The Wicked and the Witless coaaod-5

by Hugh Cook

  Then Sarazin said the Word, hoping he had got it wrong. But he remembered correctly, for the Word had been something he had diligently committed to memory during his earlier travails in Hok. And the Passage Gate opened. By vanishing.

  Within was the flickering blood-red passageway lit by dragon-head lamps. Sarazin remembered that all right. He remembered what he would see at the far end of the passage, too, when he exited into X-zox. He would see a rock-tumbled goat-footed pastureland reaching away for ten leagues or so to the sea. In fact…

  When Sean Sarazin opened the Western Passage Gate and stepped into X-zox, what he saw was a valley ter- raced for intensive cultivation, a valley where he could see at a glance at least a half dozen villages.

  A proper path had now been cut in the steep-scrambling slope leading upwards for a league or so to the cliff heights where stood the Towers of X-n'dix. The Greater Tower was, as ever, sealed against entry, its bone-white heights soaring skywards for half a league with a jade and jacinth dragon draped around it.

  But the Lesser Tower, that pile of sculptured skulls, bones, heads, fangs, claws and other pieces of anatomy both human and alien, was accessible as always. Within dwelt Epelthin Elkin, who greeted Sean Sarazin warmly when he arrived with Jarl and Glambrax in tow.

  The old scholar was wearing a faded, much-patched robe of green and purple. Once it had been a truly gorgeous garment, but the rigours of life in Hok had aged it rapidly. Elkin, however, was unchanged. For as long as Sarazin could remember, the old man had looked much the same. Wisp-frail grey beard, grey hair pigtail-plaited, mahogany skin walnut wrinkled, sky-zenith eyes bloodshot but sharp, stance upright as ever. I'm afraid I bring bad news,' said Sarazin.

  Then bravely told how he had foolishly revealed the secrets of the Gates to Lord Regan and Jaluba. And how Jaluba still lived.

  Then we must expect invasion from Stokos,' said Elkin gravely. 'Magic may perhaps defeat such invasion,' said Sarazin.

  'Have you brought magic with you to X-zox, then?' said Jarl, with a laugh. 'Don't look to old Elkin for any! He is but a fraud, as I've told you already.'

  Which reminded Sarazin once again that the Rovac warrior did not know that Elkin was truly a wizard. Well? Could Elkin's magic save them from invasion? The old wizard of Ebber had often pleaded weakness in the past – had in fact insisted more on the weaknesses of magic than its strengths.

  Of course, a little bit of Sarazin's magic green candle remained, safe in Glambrax's keeping. A potent weapon indeed! But such a fragment would not burn for long. To think that such might repel an invasion was at best a poor joke. But…

  Why should Stokos be at war with Hok? There was no reason that Sarazin could see. Perhaps the conflict could be resolved by treaty.

  'Elkin,' said Sarazin, "Pray tell, what quarrel has Stokos with us?'

  'Come,' said Jarl, 'this is no time to talk politics. You'll be wanting to meet your mother. And your father, of course.'

  When Epelthin Elkin had first explored the Lesser Tower – years ago, in the course of Sarazin's campaign in Hok against the ogre Tor – he had found many doors, cupboards and chambers which he could not open.

  Since then, the elderly wizard had sought to open these, hoping to find treasure left by the Dissidents who had built Castle X-n'dix. Elkin had been largely successful in his efforts, and, while the amount of treasure he had uncovered was zero, this did mean that there was plenty of living space within the Lesser Tower.

  It meant, for example, that Fox and Farfalla had a room to themselves. A small room, admittedly, but dragon- lamps within gave light, and an arrowslit allowed a view of a fraction of the sky.

  Though Jarl had told Sarazin his parents were fit and well, Sarazin found his father ill, his skin an unhealthy yellow. He had hepatitis. Sean Sarazin, who had been long laid up in bed with the same disease after his disastrous campaign in the marshlands of Tyte, knew just how miserable his father must be feeling.

  Still, the occasion was joyful regardless. A time for kisses and embraces. 'Do you know,' said Farfalla, 'we're getting married.' 'When?' said Sarazin. 'On Midsummer's Day,' said Fox. "Not long to go now.' 'Congratulations!' said Sarazin.

  Then, after a great deal of talking – he had adventures to tell of, and his parents had tales of adventures of their own – he finally got round to telling the bad news. About the Words.

  'The enemy can likely breach the Passage Gates,' con- cluded Sarazin soberly.

  Then,' said Fox, 'your next step must be to see Heth. Have you been told yet?' 'Told what?' said Sarazin.

  Fox and Farfalla looked at each other. Then both broke into laughter. 'What's the joke?' said Sarazin angrily.

  There was no joke as far as he could see. He had betrayed a secret vital to the defence of X-zox. Now he was due to confront the ruler of that land, the mysterious Heth, who would surely be most unhappy with him. Sean Sarazin had survived the wrath of other princes, true – he had lived through his encounters with Drake Douay and Tarkal of Chenameg. But could he be sure of surviving a third such encounter? He was not optimist enough to count on it.

  'Go,' said Fox, waving away Sarazin's questions. 'Go. See Heth. The sooner you know, the better.'

  Sarazin, brain positively boiling with unanswered questions, was taken by Thodric Jarl to Heth's quarters.

  'How does Heth like to be addressed?' said Sarazin anxiously. 'As Lord Heth? King Heth? Lord Emperor Heth?' 'Don't worry about that,' said Jarl firmly. 'Remember what I told you. Heth is not ruler in his own right. He does but hold Hok in trust for a greater ruler.'

  Sarazin was scarcely reassured, but put a brave front on it regardless as Jarl led him into Heth's quarters. There they found the man himself seated on a goatskin-padded chair, sharpening a sword. He looked up as they entered. He was a big man. Blond. And, to Sarazin's eye, undistinguished. 'Hello, Sean,' he said. 'Hello… Heth,' said Sarazin uncertainly. 'Don't you remember me?' said Heth. 'Should I?' said Sarazin. 'I was your prisoner once.'

  Sarazin began to sweat. Not another person with a grudge against him!

  'I've had many people technically my prisoner,' said Sarazin. 'Anarchists in Tyte, though if I remember cor- rectly there were but two of them, and both lepers. But, after a battle by the banks of the Shouda How-' 'I was your prisoner in Hok,' said Heth. Sarazin stared at him. Then:

  'Not… not the commander?' said Sarazin. 'The com- mander of the Eagle Pass? Tor's minion.' 'The same,' said Heth.

  And now, of course, it all came flooding back. The capture of Heth when Sarazin's men stormed the Eagle Pass when they first invaded Hok. Heth forced to march with Sarazin and his companions to the Eastern Passage Gate. Heth compelled to travel with them to X-zox. Heth forced to swear… To swear…

  You swore an oath,' said Sarazin slowly. 'An oath of fealty, was it not? The words… the exact words…' The exact words escaped him.

  'I swore lifelong loyalty to you,' said Heth. 'I swore that if King Tor died then I'd follow you forever, to death and beyond. And Tor is dead. So… welcome to your kingdom, Lord Sarazin!'

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  Then Sean Sarazin was plunged into one of the busiest times of his life. While Jarl planned the defence of X-zox with help from Fox (but with no help from Heth, a willing fighter but no military genius) Sarazin got to work.

  First he had to absorb at least the bare outlines of Hok's recent history so he could properly understand his position. As Sarazin already knew, the ogre Tor had once been king of Stokos. When driven from his kingdom by the worshippers of a new religion – that of the Flame – Tor had eventually settled in Hok.

  Half-hearted attacks by the Harvest Plains had failed to dislodge Tor from Hok. Then the ogre had launched a campaign to recapture Stokos from the adherents of the Flame. Unfortunately, the Flame worshippers had leagued with pirates, and had defeated Tor and had killed him.

  Not all of Tor's men had died with their king. Some, notably Heth, had retreated back to Hok. Heth, the most senior of Tor's surviving of
ficers, had done a deal with Epelthin Elkin, who had let him rent most of the Lesser Tower and use it as a castle. Thanks to Elkin's assistance, Heth had eventually become master of all the various refugees who had taken up residence in Hok.

  After Tor's death, Stokos itself had been ruled by the pirates of the Greater Teeth. However, the strength of the pirates was broken at Androlmarphos, when the water thieves – then allied to Elkor Alish – had suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of Morgan Hearst.

  The pirates thereafter proved unable to dominate Stokos.

  The result had been civil war. The losing faction – which included many pirates – had withdrawn to Hok. The adherents of the Flame had finally won a conclusive victory, establishing themselves once again as rulers of Stokos. As a matter of principle, those victors had long wished to destroy Heth and all his followers.

  For Heth was a sometime henchman of the evil ogre Tor, and a sworn enemy of the Hame. Heth's men were for the most part ogre-followers, or pirates, or religious dissidents, or escaped criminals, hence richly deserved death as far as the rulers of Stokos were concerned.

  To Stokos, the destruction of Heth and all his people was a matter of religious duty. And Heth's people were now Sarazin's people.

  Once Sarazin had finished his history lessons, he had to go forth and meet those people, to show himself, to make speeches, to accept oaths of fealty, to raise morale and rouse hopes in his troops. He proclaimed – and the claim was true – that the rule of the Flame on Stokos was not unanimously accepted.

  'Many hate this religion,' said Sarazin, an instant expert on the subject thanks to detailed briefings from Heth and others. 'If we can break the strength of Stokos in battle then there are many on the island who would rally to our banner if we dared invasion.' So spoke Sarazin.

  But knew the breaking of the strength of Stokos might prove well beyond his capabilities.

  Six days after Sean Sarazin learnt that he himself was the true ruler of Hok, warriors from Stokos struck at the Eastern Passage Gate. At the time, Sean Sarazin was defending the gate. Thodric Jarl was supervising the fortification of the Lesser Tower itself while Fox was lecturing junior commanders from his sickbed.

  The raiders from Stokos did not come in great numbers, for this was not a full-scale invasion. Such an invasion would follow shortly, but this was but a probing raid – a reconnaissance in force. The raiders were charged with establishing: (a) whether Sean Sarazin had reached Hok alive; and, if he had, whether Jaluba could be used as a hostage to compel his surrender; and if the Words revealed by the wench Jaluba would truly open the Passage Gates.

  The raiders landed unopposed on the coast of the Willow Vale, for Hok lacked the strength to fortify and defend that shore. Observed at a distance by scouts, the raiders marched inland to the Eastern Passage Gate. Short of that gate they were stopped by defenders under the command of Sean Sarazin.

  Lord Sarazin consented to parley with the raiders in front of the hastily erected earthworks which now guarded the Eastern Passage Gate. He told them to be gone. And, when Jaluba was produced, weeping and wailing, he told them they could butcher the bitch and eat her for all he cared.

  Sudden responsibility and the prospect of death at the hands of a remorseless enemy had brought out the harshest aspects of Sean Sarazin's character. And he was truly furious with Jaluba. For, if she had only kept her mouth shut, the enemy would not have learnt the secrets of the Words, and would not be standing in armed strength before his gates.

  Rebuffed, the enemy retreated. But Epelthin Elkin, standing beside Sean Sarazin during the parley, had read them, and warned Sarazin to expect a night attack. For the enemy, while they had the answers to questions (a) and (b), still lacked an answer to (c).

  'A mind search tells me they have the Words for cer- tain,' said Elkin. 'They know how to command the gates and indeed to open the Lesser Tower itself. But as yet they cannot be certain that they know. Therefore they will attack tonight, pressing their assault to the Eastern Passage Gate to test it with a Word.'

  Sarazin tried to think of something intelligent to say, failed, and so contented himself with saying the obvious:

  Then we must keep them from the gate. Can you help us?'

  'By night,' said Elkin, 'I will conjure an illusion for your troops.' 'What illusion?' said Sarazin.

  'Our own troops will see the enemy glowing scarlet in the dark. The enemy will not share the illusion, hence will think themselves night-shrouded.' 'Is that the best you can do?' said Sarazin.

  That,' said Elkin heavily, 'will be a sore trial of strength. It will suffice to exhaust me for a month.' Sarazin hoped he was exaggerating.

  That night, while Sean Sarazin waited for the enemy to attack, he realised he was not afraid at all. But then, he had little cause to be. His position was strong; he had experienced troops under his command; he had a wizard fighting on his side.

  When the enemy finally attacked, they were massacred. Elkin did as he had promised. Sarazin's men saw the enemy glowing scarlet in the night. Many were shot by archers as they crept towards Sarazin's position, thinking them- selves invisible in the dark.

  Soon the enemy retreated, and Sean Sarazin thought the battle won. But the enemy attacked again. And a third time. A fourth. A fifth. That night, Sarazin learnt some- thing about the nature of religious fanaticism.

  However, by the time dawn came, the enemy's strength had been truly broken, and the enemy were in full retreat. Calmly, Sarazin ordered the pursuit. He led that pur- suit himself, hoping to kill out every single enemy survivor before the foe could reach the shores of the Willow Vale. And hoping, also, to capture Jaluba.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Two days later, Sean Sarazin returned to the Eastern Passage Gate with many scalps and three prisoners. One of whom was Jaluba. Sarazin was determined to put her on trial. But, on reaching the gate, he found he had a more urgent duty demanding his attention. The Rovac warrior Thodric Jarl had that day assaulted Epelthin Elkin at the gate, and had tried to kill him.

  Elkin himself was waiting by the gate to tell Sarazin of this. The old wizard had escaped without serious injury, but was exhausted. He had been forced to use his special powers in self defence. 'Where is Jarl?' said Sarazin. 'We're holding him here,' said Elkin. 'On whose instructions?' said Sarazin.

  'Mine,' said Elkin. 'If we'd carried him back to the Lesser Tower as a prisoner, all of X-zox would know of it by now. If you can persuade Jarl to behave himself, I'll not press charges against him.' 'Let's go and see him,' said Sarazin.

  'No,' said Elkin. You go alone. He almost starts frothing at the mouth when I come in sight.' 'Is he mad?' 'Fanatical,' said Elkin simply. 'Like the rulers of Stokos.' 'I'll see what I can do,' said Sarazin. This was serious.

  Jarl was a seasoned campaigner, a greater warrior than Heth, Fox and Sarazin rolled into one. Sarazin could not afford to lose him. He knew the victory he had just won was nothing – a skirmish, no more. The real invasion was yet to come. And when it did, then his own life would really be on the line.

  Sarazin was glad Elkin had kept Jarl's arrest as quiet as possible. Dissent in the highest ranks would be disastrous for the morale of the defenders of X-zox.

  When Sarazin came to him, Jarl was being guarded by two hefty Stokos-born swordsmiths from Stokos.

  'What's going on here?' said Sarazin, as if he didn't know. 'Let me go!' said Jarl. 'I'll kill him!' "You'll kill me?' said Sarazin, faking amazement. TMo, fool! Elkin! He's a wizard.' 'So he is,' said Sarazin. 'But what of it?'

  Jarl screamed with incoherent fury and struggled all the harder. Unable to escape, he settled.

  'Whatever Elkin is,' said Sarazin reasonably, 'he's been a mutual friend for years. Your friend as well as mine.'

  'By the knives!' said Jarl. 'If I'd known he was a wizard I'd have killed him when we first met in Voice.'

  Elkin was right. Jarl was a fanatic. But what was the source of this fanaticism?

  'I fail to see,' said Sarazin, 'why E
lkin's death is so important to you. I've heard you mention a feud between wizards and Rovac, but surely this is neither the time nor the place to pursue such a feud.' 'I am not free to think likewise,' said Jarl.

  Thodric Jarl, son of Oric Slaughterhouse, blood of the clan of the bear, warrior of Rovac and leader of men, was a man who disdained all compromise. Particularly when principle was at stake.

  'Look,' said Sarazin, 'be reasonable. Elkin's just saved all our lives.'

  'Saved our lives?' said Jarl. 'He may have helped you with a skirmish, but you could have won it in any case with both hands tied behind your back.'

  The point is,' said Sarazin, 'Elkin is fighting. On our side. He may do so again if we let him live.'

  Sarazin pursued this line of reasoning at length, to no avail. What to do, what to do? Sarazin began to sweat. This was a life or death decision. Who was more valuable? The wizard or the warrior? The warrior, pro- bably. But… Jarl was the guilty party. Jarl was the aggressor. What would Fox say if Sarazin moved against the innocent?

  Sarazin, unable to bear the thought of Fox's condem- nation, gave Jarl an ultimatum which served the purposes of justice. The Rovac warrior must swear to keep the peace while he remained in Hok, or he would be killed on the spot. 'Who will you get to do your killing?' said Jarl bitterly.

  I'll do it myself!' said Sarazin, exasperated beyond endurance. 'I'll kill you like a mad dog if you insist on behaving like one!'

  He suddenly felt that he had had quite enough of these crazy Rovac warriors. They were a blight on the world. Whatever mayhem was going on, a Rovac warrior was sure to be at the heart of it. First there had been Elkor Alish, who had wrecked Sean Sarazin's conspiracy when he leagued with Qolidian of Androlmarphos. Then Morgan Hearst, who, unless Sarazin was very much mistaken, had doomed all civilisation in Argan North by destroying Drangsturm with the death-stone. And now Thodric Jarl, acting like a madman!