partisans, the wizard had kept in touch with events in Tarxia and knew of the failure of the priests to recapture Gorgolor. For a modest fee and a guarantee of his own safety, Valdonius offered to come back and cast a counterspell.
"After some bickering and dickering, it was arranged that a brace of temple officials should go to Govannian and present themselves to the Hereditary Usurper as hostages for the Usurper's kinsman Valdonius, who would then return to Tarxia to perform his spell. And so it was done.
"On a propitious day Valdonius, the Theocrat, and other interested parties assembled on the margins of the swamp, and the wizard cast his spell. Gorgolor warily watched the proceedings from a patch of open water, in which he floated with only his eyes and nostrils showing. The sky darkened, lightning flashed, the earth shook, and the air came alive with the rustle of wings of unseen presences. And Gorgolor turned instantly back into a lion-sized frog of solid emerald.
"That was all very well, but neither Valdonius nor Kylo had considered the physical properties of swamps, since neither was familiar with nature in the wild. When the giant frog turned to emerald, it recovered the weight it had possessed when it squatted on its plinth in the temple. Hence it sank at once to the bottom and kept right on sinking into the ooze and soft mud beneath the water. None knows how deeply it sank ere coming to rest. The priests tried sounding for it with poles without result. For all anyone knows, it may be buried half a league below the surface of the swamp.
"The Theocrat, a kindly and rather simple old man, was vastly vexed. Some of those present had to remind him of the hostages in Govannian to dissuade him from commanding his guards to seize Valdonius and do him to death in some ingenious way. The wizard was suffered to depart without his fee, and the priests returned sorrowfully to their temple.
"Without their emerald god, however, the cult of Gorgolor lost its hold upon the masses. Within a year, its rule was overthrown by another revolution, wherein Valdonius played no part. The last I heard, the factions were still quarreling and fighting over the form the new state should have: a republic like Vindium, a limited monarchy like Kortoli, a dictatorship like Boaktis, or an archonship like Solymbria with the Archon chosen by lot. And that is the tale of the holy frog of Tarxia."
"Pretty good," growled Captain Malgo. "How about another?"
"Captain!" came a voice from the darkness. "Cannot we bugger him now?" But others cried: "Story! Story!"
"One thing at a time," said Malgo. "It will be time enough to have at him when he runs out of stories. Go on, Kerin."
So, as the half-moon sank towards the horizon, Kerin told the tales of King Fusinian the Fox and the Teeth of Grimnor, and Fusinian and the troll Vuum, and Fusinian and the Boar of Chinioc, and King Filoman the WellMeaning and the golem general, and Filoman and his ghostly prime minister, and King Forimar the Esthete and the waxen wife, and such other stories as he could call to mind.
For a while, as he finished each tale, some pirates cried out for more, whereas others demanded that the grand sodomy begin forthwith. With each tale the voices of the lechers, though still in a minority, waxed louder, and Kerin was sure that after the next story they would become a majority. But then the voices at the end of each account began to die away, so that each time there were fewer shouts either to stop or to continue.
Although it was hard to be sure by the fading firelight, Kerin saw that the pirates were, one by one, dropping off to sleep. He did not know whether to allow himself a spark of hope, that they would all go to sleep instead of using him in the revolting manner indicated, or to be affronted that they found his storytelling too boring to keep them awake. When he finished the tale of how King Forbonian had nearly drowned in trying to consummate the union with his mermaid
"After some bickering and dickering, it was arranged that a brace of temple officials should go to Govannian and present themselves to the Hereditary Usurper as hostages for the Usurper's kinsman Valdonius, who would then return to Tarxia to perform his spell. And so it was done.
"On a propitious day Valdonius, the Theocrat, and other interested parties assembled on the margins of the swamp, and the wizard cast his spell. Gorgolor warily watched the proceedings from a patch of open water, in which he floated with only his eyes and nostrils showing. The sky darkened, lightning flashed, the earth shook, and the air came alive with the rustle of wings of unseen presences. And Gorgolor turned instantly back into a lion-sized frog of solid emerald.
"That was all very well, but neither Valdonius nor Kylo had considered the physical properties of swamps, since neither was familiar with nature in the wild. When the giant frog turned to emerald, it recovered the weight it had possessed when it squatted on its plinth in the temple. Hence it sank at once to the bottom and kept right on sinking into the ooze and soft mud beneath the water. None knows how deeply it sank ere coming to rest. The priests tried sounding for it with poles without result. For all anyone knows, it may be buried half a league below the surface of the swamp.
"The Theocrat, a kindly and rather simple old man, was vastly vexed. Some of those present had to remind him of the hostages in Govannian to dissuade him from commanding his guards to seize Valdonius and do him to death in some ingenious way. The wizard was suffered to depart without his fee, and the priests returned sorrowfully to their temple.
"Without their emerald god, however, the cult of Gorgolor lost its hold upon the masses. Within a year, its rule was overthrown by another revolution, wherein Valdonius played no part. The last I heard, the factions were still quarreling and fighting over the form the new state should have: a republic like Vindium, a limited monarchy like Kortoli, a dictatorship like Boaktis, or an archonship like Solymbria with the Archon chosen by lot. And that is the tale of the holy frog of Tarxia."
"Pretty good," growled Captain Malgo. "How about another?"
"Captain!" came a voice from the darkness. "Cannot we bugger him now?" But others cried: "Story! Story!"
"One thing at a time," said Malgo. "It will be time enough to have at him when he runs out of stories. Go on, Kerin."
So, as the half-moon sank towards the horizon, Kerin told the tales of King Fusinian the Fox and the Teeth of Grimnor, and Fusinian and the troll Vuum, and Fusinian and the Boar of Chinioc, and King Filoman the WellMeaning and the golem general, and Filoman and his ghostly prime minister, and King Forimar the Esthete and the waxen wife, and such other stories as he could call to mind.
For a while, as he finished each tale, some pirates cried out for more, whereas others demanded that the grand sodomy begin forthwith. With each tale the voices of the lechers, though still in a minority, waxed louder, and Kerin was sure that after the next story they would become a majority. But then the voices at the end of each account began to die away, so that each time there were fewer shouts either to stop or to continue.
Although it was hard to be sure by the fading firelight, Kerin saw that the pirates were, one by one, dropping off to sleep. He did not know whether to allow himself a spark of hope, that they would all go to sleep instead of using him in the revolting manner indicated, or to be affronted that they found his storytelling too boring to keep them awake. When he finished the tale of how King Forbonian had nearly drowned in trying to consummate the union with his mermaid
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