The Wicked and the Witless Read online

  Yes, but. Dragons. Do they breed them? On Untun- chilamon?'

  'I have no idea what meats they raise on the island' said Elkin testily. 'Perhaps they eat dragons, perhaps chickens. Or perhaps they breed both. If you wish to know what blood adorns their table, then a long journey awaits you.'

  Dragons are not bred for the table,' said Sarazin. 'I know that already.'

  You speak in ignorance,' said Elkin. 'For the imperial dragon of Yestron is a dish most valued at banquet. The flesh, however, is rank and rancid unless the beast has been fed for the most part upon honey. Hence imperial dragons are usually raised in the vicinity of beehives, which is unfortunate because—'

  'Do they have imperial dragons on Untunchilamon? Are they fierce?'

  'What's wrong with you?' said Elkin. Your mind's all over the place. For the truth of Untunchilamon, I suggest you quest to the island yourself. I'd be interested myself in your report, since much of the rumour which has come to the attention of scholarship is, I suspect, untruthful.'

  They were then interrupted by Thodric Jarl, who wanted to discuss arrangements for their camp that night. And Sarazin did not thereafter question Elkin about bards, dragons and Untunchilamon, for, much as he wanted information, he feared the wizard might become too curious.

  Sarazin's ring of invisibility and his dragon-bottle were treasures beyond price. His magic candle also per- haps had its value. He feared that the wizard of Ebber, if he learnt of their existence, might be tempted to steal them. Admittedly, the valuables were safe from instant theft, since Sarazin had left them behind in Selzirk — just as he had for the campaign in Tyte.

  But he did not trust Elkin.

  Perhaps — though he denied it — Elkin did indeed have the power to change minds permanently. He might be able to force Sarazin against his will: to send him back to Selzirk to retrieve the dragon bottle, the ring and the candle, and to bring these treasures to his lair in Hok.

  Even the bard, which held nothing but poetry, had tempted the old wizard powerfully. So the greater treasures must stay a secret lest they prove to be Sarazin's death.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Hok: fair land of sky-soaring peaks adorned with beauty in dawn and twilight alike (a poet's opinion); a barren land of sheep farts and peasants impressed by the eloquence of the same (opinion of a cosmopolite); a bitching hole, a galgize sludgeon, a regular sunth (opinion of a long- suffering footsoldier who actually had to march through the place with a pack on his back).

  Thus Sarazin marched south towards Hok. His mission wa& simple: to meet the ogre Tor in battle and kill him, capture him or drive him out of Hok.

  Tor's territory was the Willow Vale, a substantial valley opening on to Hok's southern coast. To get there, Sarazin would have to march his army over the Eagle Pass, which was high, narrow and easily defended. His maps of the pass were poor and long out of date, but he decided against sending out scouts to reconnoitre the place, fearing this might alert the enemy to his approach.

  Near the mountains, the land became flat and marshy. Pools of stagnant water rankled with insects. Fat, slow, bumbling flies the size of a fist droned through the long, hot, sweating afternoons. They settled upon necks, arms and faces, unwelcome as the hand of a child molester.

  'Graap groop greep greep,' sang a million million freckled frogs, welcoming the conquering hero. Sarazin shuddered.

  This place was all too much like the approaches to Tyte. Then he raised his eyes to the mountains and was reassured. Good rock awaited: not filthy wastelands of slime where cackling anarchists could mock his blundering scouts by day and night alike.

  —But how much mud parts us from the mountains?

  The foremost soldiers were already walking ankle-deep in mud. At first the rest followed in a column, but this meant the last of the men were walking through mud trampled to knee-deep liquid filth, and the baggage wagons were getting hopelessly mired. So Jarl had the army spread out in a line abreast.

  In its wake, the army left bog-sprawling footprints and slovenly wheelruts which slowly filled with the glitter of water.

  Where do we sleep?' said Sarazin in something like despair, for he saw nowhere dry.

  Once, on his long campaign in Tyte, he had spent nine days up to his waist in liquid mud. He had scarcely slept at all — though he had hallucinated often. If he had to endure that again, he would — he would—

  —I would die!

  Mud, mud, mudl Everywhere! No wood for fires, either. Just the evil green of luxuriant grasses growing hot, rank and feverish. A hallucinatory flash of kalaidoscopic colour from the wings of a dragonfly.

  'We sleep in liquid mud,' said Jarl.

  Then, without warning, dismounted. His hand lunged for something, throwing up a spray of mud and water. He hauled a pink snake to daylight. A snake? No, it was an eel. An eel? A worm! A worm as thick as a wrist and as long as a leg.

  Sarazin opened his mouth to say something — and a fist-sized fly tried to wing its way into the slubbering warmth within. Sarazin battered at the thing with such force he nearly broke his jaw. He swigged a little sun-hot water from a leather bottle, swooshed it round his mouth then spat. He shuddered, imagining he still felt the fly's touch upon his lips.

  'What happened?' said Jarl, who was bundling the struggling worm into one of his saddlebags.

  'A fly kissed me,' said Sarazin, doing his most heroic best to joke about his trauma.

  'FunI' said Jarl, mounting up. 'Sandpaper your hps and they'll be right enough.'

  Sarazin wondered what Jarl wanted the worm for — then decided he would rather not know. As his horses plodded on at baggage-wagon speed, the young com- mander studied his soldiers. He heard the occasional coarse guffaw, the odd snatch of song. His men were happy enough. But . . . after a night in the mud?

  'Tonight,' said Sarazin.

  Yes?'

  Tonight we won't stop. We'll march for the mountains — we can hardly get lost. I reckon we'll be there by dawn. Hard rock and, with luck, some firewood with it. What say?'

  'It's your decision,' said Jarl. 'It all depends on whether the mud deepens closer to the mountains. If you'd sent scouts forward to reconnoitre then we'd know. I can't for the life of me think why you haven't done so.'

  You never suggested it!' said Sarazin, stung. ._ You shouldn't need me to hold your hand,' said Jarl. •A great help you are,' said Sarazin bitterly, and sig- nalled his heralds to come to him that they might receive his orders.

  Then screamed with rage and slapped his cheek, splatter- ing a huge fly which had been pestering at his sweat. He looked at the ghastly mess on his hand then swore, then dismounted and, for want of anything better, wiped both hand and cheek against the flank of his horse.

  At least there had not been monstrous flies in the marshlands of Tyte. Hies of regular size, yes. And leeches, swamp snakes and bad-tempered eels which bit. But nothing quite so disgusting.

  At dawn they reached the mountains which rose in walls from the mud. The sheer escarpments were interrupted by a narrow, steep-rising valley. This led to the Eagle Pass — and it was obviously impassable by baggage wagons.

  'What now?' said Sarazin.

  You work it out,' said Jarl.

  Sarazin considered. Then spoke.

  "My campaign fails if the enemy can hold the pass against me. So my priority is to seize the heights. I need speed. Surprise. Every day's delay increases the chance that the enemy will discover my advance and reinforce the pass. So we'll leave all our baggage here and march light and fast now, today, immediately.'

  'Not immediately,' said Jarl. 'Let's have breakfast first.'

  They breakfasted. Then marched. At dayfail, they were near the top of the valley. And early the next day they reached the heights. A hundred of the enemy defended the pass, but these — to Sarazin's disappointment — surrendered without a fight in the face of overwhelming odds.

  Still, he was delighted by his success. He had seized a major objective. His bloodless victory had g
iven him a taste for more. Conquest, triumph, glory. It was good in itself. Beautiful, beautiful! "f

  Sarazin had the enemy's commander dragged before him. This was a big blond peasant who, after being cuffed a couple of times, admitted that he spoke Galish. His name, he said, was Heth. Interrogation proceeded.

  'We thought attack unlikely from the north,' said Heth. Why do you march against us? We're not at war with the Harvest Plains. Our enemy is the usurpers who have overthrown the rightful rule of kings on Stokos.'

  'Don't give us that nonsense,' said Sarazin. You're supporters of the evil ogre Tor, as well we know. You fight with an ogre against human beings. You should be ashamed of yourself!'

  'Ashamed of what?' said Heth. 'Of honour? Of loyalty? Of patriotism?'

  This argument could have gone on for a very long time indeed, but Jarl, with something of a growl, inter- rupted. Then demanded to know the disposition of Tor's forces.

  Most of our men guard the coast,' said Heth. We always feared attack from Stokos, hence women, children, animals and stores are kept in a camp in the northernmost part of the Willow Vale. If you descend from the Eagle Pass then you will come upon that camp directly.'

  'Good news,' said Sarazin, happy to believe it. Then it occurred to him that Heth might be lying. So, watching Heth carefully, he said: 'But it could be a trap.'

  Trap or no trap,' said Jarl, 'we have to come down from the Eagle Pass if we're to finish off Tor. Either we descend or we end our campaign right here and now.'

  'What do you recommend?' said Sarazin.

  'I make no recommendations,' said Jarl, 'for I am but a simple military policeman who knows nothing of war.'

  TJon't be like that!' said Sarazin. 'Have I done something to offend you, or what?'

  He was upset that Jarl should be so dour and sour when he, Sarazin, was happy, victorious, on top of the world.

  There's no quarrel between us,' said Jarl, 'but here I'm as ignorant as you are. I've never been to Hok, I know nothing of this Tor and I cannot predict the future. Perhaps we'll find the camp Heth speaks of. Perhaps we'll find an ambush. We don't know. Such is war — and you must live with it.'

  Whatever decision Sarazin took he must take it quickly, for his men had but a single day's rations left. He longed to order all his men to march south to war and victory. But memories of various disasters in Tyte made him cautious. His seizure of the Eagle Pass might be a single isolated lucky stroke, a one-off fluke. He decided to hedge his bets.

  In the end, Sarazin sent a third of his soldiers back to the baggage wagons with the prisoners (though Sarazin kept Heth with him, thinking the peasant potentially useful as a hostage). When that party reached the baggage wagons, some would stay to guard the prisoners while the rest returned with food.

  Meanwhile, all Sarazin's soldiers divested themselves of all their rations. These rations were then divided among the one third of Sarazin's men who would stay to hold the Eagle Pass.

  The remaining third would march without rations under Sarazin's command to attack the unprotected camp which, so Heth alleged, lay not far to the south. If the camp truly existed they would be able to feed off its supplies, while if the enemy lay waiting in ambush food would be no help to them.

  'What do you think of my plan?' said Sarazin.

  But Jarl refused to comment until Sarazin had given his orders and the lead contingent was marching south with Jarl and Sarazin at its head. Both Glambrax and Elkin insisted on coming with them.

  As Sarazin and Jarl marched at the head of the invasion force — both leading their horses, for the ground was too rough for them to ride — Jarl said:

  'What do you hope to achieve by your orders?'

  'Why, to make sure that whatever I lose I don't lose everything. This way I at least keep control of the Eagle Pass, even if I lose my life.'

  'Fair enough,' said Jarl. 'But what was your mission?'

  'To seek out Tor and destroy him.'

  'True,' said Jarl. 'Doesn't that mean you must inevitably force a major battle? All your men against all of his?'

  Sarazin was already regretting his caution. He should have taken all his men on this march to the south. This was how a hero would have done it. To save face, he said:

  'I've decided on a scorched-earth policy. I'm going to starve the ogre out. That's the way I'll destroy him. This raid is the first move in my scorched-earth campaign.'

  Jarl absorbed that in silence. After a while, Sarazin said anxiously:

  'Am I doing the right thing or the wrong thing?'

  'It's not what you do,' said Jarl, 'it's how you justify it when you get back to Selzirk. I've seen a lot of famous victories which were actually no more than draws — a couple of them were in fact defeats!'

  Well worry about Selzirk when we get back there alive,' said Sarazin.

  'No!' said Jarl. 'Start writing your history now. This is what happened. By a skilful forced march you took the enemy by surprise. You seized the Eagle Pass. You estab- lished a base on the heights. Then you yourself led a reconnaissance in force while your subordinates were busy bringing up the supplies necessary to support a determined thrust deep into enemy territory.'

  'Why,' said Sarazin, in admiration, 'that sounds really good.'

  'Of course it does,' said Jarl. 'With the right line in storytelling, you can make the worst defeat into a triumph of courageous, dynamic soldiering.'

  Then Jarl — apparently taking this very seriously — drilled Sarazin endlessly on precisely what he should say on his return to Selzirk. This surprised Sarazin greatly. Jarl was a soldier through and through, and, under the circumstances, Sarazin would have expected him to be concentrating all his attention on the here and now.

  Finally, unable to restrain his curiosity, Sarazin asked:

  'Why do you care how our history is told in Selzirk?'

  'I care,' said Jarl, "because of the political implications of the telling.'

  And he refused to be drawn further on the subject.

  Sarazin's men came down from the Eagle Pass into the Willow Vale, an expansive valley of rough-grass sheeplands, studded with outcrops of grey granite and clumps of trees and shrubbery. They found the camp Heth had spoken of — a hutment of a hundred or so shacks.

  The enemy were evacuating the camp when Sarazin's men attacked. The foemen fled, leaving Sarazin in uncon- tested possession of the camp. The spoils of war amounted to a dead dog, two crippled crones, a bawling baby with two heads, a considerable amount of rice, flour, mutton and salt fish, and, of course, the huts themselves.

  Sarazin was exhilarated. This was completely unlike the baffling, despairing campaigning he had done in the marshlands of Tyte. He was winning. Again he wished he had all six hundred of his men with him instead of just a third of them.

  'Let's take what we can carry, burn the rest and go back where we came from,' said Jarl.

  'No,' said Sarazin. There were women and children here. Valuable hostages. They can't have gone far. We'll give pursuit.'

  He had won two victories without losing a single man. He was ready to dare. And his soldiers, when they knew it was women they were chasing, happily dared with him. Dragging Heth with them, they pursued the refugees south.

  But found them not.

  By dayfail they had overtaken — and captured — five enemy warriors. Then, exhausted, they set up camp under some trees. It rained all night; the trees gave little shelter; and, in the sodden dawn, Sarazin found his high spirits had evaporated. Now he paid heed to Jarl's counsels of caution and marched his men back towards the Eagle Pass, taking along Heth and the handful of prisoners won on the previous day.

  But, on retreating, they found the way to the Eagle Pass barred by four hundred assorted enemy footsoldiers and cavalrymen. The enemy had outflanked them by night, cutting off their escape.

  'You're doomed !' said Heth.

  'Rubbishl' said Jarl. 'The forces are equal, and the odds in battle equal also.'

  'Better force a fight quickly the
n,' said Heth, 'for Tor commands three thousand men, many more of whom will be here shortly, doubtless.'

  'Nonsense!' said Jarl.

  But Sarazin could tell he was worried.

  Since delay would only worsen their position, Sarazin ordered his men to attack immediately. They refused. While Jarl stoutly maintained the odds were even, any fool could see the enemy outnumbered them two to one.

  Sarazin and Jarl faced the untrusty two hundred.

  'What do you want to do?' said Jarl. 'Stand here and die?'

  'No!' cried an unhero, anonymous amongst his com- rades. 'Stand here and surrender!'

  Sarazin was most unhappy. From conqueror glorious to miserable captive in a single day — the thought was unbearable. He looked at Elkin, who shook his head. Doubtless, if asked for a display of wizardry, Elkin would say that no single wizard of Ebber could subvert the will of hundreds of belligerent, determined enemy soldiers.

  'Very well,' said Jarl. 'But let's at least get the best terms we can for our surrender.'

  'What kind of terms?' yelled someone.

  'Wine rations, bread rations, fish rations, women rations,' said Jarl. The basics. Let's march away west lest we're attacked on the spot. Then we can stand our ground amidst the rocks and negotiate.'

  Jarl eventually cajoled the men into withdrawing west rather than surrendering. Why west? Sarazin could not guess, but hoped Jarl had something in mind. He watched, anxiously, to see what the enemy would do. The foe followed. A steady rain fell from dismal death-grey skies. It was summer, but that was the merest technicality: it had grown cold enough to pass for winter easily.

  The enemy never showed the slightest intention of attacking — which suggested to Sarazin that the enemy commander was content to wait for reinforcements and expected to receive such shortly. Sarazin's men grumbled incessantly, and a couple wept. The prisoners — except for Heth — were quiet and apprehensive, doubtless fearful of being murdered.