by Hugh Cook
"If you will not exploit your natural advantages to attack
Sod where he stands, then we are doomed to be overcome by the Guardians, and slaughtered to the last man. Your mother will die likewise. If you will not exert your blade for my sake, or your own sake, or that of Witchlord and Weaponmaster, then think at least of your mother."
At this, there was an outbreak of uproar from the stairway at the far end of the Hall of Time. Both Glambrax and Sken-Pitilkin turned, expecting to see a horde of bloodthirsty Guardians storming into the Hall. But the noise died down without consequence.
"Thodric Jarl holds the stairs for us," said Sken-Pitilkin.
"For the moment. But he cannot hold forever."
"Then," said Glambrax, "let me arm myself with further blades, and I will permit myself to be tossed."
"Here is a knife," said Sken-Pitilkin, producing the small blade which he habitually used for peeling apples and cleaning out pipes.
Then the sagacious wizard of Skatzabratzumon busied himself with the job of persuading further blades from the possession of the nearest warriors. So, by the time Lord Onosh had given up all efforts to persuade the demon of Safrak to his cause, Glambrax was ready to be tossed.
"Are you ready?" said Sken-Pitilkin, picking Glambrax up by the scruff of the neck.
"What are you doing?" said Glambrax, in alarm.
"I am weighing you," said Sken-Pitilkin, setting the dwarf back on his feet.
"Weighing me!" said Glambrax. "I thought you had wizardry for that!"
"So I do, so I do," said Sken-Pitilkin. "But my powers of wizardry are almost exhausted. Besides, the muscular methods are often the best. Are you ready?"
"No!" said Glambrax, who had been unsettled by Sken-Pitilkin's lifting of him.
"Then hold tight!" said Sken-Pitilkin, who was deaf to the word "no".
With that, the wizard of Skatzabratzumon levitated the dwarf.
Up he went. The demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis roared at the dwarf, and lashed out at him with tentacles of near-invisible green liquidity.
Glambrax yelled, betrayed by involuntary terror.
But Sken-Pitilkin paid no heed to the dwarf's yelling. The wizard jacked the dwarf upwards until his back was brushing the living rock from which the Hall of Time was carved. Then the wizard slid the dwarf along that living rock.
"I'm scraping!" yelled Glambrax in alarm. Sken-Pitilkin, who thought it better for the dwarf to be scraped than to be torn apart by the demon, slid the mannikin yet further. Glambrax was right above the demon. Which spat at him, sending globets of blood flying into his face.
"Ha!" roared Lord Onosh. "It can't reach him! Good work,
Pitilkin!"Sken-Pitilkin made no reply to this applause, for he was close to losing the dwarf.
"Hold tight!" yelled Sken-Pitilkin.
Then used his last energies in a single burst, hurling the dwarf toward the stairs at the rear of the demon.
Glambrax hurtled toward the stairs, landing heavily. For a moment, Sken-Pitilkin thought the dwarf had been broken. Then Glambrax stood up – groggily. Immediately, Sod charged the shaken dwarf.
"Swords!" roared Lord Onosh, making as if to hurl his own weapon.
The demon filled the air with a blurring lash-work of nearinvisible tentacles. The air hissed with the sound of its scything tentacles.
"No!" yelled Sken-Pitilkin, striking down the Witchlord's weapon with his country crook. "No swords! Don't arm the demon!"
"But," said Lord Onosh, "but you said, we said – "
"We spoke of axing Sod," said Sken-Pitilkin, "but I at least have had time to think since then."
"But," said Lord Onosh, "but – "
But it was too late to argue, for Sod was already locked in combat with the dwarf Glambrax. Strength against strength they matched each other. Then Sod went down! Hacked in the kneecap!
"Aha!" yelled Glambrax, in triumph.
The dwarf hacked at Sod's boot, sinking his axeblade deep into the Banker's foot. As Sod thrashed and screamed, Glambrax positioned himself for a head-lopping stroke.
Then the demon acted.
With all other weapons exhausted, and with the combatants well out of reach of its thrashing tentacles, the demon used its last resource.
It hurled Guest Gulkan himself through the air, skittling the axe-wielding dwarf, and slamming both Guest and Glambrax hard against the stairs – slamming them home with such force that Sken-Pitilkin thought them surely dead.
Sod got to his feet.
Slowly.
Painfully.
He recovered his sword. Guest and Glambrax made futile twitching efforts. Both were stunned, or ruptured, or paralysed, or terminally broken.
With great labor, Sod began to limp toward them, with murder his intent.
"My son!" said the Witchlord.
Then Lord Onosh made as if to advance, and had to be physically restrained by the more level-headed of his warriors.
And Sod took yet another step toward Guest and Glambrax, whose doom looked near certain.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis: a demon incarnate in a square-cut jade-green pillar standing twice man-height, a pillar which glows with its own cold inner light. The demon has served the Safrak
Bank for generations as Guardian Prime – ruler of the Bank's mercenaries – and Keeper of the Inner Sanctum.
This was an emergency. And all were helpless in the face of that emergency. But for Sken-Pitilkin!
The sagacious wizard of Skatzabratzumon lacked the power to send any foreign body hop-skipping over the demon's head. For his powers were subject to the laws of leverage, viciously restrictive laws which made it difficult for any wizard of Skatzabratzumon to support a weight at a distance.
But – there was himself! Sken-Pitilkin could levitate himself without losing anything to the laws of leverage.
In the first flush of the possession of Powers, every fresh- made wizard of the order of Skatzabratzumon inevitably tries his hand at auto-levitation, that process which the unwashed peasantry vulgarly refers to as "flying". With equal inevitability, such a wizard soon knocks himself out against a ceiling, or the roof of a cave, or the eaves of a house, or a branch of a tree – thereby learning the virtues of dignity.
However – this was a crisis! Sken-Pitilkin raised his country crook and shouted a Word.
He began to float upwards.
Lord Onosh roared with shocked surprise – roared so loud that Banker Sod turned in alarm. What Sod saw alarmed him even more.
His jaw dropped as he gaped in horror-struck amazement. The jadegreen demon lashed at Sken-Pitilkin, whipping the air to a frenzy with its tentacles.
Serenely unperturbed, Sken-Pitilkin floated overhead, just a hair away from the demon's lashwork. Sod started to back away as Sken-Pitilkin drifted towards him.
"Keep back!" said Sod, menacing Sken-Pitilkin with his sword.
At which, Sken-Pitilkin was tempted beyond endurance, and essayed that supremely difficult feat known to the initiated as the Reversed Looped Power Transfer, whereby levitational force is swapped from one object to another with the speed of a quick- blinking eye, with one object being forced upwards while the other sinks. Sken-Pitilkin levitated Sod's sword while simultaneously causing himself to sink. But Sod held grimly to his weapon, and so was dragged upward.
Neatly, Sken-Pitilkin touched down. Simultaneously, he ceased his Reversed Looped Power Transference. Deprived of levitational energies, Sod's sword fell. Not surprisingly, Sod fell with it. As Sod fell, Sken-Pitilkin whacked him with his country crook.
"Bravo!" cried Lord Onosh.
Sod hit the tiles. Inspired by the enthusiasms of battle, Sken-Pitilkin whacked him again.
"Enough!" shouted Lord Onosh, seriously alarmed. "No! No! We need him! He's our hostage!"
But Sken-Pitilkin, who had no taste for dueling, went on whacking until he was quite sure that Sod was unbattleworthy, and would remain so for some considerable time to c
ome.
As Guest and Glambrax got groggily to their feet, Lord Onosh whooped with jubilation. But, for his part, Sken-Pitilkin was far from being elated. True, the Witchlord's son had been freed from the demon's grasp, but that was a trivial and temporary victory.
Witchlord and Weaponmaster remained besieged in the uppermost parts of the mainrock Pinnacle, outnumbered by the Guardians who assailed their position from below, and meagerly provisioned (if they were provisioned at all).
"Well," said Guest, endeavoring to sound undaunted and doughty. "The next thing is to explore upstairs."
So saying, the Weaponmaster endeavored to climb the stairs in question, and promptly tottered and fell over. Sken-Pitilkin counseled Guest Gulkan to rest.
"You stay here," said Sken-Pitilkin. "Glambrax and I will go upstairs, taking Sod as our prisoner."
"But why?" said Guest.
"Because he is a danger to us here at the feet of the demon," said Sken-Pitilkin. "For one moment's lapse in caution could see Sod act in league with that demon to ensure our destruction. We'll take him above, and bind him. You stay here. Stay and rest."
With that, the wizard Sken-Pitilkin and the dwarf Glambrax secured Sod and dragged the groaning Banker upstairs, leaving Guest alone on the stairs near the feet of the demon.
As there was no way for the Weaponmaster to join his father the Witchlord – since the demon would surely have killed him or captured him had he essayed the passage past its greenblock heights – father and son could but exchange verbal tokens of their love and their mutual concern.
Then, realizing his helplessness – for the power of his wizards was exhausted, and the power of his warriors was a nullity in the face of the strength of the demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis – Lord Onosh made his excuses and withdrew. For he saw it as being his duty to go to the down-leading stairway to fight shoulder-to- shoulder with those of his men who were guarding that stairway against the assaults of the Guardians.
That left Guest alone, quite alone, utterly alone in the presence of the cold and unwavering green-burning light of the demon. Guest sat on the steps, counting his bruises, and feeling quite sorry for himself. He had been hideously terrified by the demon, which had chewed up Hrothgar, which had splattered him with blood, which had held him prisoner with its invincible strength, and which hurled him at Glambrax.
And he felt abandoned. Sken-Pitilkin had left him, and his father too. With good reason, doubtless. But even so. Guest felt uncommonly vulnerable, and forlorn.
With some considerable resentment, Guest gazed upon the maneating jade-green monolith which he knew as Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis, Demon By Appointment to the Great God Jocasta.
"I thought you'd help me," said Guest, feeling that he had to vent his resentment, even though he did not necessarily expect a reply. "You told me I could be made a wizard. For questing, I mean. A reward. I was to quest to the Temple of Blood in the city of Obooloo. I was to rescue the Great God, the Great God Jocasta.
Stogirov, wasn't it? Yes, that was it. The evil Stogirov holds the Great God Jocasta as a prisoner in the Temple of Blood in the city of Obooloo. You see? I remember perfectly."Guest paused.
In response, the demon displayed the image of a head: a human head, dark-haired and bloodless, the eyes sucked out from the sockets and the ears eaten away from the skull. As this delusional image slowly revolved, the brute at last consented to speak.
"Thus you will end," said Iva-Italis. "You will end thus, for you have displeased me."
"A geek," said Guest Gulkan, mastering scorn to his tongue.
"I beg your pardon?" said Iva-Italis.
"A geek."
"I know not that word. Explain yourself."
"I was explaining you," said Guest Gulkan. "You're a geek. A thing which rips the heads off chickens for the joy of drunkards and the entertainment of whores."
Though Guest Gulkan spoke thus with scorn, it must be admitted that in truth the young Weaponmaster himself was not averse to occasional indulgence in the squaloring entertainments devised and enacted by geeks.
"So," said Iva-Italis, "it thinks to insult me."
"Why not?" said Guest. "For you are a mere demon. I am a hero, and as such I deal with none less than other heroes, or with the gods themselves. I have it in mind to speak to your own Great God, to Jocasta – though your mediumship."
"You would, would you?" said Iva-Italis. "To what end?"
"To make a bargain," said Guest. "When I was here last, that same Great God was of the opinion that it wished to be released from Obooloo. If I can bargain to my advantage today, then I will pledge myself to its rescue."
"You have come too late," said Iva-Italis.
"Too late!" said Guest.
"Do you think it is a pleasure for me to wait here at your convenience?" said Iva-Italis in fury. "You were offered the opportunity to quest in the service of the Great God. But did you so quest? No! You went whoring after the devices of your own heart. A god commanded you! But you paid that god no heed. No. It was your own squaloring wars which held your concern. But you lost. You were defeated. Don't deny it! So in defeat your thought yourself of the Great God Jocasta. Are we supposed to be honored?
Are we supposed to be honored at being the last and least of all your choices?"Guest found it hard to answer this scathing anger, for the plain and simple truth was that the anger was well-founded. Still, he was in no mood for apologies.
"I will make no excuses," said Guest boldly. "Still, I can make amends. If we can make a bargain, you and I, then I will venture to Obooloo in truth, and there will liberate the Great God Jocasta."
"Bargain!" said the demon. "I will have no bargains!"
"Then what will you have?" said Guest.
"You," said the demon. "You. As my slave. The slave of my flesh. If you choose to live, then you must live as my slave. The slave of myself and the slave of my god."
"I will join you in an alliance of equals," said Guest, "but I will make no pact that condemns me to slavery."
"You will, you know," said the demon.
"I would rather die," said Guest staunchly.
"Then die, then," said the demon.
With that, it caused the delusionary image of a head which it was displaying to abruptly twist, distort and crumple. Then it flushed from green to red and roared:
"Die, then!"
The roar battered the Weaponmaster like the wind-blast of a hurricane. He was so surprised that he fell over backwards. Then the demon laughed. Distantly, someone shouted:
"Guest! Are you all right?"Guest sucked on his finger to moisten his throat, then shouted:
"I live!"
Then, focusing his attention on the demon, Guest renewed his negotiations with the jade-green beast.
"I will make a bargain with you," said Guest, speaking with care. "This is the bargain. You will save the day for me. You will command the Guardians to my service. With the days saved, I in turn will save the Great God Jocasta. I will liberate Jocasta from captivity in Obooloo. That is the bargain."
"I will give you no bargain," said the demon. "You will live as my slave, or you will die. You will knuckle to my command," said Iva-Italis, "or you will surely die of a certainty."
A certainty. A known thing. Knowing. Knowledge. It occurred to Guest that during his former exile on Safrak he had never heard anyone speak of the Great God Jocasta. Everyone on the island of Alozay knew of the demon Iva-Italis, but to Guest's knowledge nobody knew of the Great God which languished in Obooloo. It was a secret, then. But how much of a secret?
"Perhaps I will die," said Guest. "But before I go down to destruction, I will reveal to the world your secrets."
"I have no secrets," said Iva-Italis. "I stand here naked, and all of Alozay knows me."
"Your Great God is a secret," said Guest. "The Guardians don't know about your Great God, and – and – and these temple people, these people in Obooloo, how much do they know? I'll tell Sod, that's what, then Sod will tell Obooloo. Oh yes,
and once Obooloo knows it has a Great God in its midst, well, who wants something like that lurking in the closet? Obooloo won't be very happy, no, and your Great God neither. The temple. The Temple of Blood. The Great God. Imprisoned by the Stog, the Stogirov. That's all they need to know. I'll tell Sod, then Sod will tell, Obooloo will know, then it's doom for your Great God, or maybe for you too."
"An empty threat," sneered Iva-Italis. "For how would you or Sod say anything such to Obooloo when Obooloo is so far away from here?"
Now as it has been earlier remarked, Guest Gulkan knew no more geography than a hedgehog. If anything, he knew less.
Therefore he had no true conception of the distance between Safrak and Obooloo, and no untrue conception of that same distance either. But, since Witchlord and Weaponmaster had recently performed prodigies of geographical excursion, venturing over unmapped lands with no more than sun and stars to guide them, Guest was inclined to sneer at distance, and to think no prodigies of sea or mountain sufficient to bar the distances to the brave.
Hence he answered easily:
"Why, it will be no great difficulty for Sod to get news to Obooloo, for Obooloo is but a step from Safrak."
Now when Guest spoke of that "step" between Safrak and Obooloo, he was speaking in the poetic manner, in which a "step" can mean any distance less than a lifetime. But Iva-Italis took this throwaway remark for a statement of literal truth, and was enraged.
"Who told you of that?" said Iva-Italis in fury.
"Ha!" said Guest, realizing he had struck on something, though he did not know what. "It is a step, yes, a single step!"
"Who told you?" roared the demon, with renewed rage.
The roar was sufficient to refocus the attention of everyone in the Hall of Time on Guest Gulkan's dealings with the demon.
"Hush down," said Guest softly. "Or do you want them all to know the secret."
"Come closer," said Iva-Italis, "and I will hush in truth."
"Ha!" said Guest. "Closer! If you want us closer, then you must come to me."
"Then stay where you are," said Iva-Italis. "But if you wish to have dealings with me, then you must tell what you know of the passage between Safrak and Ang."
