The Wordsmiths and the Warguild aod-2 Page 2

  "My lady," said Togura, with a formal bow. "Shall we dance?"

  "Talatashee," she said, assenting.

  They danced the vigorous kola-ka-skee, kicking their heels and whirling on the changes, inventing partners for the passages known as the romance and the flora – for the kola-ka-skee, of course, is a foursome.

  While they were dancing, an old man tottered into the lamplight. They danced on, until, disturbed by his silent scrutiny, they broke apart and turned to face him. He was a tattered vagrant with a ravaged face and a dirty grey beard.

  "It is night," said the old man in a thin, querulous voice.

  "No," said Day smartly, "It's day."

  "Do you mean to make fun of me, little smut?" said the old man.

  "Talatashee," said Day.

  "Talatashee? Now what's that, young lady? Yes or no?"

  He was clearly a foreigner.

  "Who are you, old man?" said Togura.

  The old man, leaning on his shepherd's crook, was about to answer when the music escalated to a stormburst crescendo. A thrum began to gallop, a kloo honked harshly, a krymbol crashed and scattered, a skittling nook began to campaign against the skavamareen and a plea whistle hooted.

  "What," said the old man, "is that appalling noise?"

  "Music," said Day. "Don't you like it?"

  The old man sniffed.

  "The miscreants perpetrating that dismal cacophony should be fed to the dragon pits," he said.

  Togura could not figure him out. His manner was bold, and had, indeed, a hint of lordliness about it. Yet he was clearly a tramp of one kind or another. He was wearing a roughwork patchwork skirt, which finished above his knees, and a battered short-cut weather cloak of the type favoured by fishermen. His boots were coming apart at the toes, exposing his feet.

  "What are you doing on my father's estates, old man?" said Togura.

  "Child, I had the misfortune to be shipwrecked here," replied the ancient.

  "Shipwrecked?" said Togura.

  Day giggled.

  "Don't laugh, gamos," said the old man, naming Day with the Galish word for a female horse, which was unpardonably vulgar.

  "Why, you – "

  "No, Tog," said Day, holding him back.

  "Did you hear what he called you?" said Togura, burning with anger.

  "She heard me, boy," said the old man, in his stilted, strangely accented Galish, so unlike the smooth-flowing local patois. "How about some hospitality for a shipwrecked mariner now?"

  "If you find yourself afloat, then hard liquor's to answer, not the sea," said Togura. "In case you didn't notice before you started drinking yourself silly, you're up in the mountains, not down by the coast."

  "I know that," said the old man steadily. "Now have pity on poor old Pitilkin and show him a bed for the night. I've sailed from Chi'ash-lan, and that's a hearty journey, my boy. Chi'ash-lan to Quartermain, that's a fair old step."

  "You're not in Quartermain," said Togura. "You're in Sung."

  "Ah!" said the old man, eyes bright with revelation. "That explains everything! The barbarities inflicted on the human ear in the name of music. The provincial manners of the local peasants. The – "

  "Are you calling me – "

  "Tog," said Day. "Don't argue, you're only encouraging him. He's a poor harmless old man. Why not have the servants show me to a garrow for the night? Alternatively – "

  At that moment a rowdy party came barrelling out of the banquet hall – seven or eight reeling drunks laughing and jostling as they staggered out into the fresh night air. Amongst them was Cromarty, Togura's hefty half-brother, who was three years his senior.

  "Why, hey!" said Cromarty. "It's Spunk Togura and little girl Day. Hitting the eiderdown tonight, chids? Getting in some of the old kerna tamerna?" His cronies guffawed and ribbed each other. Then Cromarty saw the stranger. "This is new, boys, hey hey? What ho! I say, grandad, past your bedtime, isn't it? Shall we put him to bed, boys? Hey what?"

  "You can help me fix my ship if you would," said the ancient mariner. "If not, I'll do it by daylight once I've slept."

  "A ship, hey. Boys, this we have to see. Snaffle the lantern, Lanks. Nids, you salvage the other." On Cromarty's orders, the two lanterns guarding the banqueting hall's entrance were snaffled and salvaged. "Come along, grandad," said Cromarty. "Show us your ship. Coming for a sail, Day? Come along now!"

  Cromarty's bounders seized her.

  "Let her go!" said Togura.

  He waded into them, flailing wildly, but he was grossly outnumbered. The scungers grabbed him, and he was frog-marched into the night. As they swaggered along with lanterns swinging wildly, the drunks roared out the Kanover drinking song.

  "Where now, grandad?" said Cromarty.

  "This way," said the ancient mariner. "This way!"

  Gaining a small knoll, the drunks dropped Togura face-first into the long rough grass. This, of course, was dew-damp and appeared to contain more than the usual quota of gorse.

  "What ho!" said Cromarty. "The ship, hey?"

  Getting to his feet, Togura saw, by lantern-light, a clutter of sticks which looked like a gargantuan parody of a crow's nest. Cromarty hefted one of the heavier sticks.

  "Careful with that, boy," said the old man sharply. "That's the rudder."

  "Rudder, hey? Then this is the jakes, suppose, suppose."

  And Cromarty hauled out his penis and began to piss on the sticks. The old man swiped at his buttocks with his shepherd's crook. Cromarty, startled, lost control of his shlong, and pissed all over his pants.

  "You klech!" shouted Cromarty, tucking away his shmuck. "You ornskwun vig of a hellock!"

  And he gave the old man a push, sending him reeling back into one of the drunks, who dropped the lantern he was holding. It smashed, leaving them with a single light.

  "That's enough, Cromarty!" said Togura. "You're disgracing the estate!"

  "Why so," said Cromarty softly. "Our little Spunk Togura is riding the angers, hey? All up and on about the precious estate. It's my estate, little boy! I'm the one who inherits."

  "Then behave yourself until you do," said Togura manfully. "Now pack your rabble out of here. Go!"

  "Not so swell, my hearty," said Cromarty, unshipping a knife.

  Togura was unarmed. He grabbed for a stick, but one of Cromarty's scungers stepped on it.

  "Cut him, Crom!" said one.

  "I will," said Cromarty, his face turning ugly. "Oh, certain, certain. It's ribbons for little Togura!"

  "No fighting, children," said the old man, trying to intervene. "Pitilkin doesn't like fighting."

  "Stand aside, grandad," said Cromarty, giving him a hearty push.

  "Kill him, Crom!" yelled an eager admirer.

  "I will," said Cromarty. "For sure."

  "And he moved in on the attack. He slashed at Togura, who leapt backwards. Cromarty advanced. He was good with a blade. Even when drunk, he was good.

  "Stop this!" screamed Day.

  She tried to intervene, but was restrained. Cromarty's mobsters had their blood up. They were shouting:

  "Into him, Crom!"

  "Scallop him!"

  "Finish him!"

  Suddenly the old man swung his shepherd's crook. The stout wooden staff smashed Cromarty's wrist. Quick as a flash, the old man demolished the surviving lantern. There were shouts, roars and cries of pain in the darkness. Togura hit the dirt and stayed down. Someone trampled over him, fleeing for shelter. He heard the vicious whistle of the old man's stick slicing through the air.

  Then it was all over. Cromarty and his friends had fled. They could be heard swearing in the darkness; then, as their cries diminished in the distance, Togura became aware that music was still playing in the banquet hall. While he had been in danger of being sliced and diced, his father's guests had been amusing themselves all unawares of the drama taking place out in the night.

  "Tog!" called Day, loudly, almost directly overhead.

  "Here," said Togura, feelin
g for her in the darkness as he tried to get to his feet.

  His blundering hand slid straight up her dress to the warmest part of her flesh. She screamed. He jerked his hand away as if it had been burnt.

  "Tog," said Day, uncertainly. "Was that you?"

  "What the feck and fuckle did you think it was, girl?" said the ancient mariner. "An octopus? Come on, children, pull yourselves together."

  They did not answer, for they were now embracing.

  "Tog, oh Tog," said Day, holding him close and tight. "I was so worried. Are you all right?"

  "Fine," said Togura. "If only I'd had a blade! I would've cut him from spleen to kidney. I would've – "

  "Leave your heroics for later," said the old man sharply. "If we can't work on the boat tonight, I want to sleep. Where's my bed for the night?"

  "You've got a nerve!" said Togura, who bitterly resented the fact that it was this querulous old madman who had just saved his life or his beauty, or maybe both.

  "Come on," said Day. "Don't be nasty. I'm sure we can find him a place to stay for the night."

  "Oh, all right, then," said Togura. "Let's go."

  They went back to the banquet hall, where they met Quail the rouster. He was bearing a lighted candle, which he was trying to shield with his hand. As they drew near, he recognised them.

  "Master Togura!" said Quail. "Have you seen the doorway lanterns by any chance?"

  "Why, has someone lifted them?" said Togura.

  "Yes. Some of your young friends, perhaps? That little sod Cromarty was on the muck tonight."

  "Is that so?" said Togura. "Well, a couple of lanterns isn't the end of the world. Tell me, man Quail, can you bed down this gentleman for the night?"

  Quail peered at the ancient mariner.

  "Are you sure we want to house this individual, Master Togura?"

  "Pitilkin sleeps quietly," said the old man, his voice quavering. "No trouble, no trouble."

  "Just for the night," said Togura.

  "It won't do any harm," said Day.

  "Well… just for the night then," said Quail, doubtfully. "There's probably a spare garrow at the backstop, if the incest twins haven't bedded themselves down for the night. Otherwise, I'm afraid it'll be the stable."

  "Thanks," said Togura, turning to go.

  "Oh, and Master Togura – if you see Cromarty and his spry young brags, ask them about the lantern, will you?"

  "We will," said Day. "Thanks for everything."

  Togura took her hand and they walked off into the night together. His hopes were high, but they were soon to be disappointed: he did not lose his virginity that night.

  Chapter 3

  "I don't suppose you know how your brother damaged his wrist," said Baron Chan Poulaan.

  "I don't keep track of his business," said his son Togura.

  The baron harrumphed, but did not press the point.

  The two were riding side by side. They were on a road, or what passed for a road in those parts, which led to the city state of Keep. The baron was riding a brindled mare and his son was riding a donkey. Following on behind, riding Kloggles the Mule – and it took a brave man or a foolish man to venture that – was Prick, the baron's venerable secretary.

  "The fog seems to be closing in," said Togura, looking around.

  "I'd noticed that," said his father.

  "Perhaps we should stop till it clears."

  "We might be here all day," said his father. "We'll go on."

  And they did.

  Visibility swiftly became zero. The road abruptly became peat bog. After floundering around in the mist for a while, they staggered out of the bog, hauling their animals along with them, only to find themselves waist-deep in flourishing gorse. The baron cursed and struck out with his sword, accidentally clouting Prick with the flat of the blade.

  Fortunately, it then began to rain, causing the fog to dissipate swiftly. Unfortunately, they found themselves on a small gorse-covered island surrounded by peat bog.

  "There's the road!" said Togura, pointing to an indeterminate ribbon of mud and stones lying some distance from the island.

  "Your powers of observation astound me," said the baron grimly, leading the way back into the bog.

  Kloggles the Mule was most reluctant to leave the little island, but, after a savage battle with no holds barred, they forced him back through the bog to the road. By this time, they were mud from ankle to shoulder. Fortunately, the rain was rapidly becoming a solid downpour, suggesting that they might be able to strip off their dirty clothes, take a shower in the rain then change into clean clothes. Unfortunately, they had no clean clothes to change into.

  "I think," said Togura, "that perhaps this is not the best of days on which to go and visit the king."

  "You are young, my son," said his father, "but not entirely devoid of wisdom. Come, let us make for home."

  And they retreated back down the road, which was rapidly becoming a quagmire.

  The next day, in fine clear weather, they set out again. The road was muddy, but they reached the outskirts of Keep in good order. It was then that they encountered what appeared to be a free-floating monster.

  In some places, this apparition might have been taken for a ghost, a hallucination or a trick of the light, but this was Sung, and they knew the intruder for what it was – an ilps.

  The ilps was very large.

  It had seventy-nine teeth, shared between two mouths of generous dimensions.

  Five of the teeth were poisoned.

  It stank of rotten oranges.

  Its fingernails smoked with blue light.

  "Who are you?" said Baron Chan Poulaan, speaking roughly.

  "Ska," said the ilps.

  "Where do you come from?"

  "Ska. Nanesh stel."

  It was fading rapidly.

  "Where were you born?"

  One of its mouths collapsed.

  The baron assaulted the ilps with harsh, insistent questions. Disintegrating under the attack, it started to retreat. But he followed, urging his horse forward, asking one question after another. Finally, battered to death by his verbal assault, it broke apart into a dozen rainbows, which scattered into discordant chords of music.

  Nothing remained but the smell of rotten oranges.

  "That was a large one," said Prick.

  "They get larger all the time," said the baron. "And more numerous. Unless someone brings the Wordsmiths to heel, we'll have a regular disaster on our hands."

  The Wordsmiths claimed that their precious odex held all the knowledge of the ancient long-lost civilizations which had existed before the Days of Wrath. They claimed to be learning how to control and manipulate the odex, but all they had produced so far was a string of distorted monsters.

  Baron Poulaan could reasonably claim to be the most powerful man in Sung, but that meant little; as yet, he lacked the power to challenge the Wordsmiths, for his fellow barons were not yet convinced that the odex was a bad thing.

  Brooding about the ilps, the odex and the Wordsmiths, the baron led the way into Keep, passing between mountainous slag heaps. They passed a few houses then a mine shaft. A fire was burning by the shaft, helping to draw stale air up from the depths and keep the miners alive. A creaking bucket lift was bringing up gemstock from one of the veins which ran far underground.

  "Dismount," said Baron Poulaan.

  They went on foot thereafter, leading their mounts through the tilted, canting streets. After five generations of mining, which had hollowed out a considerable portion of the rock beneath the town, the whole urban area was very slowly subsiding. Hence the odd angles of the streets, which were buckling and twisting, and the nightmarish angles of the shops and houses.

  After a slow and dangerous journey, they reached the far side of Keep and set off for the palace of King Skan Askander, scourge of the Hauma Sea and lord of the Central Ocean. They had gone through the town rather than around it because Baldskull Mountain lay on one side and Dead Man's Drop on the
other.

  Once out of town, they mounted up again, but soon had to climb down to lead their animals across a massive subsidance in the road, which was only slowly being filled in with slag.

  "That's new since I was here last," said Baron Poulaan. "And that was scarcely a month ago."

  One day, he expected to come this way and find that the entire town of Keep had fallen into a hole. He would not be unhappy when it did. After all, his estate never saw a single flog or splorin's worth of the town's mining profits. He had no love for the earthgrubbing miners, or for the merchants who fattened on the profits of the trade in opal, topaz, jade, japonica, russellite, kolzaw, fuze, buff, celestine and carnelian which the miners recovered from the gemstock.

  "My lord!" said Prick, pointing. "Ahead! The palace!"

  "I saw it some time ago," said the baron.

  Togura, who had never been this way before, looked for the building of white marble which so many people had spoken of, but could not see it for the fences, sheds, huts and granubles of the surrounding piggeries.

  Shortly afterwards, they were shown into the presence of the king, who invited them to dine with him.

  "We will be having swedes, rutabaga and the kidneys of several pigs," he said.

  "We will be honoured," said Baron Poulaan.

  "And, dear baron," said King Skan Askander, "my darling daughter will be dining with us, so your son will have a chance to meet his future bride."

  Togura nerved himself for this ordeal. But he was confident that it could not be as bad as people had led him to believe. After all, Slerma was only sixteen years old; there was scarcely time for her to have grown to the enormous size which she was alleged to have attained. She was probably just a little fat and sludgy. Well, he could endure that – he thought. It would mean that he would one day inherit the palace and the piggery, which would be a valuable asset once it had fully recovered from the effects of the swine fever which had caused the Devaluation.

  If Slerma was no great beauty, she would doubtless welcome the attentions of a real man like himself. She would at least be a real woman, hot and wet in the right places. She would complete his sentimental education and initiate him into manhood.