The Wicked and the Witless

by Hugh Cook

  Heth, cheerfully telling Sarazin about the beating he could expect if he delayed surrendering, was silent himself after Jarl clouted him a couple of times.

  By late afternoon, it was clear the retreat was taking them into a steadily-narrowing western arm of the Willow Vale. The sheer escarpments to the north offered no prospect of escape. Finally, at dayfail, Jarl revealed his plan.

  Jarl made some prefatory remarks about duty, courage, heroism and such — he was speaking, perhaps, with the history books in mind. Then he mentioned sacrifice.

  'You want a sacrifice?' yelled someone from the rear ranks. I'd give you my mother-in-law to sacrifice, only the bitch is dead already.'

  There followed laughter — which had nothing nice about it.

  'Who said that?' demanded Sarazin. 'What's that man's name?'

  'His name is legion,' said a shout.

  'Legion, legion,' roared half a hundred throats.

  Upon which all two hundred took up the nonsensical one-word slogan. This was the battle-cry of outright mutiny.

  "Never mind who said it,' declared Jarl, as the noise died down. 'Let's talk survival. Westward, this arm of the Willow Vale narrows further. Eventually we run into a cliff. But there is a gate in that cliff. The gate opens into a tunnel. The tunnel leads to safety.'

  An anonymous unhero declared that nobody was in any mood for fairytales.

  This is no fairytale,' said Jarl. The secrets of gate and tunnel were researched by old Epelthin Elkin in Narba. He-'

  But Jarl was shouted down by the men, who thought he was bluffing, and meant to march them on hoping to chance upon a path over the mountains. None of the cat- bath-bedraggled foot sloggers were prepared to go another step on such an offchance.

  Finally, Sarazin appealed for silence.

  There are two ways we can handle this,' said he. You can mutiny here and now, which means you'll be tried for high treason if you ever get back to Selzirk.'

  That provoked some rock-throwing. Some of the rocks were quite large — but Sarazin ducked efficiently. When permitted to speak again he said:

  'Alternatively, I can order you to surrender. Not now, but tomorrow morning. Then you'd be safe on your return to Selzirk. What's more, as prisoners you'll get one day's pay for every ten you spend in captivity. Not a fortune — but money in your pockets all the same. So what do you want? Mutiny now, and exile from Selzirk forever? Or surrender tomorrow and take prisoners' pay if you ever get back home?'

  What's the catch?' cried a man.

  "No catch,' said Sarazin. 'Just hold this ground till dawn while I race for the west. With me will go Thodric Jarl — and any other man who lusts for freedom.'

  You've got a deal,' declared one of the soldiers, and this sentiment was duly seconded, voted on and confirmed.

  Thus Sarazin and Jarl escaped to the west by night, taking with them Heth — their most valuable prisoner. Their only other companions were Epelthin Elkin and the dwarf Glambrax.

  Sarazin was shocked by the speed of events. He had gone from being a victorious commander to a hunted fugitive in scarcely no time at all. Anxiously, he asked Jarl:

  'This gate, this tunnel — do they really exist?'

  'Ask Elkin,' said Jarl. 'He's the scholar.'

  Was Elkin's scholarship accurate? It must bel Otherwise,

  Sean Sarazin might shortly die. He said as much to Elkin when they halted about midnight to rest their horses.

  'Your life?' said Elkin. 'My life is at stake here too.'

  Then drew Sarazin away from the others and said to him, in an urgent whisper:

  'Remember, Jarl thinks me a scholar. Only you know me as a wizard. If Jarl learns as much it will prove my death for certain. Whatever we find to the west, remember — never speak to me as a wizard. To do so would be to slay me.'

  You can trust me,' said Sarazin.

  Thoroughly bewildered by this. What would they find to the west? Something other than a gate and a tunnel? And why would their discovery spark talk of wizardry? And why would Jarl kill Elkin if he knew him for a wizard?

  Towards dawn — a miserable dawn of driving rain and rising wind — Sarazin finally remembered Jarl's first audience with Farfalla. The Rovac warrior, offered the position of Master of Combat for the Watch, had taken umbrage because the salary was denominated in wizard coinage. He had spoken of a feud of long standing between wizards and the Rovac.

  Great! Not only was Sarazin running for his life, but he was also embroiled in a mysterious feud between the ruthless wizards of the Confederation and the homicidal mercenaries of Rovac!

  Through dawn's grey rainlight they roughed on over rain- slide rocks until their mounts broke down entirely and had to be turned loose. On they went by foot.

  'Cut me loose,' said Heth, whose hands were tied behind his back. 'I need my hands to steady myself.'

  'AH right,' said Jarl, cutting Heth free.

  Immediately, the peasant sprinted for freedom.

  'Stop!' shouted Sarazin.

  But Heth ran on.

  Thwap!!

  A bolt from Glambrax's crossbow slammed into a sapling just to the left of Heth's ear. Waterdrops thick- splattered down from the sapling's leaves. Heth glanced back, saw Glambrax already recocking his crossbow — and halted.

  'I give up,' said Heth.

  Jarl advanced on him looking grim.

  'Don't kill him!' said Sarazin.

  'I will, unless he swears himself to our escape,' said Jarl.

  'By all means!' said Heth hastily.

  And duly swore to do all in his power to help the fugitives escape alive and uninjured (and, for Jarl was thorough when it came to formulating oaths, unhexed, unfrightened and in the best possible state of health and wealth), and not to try to escape himself no matter what the temptation or provocation.

  'IJnth!' said Glambrax, cursing in an uncouth tongue unknown to any of the others. 'A hunting party comes! For us, I warrant!'

  Indeed, looking back they saw a full three dozen soldiers in the distance. Friends or enemies? Probably Glambrax was right and they were enemies.

  'So our men betrayed us,' said Sarazin bitterly. 'They surrendered as soon as we were gone.'

  'Don't be so quick to judge,' said Jarl. "Mayhap one crept away from the rest to betray us. Or the enemy attacked once we had left. Or perhaps among our enemies there are wizards or witches who read our thoughts and acted accordingly.'

  'Friend Jarl has a mind with analytical powers formid- able,' said Elkin. 'But—'

  'Save it,' said Sarazin. 'We know the rest.'

  And he set off for the west, thinking to set a crack- ing pace. But geography conspired against speed. They shouldered through thickets, fought brambles and dared uprearing rocks. Were they still being pursued? Was

  the enemy gaining on them? It was impossible to say.

  They marched till old man Elkin was utterly exhausted, and the others not much better. Even though life and liberty were at stake, they could go no further. Jarl led them into the thickest undergrowth available, and there they huddled like so many pigs.

  The daylight faltered as the rain worsened. The ground ran wet with water. The wind came sluicing and slicing from all directions, swirling away all chance of dreams with gusts and buffets of water-slap. The dullsky day darkened at length to night — a night of sleepless misery which beggars description.

  By dawn, Sarazin felt a good half century older. But roused himself to his feet, helped eat the last of their food, then bravely led the march onward. It was march or perish: for unless they reached sanctuary soon they would die on their feet. He was sure of it.

  He was right.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The fugitives: Sean Sarazin (the man who would be king); Thodric Jarl (Rovac warrior and military policeman); Epelthin Elkin (scholar and wizard of Ebber); Glambrax (Sarazin's dwarf servant and son of the witch Zelafona); Heth (blond peasant from Stokos, a commander loyal to the ogre Tor and now Sarazin's hostage). These five are headin
g west up a steadily narrowing arm of the Willow Vale, hoping to find escape through a gate known to Elkin through scholarly research.

  Through pelting rain they stumbled, harried by the rough-fingered wind. The skies above, near black with the burden of cloud, birthed thunder. The thunder at first was distant. Then near at hand it spoke: THUMBLUMABLOM.

  Sarazin flinched, though he knew lightning comes first and thunder after. He heard the thunder so he was safe. For the moment. Then, close at hand — too close! — a tree shattered. Forked apart by lightning. He slipped, fell, thinking himself struck. A rock swung heavyweight into his head as thunder fisted the air apart.

  —Who? What?

  —Night? Or am I blind?

  That much he (gasping) asked, or thought he did. Heard incoherence reply, perhaps because the light was dazed, the sky still herding elephants, the river rain . . .

  '. . . all right?'

  —Of course I am.

  Yet there was a drunken discourse of stones beneath his feet, then and for some time after. The rains sluicing from grey to black. The strength of friends lugging, shoving, pushing and hauling, helping him onward, panting.

  Sick, bruised, stunned and stumbling, Sarazin mouthed surrender. But if anyone heard, they paid him no heed. Desperation ruled their will. He was driven onward like a slave being flogged to a place of execution.

  Several nightmares later, they halted.

  —To rest?

  No. To stare. Gawp. Gape.

  At a sheer-rising cliff topped by a bone-white pinnacle half a league high. Around that pinnacle coiled a dragon, its sheens and shines of jade and jacinth glittering as lightning writhed around it. Against such a monster, what sword could prevail? For the moment, it was looking north. But if it turned their way ...

  Then Sarazin, with some sense left to him despite the blow to the head which had almost demolished his consciousness, realised the dragon was at least a hundred times too large to be alive. The brute was the work of hands.

  Statue?

  Sculpture?

  No word fitted.

  'I heard a man speak of this once,' said Heth. 'But he was drunk at the time. I thought the drink to be talking.'

  'Blood!' said Jarl. You never told me about this. What is it?'

  'Dragon, pillar, and many workings delved deep in the cliff are all part of Castle X-n'dix,' said Epelthin Elkin. 'It was built by the Dissidents, of whom you may have heard.'

  None denied knowledge of the Dissidents, for none wished to provoke a lecture.

  'Let's be finding this gate,' said Jarl. 'The sooner we get out of the rain the better.'

  Shortly they were at the foot of the heights, which rose above them in terrors of precipice and overhang, bare cliff and frowning tor. The rock was near awash with rain, for the sturm und drang of the day's advent had given way to a sullen, unrelenting downpour.

  And there was the gate, a squarebuilt door five times man height. Raindrops shunned its surface, which was a dark, dark blue stained with streaks of opaline iri- descence. Sarazin ventured his fingertips forward. Found the surface smooth, warm, dry, and alive with tentative vibrations.

  'Is this the door to the dragon castle?' said he.

  'This is but the Eastern Passage Gate, giving access to a way beneath the castle,' said Elkin.

  'Explanations later,' said Jarl. 'Open it!'

  'Stand Heth some distance hence,' said Elkin. 'It would not do for him to learn the Word.'

  Glambrax menaced Heth with his crossbow, and the bandit withdrew while Elkin muttered. But whatever the Word was of which he spoke, Sarazin heard it not.

  Nevertheless, the door . . . vanished. One moment it was there: the next it was gone.

  Sarazin stared down the passageway within, which was lit by a flickering blood-red light. To his horror, he saw the heads of dragons in legion staring at him.

  'Onward!' said Jarl.

  As the Rovac warrior strode past the nearest dragon head, Sarazin saw it was but a lamp of bizarre make jutting from the wall at manheadheight.

  Soon all five — Jarl, Sarazin, Elkin, Glambrax and Heth — were in the passage. Then Elkin muttered another Word, and the door manifested itself, sealing out the windclap rain and leaving them in a sudden silence.

  Silence?

  Dripping clothes . . .

  Epelthin Elkin still breathing harshly . . .

  'Well,' said Sarazin, lamely. 'So we're safe.' Then, with a degree of apprehension: 'But where does the tunnel lead?'

  'Onward,' said Jarl. The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll find out.'

  'I don't know about you,' said Heth, 'but I'm poked.'

  So saying, the bandit from Stokos sat himself down beneath one of the dragon lamps. Glambrax, war-roaring, bounded up and down before another such lamp, making faces at it.

  'Glambrax!' said Sarazin. 'Enough of that! Sit down!'

  'No time for sitting,' insisted Jarl. 'Onward!'

  But the vote was against him, so, with the others, he sat. Glambrax then began to scratch himself. In a frenzy, his hands clawed through his hair, as if legions of lice had infested his locks. Then his hands delved beneath his clothing, groped in his armpits, fumbled his crotch. All the while his heels drummed on the floor. Sarazin could not be bothered to shout at him.

  You were speaking earlier,' said Jarl, 'of the people who built this place.'

  'Ah yes, the Dissidents,' said Elkin. The Dissidents, you see, were those wizards who refused to join the Alliance of wizards and heroes formed back in the days of the Long War when the Skull of the Deep South threatened all of Argan with the menace of the Swarms.'

  That had been many years ago indeed.

  'Well,' said Heth, 'go on. What happened to them? They're not here now, that's for sure. Did the Alliance go to war with them, perhaps?'

  'It is written in the Chalobshadala Chronicles,' said Epelthin Elkin, 'that the Dissidents kept themselves to themselves all through the Long War, which lasted over two hundred years. When the war was over, the Dissidents were nowhere to be seen.'

  'So where did they go?' said Heth.

  Tour guess is as good as mine,' said Elkin. 'Some claim the Dissidents fled to another plane of reality, while others hold that they removed themselves to Veda, and live hidden among the Sages even to this day.'

  Tell me,' said Heth, 'these Chala-whatsit Chronicles. Are they wizard writings?'

  The Chalobshadala Chronicles are indeed wizard writings,' said Elkin, 'I came to know them well in the years of my youth, when I worked as a scribe in Narba.'

  'So you're a scribe!' said Heth.

  'What did you take me for?' said Elkin. 'A bootblack? I trained in Narba as an all-round scholar. Both scribe and translator, and accountant as well.'

  Sarazin, knowing Elkin to be a wizard, thought the lie so obvious as to be unbelievable. Surely Jarl must realise by now that Elkin was a wizard., But Jarl showed no signs of doubt. Neither did Heth, who said:

  'So you were trained in Narba. What brought you to Hok with an army?'

  'Scholarship is difficult for my aging eyes,' said Elkin, 'so I thought war might give me an easier living.'

  It was not much of a joke, but Heth, who had a ready sense of humour, fell about laughing.

  It's not that funny,' said Jarl, who in fact found it not funny at all.

  'I know, I know,' said Heth. 'But, still . . .'

  In truth, he was exhausted beyond endurance, and if he had not succumbed to laughter then in all likelihood he would have given way to tears.

  'Those fit enough to laugh are fit enough to march,' said Jarl.

  And eventually persuaded the refugees to dare on down the passage.

  After every hundred dragon lamps, they passed yellow doors to left and to right.

  'These doors lead to the Underkeep,' said Elkin. 'Great are its wonders, but they are known by hearsay only, for but a single man ever managed to open those doors. He explored the Underkeep for days — but died shortly after exiting its laby
rinth.'

  After five hundred dragon lamps — a long and weary march indeed — they found a pair of white doors standing opposite a matching pair of black doors.

  'These are also mentioned in the ancient writings,' said Elkin. 'If the writings can be trusted, the black doors give access to a room which flies from here to the heights of the Greater Tower of X-n'dix. The white doors give access to the Lesser Tower likewise. But the secret of opening both black doors and white has been lost.'

  'So you say,' said Jarl, 'but it seems you know little of wizards. On Rovac we know full well that the archives of the Confederation of Wizards run unbroken back to the days of the Long War. Indeed — to certain events which preceded that war.'

  'There are such things as moths,' said Elkin mildly. 'Moths, fires, floods and so forth. In any case, remember it was the Dissidents who built this complex, not the wizards of the Confederation.'

  'Do the surviving records tell us,' said Heth, 'how much further we must march to reach this tunnel's end?'

  'Why, we are half way along this passage,' said Elkin,

  'for the white and black doors mark its midpoint. At the end we'll find a door which exits to daylight.'

  'You mean,' said Sarazin, in dismay, 'we can't get into the castle at all?'

  'We are within Castle X-n'dix already,' said Elkin, 'for this passage, like the Underkeep, the Lesser Tower and the Greater Tower, are all parts of that stronghold. But certainly for the moment we're limited to this passage only.'