The Wicked and the Witless

by Hugh Cook

  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 officers, 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 The losing faction — which included many pirates — had withdrawn to Hok.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 warrio
r 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 Elkin'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!

  'I mean it!' said Sarazin. 'Unless you come into line, you're finished!'

  Finally, with his death thus confronting him, Thodric Jarl swore himself to keep the peace. Then Sarazin ordered Jarl to be released. The Rovac warrior stumped away in the worst of tempers imaginable.

  'Come back!' ordered Sarazin.

  'What do you want?' said Jarl.

  'An apology.'

  'To you?'

  'No. From you to Elkin. For trying to kill him.' 'I did but my duty,' said Jarl.

  Sarazin opened his mouth to remonstrate with him — then closed it again. He had been lucky to persuade Jarl to keep the peace, even when death was the alter- native. There was no point in starting a contest of wills over the trivial matter of an apology — particularly not when Sean Sarazin would surely be the loser in such a contest.

  'Very well,' said Sarazin. 'But . . . would you do me a favour?'

  'That depends,' said Jarl.

  'I sit in justice here and now on a criminal case,' said Sarazin. "The charge is treason. I would like you to be my instrument of justice should the verdict go against the accused.'

  Jarl considered, then said:

  'I will serve as an instrument of justice.'

  Sarazin smiled to himself, and forthwith convened the trial of the traitor Jaluba.

  Jarl had agreed to something. Jarl would be his instru- ment of justice. There was an old trick Jarl had once taught Sarazin — get a man to obey you in a small thing and he will later find it hard to resist you in a greater matter. Sarazin complimented himself on his strategy.

  The Rovac warrior would take careful handling, but Sarazin was confident that, in time, Jarl would prove an obedient instrument of his will. A lot of time, perhaps — but it would happen one day.

  The matter of Jaluba's trial was swiftly disposed of. Sarazin was hungry, and eager to push on to X-zox. Besides, he wanted to have Jarl doing his bidding as soon as possible. Serving as an instrument of justice — an executioner in fact.

  It all seemed very simple until Sarazin actually had Jaluba in front of him. He told himself:

  —She is but a whore.

  But she looked as beautiful as ever, despite her tears, her fear, her helpless heartbreak. She was still the luscious Jaluba, mistress of the thousand voluptuous perfumes, queen of the lubricous arts, mistress of the pink lips and the bedroom eyes.

  —And a whore, a thief, a traitor.

  So thought Sarazin, steeling himself to his duty.

  He outlined the charges against her.

  'Jaluba, you stand before me charged with treason. You and you alone possessed the Words to the Gates and to the Lesser Tower. You and you alone could have given them to the enemy. You and you alone have brought disaster upon our land.'

  Jaluba refused to speak, refused to plead, but simply wept and wailed. Sarazin, speaking over her grief, outlined the case against her, asked her to defend herself — and, when she did not, pronounced her guilt.

  'The sentence is death,' said Sarazin.

  And nodded to Jarl, who dragged Jaluba away.

  She was screaming by now.

  And Sarazin wished, then, that he could have can- celled his sentence. But it was too late. For he had spoken, and could scarcely unspeak himself, not under the circumstances.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  By the next day Farfalla had learnt all, and went hunting Sean Sarazin. When she caught him, he flinched from her scathing wrath, and tried to flee. But there was no escape.

  'What have you done?' said Farfalla. 'What's on your mind?' said Sarazin. 'Jaluba! Have you had her murdered?' 'She had a trial,' said Sarazin coldly. 'For what?' said Farfalla.

  'She gave the enemy the keywords which allowed them to attack,' said Sarazin, now trying to sound injured. 'She betrayed us.'

  It sounded weak even to himself.

  "Who gave her those Words in the first place?' said Farfalla, with fury and disgust mixed. You! Gods, what have I bred?'

  'That's only part of it,' said Sarazin defensively. There's more. Jaluba's treachery goes way back, oh yes, right back to Selzirk. There she betrayed my trust. She stole from me. A bard, a book — documents as well. Thanks to that bitch, I did the most dreadful injury to a man of honour.'

  You don't know what you're talking about,' said Farfalla in fury.

  'She's a thief,' insisted Sarazin. 'The day Plovey raided my quarters—'

  'Gods!' exclaimed Farfalla. You fool! You bungling dolt! Were you born stupid, or do you have to work at it?'

  Sarazin, stunned by the strength of her anger, made no answer. So Farfalla went on:

  You know why Plovey raided your quarters? Because I tipped him off. Yes, me! You know why? Have you any idea? To set him up! It worked, oh yes, it worked.' />
  Sarazin did not answer. Could not. Was speechless. His mother? At the heart of all this trouble, his mother? Could it be possible?

  'Do you know why I set him up?' said Farfalla. 'Because he was getting close, oh, very close to you, Sean Sarazin. You and Jarl, conspirators! You were like big clumsy babies. I knew what you were up to! Worse, I knew Plovey knew, though I don't think he knew that I knew.'

  'I don't see what this has got—'

  'Listen! I decided to kill off Plovey. Dangerous — but leaving him alive was more dangerous yet. So I set him up. I tempted him into a crime which carried a death penalty. Forging a warrant, oh yes — not to mention false arrest and a dozen lesser crimes. I could have finished him.'

  'You could have finished me too!'

  'Sean Sarazin, I meant to finish you. At least, I meant to scare you so badly that all your conspiracy nonsense came to an end. So I removed your precious documents. Your prophetic book and your bard as well.'

  'What do you mean, you removed them? I was with you all the time. I remember that day. I'll not forget it for a lifetime.'

  'Bizzie took them for me,' said Farfalla. 'She was mine, my creature, my agent. You knew that, surely? Didn't you? Wasn't it obvious? I gave her to you. Why, if not to watch you? Didn't you ever guess? Sean, are you really so stupid?'

  "You're my mother! I never thought you'd—'

  What? Go to such lengths to keep you alive? Sean, that was what it was all about. Keeping you alive. I warned you when you first reached Selzirk, but you never listened. It was one crazy thing after another. So I wanted to shock you, frighten you, leave you guessing. To end your conspiracy. It worked, didn't it? After a fashion.'