The Wizards and the Warriors

by Hugh Cook

  Another short summer night passed, uneasily, but without incident, and morning found the rafts still drifting down the river. That morning, Comedo emerged from his bottle and blinked at the river, the rafts, and, not the least of his amazements, the sunlight.

  'What are we doing here?' he said.

  Nobody paid him any attention. The least of those fighting men now felt himself to be a questing hero; their respect for the Favoured Blood had declined with their shared experiences of marching and battle which had occured in the absence of that Blood.

  'What are we doing here?' yelled Comedo.

  'Look!' cried an anonymous wit, safe in the company of his fellows, it's the rare and famous hairy woubit!'

  There was a light splatter of laughter.

  Comedo stalked over to Hearst, who was trailing a fishing line off the end of a raft. .'Where are we? What are we doing here?'

  'We're going down the Fleuve River on some Melski rafts,' said Hearst. 'Soon we'll reach Ep Pass. Then we'll head east across the Spine Mountains, making for Stronghold Handfast.'

  'Valarkin said as much,' said Comedo, looking pale and agitated. 'But it can't be true! I said to go home! Days ago! I've had enough, do you hear me? I want to go back.'

  'My lord,' said Hearst. 'You're surely comfortable enough in your miraculous green bottle.'

  'Didn't you hear me? I want to go back.'

  'You pledged yourself to pursue Heenmor to the uttermost limit and to do all in your power to destroy him,' said Hearst. 'We're to kill Heenmor and give his magic death-stone to the wizards for them to take south and return to the Dry Pit.'

  i withdraw my pledge,' said Comedo.

  Hearst spat.

  'A man's word is not like a snake that comes out of a hole to look at the sun. It can't run back inside.'

  Comedo started to scream. Some men looked up, slow and lazy as Hearst was, and studied his face. Comedo screamed himself hoarse. It did him no good.

  i want to go home,' said Comedo.

  Hearst laughed in his face.

  Comedo's face twisted in anger. His mouth clutched breath, then he began to scream again. Screaming, he spun round and round, then suddenly twisted the ring on his finger and dissolved into smoke which was sucked back into the bottle.

  The rafts drifted on down the river.

  They enjoyed hot, lazy, sunlit weather in which a single day seemed to stretch half-way to eternity. Drifting downriver in that golden weather, the men sunbathed, gambled, tattooed each other, swam in the riverdrift, told jokes and obscene stories, exchanged confidences, caught fish and invented new ways of cooking it: with cloves and a pinch of siege dust; smoked slowly over burning pine resin; guts and flesh mixed together in a clay ball with a little barley flour, and baked. Some men, like Durnwold and Alish, practised weapon skills. Elkor Alish put on spectacular displays of shadow-fighting as he accustomed himself to the balance of an antique Melski blade which he had taken for his own use.

  And Comedo did not return.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Alish lay half-asleep in the sun, dreaming vaguely about conquering Argan with the death-stone. Should he take Prince Comedo on his campaigns? There might be rulers in Argan who would find it easier to bow to a prince of the Favoured Blood than to a Rovac mercenary. He would think about it. . . 'Elkor Alish.'

  He opened his eyes, and saw the woodsman Blackwood. 'What is it?'

  'We're almost there. We're almost at Ep Pass.'

  'Good," said Alish, getting to his feet.

  Throughout the flotilla, men began to rouse themselves. They heaved on sweep-oars, guiding the rafts toward a stony beach on the eastern side of the river. Beyond the beach was a gap in the cliffs about two hundred paces wide: the beginning of Ep Pass, the way through the Spine Mountains.

  Downstream, the river narrowed, running swiftly between towering cliffs; perched on rocks by the racing river were a few dozen Melski, some with small fires burning. Some of the men tried the range with arrows.

  'That's enough of that!' said Alish.

  There was no point in going to war with the Melski, who had passed up every chance of ambush and seemed to be planning no more than the recovery of some of their rafts. It would be a long, slow journey for them to oar their way upstream, but for the task they had greater strength in their chests and arms than most humans.

  On landing, Alish had the rafts dragged ashore. 217

  Despite the proximity of the Melski, he did not want to march east immediately, thinking it best to scout ahead a little first, to get an idea of what the country was like. He chose Hearst and Durnwold to go with him.

  As they set off, Hearst called to the wizards:

  'Garash! Care to stretch your legs?'

  Garash looked up, but did not favour them with a reply.

  'I don't think he's exactly thrilled at the idea of mountain climbing,' said Durnwold.

  'Stiff socks,' said Hearst, meaning tough cheese. 'He needs a good sweat to unblubber him.'

  It was a hot, dry, bluesky day: one of those days on which it is impossible to believe that it will ever be wet or cold again. They walked uphill between scattered rocks, some many times the height of a man. Though the ground was stony, gnarled and twisted trees with dark green leaves wrested a livelihood from the soil, making little thickets between the rocks.

  The cliffs closed in; it grew quieter. Soon they could no longer hear the noise of the river or the men by the river, only the sounds of their boots on rocks, the tatcheting of insects, the hush of their own breathing. Small lizards darted over the rocks, sprinting for shelter as the men approached.

  'Stop,' said Alish.

  'What is it?' said Durnwold.

  T see it,' said Hearst. 'Smoke! Over there!'

  it could be Melski,' said Durnwold.

  'Or Heenmor,' said Alish.

  'We don't know enough to start laying bets,' said Hearst, 'but we'd best go back for the wizards in case it is Heenmor.'

  Alish looked at him.

  'Are you afraid .. . friend dragon-killer?' For a moment, they stared at each other. 'What do you think?' said Hearst, i think you know the answer better than me.'

  'He's not afraid,' said Durnwold. 'There's no sword -'

  'Enough,' said Hearst. 'Weil go on. But if it is Heenmor, how will we take him?'

  'His only protection is a blast of fire or the bite of that snake of his. If we come at him from three different directions, if he hesitates for a moment - we should do it.'

  'And what if we run into something altogether different?' said Hearst. 'What if it's a band of twenty head-hunting nomads? Who knows what manner of people live in this part of Argan?'

  if it's not Heenmor,' said Alish, 'we retreat, quietly. I estimate the smoke is ... a hundred paces ahead. Let's split up. Durnwold can go right, I'll go left and you go straight ahead.'

  Hearst nodded.

  'Draw your sword now,' said Alish to Durnwold, 'so when you're closer you won't have to take it from its sheath.'

  it's sheathed in oiled leather,' said Durnwold. it won't make any noise.'

  'Yes, but if you're crawling forward through vines or brambles, you might make a noise like earth's own bone-breaking if you have to jerk out your sword in a hurry.'

  Durnwold drew his sword. Hearst already had Hast in his hand, and Alish was holding his Melski blade. 'Quiet now,' said Alish.

  They separated. Durnwold went right, Alish went left, and Hearst went straight ahead. Hearst had the hardest job: he was making his way through a close-growth of runtling trees.

  He went tenderfoot and slow. The highriding sun pooled his shadow at his feet. Everything was very bright. He saw the yellow-green veins patterning every leaf. His heart beat soft-quick thud. Stepping forward, he used the side of his boot to ease away any twigs

  before letting his weight settle as smoothly as unguent oil easing onto a baby's backside. Finally he could see the little cooking fire that was sending up the smoke.

  There was Heenmo
r, twice the height of any ordinary man, hair ginger, beard blue. And there, asleep on a rock at his feet, was the snake. Hearst could see a shack, a latrine, a stack of firewood. Heenmor had been there quite some time: waiting for any pursuers? Heenmor was sitting with his back to a small cliff. Hearst could see Durnwold was working his way to the top of that cliff. He could not see where Alish had got to.

  Hearst started to ease forward. Suddenly, Heenmor looked up from his fire. He stared straight at the trees where Hearst was hiding. Hearst froze. He saw the snake had woken: its head was weaving this way and that, seeming to point at the trees. Heenmor got to his feet.

  At the top of the cliff, Durnwold put down his sword and picked up a rock. Hearst could see him clearly. The boy was thinking! Slowly, Heenmor lifted his staff of power, and pointed it at the trees where Hearst was hiding. Durnwold stepped to the edge of the cliff, raising the rock high to cast it down.

  And the lip of the cliff gave way.

  Heenmor snapped his head around at the noise, saw Durnwold falling, and threw himself to one side. Durnwold crashed to the ground. The copper-strike snake lunged at him. One beat of the heart, two, three, five - and the poison had done its work.

  Heenmor wheeled, raised his staff, and shouted a Word. Hearst threw himself flat. A blast of heat roared through the trees. He smelt the stench of burning leather as it singed the heels of his boots. The trees around him crackled into flame.

  As Heenmor shouted, again, again, blasting the ground to right and to left, Hearst lept to his feet. Flames were roaring up around him from the burning trees. He forced his way back the way he had come,

  chopping away burning boughs which tried to hold him.

  At last, Hearst reached bare rock, and collapsed to the ground, coughing, gasping. His eyes were streaming with smoke-tears. His knuckles, cheeks and neck stung from minor burns; his leathers were scarred by fire in a dozen places. Alish? Where was Alish? Hearst almost called out: but that would warn Heenmor.

  Slowly Hearst began to advance on Heenmor's position, skirting round the burning thicket, crouching low to make himself hard to see.

  Meanwhile, Elkor Alish, who had sheltered behind a rock when Heenmor scoured the surrounds with flame, now stepped out to challenge the wizard. As Alish strode forward, Heenmor raised his staff and shouted a Word.

  Nothing happened.

  Heenmor's power was exhausted.

  The copper-strike snake slithered forward, dominating the space between Heenmor and Elkor Alish. It moved this way and that, swaying, bead-black eyes unblinking. Now was Alish's chance to kill Heenmor. If he stepped forward, the snake would bite him. Then he would die. But, before dying, he would still have time to shorten Heenmor by a head.

  Heenmor took something from his khaki robes.

  'With this, I can conquer the world,' said Heenmor.

  Then he smiled, raising the death-stone above his head. He spoke a Word.

  Elkor Alish turned and ran, crashing through the burning vegetation, bounding from stone to stone, gasping air and acrid smoke.

  'Alish!'

  That was Hearst.

  'Run!' screamed Alish. 'The death-stone!'

  They ran, and it was downhill all the way as they lept from stone to stone, taking desperate chances in their efforts to get away.

  From behind came a harsh, aggressive grinding sound. Underfoot the rocks trembled, shifted. The two men slipped, fell, picked themselves up and ran on. Bursting into the camp site, they found men already on their feet, startled, alarmed.

  'To the rafts!' shouted Hearst. 'Rafts, or you're dead! The death-stone!'

  The grinding noise was getting louder. The sky above was turning grey. Men dashed for the rafts, many screaming in hysteria. Once afloat, some tried to go downstream, where the Melski were now diving into the water. Others shouted that they must try to oar upstream against the current. Blackwood, riverwise in the Melski way, and also cool enough to see the obvious - that they could never row upstream fast enough -roared out the first orders of his life:

  'Downstream! Downstream! All speed away!'

  Men took up the shout:

  'Downstream! Downstream!'

  The rocks of Ep Pass were beginning to move. One broke free from the earth and charged for the rafts, roaring huge unintelligible words. Five men were crushed in its path, pulped like newborn chickens hit with a hammer.

  Phyphor, running for dear life, collided with Garash, who shoved him toward the charging rock. It struck him a glancing blow then crashed into the rafts still left on the beach. Splintered logs flew through the air. Then the rock fell into the river and was silenced by the water.

  Phyphor's left leg had been snapped: the big bone in the thigh showed white through the flesh. Miphon dragged him onto a raft. He screamed all the while, for with his injury the slightest movement is agony.

  'Durnwold!' yelled Valarkin. 'Durnwold, where's Durnwold?'

  He grabbed hold of Hearst.

  'Where is he, where is he, where's my brother?'

  Hearst knocked Valarkin senseless with a single short jab to the chin, threw him onto one of the rafts, jumped on himself and pushed off. The current caught his raft, spun it round, then bore it away downstream. There were twenty rafts now on the water.

  Behind, men struggled to get the remaining rafts into the water. One became river-borne, and then: the light went dim, and in that dim grey light Hearst saw the men freeze in their positions. Then the raft sank: turned to stone.

  The wave of grey death swept forward, but the current of the river ran faster, and carried the survivors away from the lethal magic of the death-stone. Behind them, a skin of stone formed on the river's surface then broke under its own weight and sank; the river ran on.

  Downstream they went, the rafts scattered far apart until Blackwood, on one of the leading rafts, ordered sweep-oars to be used to slow the drift and allow the others to catch up. Hearst and Alish found each other, and considered the situation.

  'We'll have to stop as soon as we can,' said Alish, 'Then try to land and climb the cliffs.'

  it'll be a murderous climb,' said Hearst. 'You might be able to make it, but nobody else could.'

  'We have the green bottle,' said Alish. 'Get Valarkin.'

  'What do you have in mind?'

  'Valarkin can use the ring he commands to take people into the bottle. When everyone's in, Valarkin can join them and I'll make the climb with the bottle at my belt.'

  'What if you fall?'

  'What choice do you have?'

  iil get Valarkin.'

  Hearst went and found Valarkin, who had now regained consciousness. He watched sullenly as Hearst approached.

  'Durnwold?'

  'Dead.'

  it's your fault.'

  'We can talk about fault later. Right now, we need you.'

  'Why should I help you?'

  'Because your life is in the balance along with the lives of everyone else. Do you know where this river ends? The Fleuve River buries itself underground, and nobody knows if it ever comes up again. If you want to stay alive, hear me out.'

  Valarkin heard what Hearst had to say, then he snarled, spat, and reached for the ring on his finger. Hearst was too slow to stop him turning the ring. Valarkin was gone; sucked into the green bottle Blackwood was carrying, gone to join Prince Comedo.

  Hearst should have killed him straight away, yes, but Durnwold had been Hearst's friend, and Valarkin was Durnwold's brother. Another time ... by the singing knives, he hoped they lived to see another time.

  Everyone by now realised there was no going back. The rafts buffeted down the river between high cliffs. Facing up to the prospect of an underground journey into the unknown, Hearst and Alish lept from raft to raft, and ordered the men to tie down packs and sweep-oars. Patches of turbulence which sent waves sweeping across the rafts gave point to those orders.

  Just after they shot some white-water rapids, a shout went up from the leading raft. Looking ahead, they saw they were be
ing swept toward the mouth of a huge cave.

  Hearst, still hoping for a way out, scanned the approaching rock face - but cliffs which had previously been sheer had now developed a pronounced overhang. There was no escape.

  The rafts shot into the cave, into the darkness, and they were lost from the sight of the sun.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  There was a scream in the dark.

  'What was that?' said Hearst.

  A reply was shouted back, but it was confused by the hollow thunder of echoing water. After much shouting, Hearst learnt that a Melski had surfaced beside one of the rafts and had stabbed at random, skewering the foot of a soldier.

  Alish had the rafts drawn close together and roped to each other for security, to make it more difficult for the Melski to kill them off in the dark, one raft at a time. He conferred with Hearst; apart from ordering the men to sleep in shifts, and to move around in groups of two or three, they could think of no further defensive measures they could take.

  'I only wish,' said Hearst, 'that we could send men underwater to kill the Melski.'

  'That would be a battle worth making a song about,' said Alish. 'But who would dare it apart from yourself?*