by Eric Flint
"I am not at all sure that I do," he said at length. "But the King has called for you and I will therefore introduce you to the August Presence. Whatever else, do nothing to alarm him."
With that, Gerard passed through the far entry, Zulkeh and Shelyid following behind. Beyond, they perceived a drawn and haggard visage, who rose from a rather shabby throne, eyes streaming with tears.
"Oh Gerard!" moaned this figure. "Who have you brought to torment me now?" His face contorted, became vicious with remembered treasons. "I have kenned your plot—you seek to drive me mad!"
King Roy tottered forth, gesticulating with some energy. "And what are my loyal subjects about today? Setting mantraps for my police? Cutting down my forests? Poaching my game? Eating my herds? Scoffing my heralds? Stoning my tax collectors?"
He scuttled forward, in an obliquely crablike manner, and thrust his face into Zulkeh's. "And who're you?" he demanded.
"I am Zulkeh," spoke the mage, "the sorcerer whom you summoned."
"I summoned?" King Roy frowned. "Why, yes, so I did." He peered at Zulkeh suspiciously. "You don't look like a sorcerer."
Before Zulkeh could respond, the King waved his hand in a gesture of infinite weariness.
"Well, I'm the King of Goimr. And believe me, it's no picnic. When my grandfather was King nobody fooled with him, let me tell you. If they did, he took their property, sold their family into slavery, and cut them up to feed his racing dogs. But today the plebes are so wanton nobody knows who their families are, and all their belongings are already mortgaged to the Consortium. The last peon I cut up for feed gave my kennel the runs and I missed the sweepstakes." King Roy paused, disconsolate. "I needed the money, too."
Zulkeh made to speak. "Your Majesty's Chief Counselor, Gerard—"
"That traitor!" shrieked the King. He leveled a quavering finger at Gerard and the other courtiers, who were gathered on the opposite side of the room. "They're all miscreants, the lot of 'em. I pay them a fortune to sit on my Council of Ministers, but their avarice knows no bounds. Gerard, here, is in the pay of the Ecclesiarchs, and that one—there!—he's the Minister of War, runs a pool on the exact time of my assassination. Were it not for my sense of duty I'd abdicate and let that ingrate who claims to be my son try his hand at this miserable business, assuming he could learn to count his fingers."
Gerard detached himself from the knot of councilors and came to Zulkeh's side.
"Your Majesty is ill-served by lending credence to such rumors," he soothed. "I dally with the Ecclesiarchs to obtain information, not to give it out. Naturally I must accept their bribes, lest they suspect my motives. As for the War Minister's pool, its purpose is solely to draw forth would-be assassins that they might be the more promptly dispatched by your efficient executioners.
"But let us now to the business at hand," he continued, spreading his arms in a calming gesture. "The wizard Zulkeh is here at your express request, to dispel the fears roused by—"
"Dispel the fears!" shrilled King Roy. "What good can a wizard do? I was mad to even think of it!" Here he glared most ferociously at Zulkeh.
"Ha! You—wizard! Can you conjure up a battalion of troops who won't flee from their own shadows? Can you cast a stupefying spell over the entire populace, so that these ministers of mine could deal with them as equals? Can you? Can you? Ha! Wizard—ha! Fraud! Impostor!"
Then, even as the thundercloud enfolds its roiling fury round the granite crown of the awesome peak, so did the mage's brow o'erboil with rage.
"Silence!" he spoke. "I perceive that civilization has decayed even further than I feared, since respect for Knowledge has fled not only the brute masses upon whom its hold was always faint, but the puissant as well."
The King of Goimr gibbered in outrage, but the wizard paid no heed. Indeed, he spoke further.
"Yet in these paltrous times do I live, and living so must need support the temporal power, no matter its feeble merit, lest chaos reign supreme. This truth, however, renders it imperative for the secular representatives of Order to grasp at least the rudiments of science. For know, Your Majesty, that truth reveals not itself as itself. Nay, fie upon such witless notions! Rather does Reason insinuate itself through the obscure—to most, the opaque. It moves through the angularities of logic, the vectors of analysis, the immanence of the unfolding speculation. Surely you grasp my point?"
Zulkeh paused to observe the King's response. As the latter was still gabbling in mindless fury, the wizard cut impatiently to the core.
"What, then," he demanded, "was the nature and content of this dream?"
And at that, at the very mention of the word, King Roy's distemper fled like a ghost. His eyes rolled wildly. "My dream!" he shrieked, and collapsed to the floor.
CHAPTER III.
A Portentous Dream—Its Contents Revealed. The Mage Is Troubled in His Mind. King Roy's Wrath. The Mage Elucidates. King Roy's Anxiety. The Wizard Is Commanded!
"The hair—the hair!—everywhere I turned—pulling me down, binding my limbs—then! My tongue—caught! Caught, I say, caught!—grasped by a great beard sprung suddenly up before me, coiling about like a thousand serpents, writhing and twisting—but worse—it spoke! Yes, it spoke, I say! The beard spoke! Oh God, did it speak—on and on and on and on, babbling in some heathen tongue.
"But I couldn't speak—it was horrible! I couldn't give orders—not a one!—and me, a King! And who ever heard of a beard speaking, anyway? Certainly not to a King! I mean, what's happened here to the basic rules?
"Then it was worse still—for suddenly it wasn't just the one great beard, oh no! Thousands of beards, millions of them, millions I tell you! Little ones mostly—but so many! Everywhere—growing over the whole palace, sprouting up everywhere—right on my dinner plate, I tell you!
"I couldn't move, couldn't lift a finger—every finger was held down by beards! And worst of all—I couldn't give orders, not a one—and me, a King! The great beard still had me by the tongue!
"But it got worse! For then—all the beards started to speak! Oh God and what a fearful racket they made—millions and millions of little beards, all of them gabbling away in hundreds of barbarous tongues, not one of which made any proper sense.
"Then—suddenly—the beards let me go! I jumped up—ran away—they all hissed at me but they let me go—I thought—but I was wrong! For just when I thought I was getting away I saw this figure before me. Not much—something small. But it was hideous! Hairy and frightful!—and then! It started to grow! It wasn't small at all! No! It tricked me! And me—a King! It was huge! It was gigantic! And it kept growing and growing, higher and higher—o horrible! Horrible! Horrible!
"No more," wept King Roy. "No more—the rest is lost, I remember no more. It is all like a black stain, all other memory is lost." He fell silent, hunched on his throne, scepter clenched in bony fist, ashen-faced, eyes haggard and unseeing.
"So," spoke Zulkeh, musing in deep thought. At length he emerged from his contemplation. "I must ponder upon this matter, Your Majesty. A most profound maloneirophrenia! Now had it been snakes which grasped you so, 'twould be a simple problem. Snakes are a trifle. Ropes are also quickly fathomed. Tentacles, likewise. But beards? That is quite a different matter."
The mage fell silent, lost for some moments in his thoughts, then spoke again. "Your Majesty, this problem will require my full study, the application of my most cunning dialectic. But rest assured—the solution will emerge in due time."
"Time?" demanded King Roy. "How much time?"
" 'Tis difficult to say, Your Majesty. Certainly weeks, probably months, possibly years."
"Months!" screeched King Roy. "Years!" His eyes bulged. "I don't have years! I must know now! I must know the danger, that I may take steps to avert it!"
"Bah!" oathed Zulkeh. "Think you a question of such gravity—a portent of such overwhelming peril—can be discerned in its unveiled essence in the twinkling of an eye? Years, I said, and years it may well be. I shall almost certainly
be forced to travel to divers and odd locations, heathen lands and the like, where beard lore is most fully developed."
Then did apoplexy seize upon the royal visage. "You are hereby commanded by royal edict to report to me at this palace one week from today!"
"Utterly impossible!" spoke the mage. "One week could barely allow me to scratch the surface of the problem."
"Two weeks, then—and not a minute more!" And with these words King Roy lowered his head, grasping it in both hands. "Go now!" he groaned.
* * *
"What does it all mean, master?" asked the dwarf later, as they rode through the crooked alleys back to their domicile.
"It means ill, Shelyid, great ill," spoke the wizard in a dark voice. "Of what ill, and whence, I know nothing as yet. But the truth is there, and I shall unearth it—never fear!—wherever the search may take us."
"Us?" queried Shelyid. "Us, master?" His beady eyes began to glaze. "But what have I to do with searching out great ills, master?" He whined in his throat. "That sounds dangerous, searching for great ills and perils and such. I am no mighty mage such as yourself, to wander about the world like that. I'm just a dwarf, a wretched dwarf."
"True, quite true," agreed Zulkeh, patting the gnome's head. "But you will be needed to carry my things."
And then did the wizard launch into a most learned discourse, opening up to Shelyid's understanding the necessary place of the burden carrier in history, recounting tales of faithful servitors of yore and their role in sundry legendary exploits of ancient sorcerers and warlocks, in which these humble drudges found not only their proper place but a share as well (paltry though it was) of the glory and—alas, usually—the gory end of these selfsame puissant probers of the unknown. But, in truth, his exposition was in vain, for his apprentice had long since fainted dead away, whether in awe at such deep and profound thoughts or in horror at the now-revealed impermanence of his fate, it is difficult to say.
CHAPTER IV.
A Wizard's Travail. Failure—But the Truth Revealed Therein. The Dwarf Reproved. The Wizard's Decision. The Dwarf Reproved. The Wizard's Command. The Dwarf Reproved.
In the days which followed, Shelyid's fears slowly abated. For it seemed, after all, that the wizard had no intention of departing his domicile. To the contrary, Zulkeh did now forego even the morning promenades which he had in the past enjoyed upon occasion. Not once did he leave the death house.
Yet this sedentary life bespoke not sloth on the mage's part. Quite the contrary—never had Shelyid seen the wizard so engrossed in his work. At all times Zulkeh could be found in his study or laboratory, delving into the sorcerous arts, taking neither rest nor sustenance. Soon the multitude of tomes, tablets and scrolls which filled their domicile became disarranged even further, as the mage investigated their arcanities. Odd experiments did he conduct, in the course of which many revolutionary advances in the field of alchemy were achieved, only to be impatiently discarded as irrelevant to the task at hand. Bizarre talismans did he bring forth, applying to them the most peculiar incantations. Conjurations, summonings—more than once did Shelyid flee in terror as the misty form of some fell creature from the netherworld took shape, called up by the wizard's lore.
But all was in vain. The truth lay hidden, the secret of the King's dream obscure. At length, after a week of frenzied study, Zulkeh ceased his travails. Then for four days did he remain ensconced in his chair in the study, pondering silently. Around him Shelyid tiptoed, careful not to disturb his master's musings—although on one occasion the loyal apprentice made so bold as to brush off the dust which had accumulated upon the wizard's immobile person.
The wizard remained undisturbed during this period, despite the incessant arrival of messengers from King Roy demanding to know what progress could be reported. For the loyal Shelyid rebuffed these assaults with unwonted determination. Indeed, he became rather adept at opening the communication port in the door and shouting out: "Go away! The master is busy, can't be disturbed, go away!"
Alas, the day came when a whole squad of Royal Constabulary arrived.
"Open up in the name of King Roy of Goimr, open up in the name of the law!" bellowed the lieutenant in charge, all the while pounding on the great oaken door with his truncheon of office. Shelyid, to his credit, attempted to stand fast. But, when six burly troopers began to apply their shoulders to the door, the dwarf undid the bolts and lifted the bar, swinging the door wide just as the staunch six hurtled at it. They came crashing through into the entry hall where they piled up like so many falling duckpins, dislodging as they fell a neat pyramid of mummified heads. These unpleasant items, not much more than skulls, really—strands of beard still attached to their mandibles—had been stacked there by Shelyid pursuant to his master's command to retrieve the heads of all bearded men from the crypts as part of the wizard's investigation.
Shelyid shrank back into an alcove as the policemen made frantic efforts to arise from the carpet of heads, the sight of which objects did little for their morale, judging, at least, from their wails. At length the officer entered and commanded his troopers to silence and order. As they moodily regrouped, casting fearful glances down the various dark and dank passages which emanated from the foyer, the officer addressed himself to Shelyid.
"You—there in the alcove—present yourself! Where is the wizard Zulkeh?"
Shelyid stood mute, his teeth chattering.
"Speak, grotesque dwarf! Or I'll set the squad on you!"
The constables brightened visibly and began to finger their various belts, clubs, coshes, sticks, straps, gloves, knucks and other instruments of lawful persuasion. One of the beefy policemen reached out a hand and dragged Shelyid forward by the scruff of the neck.
"You want I should give him the third degree, Lieutenant?" he demanded with a leer.
"Wait! Wait!" cried Shelyid. "I'll take you to the master!"
"Do so, then!" barked the lieutenant. Released by the constable, Shelyid started toward a flight of steps at the opposite end of the hall. As he headed down the steps, followed by the Royal Constabulary, the dwarf said timidly: "Things'll look a little weird, but you don't have to be afraid. It's just that the master's trying the cantrips of Escher Laebmauntsforscynneweëld and I always hate it when he does because—"
The gnome's words were cut off by great cries of fear and shock from the Constabulary. Of a sudden, the staircase they were descending was inverted and tipped to a ninety degree horizontal angle. The policemen dropped to their knees in startlement, despite the dwarf's warning cries.
"No! No! Don't do that! The staircase isn't really—"
Alas, the warning came too late. In a trice, the policemen had inadvertently rolled themselves down the staircase, even though it appeared they were rolling up and sideways. Their progress down—up? along?—it was difficult to say—the staircase was precipitous in the extreme, and most painful to boot, judging by their cries of hurt and distress. Shelyid sprang aside as the squad made their way forward like so many fleshy tumbleweeds, the lieutenant rolling up the rear.
The dwarf hurriedly followed the law enforcement bowling balls, calling out:
"When you get to the bottom—I mean, the top—I mean, the end—don't move! Don't move!"
Alas, his words went unheeded. No sooner did the Constabulary pile up at the terminus of the staircase than they staggered to their feet, bellowing with outrage like bulls. A moment later they were flattened by the arrival of a giant tarot card onto their heads. The Knave of Batons, fittingly enough.
Shelyid raced up and pried the card off the backs and buttocks of the Georgias of order, now squealing with outrage like so many boars. The policemen staggered to their feet again, and looked around. They were standing on top of an enormous desk, next to a huge bowl containing a pipe the size of a buffalo and two used matches the size of logs. Nearby loomed a gigantic humidor. A bit farther off, huge books leaned against buildings, the which marched in stately progression, side by side, down a normal looking
street. The street was filled with people going about their business.
Average men would have been paralyzed with astonishment. But these were stalwart officers of the law, trained and disciplined, ready to handle the unexpected. At once they drew their billy clubs and advanced upon Shelyid. Things would no doubt have gone badly for the dwarf, save for the intervention of the wizard.
Or rather, the wizard's voice, which instrument of wrath descended on the Constabulary like the proverbial Word of God.
"Cease this intolerable impertinence!"
Stunned into frozen statues by the great voice, the Constabulary stared up in shock. There, at a great distance, loomed the gigantic visage of the wizard Zulkeh. The mage was holding a pack of cards in his left hand, a single card in his right. Judging by the expression on his face, he was wroth with wrath—and it was impossible not to judge correctly, for his face was the size of a great monument.
"By what right do you interrupt my studies?"
The lieutenant, his expression no longer arrogant, cleared his voice. "Sirrah wizard, a thousand apologies! But I have been sent by King Roy to oversee your studies and report on your progress."
"Bah! Impudent knave! You are in no wise competent to oversee my studies! Nor, I misdoubt me not, are you capable of accurately reporting so much as a sliver of my science."
The wizard glowered in the distance like a volcano. Suddenly, he flicked his wrist. The knot of policemen were flattened by the arrival of another giant card onto their heads.
"I shall tell your fortune. Ah—the Knight of Swords! You are headstrong, careless, heedless of warnings."
"Oh yes, master!" cried Shelyid. "I tried to warn them!"
Another card landed atop the thrashing Constabulary.
