The Witchlord and the Weaponmaster coaaod-9 Page 11

  "Sken-Pitilkin is thinking of his precious Confederation," said Iva-Italis softly. "Long has Hostaja Sken-Pitilkin been at odds with the Confederation of Wizards, but now he thinks to make his peace with that Confederation and to bring its might against me."

  "The Confederation would well reward anyone who aided me in such an enterprise," said Sken-Pitilkin.

  "So!" said Iva-Italis. "He tempts you, Guest! But what I will do – what I will do is to tempt him in turn. Sken-Pitilkin. My friend. My dearest. My brother. My love."

  "Speak," said Sken-Pitilkin curtly.

  Iva-Italis chuckled.

  "We were talking of wizards," said Iva-Italis. "They are by their nature hostile to the living creation which sustains us.

  Such is the truth – a truth you deny no longer."

  "Get on with it," said Sken-Pitilkin.

  "If we were alone," said Iva-Italis, "then our dialog could be speedy. But Guest Gulkan is an equal partner in our future, is he not? He must know. He must understand. He has a right to be treated with that dignity which befits his manhood."

  "Since the young man has proved such a passionate student of all the philosophies," said Sken-Pitilkin, "doubtless he will welcome the acquisition of a second tutor."

  "Speak," said Guest Gulkan, addressing himself to Iva-Italis.

  "Speak, for I am listening."

  "Very well," said the demon. "Guest, wizards win power through the Meditations of Power and preserve it against destruction by means of the Meditations of Balance. That much you know. But on the continent of Argan stands the flame trench Drangsturm, a barrier which guards the northern lands against the monsters of the south. For generations that gulf of molten rock has boiled in prodigious torment."

  "So I have heard," said Guest.

  "Wizards of Arl made that flame trench," said Iva-Italis,

  "yet its power exceeds their own. How then did they build it?"

  "I have no idea," said Guest.

  "Tell him," said Iva-Italis to Sken-Pitilkin.

  "You tell him," said Sken-Pitilkin.

  By now, the sagacious wizard of Skatzabratzumon was sure that Iva-Italis knew all – or at least all that was of any importance.

  But habits bred of ancient caution could not be lightly dismissed.

  "I will tell, then," said the demon. "Guest… since a wizard's power is inimical to the natural order of things, a wizard will be destroyed unless that power is shielded with the aid of the Meditations of Balance. Once naked to the universe, a wizard is destroyed."

  "In fire," said Guest Gulkan.

  "In fire, yes," said Iva-Italis.

  "And screams," said Guest, as if he liked the idea.

  "Usually it is too quick for any screaming to be entered into," said Iva-Italis.

  "But there is pain," said Guest.

  "Perhaps," said Iva-Italis, betraying a touch of irritation.

  "But the essential point is that a wizard naked to the cosmos is destroyed, and any of his works likewise."

  "Destroyed in fire," said Guest. "Destroyed in fire, in screams of fire and raging storms of agony."

  "An image fit to delight the sanguinary temperament of a boy," said Iva-Italis sharply. "But I thought we were through and done with that image. I thought myself to be addressing a man."

  "My lord," said Guest, commanding himself from boyhood to manhood in a moment. "Speak on."

  "Well, Guest," said Iva-Italis. "We know the fate of a naked wizard. But now… suppose the wizard to be but partly naked."

  "Our wizard is at war, is he not?" said Guest. "The world is his enemy, the battle unrelenting. The Balance, the Meditations of Balance – this is his armor. Given a hole in that armor, he rightly dies, though fast or slow I cannot say."

  "Fast, usually," said Iva-Italis. "But now… let us turn from a wizard to one of his works. Suppose a wizard creates an artefact of power yet leaves it fractionally unshielded as regards the destructive facility of the universe. What then?"

  "Then the thing is destroyed, likewise," said Guest. "Though, ah

  … you're talking about Drangsturm, aren't you? The thing is destroying itself, is that what you're saying?"

  "Almost, but not quite," said Iva-Italis. "Drangsturm is a work of wizards. Drangsturm is an artefact of power created in such a way that some fractions of it are unshielded. In consequence, the universe strives to destroy the thing. Hence powers of destruction pour themselves into Drangsturm. But the thing is designed to seize that power and shape it."

  "So," said Guest, understanding. "Drangsturm is not a source but a seizer and shaper."

  At this, Sken-Pitilkin realized that he had educated the boy better than he had thought. Though Guest Gulkan was no scholar, he had been tutored by Sken-Pitilkin since his fifth birthday, and after a full decade of unrelenting education he was proving uncomfortably competent in his grapplings with the unknown.

  "A seizer and shaper," said Iva-Italis. "Exactly. So now we come to the matter of the temptation of Sken-Pitilkin. If he consents to yield to my will, then I will give him the secret of seizing and shaping power sufficient to facilitate sustained flight."

  "So now we see the truth of the demon's revelation," said Sken-Pitilkin sourly. "The thing invites me to kill myself by mad experiment."

  "There are dangers, admittedly," said Iva-Italis, now addressing himself directly to Sken-Pitilkin. "You would be exposing some artefact to destruction and seeking to master the power-flow which followed. Still, the dangers – "

  "The dangers are known, and many have died to give proof to them," said Sken-Pitilkin. "The triumph of Arl is no secret to the Confederation. The arts of Arl are the arts of fire, and fire has proved amenable to the disciplines of sustained and controlled destruction of which you speak. But there are eight orders, each different in its powers. Mine commands the powers of levitation, and these, being more subtle and refined than those of fire, cannot be so easily controlled."

  "Not by a wizard's intelligence," said Iva-Italis. "For a mere wizard lacks the skills required to compute the interplay of the forces involved. But I speak for the Great God Jocasta, and the Great God is possessed of the necessary computational power.

  Join us in a great alliance, Sken-Pitilkin. Join us. Help us free the Great God from his servitude in Obooloo. Do that, and I will grant you the equations necessary to make a functional airship."

  Then Sken-Pitilkin was swayed. Sken-Pitilkin stood in silence, Guest Gulkan at his side.

  And then they heard the singing.

  Chapter Six

  Yubi Das Finger: a Banker of the Bralsh, the insurance company so prominent in the affairs of Dalar ken Halvar. He travels the world in motley. Glass bells are suspended from his golden skullcap, and ceramic animals (seven score in number) are attached to his patchwork jacket and his trousers. Though he is dressed as a clown, he is in fact a diplomat, a negotiator, a conciliator and an arbitrator. The eccentricities of his dress are designed to distract attention from his face – a face which is a horrorworks of welted burn tissue.

  The singing came from the stairway at the western end of the Hall of Time. It signaled the arrival of Yubi Das Finger, who lit his own entrance into the Hall of Time with two lanterns swinging from the bablobrokmadorni stick he carried over his shoulder.

  Yubi Das Finger sang as he walked the length of the Hall of Time, a hundred paces from the head of the western stairs to the foot of the eastern stairs. As he drew close, Guest recognized him from their first encounter earlier that night, for there was no mistaking that extraordinary figure.

  When he was within smelling distance of the Weaponmaster,

  Yubi snapped at him with his green-dragon glove puppet. Guest flinched, more from fear of injury to his dignity than of injury to his flesh – though he still remembered the exceptional needle brightness of that puppet's teeth.

  "So-ho, Guest!" said Yubi, greeting the Weaponmaster. "So-ho, Sken-Pitilkin!"

  "Do I know you?" said Sken-Pitilkin, who had no recollec
tion of meeting the motley-clad clown.

  "Historically?" said Yubi. "I doubt it."

  Then he skipped past the jade-green flanks of the demon Icaria-Scaria Iva-Italis, climbed a few steps up the eastern stairway, then paused, looked back and grinned. His teeth gleamed green, reflecting the light which glowed from the demon.

  "Well, Guest?" said Yubi, with a mocking devilishness. "Are you coming with me to the sky?"

  Yubi spoke the Galish, and spoke it with such a piercing clarity one might have thought him to be singing even then.

  "Where a clown can go, so I," said Guest.

  For the boy had had enough of mystery for one night. He had been tempted and taunted too long – argued at, argued over, teased, flirted with, seduced. He wanted a finalization for once – he wanted to shove for the answer, to be done with the preliminaries and to thrust for the truth. Something was up there, up in the secret region overhead, up in the abditory.

  And Guest was going to find out.

  Driven by such determination, the boy dared himself into biting distance of the demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis.

  "Halt," said Iva-Italis. "That's far enough."

  Waiting on the stairs, Yubi Das Finger grinned green. If a man says he is going to jump off a cliff, there are some people who will turn away, some who will try to dissuade him, and some who will watch.

  Yubi chose to watch.

  And Guest dared another step.

  Something hit him. It struck – too fast to see. Down he went!

  Thrown to the ground, bruised down to the skull-pattern tiles. He crunched down at the foot of the demon. It loomed above him, cold, cold, colder than needles, colder than ice. It was as green as the tallest of stars, and as high. Its monolithic slab sided height stretched upwards for a day and forever.

  Then it growled.

  The demon Iva-Italis growled long and low, making a sound like thunder trapped in a rock, like an enormous bumble bee locked in a block of iron.

  Then Sken-Pitilkin saved the day. He saved it with the country crook which served him as a staff of power.

  Did Sken-Pitilkin stand upon the tallness of his hind legs and call out great Words of power? No. Did he summon forth invisible grappling hooks to drag the boy to safety? No.

  Instead -Sken-Pitilkin reached out with his country crook, hooked Guest Gulkan by the sword belt and dragged the boy to safety.

  Doubtless this resolution is somewhat lacking in drama, and many will find it a disappointment – for it is acknowledged truth that many of those who read histories which feature one or more wizards do so largely to spectate at the spectacular.

  But there is less of spectacle in a wizard's life than outsiders commonly believe, since a wizard's life is largely given over to Meditation; and study; and memorization; and diligent practice of the irregular verbs; and the darning of socks and the watering of pot plants.

  For a wizard's powers are gathered with such effort that they are never expended lightly – for once having expended his power a wizard will be defenseless for days. Consequently, wizards do not exercise their powers except under circumstances of the gravest need; and, when faced with practical problems, they always first seek a practical solution.

  Since Sken-Pitilkin was a wizard of Skatzabratzumon, he could in theory have used his levitational powers to grease Guest Gulkan's escape from the base of the demon. But it was more economical simply to drag the boy clear with a hooked stick – and just as fast, and just as effective.

  With Guest dragged clear, Sken-Pitilkin supported him as he tottered the length of the Hall of Time to seat himself in his armchair, which was where the Guardian Hrothgar found him when that worthy came to relieve him in the gray of dawn.

  By then, Sken-Pitilkin was long gone, thinking Guest safe.

  But Guest was not safe at all, for the rigors of the night had brought about a relapse, and Guest was huddled in his armchair in a state not far from delirium, wet with sweat and shuddering with fever.

  Hrothgar arrived in the company of the Rovac warrior Rolf Thelemite and the dwarf Glambrax, both of whom were alight with anticipation at the thought of serving Guest his breakfast. These friends of his were bearing gifts – a pot of mulled wine spiked with mustard, and a hot and steaming fish-meat pie with biting hot red peppers. The master-chef Pelagius Zozimus had conspired with them in the preparation of this special wake-up breakfast, but all went to waste, for Guest was in no condition to be sampling anything.

  If Hrothgar was any judge – and, having seen a great many of his friends and colleagues die of influenza, he thought himself well-qualified to judge – then Guest was direly ill.

  So nothing would serve but that the Weaponmaster should be evacuated from the Grand Palace – as the mainrock Pinnacle was commonly known to many – and returned to Hrothgar's house in the adjacent city of Molothair, there to be nursed anew by Horthgar's wife Una.

  When Guest was somewhat recovered, Sken-Pitilkin visited him, and asked him how he felt.

  "Not so bad," said Guest, affecting nonchalance. "I suppose the chill of the night was bad for me. If memory serves… why, I seem to remember an abominably long bout of standing about, of stamping my feet… though my memory is soggy | | "

  "Hmmm," said Sken-Pitilkin, saying nothing more lest he provoke the boy to the needless effort of further clumsy lies.

  "Here. I've got something for you. It's a letter."

  "A letter?" said Guest.

  "From Gendormargensis," said Sken-Pitilkin.

  "From my father?" said Guest, brightening.

  "No," said Sken-Pitilkin. "From Bao Gahai."

  "Bao Gahai!" said Guest, in patent dismay. "What would I want with a letter from Bao Gahai?"

  "Read it," said Sken-Pitilkin. "It may have news of your brothers."

  "So it may," said Guest.

  Then broke the seals on the letter and scanned it through, learning that Morsh Bataar was on the mend and that Eljuk Zala was diligently prosecuting his study of the irregular verbs in the absence of Sken-Pitilkin. Eljuk had prevailed upon his father to provide him with a new tutor, who was a text-master named Eldegen Terzanagel.

  "Eljuk's scholarly passions are such," read Guest, quoting Bao Gahai, "that one fears him possessed of a secret ambition to be a wizard."

  "Really," said Sken-Pitilkin, in neutral tones.

  "Bao Gahai is quite deranged!" said Guest, ceasing to quote as he threw down the letter. "My brother Eljuk? A wizard?! Dogs will first sing down the stars and pigs become pigeons."

  "Pigs will become pigeons?" said Sken-Pitilkin.

  "It is a Rovac oath," said Guest, evidencing pride in its possession. "I learnt it from Rolf Thelemite."

  "And Glambrax learnt it as well," said Sken-Pitilkin.

  "Why, so he did!" said Guest in astonishment. "How did you know that? Have you psychic powers?"

  "When you are older and wiser," said Sken-Pitilkin with a sigh, "you will learn that psychic powers are entirely unnecessary to divine the wit and intention of the very young."

  That was the plain truth, for without any psychic powers whatsoever, the sagacious Sken-Pitilkin knew full well what approach Guest planned to take toward the matter of the demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis.

  As the wizard of Skatzabratzumon had immediately divined, Guest Gulkan was bent on pretending that the events of his night of guard duty in the Hall of Time had been blurred into unintelligibility by the rigors of his fever. But Sken-Pitilkin was not fooled for a moment. The boy knew! He knew too much! So – must he then be killed?

  Certainly he must be kept away from the demon Iva-Italis!

  But how was Sken-Pitilkin to persuade the Safrak Bank to deny Guest further access to that demon? Banker Sod, the Governor who ruled Alozay and all the other islands of the Safrak archipelago, seemed disposed to trust Guest. After all, relations between Safrak and the Collosnon Empire were relaxed and friendly, and Guest was the son of the Collosnon Empire's ruler.

  So how could Sod be persuaded to
treat Guest with something of the distrustful rigor which is reserved for a hostile prisoner? Sken-Pitilkin thought about it long and hard, but could find no solution. At last he consulted Zelafona, whom he knew of old.

  "As I helped you," said Sken-Pitilkin, alluding to the drama which had brought Sken-Pitilkin, Zozimus, Zelafona and Glambrax flee to refuge in Tameran some ten years earlier, "now it is your turn to help me."

  "Speak," said Zelafona.

  Then Sken-Pitilkin explained all, even – for he trusted Zelafona, for all that he was a wizard and she a witch – the matter of the Mahendo Mahunduk.

  Yes.

  The Mahendo Mahunduk. Sken-Pitilkin hesitated before touching on that most sensitive of subjects, but touch on it he did – and was chastened when he discovered that Zelafona already knew all about it.

  "Clearly," said the old but elegant witch-woman, "you must keep the boy away from this demon-thing. Whatever its nature, its promises are impractical. In other words – it is a liar. Doubtless it means to use the boy, but the reward it offers is not within its power to give."

  "Then what am I to do?" said Sken-Pitilkin.

  "You must tell the Safrak Bank that Guest attempted to force a passage past the demon. You must tell the Bank that Guest tried to win a passage to the forbidden shrine above. Since the Bank is so protective of its holy of holies, I'm sure they will thereafter deny Guest Gulkan admission to the Hall of Time."

  This proposal had the simplicity which marks true genius, and Sken-Pitilkin promptly put it into effect. Sken-Pitilkin demanded an interview with Banker Sod, was admitted into the iceman's presence, and gave him an edited account of the events of the night of Guest Gulkan's guard duty.

  "I took myself up to the Hall of Time," said Sken-Pitilkin,

  "meaning to take him a flask of soup which had been cooked by my cousin Zozimus. I knew him to be but recently recovered from influenza, hence thought him in need of such sustenance. While I was with him, he fell to boasting, as a boy in his folly will, and the upshot was that he tried to force a passage past the demon."

  "And?" said Sod.