The Wicked and the Witless coaaod-5

by Hugh Cook

  But Sean Sarazin climbed instead to the very summit of the exterior of the kingmaker's throne room, determined to make his last stand there. Glambrax followed. 'Glambrax,' said Sarazin, 'get me a sword.' But Glambrax grinned, giggled, then shook his head.

  "Very well,' said Sarazin, 'when my enemies come I must perforce defend myself with a dwarf. A dead dwarf, if a live one proves too unwieldy.'

  Oh, that's a famous weapon, master, a famous weapon!' said Glambrax.

  Then he chortled, making a hideous sound half like laughter and half like somebody swallowing blood.

  Sarazin, nested in surprising comfort between the uprearing stone dragons which crowned the throne room, closed his eyes and tried to relax. He would need his strength for the battle to come. However.. . that battle proved a long time coming.

  Finally, Sarazin realised that he was almost alone on the roof. Most of those who had joined the exodus from the throne room had climbed down, or else had gone back inside. He could still hear sounds of panic but they were faint, distant. Looking down – a long way downl – he saw concerned figures clustered around the corpses of the stone-smashed fallen.

  'We'd best be going inside,' said Glambrax, starting the descent.

  Sarazin watched him go then, puzzled, followed. On regaining the throne room he found it almost empty. A small boy child was sitting on Farfalla's throne, suck- ing his thumb. A couple of wounded soldiers sat slumped against a wall. And there were half a dozen servants and such. And Snakes, some dead, some wounded and writhing. Scor- pions, some mashed, others holding their ground in fury. Centipedes. Toads. Huge, filthy cockroaches. And what was that in the centre of the room? Dung? No! A heap of bubbling mud!

  As Sarazin watched, out from the mud there plopped first a toad, then an adder, then an asp. They were the last of the legions of the Dreaded Ones which had indeed come to his aid, albeit tardily.

  A little later, Sarazin discovered that tens of thousands of verminous creatures, most poisonous, still commanded the stairwell. And, in the end, he too had to descend to ground level by climbing down the exterior walls, with Glambrax giving him unwanted advice for every choice of handhold.

  Sean Sarazin had two questions which needed urgent answers.

  First: why had Selzirk's mob tried for his blood? Second: did his mother still live? 'Glambrax!' said Sarazin, 'find me Farfalla!' But the dwarf, who had been trotting at his heels but a moment before, had vanished himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Drangsturm: flame trench guarded by Confederation of Wizards. Lies 500 leagues south of Selzirk. Runs length of narrow isthmus between Inner Waters (to the east) and Central Ocean (to the west). Divides Argan North from terror-lands of the Deep South where lurk the monsters of the Swarms.

  Sean Sarazin had failed.

  He had pursued his ambition relentlessly, had won his princess and his kingdom, and then had lost both. He had only been saved from deadly peril by a legal technicality. How humiliating! Could he still succeed?

  Could he still be a hero triumphant, a conqueror, a leader of men, a ruler, a king? Could he – to come right down to specifics – regain the throne of Chenameg which Tarkal had stolen from him? Perhaps.

  If he quested to the terror-lands, found the tectonic lever and threw it then he would be a hero true. With such heroic status, a few mercenaries and a good public relations expert surely he could seize and retain the throne of Chenameg.

  The beauty of the plan was that the Harvest Plains would be unable to interfere with such an ambition, for if he threw the tectonic lever then Selzirk's lands would be drowned by the Central Ocean. But how would he find the lever? He had never formally researched the subject but, nevertheless, was aware that precious little was known of the geography of the terror-lands south of Drangsturm.

  Besides, the more he thought about it, the more the notion of throwing the tectonic lever seemed absurd. A criminal madness, even. To sink Argan? To drown the Harvest Plains? To kill people by the million? Impossible to justify! He had been taught by Lord Regan that ambition was good: good for the individual, good for the world. But there were exceptions to every rule.

  Yet he had sworn himself already to the quest. At his wedding with Amantha he had taken an oath to go questing for the tectonic lever. He had no choice!

  'Stop talking nonsense,' said Thodric Jarl, when Sarazin spoke to him about it. "You did not swear to find the tectonic lever, or to throw it. Your vow was to go on the traditional quest undertaken by all heirs of Chenameg.' 'But that is-'

  'Is to quest until wounded, and no further. Surely you got a couple of scratches or such between arrest in Shin and safety here.'

  Sarazin thought Jarl would have made a good lawyer, but dared not venture an insult so unpardonable. Instead, he said:

  You call this safety? The mob has stormed the palace once. Why not twice?'

  'Mobs cannot be roused to anger on a daily basis,' said Jarl.

  Yet the mob attacked once,' said Sarazin, 'so surely hates me fiercely.' 'The mob hates Farfalla more than you,' said Jarl. 'Farfalla?' said Sarazin, puzzled. 'But why?'

  'Because she perverted justice for her family's benefit,' said Jarl. 'I don't understand,' said Sarazin.

  'Did you think your judge botched his sentencing by chance?' said Jarl. 'No. Qolidian wasn't made governor of Androlmarphos by accident. That was a bribe.' 'Did – did Farfalla tell you this?' said Sarazin.

  'I've not asked her about it,' said Jarl. 'But share my opinion with all Selzirk. How else did Qolidian become governor?'

  Sarazin, seeing the inescapable logic of this, was profoundly shaken by this proof of his own ignorance. Shortly, pursuing the truth to the death, he challenged his mother over the matter.

  'Of course I bribed Qolidian,' said Farfalla. 'Everyone knows it. Everyone! The people, the courts, the Regency, Lord Regan of the Rice Empire, yes, and the pirates of the Greater Teeth for all I know. My credibility is zero.' 'Will the Regency… will they…?'

  What?' said Farfalla. 'Impeach me? Over this? No. They can prove nothing. They'd lose in the courts. But, Sarazin my son – watch yourself! Before, they merely suspected you of ambition. Now they have proof of it. Sean Sarazin, king of Chenameg -, what on earth were you thinking of?'

  "Myself,' sard Sarazin simply. "My duty to myself. To be what I can be.'

  'At what expense to others?' said Farfalla. 'Do you realise what you've cost me? Leaving aside that-'

  What followed was another long, exquisitely painful lecture. From which Sean Sarazin learnt at least a tem- porary caution. Thus when certain members of the Watch approached him directly – having given up hope of getting to him through Thodric Jarl – he rebuffed them.

  In his new mood of caution he did not trust anyone from the Watch, even though it was members of that organi- sation who had defended him when the mob rioted. He did report the approach to Jarl who commended him for his caution.

  "Your one task at the moment is to get fit,' said Jarl. 'So you're ready for whatever position Imbleprig wins for you.'

  'What are you talking about?' said Sarazin. 'Imbleprig is but a lawyer. How can he win me position?'

  'So you've not been told,' said Jarl. 'Well then, listen, and a tale I will unfold…'

  Thus Sarazin learnt that his entanglement with the law was not yet over. Childermass Imbleprig was seeking damages to compensate Sarazin for having been wrong- fully sentenced. Imbleprig sought not just money for his client but status and position as well.

  'For,' argued Imbleprig, 'my client has been victim of such a cruel injustice that unless the court intervenes it will be impossible for him to fulfil his talent and follow the career which should by rights have been his.'

  Imbleprig laid it on so thick that Sarazin was positively embarrassed. Sarazin, in his innocence, fully expected the court to throw out his case on the grounds of its patent absurdity. But, as it happened, the intricacies of the Constitution, the details of law and regulation made since and the court rulings
on the seventy-seven relevant precedents were all on Sarazin's side.

  Midsummer's Day arrived, initiating the year Alliance 4326. Sarazin, reminded by his mother, did his duty to the sungod. And his court case continued.

  After much palaver, the court ruled that Sarazin had indeed been grievously wronged, and was therefore due for compensation. The court declared that the state must pay Sarazin's legal costs and, furthermore, give him a position of high responsibility. It directed the Regency to see that this was done.

  There followed a secret conference of the Regency after which Plovey, spokesman for the Regency and one of the most powerful players in the politics of Selzirk, approached Sarazin to offer him command of an army tasked with destroying marauders presently active near the source of the Shouda Flow.

  'These invaders,' said Plovey, 'are pretending to be barbarians from the Marabin Erg, but our spies tell us they are in fact from the Rice Empire.'

  'No matter,' said Sarazin. 'I'll harry them hard then drive them south with their heads between their legs.'

  "With their what?' said Plovey, not quite understanding this foreign idiom.

  'Never mind,' said Sarazin. 'What I'm saying is that I'll do the job. How many troops do I have?'

  'Five hundred horse,' said Plovey. 'But we're thinking of increasing the number by adding some infantry.'

  Indeed, the Regency was thinking very hard. It shortly made a public announcement to the effect that there would be a pardon for anyone in prison who would march with Sean Kelebes Sarazin as a foot soldier. This met with an enthusiastic response from the prisoners, and every convicted pickpocket, rapist, perjurer and cock-cutter in Selzirk flocked to Sarazin's banner.

  Sarazin, meanwhile, had discovered to his dismay that the five hundred cavalrymen who formed the core of his army were the remnants of the notorious Kelebes mutiny. Judging by their reputation, they would be more dangerous to him than the enemy.

  Then, to multiply the confusion, the Regency proclaimed that any and all citizens who wished to march with Sean Sarazin's army were at liberty to do so. A mistake!

  For, along with the assorted psychopaths, lunatics and apprentice boys who took advantage of this offer, the Master of Combat for the Watch volunteered to follow Sean Sarazin on his campaign. A hundred members of the Watch promptly decided to follow Thodric Jarl to war. Sarazin, acting on Jarl's advice, promptly swore them in as his military police.

  Sarazin's need for such was dire indeed, as he saw when he reviewed his troops with Thodric Jarl. Disgruntled veterans, convict scum, human refuse from the streets, mumbling lunatics and dolt-eyed idiots. Still, he faced them bravely and made a speech. 'Death or victory!' said Sarazin Sky.

  And his men cheered, for the sun was shining, the enemy were very far away, and they were happy – at least for a moment – to fancy themselves as heroes. Then Sarazin went on to say:

  'As token of my dedication to battle I take for this campaign the name Watashi.'

  A grim name indeed! Sarazin's men greeted it with further cheers, for he had given himself a name truly fit for battle. It meant blood, death, fear, murder, slaughter.

  And Sarazin exalted. For he had taken another step to fulfilling his prophecy. He was now known to all the world as Watashi.

  In the end, Sarazin's army amounted to 500 cavalrymen, 400 skirmishers and 100 military police. Thodric Jarl, with a lifetime's experience of war behind him, had no trouble organising this paltry force, and, late in the summer, they were ready to march to war.

  The night before Sarazin's army quit Selzirk, Sarazin sat up late debating with himself. Should he or should he not take his ring of invisibility, his dragon bottle and his magic candle to war? Once more, he read through the intelligence reports. The enemy, whoever they were, were not in strength sufficient to threaten Selzirk.

  This invasion, then, was not a matter of great moment. If Sarazin won, that victory would win him, at best, a transitory popularity. If he lost, the disgrace would be bearable, and he was unlikely to lose his life.

  He decided his magic was best reserved for a crisis which severely affected either his own life or the very survival of Selzirk. So he hid his magical artefacts away behind a loose stone in one of the walls of his own quarters, thinking that hiding place as safe as any.

  And, the next day, he marched from Selzirk with his army.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Shouda Flow: river rising in foothills of mountains little more than a hundred leagues east of Selzirk. A waterway of little importance since, unlike the Velvet River, it is not navigable, seldom floods, and tends to run dry in summer.

  Thus it came to pass that in the summer of the year Alliance 4326 the young warlord Watashi rode forth at the head of his troops. As he rode to war. Thodric Jarl let him bear the blade of firelight steel which had been Lord Regan's gift to him. His dwarf Glambrax, who rode beside him mounted on a donkey, carried the same crossbow with which he had done battle in Shin, in Chenameg.

  Sarazin's army moved a march a day – ten leagues between sunrise and sunset – keeping to the north bank of the Shouda How. Soon after passing the only dam on that river they received fresh news of the marauders, and quickened their pace. On the ninth day, when they were nearing the river's headwaters, their lead scouts spotted enemy outriders on the opposite bank.

  'What now?' said Sarazin. 'Should I cross the river and give chase?'

  'Given the quality of the troops under your command,' said Thodric Jarl grimly, 'your best hope is that the enemy will run away. I suggest you halt here to give them the chance to do just that.'

  Sarazin, with some reluctance, eventually agreed, and the army camped for the night. On the morrow, they rose to find the enemy on the opposite bank. Jarl did a quick headcount and estimated that Sarazin's men were out- numbered three to one. 'Should we run now?' said Sarazin, on hearing this.

  'If they attack across the river, then yes,' said Jarl, 'definitely yes. But let's try to bluff them first.'

  'But if our bluff doesn't work,' said Sarazin, 'they could be on us in a moment.' 'Could they?' said Jarl. 'Examine the river.' Sarazin did so.

  This close to the mountains, the Shouda Flow had shrunk in the summer heat to a weed-green creek. The bank on this, the northern side, was the height of a man. On the southern side it was lower. The enemy could charge into the river easily enough but, to get up the man-high bank on Sarazin's side, would have to leave their horses behind.

  'I wasn't thinking,' said Sarazin. 'Now – how are we going to try to bluff them?'

  You work it out,' said Jarl, who thought the question too elementary to deserve his attention. 'But think fast – there's a herald coming across the river now, possibly to parley.'

  There was indeed a herald from the enemy camp walking across the river, a green bough in his hands as a sign of peace.

  'How does he do that?' said Sarazin, fascinated by the sight of the herald's feet twinkling across the surface of the water. 'Ask him when he gets here,' said Jarl.

  Then the pair of them withdrew to Sarazin's tent and waited until the herald was shown in. Whereupon Sarazin asked the man the secret of his water-walking.

  'I am descended from the High Elves of Izlarkloza,' said the herald proudly. 'Hence my ability.'

  Whether he was telling the truth or not is, of course, another story. Sarazin was inclined to believe him, for he liked the herald on first acquaintance – not least because the man addressed him in the Geltic of the Rice Empire, language of his childhood, language of his youth.

  "Now to business,' said Jarl, also glad to be speaking that same Geltic.

  Yes,' said Sarazin, beginning the work of bluff. 'First, you'd better know that this isn't my whole army. This is just the advance guard. In fact-'

  The rest of what Sarazin said is predictable enough. The herald listened, took it all in, then said:

  Your message will reach my commander's ears in undiluted form.' (Or, to quote the herald more exactly: with no tea in its coffee.) 'But,'
continued the herald, 'whether he chooses to believe it or not is nothing to do with me. My own duty is to deliver a message to you from my commander.' 'What is that?' said Sarazin.

  'My commander is prepared to send forth a champion to meet a champion of yours in single combat in the middle of the river. Both will fight with bare blades, no shields and no armour. Combat will be to the death.' 'How much do you stake on this fight?' said Sarazin.

  Much,' said the herald. 'If your champion wins, we will withdraw back to the Marabin Erg from whence we came. If our champion wins, your army will march away and let us cross the river unhindered.' 'What then?' said Sarazin.

  'Then you are at liberty to attack us. All we want is to get across the river without a fight. Is it a deal? A duel to decide whether our side retreats or crosses the river unhindered. What say?'

  Yes!' said Sarazin. Then, feeling heroic: 'I myself will champion the Harvest Plains.'

  Yes! This was the ideal way for a war to be decided. By single combat between champions. More importantly, Sarazin could thereby win personal renown from this campaign. A military enterprise which had till now seemed the most unpromising of routine operations suddenly offered him a chance of deathless fame and glory.

  'Bare blades,' said the herald, reminding him. 'Oh, and did I mention helmets? No helmets.'

  'Fine,' said Sarazin. We will meet unhelmeted in mid- stream with bare blades and no armour.' 'Be ready soon,' said the herald. And departed.

  'Did I make the right decisions?' said Sarazin, turning to Jarl.

  'That's for you to say, not me,' said Jarl. You're the boss.'

  Then Jarl got to work. Already there was a buzz of noise outside the tent. For the herald had given Sarazin's soldiers news of the agreement in turn for a few twists of tobacco, and now those same soldiers were laying bets on the outcome of the forthcoming fight.

  Sarazin had been wearing his best silks when he met the herald, but Jarl ordered him into his sweaty old leathers. Then, working swiftly, Jarl prepared Sarazin for combat by wrapping so many turns of cloth round his middle that it seemed he had a veritable paunch.