The wizards and the warriors tcoaaod-1

by Hugh Cook

'Just putting something in the drinks,' said Valarkin.

  'What is it?'

  'Nutmeg.'

  'Don't put any in mine,' said Gorn. 'I don't like it.' 'As you wish,' said Valarkin.

  He had already dosed Gorn's drink. He was not afraid that Gorn would remember anything, thinking him rather half-witted: in truth, Gorn was just a bit slow, and, at the moment, rather drunk.

  'Ready?' said Gorn.

  'Ready,' said Valarkin.

  They carried trays out to the High Table. By now all the guards had left the hall. Morgan Hearst, the man Valarkin feared and hated most of all. was asleep with his head on the table. They set refreshments down in front of the revellers, who began to eat and drink.

  Prince Comedo was the last person at the table to see what was on his bread and butter: he did not notice until he had eaten half of it. His face lost colour. He staggered to a corner and disgorged everything in his stomach in a roar of vomit. The laughter from those at the table went on as if it would continue forever.

  'A toast." said the wizard Garash. steadying himself against his mirth. 'A toast to the vigorous appetites of those of the Favoured Blood.'

  'I'll drink to that,' said Jeferies, tears of laughter in his eyes.

  Everyone drank to it, except Prince Comedo. He turned the ring on his finger that would take him back to the silence and safety of the green bottle, but nothing happened: the bottle was too far away for the ring to work. He stalked off to find Blackwood and the green bottle: he could not bear to stay and face the laughter. Gorn picked up Comedo's goblet as if he would drain it.

  'You've got an appetite like a pig,' said Valarkin.

  'Me?' said Gorn, pausing.

  'Yes, you,' said Valarkin.

  It was dangerous to say it, but Valarkin thought a second goblet of poisoned wine might well kill Gorn -and he wanted no dead bodies to proclaim that people had been poisoned. He just wanted everyone to go to sleep.

  Gorn set the goblet down with great care. He rose from the table as if to teach Valarkin a thing or two. But found he did not feel well. He sat down again, blinking.

  T don't feel well,' he said.

  As Valarkin had predicted, shortly the small dose of poison put all into a deep sleep. He smiled at their comatose bodies. So much for all those proud men who flaunted their egos as if they were lords of time and space: they were fools, and he had gained the upper hand effortlessly.

  Valarkin crept to Phyphor's side and slipped his hand under the wizard's cloak. He withdrew the lead box which bore the null sign of the dead zero on its lid. The box was heavy in his hands. 'You!'

  Valarkin wheeled. Hearst was staring at him with bloodshot eyes.

  'You! A drink! A drink for a fighting man!'

  'My lord,' said Valarkin, putting down the lead box and hastening to obey. He gave Hearst the goblet which had been intended for Prince Comedo.

  'My name is Hearst and Hast is called my sword,' said Hearst, his drunken tongue half-crippling the Estral he was speaking. 'My name is Hearst and Avor sire was mine, and yes my sword is Hast, and there was a dragon, a dragon once, and I held the breach at Enelorf.'

  He drained the last of the wine. Then swayed, slipped sideways and collapsed bonelessly on the floor.

  Valarkin recovered the heavy lead box again. The hellmouthjaws leered at him. Hearst had seen him with the box! What now? Kill him? Every moment spent standing there was dangerous: someone might come into the hall and discover him. First things first: dispose of the mad-jewel.

  If Valarkin could have snaffled all the red charms worn by the wizards and the fighting men, the castle would have been his to control. He could have set himself up as a prince, a monarch, a warlord. But try as he might, Valarkin had not been able to think of any safe way to secure all the red charms: sooner or later he must run up against a man who was still fighting fit. He was not prepared to run such risks. What he was doing was dangerous enough.

  Outside, he scuttled through the shadows under the cold starlight. The Golem's Eye, burning sullen red, reminded him of Hearst's bloodshot eyes; he shivered.

  He came to the castle well, which plunged down into darkness. Opening the lead box, he took out the mad-jewel. Then dropped it into the well. Nobody would ever find it there. Morning would find Prince Jeferies and all his retainers witless, helpless, their castle uninhabitable until the mad-jewel exhausted its strength.

  The expedition, deprived of the magic by which it had planned to overcome Heenmor, would have no choice but to turn back. They would return to Castle Vaunting, where Valarkin would live comfortably as Prince Comedo's ring-bearer. There would be no more of this hideous life of mud, leeches, hills, swamps, constipation, diarrhoea, danger, fatigue and merciless laughter.

  Valarkin threw the empty box into the well and crept back to the Great Hall. Now he would swallow a pinch of cauchaumaur, and sleep away the night with the others. But what about Hearst? Hearst had seen him with the box that held the mad-jewel! True, thanks to the cauchaumaur, he would wake from poisoned sleep with his memories blurred, confused and entangled with nightmares. But what if he remembered the crucial scene with clarity?

  – Kill him!

  Yes, that was the only way.

  Valarkin, softfoot and trembling, stole through the shadows toward his victim. How to kill him? What weapon to use? In sleep, Hearst twisted; his face contorted; he bared his teeth then hissed: 'The lopsloss! The lopsloss! It's coming!'

  Valarkin looked around wildly. But of course there was only the hall: only shadows and sleeping bodies. He knelt beside Hearst.

  'Stormguard,' muttered Hearst.

  Valarkin's fingers tightened round the hilt of Hast. He began to ease the weapon from its scabbard. Suddenly Hearst sat bolt upright. His eyes, blood-red, intense with fury, glared at Valarkin. He gripped Valarkin by both arms, fingers nailing themselves into the biceps.

  'The Stormguard!' shouted Hearst. 'The Stormguard! They've broken! They've broken! They're running!'

  Then his grip relaxed and he sank back to the floor, his eyes closing slowly. Valarkin backed away slowly on his knees, trembling, trembling. His biceps still hurt.

  'Alish,' said Hearst. Then, louder: 'Alish!'

  His shouting would rouse the whole castle. Kill him now? Easy to say, but what if one of Comedo's men, roused by his shouting, burst into the hall while Valarkin was driving a blade home into Hearst's body? Valarkin remembered an old battle-cry out of songs and legends: victory to the brave. From his own thoughts came the dry rejoinder: and life to the cautious.

  He crept back to his place at the High Table and downed his pinch of cauchaumaur. The last thing he heard before nightmare claimed him was Hearst's anguished cry: 'Alish! Not now, not now!'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Silently, without a cheer or a shout, without a smile or a laugh, the expedition rode out across the drawbridge of the High Castle. Alish surveyed the wreckage of the Collosnon army: corpses bloated and rotting in the sun. A week had been wasted in the High Castle while he and Hearst interrogated each and every man about the mad-jewel: discovering nothing.

  As the expedition went past, flies rose from dead soldiers. Doubtless the dead had thought they had an easy duty: to starve out the High Castle by siege while the invasion swept west into Estar and then, perhaps, south to Dybra, starting on the road for the rich lands of the Harvest Plains. They had not known they would meet their doom when magic made their strength and courage useless.

  Alish remembered the working routines of that methodical butchery. He took no joy in the sight of rotting corpses, or in his memories of slaughter. At least the blood and bones would feed this poor soil, which could always grow enough potatoes to supply the castle with vodka, but never enough to flesh out the thin faces of the common people.

  At least the challenge ahead was clean and honourable: to hunt down a wizard of power and evil and kill him. And after that, if Alish could command the death-stone and lead armies south in conquest, any collateral casualt
ies would be pardoned by his purpose: to right the ancient wrong and exterminate all wizards.

  Alish saw Prince Comedo riding toward him. They had debated whether to bring Jeferies with them; instead, they had left him to wander witless in his castle with his followers and retainers. Jeferies would never believe that the mad-jewel was lost somewhere in his castle: he would think it a plot to deprive him of his kingdom. Better that they have a dead ally rather than a live enemy.

  'My lord,' said Alish, greeting Prince Comedo. 'Elkor Alish. I have been thinking.' indeed,' said Alish.

  'Yes,' said Prince Comedo, i have determined against our continued advance into danger. It's pointless, as we can't defeat Heenmor without the mad-jewel.'

  Valarkin had been working on Comedo's fears, and had done his job well.

  'What do you advise, my lord?' said Alish.

  T do not advise,' said Prince Comedo. 'I command. I require our return to Castle Vaunting.'

  'My lord,' said Alish. 'Heenmor has gained a season on us already. We've not time to go back for the other mad-jewel. Besides, going back, we might run into the Collosnon – we might find ourselves heavily outnumbered.'

  'This quest has ceased to amuse me,' said Prince Comedo. 'Do you understand?'

  'I will discuss it with the wizards,' said Alish.

  He knew it heartened the troops to know they were being led by a prince of the Favoured Blood. In time, he might have to cut Comedo's throat, but for now he would stall to get the maximum benefit from Comedo's presence.

  T will retire to my palace of convenience,' said the prince, meaning his green bottle. 'You will arrange what is necessary. When I emerge again, I expect to find us closing with Castle Vaunting.'

  'Yes, my lord,' said Alish.

  Prince Comedo rode away: Alish guessed that they would not see him again for days if not weeks. By then, it would be too late for anything Comedo might do to matter.

  The expedition continued east toward the Kikashi Hills, beyond which lay the Fleuve River and the Spine Mountains. Reaching the hill country, they came upon the ramshackle camp of a family of charcoal burners. Questioned, these people said yes, Heenmor had passed this way. A number of people lived in the hills – deer hunters, truffle hunters, a few lepers, and, more recently, a few Collosnon deserters – and news travelled. Rumour claimed that some Melski had helped Heenmor. 'the blue and ginger giant', to travel down the Fleuve River.

  The expedition was on the right trail.

  The hills – 'Mountains if they're molehills,' muttered Garash darkly – were rugged and densely wooded. Finding sheer cliffs ahead, and the few hill trails impassable by horse, Alish organised a horse slaughter. Easy come, easy go. They chopped up their mounts, crammed the horse-stomachs with bits of meat and plenty of water, then boiled up the meat in the stomachs and gorged themselves.

  Then went on.

  The soil was light and sandy, and the pine tree had dominance. Blackwood did not like this unfamiliar kind of forest, but the others were happy enough. They slept each night with the wind lulling through the branches of the pines; they made big fires out of resinous pine cones, throwing on handfuls of pine needles which would flare up like a sudden blaze of wizard magic. In the steep-climbing hills, the land was clean, with far fewer biting insects than the lowlands they had already travelled through.

  Durnwold took every opportunity to train with his brother Valarkin. On long summer evenings they sparred together, bearing shields, wielding heavy sticks rather than swords. They used sticks for safety, to prevent damage to their weapons, and so no clash of metal would ring out through the evening to alert any unpredictable strangers living within earshot.

  Each evening, as Valarkin picked up his stick and put his arm through the leather thong inside the shield's curve, then grasped the iron bar bridging the space made by the shield boss, he felt more confident. His attempt to steal the green bottle and escape with Blackwood had failed, as had his effort to make the expedition turn back by throwing away the mad-jewel. Since he could not escape this quest, he would do his best to cope with its rigours. But that was not to say he liked it.

  Often Valarkin thought of the man his brother Durnwold admired so much – the Rovac warrior Morgan Hearst – and wondered if he would get a chance for revenge.

  Since Hearst was Durnwold's friend, Valarkin had to keep his bitter knowledge to himself. He was certain that his temple's god had killed the dragon Zenphos. He was a priest, and knew the god's power: the dragon's last flight had been its death throes. A handsome sacrifice had persuaded the god to kill the dragon: he could still remember the screams of the tender boys they had dedicated during seven days of ceremony.

  Valarkin knew Hearst must have found the dragon dead in its lair on the mountain of Maf. If Hearst had admitted it, Valarkin could have persuaded Prince Comedo to rebuild the temple. He could not have reconstructed the secrets that had been lost, but… everyone would have believed. Attributing fine weather to the goodwill of the god, he would have made the sun in the sky his miracle, proclaiming storm and foul weather to be the god's wrath. One proven miracle – the dragon's death – and they would have believed for a lifetime.

  There was no chance of that now: but there might still be a chance for revenge.

  Climbing the unfamiliar, ever-rising cliffs and hills, their pace slowed. They moved cautiously along the pine forest trails, with scouts out ahead and a rear guard behind. At dusk, Elkor Alish sent out clearing patrols to circle their camp site and ensure no enemy was creeping up on them in the twilight; he always chose to camp on high ground, with good defensive prospects, and posted sentries to watch out the night.

  He was acutely aware that, while they might be questing for Heenmor's head, a Collosnon revenge force might be questing for them.

  After days of hill climbing, they reached the high, isolated uplands of the Rausch Valley. No humans lived here, for the sandy soil would support no crops, and was worthless for grazing. Isolated from the moderating influence of the sea, the valley was blanketed by snow all through the winter: when the spring melts came, the entire valley flooded as snow melted on the mountains of the Coastal Massif.

  They marched to the Fleuve River which drained the valley, and followed it downstream, in a southerly direction, to a point where the valley narrowed as the hills closed in. From here, the prospect to the east showed them high mountains, some still tipped with snow. From a Melski encampment, they learnt that the Melski had indeed taken Heenmor downriver to Ep Pass, where there was a pass across the Spine Mountains.

  It now seemed certain that Heenmor was making for Stronghold Handfast. And. of course, the expedition must follow – but there was a problem.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  On the raft belonging to the Melski headman, Blackwood turned to Hearst: 'It's no use. He refuses.'

  'Try again,' said Hearst.

  'Mister, they'll talk us out till the river runs dry, but they'll never changesay.'

  Tell them,' said Hearst, 'they can't hope to stop us travelling downriver, no matter what they've promised to Heenmor. Tell them it might come to bloodshed if they try to stop us.'

  Blackwood addressed the Melski headman, whose language came easily to his lips. In his exile years in Looming Forest, the Melski had been his friends and companions. Looming Forest: Estar: Mystrel. Was Mystrel still alive? 'Old father,' said Blackwood. 'You of the current-cunning, of the long-song memories, know that not everyone honours the virtue of their spawning.'

  'Lor-galor,' grunted the Melski headman in assent.

  'Now these of the dryhard standing by your home-banks take no part of the Cycle; on them lies no restraint against murder. They can be like stormwater, destroying with as little reason. I offer no threat, but the others lack the honour of peacemakers.'

  'You do well to warn us,' said the Melski headman. 'You are one who has honour. May your days lie downstream.'

  Then the headman sat back.

  'Honoured father -' began Blackwood. it i
s no use,' said the Melski headman. 'You have the courtesy of our tongue upon your lips, but we cannot unspeak our speaking. The river cannot flow back to the hills, or words unsay themselves. We cannot offer you way by right down the river. If necessary, we will break the Cycle to preserve our truth.'

  'What does he say?' asked Hearst.

  'He says no,' said Blackwood. 'They won't let us follow Heenmor, even if it means a fight.'

  'What's Heenmor paid them?'

  'He paid them with their lives, mister. I'm sure you've made that kind of bargain now and then yourself.'

  'Try again,' said Hearst, hurt by Blackwood's bitter tone.

  'Old father,' said Blackwood. 'He wishes that I fish again.'

  'We have given our answer,' said the Melski headman. 'Our word binds us. Is that entirely beyond their understanding?'

  'They are not entirely without reason,' said Blackwood, 'but they are fated on this journey, for they also have spoken words of binding.'

  'To whom have they spoken these words?'

  'To each other.'

  'Then they can unspeak their words between themselves. We cannot, for our pact is with our blood and the blood of another. We sought only to save our lives -that charred pine on the further shore is the mark of the power he showed us. In this time of danger, you could choose the way of example.'

  'I have tried that way. It almost cost me my life.'

  'And now the one who sits beside you forces you to talk. Well then, let us talk. Tell me how the families fare in the flow of the Hollern River, for there are years and leagues between us.' i will speak first of Hor-hor-hurulg-murg,' said Blackwood, 'for he was closest always; he bears himself with honour.'

  Alish watched Hearst and Blackwood leave the headman's raft and walk back along the jetty to the riverside.

  'Well,' said Alish when the two drew near. 'How did it go?' 'No joy,' said Hearst.

  'They'll try to stop us,' said Blackwood. 'Even if it means fighting us.'

  'Then let's get it over with,' said Alish. 'We'll go through them like a knife through butter. Weil clean them out, take their rafts and be off downstream by sunset.'