The Walrus and the Warwolf coaaod-4

by Hugh Cook

  Life with hard labour turned out to mean life as a galley-slave on the Velvet River. And a bitter life it was, as summer yielded to autumn and the bitter winds began to preach of the winter yet to come.

  Drake, to his dismay, found himself shackled to a rowing bench between two terrible bores. One was a dismal pedant who knew seventeen different languages and corrected Drake's grammar every time he opened his mouth.

  'You were talking in your sleep last night,' said the pedant one morning. 'You said, "Zanya I love thou." It should have been "Zanya I love thee." '

  'You're wrong,' said Drake. 'It should have been "Zanya I lust for you." ''It would be more elegant to say, "It is you I lust for." '

  And this could well go on for half a day, unless they were rowing at such a pace that they needed all their breath for their labour.

  The other bore was a gabeller who had embezzled a trifling amount of official money.

  'They convicted me of making off with an undeclared amount. I was sentenced to labour on the galleys until I'd paid it back. What did I need to pay? Why, an undeclared amount. What, five skilders, or five million? Why, none of those, they said, for none of those is an undeclared amount. So I held out an empty palm, declaring I was offering them an undeclared amount. Why, no, they said, that is not any kind of amount whatsoever. That is nothing! So here I stay forever!'

  Which made a nice enough story the first time around, but Drake, who heard it twice a day, pretty soon knew it by heart.

  The galley he was on rowed right regular between Selzirk and Androlmarphos. At Selzirk they were fed on horsemeat from a knackery in Jone; in 'Marphos they were fed with fish; in between cities, they were fed with bread and lentils. The meals were vast, as befitted their backbreaking labours: but the meals were also, of course, monotonous.

  But the rivertalk gave variety to their life, for talk went from galley to galley when ships were rafted up together on the river, or tied up at the docks, and few movements by land or sea were secret from the river.

  Thus Drake was one of the first to hear of disaster in the south.

  At first the rumours were wild, and scanty on detail, therefore little to be believed. But, as autumn chilled to winter, rumour firmed to fact. Drangsturm had been destroyed. The flame trench which had guarded the north against the terror-lands was no more. The Confederation of Wizards had destroyed itself in war. The monsters of the Swarms were marching north.

  And now Drake's galley was on the river by day and night, taking wealth and panic from Selzirk to 'Marphos, where wealth and panic took ship for foreign parts, quitting forever the shores of civilization.

  So the work was harder than ever. But the galley-slaves were glad now to be galley-slaves, for that meant, surely, that they would be working their way to freedom when their own craft finally took to the open waters as the menace of the Swarms got closer.

  Then came the day when a Neversh was sighted flying over the Velvet River.The next day, two were seen. The day after, a dozen.

  And then, come dawn on the next day, attacks on shipping began.

  The owner of Drake's galley made his decision at 'Marphos. He had his slaves cut free from their rowing benches and chased ashore at spearpoint. Then he sold places on those rowing benches to the high and mighty, taking his pay in pearls and diamonds. Then forth to sea set the galley, leaving the slaves on shore.

  So there was Drake, out of work. He still had a great big iron ring clamped around his left ankle, and from it dragged a great big length of rusty chain, at the end of which was another iron ring, still embedded in the chunk of rowing bench which had been cut away so that Drake could be set free.He counted himself lucky.

  If they'd really been in a hurry, they could have cut off his foot so they could pull his leg free from its ankle-ring.

  First off, he found a blacksmith's shop. There he took a file to his chains, and freed himself from all impedimenta. Then he went to the docks, confident that he could work a passage to foreign parts. He was a sailor, tested and true. Better still, he could lie, cheat, bluff and fight, if necessary. Or stow away.

  But the docks were bare, but for a carousing mob of slaves, soldiers, whores, thieves, beggars, apprentices, lawyers' clerks, junior tax accountants and similar scum, indulging in an orgy of drinking, looting and wanton copulation.

  If Drake had been sixteen and senseless, he would have joined them. But he was twenty, a seasoned survivor who had lived through shipwreck, slaughter, torture, imprisonment and assorted disaster. More to the point, he had gone chest to chest with one of the Neversh when that monster had attacked Jon Arabin's fine ship, the Warwolf; he knew at first hand what most others had seen only at a distance, or not at all.'Debauchery can wait,' said Drake to Drake. And went looting.

  Unlike others, he did not make a heap of bolts of silk and crates of glasswear, marble statues and porcelain vases, women's underwear and ornamental snuffboxes, polished silver and golden candlesticks.No.

  He secured, instead, a length of bamboo, which nobody else thought worth fighting for. He found carrying bags to sling at each end of that pole, which he then carried across his shoulders. While others dreamed of gemstones, he lusted for a tinder box, a cooking pot, a waterskin, and a sheepskin rug in which he could roll himself at night.

  When he had these, he sought rice, flour, dried beans, dried meat, nuts and cheese. Then agoodpairof new boots. Five changes of socks. A rain cape. A knife. A sword-belt complete with scabbard and blade.

  He slung the sword-belt so the sword hung down his back. It would have to swim rivers with him, as would his clothes. Everything else, he rolled up, together with big chunks of cork, in pieces of canvas, and stuffed into the carrying bags, the mouths of which he then knotted tight with good rope.

  Now he was ready to ford the many branches of the river delta. Now he was ready for the cold, wet, muck and mud of winter on the Harvest Plains. Which way now? North, of course. To Selzirk. For that was where Zanya had been last.

  He lifted his burden to his shoulders. The bamboo pole bent alarmingly at both ends. The weight was crushing. But it would float, yes, wrapped up nicely with plenty of cork it would float all right.

  And he was strong, and young, and fit, and used to working a brutal day on the oars.

  And, thanks to his terrible experiences in Penvash, Drake knew all about travelling light. It's nice to dream about but murder to do.'Move!' said Drake to Drake.

  And got going.

  At the gates of Androlmarphos, Drake was accosted by a woman who made him an offer of lust. But, to his own amazement, he refused the offer, and trudged out into the rains sweeping the open plains.

  Heading north.

  57

  Chenameg: small mountain-ringed kingdom east of the Harvest Plains. The Velvet River flows east through the deep and narrow Manaray Gorge, enters the kingdom at a point known as the Gates of Chenameg, and exits the kingdom through the Mountain Gap (which is all of fifty leagues across).Mud. Rain.Leagues of loneliness underfoot.

  Drake dreamed that a disaster befell the sky, and every star cried out in torture. He dreamed that he was born to starvation, born to die of leprosy and kwashiorkor.He woke.Monsters moved on the horizons.The Swarms were on the march.

  Fell beasts of nightmare. Grim and eale. Clawing their way north. Ravening as they went. Destroying nations.'These are the last days,' murmured Drake.

  And watched the Swarms until dayfail, when the monsters settled to sleep.

  Drake marched by night, sheltered in a ditch at dawn, and slept.

  He dreamed that gold turned to lead, silver to fish scales, bread to stone. In his dreams, nations lay dying. A woman with skin dark with bruising lay close to death, her breathing laboured. Time conjured the labefaction of

  the sun. Ice whispered over the world, drowning the music of the last kithara.He woke.It was evening.

  Something monstrous was moving near his ditch. He could feel its weight shaking the ground. He lay very, very still. Scarcely t
rusting himself to breathe.The thing lumbered on toward the north.Night fell. And, with it, rain.Drake walked.

  And saw the towers of Selzirk, dimly, through the veiling rain. 'Zanya,' he said.

  She would be there, surely, Selzirk would hold out even against the Swarms. It was a city great in power. Selzirk was protected by the battle-walls, Ol Ilkeen and Ol Unamon. How could such strength be broken?

  Drake wanted to push on to Selzirk that night. But, in the end, fatigue conquered desire; he halted at a good distance, camping in a sparse grove of trees. He rested, ate, slept, and dreamed.

  He dreamed of icy-pearled mountains marching, of dragons with ianthine eyes, of leper dancing with beggar, of a million children burning on a perfumed pyre, of a seven-fingered gytrash of alabaster white which fingered the dead red flesh of the woman he loved (if love was what he thought it).He woke.Night.Silence after rain. Cold moon rising.

  A tiny dark shadow trying to scuffle its way into his food stock.'Gently, friend mouse,' said Drake.

  Scaring it away. But not far. Maybe it was too cold or sick or hungry to run far. Drake threw it some ironbread, which the damp of the ground would soon enough soften for consumption. Then ate himself. Then marched.He was on the north bank.

  As he neared the walls of Selzirk, he saw something monstrous coming down the Velvet River. So he went to ground, and watched. But it was only an abandoned gabbart floating downstream, listing heavily to larboard.

  Even after the gabbart had gone by, Drake still lay there. Reluctant to move. He realized he was frightened. But of what? It was night: the Swarms would not resume their march until dawn. And he was Close to the safety of Selzirk, was he not? Surely the city would open it's gates at night. Yes. Sending scavenging parties into the countryside. They would welcome him, would they not? A strong swordsman. A new hero for their ranks.'March,' said Drake to Drake.

  And shouldered bamboo, and marched. Every step meant pain, for, despite padding, the bamboo had long since rubbed his shoulders raw.

  Ahead, a bridge arched across the river in one sweet span, beyond the possibilities of any engineering known to the earthbound humanity which Drake knew.T dream this,' he said.

  But, when he closed the distance, he was able to soothe his fingers over its chill, which was smooth as fine-glazed porcelain. The moon shone bright on the bridge, which had no walls or guardrails.'The Swarms built this,' said Drake to Drake.The moon shone on the river.An endless river of tears.'Onward,' said Drake.

  And went onward, and was soon walking in the shadow of Ol Ilkeen, the outer wall of the ruling city of the Harvest Plains. Looking up, he saw by moonlight strange, hunched shapes on the top of the battlements. What were they? Some kind of weapon? He wondered if he should cry out.

  But he did not.

  A fugitive's caution kept him silent. He thought:What if Plovey rules in Selzirk? That would be terrible! Yes.He should go carefully.

  He should try to find out who ruled the city before he announced himself.

  The moon had gone behind shadow by the time Drake gained the stoneway of the Salt Road. He stood before the north gate, a shadow amidst shadows.Something vast lay between him and the gate.What was it?

  A pyramid of some kind. A great heap of . . . what? Stone? Perhaps it was a new defence, built beyond Ol Ilkeen in order to strengthen the defences of the gate.A shift of cloud unveiled a fragment of the moon.

  Something glinted in the pyramid which stood between Drake and the gate.Something moved.

  Then the moon slipped clear of the cloud, and all was revealed. Drake was standing on the Salt Road scarcely a dozen paces from a huge pyramid made of sleeping monsters, all jigsawed together for safety against the night.'Saaa!' hissed Drake.Then hissed no more.

  For the pyramid was shifting, changing, extending claws, tentacles, flaps, fins. Moonlight blazed upon open eyes. Huge eyes. Crystalline. Utterly alien.Drake stood as if turned to ice.He was a statue.

  On the battlements, a huddled shape uncoiled, flexed, extended itself, opened wings. It was a Neversh!The battlements were lined with Neversh!

  The moon slid behind shadows.

  And Drake went to his knees, unburdened himself of his bamboo pole, sank to his belly then crawled for the roadside ditch. He moved as quietly as blood running across the deck of a ship. He gained the ditch. And began to shudder.

  Much later, moonlight found him still lying there. Tentatively, he peered over the lip of the ditch. He could not see the gate for the mound of monsters. He had to know!

  Drake crawled along the ditch. Twigs, leaves and thorns cracked and snapped beneath his weight. He advanced regardless.

  Then risked another look. He was beyond the monster mound by now. But he still could not see. Where the gate should be, there was darkness. In a moment of madness, Drake got to his feet. Step by step, he advanced. Until he stood within the gateway. Within the shadows. He went on.

  And found himself in the streets of Selzirk.

  By the polished silver light of the moon, he saw the shattered shadows of half-demolished buildings. Saw another mound of monsters heaped up a hundred paces away. Why did they heap themselves like that? For security? For bodywarmth? Did they have warm bodies?Drake turned.He moved as if in a dream.He knew what he had to do.

  He had to regain his bamboo pole and the makeshift valises which it supported. Everything he needed to survive was there: warmth, food, tinder-box. There would be no food between here and Chenameg, not in a land ravaged by refugees and by the Swarms.As if in a trance, he walked past the mound of monsters.A claw extended.Touched him on the shoulder.He stood quite still.Waiting.For what?To die.The claw dug into his flesh.The moon . . . shifted behind cloud . . . then emerged again . . . then . . . was swallowed by a whale-bellied thunderhead of cloud . . .. . . and the claw . . .The claw relaxed, shifted.Drake dropped to his knees.The claw fell free.Scraped on the stones of the Salt Road.Drake, on his belly, flowed away, soundless, silent.

  Regained his bamboo pole, shouldered the weight, and stepped to the edge of the Salt Road. And started counting paces. Once he had counted off a hundred paces, he stopped. Now was the time to scream, to cry, to weep, to vomit.He did none of those things.

  Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed for a while, very slowly, very quietly. Concentrating on his breath. Breath is life. So said the weapons muqaddam.T am alive,' said Drake.

  He was alive, even though Selzirk had fallen. He was alive, even though the world had ended. And what now? Well, he had decided that already – the only chance was to push on east. To Chenameg.

  Burdened by his bamboo pole, Drake marched. And did not stop for rest until he was exhausted. By that time, it was dawn.He laid himself down in a ditch, and he slept.And dreamed.

  And why, in his dreams, did the moon run red with blood? Why did he hear his father screaming as he fell from a coalcliff in Stokos, to die on the white-fanged rocks of the sea? Why did he dream himself dead, with Plovey his god in the after world? Why did he wake weeping?'Courage,' whispered Drake to Drake.And, that day, he lengthened his footsteps.

  And, in time, saw mountains amidst the clouds to north and to south. And passed through the Mountain Gap, thus leaving the Harvest Plains for Chenameg.

  Rough ground. Huge forests dark with ancient trees.

  Tall bamboo, talking in the ever-weeping wind. Mud. Quarry pits. Abandoned mines. The hutches of poverty. A burnt-out town. A single giant centipede, which he evaded.

  He came upon a scene of slaughter. A Galish kafila had been attacked. Dead men and dead camels lay together, maggots swarming within their flesh without favour. Everything worth having had been looted; all that remained was bales of hemp and ixtle, urns of coffee and hyson, blocks of nephrite jade and ingots of steel.No food.

  That evening, Drake came upon three men who sat by the river, cooking an animal of sorts on a gad. Rough men they were, with the smell of blood about them.'What's that you're cooking?' asked Drake.'Aardvark,' came the answer.'It looks good,' said Drake
.

  And, when they saw he accepted their lie, they let him sit and share. Which he did, even though he knew the animal was human.'What's your name, young gaberlunzie?' they asked.

  'Oleg,' said Drake, thinking his uncle's name would serve as well as any other for the moment.

  And he let them feed him strong drink, pretending to fuzzle himself on the liquor. When they saw the cup tremble in his hands, tremble enough to make wavelets jabble from side to side, they drew knives and attacked.But of course their victim was still stone cold sober.

  And, shortly, two corpses lay at Drake's feet. The third man was in the river. Drake resented his departure, for the villain had carried away Drake's sword as he fell backwards (very dead) into the waterflow.'A knife will serve for the moment,' said Drake.

  And made camp, for he had good meat to smoke for proper preservation before he pushed on east.

  And then, through rain and mud and mist and cloud, he persevered upriver, coming in due course to the Gates of Chenameg.

  Here the Velvet River entered Chenameg, boiling out through a narrow gorge. A path clung to the southernmost flank of that precipitous gorge. The path offered the only road inland; elsewhere, gaunt cliffs confronted the traveller.But none could follow the path for free.

  A gang of the rough and the reckless had set themselves up as masters of the Gates of Chenameg. They had built a huge gabionade to deny public access to the path. This gabionade had no gates; the only way to enter was by rope ladders, which were lowered at need then pulled up again.

  To get through, and travel further inland, it was necessary to pay with food, gold, jade, jewels or women.

  But, as yet, the need of the travelling public was not desperate. For, as yet, few monsters of the Swarms had been sighted in Chenameg. So a huge refugee camp had grown up in front of the Gates of Chenameg. And here, in a squalor of mud and filth and rain and refuse, thousands of the half-starved eked out their rations, traded, bartered, cheated, gambled, pimped, whored, stole, fought, and patronized a rabble of astrologers and fortune tellers.