[Warhammer] - The Laughter of Dark Gods

by David Pringle (ed) - (ebook by Undead)

  I smiled. Well, I tried to. “How do you do?”

  The creature hissed softly.

  “You’re an ogre, aren’t you?”

  His voice was like a wooden box full of gravel. “And you are not invited.”

  “I’m here to see the Lord Periel,” I said briskly.

  The ogre ran a rope-like finger over the tip of his club. “Shall I brain you,” he mused, “before throwing you into the sea?” His shoulders moved in a grotesque shrug. “Why make a mess?” And he laid his club delicately on the ground and advanced on me, hands spread.

  Anyway after I’d got the ogre’s club off him and had knocked him unconscious, I made my way to the open door and—

  What do you mean, you don’t believe it? You really want the boring details? Oh, very well…

  That ogre came closer, muscles working in his shoulders. Frantically I tried to concentrate, to think through the cobwebs Eladriel had left around my senses. I remember thinking that I’d finally run out of cards to play—and that gave me a clue.

  Quick as a flash I dragged my battered pack of cards from my pocket. “Wait!” I said.

  The ogre kept coming, his feet leaving craters in the ground. I began shuffling the cards and working simple tricks. Gradually the boar-like eyes were attracted by the flashing colours.

  The ogre slowed to a stop, staring at the cards; and those huge hands dropped reassuringly.

  “Before you so justifiably throw me off the cliff,” I said smoothly, still working the cards, “please let me make you a gift.”

  The ogre looked at me, and at the cards. “Thanks,” he said, and reached down for the pack with one hand and for my throat with the other.

  “Hold on,” I cried, skipping back. “I have to show you how to use them.”

  The ogre studied me doubtfully, probing a mouth-sized navel with one finger. Rapidly I dealt out two hands of three cards. “Let me show you a game. It’s called Three Card Pegasus. It usually ends in a fight, and you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you? We both take three cards. Now then, I look at my hand… Not bad. What have I got to stake? How about this—” I took off my woollen hat and laid it on the ground between us.

  The ogre ran a puzzled thumb over his cards.

  “And what’s your stake?” I asked brightly.

  He growled menacingly.

  “Well, let’s make this a demonstration hand, shall we?” I went on rapidly. “Now show me your cards… Oh,” I exclaimed happily, “I only have Eagle high, but you have a pair of Dragons! You’ve won! Here.” I held out the hat. “It’s yours.”

  The ogre took the hat, poked at it dubiously, and then jammed it over his skull.

  “Yes, well, the red wool clashes a bit with your dominant pigshit brown,” I observed, “but never mind. Now, another hand?”

  The ogre nodded his great head. He hissed over the cards and stamped his thick feet in a kind of dance.

  Well, it took about half an hour, I suppose. By the end of that time I’d not only got my hat back; I also owned the ogre’s breechclout, his unique collection of giant bat droppings, the right of marriage to his first-born daughter… and his club.

  The ogre sat on the damp ground staring miserably out to sea, picking at the breechclout I’d loaned him back. “Never mind,” I said, feeling almost sorry for him, “that’s the way the cards run sometimes.” And, with all my strength, I smashed the club into the back of his neck.

  All right? Can I get on with the story now?

  As I was saying… I made my way to the tower’s open door. Heart thumping a bit, I stepped out of the wind and into musty darkness.

  Torches cast blobs of light over bare stone walls. I was in a corridor which led to a patch of brightness. I stopped to listen, let my eyes adjust to the gloom. Then I heard the song, drifting along the corridor:

  The laughter of children can never be held

  By silver box or golden band;

  The bird’s song dies in the ornate cage

  And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand…

  It was the voice of a girl. I stood there, transfixed. How can I describe it? Well, perhaps I shouldn’t try. I can only say that even in my misty state that song of trapped beauty reduced me to tears.

  Blinking, I took silent steps along the corridor. At the end I stopped, still in shadow, and peered into the central chamber.

  Torches high on the walls cast a gloomy radiance. A fire flickered in an iron grate. A table stood at the centre of the carpeted floor, and on it rested a half-empty pitcher of wine, a single glass goblet, the remains of what must have been a rich meal.

  And in a large, leather-covered chair reclined the Lord Periel himself. He was taller than Eladriel, his hair perhaps a little thinner, but he was dressed rather more sumptuously in a cloak of soft leather. As he listened his fingers were steepled before his face and his eyes were closed. I thought I could see a single tear glinting on his eyelid, and my respect for him rose a little.

  Half-hidden to me in my shadowed nook, the girl singer stood meekly before the lord’s table. She entered the chorus of her song again—

  …silver box or golden band…

  And, fearful not only of detection by Periel but also—oddly—of confronting the source of all that beauty, I stepped forward.

  She was human, but with an almost elven slimness. Her hair was night dark and plaited around a silver comb. She wore a dress of the purest white silk and held her hands before her as she sang.

  Her face was downcast… the face of a prisoner, I thought. She can’t have been more than seventeen. Her beauty was of an inner, almost ethereal type, and I wanted to cherish her.

  Now the song reached its climax and her voice soared:

  And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand…

  She reached a high note that seemed almost beyond my hearing, and there was an odd ringing—

  —and the goblet shattered into a thousand pieces. Periel opened his eyes with a start.

  I stepped back quickly. The merchant lord toyed with the fragments on the table. “Lora,” he said softly, “your voice is perfect beyond the dreams of mortals.”

  She bowed her head.

  He stood, stretched, gathered his cloak tight around him. “Well, I must retire. Another day haggling with the City Fathers over trade agreements tomorrow. If only I could spend more time at home with my treasures… of which the most exquisite is my Lora. Goodnight, my dear.” And he made his way up a staircase that led from the back of the chamber into darkness. I heard a door close softly, somewhere above.

  The girl Lora relaxed once her master had gone. She sat on a stool at the table and began picking at a bowl of fruit, humming softly to herself in that gorgeous voice. As her hands flickered over the fruit I saw how her fingers were encrusted with jewellery.

  She made a delicate tableau in that gloomy place, a work of art as fine as any of Eladriel’s. I just stood there for a while, hardly daring to breathe, drinking in that beauty (and no, Maximilian, I did not notice the sort of detail you’re interested in).

  At last I stepped into the light, fingers to my lips. She kicked over her stool and stumbled backwards, eyes wide. Grapes dropped from her fingers to the carpet. She crammed one tiny fist into her mouth.

  I mimed hush. If she screamed I was finished. I took another step into the room, trying to smile. “I won’t harm you,” I whispered. “I’m your friend. I’m here to help you.”

  She seemed to relax a little. She dropped her hand from her face but kept her blue eyes fixed on mine.

  My blood rushed like a waterfall; and the nearness of that beauty nearly overwhelmed me.

  “Who… who are you?” she asked.

  I sighed. Even her speech had a quality like… like the finest lyre which—

  (All right, all right, I’ll get on with it.)

  “My name’s Sam Warble,” I said. I raised my hat.

  “What do you want?”

  “Another lord called Eladriel knows that
you’re being kept here by Periel. And he sent me to you.” I sat on her stool, and kept smiling. I told her the tale of my recruitment by Eladriel, and gradually she came forward into the light.

  “But that’s awful,” she said at last. “How could this Eladriel do such a thing to your mind?”

  I shrugged, trying to look courageous. “I’m not important. What matters now is you, my lady.”

  “Are you here to free me?”

  “Would you like that?” I asked gravely. “Does Periel harm you?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, with a flutter of manicured fingers. “Far from it. He’s a perfect gentleman. He feeds and clothes me well; I have everything I ask for. I don’t even have to sing if I don’t feel like it.” She touched her cheek, shaking her head gently. “I have everything but my freedom.”

  I nodded, tears filling my eyes again. “‘And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand…’ You were singing about yourself, weren’t you? You, Lora, you are that snowflake.”

  She covered her eyes delicately. “I am a free spirit who is withering in captivity.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “A little village a few days’ travel from Marienburg, on the edge of the Reikwald Forest. My family are poor but honest. My father raises pigs.”

  “Pigs?”

  “Pigs. One day emissaries of the Lord Periel came riding into the farm on their fine horses, waving their bags of gold at my father…” Fragile shoulders shook, and she wept softly.

  Well, I’ll tell you, boys, it was all too much for me.

  I leapt up onto the stool and took her shoulders; her warmth flowed into my hands. “Listen to me. Eladriel didn’t send me to free you. He sent me to capture you, to return you to him. You’d exchange one gaoler for another. But I’m not going to do it.”

  I took her hand and led her towards the corridor—towards freedom. But she pulled her hand from mine and backed into the centre of the room. “What are you doing?”

  “Come with me.” I felt my cheeks glow with passion. “I’ll free you from the clutches of Periel, but I will not give you to Eladriel. I’ll hire horses and return you to your family… Trust me.”

  She looked at me doubtfully, toying with a particularly large ring. “You’ll return me? What, to the pig farm? And all that dirt?”

  I still didn’t understand. “Well, it might be a bit muddy, but it’s freedom!”

  Lora ran her hands over the exotic fruit, touched her silken gown. “I was never very fond of pigs,” she said thoughtfully.

  “But you’re a free spirit who is withering in captivity. And so on.” I was getting confused.

  “Oh, I am! I am! It’s just…” She giggled. “Well, look, perhaps it would be better if you came back another day. Would that be terribly inconvenient?”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Come back another… My lady, I am not here to sell potatoes. This is not a routine visit. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”

  She smiled nervously and pushed at stray strands of hair. “It’s just that there’s so much to pack… Well, you know how it is.”

  And then I saw it. “Ah. Yes, Lora. I think I do know how it is.” A look of understanding passed between us. You see, lads, she was a songbird who had grown far too used to her comfortable cage. And who can blame her?

  “Perhaps I should come back another day, then.”

  She smiled eagerly. “Oh, yes, I think that would be so much better. Thank you for your thoughtful visit—but wait.” Suddenly she sounded genuinely concerned. “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “If you go back to this Eladriel empty-handed, won’t he hurt you?”

  “That’s a point,” I said, my common sense returning painfully. “Yes, that certainly is a point. I seem to be stuck, don’t I?…” And then I had an idea. “Or maybe not. I wonder?”

  I pulled out Eladriel’s magic wasp-waisted bottle. “Lora, would you mind singing your song again? I think I may be able to trap it in this bottle; there’s a spell on it, you see. Perhaps that will be enough for Eladriel.”

  A look of pretty doubt creased her oval face. “Well, of course, if you think it will help. But won’t my singing shatter the glass? You must have seen what I did to Periel’s goblet.”

  I scratched my head. “I think you’re right. Eladriel’s invulnerability spell is designed to ward off impacts, not the effects of a song.” I wrapped the bottle in my woollen hat. “Let’s hope this will protect it.” And then, as I thought through all the possibilities of the situation, I felt a smile spread over my face. “And if this works out, it could be the best solution of all…”

  So, her voice barely a whisper, Lora sang for me.

  Her words reached again into my heart. I clutched the bottle desperately, trying not to make a fool of myself. Once more she reached the final line. “And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand…” I felt the bottle quiver within its woollen cocoon.

  But it held. The last echo died away, and I shoved the stopper into the bottle’s neck.

  “Thank you,” I said, wiping away tears. “Lora… I will never forget you, and—”

  There was a rumble, a heavy footstep on the stair. “Lora? I heard your voice. Are you all right?”

  Lora’s eyes went wide. “Periel!” she hissed. “We’ve woken him. You must go.”

  “Of course.” And—after one precious brush of my lips on her hand—I ran down the corridor.

  Eladriel raged. I stood there in his boxy home on Lotharn Street, enduring it; it was like being at the eye of a storm. Beside me, licking her broken lips and cackling, stood the delicious Aloma.

  I tried to concentrate on what Eladriel was saying, looking for an angle. But even now I could barely keep my eyes from a small bottle perched on a ledge behind Eladriel… a bottle that contained the rest of me.

  “What,” Eladriel howled, his mouth inches from my face, “is to stop me from snapping you in two right now?”

  I took a deep breath and played my only card. “This,” I said, and I held up my prize from Periel’s island.

  Eladriel snatched the bottle. “Well?”

  “I could not steal the girl,” I said, head hanging. “After all, a clod like me could never hope to match the brilliance of a lord like you or Periel—”

  Eladriel grunted. “Don’t state the obvious.”

  “But,” I went on doggedly, “I have brought, as a pitiful consolation, a single song.”

  “A song?”

  “Just remove the stopper, my lord.”

  Eladriel, looking puzzled, did so. And Lora’s perfect voice drifted into the room.

  I forgot my peril, and tried to relish these last seconds of pleasure. Whatever happened, I would never hear that voice again. Eladriel shook his head, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. And beside me Aloma blew her huge nose into her hand. Some people are just gross.

  The song was nearly over now, and the voice began to climb.

  …melts in the palm…

  And the bottle shattered in Eladriel’s hand. He jumped, startled, and let the fragments fall to the floor.

  I felt a rush of blood and breathed deeply, exhilarated. Because—as I had hoped—there had been a second shattering, like an echo, from a shelf behind Eladriel; and I was whole again.

  Eladriel turned on me with a growl. I fell to my knees and talked fast. “My lord, I beg for mercy. I did all I could. You did say that a single song from Lora would be enough. And I’ve given you that…”

  Eladriel towered over me, breathing hard, the lingering beauty of the song obviously wrestling with his basic meanness. Finally he stepped back. “Very well, Sam. Get up. I’ll spare you. This time.”

  Surreptitiously, moved by an odd impulse, I scraped together a few fragments of the song bottle and pocketed them before I stood.

  “At least I heard Lora once. And I’m sure I can find more uses for you.” Eladriel turned and made for the alcove within which he’d placed the second bottl
e. “But you’d better improve your performance in the future. Remember I still hold your…”

  He fell silent. He’d reached the alcove, and was running a baffled hand through bits of glass. Then he swivelled, his face a rich purple.

  I stood there trying not to tremble, waiting to be struck down by Eladriel’s renewed rage.

  The moment stretched.

  Then, beside me, there was a hideous wheezing sound. It was Aloma laughing. Eladriel and I turned and stared.

  “The sh-song,” she spluttered. “It broke the oth-th-ther bosh-ttle and sh-set him free. He’sh tricked you, my lord…”

  She cackled on. And after a few seconds, wonder of wonders, Eladriel’s face creased into a smile. “She’s right. You’ve got the better of me, haven’t you? Go on. Get out.”

  “What?”

  “Get out!” he roared, laughing. “Before I change my mind.”

  I got.

  “…and that’s why,” Sam Warble finished, “I’m off gambling. Okay?” And he downed the last of his ale.

  Tarquin was rubbing his chin. “Not a bad yarn, I suppose, but it doesn’t quite tie up. What’s it got to do with the ring?”

  Sam looked surprised. “Why, isn’t it obvious? I took the fragments of Lora’s bottle and had them set in gold, as soon as I could afford it. Just a little souvenir.” And he stroked the ring tenderly.

  Tarquin shook his head and stood up. “No. That’s too glib, Sam. Good try Listen, do you want to come for some food down the Admiral’s Galley?”

  Sam smiled. “Not tonight. Leave me with my memories. I’ll be all right.”

  Tarquin laughed. “Suit yourself.”

  The others stood and pulled their coats closed. Maximilian picked up his cards. “Give you a tip, Sam.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You kept me with you until you got to the ogre. I just couldn’t swallow that bit. I mean, who would stake something as unique as a collection of giant bat droppings on a pathetic pair of Dragonkin? I ask you.” Shaking his head, he followed the rest.