General Grimm did not share the King's naive optimism. To kill a serpent, one must crush its head. Victory would have to be fought for and won. Though he had barely a thousand men in his command, he devised a plan. He would divide his troops into two battalions. One would spread out along the banks of the Great River to attack the invaders where they were most vulnerable, perhaps sinking a few boats with catapults and huge rocks, at least inflicting casualties on the exposed flotilla with arrows shot from cover. When the enemy had established its beachhead, the battalion would fall back in headlong retreat, hopefully drawing the invaders after them in hot pursuit. The second battalion would conceal itself in the caves of Routh beneath the rough cliffs near the river where the enemy was unlikely to attack. After the first wave of invaders had swept past them, they would emerge and search for the enemy command post. If they were lucky enough to find Jabal the Chosen and kill him, they might have a chance, if not of victory, at least of stalemate. The plan's chances of success were meager, but something had to be tried.

Too quickly the days slipped past. The futility of the situation began to flutter home to roost among Grimm's hapless soldiers, and desertion became popular. Nod's forces dwindled. Riding south to battle against the tide of fleeing refugees, the army of Nod seemed to dissolve into the countryside like sugar into hot coffee. General Grimm arrived at the Great River one morning leading a column of barely a hundred men, those too feebleminded to appreciate a lost cause when it perched on their noses and looked them in the eye.

As the time for the invasion drew near, word came that pockets of illness had begun to break out within the crowded encampments of the barbarians across the Great River. At first the reports attributed the infestation to unsanitary conditions in the camps. A curious pattern of epidemic developed, from west to east along the front. Then the same sickness also struck the mountain tribes at their bivouac on the other side of the monastery pass. Word came that the campaign had been postponed a week to allow the invasion forces time to recover full strength.

The disease was diagnosed as smallpox. Over half its victims were gravely ill, many dying, and the plague was spreading among them like fire through a tinder-dry forest. No one, on either side of the border, doubted any longer that the Sorcerer was the instrument of this terrible scourge.

Jabal the Chosen took sick and retired to his tent. The faithful took it as a sign. Jabal himself would show them how to fight and conquer the devastating disease. The Sorcerer's spell would be broken. They called upon Allah's protection while the invasion force bided its time. When word finally leaked out that Jabal had succumbed, soldiers who had not yet contracted the disease broke ranks and disappeared into the night. The remaining positions were decimated, manned only by dying warriors and those too sick to flee. The battle was over before it had begun, and not a single enemy soldier had set foot within the Kingdom of Nod. Precisely as the Sorcerer had foretold.

When there was no longer any doubt that the Kingdom had been miraculously spared, the King relieved Grimm of his temporary command. His first official act as royal commander was to dishonorably discharge all those who had deserted. They would not be replaced. The kingdom would no longer be burdened with the extravagance of maintaining a standing army, except, of course, for ceremonial functions in and about the castle. With the Sorcerer on their side, who needed one?

The King proclaimed a week-long holiday. Festivities were to culminate in a lush banquet honoring the Sorcerer and investing him with the newly-ordained title of Protector of the Kingdom. Invitations to the feast were inscribed and sent out, and a special envoy was dispatched upon the arduous three-day journey to the wizard's secluded mountaintop retreat to specially request his presence and that of his lovely young wife. The King planned to meet them on the day of the banquet and lead a parade through the main streets of the capital and on to the castle.

In matters of public ceremony and courtly etiquette, the King was without equal. The parade, the banquet, the ceremony of investiture were all planned to the most minute detail. So when the King's minister plenipotentiary returned a day early with the news that the Sorcerer would be unable to participate in the royal proceedings honoring him, the regent was understandably distressed.

"How in the devil's name can we have a banquet in his honor if he refuses to submit?" the King fumed. "How will it look to our subjects if we cannot bring such a powerful man to the castle to honor him? What excuse did he give?"

The ashen minister was obviously unnerved to be the bearer of such bad tidings. Droplets of perspiration beaded on his forehead. He cleared his throat. "He said that there had been a death in the family, your majesty, and that he was therefore indisposed--"

"Indisposed! My God! To an invitation from his King!" The King's mood verged on hysteria.

Grimm, who had resumed his position as Chief Advisor, stepped forward from the darkness behind the messenger. "I instructed you to bring him here by force, if necessary. Why didn't you seize him? Were your orders not clear?"

The messenger spun around and bowed to the stocky advisor. Drops of sweat splattered on the cold marble floor. "We tried, my lord. I had him surrounded by four of the King's best soldiers. When I insisted that he accompany us, he refused. I informed him of my instructions to bring him in fetters if necessary, and he just laughed. On my signal the soldiers leapt to take him captive. Before they could reach him, there was a flash of light and a thick cloud of smoke and flames where he had been standing. It rose up into the trees above us. When the air had cleared, he was gone. There wasn't any trace of him. His house was empty, his wife and attendants gone. We waited half the day, but he never returned."

"How many witnessed this," Grimm asked.

"Only the four soldiers and I, my lord. The rest of our party was camped below the crest and saw and heard nothing."

"Good. And these four soldiers, can they be trusted?"

"Yes, my lord. They are four of the best."

"See that each is promoted and given an increase in pay. Make sure they understand that they're to speak of this to no one."

"It's already been done, my lord."

"Did the Sorcerer say anything else?" Grimm's voice was a low rumble.

"Yes. He gave me a message for the King."

The King eyed his minister suspiciously, as a mouse might an envoy from the cat. "What was the message?"

The Minister was miserably uncomfortable. "He said, and I quote," he cleared his throat again, "'If the King wants to see me, tell him to come here.'"

"My God!" The King grabbed his crown to keep it from falling off his head. "How is this going to look!"

"Anything else?" Grimm asked.

"That was all, my lord."

Grimm dismissed the minister, and the ebullient envoy fairly danced out of the chamber relishing the heavy bounce of his head still attached to his neck.

"What have we created, Grimm?" the King wanted to know when the throneroom was empty. "How does it look if the Sorcerer can resist with impunity the will of the ruler of the kingdom?"

Grimm sat down heavily in the chair just below the King. "I don't think he has any ambitions against the throne, your highness. No, I believe he just wants to be left alone right now. He seems to be possessed of that peculiar sort of overbearing conscience that grieves for the hideous deaths inflicted on our enemies, even as he rejoices with us in the preservation of the kingdom. But he's no threat to you."

"Perhaps not. But how are we going to get out of this embarrassing mess he seems to have placed us in?"

"You could graciously accept his invitation."

"I could?" The notion startled the King into the singular.

"A magnanimous gesture, no doubt."

"Perhaps we could . . . ."

"The King himself, by his own initiative, condescends to pay honor to a great countryman who is unfortunately . . . unable . . . incapable, for whatever reason, of accepting an invitation to the castle."

"Yes, I like it," chortled the King. "We will need to get the wording just right, of course."

"Of course," Grimm rumbled, smiling imperceptibly and scratching out a few notes to himself.

"It's fine weather for a royal outing," the King proclaimed. "And the Prince is now old enough to undertake his first extended journey. It's time he got to know the realm, and the realm got to know him, wouldn't you say?"

"I think it's time you had a talk with your Protector of the Kingdom," Grimm reminded him ominously.

"Yes. I see what you mean. It's time we reached a clear understanding with the Sorcerer. Absolutely. No doubt about it."

The parade and banquet were held as scheduled, but without benefit of the Sorcerer's presence. The official announcement explained in great detail how the wizard had not yet fully recovered from the enormous expenditure of energy involved in single- handedly routing two separate armies. The King himself would travel to the Sorcerer's mountain retreat to personally bestow the supreme honor of Protector of the Kingdom upon the exhausted magician. The two empty chairs beside the King at the head of the banquet table were heralded as ceremonial reminders to the celebrants of the debt the kingdom owed to the Sorcerer and his beautiful wife, but to those few who dared to believe they could see beyond mere appearance, they were tokens of where real domestic power now rested.

And so it came to pass that the King and his elaborate entourage undertook the long journey to the Sorcerer's mountain retreat. The road from the capital city ran generally north-by-northeast and usually took three days to transit. The King's party took six, seeing the sights, visiting an influential farmer here, a rich manufacturer there, entertaining petty functionaries everywhere, and generally dispensing its favors across the countryside. Town streets and village byways were invariably lined with peasants and shopkeepers, merchants and mayors, farmers and homemakers, each hoping to catch a glimpse of the King and his beloved infant son the Prince. Words of praise abounded for the King and the Sorcerer. As royal bugles blared, the subjects cheered wildly to be part of such a wonderful, peaceful, and inviolable kingdom.

The King took the precaution of sending an envoy on ahead to make quite certain the magician intended to receive him in the fashion appropriate to a monarch's visit. The Sorcerer welcomed the honor, it was reported, and would be on his best behavior, though he would prefer that the King limit to ten the number in the royal party that actually made their way up the mountainside to visit the wizard's modest household. This suited the King just fine. Not knowing for certain what pranks the unruly magician might be capable of perpetrating, he was pleased to keep the number of witnesses to an absolute minimum.

But the King need not have worried, for the visit contained not a single awesome act, no pyrotechnics whatsoever, and nothing particularly out of the ordinary. As the King, his Chief Advisor, and the Sorcerer held their private discussions seated informally around the kitchen table, the wizard bounced the infant Prince on his knee. He was truly fond of the inquisitive lad. The youngster was fascinated by the painting of the Sorcerer's strikingly beautiful wife which hung on the wall above the sideboard.

"I'm sorry your wife is unable to receive us," the King said more than once.

"Yes, I'm sorry too," the magician replied each time without attempting to explain her absence.

Grimm diverted the flow of the conversation back into the channel of the business at hand.

"You needn't concern yourselves with my loyalty to you and to the young Prince here," the Sorcerer said, still bouncing the burbling Prince. "I frankly don't care to participate in the customary ceremony of court, splendid though I'm sure it must be. Nevertheless, you will have my continuing allegiance and support in preserving peace in the kingdom and assuring the rule of justice."

"The King will always seek to have his rule tempered with justice," Grimm rumbled.

"Then the King shall have my unswerving allegiance and support."

As Grimm had advised, the King offered the magician a yearly stipend, modest compared to many of the extravagances of the royal court, but fully adequate to meet his needs and those of his staff and household. In exchange, the Sorcerer accepted the title of Protector of the Kingdom as a royal office, implying under the circumstances a continuing duty as well as recognition in thanks for a past task well done. The wizard declined, however, to name any further favor in discharge of the King's earlier pledge of reward, made hastily in the teeth of certain disaster.

Grimm brought up the delicate subject of separation of powers within the kingdom. In a lengthy, though at times oblique discussion which the King had difficulty following, Grimm and the Sorcerer readily agreed that the magician would concern himself with protection of the state from foreign threats, and the King would administer the internal affairs of the realm. It was strongly implied by the Chief Advisor that neither should meddle in the bailiwick of the other. Having arrived at an understanding entirely satisfactory to both, the King and the Sorcerer shook hands warmly and emerged from the vine-covered cottage arm in arm, the picture of solid friendship and eternal goodwill.

The Prince cried to leave his new friend. As the royal party mounted to embark on the long journey back to the castle, more than one retainer thought he saw a tear likewise glistening in the Sorcerer's eye, though whether it arose from the sadness of parting or from some other hidden melancholy, no one could determine.