agog.

"Oh, you don't need those," Cordu said. "I have something better. Bring it in!"

The chef du protocol who led Cordu's entourage raised a hand, and the huge double doors were flung open. Though they were two spear-lengths wide from lintel to lintel, it was still barely enough room for the huge Nobish beasts of burden, who were led in by a couple of ostlers. A dozen Vol Grun guards sprang to help untie the enormous parcels strapped to their backs. These were a pair of twelve-foot padded sofas that resembled giant cockroaches that had been upholstered in green and gold brocade, with piping around every fat, overstuffed cushion and a wealth of tassels at each end. They were arranged to flank a triangular end table possessed of a stu

"I thought you would be pleased," Cordu said, flinging himself full length upon the left-hand sofa. "I knew that my moving in here would probably strain the facilities, so I brought my own seats. Like them?"

The Tue-Khana looked as though she might faint, but the Tue-Khan smiled weakly.

"They ... will take a little getting used to."

Clearly he was not yet outraged enough to take action. Chumley signaled to Krans to start the next onslaught.

The gri

"Hey, Cordu!" he shouted, holding up a bottle. "Chateau Punding '04. What do you think of this swill?"

"Only the '03 was any good," Cordu replied. "Pour it out!"

"Right-o!" The Imp sent the bottle sailing into the air. The cork seemed to pop, and a cascade of purple liquid glugged down onto the priceless hand-knotted carpet. The two servants ran to intercept it and stop the flow. Krans made the bottle dance around the room just out of their reach. When the last dregs had poured out, he let it drop and chose another.