The Wicked and the Witless

by Hugh Cook

  'Isn't that what you want?' said Jarl.

  Yes, but — but for a start, what gives you and Elkin the right to decide who gets Hok?'

  'It's but a small payment for a big sacrifice,' said Jarl. 'The old scholar had to leave all the comforts of home to arrange this for you. Do you grudge him the rule of some rocks and wilderness? He's an old man. He can't have long to live.'

  Wrong! Sarazin knew that Elkin, as a wizard, might live for thousands of years yet. Furthermore, Elkin's story about having to leave Selzirk on account of black- mail might well be true. Whatever his precise motives, the wizard had undoubtedly acted entirely in his own interests.

  'Leaving aside the fate of Hok,' said Sarazin, 'what gives you the right to arrange all this without consulting me?'

  'It's what you want, isn't it?' said Jarl. 'First we make you a hero. We make you popular. Then we make you ruler. Men are ready to obey you if you are ready to be obeyed.'

  'What men?' said Sarazin.

  'Before I tell you that,' said Jarl, 'you must agree to go along with our plans.'

  You can't use me like this!' said Sarazin, his voice rising almost to a shout. I'm not — not a puppet, a doll. I'm not a child. What gives you the right to run my life?'

  'It's not me who is running your life,' said Jarl. 'It's Lord Regan.'

  Sarazin was so startled by this claim he thought he must have misheard.

  'Lord Regan?' he said.

  What are you?' said Jarl. 'Some kind of echo?'

  'But what's Lord Regan got to do with it?' said Sarazin.

  'Everything,' said Jarl. 'He planned to make you ruler of the Harvest Plains right from the very start. Right from when you first came to Voice when aged — what was it? Four? Five?'

  'Four, I think,' said Sarazin, automatically. Then, recovering himself: 'I can't believe this.'

  'Lord Regan raised you, didn't he?' said Jarl, with mani- fest impatience. Who made you think yourself a prince? Was it me? Was it Elkin? No — it was Regan himself.'

  'Because he thought of me as his son,' said Sarazin.

  "No. Not his son. A weapon. A weapon with which to conquer Selzirk.'

  'What are you trying to say?' said Sarazin. 'Lord Regan never meant to send me to Selzirk. He thought of me as his son. It was only political pressure which made him expel me from Voice.'

  'What political pressure?' demanded Jarl. 'There never was any such pressure! Lord Regan is an absolute ruler. Nobody opposes his wish. You came to Selzirk because this is where he wanted you.'

  'But — but if — but why did he never tell me what he wanted?'

  'He did.'

  'Not so!' cried Sarazin.

  'Lord Regan told you exactly what he wanted,' said Jarl, his voice a hammer. 'What's more, you did as you were told.'

  You're mad!' said Sarazin, alarmed. Was Jarl insane? Quite possibly! 'I was never told anything. Least of all by Lord Regan.'

  You were told you must make yourself great through war then set yourself up as ruler in Selzirk. It was all written down in the book of prophecy the Sosostris woman showed you. That was Lord Regan's message to you.'

  Sarazin was so surprised he almost stopped breathing. He protested. Faintly.

  'But . . . but . . .'

  He was dizzy. Disorientated. How could this be true? He gripped the edges of the table, hard, as if trying to keep in touch with reality. He felt like a man who has just been turned into a woman. Like a dog which suddenly realises it is really a cat. His entire worldview had been turned upside down.

  It was too much to take.

  It couldn't be true!

  Sarazin took a deep breath then said:

  'Are you trying to tell me that the book of prophecy was forged at Lord Regan's behest?'

  'No, no,' said Jarl. The book was centuries old. There's heaps of such rubbish available if you know where to look.

  That particular text suited Lord Regan's purposes so he made sure you got your hands on it.'

  'Impossible,' said Sarazin. 'For a start, it implies Sosostris was in league with Lord Regan — and maybe Madam Ix too. But that can't be true. Sosostris set me up. She sold me to that Turbothot woman, that old slag who hauled me into her bed then had me arrested for debauching her. That almost cost me my life!'

  'So perhaps Sosostris plays a double game,' said Jarl, 'working for Lord Regan and Regency both. Trust nobody!'

  What about Jaluba?' said Sarazin. 'Did Lord Regan send her here to ... to lure me to the Sosostris place?'

  'I wouldn't put it past him,' said Jarl. 'It explains much which would be hard to explain by coincidence.'

  'Indeed,' said Sarazin, feeling dazed.

  Could it be true? Had his whole life really been planned and manipulated by Lord Regan? If it was true, why . . . then he had been but a pawn in a game of players more powerful when he had thought himself a free agent acting in perfect liberty.

  Gods!

  You,' said Sarazin. You — you're — are you Lord Regan's agent?'

  Jarl grinned a wolfish grin. Then said:

  'The Rovac are mercenaries. Does a battle-hardened mercenary follow a penniless boy into exile for the sake of a whim?'

  The answer was hard to deny.

  This was a severe blow to Sarazin's ego indeed! He remembered his own innocent delight when Jarl and Elkin had first told him they were coming with him to Selzirk. He had thought himself the most marvellous young man because he was capable of commanding their loyalty.

  Now . . .

  Now he saw they had followed him only because Lord Regan had ordered them to. When they quit Voice, Jarl had been in a truly filthy temper, which had scarcely improved by the time they reached Selzirk. Suggesting he had not wanted to come at all.

  'Why did you never tell me any of this?' said Sarazin in anger. 'Why? I have a right to know! It's my life! You knew everything, everything! But told me nothing!'

  'I knew nothing,' said Jarl, spreading his hands. 'I was told to watch, to wait, to spy. That was my brief. Nothing more. I never knew what plans Lord Regan had for you. I asked, mind! But was told nothing.'

  'A strange way to do business!' said Sarazin bitterly.

  'On the contrary, a way most sensible,' said Jarl. 'It minimised risks. I could betray myself as a spy, but could never betray you because I knew nothing worth the telling. Lord Regan is a patient man. He let you establish yourself, test yourself, find the limits to your ability. All the while, he was doubtless watching me too. Watchers to watch the watchers!'

  'Then?' said Sarazin.

  'Then, when you came back from Tyte as an invalid, Lord Regan acted. He saw you'd gone as far as you could without help. So he let me into his confidence and conspiracy began in earnest. Oh, we were busy while you lay sick! Lord Regan sent men and money both. We've been building the organisation you need to launch a coup to put you on the throne of the Harvest Plains.'

  'But... I don't quite see this,' said Sarazin. 'How does my ambition benefit Lord Regan?'

  'Sarazin,' said Jarl, 'the Watch is ready to rise at your command. We've purged it of men like Qid — an enemy of yours, for he was one of the Regency's men, whether you knew it or not. We've tempted, bribed, blackmailed, threatened and murdered. The Watch is ours. But that is not enough.'

  'We need the army,' said Sarazin.

  'Of course,' said Jarl. 'But you'll never get it. Oh, some men will come to your banner, doubtless. But not all. There'll be civil war in the Harvest Plains. You can only win with Lord Regan's help. There'll be a price for that help.'

  'Selzirk will be to Galtras Laven what Shin is to Selzirk,' said Sarazin.

  'Something like that,' said Jarl. 'Certainly the Harvest Plains will be obedient to the wishes of the Rice Empire. But you yourself will rule from the See of the Sun. You will rule in your own right, as king. As emperor! Well — do you like the idea?'

  There was a challenge in Jarl's voice. And Sarazin, looking Jarl in the face, realised something about the man had changed. The Rovac warrior
was alive, alert, fierce- faced, more of a wolf than ever. His nostrils flared as he breathed.

  Jarl was ready to kill.

  Sarazin had a choice.

  He could say yes, yes, make me emperor. He could betray his people to the ruler of the Rice Empire. He could make himself Lord Regan's pawn for real. Or he could say no — and die on the spot. Doubtless Jarl had instructions from Lord Regan: kill Sean Sarazin if he refuses. Kill him, quit Selzirk, and return to the Rice Empire for your reward.

  'Well?' said Jarl. 'Must I repeat myself? Do you like the idea?'

  'Yes!' said Sarazin.

  Blurting out the word in an access of terror.

  No sooner had he spoken than he realised what he had done. In horror, his mind a churning turmoil of mingled fear and disgust, he realised he had agreed to betray the land of his birth to a foreign power. He had agreed to become Lord Regan's creature, Lord.Regan's pawn.

  Or had he?

  'So you like the idea,' said Jarl, slowly.

  Sarazin forced himself to smile.

  'It — it's a great idea,' he said.

  Trying to buy himself time. There was something else he should be remembering. But what? The dragons, that was it! The dread of dragons in his green snuff bottle. And his ring of invisibility, his magic candle. He could

  win battles with those, could win a civil war with them. Suddenly, he saw what he had to do, and said: This is such a great idea that I accept it with all my heart.

  I will swear to it. I will put my heart and soul into this

  conspiracy. But — with one reservation.' 'What?' said Jarl.

  We will not seek military help from the Rice Empire until we really need it,' said Sarazin. 'I would like you yourself to agree as much, as well.'

  'Done!' said Jarl.

  Without hesitation. For he was sure Lord Regan would not wish to commit troops to this struggle until events were very far advanced indeed. Jarl knew nothing of magic dragons or a magic ring and a magic candle. In his ignorance, he was easily tricked.

  Both then solemnly swore themselves to the oaths that would bind them to their decisions. Then Jarl said:

  'I don't believe I've ever got drunk with you, have I?'

  'Getting drunk,' said Sarazin, 'is not one of my hobbies.'

  'That's as may be,' said Jarl, 'but today you'll get drunk with me.'

  As ever, Sarazin could not resist the will of the Rovac warrior, and they went forth and got drunk in a really major way.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Salt Road: trading route running from Drangsturm to Narba, through the Rice Empire, past Veda, north to Selzirk and Runcorn, then through the kingdoms of Chorst and Dybra to Estar and the far north of Argan.

  Midsummer's Day arrived, bringing the start of the year Alliance 4327. By then, Sarazin was so busy he scarcely had time to say his annual prayers to the sungod.

  His military duties were demanding. By now, dis- turbing rumours from the far north of Argan had been confirmed. The evil Khmar, the Red Emperor of Tameran, had invaded Argan. His armies had already conquered the northern nation of Estar, and were expected to march south down the Salt Road to invade the Harvest Plains.

  While the reports were confused, it seemed dragons and wizards were mixed up in this warfare. Some reliable eye- witnesses had indeed seen Khmar's armies commanding dragons against the defenders of Estar, doubtless through magic provided to them by wizards.

  Since Sean Sarazin had personal experience of fighting against wizards, he was made a member of an army council charged with planning the defences of the Harvest Plains against Khmar's monstrous regiments.

  Meanwhile, he was actively engaged in Jarl's conspiracy. He was meeting members of the Watch and other people, and taking personal oaths of fealty from them. The coup was timed for the following year.

  The Watch was diligently investigating the past lives of all the most important political figures in the Harvest Plains, eager to see if any were vulnerable to blackmail. They were turning up a lot of interesting information about Qolidian, king of Androlmarphos.

  Farfalla was not the first person to bribe Qolidian, and not all of those who had bought justice from that corrupt judge had been so discreet in their dealings. With luck, Qolidian could be blackmailed into handing over control of the city of Androlmarphos when the coup finally took place.

  In the little time remaining after the demands of army and conspiracy, Sarazin devoted himself to the disposal of the wealth which had come his way. Some of it went on things Benthorn brought him. Always things connected with royalty, nobility. Illuminated texts on heraldry and courtly manners. Ancient scrolls dedicated to poetry such as Saba Yavendar's Victory of the Prince of the Favoured Blood. And other items of a similar nature.

  Late in the summer, Sarazin's brothers Jarnel and Peguero marched away at the head of an army which was to have a second crack at destroying the ogre Tor. Sarazin wished them luck, then forgot about them, for he had seen his brothers so seldom that they were still very much strangers to him. Celadon he had scarcely seen at all: the man was still in Shin.

  To his surprise, Sarazin found he envied his brothers' simple lives. They lived free from the doubts which had lately begun to plague both his waking moments and his dreams. All they had to do was put in a day's work then get drunk in the evening.

  Some of those doubts were entirely natural. He feared for his life, and not without reason — for many things could go wrong with the complex conspiracy he was involved in.

  Well, he could steel himself against fear.

  But it was harder to deal with his growing doubts about the ethics of the conspiracy he was involved in. He could not say where doubt had come from. Was it a symptom of senility, perhaps? Despite his best efforts to ignore it, he could not. What right did he, Sean Sarazin, have to overthrow the present government and impose his will on the Harvest Plains?

  —I could govern the country better. That's the main thing.

  So he told himself.

  Indeed, he was sure he could improve things. By now he knew full well that many important problems were ignored because Selzirk's power brokers were absorbed by the long, slow, agonising political struggle between Farfalla and the Regency.

  Once Sean Sarazin had swept away both the Regency and the institution of kingmaker, once he had made himself absolute and unopposed ruler of the Harvest

  Plains, why then surely he could end inflation, abolish unemployment, bring the criminal classes to heel, get dung-dropping animals banned from the streets (or at least put an end to the taxes on dung carts) and take the thousand and one other initiatives necessary for the health of the nation.

  So why this doubt?

  Things had been much, much simpler back in the old days, when he had believed absolutely in the prophecy. Of course, once Jarl had revealed the prophecy to be but Lord Regan's instrument of communication, his belief had been destroyed.

  Still . . .

  He longed to see the ancient book in which the prophecy had been written down.

  At last, unable to resist the temptation any longer, Sarazin took himself off to the premises of Madam Sosostris. He was wary, knowing the woman might (possibly) be an agent of the Regency. Yet how could it be a crime to want to look at an old book?

  He asked after it.

  'Oh, that old thing,' said Sosostris. 'I sold that by auction months ago. But there's something on the premises which might interest you. Jaluba is her name.'

  Sarazin was bitterly disappointed at the loss of the book. But gained some reward for his enterprise nevertheless, for Madam Sosostris allowed him to hire out Jaluba for half a day at a time. Thus he once again enjoyed Jaluba's delights, often smuggling her right into his quarters in Farfalla's palace — easy enough to do, for Bizzie col- laborated with him in this enterprise.

  Of Sarazin's relationship with Jaluba there is little to tell. It was a repetitive and predictable affair, a matter of haunch and nipple, cock and quim, lips and tongues, pants and grun
ts, tensions and spasms, teasing and giggling, laughter and lies. Enjoyable, to be sure — but of no consequence whatsoever.

  Physical lust is an itch most easily scratched. But

  Sarazin's lust for the old book could not be so easily satisfied. He saw it in dreams and daydreams alike. He somehow felt that, if only he could read those ancient words again, all would become clear.

  Eventually, he took Benthorn into his confidence. He described the book, then said:

  'From its contents, I judge it to be at least in part a cookery book. However, if I recall rightly there was stuff in it about wizards, which might aid my present military research.'

  Benthorn undertook to seek it out and find it.

  Then, in the autumn, Benthorn delivered the book to Sarazin. Who bargained hard — for he did not wish to betray the volume's true worth to his half-brother — and bought it for a reasonable price. (A reasonable price being, nevertheless, a very high price, for the workman- ship which had gone into the book was alone enough to make it a treasure of great value.) And took it back to his quarters.

  And opened it with trembling hands.

  It was just as he remembered. Marvellous, marvellous. A glory of glowing colours, of fantastical animals and imaginary landscapes illuminated in miniature. Sunset orange, aubergine purple, dragon-flame red. Pictures of eagle-winged cats, of grouchy basilisks with smouldering eyes, of—

  But never mind!

  It was the prophecy which counted.

  Swiftly, Sarazin found again the relevant passage. After all this time in the Harvest Plains, he had no trouble reading (or talking, or thinking in) Churl. Even the antiquated Spiral Style orthography gave him no prob- lems. Here again was the prophecy, with its several parts: