The Witchlord and the Weaponmaster coaaod-9

by Hugh Cook

  The amulet.

  Of course.

  "Are you talking about – about the mazadath?" said Guest.

  "You see!" said the Lobos. "You play ignorant, but you know the thing, and know it by its proper name."

  Now Guest began to understand. Slowly. Dimly. Partially. Guest Gulkan had always supposed his heavyweight silver amulet to be a device of Power, but until now he had never known what it might possibly be good for. It had proved useless in a confrontation with the therapist Schoptomov, and no wizard had recognized its virtue. Yet, now his attention was drawn to the thing, the obvious conclusion was that it was the mazadath which had preserved his life when he ventured into the Cave of the Warp.

  For all he knew, it might well be preserving his life right now.

  "I know the thing by its name," said Guest slowly, "but I know no reason why I should be called a murderer on account of being in its possession."

  "You know where it came from!" said the Lobos.

  In the face of this accusation, Guest bravely acknowledged the truth.

  "Why, yes, I do," said Guest. "The mazadath is a thing taken from the body of a dorgi. But a dorgi is nothing but an iron dog.

  It is a machine, a technic, a device. That's all."

  "A dorgi!" said the Lobos, with invincible scorn. "Is that where you think that thing came from? Do you really expect me to believe that for so much as half a heartbeat?"

  "Why, yes, I do," said Guest, with some heat, "for it is the truth."

  "The truth!" said the Lobos. "Is that really what you believe? Well, bless my toes! I think you do!"

  "It is the truth as I have been told it," said Guest stubbornly. "This – this trifle is a piece of a dorgi. I got it as a present. A wedding present. A present from my wife."

  "A wedding present!" said the Lobos in fury. "You chop up bodies then make presents of their pieces!"

  "I chopped up nothing!" protested Guest. "There was a dorgi, an old one, it fell to pieces, and this was what was left."

  The Lobos chewed over that claim in silence, then said:

  "So. You really don't know."

  "I am but a poor barbarian from the north of Tameran," said Guest bitterly. "I know scalping and killing and fighting and torturing. Oh, and sex customs, any ethnologist could tell you that, us barbarians have got plenty of sex customs. But as for what you're on about, why, I couldn't begin to understand it. This is a bit of a dorgi, that's all I know, and I don't know why you should be so upset about it."

  "I was upset," said the Lobos, now sounding sad rather than angry, "because the thing which you have about your neck is a thing stolen from one of the Zelamith. Know you the Zelamith?"

  "I have never heard of them," said Guest.

  "The Zelamith," said the Lobos, "were a race of whispering dragons which lived in the places which do not exist, the places which lie between cosmos and cosmos. For each of the Zelamith there was a mazadath. And a mazadath, dear child of man, a mazadath is a token of identity. In vulgar parlance, a mazadath is a soul. It is like a harp: as the harp is nothing on its own, yet comes to life when in concord with the harpist, so the mazadath is nothing on its own, yet comes to life when in a synergetic relationship with one of the Zelamith. The Zelamith were slaughtered by the Shining Ones, the Vangelis, who butchered them, then sold their souls to humankind for trifles."

  "For what purpose?" said Guest. "I mean, why would people buy these things?"

  "To allow people and machines to survive in zones of instability," said the Lobos. "Were you not in possession of the mazadath, then the Mahendo Mahunduk would have taken you in the Cave of the Warp. Were you not in possession of the mazadath, then you would have smoked away to nothing right in front of me."

  "Is that – is that what usually happens to the people who come here?" said Guest.

  "Usually," said the Lobos.

  "And, uh, the unusual people?" said Guest.

  "There is a way out of here," said the Lobos. "I take it you do have some idea where you are?"

  "Why, yes," said Guest. "I'm at the back of a cave in the Shackle Mountains."

  "No!" said the Lobos, obviously distressed. "Don't you know anything?"

  "It seems not," said Guest. "If I'm not in the Shackle Mountains, then where am I?"

  "You," said the Lobos, with heavy emphasis, "are very much in the World Beyond."Guest tried to absorb this. Did it mean he was dead? He certainly didn't feel dead.

  "You don't understand," said the Lobos.

  "What makes you say that?" said Guest.

  "Your silence says it all," said the Lobos. "Listen. The world in which you live is but a bubble of invention afloat in the great seas of Probability. Now you are outside that bubble. You have entered a much greater realm of existence where, technically speaking, you are not equipped to exist."

  "Then, uh, how do I leave?" said Guest.

  "Look around you," said the Lobos. "Some of the things of your world have a partial existence of sorts even here in the World Beyond. You see that violet light over there? No, no, to your left, look to your left!"Guest looked, and did make out a dull violet light place half a league or so in the distance, and said as much.

  "That," said the Lobos, "is the local star which lights your home planet. I would, by the way, strongly advise you against interfering with it. Now. Watch."

  "Watch what?" said Guest.

  In response, several dozen dull red hoops began to glow in the dark. They were scattered in all directions, none close enough to touch, but none further than a slingshot's distance from where he stood.

  "How did you do that?" said Guest.

  "Ah," said the Lobos, sounding very pleased with itself. "A slight rearrangement of the nature of time and space, that's all."

  "Then," said Guest, "are you a god, that you should be playing tricks with time and space?"

  "I'm not a god," said the Lobos. "I'm a Lobos. The Lobos.

  I've told you that all ready. A Lobos is not a man, god, devil or demon. It's a category in its own right."

  "But – "

  "Is a cow a cuttlefish?" said the Lobos. "Well?"

  "No," said Guest.

  "So," said the Lobos, "when you go to the seashore, will you start calling the cuttlefish a cow simply because you haven't any other word for it?"

  "What do you know of the sea?" said Guest.

  "I know most things about most things," said Lobos, "though you are something new in my experience, because in all my life I've never met anyone as ignorant as you before."

  Very much stung by this, Guest started to lose his temper. He struggled to control himself, suspecting that this was no time to be playing the beserker.

  "All right," said Guest. "So you're a Lobos, I'll concede that much gladly. Not a cow nor a cuttlefish, but a Lobos. So. So what are those hoop-things?"

  "Those," said the Lobos, "are the Doors of the Circles of your world."

  "Doors?" said Guest. "You mean, like the Doors of the Partnership Banks?"

  "Ah!" said the Lobos. "So it does know something! It's not as ignorant as it acts! Yes, those are the Doors."

  "But," protested Guest, "there's, there's uh, maybe a hundred, maybe more."

  "Yes," said the Lobos. "And you can exit through any of them."

  "But, uh, how will I know which one to choose?" said Guest.

  "You can look through them," said the Lobos. "Or, if you have a special one in mind, I can pick it out for you."Guest thought about it.

  Thinking made him feel more than a little bit dizzy.

  "If I leave," said Guest, "can I come back again?"

  "Only by again venturing through the Veils of Fire in the Cave of the Warp," said the Lobos.

  "So," said Guest. "So I've got to choose. Uh. Well. There's Dalar ken Halvar. Uh. I've got a wife there. Or I did have, but where she's got to I've no idea. Then. Safrak. Alozay, I mean.

  There's a Door there. I suppose my father's still in charge. But, really, it's the star-globe, that's what I real
ly want."

  "Star-globe?" said the Lobos. Guest explained.

  "The device which controls the Doors of the Circle of the Partnership Banks is currently in Chi'ash-lan," said the Lobos.

  "How do you know that?" said Guest. "I mean, you can you look through the Doors, or what?"

  "I see as if through a glass darkly," said the Lobos. "I hear as if through a wall. It is enough. If Chi'ash-lan is your destination, then there is your Door."

  As the Lobos was so saying, the light of all but one of the red hoops died away to nothing. Guest waded through the wet, cold water to that last remaining hoop. When he peered through it, he seemed to see – as if through thick mist – the weirding room of the Morgrim Bank in Chi'ash-lan. It was identifiable on account of the skeletons which hung from the ceiling.

  "Go ahead," said the Lobos, as Guest hesitated. "It's perfectly safe."

  "Maybe I should think about this a little longer," said Guest.

  "Then, then," said the Lobos. "But don't spend too long about it. You've been here too long already."

  "What do you mean?" said Guest.

  "Look at yourself!" said the Lobos. "Look at your hands!"Guest did look at himself. He looked at his hands. And saw, to his horror, that they had grown transparent. He could see right through them.

  "Don't worry," said the Lobos. "The condition's not irreversible. As long as you leave now! Go! Go! Quick! Quick! Or you're doomed to be ghost forever, mazadath or no!"

  Compelled by this command, Guest took one last look around, then stepped through the red hoop, leaving the world of the Lobos and entering the weirding room of the Morgrim Bank in Chi'ash-lan.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chi'ash-lan: city at western end of Ravlish Lands. This city was the birthplace of Banker Sod (sometime Governor of the Safrak Bank) and of Thayer Levant (Guest Gulkan's servant, who previously served Plandruk Qinplaqus). The Bank in Chi'ash-lan is the Morgrim Bank. In this Bank is a monster twice man-height. The monster is of jade green stone, and is known to the world as the demon Ko (or, to give it the dignity of its full and formal name, as the demon Koblathakatoria. This demon is not actually a creature of the world of gods and shadows – rather, it is a machine, a military farspeaker of Nexus make.

  Guest stood on the marble plinth, momentarily uncertain as to whether it was the real thing or a delusionary illusion. Then he was abruptly shoved from behind by an unruly Banker who came pushing through the humming silver screen which filled the arch of Chi'ash-lan's Door.

  "Time is money!" said the Banker, as Guest went stumbling.

  Then the Banker promptly turned and made his way back through the Door, pushing on to the Safrak Bank on the island of Alozay. Guest realized he truly was in Chi'ash-lan, and that its Door was in use, and that there was no telling who or what might come through that Door unless he acted quickly. He jumped down from the marble plinth. Water squelched in his boots as he landed, for his boots were still soaking wet from the water in which he had lately been standing.

  That squelching water assured Guest that at least some small fraction of his recent experience had been for real. Otherwise, he might have dismissed the Lobos and its cave as sheer hallucination.

  He checked. Did he have the yellow bottle? Yes, it was still tightly tied to his swordless swordbelt with a moligok.

  Presumably, Sken-Pitilkin and Thayer Levant were still safe inside that bottle. And the ring which controlled it was still safe on Guest's finger.

  Right, then. Guest looked for the niche in the plinth of the Door, found it, and found it occupied by the star-globe, as he had expected.

  He hesitated.

  As soon as he seized the star-globe and pulled it from that niche, then the Circle of the Doors of the Partnership Banks would abruptly close. Then Guest would be stuck in Chi'ash-lan, and would be put to the trouble of fighting his way free from the Morgrim Bank – if he could. He was sorely tempted to take an easier course: to abandon the star-globe and simply jump through the Door, making the passage to the island of Alozay in the tricing of an eyeblink.

  But -

  But did Lord Onosh still rule on Alozay?

  That was the first question which troubled Guest Gulkan. And the second was this: what would his father say if he knew that Guest had been within grasping distance of the star-globe, but had declined its challenge? Guest came to a quick decision.

  He seized the cold cool of the star-globe and snatched it from its niche. The silver-buzzing hum of the Door died away on an instant. When Guest rose, the star-globe in his hand, no screen of shimmering silver remained in the arch. Instead, the arch was but a loop of metal.

  Now to get out of here. Guest hastened toward the exit of the Morgrim Bank's weirding room. But halted abruptly, for of course the demon Ko stood on guard in that exit.

  "Ko," said Guest, challenging that monolith of jade-green stone.

  "I see you and here you," said Ko. "You are welcome, thrice welcome. You are free to pass – with or without that which you have won."

  All this was said with immaculate courtesy, and was said moreover in Guest's native Eparget, which in itself was sufficient to tell Guest that he was recognized. Ko knew who he was, and what. And Guest remembered a terrible day on which that very demon had seized his brother Eljuk, had torn away his clothes, had -

  Remembering, Guest realized he could not trust Ko for so much as half an eyeblink. Courtesy was not the custom of demons, which meant that this demon meant to seize him and tear him. Guest had a rough and ready idea of the demon's reach. It could extrude quick-striking tentacles, smash him and mash him, grip him and clutch him, drag him in and slaughter him. Or hold him prisoner – as Eljuk had been held. Eljuk had eventually been released. But would Guest be so lucky? Somehow, he doubted it. Guest glanced back at the arch of the Door. He was half- minded to open it, then make his retreat, leaving the star-globe in Chi'ash-lan. But if his father still ruled on Alozay, then -

  "Come to me," said Ko, softly. "Come to me. It's perfectly safe."Guest looked back to the demon, which saw his hesitation, his fear, his intense suspicion. In response, it laughed.

  "Now you see," said Ko, with a sudden change of tone. "Now you realize. There is no way out."

  Then the demon laughed again, with brutal frankness.

  But -

  The thing's laughter was so frank that Guest thought it to be too frank. One could trust a demon in nothing. The brutality of the laughter was so theatrically overstated, so brilliantly triumphant, that Guest was immediately sure that the demon must be trying to distract his attention from something.

  But what? Guest remembered Sken-Pitilkin's performance on the day of the battle for the mainrock Pinnacle. Sken-Pitilkin had levitated above the demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis, taking advantage of the headroom between the demon and the roof. There was just as much headroom between the demon Ko and the ceiling of the doorway it guarded.

  While Guest was still deliberating, he heard footsteps approaching. He had no sword, hence did not even momentarily think of fighting his way out of difficulty. Rather, he turned the ring on his finger – and was promptly sucked into the yellow bottle.

  It was the work of moments for Guest to retrieve Sken-Pitilkin from the yellow bottle, but unfortunately such was his haste that he accidentally retrieved Shabble as well.

  As Guest and Sken-Pitilkin emerged from the yellow bottle, sweeping out as so much smoke, and solidifying to their proper forms instants later, Shabble swept and solidified likewise.

  True, Shabble was still secured in a net of silver – but the bubble was free!

  "Where are we?" said Sken-Pitilkin.

  The yells of a dozen Zenjingu fighters instantly gave him the answer to that question. Sken-Pitilkin could not for the life of him work out how he had been abruptly transported from the Shackle Mountains to the Morgrim Bank, but the sight of the black-clad Zenjingu, combined with the sight of the demon Ko and the skeletons which dangled from the ceiling, orientated him instantly.
>
  As the Zenjingu charged around the flanks of the demon Ko, Sken-Pitilkin threw up his hands and cried out a Word.

  The Zenjingu were scattered in all directions, seized by levitational energies and smashed against walls and against skeletons.

  "Into the bottle!" said Sken-Pitilkin. "In, and I'll have us out of here in instants!"

  Then Guest made a grab for the silver rope which was trailing from the silver net which secured Shabble. But he missed, and Shabble promptly drifted out of reach.

  "This is no time for bubble-hunting!" said Sken-Pitilkin.

  "Get in the bottle! And stay there!"

  With that, Guest turned the ring on his finger, and was again transported into the yellow bottle, thus leaving the responsibilities of initiative to Sken-Pitilkin.

  Then Sken-Pitilkin exerted his Power and levitated himself, endeavoring to preserve a grave dignity as he did so. But it is an unfortunate fact that this business of levitation tends to be singularly ridiculous, particularly when one is wearing fisherman's skirts as Sken-Pitilkin was. For, while the skirt is a most practical form of dress, it is most definitely not one which is meant to be viewed from below.

  Carrying the yellow bottle, Sken-Pitilkin drifted with due deliberation above the demon Ko, thus making his escape from the room which held the Door of the Morgrim Bank. Shabble confidently tried to follow. But the bubble of bounce had forgotten that it was trailing a rope of silver – and this the demon caught!

  On hearing a wail of distress from Shabble, Sken-Pitilkin turned to see the demon dragging Shabble closer and closer toward its own cold green substance.

  Then Sken-Pitilkin paid no more heed to Shabble, for he had other problems to worry about.

  Need we give here an account of the manner in which Sken-Pitilkin fought his way free from the Morgrim Bank? Need we mention the arrows which were fired at him, and the supreme skill which he demonstrated in coping with their onslaught? Of course we need not! For it may be taken for granted that any wizard of the order of Skatzabratzumon is more than a match for a rabble of Zenjingu fighters. And, further, it would be injurious to Sken-Pitilkin's dignity to suggest that he had (or has) any need for history to take account of the splendidly satisfying manner in which he crunched bones, shattered flesh, and sent the bravest running in all directions in bawling terror.