THE SEA HAG(96)

If Dennis could take out the leader of Parol's men with his first stroke, perhaps the rest would—

"All hail Prince Dennis!" boomed a voice from the crowd. The same voice, Ramos' voice—and Hale's old friend raised high both of the guards who had gone to silence him.

Ramos' great calloused hands were locked on each guard's right wrist. One of the men still waggled his sword vainly.

It acted as a banner to rally the people of Emath Village against their orange-clad oppressors.

A roofing tile struck down a guard, but the rush by hundreds of citizens was too sudden and overwhelming for further missiles to be necessary. The second demon vanished, an empty phantasm which left behind no trace of its passage.

Rifkin dropped his staff. He jumped backward, away from the mob—and bumped into Dennis, who scarcely had time to turn his sword and avoid cutting the ex-butler apart by accident. Rifkin saw what he'd done and screamed, plunging back the way he'd fled. He was starting to tear off his orange tunic, as though that could save him.

It did give the people a useful idea, though. As Dennis and his companions stepped into Emath, the mob began to wave flags of orange fabric as they shouted, "Hail Prince Dennis!"

Ramos had gotten rid of his two captives. He swept his arms around Dennis—still bigger than the youth and far too careless of the drawn sword. One of Chester's tentacles whisked the blade aside to avoid disaster.

"I never thought you'd return, lad," the old man blurted. "I thought that little swine Parol had made away with you."

"None of his doing," Dennis said, hugging Ramos hard with his left arm. "Are—are my parents...?"

"He's got them in the palace," Ramos said. Even though their heads were close together, they both had to raise their voices to be heard over the mob.

"To the palace!" somebody cried, taking up the words.

"King Dennis to the palace!" hundreds of throats replied in a building chant. The crowd surged back down the street, parting to let Dennis and his companions through to its head.

"King Dennis!" the people roared.





CHAPTER 66




Chester walked in front of them, his glittering tentacles providing a breathing space for the others without threatening the members of the friendly mob.

"How many more guards are there, Ramos?" Dennis asked. The old man strode at his right side as Aria did at his left.

"No more," Ramos replied. "Parol must have sent them all out when he realized that it was you coming."

Dennis looked around in amazement. "Twenty men couldn't force their rule on Emath," he protested.

"Fear can force its rule on any number of men, Dennis," said Chester before Ramos could respond.

Some of the ex-guards, disarmed and stripped to underwear or less, were skulking along at the edges of the crowd. Those who met Dennis' eyes looked away in fear... but they were more afraid not to be a part of the event.

Part of the triumphal return of Prince Dennis to the palace in which he'd been born and raised.

Dennis sheathed his sword. It had won him a princess for wife, but now he realized that he might never need the star-metal blade again. There were accounts yet to settle with Parol—

But Parol wouldn't fight him with swords. Of that he could be certain.

The palace was a garden of pure light refracted in sprays of color. It didn't look large to Dennis, now that he'd stood at the glowering foot of Rakastava.

But it was just as beautiful as he remembered it being; and it was his home.

The doors of the main entrance hung ajar. The arch in front of them was covered with what looked like cobwebs—except that the strands were each as thick as a man's little finger.

Dennis looked up the palace facade. Other openings—windows, doors onto balconies; everything large enough to pass an adult—were similarly blocked.

"Chester, is there some sort of trick?" Dennis asked in puzzlement. "Will—lightning strike me when I cut the cords or something like that?"

The tip of one of Chester's tentacles hovered close to the webbing, looking for all the world like a male spider gingerly approaching the lair of a possible mate.

"There is no trick, Dennis," he said. "It may be that Parol thinks you will not be able to cut the web; and it may be that Parol has no better way to prevent you, however long he thinks this obstacle will delay you."

"Not very long," Dennis murmured, drawing his sword again after all.

The mob had stopped, whispering at the web's uncanniness. The glitter of the weapon threw them back fractionally, each row shifting a body's breadth toward the rear—bumping into the row behind it and shifting again.

Dennis swept the blade down. The edge that had taken off Rakastava's heads found the web no hindrance, though the strands parted like heavy wire.