The wizards and the warriors tcoaaod-1

by Hugh Cook

  'Ahyak Rovac,' croaked Hearst.

  Any expert on frogs would, from that croak, have diagnosed him as being rather sick.

  He found a big stone jar full of water, dunked his head in it, then, without bothering to surface, drank in big, labouring gulps. Then threw up his head and gasped for air.

  He felt a little better.

  He felt, to be precise, like a man of seventy who has been dead for a day and a half, which was an improvement on feeling like a man of a thousand and three years who has been dead for the better part of a century.

  'I'll never drink again, not ever,' muttered Hearst. Then, yielding to the promptings of a certain innate caution: 'Or not without provocation.'

  He found that, by now, he could just about endure the light coming in through the window.

  From this room, high in Farfalla's palace, Hearst could look out over the city of Selzirk. The streets were as quiet as the mouse the cat played with yesterday, which did not surprise him. Overjoyed by the defeat of the invaders, by the liberation of Androlmarphos and by the news that the army from the Rice Empire had turned back rather than contend against Morgan Hearst and the death-stone, the people of Selzirk had held a festival.

  Hearst had thought that, after his years of war and travel, nothing could have surprised him – but never before had he seen an entire city participate in a six-day orgy. He thought it was probably over by now: for one thing, there was hardly a barrel of wine left in the whole city.

  On a big table by the window were heaps of assorted rubbish: books, charts, battle-plans, orange peel, dirty clothes, weapons, faded garlands, wilted flowers, a torn silk dress – did he really remember what he remembered, or was he only imagining it? – remnants of Alish's blood-red battle-standard, a copper bracelet, a silver bangle, a scattering of walnuts.

  Hearst scooped up the nuts then rummaged the rubbish till he had recovered some cold chicken and half an apple, brown from exposure to the air but still edible.

  As Hearst ate, he fingered a multi-faceted black gem inside which a red flame twisted, continually moving and changing shape as if trying to escape. He had found it the day after the defeat of Alish's army which, unable to defend Androlmarphos against walking rocks, had fled the city.

  During bitter confused fighting on the quays of Androlmarphos, many rocks, escaping Miphon's control, had gone reeling into the water. There had been blood on Hearst's sword then: he had been in the thick of the fighting. It had seemed, once, that he would meet Alish face to face – then Alish had been wounded by an arrow, and dragged to safety by his comrades.

  The pirates had succeeded in getting only five ships to sea. Hearst had wanted to let them go, but seven of the ships captured in the battle on the quays had set out before he could gain control of the confusion. In an eighth ship, Hearst had followed.

  At sea, it had seemed the better seamanship of the pirates must take them to safety. Then they had passed a pod of whales. Miphon had used his powers of control to make the whales attack Elkor Alish's ships, with devastating results.

  With three ships sunk, Hearst had tried to persuade Miphon to let the others escape. But Miphon, intoxicated by success – and well Hearst knew that enthusiasm -had refused. Hearst had broken Miphon's concentration by throwing a bucket of seawater over him, and had then signalled the ships under his command to withdraw toward Androlmarphos, leaving Alish's surviving ships to pick up the men from the craft sunk by whales.

  So Alish, as far as Hearst knew, had escaped. Hearst had let him go. And why not? Alish could do little damage now. Under Alish's leadership, his troops had lost the city of Androlmarphos and the fleet they had used to attack it; most of the men of his command were dead or had been taken prisoner. It was not the kind of record that would attract many enthusiastic followers.

  All things considered, nobody had gained anything from the struggle for Androlmarphos. Men, ships and horses had been destroyed, together with the greater part of the city's eastern walls, and much good arable land outside the city was now sheeted over with stone. However, Hearst had obtained this trophy – the multi-faceted black gem with flame dancing inside it.

  He had found it when inspecting the ruins of the pyramid east of Androlmarphos; it had been lying beside the golden coffin of the wizard emperor who had been buried there. Miphon had named the gem for what it was: a key to the tower of Ebber. Farfalla had insisted that it be thrown away, saying it was known that the tower was haunted by fearful danger; Hearst had kept the gem, mostly because his pride told him he had yielded to Farfalla's judgment too many times already.

  He finished his meagre meal and left his quarters. In the rooms and corridors of Farfalla's palace, servants were cleaning up, repairing the damage done by the festivities. He was right: the holiday was over. And Hearst knew that soon he must go south, bearing the death-stone to the Castle of Controlling power. Having used it himself, he felt personally responsible for seeing that it was decently laid to rest.

  He decided that today his first job would be to see how the wounded were faring. All had been transported to Selzirk in the red bottle or the green, and Miphon was supervising their welfare. Miphon would not have been distracted by the festivities, as Hearst knew – but he had allowed himself to neglect every single one of his responsibilities.

  He still had a headache; his mind was limping along on crutches. He resisted the temptation to go and seek out a drink, suspecting that one would lead to another; Miphon had given him a severe lecture on drink recently, and Hearst, grudgingly, was beginning to think the wizard might have a point.

  ***

  Late in the afternoon, Hearst approached the private apartments of the kingmaker Farfalla. A solitary guard stood aside to let him enter; no doorway in all of Selzirk was barred to the city's hero, Morgan Hearst.

  Farfalla was sitting reading a pile of reports when Hearst found her. She looked up, smiled. He did not return her smile.

  'Morgan,' said Farfalla. 'How good to see you.'

  Hearst said nothing.

  'Our interrogators have been at work while the city indulged itself. Look – we've charts which show the Greater Teeth in detail, and all the defences of the largest harbour on Stokos.'

  Farfalla held out the charts for Hearst's inspection. He did not move, but stared at her, his grey eyes cold and hard.

  'All right,' said Farfalla. 'Say what you have to.' 'You know what I've got to say,' said Hearst. 'Then it won't hurt me to hear it, will it?' 'No,' said Hearst, i suppose it won't.' And suddenly he felt tired, very tired, and sat down. 'Would you like some wine?' said Farfalla. it might help,' said Hearst, despite his earlier resolutions.

  Farfalla poured amber-coloured wine into glasses of cut crystal. The wine had a strange, penetrating, flowery smell.

  'This comes from Vasserway, far to the north, in the Ravlish Lands,' said Farfalla.

  'The wine or the crystal?' said Hearst. 'Both,' said Farfalla. 'You know we trade with the world.'

  That, it must be said, was an exaggeration. Nevertheless, Hearst said: i know it.'

  He watched Farfalla sip her wine, then reached out and took her glass from her hand.

  'Are you afraid of poison?' said Farfalla, picking up the glass she had prepared for Hearst, and draining it. 'There. Safe, see? What kind of person do you think I am?'

  'A liar!' said Hearst. 'I know that much, at least. I found the messenger, you see. The wounded man who brought the message saying the Rice Empire was invading the Harvest Plains.'

  'How did you recognise him?" 'Nobody commands soldiers without developing a good head for faces. I recognised him. You know I told Miphon to make a special point of seeing to him, but Miphon was told he was dead.'

  'Of course. He would have seen straight away that the man had only been recently wounded. You'd have known the same if you'd been the one to clean and dress his wound. For our story to work -'

  T had to believe he'd spent days on horseback riding all the way from the border. So you told your l
ie. But why, Farfalla?'

  'You were talking of a siege.' said Farfalla. 'How long would that have lasted? Androlmarphos could have been resupplied from the sea. To take the city, you'd have had to storm the walls and light for possession street by street, house by house. The city would have been destroyed, its people with it. I did what I had to.'

  'You lied to me,' said Hearst.

  'Considered as an instrument of state, a lie, unlike a sword, draws no blood.'

  'Ohio died because of your lies.' 'So he died. Someone had to die.' 'He was my friend!'

  'And does that make you think you have a monopoly on suffering?' said Farfalla. 'Do you know what I suffer? Do you know what I have to go through? 'I didn't want this. I never wanted this. I grew up in Kelebes, a potter's daughter. Do you know once I was chosen, I could never see my family again? That's the law. To secure the equitable government of the Harvest Plains. To protect against nepotism. Fine phrases, aren't they? Just think for one moment what that law means to the kingmaker.

  'My sons are soldiers. Do you think that's what I would have chosen for them? The law decided their destiny, Morgan. I'm the ruler of the greatest nation in Argan, but I'm a prisoner of the law. You've told me how you've suffered, Morgan, but you're not the only one who's suffered.

  'You can't imagine the burdens of power – being responsible for the life or death of an entire empire. You can't imagine the difficulties of government when there's so many ready to take advantage of the slightest weakness, the slightest failing. I think -'

  'Don't talk to me of the burdens of power,' said Hearst. 'Power is its own reward – the greatest reward known. There's not a single person in your empire who doesn't envy you, not one who doesn't wish they could be you.'

  'Do you really believe that?' said Farfalla. 'Yes,' said Hearst.

  'So you'd take that power if I offered it to you.' 'Sure, sure,' said Hearst. 'On a slice of the moon garnished with Stardust.' 'I'm serious!'

  'Then you're seriously ill. Is it that time of month?' She slapped him. Hard. Three times. 'You dogshit barbarian!' she said.

  'I won't deny my nature,' said Hearst, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. 'I'm clearly not the person to be offered a throne – not even in jest.'

  'Morgan, I wasn't joking. And I don't joke now. My land needs a hero. To the north, Runcorn. To the south, Stokos. The enemy's strength is broken. Now is the time to strike. And, while we're about it, to clean up the Rice Empire.'

  Hearst, trying to stop the bleeding from his nose, did not answer. So Farfalla continued: 'The people are ready for you, Morgan. We can teach you what you need to know – language, law, manners. Especially manners! I can abdicate in your favour. That would make difficulties, but those difficulties would yield to necessity and popular demand. Will yield! We need a conqueror.'

  'I've fought enough wars already.'

  'Have you? Aren't you tempted? Morgan, you could conquer all of Argan!'

  He was, for a moment, tempted. He had, for a moment, a vision of a future in which he conquered all, and united the nation of Rovac with his empire of conquest. Despite everything he had said to Alish, Hearst was not entirely immune to the appeal of the old dreams, the old stories. But…

  'Even if that's what I wanted,' said Hearst, T still don't believe that your people would accept me. Not as their ruler.'

  'I,' said Farfalla, 'will organise a banquet in your honour. All our most powerful people will be there. You'll see then who will accept you. I won't announce you as ruler unless you decide that's what you want. You'll meet the people. You'll see what they think of you.'

  'I'll come to your banquet,' said Hearst.

  And, again, he was sorely tempted by the prospect of power. But he reminded himself that he had not really been formally offered anything, yet. And reminded himself, too, that Farfalla had lied to him before – and might do so again.

  He was already regretting the coarse, unpardonable joke he had made about her biology. In a royal court, people could be burnt alive for less. He also had the death-stone to worry about. He thought he had convinced Farfalla that seizing the death-stone would eventually lead to her empire being destroyed in a confrontation with the Confederation of Wizards – but what if he was wrong, and she dared regardless?

  He began to seriously consider the possibility that this banquet might prove to be the occasion of his murder rather than his coronation.

  ***

  Blackwood entered the Hall of Wine, the largest hall in Farfalla's palace. It was fragrant with flowers: an overflow of lilies, an explosion of roses, and tender bouquets of modest flowers such as larkspur, sea lavender and sweet alyssum.

  On the walls were tapestries showing work both urban and rural. At every setting at every table, plain bread and river water were set out for the guests: a ceremonial first course to be consumed before the real feasting began.

  Thanks to Miphon's intervention, there had been a break with tradition: the river water had been secretly boiled, thus minimising the risk it posed to the health of aristocrats who usually only drank wine.

  No guests had yet arrived; they were attending an opera which was scheduled to end about the middle of the afternoon, after which the feast would begin.

  Light for the hall came through stained glass windows showing placid countryside scenes. Nothing anywhere in the hall hinted at violence, warfare or suffering.

  'Ah, Blackwood,' said Hearst, emerging from behind one of the ivy-covered trellises concealing doorways through which servants would enter and leave when the feast was underway.

  "Where have you been?' said Blackwood.

  'Where you haven't, obviously,' said Hearst, with impeccable logic.

  'No, seriously.'

  'Why seriously? You have an objection to the comical? Eh? You've got a face about as cheery as a pig's backside. What's the problem, friend?'

  'Miphon says 'And is that all he says? The sun says the same, so it's hardly original.'

  T haven't yet told you what he says!' said Blackwood, missing the joke entirely.

  'You're worried, friend. Why?'

  'Miphon says you've got men on call, armed for combat.'

  'And so I have,' said Hearst, turning suddenly serious. 'And, if you really must know, I've been checking the kitchen for poisoners.'

  'What are you planning?'

  T,' said Hearst, with energy, 'Am planning to stay alive. As we all have cause to know, that's hardly the easiest of enterprises.'

  'Do you suspect Farfalla of something?'

  'I suspect her of many things,' said Hearst. 'Of having two breasts, two hips, and heat between her thighs. Nay, I have proof positive of certain – but no, as a gentleman I must stay my tongue, even if I must not necessarily stay my stallion.'

  'You seem,' said Blackwood slowly, 'to be drunk.'

  'That's what they said to the dog-sodomist after the blacksmith hit him with a sledgehammer,' said Hearst. 'No, I'm not drunk. I'm just a little giddy from standing on a sword-blade.'

  'You mean that you expect someone to try and kill you today?'

  T mean,' said Hearst, 'I expect the sky to either stand or fall.'

  That was a standard nonsense answer which children on Rovac used on occasion to irritate each other, but to Blackwood it sounded like a random piece of gibberish.

  'You,' said Blackwood, slowly, 'are not as bright and cheerful as you seem to be. You are under enormous strain. There are two tides running within you. You are not… you are not at all happy.'

  'Happy!' roared Hearst. 'Why should I be happy? This damnable death-stone grinding my nerves to the quick and raw. Dead men underfoot in my dreams. That oh so so formidable – unpredictable! inscrutable! – woman Farfalla, who might even now be measuring cloth for my coronation robes or my shroud. I should be happy?!'

  Blackwood did not risk an answer.

  Hearst paced up and down, as if burning off excess energy. He had dressed so as to intimidate anyone who might be thinking of foul play. Although he
did not usually favour ostentation, today he wore a cloak embroidered with dragons. Beneath the cloak, chain mail. At his side, the sword Hast. At his throat, the multi-faceted black gem which was the key to the tower of Ebber, which had been placed in a setting of shining gold which reflected the glow of the dancing flame within.

  'Would you be happy if you were in my place?' said Hearst, turning on Blackwood.

  The question reminded Blackwood of one Elkor Alish had once asked him: What would you do in my place? If he remembered correctly, his answer on that occasion had been rather impolite. With Hearst, he tried a milder approach.

  'You,' said Blackwood, 'are free to be as happy as you like. But there's no need to be so fierce. I've studied Farfalla carefully. I don't think she means murder. I think she really does mean for you to be the ruling power of the Harvest Plains.'

  'Perhaps,' said Hearst. 'But there's something mighty 424 strange going on here. Someone's keeping a secret from me! I can tell it by the way they look at me, the way my footsteps kill their conversations.'

  'I think,' said Blackwood, 'that today they plan to consecrate you as a member of the family of the Favoured Blood. Haven't you heard of that ceremony?'

  'Oh, I've heard that it happens,' said Hearst. 'But Farfalla has said nothing about performing the ritual for me. Least of all today.'

  'You know it has to be done if you want to rule the Harvest Plains,' said Blackwood, it's only a ritual to appease the ignorant and the superstitious so they can say their ruler is of the Favoured Blood, but you shouldn't underestimate the importance of it. Most of the people of the Harvest Plains are ignorant and superstitious.'

  'But,' said Hearst, 'why didn't Farfalla tell me if I have to go through with this ritual today?'

  'The ritual,' said Blackwood, 'consists of an invocation in the language of the Harvest Plains. Not the vernacular, which you've started to learn, but the formal language which they call the Tongue of the Teeth of the Oldest Stone. You wouldn't understand what was being said. At the end of the invocation, they offer you wine. You have to drink. Farfalla might be hoping to get through the ceremony without you understanding what's going on.' i'd do what's necessary,' said Hearst. 'Doesn't she understand that?'