Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I

by Chris Turner

  The Dakkaw nodded fulsomely. “Nine months ago and a day he spent with me. ’Tis a passing trifle amongst friends.”

  “No doubt.” Baus sucked in a breath of amazement. “How you guard an astute memory, Dakkaw. On the contrary, the time you describe comprises an appreciable duration. Your magnetism clearly parallels your hospitality then. What, pray tell, of ‘Mearl’? Is the peddler no longer residing at Bisiguth?”

  The Dakkaw roared and narrowed his brows in melancholy. “I regret that poor Mearl has perished. Which brings us to another topic—less dismal. ’Tis of the love that I have for a bride whom I wish to take within the next while. Perhaps even a fortnight. Forsooth, there are many complications in the endeavour! Capable maids are scarce in these parts, as you see, yet some few abound in the village of New Krintz, a hop and jog away—each with her own characteristics somewhat more supple and inviting than her peers. “Though each competes with her colleagues on those counts.” The Dakkaw dared a mischievous leer. “I daresay that I fear their reluctance to accept me as their suitor; nonetheless, I am not discouraged in this affair! I believe I have reached my final decision!”

  Valere’s put on a wry demeanour. “And who might this deciduous bride be?”

  The Dakkaw dropped a fist like a mallet on the table. “I resent that allusion, Captain. Should others accompany it, I shall have no course but to resort to unpleasant measures! The bride I have chosen is Delizra, the most beautiful maid and stunning example of artistry you have ever seen. An icon of pure rapture!—a maid so exquisite, so delicately configured as to be sublime, and notwithstanding her exemplary charm, the youngest daughter of the Lord Vulde, and indubitably, the finest.” His face had become a flushed mask of passion. “But it is best that I not speak of her.”

  “And why not?” called Baus, enthralled.

  The ogre stared at him as if he were daft. “By the simple fact that I may jinx the occasion and betray our imminent matrimony!”

  Baus nodded with assent. “All is explained. The possibility of jinxing another buxom maid who shall come knocking at your door and indulge in your sweet urgencies, is implicitly understood.”

  The Dakkaw eyed Baus with dubious annoyance. “I sense a flippant timbre to your declarations.”

  Baus assumed an innocent expression.

  Valere was fit to be tied and tugged fitfully at his knot-ringed beard. “Never mind the brides, Dakkaw! Where do we fit into this scheme of yours?”

  The Dakkaw sucked in his breath. “To answer that question, I must embark upon a long tale—if you care to hear . . .?”

  “It seems we have all night,” muttered the seaman.

  “Then! Delizra—well, let us forget her for an instant—it was I who was considered the black sheep of the community of Krintz. The villagers cast me out, years ago in fact, in light of my expansive corpus and my formidable appearance—they branded me an ‘ogre’ and threatened me never to return. What audacity—what outrage! Because of my unmatched appearance, they chose to ignore the hidden jewels lingering beneath, including my mettle and my expansive disposition and character. They shunned me, and persecuted me—not to mention, dismissed my many singular qualities and eccentricities.”

  “And what would these be?” inquired Baus.

  “There remains only my insatiable desire to collect gimcracks . . . Not just regular ‘gimcracks’,” he added rather woodenly, “anything of eye-catching appeal: diadems, oddments, trinkets, gewgaws, masonry, tools, scraps of wood, rope . . . even humans.” He added the tag with careless ease, as if hoping to gloss over a sore point.

  “How outré!” remarked Baus.

  “I thought so . . . but laugh if you like!” the ogre growled. “I have been exploited and abused enough by others as it is and now I choose to extract a vicarious revenge.” He clacked his tongue in triumph. “Now arrest your condescending murmurs and sneers! Perhaps you might think me unconventional, but I am what I am and I make no bones of it.”

  “Nor would we insist otherwise,” assured Baus.

  An accompanying informal wail issued from the floorboards below. The Dakkaw stamped his foot. The planks juddered with the furious impact. “Cedrek—quell your vapid jabbering before I slap you! Can you not see that Sir Baus is speaking and that I am entertaining?”

  Cedrek reluctantly desisted and Baus’s mouth dropped low. Toward the stairwell his eyes lingered. “Why is Cedrek so animated?”

  The Dakkaw bit his lips morosely: “Comrade Cedrek, is—well, or rather was—a wandering bandit who thought to rifle my collection of gems one fine afternoon. The activity was definitely discourteous and now he spends his time reflecting upon his misdeeds.”

  “Life contrives ingenious opportunities for self-development,” concurred Baus.

  The Dakkaw gave a curt nod.

  Valere grumbled forth his confusion: “The act seems foolhardy. What’s with this clod ‘Cedrek’? Considering the odds he was up against, the act seems more idiotic than bold.”

  “Agreed—as does Cedrek,” replied the Dakkaw with frank formality. “The burglar continues to lament his deeds . . . if only such a wretch had agreed to become my house guest for a certain small period! Now he sits in disgrace, confined in darkness and solitude in filth. I managed to extract from him that his father was Halfhan the butcher, another uncouth character from Krintz, who, like other bullies before his time, had committed flagrant insolences upon my person. Now Halfhan is retired, and half blind, and I find singularly ironic to note that Cedrek pays not only for his father’s offence, but his own.”

  “A handy package,” remarked Baus. “Now, let us speak of other matters. Do other guests repair at Bisiguth?”

  “No.”

  “Then we are three in total at Bisiguth?

  “Four, if you include Cedrek,” answered the Dakkaw truthfully, “—then there is Rilben of course.

  “Rilben?”

  “A very astute fellow! A genial assistant too! But know it that I have had up to twenty visitors at a time at Bisiguth.” The Dakkaw, pleased with the comment, simpered. “The numbers have waned over the years, of course, for reasons that include the cunning of the New Krintz people who spite me by erecting sharp pales over their doors, which are otherwise capped with onions and garlic and shallot to ward off my nocturnal indulgences.”

  “I gather you find these vegetables toxic?”

  “I most absolutely do!”

  “A crassly cunning lot, these villagers!” fumed Baus.

  “Neither do I season my meats, pastes and compotes or pâtés with onions. Which reminds me—I have invited you jacks to dinner! Swag back your beverages, lads, and partake of a glass or two more! Tonight we dine on lavish viands!—fresh hare, roasted with pâté a l’orange and breadcrumb-stuffed pheasant!”

  Baus clapped his hands with delight. “A splendid choice, Dakkaw! We shall sup and bathe, after which, my friend and I shall take our leave of you. We have urgent business in New Krintz and shall not wait for spoilings.”

  “A project most unfeasible!” chided the Dakkaw. “You must lodge here with me tonight. Anything else is simply insulting and a disparagement of my geniality!” He wattled his throat, an act which Baus found unnerving.

  The Dakkaw donned an affectionate smile. “Again these hasty words, and more simply voiced from an impassioned perspective. As salubrious as one night’s rest shall prove, another shall be better—”

  “Another?” Valere inquired.

  The Dakkaw banged an impassioned fist down on the table. “Two nights! A measly period. This is all I ask. A visit of this length is not inordinate! Three or four moons is more seemly a duration—much more of what I had in mind.”

  Valere pitched a groan. He glided to his feet in poignant disbelief. He stared at the ogre. “Are you off your crown, Dakkaw? You wish us to stay here for four months?”

  “Yes, plain and simple,” asserted the Dakkaw, spreading palms. The display of jubilance seemed more met with stupefaction than anything. “Where
is the problem? I resent your insolence. Is there something ailing with my communication?”

  Baus shook his head. “’Tis only that the Captain is stunned and thinks that things are happening so fast! After all, we just met you. As mentioned, Valere and I have plans to travel post haste to Krintz.”

  “Then you must abandon these fly-by-night programs and abide by my new schedule! I have need of company—a thirst in fact which shall have no quenching. What the Dakkaw wishes, the Dakkaw gets!” He boomed out the words in ominous tones.

  Valere was less than thrilled with the idea. “And how shall we occupy our time in this gloomy warren of yours?”

  The Dakkaw fiddled his fingers. “This is your own worry.”

  Baus offered a stout affirmation to Valere’s concerns. “We shall tire of our insipid solitude here. Like Mearl, we shall languish in boredom!”

  “Arrest these paltry fears of yours, boy! By day I hunt, I garden and conduct my crafts, by night I boil rutabaga and radish, and together we must feast upon wegmor meats and wild hares sizzling over slow fires. Dining amicably, we shall come to know only peace and exaltation—withal, for weeks on end. Such a splendid way in which to pass the time!”

  The Dakkaw paused to reminisce. “Warmth, care and comfort, ah! There is nothing like it. Withal, free from conflict and idle jabber. You shall have free rein of my abbey during the period in which to study my marvellous collection—rich with folios, curios and artifacts. I harbour trophies, coins and collectibles galore! When I return from my hunting expeditions, you can oblige yourselves in amusing me with your tales—which I might add, neither of you jacks have shared but a single word.”

  “You speak in truth,” observed Baus languidly, “but what if we wish to accompany you on these hunts? Shall we mope about Bisiguth’s dreary and dismal fastnesses while you enjoy the thrill of the chase?”

  The Dakkaw regarded Baus from under sullen, drooping lids. “Do you take me for a lout? What would stop you from disappearing into the brake?”

  Baus manufactured an offended croak. “That would constitute an impudence, disappearing before dinner. Would you think so lowly of us?”

  The Dakkaw frowned at the possibility. He pulled at his chin. “Perhaps! But I am not one for dichotomies. Tomorrow we will initiate the program.” He grumbled under his breath and said that at least he would consider the matter. “In the meantime, we must sup!” Happily the ogre skipped to the scullery, from where he returned carrying heaping tureens of stewed rabbit and herbs, which Baus and Valere reluctantly devoured.

  VII

  Over dinner, the Dakkaw went to fetch another bottle of wine, during which period Baus learned that only a handful of Heagramers had escaped the snauzzerhound jaws. The Constables, according to Valere, raced about scouring the wilderness like jackals, yet had failed to root out Dighcan, Zestes, Lopze, Karlil and himself, all of whom had fled north. Zestes had chosen to follow the road to Hamhuzzle, in hopes of escape. The others had fled south. Karlil, Lopze and Valere had been separated on the road to Hamhuzzle when a merchant had startled them, scattering their numbers with his wagon. Fearing discovery, all had bolted in opposite directions.

  The Dakkaw returned with a mouth full of hare, urging the twain to continue with their interesting stories which he had only half heard from the kitchen. Baus plied the ogre from a different tack, questioning him on the origin of Bisiguth and the desolate ruins.

  “Bisiguth is that manor erected by Baron Bisiguth,” he said, “an eccentric visionary of Taven. In the early part of this age the estate was constructed by renowned architects, hence the hyperbole of the floating spheres. The city is in fact the site of Old Krintz, which is that settlement of quality which you see around you. Beyond the ruins lies the more modern village of New Krintz, a few leagues farther west—whose odious stench I deplore. The monuments, pillars and statues littered about Old Krintz were once the glorious possessions of our ruler barons—of that ancient realm of the south—Morveuntz, far beyond Owlen and Karsh. The forefathers sailed north by barque. They founded the capital of Kereuntz, which later was renamed ‘Krintz’. Since then, it has dwindled to a straggling ruin, half forgotten. Bisiguth is that stronghold ruled by Noblore, and a succession of noblemen—the daring Estyon and Griffax whose armour and plates you see dressed on the wall, which give me great pleasure to display.”

  Valere deigned an intrusion: “I recall passing ruins myself on my way north while pondering the legends. I heard myths of similar nature—that the realm of ‘Kereuntz’ and its ancient brother ‘Fereuntz’ were still intact—at least the remnants of glory. But I never believed it to be this vast! I am baffled and humbled in the extreme. The enchantment that we suffered from those wretched flowers—it has something to do with the magic of those old days?”

  “Right, Captain. Back when Kereuntz basked in all its glory, countless adepts roamed the regions, versed in the arts of sorcery, but it was not until Kereuntz’s full days of waning that an alchemist named Murtle created an amazing potion—an elixir of such potent distillation that she let it sit in a quiet glade to temper, and cure it of its mettle. While she was away, a vicious storm blew from the sea. It brought howling winds and rain to plague the coast and cause her ewer to overflow, spilling out a putrid, yellow scum, blighting the land. Something had gone dreadfully wrong. Murtle’s spell had backfired. Gorse, twitch, spikenard, furze—all such plants perished. Only asphodel, acacia and gardenia survived—flora yellow, for reasons only known to Murtle’s understanding. The flowering seeds spread, drifting to other glades. They infected other flora with caustic blights. Whatever the original portent of the spell was, it was lost to record, but it remains only to eat or inhale of Murtle’s asphodel, to become infected, then drowsing until such time as one is rescued from the peril.”

  Baus and Valere only framed solemn acknowledgements to the lore and the Dakkaw, while reclining in his chair, let his eyes pass glistening over their scruffy attire with a thoughtful intent. He motioned to the brass instruments affixed along the wall. “These gongs are the very same that the troubadours of old Kereuntz used to ring on the hachylons—those rowers of excellent quality who propelled the hefty vessels across the seas.” His eyes grew rheumy. “How the dragon galleys, their prows carven with sea harpies and griffins, used to ply the routes between Kereuntz and Haikken! They fought dire foes and made trade in days of yore. Days of adventure those were—surely not to be revisited again in these torpid times today.”

  Valere grunted: “Haikken is the modern day port of Owlen?”

  The Dakkaw nodded. “From where Prince Arnin now commands his fleet. I hear he makes his private war with the Poesasian buccaneers with avidity.” The ogre turned his moody gaze on Valere. “Notice the poison nettles hanging from the oriels.” He pointed a finger to the vaulted ceiling. “One touch, and the victim falls paralyzed to doom. Is this not frightful and ruinous?”

  “It is an unnecessary precaution!” cried Valere.

  Baus bit his lip. “Surely there is little chance of burglars entering from such heights?”

  “Burglars, no!” the Dakkaw cried, laughing. “But guests? You would be surprised at the number of ingrates who would seek to strap ladders, ropes, stilts, mauls, lassoes, barbs and anything else to seek egress from my manse. They wish to cause me irreparable injury. Such tactlessness and cunning is without bound!”

  “It hardly seems conceivable!” Baus cried adamantly. “What person would breach such a covenant of etiquette?” He motioned to the strange contraption beside Noblore’s ancient armour. “What of this eldritch coat-rack and its coils? It seems a seven-foot high shaft, burnished of larch!”

  “Aye, on it are attached many sizeable rings of various colours.”

  “Is it too a relic of long-perished Kereuntz? I see each ring affixed by mechanisms most peculiar.”

  “It is not a relic!” stormed the Dakkaw. “It is an invention: a game called ‘Whig the rigs’—of my own innovation.”

  “Indee
d! Is anyone eligible to play?”

  “Naturally! ‘Whig the rigs’ is designed for two or more players. Shall we try?”

  “Why not? I profess to interest,” cried Baus.

  The Dakkaw nodded, as if he did not seem to find the circumstance implausible. He explained that each player was to choose a poker, attempt dislodging a ring in such a way as to incommode its neighbour’s opponent’s ring—or at least halting its progress at midway. “But take note!” the Dakkaw cried fervently. “The rings harbour different weights and sizes. The lengths of each chain holding the rings are calculated to confound a player into committing faults. Attention is due to promote interesting play!”

  Baus agreed.

  The Dakkaw selected pokers; the ogre handed Baus a stout limb and a smaller one to Valere. He urged them to house their rings, but Baus lifted a hand, insisting that other noteworthy items were to be given attention along the farther wall, to which the Dakkaw agreed.

  A short, squat, apish creature suddenly thrust itself out of the darkness. It had a plump, grinning face.

  The Dakkaw clapped his hands. “Ah, Rilben. You arrive! Not getting into mischief, I hope?” He was pleased with the presence of the creature.

  “Nothing of the sort, sir!” squeaked Rilben. “I was just cleaning up these ceremonial cymbals and antediluvian disks.”

  “What an excellent person you are! You are a nonpareil!”

  “True.”

  Rilben, as Baus saw, stood no more than waist high to the Dakkaw. The ape was armed with a grey, goblin face and wore fancy shoes. A small leather skull-helmet with ear flaps was affixed to his skull. An embroidered gown over immaculate breast armour, and a set of tweed pantaloons which precisely matched his cornflower cravat covered the rest of his body. The creature harboured a parrot-like strut, which under the circumstances, and with its broad shoulders and matching lanky arms, seemed to smack of incongruity. Needless to say, it was not Baus’s place to criticize.