The Wicked and the Witless coaaod-5

by Hugh Cook

This debate could have gone on all day, as Heth, despite his wretched condition, had found fresh and fiery energies for debate now that his beloved King Tor had come under attack. However, at that stage Jarl returned, and, with help from Elkin and Glambrax, dragged Heth away.

  So, still hungry, and disgusted by their reception, Sarazin and his party began to trudge back the way they had come, heading for the Towers of X-n'dix. 'What happened?' said Sarazin. Heth explained.

  While the doctrines espoused by Miss Inch were alien to Heth, they were well known to much of the rest of the world, for their originator was of course the great

  Yan Nard, one of the Nine Immortals of history. These ideas were not entirely unfamiliar to Sarazin, for Lord Regan's own beliefs owed much to Yan Nard's teachings.

  'What this ignorant peasant woman doesn't under- stand,' said Sarazin, 'is that such arguments only apply within a stable social context. They don't hold good in emergencies.'

  An interesting assertion! What would Miss Inch have said in reply? It would have made, perhaps, a historic debate – but Jarl refused Sarazin permission to return to the hamlet to start it.

  'We'll not get anything out of these people whatever we say or do,' said Jarl. 'So let's make do with what we've got.' 'Which is nothing!' said Sarazin.

  'No,' said Jarl. 'We must have got some information, at least. Well, Heth – what did you learn?'

  'A little' said Heth. 'Boats must run from here to Stokos, for all that they claim a landing's impossible on the shores of X-zox.' 'How did you find that out?'

  'Because the talk turned to Stokos, and it's clear these people know what happens there. Worse, they see no wrong in Gouda Muck and his gang of lunatics.' 'Tell me more,' said Jarl.

  Sarazin, now sulking, paid little heed to the conversation which followed. He was busy conjuring with fantasies in which he wrecked bloody vengeance upon the. people of X-zox. He only abandoned these play dreams when his party began the sweat-gasping climb up the near-sheer league-length heights of the Towers of Castle X-n'dix.

  Evening shadows were falling by the time the five made it to the nearer of those Towers: the Lesser, which stood to the west of the Greater, and was therefore invisible to the east. Seen from a distance, the Lesser Tower looked tiny. But up close it was impressive enough in terms of size – though the style left more than a little to be desired. Sarazin thought: -It looks like a weapon. A giant's club.

  The Lesser Tower was circular in section, its diameter widening from roughly thirty paces at ground level to thrice that at the top, which was ten times manheight from the ground. Those proportions made the tower seem heavy, unwieldy, overbearing. For a moment, Sarazin thought it was falling – then realised that the impression of movement came from the slow-streaming evening clouds.

  Glambrax scampered ahead of the others, grabbed a dark-purple thigh-bone which projected from the tower, hauled himself up and kissed a skull the colour of polished mahogany. In the dying light of the evening, Sarazin saw the entire tower was built of skulls, bones, gargoyled heads, fangs, claws, veined wings, and other pieces of both human and alien anatomy. Painted?

  His fingers caressed the nearest skull. It was dark, dark red, dark as blood drying towards black. Anatomically correct, right down to the close-stitched joints between the skullbones. His fingernail bent as he tried to scratch away the colour. He tried it with the tip of a knife. "Metal,' he said.

  'Or pottery,' said Epelthin Elkin. 'Pottery!' said Sarazin. I'm not daft enough to believe that.' 'The Dissidents,' said Elkin, 'were masters of ceramics.'

  'Did they work ever in Selzirk?' said Sarazin. This reminds me of the roof of my mother's High Court. Also of a certain monument in Libernek Square.'

  The Dissidents were patrons of the arts,' said Elkin. 'They may well have fostered talent which later expressed itself elsewhere.'

  Sarazin – wondering if perhaps Elkin had been a Dissident himself – studied the gloomy colours of the wallwork. Waterweed green, squid purple, murder red, mahogany, lead, anthracite, pumpkin and plum.

  'Whatever this is made of, one could have wished that the colour scheme had been somewhat more sophisticated. If this was the art they patronised it leaves much to be desired.'

  'Ah,' said Elkin, 'doubtless they would have welcomed a maven like yourself to advise them in matters of taste.'

  'Are you mocking me?' said Sarazin, the touch of anger in his voice suggesting the final triumph of hunger over wit, of fatigue over tolerance.

  'Doubtless he means,' said Jarl, 'that only a fool would stand here talking colours when we've our lives to lose and a world, perhaps, to win.'

  With that, he began circling the Tower, looking for a gate. He found nothing, and returned to the others disgruntled. 'Where's the door?' said Jarl. 'Right in front of us,' said Elkin. So Jarl tried the wall with a word: 'Open!' But no door opened.

  'Lead friend Heth out of earshot,' said Elkin, 'and I'll attend to this.'

  That he did, a single Word of his causing part of the sculptured wall to melt away. Within, red light breathed from dragon mouths in legion, showing them the interior of the Lesser Tower of Castle X-n'dix.

  They entered with swords drawn, for they had no idea what they might find within.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  X-zox: enclave on western coast of Hok.

  X-n'dix: complex built by the Dissidents which dominates the heights separating X-zox from the Willow Vale.

  Willow Vale: valley opening on to the southern coast of Hok.

  Inside the Lesser Tower the heroes found… silence. Dust. More dragon-mouth lamps. Stairs climbing in tight spirals to the heights. Arrow slits and spyholes invisible from the outside, so cunningly were they hidden among the tower's decorations.

  Guided by Elkin, the explorers soon found food: siege dust held in ancient bronze-coloured urns adorned by obscure alphabets and inscrutable hieroglyphics.

  'We can live on this forever,' said Elkin, exhibiting this wealth to his comrades.

  'Is this a joke?' said Sarazin, dabbing a finger in the fine-ground grey dust then touching that finger to his tongue.

  "No joke,' growled Jarl. 'I've heard of this stuff in Rovac. Iron rations for bare-bone survival.'

  'We could trade it to the local peasants,' said Heth brightly.

  'Oh yes!' said Glambrax, chortling. 'For roast phoenix, baked basilisk, fresh virgins' blood and all.'

  'If we offer this in trade,' said Sarazin, 'we'll lose all goodwill in X-zox forever.'

  But Heth persisted, so on the morrow the others let him attempt a trade. Miss Inch opposed purchase, claiming the dust had no utility. But she was overruled for once, and the locals, thinking the siege dust to be the ashes of the Time Lords whom they believed had built the local landmarks, willingly bought it for the magical pro- perties they thought it to contain. They paid in food in plenty, and Sarazin started to think rather better of Heth.

  That, however, was before Sarazin had tasted the local food, some of which threatened to quell all appetite forever. But at least it kept the adventurers going while they explored the Lesser Tower from top to bottom, always hoping to find treasure, or implements of power which would allow them to master the world.

  They found many doors, cupboards and chambers which they could not open. In his dreams, Sarazin broke into them to discover oranges which metamorphosed into dragons, flowers which spoke then romanced him, a sceptre which exulted him into clouds of gold and incense…

  A sea-smooth cowrie shell, wet with wave, which warmed to perfume, which licked his nipples erect, which buttered his orchids then twisted itself into a woman… 'Sarazin,' she said, breathing his name…

  She was none other than Amantha. And Sarazin there- upon dreamt of amation, of his own flesh deliciously conjoined with Amantha's slick humidity, her grasp persuading him, his blood engorged. On the verge of satisfaction, he woke. 'Shtig,' he said.

  Swearing softly, in order not to wake his companions, for it was after midnight and he would not be
thanked if he roused them.

  Once awake, Sarazin could not get back to sleep. He was hungry. He was bedded down on a grossly uncomfort- able pile of branches. Glambrax was snoring hideously. But what really kept him awake was an uncomfortable awareness of his own predicament. He was alive, true. But, other than that, his situation was disastrous.

  He had been defeated by the ogre Tor. Two hundred of his men had mutinied and had doubtless been taken prisoner. By now the rest of his army was probably on its way back to Selzirk – unless it had been destroyed by the ogre. Worse, to get home Sarazin would have to return through the Passage, steal through the Willow Vale and try to sneak across the Eagle Pass without being caught.

  A grim state of affairs indeed!

  Sarazin was sleepless till dawn. Breakfast did not improve his temper, for a very few days in X-zox had left him thoroughly sick of the local provender. In X-zox the staples were fish, potatoes, and unleavened bread made from flour ground from millet. The luxuries were mutton, sparrows and fricasseed vipers.

  Mutton made Sarazin nauseous, sparrows frustrated him with their high bone-to-bite ratio, while snake meat left him with agita, which was once so severe that he misinter- preted acid indigestion as a heart attack. So much for the luxuries. As for the staples…

  'As an army commander,' said Sarazin, that morning, 'I have a duty to return to Selzirk to report. Sluggardry ill befits a hero-prince.'

  'Save lectures on hero-princes until we meet one,' said Glambrax, thus earning himself a kick. Rubbing his back- side ruefully, he then said: 'Why be in such a hurry to get us all killed? We've a thousand enemies or more between here and safety.' 'He has a point,' said Jarl.

  'I think we could get back to the Eagle Pass if we took Heth with us as hostage,' said Sarazin.

  'Good thinking!' said Jarl. 'They'll think much better of us in Selzirk if we bring back at least one prisoner.' 'Steady on!' said Heth, in alarm.

  The young peasant had no wish whatsoever to be dragged back to that distant alien city, of which he had heard the most ominous rumours imaginable (many of them, let it be added, quite true).

  'Sorry,' said Sarazin, "but we don't have much option. We have to get out of here somehow.'

  Then leave the way the locals do,' said Heth. They don't know the secret of the Passage, so they must have some way in and out of here, either by land or sea.'

  'But will they tell it to us?' said Jarl. 'They constantly disclaim knowledge of any such route, obviously hoping to raise its market value.'

  'We can't wait around,' said Sarazin. 'We should leave today. I'm sorry, Heth. I quite like you – but you'll have to come with us.'

  'If you let me stay,' said Heth, Til – I’ll swear lifelong loyalty to you. I can't disown my oath to King Tor, but once Tor is dead I'll follow you forever, to death and beyond.'

  'What good is that to me?' said Sarazin. 'This ogre is in the prime of life, or so I've heard. By the time he's dead, I might be dead myself – and you too. Anyway, if we don't have you as a hostage we'll never get out of here alive.'

  'I can grant you safe conduct,' said Heth. 'As regional commander for the north of the Willow Vale I have the authority. I'd come with you as far as the Eagle Pass. I'd see you safely out of Tor's territory.'

  'Tor's territory!' said Sarazin. You've got a cheek! No, you're coming back to Selzirk with us.' Heth drew a deep breath. Then:

  'If you take me back to Selzirk I'll tell everything I saw. How your troops mutinied. How you lost all authority. How you-'

  You dare!' said Sarazin, on the edge of losing his temper. 'I will!' said Heth, defiantly.

  While the two glared at each other, Jarl exchanged glances with Elkin, sucked on his lower lip, then said:

  'I think Heth's offer is reasonable. We get out of here alive – if he is to be trusted, which I think he is. You, Sean Sarazin, then have a man bound to your service by an oath, albeit an oath not immediately effective.' 'But now he knows the secrets of X-n'dix!' said Sarazin.

  'He knows only that the place exists, which is no great secret since he had heard of its existence before he met us,' said Elkin. 'He knows not the Words to open the Passage Gates or the Lesser Tower, though you yourself have been trusted with them. I will be staying here. You can be sure nobody will wrest this tower from my control. But, if you doubt – then let Heth swear to leave me here in peace.' The matter did not end there, but, after lengthy deliberations which would have done credit to a coven of lawyers, Sarazin agreed that they had deyised oaths to bind Heth so firmly that he could not be a danger to them. Heth consented to swear these oaths.

  Then, that very same day, Jarl, Sarazin, Glambrax and Heth descended from the Lesser Tower, returned through the underground passage to the Willow Vale, and set off towards the Eagle Pass.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Sarazin's career: as the public sees Sean Sarazin's life, since his return from Voice he has been (1) an invalid, (2) a prisoner of terrorists, (3) a usurper of the throne of Chenameg, (4) a successful army commander who won a victory at the headwaters of the Shouda How and (5) commander responsible for a minor military disaster in Tyte.

  None of this is sufficient to make him a figure of note. But the outcome of his campaigning in Hok is about to change that entirely.. .

  While Sarazin had been in X-zox, bloody fighting had taken place in Willow Vale. Tor's troops, who had cut off escape to the Eagle Pass for two hundred of Sarazin's men, had been drawn away by an urgent message from the south telling them that they were needed to fight off an invasion from Stokos. Thus Sarazin's two hundred never surrendered to Tor's men.

  The 'invasion' from Stokos proved to be but a probe, easily beaten off by Tor's forces on the coast. Couriers brought news of this to Tor's four hundred men who were in the north of the Willow Vale, and they promptly turned back.

  By this time, Sarazin's two hundred had retreated to the top of the Eagle Pass to link up with their fellows. They then defended that pass in a truly sanguinary battle. Losses on both sides were so heavy that each, taking fright, thought itself defeated, and retreated.

  When Sarazin and his companions reached the Eagle Pass, corpses alone commanded the heights. Thodric Jarl made appropriate comments – most of them obscene – then Heth said goodbye and departed.

  Once the peasant was out of sight, Jarl hacked savagely at a grey-haired corpse. Sarazin, nauseated by the stench, the blood, and Jarl's battle-grunting frenzy, turned away. Finally Jarl decapitated the corpse and put the head into a nose bag taken from a dead horse.

  'Right,' said Jarl, shouldering the nose bag. 'Let's be going.'

  Sarazin didn't ask what he wanted with the head. He didn't really want to know. So, with Glambrax trotting behind them, they began the descent to the marshland plains north of Hok.

  By the time they got there, most of Sarazin's surviving soldiers had already started for home. A few of the sick, the lame and the lazy remained behind, feeding off the contents of abandoned supply wagons. Jarl interrogated them, made a number of uncomplimentary observations, then organised them for the march back to Selzirk.

  'Let's leave the sick and chase after the main body of the army,' said Sarazin. 'If we catch them, we can turn them around. We could still secure the Eagle Pass.'

  'No need,' said Jarl. 'Enough men have been killed already.'

  'Are you afraid of bloodshed?' said Sarazin, amused to hear such apparently pacifical sentiments from the fierce- tempered Rovac warrior.

  'You've lost enough men to make people believe you did some serious fighting' said Jarl. 'As things stand, you can claim victory, but if you lose more then people might suspect defeat.' 'But we are defeated!' said Sarazin.

  'Not so,' said Jarl. You invaded Hok and, despite the machinations of the evil wizard Elkin, you dealt Tor's army a dreadful blow. All that is necessary is a mopping- up operation. That's the story you'll tell in Selzirk, anyway.'

  Sarazin was bewildered. So Jarl knew Elkin was a wizard!

  'How – how
did you know Elkin was a wizard?' said Sarazin.

  'He's not!' said Jarl. I'd have killed him out of hand if he was. But our story will make your name in Selzirk. It was mostly Elkin's invention, I must admit, but some of the finishing touches are my own.'

  'Story?' said Sarazin, quite lost. 'What story? What are you on about?'

  Jarl, obviously very pleased with himself, explained. Here is that story:

  Sean Sarazin personally led the invasion of Hok, and did very well indeed until the evil wizard Elkin, a master of the Black Arts of the order of Ebber, sub- verted the will of his soldiers by sorcery most foul. When the troops had thus been brought to the brink of mutiny, Elkin lured Sarazin away by a further exercise of the same magic.

  Soon, Sarazin, Jarl and Glambrax were prisoners in a dark and evil castle in the west of Hok. There they endured unspeakable tortures as Elkin tried to subjugate them entirely to his will. At last, however, the heroic Sean Sarazin broke loose, killed the wizard and hacked off his head.

  'A second-rate fairy tale!' said Sarazin. 'Who's going to believe that?'

  'Everyone,' said Jarl. 'After all, the killing was witnessed by myself and Glambrax both. Plus we have proof. The very head of the wizard himself. Admittedly, the features will be somewhat the worse for wear by the time we reach Selzirk, but there's no helping that.'

  Sarazin remained doubtful, but agreed to tell things Jarl's way. As he did once they caught up with the main body of his fast-retreating troops.

  To Sarazin's surprise, the men who had almost mutinied against him readily agreed that they had been under a wizard's spell. Some claimed to have seen auras of thunder and blood-rot entwined about the wizard's head. Some had heard his voice speak in the thunder. Many claimed they had suffered uncanny nightmares since.

  Sarazin, shocked and bewildered by this, asked Jarl for explanations.

  'Where is the puzzle?' said Jarl. 'Before you told them your story they were furtive mutineers fearful of prosecu- tion and the weight of military discipline. Now they're righteous victims of a magic of great evil – aye, and maybe heroes too.'