by Hugh Cook
'Give me a potion to make her love me,' said Drake.
'There is,' said Miphon, 'no such potion. Magic is better at destruction than at building.'
'Magic built the flame trench Drangsturm, did it not?' said Drake.
'It did indeed. But the flame trench is itself an instrument of destruction. All it creates is violence - a violence which divides the north of Argan from the terror-lands of the Deep South.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'I've been thinking about that flame trench. That earthquake thing we had just now, could such rip Drangsturm into halves? Could it tear rock so wild that the Swarms found a way north?'
'Drangsturm is indeed vulnerable to earthquake,' said Miphon gravely. 'And, indeed, to other dangers. That is why the castles of the Confederation stand guard, with the
Landguard to support them. But . . . don't worry too much. Drangsturm has protected the north for the last four thousand years, ever since the end of the Long War.'
'The Long War? I've heard rumours of such. Was it wizards and heroes, as they say?'
'It was before my time,' said Miphon. 'But there was indeed an Alliance of wizards and heroes. They fought the Swarms and threw them back to the Deep South.'
'So . . .if the Swarms came north again, they could be beaten back.'
'The Alliance,' said Miphon, 'had use of ancient weapons which were destroyed by their employment. None such remains to us - therefore, we could not be certain of a second victory.'
'You talk of nonsense,' said Drake. 'There's no weapon you can only use once. A weapon lasts near enough to forever, aye, any swordsmith will tell you that.'
'A burning arrow is a weapon, is it not?' said Miphon. 'And how many times can you use a burning arrow?'
'Seventy-five thousand,' said Drake, promptly.
'You've got a quick wit,' said Miphon. 'Your voice will serve you well in love and war, if you cultivate it. Remember that, when you court the lady Kliedervaust.'
Evening. Mosquito dance. Standing on the stony beach by an open fire, Zanya Kliedervaust preached to a scattering of soldiers. The purple-skinned Oronoko squatted at her feet, a cudgel in his hands. There was, in consequence, no heckling. Drake hung back in the shadows, reluctant to risk the wrath of Oronoko. He was slightly weak from blood-loss, and definitely in no state for fighting.
She was talking of things he had heard before from Gouda Muck and Sully Yot. Talking of purity. Abstinence. Denial.
'How far away is the moon?' she said.
'Further than I can throw an apple,' volunteered one of the soldiers.
Zanya took a few moments to make sense of that. Her
Galish had improved, but it seemed she still found swift speech hard to follow.
'Yes,' she said, at length. 'It is further than we could throw an apple. But things lie hidden within the dark well within a stone's-throw. For dark hides. Dark conceals. Dark entangles. It is light which reveals. Light which clarifies. Light which makes possible. Fire is light. Light is fire.
'In darkness is secrecy. Secrecy is darkness. Which among you has not a secret which is shameful? Which amongst you could stand bare in truth like the purity of those higher fires, the sun and moon? Yield to the Flame, and the Flame will burn you clean, yea, and you too will stand naked to the eye of truth yet unashamed.'
Thus she spoke.
But there was no fervour in her speech. She was tired. Weary from a long day in the kitchen. She had laboured many days without a break. Each evening she had preached, mouthing the words so many times they had almost lost their meanings. She spoke by rote.
Drake saw she was so fatigued, so hollow, so worn by routine, that she herself had almost ceased to live. What lived in her was habit. She had become a puppet animated by the alien routines imposed upon her by Gouda Muck. The old man's words had replaced her will. It was not her voice which spoke, but his. She had become his creature.
Watching, listening, Drake had an unfamiliar intimation of evil". Muck had made Zanya into a weapon. A burning arrow. How many times can a burning arrow be used? She was destroying herself. Nothing on this island of barren rock and inhuman routine would nourish or cherish her. Muck had made her his voice and had sent her into the world to be ruined.
Drake felt sorry for her.
Creeping away into the dark, he made his plans. It was all very well for the wizard Miphon to suggest that he win Zanya by fair speech, but that was impossible. Oronoko would let him nowhere near the woman.
She would have to be kidnapped. For her own good, mind! Hauled aboard the Walrus. Then tamed at leisure. Taught to be a woman again. It might take some doing. But Drake Douay was equal to the task . . .
'What's she to you?' said Slagger Mulps. 'You're in lust? You want her as your fancy woman, perhaps? Do you think I'll risk my ship for the whim of your cock?'
'Man, she's nothing to me,' said Drake, hastily. 'But she's lots to Muck. She's his disciple, don't you know. Man, we can use her as hostage. A pawn in the war for Stokos.'
'Hmmm,' said the Walrus, running his hand through his green beard as he thought. 'Perhaps King Tor would like to lay hands on Muck's disciple.'
'Oh, I don't think that's really a good idea,' said Drake. 'Man, he might rip her in half.'
'Who cares if he does?' said Mulps. 'She's nothing to you, is she? The boys can have fun with her first, before we hand her over. An'vory likes red meat. I've a taste for such myself, if it comes to that.'
Atsimo Andranovory was indeed pleased when he heard about Drake's scheme to kidnap Zanya Kliedervaust.
'So the young pup's good for something after all,' he growled.
'It's a great idea, man,' said Bucks Cat, slapping Drake on the back.
'Aye,' said Ish Ulpin, squeezing his shoulder. 'We'll let you lead the rape pack when we get the wench aboard.' And Simp Fiche drooled.
Three days went by.
Drake endured agonies of horror, guilt and despair. His brilliant idea had gone wrong. But he should have known what would happen! He knew what pirates were like. Aye. And what would happen now? Why, Zanya would be likely ripped apart. And would welcome such death, having wished herself dead many times before.
He had planned for things to be so nice. Her and him, alone in the dark together. Him explaining things to her, reasonable like. Maybe a little force, if strictly necessary - but just by way of introduction, to show her what delights were available.
The reality . . .
The reality which threatened was like something out of nightmare. A long slow voyage of repeated rape, with death at the hands of King Tor at the end of it.
What should he do?
Warn Zanya? No - that would ruin his chances with the woman for a lifetime.
Talk to Mulps, perhaps? Explain that the woman was rightly his, was special, was - well, his true love. No. That would never work. He was only aboard the Walrus on sufferance. Mulps would scarcely take kindly to having Drake Douay dictate his behaviour.
Then—
What if he betrayed Slagger Mulps? Narked to the soldiers, so an ambush was waiting when the raiding party came to kidnap Zanya? What then? The ship would be seized, Slagger Mulps and crew would be killed or enslaved, and Drake would have a lot of explaining to do if he ever got back to the Greaters.
Besides . . .
Whale Mike was his friend, was he not? Yes. The dumb yellow-faced earless monster was, when all was said and done, a true friend. Drake could scarcely sacrifice the ship - if only for the sake of Whale Mike. And Rolf Thelemite - he wasn't bad. You could even say a thing or two for Bucks Cat and Ish Ulpin, despite their murderous taste in practical jokes.
'The thing to do,' said Drake to Drake, as he walked alone on the shores of Burntos, 'would be to kidnap Zanya on my own. Aye. Then get her to the mainland in a boat.'
Possible. But - where would they go? Where would they hide if Oronoko came hunting for them? If he killed his purple-skinned rival, how would the Landguard take that? How much of the mainland was under Landguard jurisdi
ction?
There were too many unknowns.
Besides - he had to go back to the Greaters. Otherwise he would never win King Tor's confidence. He would never get to marry Tor's ogre daughter, Hilda, or be crowned king of Stokos. He would never again see his brother Heth. Or Jon Arabin. Or any of his friends from the Warwolf.
'There has to be another way,' said Drake.
On the afternoon of the third day, as the captive Neversh, weakened by lack of water, was dragged in chains to the ship, Drake realized what he had to do. He went to see the wizard Miphon.
'Man,' said Drake, 'you've a commander's powers on Burntos, isn't that so?'
T said as much,' said Miphon. 'I meant as much.'
'Then, man ... I don't know how to put this. It's delicate, see. Some friends of mine . . . well, they've let high-spirits carry them away. You know how men talk, aye, wild-like, boasting of things round booze. Well, these friends . . . usually their crazy thinking wears off with the drink. But this time, it stuck. I'm. . .these are my friends, man. I don't want to betray them. But I thought maybe -maybe you could help them keep from trouble. By removing temptation. Subtle, like. Without saying anything about anyone informing or such.'
'You can trust me,' said Miphon. 'Speak.'
When Drake got back to the Walrus, the Neversh was being folded in thirds to make it fit into the treasure hold, which lay forward of the hold in which Whale Mike lived, cooked and slept. Ish Ulpin winked at Drake, and Bucks Cat slapped him on the back.
'Tonight's the night, eh?' said Bucks Cat.
'For sure,' said Drake.
'You'll be coming with us, I suppose,' said Ish Ulpin casually.
Drake's first thought was to answer 'no'. But he couldn't do that - it would arouse suspicion.
'Of course,' he said, voice cool as a wet-skinned squid hauled writhing from the blue-black depths of the sea.
So that was it. He was committed ashore on tonight's raiding expedition to capture Zanya Kliedervaust. What if the wizard Miphon had failed to exile Zanya and Oronoko, as he had promised? What if they were delayed in getting off the island? Worse - what if Miphon, despite his promises, had arranged for an ambush?
Tonight, man, perhaps tonight you die.
18
Miphon: a slender green-eyed travelling healer; a minor wizard of the order of Nin, who sometimes claims to be of elven descent.
It was night. The Walrus was ready to sail. Only one task remained: to kidnap Zanya Kliedervaust. The raiding party gathered on deck under a gloomy sky pitted by stars. Off to the south, some scanty cloud reflected the glowering red blaze of distant Drangsturm. The raiders were hot, fierce, excited.
'Action!' said Rolf Thelemite. 'That's the thing! Blood and steel!'
'Don't be too keen to start anything,' warned Praul Galana. 'The odds are against us if it comes to a fight.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'I'm in no state for fighting - or anything else. Better I stay on the ship.'
His right arm, torn by a captive Neversh then sewn up by the wizard Miphon, was still in a sling. It ached incessantly; it had been keeping him awake at night.
'You're coming,' said Slagger Mulps. 'Get in the boat!'
'What boat?' said Drake, peering down at the darkened sea.
'It's down there,' said Mulps. 'At the end of the rope ladder.'
'How do I climb down with only one arm?' 'Climb! Or I'll give you the problem of climbing with none!'
With difficulty, Drake descended the rope ladder to the
raiding boat. Its crew was Slagger Mulps, Ish Ulpin, Bucks Cat, Rolf Thelemite, Praul Galana and Atsimo Andranovory.
'Who's been drinking?' said Drake, smelling alcohol.
'We're all stone-sober here,' said Andranovory, his brewery breath washing over Drake's face as he spoke.
'Man, you're half-way pickled,' said.Drake in disgust. 'This is a nice start! And where's Whale Mike? Eh?'
'What would we want with him?' said Ish Ulpin, as the boat got underway.
'He's muscle,' said Drake, nursing his sore arm as best he could as dark-tongued waves nagged at the boat. 'A monster like that - he must be something terrible in a fight.'
'Let's not be calling our good friend a monster,' said Slagger Mulps, a note of warning in his voice.
'Whatever we call him,' said Drake, 'he's built for battle.'
'Oh yes,' said Bucks Cat, with a chuckle. 'Built beautiful. But soft as a sea slug. He never likes to kill. Not like some of us.'
Silence, then, as the rowers pulled for the shore. Burntos, by night, was an ominous, almost featureless mass. Far off down the shore, a bonfire was burning. Praul Galana, having shaped words to his satisfaction, spoke:
'Whale Mike, he's a good cook and a better carpenter, aye, but he hates to hurt people. So he's not much good in a fight, not unless he's really stirred up. Anyway, there'll be no fighting tonight.'
'Not unless our drunken friend starts some trouble for us,' said Drake savagely.
'Who you calling drunk?' said Andranovory.
'Hush, An'vory,' said Mulps. 'Drake - keep your mouth shut. Your every word shows you shit-scared frightened.'
'I'm not frightened,' said Drake, trying to keep his voice steady. 'But there's a right way to do things, aye.
Like doing some thinking. Aye. And leaving our drunks behind.'
'Yes,' said Rolf Thelemite, 'and keeping our voices down so we can't be heard more than twenty leagues away.'
Drake realized then that his voice had been getting louder and louder as he spoke. He was about to explain the reasons for his anger further, then thought better of it and shut his mouth firmly.
'Ship oars,' said Mulps.
Wet and dripping, the oars came into the boat. Pain jolted Drake's arm as the boat rocked as men jumped to the knee-deep water.
'Come, man,' said Rolf Thelemite, helping Drake into the cold of the sea.
Drake trudged out of the water while the others hauled the boat onto the beach, where the sea's shuzzle and hiss, snake-sibilant, wracked shingle back. Onshore, the sullen shapes of massive buildings loomed dark against dark.
'Take her up,' said Mulps.
And, boots sliding on the sea-wet stones, the men took the boat higher, scraping her underside against the shingle. They made so much noise about it that Drake wanted to scream. He controlled himself. Then could not help but say:
'Man, we'll be a long time getting the boat afloat if we have to leave in a hurry.'
'Fear gives strength,' said Rolf Thelemite. 'If we run from war we'll shove it to sea so quick you'd think it flew.'
By starlight they trooped in single file through the warm night, led by Praul Galana, who had been kept busy over the last couple of days locating Zanya's sleeping quarters and planning the best attack route.
What would the pirates do when they found Zanya gone? Would they suspect that Drake was responsible for thwarting their kidnap raid?
Man, maybe I should run.
It would be easy enough to slip away into the dark, that was for sure. But what then? He would be left stranded on Burntos, amongst strangers, hundreds of leagues from his hopes of a royal marriage and the throne of Stokos.
We've got to see this through, man. It's the only way.
From a building which must have been a bar came raucous sounds of singing; obviously soldiers were, in the time-honoured fashion, relieving the tedium of garrison duty by getting drunk. Praul Galana halted the pirates beside a long, low, dark, silent building, not far from the bar.
'We're here,' said Galana.
'What place is this?' said Rolf Thelemite.
'The kitchen,' said Galana. 'The red-skinned wench sleeps in a small room right at the end.'
The door to the kitchen was locked, but the pirates broke it down. The noise was covered by the uproar from the bar. If Drake was any judge, then a brawl was in progress in that place of entertainment.
The raiders ventured into the bowel-black dark of the kitchen, picking their way between tables
and benches. Inside, it was quiet; the noise from the bar was almost inaudible.
'Booze here,' said Andranovory.
'Then leave it alone,' said Mulps, shortly.
'As you will,' said Andranovory.
'Here's the door,' said Praul Galana.
The raiders gathered at the door to Zanya's quarters.
'Drake,' said Slagger Mulps. 'You go first.'
'What?' said Drake. 'Me with my torn arm and all? Man, that woman's a right handful. Let An'vory go. An'vory? Where are you? Boozing, is it?'
'Never you mind about An'vory,' said Mulps. 'In you go.'
So saying, Mulps opened the door. Squealing, something flung itself forward.
'Ahyak Rovac!' screamed Rolf Thelemite.
There was a crash as Thelemite's blade, sweeping through the dark, chopped into a stack of dirty saucepans.
Pirates swore, shouted and grappled with their enemy. 'It's a pig!' said Galana.
'Man,' said Drake, sounding aggrieved, 'you must've led us to the wrong door.'
'There was only the one,' said Galana.
While they were still arguing about it, Drake heard someone approaching.
'Hush!' he said.
'What?' said Andranovory.
'Gram grupV said Mulps sharply.
Andranovory got the message, and was silent, as were the other pirates. Waiting. Breathing the dark. Listening. Hearing . . . footsteps outside. A voice talking quick and low. Someone answering. Trampling boots entering the kitchen. A sliver of wood breaking free with a twang as someone pried it away from the wreckage of the kitchen door.
The boots halted.
If Drake was any judge, at least half a dozen strangers had entered the kitchen. Demon's luck - they had no lantern! That was something to be thankful for.
'Epigrow manact agramaV said a loud, curt voice.
Drake wanted to sneeze. He had to sneeze! He grabbed his nose, contorted his face, scrunched his chin down against his chest - and just managed to kill the sneeze.
'Lupopt elestag oxybund, morasuf aparsing,' said the same harsh voice which had spoken previously.
Drake listened.
Did he imagine it? Or did he heard Mulps breathing? He was, surely, imagining it. He could scarcely hear his own breathing.
