The Fallable Fiend

by L. Sprague DeCamp

  “Is that the Hruntings’ commander?” said the admiral. “I’ll have a word with him myself.”

  Presently I was making formal introductions among the three commanders and translating for them. When amenities had been exchanged, Hvaednir asked: “Can I do aught for you, General?”

  “Food,” said Segovian. “The Irians starve.”

  “You shall have it. Admiral, what can we do about this?”

  “We have spare food in the ships. How about you?”

  “We can match you for the supplies in our camp. But after today, I know not . . .”

  “Permit me, Prince,” said the admiral. “Your force is full of daredevil riders. Why not send messengers north, east, and south, with word of this victory? Whilst they’re at it, they can let it be known that any farmer or produce merchant who wishes a quick profit has but to get a cartload of edibles to Ir ahead of the rush.”

  Hvaednir made a mow. “Appealing to base commercial lusts is not the way we do things, but I suppose you know your Novarians.”

  The admiral chuckled. “ ‘Base commercial lusts’ forsooth! Sink me if you don’t see that they bring results.”

  Indeed they did. On the second day after the battle, laden asses and creaking farm carts began to arrive from Solymbria, Metouro, and Xylar. How they covered such distances in that time I know not. Some must have driven their beasts all night.

  Meanwhile, Hvaednir and the admiral agreed to distribute enough food from their stores to furnish every Irian in the city one good repast. General Segovian said: “Prince, why come you not into the city ere nightfall, to receive the plaudits of a grateful people?”

  Hvaednir glanced down at his armor, covered with dust and blood. “What, looking like this? I mean, my dear sir, I am too fatigued tonight. Tomorrow I shall be glad to. The food, however, shall go forthwith.”

  I bid the admiral farewell and accompanied Prince Hvaednir back to the camp. Shnorri, having received a minor wound in the arm, was there ahead of us. Hvaednir clapped his cousin on the back, bringing a yell of pain from the wounded man.

  “A murrain!” said Shnorri. “Now you have started this thing to bleeding again.”

  “I am sorry,” said Hvaednir. “I never thought . . . But it was a fine battle, was it not?”

  “If we do not have to fight the Gendings within a year, what of our losses,” said Shnorri.

  “Oh, you are always glooming. Wine! Where in the afterworld are those worthless servants of ours? Ah, there you are! Wine, and speedily!” When the flagon and bottle were brought, he drank deep. “You know, cousin, I like this southern land. Think of being able to drink real wine the year round—none of our weak, sour steppe beer!”

  “Novaria in summer is too cursed hot for me,” said Shnorri, sweating.

  Hvaednir had food for the three of us brought to the tent, but he kept on drinking at a rate that promised trouble. Sure enough, the sun had been down scarce an hour when the golden prince began to utter thoughts that a prudent being would have kept to himself.

  “Why in the nine hells,” he growled, “should I have to wait around forever for old winter-locks to die, when I could carve out a country of my own? For a beginning, a few hundred stout warriors were enough to seize Ir from these craven money-grubbers—”

  “I notice that Segovian’s men were no cravens in today’s affray,” said Shnorri.

  “Oh, that! I daresay I could beat some proper nomadic discipline into them. Might even make warriors of them. And why not? Am I not the victor of the greatest battle of our time? The bards will sing of it. By Greipnek’s beard, once given a good start, I shall be a greater conqueror than Heilsung the Invincible . . .”

  Shnorri said: “Zdim, you had better go to your own tent. I shall see you at daybreak.”

  Evidently, Shnorri did not wish me to overhear any more of his cousin’s indiscretions. I bade them good night and returned to my quarters, where I sat in thought. It occurred to me that I ought to slip away from the camp under cover of darkness, go to Ir, and warn the Syndicate against Hvaednir’s burgeoning ambitions.

  When I had come to this conclusion, I discovered that a sentry had been posted at my tent. This did not utterly dismay me, because I foresaw that in the letdown after the battle, discipline would relax. In the normal course of events, the sentry would probably get drunk himself, wander off, or fall asleep. I had only to watch and wait for an hour or two . . .

  ###

  The next thing I knew, the dawn sun was streaming in through the flap of my tent and Shnorri was shaking me awake. “Up, lazybones!” he cried. “We are about to set out in the grand procession to Ir, to receive the plaudits of a grateful people. You must come with us as interpreter for Hvaednir; I shall have too many other duties.”

  I shook myself awake. I had slept right through the time when I meant to go to Ir to warn the Irians. Although this was a grave lapse on my part, I had some excuse, having had no proper sleep for two days and nights. I asked Shnorri, who still had one arm in a sling: “Prince, what about that plan I heard Hvaednir broach last night, of seizing Ir and using it as a base for further empery?”

  “Pooh! That was just your sweet Novarian wine talking. I argued him out of such folly. He has solemnly promised me that, if Ir keep faith with him, he will do the same by Ir.”

  “He seemed like a mild enough youth back in Shven. What has gotten into him?”

  “Methinks yesterday’s victory has gone to his head—that, and having his own first independent command. On the steppe, the cham kept him on a tight rein. But I am sure he will be all right.”

  “Too bad you are not next in line. You are much wiser than he.”

  “Hush, demon! Such thoughts were treasonable, albeit I thank you for the compliment. Hvaednir is not really stupid—merely spoiled and of commonplace mind—and he is far handsomer than I. This counts among Shvenites. Moreover, he is a better man of his hands than I shall ever be; I am too fat for leading charges. But enough of this haver. Don some garment and come with us.”

  ###

  We marched across the battlefield, through the Paaluans’ camp—already partly dismantled—and to Ardyman’s Tower. We climbed the broad spiral ramp and entered the main portal, now open for the first time in over two months. Inside, the courtyard resounded with the clatter of workmen repairing the great mirror, which had been damaged but never quite put out of operation by the besiegers’ catapult missiles.

  The entire Syndicate, which now included Her Excellency Roska sar-Blixens, met us. Chief Syndic Jimmon—a little thinner but still comfortably upholstered—made a speech. He read a citation from a parchment scroll and handed Hvaednir a symbolic key to the city. These formalities accomplished, Jimmon said to me: “Hail, O Zdim! You’ll have some fascinating tales to tell us when the ceremonies are over, eh? Now, Prince, we have laid out a suitable parade route. We shall march the length of Ardyman Avenue, then turn right . . .”

  We marched into the underground city, where the only illumination was furnished by beams of sunlight reflected from mirror to mirror. In front, to the beat of drums, marched a company of Hruntings, armed to the teeth; then Shnorri with a couple of chiefs and several Syndics; then more warriors. Then came Hvaednir, Jimmon, and the rest of the chiefs; then Admiral Diodis and some of his sailors, and so forth. Jimmon walked on one side of Hvaednir and I on the other. Hvaednir had garbed himself in the most awesome costume that the Hruntings’ wardrobe afforded. He wore a winged golden helm, a fur-edged white woollen tunic embroidered in gold thread, and a jeweled sword. He could have been one of the Prime Plane’s gods.

  Having enjoyed their first good meal since the beginning of the siege, the Irians cheered us mightily. In that confined space, the reverberating sound hurt the ears. I watched for a chance to slip away and warn the Syndics against Hvaednir, but none came.

  The parade ended at the Guildhall, which was filled with officers of the guilds and most of the merchant class. For three hours I listened to speeches and tran
slated Novarian to Shvenish and vice versa. Jimmon made the longest one; Hvaednir, the shortest. All speeches were trains of well-worn stock phrases: “Deadly perils . . . gallant allies . . . blood-thirsty savages . . . immortal fatherland . . . doughty warriors . . . hour of need . . . noble ancestors . . . intrepid heroes . . . implacable foes . . . eternal friendship . . . undying gratitude . . .” and so on.

  The audience stood and applauded when all was done. Then the Syndics, Admiral Diodis, General Segovian, Hvaednir, Shnorri, and I went to dinner in one of the smaller chambers. So many pressed compliments upon Hvaednir that I was almost kept too busy translating to eat.

  Hvaednir ate and drank heartily; especially, he drank. At first he displayed the roynish table manners of the steppe, but as Shnorri kept nudging him in the ribs, he began to imitate Novarian customs.

  ###

  When it was over, Hvaednir cleared his throat and stood up, saying: “Your Excellencies! On behalf of my cousin, Prince Shnorri, and myself, I—ah—I extend heartfelt thanks for this entertainment and for the many honors bestowed upon us this morning.

  “Now, however, we must come to practical matters. Your envoy, the worthy Zdim, overcame deadly perils to reach the headquarters of the Hruntings and importune us to send this expeditionary force. Zdim started out with a written offer of compensation but lost his papers to the cavemen of the Ellornas. He remembered the terms, however, and, after the usual bargaining, an oral understanding was reached.

  “When we reached the Kyamos, we dispatched Zdim to gain entrance to the city, confirm this understanding in writing, and return to us with your signatures. Again misfortune robbed him of he documents, and he came close to losing his life as well.

  “All is not lost, however.” Hvaednir produced from his embroidered jacket the two copies, somewhat tattered, of the agreement that we had drawn up in the camp the night before the battle. “These were picked up in the cannibals’ camp. I am sure that, in recognition of the services of the fearless Hrunting warriors in saving your city, there will be no difficulty about getting you to append your signatures now and to begin payment forthwith.”

  The smile that usually pervaded Jimmon’s round face was wiped off. “Humph. Of course, noble sir, none would dream of withholding a just reward from our heroic feodaries. But may I have the actual terms agreed upon, pray?”

  Hvaednir passed one of the two copies to Jimmon. The other he handed to Shnorri, saying: “Read this aloud, cousin, since you speak the language and read with more facility than I.”

  When Shnorri had finished, Jimmon arose, dangling his reading glass by its ribbon. He launched into another verbose encomium on the valor of the Hruntings.

  “But,” he continued, “we must, of course, take certain realities into account. The city has suffered dreadfully during this cruel siege, and our resources will be sorely strained during the recovery. It is also a fact that, for all their dash and heroism, the Hruntings were not the only ones to take part in the battle. Admiral Diodis’ gallant tars played their role, to say nought of our own Irians.

  “And furthermore, noble Prince, it is also a fact that no true legal obligation exists on our part, since the gage in question was not signed before the fact. Of course, with generosity and goodwill on all sides, I am sure that an amicable settlement can be reached amongst us . . .”

  Gods of Ning, I thought, is the fool going to try to wriggle out of paying the nomad, when the latter has him in his power?

  “. . . and so, dear friend and noble colleague, I am sure you will agree to the necessity of—ah—adjusting these demands in accordance with realities.”

  “What had you in mind?” said Hvaednir in a tight voice.

  “Oh, something on the order of twopence a man a day, with nought extra for the mammoths. The beasts have after all been eating our fine Irian hay to their hearts’ content—”

  Prince Hvaednir’s face turned crimson. “Horse dung!” he roared. “Last night I promised that, if Ir kept faith with me, I would do likewise; but if not, then not. No brave steppe warrior permits some paper law to stop him from doing right. You welshers are condemned from your own mouths, and be what follows on your own heads!”

  He blew a blast on a silver whistle. A score of Hruntings filed into the chamber with bared swords and took positions behind the other diners. Roska screamed.

  “One false move, and off go your heads,” said Hvaednir. “I hereby pronounce myself king of Ir and of such other lands as may in the future come under my sway. Chief Fikken!”

  “Aye, my lord?”

  “Pass the word to my chiefs to carry out the plan I laid out for them last night. First, I wish every bit of gold, silver, and jewels in Ir taken from wherever it now is and brought to the Guildhall. I proclaim all such valuables part of my royal treasury. We shall begin by searching those present—ho, where is the admiral?”

  There was a general turning of heads, until a Syndic said: “He excused himself, saying he had to visit the jakes.”

  “Find him!” said Hvaednir. A couple of Hruntings were dispatched on this mission, but without success. Sensing what was coming, the admiral had slipped out of Ir altogether.

  The Syndics, bursting with indignation but not daring to complain, submitted to having their purses dumped out on the table. Hvaednir returned to each man the copper coins in his possession but swept the gold and silver into a heap.

  “I—I’m sorry,” said Roska, “but I left my purse at home.”

  “We will take care of that later,” said Hvaednir cheerfully. “This is but a beginning, my dear subjects.”

  Shnorri, sweating freely, kept his mouth shut. Hvaednir directed us all to rise and to file back into the main hall, where we had listened to speeches that morning. From outside came the sound of many running feet and the outcries of Irians as their cave-homes were invaded and searched. Presently warriors began to enter the Guildhall, bowed under bulging sacks of coin and precious objects. They dumped the sacks on the floor, and Hvaednir put the Syndicate’s clerks to sorting the loot and totting up its value.

  Now and then a disturbance broke out as some Irians resisted the sack. There were shouts and the clang of arms. A couple of wounded Hruntings were brought in, while others reported that the rebels had been slain out of hand.

  The Syndics sat in a glum row, guarded by Hruntings. They carried on fierce recriminations under their breaths: “I knew Jimmon’s plan would bring disaster . . .” “Rubbish! You were as keen for it as any last night . . .”

  Shnorri, who had been talking to some of the chiefs, approached Hvaednir and said: “Cousin, what plan you with our army? You could not settle them all here even if they were willing, and most of them wish to return to Shven forthwith. Summer wanes, and snow will close the Needle’s Eye by the Month of the Bear.”

  “I will call for volunteers to remain,” said Hvaednir. “The rest may go home when they list. You, Shnorri, shall lead them. For all I care, you may take my place as heir apparent to Theorik. I shall have my hands full here.”

  Shnorri sighed. “I suppose I must. I wish now that, when I was offered a post on the faculty of the Academy of Othomae, I had taken it.”

  ###

  Hvaednir spent a couple of hours in organizing his rule and appointing cronies to posts. Then he gave a prodigious yawn.

  “Madam Roska,” he said, “you left your purse at home, I believe. May I impose upon your hospitality?”

  “Of a surety, Your Majesty.”

  “Then lead us thither. You, too, Zdim, lest I be unable to converse with this beautiful lady.”

  We set out for Roska’s house, preceded and followed by bodyguards. Almost at the front door of the house, a groan attracted our attention. A wounded Hrunting lay in the shadow at the side of the street.

  Hvaednir commanded that the bodyguards carry the man into Roska’s house. Inside, the man was laid on a sofa. As Hvaednir was examining him, he expired.

  “He must have been stabbed by some Irian who was no
t fain to give up his gold,” said Hvaednir. “We cannot brook this, but I see not how to find the culprit.” He looked puzzled, then said to a guard: “Go, fetch my cousin, Prince Shnorri. I must ask his rede.”

  The other guards he posted before the house. Roska’s servants peeked timidly out through door cracks. Hvaednir lowered his huge form into a chair, doffed his golden helmet and jeweled baldric, and rubbed his forehead.

  “By Greipnek’s nose, I am fordone!” he said. “I think I will move the capital of the kingdom to some more normal city. Being cooped up in this glorified cavern gives me the shudders.”

  “Now, about my purse . . .” began Roska, but Hvaednir held up a hand.

  “I would not think of raping so gracious a lady of her gold. You may keep your pelf. But may I beg a stoup of wine?”

  “Awad!” she called.

  The swarthy Fediruni shuffled timidly into the room. When he saw me, he grinned through his pointed black beard. Roska sent him for wine, which Hvaednir was soon drinking in great gulps.

  “I need a friend amongst the Irians,” he said abruptly. “I know how many would resent today’s events, even though they brought them upon themselves. In time, I hope to show that a king of the noble Hruntings will rule them far more justly than those lucre-loving Syndics.”

  He gulped down another goblet, then stood up unsteadily. “Roska, my dear, would you care to show me your house?”

  “Why, certes, Your Majesty.”

  “Let us, then. Remain here, Zdim. I needs must practice my few phrases of Novarian on our gracious hostess. If I am to rule them, it behooves me to learn their clack.”

  Roska took Hvaednir on a brief tour of the living room, pointing out the pictures, vases, and other ornaments. Then they departed up the stairs.

  Awad scuttled in and squeezed my hands. “Master Zdim! It is good to see you. The mistress followed your adventures in her scry stone and told us of some of them, but we would hear the story from your own mouth. You’ll be return to service here, I hope?”

  “I know not, yet,” I said. “I could use a little more of that wine, myself. This is from Vindium, is it not?”