The Wicked and the Witless coaaod-5

by Hugh Cook

  Sarazin hesitated. He could reveal all. He could have the ring of invisibility and the dragon-bottle taken from Glambrax. But then the secret would be out. And Jarl and Fox would doubtless want to use his magic dragons to destroy the Door.

  But they were his, his, his alone! Special treasures given to him by the druid all those many years ago. They were his weapon of last resort in his campaign to win himself an empire. He would not squander such simply to close a Door. Since pirate scum like Douay had mastered Doors, Sarazin knew he could do as much himself without help from magic dragons. Once he knew the secret.

  'I wanted,' said Sarazin, 'merely to get some work out of this mannikin.'

  'Then take him,' said Fox, in good humour, giving Glambrax a shove which sent him staggering towards Sarazin.

  As Sarazin grabbed for the dwarf, Glambrax jinked, evaded him, and sprinted back to the barn. Sarazin stalked him with murder clearly written on his face. By the time Sarazin gained the barn, Glambrax had nimbled into the rafters and was sitting there out of reach, kicking his heels.

  'Come down,' said Sarazin, picking up a pitchfork. 'Down, mischief! Or it will go ill with you.'

  Glambrax grinned, then ran along a rafter to a little bat- high window. He could jump and be gone in a moment. Sarazin sighed, and threw down the pitchfork. 'What do you want?' said Sarazin. 'Your oath,' said Glambrax.

  'To do what?' said Sarazin. To buy you the favours of six dogs a day? Or what?' To ask no questions,' said Glambrax, grinning.

  'Don't be ridiculous!' said Sarazin, speaking with ex- plosive force. 'I have to know what happened! It's my right. You – you buggered my chances, you filthy piece of cheese-shit! I could have won, could have ruled, could have conquered. But you – you-' Sarazin was so angry that words failed him. 'But it wasn't me!' protested Glambrax.

  'What do you mean, it wasn't you?' said Sarazin. 'You were the thief! You were the one who ruined my conspiracy!'

  'No, no,' said Glambrax, with a rare display of urgency. The thieves came before me. They took your bard, your book, your precious papers, ah, all of it, all of it.'

  Sarazin, in reply, picked up a hardened piece of dung and hurled it at the dwarf. It hit the rafter below Glambrax's feet and exploded into pieces.

  You were the thief!' said Sarazin. You and Douay, in league together! You stole the magic, he stole the bard!'

  'Not so, not so,' protested Glambrax. 'There were other thieves. They took your stuff then gave me a chance to take more.' 'You admit it!' said Sarazin. You thieved my magic!'

  They warned me Plovey was coming,' said Glambrax. 'If I hadn't taken it, then Plovey would have.'

  You could have told me!' said Sarazin. 'I was in con- ference with my mother. You could have warned me.'

  'But I was made to swear not to,' said Glambrax. 'I was made to swear many things, oh yes, not to warn you, never to give you the names-' 'The names?'

  'The names of those who took your bard, your book, your papers. I swore I would not. Thus you must swear to ask me no questions.'

  Sarazin stared at Glambrax. Could he tempt the dwarf within pitchfork range? If so, then he would kill him! Then Fox came into the barn.

  'Are you ready to go?' said Fox. Your escort is nearly ready.' 'Almost,' said Sarazin.

  Then embraced his father, who slapped him on the back and called him a man. Then left to supervise other activities. Whereupon Sarazin turned to Glambrax and said, with venom:

  'All right then. I swear. I'll not ask you questions. I'll not harm you, either. Not for this. But if you step out of line again, I'll – I'll – I'll stuff your guts with biting vermin then broil you alive.'

  Glambrax feigned fear, then laughed, and dropped both ring and bottle to Sarazin. Who, swearing softly to himself, tore those items free from the rope of bark. He put the ring's chain round his neck and pocketed the bottle. Then Glambrax produced the magic green candle and tossed it to Sarazin. Who finished packing then went outside, meaning to seek out the escort which was to accompany him to the border of Chenameg. Glambrax jumped down from the rafter and came jog-jog-jogging up behind him.

  'M-m-mathter, m-mathter' said Glambrax, faking a lisp and a stutter simultaneously, 'd-d-don't leaf us, don't leaf us.'

  TMara zabara jok!' said Sarazin, using the crudest Galish he knew.

  Whereupon Glambrax, giggling, skipped in front of him, dared his boot, laughed when it missed, then started skipping backwards, keeping just out of range of Sarazin's wrath.

  'I was very good, you know,' said Glambrax. 'I didn't meddle with ring or bottle, though I was tempted, tempted, oh, you can't imagine the temptation.'

  'It's well that you resisted it,' said Sarazin, 'for this magic would have been your death if you'd tampered with it. It kills dwarves and mutants, and you're both!'

  'Will it kill monsters, too, if we meet such on our journey?' said Glambrax.

  'Our journey?' said Sarazin. "No, my journey. You're staying here. The last thing I need right now is a delinquent ankle-biter scuffling around at my heels.' 'You'll die without me,' said Glambrax.

  'That's all right,' said Sarazin, with unfeigned non- chalance.

  And Glambrax protested no more, for their colloquy had brought them in sight of the escort.

  Shortly, Sarazin set out – without Glambrax! He had an escort of a dozen men to accompany him through the forest, and he had a string of four horses. Once they reached the border of Chenameg then Sarazin, with the forest's dangers behind him, would ride for Selzirk alone, with all possible speed.

  Many dangers lay ahead. But surely nothing could defeat Sean Sarazin. Not now that he had recovered his magic.

  His anger was already fading, and he was beginning to experience something close to joy. The power, the power! It was his! Again! And, this time, he would not lose it. His implements of power would never again leave him. He would keep them with him always.

  Sarazin took his leave of Fox, Lod, Jarl and several soldiers he had come to know well during his sojourn in Chenameg, then swung up into the saddle, and, singing a snatch of a hunting song, rode forth into the future.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  One bloodshot dawn some long days later, Sean Sarazin sighted Selzirk's towers in the distance. Surely he would reach the city by noon. Then he would have news of all the world's affairs. He had spoken to nobody on his frantic journey, fearing recognition and arrest by some petty bureaucrat. -In the city I'll find men who will believe me. Or would he?

  His tale was fantastic, like something out of legend. A tale of wizards and Doors, of fire-magic, of desperate danger in forested uplands, of combat with gigantic monsters. Sarazin had uncomfortable memories of his utter disbelief of similar stories told under torture by the pirate Drake Douay. -But they must believe me. Selzirk itself is in danger!

  It was then that he remembered the prophecy. Long ago he had dismissed it. Yet – perhaps he had been a fool to do so. For, after all, the prophecy fitted his life in ways which could scarcely be explained by coincidence. -It might be true. It might be!

  Was this then the time for the prophecy to be fulfilled?

  With a sense of elation, he realised it quite possibly was. The fools in Selzirk who were likely to disbelieve him: those were doubtless the wicked and witless men he must overcome to save the city. -But what of Fox?

  Sarazin was dismayed when he remembered the fate of Fox, which was to die. -To be killed. By me!

  Sarazin knew, truly, he had no wish to murder his father.

  – But it is written! It is fated through prophecy! So how can I help it? Yet Fox is far from Selzirk. So perhaps that's how I murdered him. By letting him dare the leagues to Voice. Perhaps he's dead already.

  But Sarazin could not bear the thought of Fox dying. Fox: the one person in the world who had accepted him absolutely. Who had never tried to trick him, use him, manipulate him, exploit him. His father, his one and only.

  – Perhaps Fox did die. When I hacked him open at Shin. It is said men sometimes die
, leave their bodies, then return a little later to take up life once more. It is said. -It could be true.

  Sarazin, weary unto death, struggled as best he could with the logic of prophecy, finally persuading himself that prophecy had indeed already been fulfilled as far as Fox was concerned, since he had for so long counted Fox as one of the dead.

  – Alternatively… since Bizzie is such a wanton wench, perhaps Fox is not the father of my flesh at all. Perhaps some other fathered me. Maybe I've killed such a flesh-father already, in Tyte perhaps, or elsewhere. Or am to kill him, slaying him without ever knowing his identity. That was possible.

  But, the more Sarazin thought about it, the less he liked the idea. He wanted a true father, a real father, not a half- father.

  – Fox is my father. My one and only. And he will not die! He must not!

  So thought Sarazin, and spurred the last of his four horses. When the nag collapsed under him and died a league short of the city, he started walking. But before he reached the city gates he was overtaken by a rider from the east. It was Glambrax, perched atop a pony stolen from the National Liberation Front.

  "You,' said Sarazin wearily, without evidencing any surprise.

  He knew he had been a fool to think he could rid himself of Glambrax so easily.

  'Me,' said the dwarf cheerfully. With news! I've talked with villagers en route. I bet you never dared.'

  'I'm not free to swap rumours at the beggar gates,' said Sarazin. 'Such is the penalty of fame. Well? Out with it! You're looking uncommonly happy today. So tell! What ails the world?'

  'Oh, you'll love this,' said Glambrax, rubbing his hands together. 'Drangsturm has fallen! The Confederation of Wizards has broken apart in war. The Swarms march north. All civilization in Argan is doomed. What a beautiful day!'

  'This is no day for jokes,' said Sarazin, too weary to countenance such levity. 'But it's true!' protested Glambrax.

  Sarazin punched Glambrax's pony, hoping it would rear and throw the hand-rubbing dwarf. But the poor beast was far too weary. Such was its condition that Sarazin, lest he kill it with his weight, must perforce walk beside it while Glambrax rained the worst of rumour on his head.

  Sarazin believed not a word of it. For thousands of years the Confederation of Wizards had guarded Drangsturm, the great flame trench which stretched the length of the isthmus between the Central Ocean and the Inner Waters, preventing the monsters of the Swarms from invading Argan North. Why should things so suddenly change?

  But, to Sarazin's shock and horror, they were scarcely within the gates of Selzirk when they met people who confirmed the dwarf's claims.

  There were still many people in Selzirk. Some sober, some drunk. Those who were sober were mostly too busy to talk, so Sarazin had to glean information from the drunks. What he learnt set his head spinning. Drangsturm had indeed been destroyed.

  The Confederation of Wizards had indeed broken apart in war.

  The monsters of the Swarms were indeed on the march, invading Argan North.

  'My mother?' said Sarazin. 'Farfalla, the kingmaker? What of her?' 'Gone,' said a drunk. 'Dead?'

  'Not dead. Fled. She ran for the Rice Empire when the Regency charged her with high treason. Flight proves the charge, does it not? Traitorous bitch!'

  'A charge of high treason?' said Sarazin. 'On what excuse?'

  'Do you not know?' said the drunk. 'She let Morgan Hearst flee the city with the death-stone. It should have been ours, ours, but she let him go!'

  Sarazin did not break the man's jaw because he felt more shock than anger. So Morgan Hearst had not made himself ruler of the Harvest Plains. Hearst must have gone to the Confederation of Wizards, then. With the death-stone.

  Then Sarazin recalled the terrible anger which Jarl had shown at mention of wizards. On Jarl's arrival in Selzirk he had spoken of a feud of long standing between wizards and Rovac. Later, Jarl had praised the Rovac warrior Elkor Alish for breaking an oath with wizards and seizing the death-stone.

  And Morgan Hearst was a man very much like Jarl… Sarazin could see it now. Hearst must have taken the death-stone south to the Confederation of Wizards.

  But not to hand it over to that Confederation. Oh no! Hearst must have gone to war with the wizards, pur- suing the ancient feud and dooming all Argan in the process…

  What now?

  What should he do?

  'Come,' said Glambrax, tugging at Sarazin's sleeve. "Let's go to your mother's palace.' 'Agreed,' said Sarazin.

  At least they could find shelter there. Probably.

  So they set off through the streets of Selzirk, and at last reached Farfalla's palace. It had changed. The bridges which had once straddled the encircling flame-moat had been broken down. And a drawbridge sealed the gate- house keep.

  'Open up!' bawled Sarazin. 'Open in the name of the law!'

  But, though he shouted until he was hoarse, the lofty walls of the ancient wizard fortress remained silent. Inscrutable. Finally, someone shot at him. They missed, but, fearing more arrows, Sarazin withdrew. 'Somebody in authority, that's what I need,' he said.

  'What's wrong with yourself?' said Glambrax. "You're the king of Selzirk, for all that I know.'

  'Listen,' said Sarazin, grabbing the dwarf by the ear and twisting. 'I need memories of the interrogation of Drake Douay. Where should I look.'

  'Why do we need such memories?' said Glambrax. To close the Door in Chenameg is the least of our problems. The Swarms will come be that Door shut or open.'

  'With the world in ruin and the Swarms on the advance, that Door might one day prove our sole route of escape,' said Sarazin.

  'But it goes to a place where there are Swarms already!' protested Glambrax.

  'No,' said Sarazin. 'It goes to several places. If we can go to a safe place then close the Door behind us… that will preserve our lives when all else fails. So… use your brain, mannikin! Tell! Who will have memories of Douay's interrogation?'

  'Plovey, of course,' said Glambrax, kicking him in the shins and twisting free.

  'Right! Of course! Well, let's get moving then! Where does he live?'

  'That's your problem,' said Glambrax. 'I'm a dwarf, not a street directory. What do you need his home for, anyway? Go to his offices.'

  They went – but found all offices of the Regency empty, their interiors gutted by fire. So they would have to seek Plovey at home, wherever that might be.

  'Well,' said Sarazin, wearily, 'I suppose we've got all day.'

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  That evening, Sarazin dined with Plovey of the Regency on carp culled from a pool in the courtyard of Plovey's house. They ate by candlelight, consumed a quantity of excellent wine, then got down to business.

  'My soul delights in our renewed acquaintance,' said Plovey, dabbing his lips with a napkin. 'But, fair friend, pray tell – what seek you here?'

  'Transcripts of the interrogation of Drake Douay,' said Sarazin, urgency harshening his voice as he shook off the languor which had taken possession of him during the meal. 'They're in the palace. I can't get at them. Who has seized the palace?'

  'Calm yourself, calm yourself,' said Plovey, mani- festing alarm. The angers harm the digestion. Some more wine? Come, the night is yet young, and you young with it. Strong in your youth, and handsome with it. There.

  Drink. No! Not so hasty. This wine has a bouquet worth savouring for its own sake, even before the liquid itself laps the lips.'

  Sarazin sipped the glass which Plovey had freshened, then, with scarcely controlled impatience, said: 'The palace. Who holds it?'

  'I've not been that way for several days,' said Plovey. 'I've been supervising the defence of my home against the wicked and the witless. You may have seen gangs of such in the streets – not that they'd touch an inpoverished swordsman like yourself when there's richer game more safely touched.'

  Plovey was smiling. Smug with secrets. That phrase he had used: the wicked and the witless. It had come from the prophetic book. Did Plovey come by t
he words by chance? Or what? An interesting question – and one that Sarazin was determined to ask before the night was through. But other things took priority.

  'I need the details of Douay's interrogation,' said Sarazin. 'So I need the relevant transcripts. Or, at least, to know what's in them.'

  'Ah!' said Plovey. 'So you've turned archivist. My friend, it will be pure pleasure to assist you in scholarship. Yes – could you indulge your greatest admirer with your reasons for this sudden lust for knowledge? What can you get from Douay now that you didn't get before? You got back your bard, didn't you?'

  Yes,' said Sarazin, who was, as always, wearing the Lost Bard of Untunchilamon around his neck. Though the thing had been damaged by Douay, it still worked: whenever he pleased he could still listen to the great poet Saba Yavendar reciting his Warsong and Winesong in the High Speech of wizards.

  Well then,' said Plovey, 'why bother further with Douay or his history?' So Sarazin told his long and laborious story. Concluding thus: '… so I know Drake knew about Doors, and now I have a Door of my own to deal with in the forest of Chenameg. Hence my interest in the interrogation.'

  'Why worry about a Door bringing monsters to Chenameg?' said Plovey. 'Sweet silk, the Swarms will conquer all the world soon enough, with or without such a Door.' So, once more, Sarazin had to explain:

  'I see the Door now as a means of escape. If the Swarms truly do conquer, we might be glad of a quick way out of here.' 'That's a thought,' said Plovey.

  And, since he had an excellent memory, he told Sarazin what he had learnt from Drake Douay about the mastery of Doors.

  'Each Door has a niche in the marble supporting the arch,' said Plovey. 'Place a globe of stars in such a niche. All the Doors of that Circle will then open. Remove the globe and they close. Simple? Simple!'

  'My companions who dared the Door saw no such globe,' said Sarazin.