Wizard's Funeral (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

Soldier took them out into flat marsh country in the Unknown Region. Like a hare being pursued by a fox, he felt his best defence was open ground, where he could see what was coming from any direction. Here he set up camp with Ixonnoxl, Uthellen and Golgath. They made bivouacs from the tall reeds, simply gathering a bunch, trying it at the top and cutting out the inside reeds to form a hollow cone. Each had his own. For fare they set snares about the marshes for rabbits and fished in dank areas where pools had formed. Occasionally one of them managed to bring in a duck or heron, once even a swan. In the meantime, Ixonnoxl practised his art. He carried a stinking sack with him full of disgusting objects he had collected from various places: dried toadstools, dead birds and other creatures, slugs, snails, fetid toads, animal droppings of all kinds, the snot from the nostrils of larger creatures such as the cow or horse, feathers, frogspawn, the intestines of mice - all were among his loathsome collection. These he used, one way or another, to train himself. The two men complained of the stench coming from the sack, but Ixonnoxl just shook his head and smiled. He was still a callow youth with little experience in magic. It was amazing to Soldier that such a boy had been chosen as the King Magus, the most powerful wizard in the world, when he was clearly still a novice. He mentioned this to Golgath. Oh, well, its the timing thats wrong here, said that perfect courtier, who knew all things genteel and all things regal. Look on it as if a king had died and left his infant son to inherit the kingdom. The boy would have no inkling on how to proceed. He would need advisors, an uncle for regent, training - many things to help him. For the first few years he would be in great danger, from ambitious nobles and foreign enemies. But once he found his feet and to survive hed have to do that quickly - he would find he had the power to do almost anything. Many child kings and queens have learned artifice, have come into slyness and craftiness as a matter of necessity, and have been more secure rulers because of it. Adults who become monarchs have usually been cosseted until the time of their coronation - their king fathers or queen mothers protecting them until now - and then suddenly they find they have to make decisions, take responsibility, learn who to trust and who not to trust. Its much the same with wizards coming to power. This youth needs us to protect him. He needs a few years in isolation, in order to mature and grow into the mighty being he will one day become. OmmullummO will try to kill him before that happens. They watched the boy, as he taught himself his magic. The results were sometimes hilarious, sometimes bordering on the tragic. One midnight hour they witnessed the art of raising the dead. Since there were no human corpses out in the marshes at the back end of nowhere, Ixonnoxl had to make do with dead animals. He found a wild horse that had become trapped in the mire and had died of exposure. The creature had been dead some ten days. It stank. It was riddled with small creatures, eating its eyes, gums and various soft-tissue organs. Its coat was manky and its mane and tail falling out. Soldier and Golgath watched from a distance as Ixonnoxl placed stones in a ring about this carcass, carved wooden idols on spiked sticks and plunged them into the bloated corpse. Putrid air hissed from the holes he made with the spikes, making the tattered hide, with ribs showing bare in places, deflate. Finally, all was ready. Night was the time for most magic, especially resurrection. Magic is susceptible to atmospheres. There is more feel to magic, which has a logic of its own, of course, but bends towards the preternatural. Philosophy was almost the opposite of magic, in that it required set rules and laws. Magic drew its rules and laws its surroundings, as dry paper draws moisture from the air. The boy stood silhouetted by the blood moon. He was naked, burnished, gleaming in the dull light. Uthellen did not want to witness any of this: she had gone to bed early in her bivouac. Soldier wondered whether he should be in his: he shivered, not with the cold but with fearful anticipation. It seemed that all the worlds darkness, from places hidden from the day, had gathered around the young wizard. Tendrils of night hung like black ribbons from the ether and trailed into the marshland grasses. Words came then, strange words, unpronounceable, unrepeatable only a second after they were spoken. They were full of a harsh consonants and ullulating vowels. Soldier and Golgath clamped their hands to their heads in pain, as the words entered their minds like searing irons, blinding their brains with the impact of unmeaning. When they could see again, when the agony of those words had subsided, they let fall their hands. The sight was horrific. It is! cried Ixonnoxl. It is! The corpse of the horse had risen to its feet. It shook its head as it tried to see through the eyeless sockets in its skull. Blind. It was blind and dumb, its orbs and tongue having been eaten by beetles. Bits were falling from its hide. Rotting intestines bulged from holes in its torso. Fluids dripped, flowed. Hair fell out. The revived beast stumbled forwards, began trotting, cantering, and eventually broke into a gallop, charging round in ever-increasing circles, its mouth open as it whinnied deep from its hollow insides, distorted without the use of its tongue. Gods and demons preserve us! cried Golgath, staggering backwards as the beast flew past him, wild and insane. May the earth swallow the beast quickly. Bits of mud and marsh grass were flying everywhere, from fore and hind hoof. Divots were catapulted at the moon. The creature thundered now, as it found its living form. Its feet hammered on the hollow peat, drumming out an unearthly rhythm. As Soldier struggled to get out of its way, it struck him with its shoulder, sending him flying into a bog. He sank immediately to his waist, yelling for help. Im coming, cried Golgath, ankle-deep in mire and fighting to keep his own feet. Im coming. His own feet were being sucked into the soft bog as he tried to reach Soldier while dodging the frantic dead horse as it careered around the marsh, unseeing, crashing into dwarf trees and smashing through reed beds. A tail flailed his face, stinging his eyes, as the runaway steed swept near to him, but Golgath kept his feet and managed to reach the sinking figure of Soldier. Your hand! cried Soldier, the quickmud up to his shoulders. A strap or something! Golgath panicked and whipped out his sword, offering the blade for Soldier to grasp. Then he realised what hed done. Sorry, sharp as a razor, I know. He whipped off his belt next and used the scabbard. Soldier grabbed it and Golgath dug in his heels. The big man managed to haul Soldier from the sucking mud, slowly but definitely. In the meantime the dead horse still flew around, narrowly missing both men in its chaotic motion. The steed then went straight for Uthellens bivouac. Soldier got to his knees and screamed, Uthellen! Wake up! Get out of there. Too late. The horse crashed through the reeds. Uthellen, naked as the moon, was kicked out of her bed. She rolled about but fortunately did not seem too hurt. She scrambled back to the shattered bivouac and retrieved a blanket to cover her modesty, finally remaining there, sitting up, looking startled and shocked. The dead charger bore on, turning in a wide circle. There was a great oak on the edge of the marsh, with an old, thick trunk. The steed went crashing headfirst straight into a knurl of this old fellow, who stood his ground like any ancient, respectable oak should. The horse seemed to concertina all the way down its ribcage. Then it appeared to explode into bits of bones and hide, and scattered pieces of itself over the dyke on which the oak tree stood. Flaps of skin hung from branches. A hoof went spinning out into the night and ended with a splash in a natural ditch. The great eyeless head remained locked in the crotch of the oak, broken from the stem that had been its neck, divorced from the torso. It was! cried a delighted Ixonnoxl. It was! He seemed in no way alarmed at the havoc he had caused. The antics of his mad steed did not concern him. All he seemed interested in was the fact that he had managed to raise the dead. His mother had been injured. His friend and protector, Soldier, had almost drowned in mud. Yet there were no apologies, no remorse over a badly managed deed. Resurrection had taken place. The end justified the act. The youth of today, muttered Golgath. Theyve got no sense of responsibility, have they? Selfish, right through to the core. Im sure I was never like that, when I was his age. I remember respecting the rights of others, especially my elders and betters ... He went on, in this vein, much as men do who have left their vibrant, devil-may-care attitudes back with their puberty. Somehow they all managed to get to sleep that night. In the morning they had a visit from the raven. Things are happening out there, said the raven. Good men are becoming villains and murderers, bad men are becoming unspeakable. Clean waters have been poisoned, the cattle are going stark staring mad. There is an evil unfolding in the land. Its killing the grasses with its foul odours, trees are rotting at the roots, birds are falling dead from the skies. The Snake-people have returned from their exile in the Empty Quarter. Theyre as nasty as they ever were, maybe worse. And the good news? asked Soldier. Nothing good. Something funny though. Which is? Several horses rose from the grave and went thundering about the countryside last night. It was mayhem. Some of the carcasses were so far gone they fell to bits during their first gallop. Soldier raised his eyebrows at this. That boys magic is more powerful than he realises. These Snake-people - head of snake, body of man? Thats them. Eyes of demons, minds of devils. Theres one over there, waiting to speak with you. He says hes an envoy, under a flag of truce. Dont believe him. Dont believe anything. Learn not to trust. Soldier looked in the direction indicated by the ravens flick of the head and saw a creature sitting on a horse, watching him, waiting patiently to be seen and called forward. You brought him here? Yes, but hes alone. He trapped me in a rattan cage, using a delicious cats liver for bait. Have you ever tasted raw cats liver? No? Its to die for and I nearly did. He said he needed to talk to you: that it was to your advantage. He said if I didnt take him to your hideout, hed wring my neck and roast me over a slow, hot fire. I suspect it was the second reason which prompted you to agree to meet his request. You guessed right. Advance, Soldier called to the rider. He gripped his warhammer, aware that his singing scabbard had not felt it necessary to warn him of the approach of the stranger. Slowly. Close to, the monstrous reptilian-headed creature peered at Soldier. A forked tongue flicked incessantly from between two sharp, white fangs. Yellow-black eyes glared coldly down. The beast-warrior was armed with bow and heavy sword, sitting high in his saddle, his scaly face at variance with the suntanned skin of his arms, legs and chest. The near-naked warrior - only a ragged loincloth covering his nether parts - was tattooed over most of his body. When he spoke the words came out like cold steam, partly through the mouth, partly through the slitted nostrils. Yshoo will gssive me the boy. It was not a question. The rider stated he was from OmmullummO and represented the wizard in these matters. He then went on to list the rewards for handing Ixonnoxl over to the Snake-people. There were lands and castles, titles and deeds, villages, towns, mighty herds of cattle, lakes, even a mountain. Soldier remained unmoved. He told the Snake-warrior to leave before single combat took place on that shabby piece of turf. You have heard of Vau, the Dog-warrior? I am the man who slew him. They say it is a campfire tale now, amongst the beast-people. Yshoo are he? I am the slayer. The snake head nodded slowly, respect entering the eyes now. Perhapsssss they lie? Why would they lie about a defeat? If Vau had killed me, and had boasted of the ease with which he destroyed me, you would have reason to doubt the story. As it is, it was I who killed one of their kind, efficiently, quickly, without any mercy. In fact, I hear they say that it was the coldest, most savage killing they had ever witnessed in their lives. True it isss. Thatsss what they ssssay. Then you know it would not be an easy victory for you. Now go. The reptile-man glared at him once again, a cold calculation of his chances flickered through his eyes, weighing the odds of victory at single combat. Like many beast-people who had now come face to face with Soldier, he could not see how this human had earned his reputation as a warrior. To the reptile-headed horseman, this Soldier before him seemed as vulnerable as any other human. However, the fact remained: the dog-headed Vau had been a remarkable champion, and if this creature had defeated Vau, and others of equal stamp, then he had hidden qualities which it would be foolish to ignore. Finally, the snake-head turned his horse and galloped off, westwards. Soldier knew they had to move camp now. It would have been expedient to hide the boy on one of the smaller islands off the Guthrum shore-line: Oytledat to the west, or Stell; Amekni, Begrom or Refe to the east. These islands were almost all of what was left of the empire. They still paid tribute and owed allegience to Guthrums monarch. Their citizens had been vassals of the Guthrums queen for so long there was but a dim memory of former independence. The small-islanders were doing very well as part of the empire and for the moment any thought of freedom was lost in the feeling of well-being which sprang from having good trade routes with two continents and from their resident merchants and burghers, whose wealth filtered down to the poorest citizen. However, to reach a port Soldier would have had to cross the country with his boy-wizard and that would enhance any current danger. It was best to stay in the Unknown Region, beyond the Scalash River, and lose the boy there in marsh or scrub woodland. They found a crevice running between two high moors, full of stunted, bearded oaks. On either side the purple moors curved up to plateaus where they swept away, broken only by the occasional clutch of tors. There were, small, stone dwellings in the far distance the homes of boggarts, so Soldier was told but boggarts never wandered more than a mile away from their crofts, so Soldier felt they were safe out of sight below the ridge which fell down to the crevice-shaped valley. There was clean water there, and some wildlife, and they were effectively screened by the
beard-growths that hung from the branches of the oaks. At night, under cover of near-darkness, Soldier and Golgath went up onto the moors to hunt. It was while out on one of these hunts that the raven came to them. They did not see it descend in the dimness of what poor light was to be had from the blood moon, the bird owning the midnight-coloured feathers of its kind, and drifting down soundlessly to its chosen perch. Golgath felt something land on his shoulder as his horse attempted to find its footing on rocky ground. Ahhhhh! cried Golgath, frighted. He swiped at his shoulder with a gauntlet. The raven jumped the blow, landing back on his perch again. Dont do that, he said, into Golgaths ear. Ahhhhh! yelled Golgath again. I feel a demons claw on rny back! I hear its voice in my ear! Demon? cried Soldier, drawing his sword. Keep your head still, while I slice it in two. Stop! Stop! the raven shouted, flying out of harms reach, its me, you idiots. The raven. I bring another warning . . . too late, its here, its very, very near. Run away. Run! Run! At that moment Soldiers magic scabbard began her eerie song, which meant that an ambush was imminent. Soldier turned his horse and said to Golgath, Ride! Quickly! Back the way we came. Golgath had now known Soldier long enough not to argue with any instinctive decisions he made. He followed his friends horse on his own. When they were a good distance from the spot where the danger had been lurking, Soldier reined his mount. Golgath came up alongside him. The horses were heaving with the effort of the run and the two men, shaken and tired with concentrating on their path in the bad light, were feeling equally exhausted. This time the raven landed on Soldiers shoulder and he felt its familiar weight without shying. Raven. Whats the hazard? OmmullummO has^S&nt a cockatrice to find you. It drags its ugly tail across the moor behind us in search of you. The creature leaves a trail of dead in its wake. Dead? Any living creature except the weasel, of course who sets eyes on a cockatrice, or smells its breath, or hears its hiss, dies in agony. Golgath was sceptical. You know its coming? How do you know, if you havent seen, heard or smelled it? Because a weasel told me. That was fair enough. How do we kill this creature? asked Soldier. The raven replied, Thats for you to decide. I tell you again, its breath withers all vegetation, the very sight of it is fatal, its hissing is lethal to living ears and the touch of its skin will shrivel a man to a hollow husk. If you stick a weapon into it say a sword, or spear - the creatures deadly venom will travel from the cockatrice up the weapon and shrink the heart of the bearer to the point of death. Ill be very interested in seeing how you manage to kill this beast from hell. Soldier nodded. Im sure you will be. I assume it doesnt know where our hideout is. Not yet. But it has tracked you this far. When daylight comes itll be on your trail again. Its only a matter of hours. Youre all doomed. Dont sound so happy about it, said Soldier, through gritted teeth. Well, Golgath? He turned to his companion. Any ideas? The weapon, said Golgath. It has to be a missile. An arrow. Or a thrown spear. Something of that sort. Not necessarily a missile - a pit with spikes might work. Ooooo, the raven said. Were doing well, so far. Be quiet, bird, ordered Soldier. Now, what does this monster look like? The bird remained silent. All right, all right, muttered Soldier, wearily, you can talk to me if you wish. Can I please know the physical nature of our enemy? Its about two feet in length, replied the raven, with the body of a cockerel and the tail of a snake. Its colour, including its wings, is yellow, and it has the eyes of a toad. Sometimes, so Im told, it curls its horrible tail up over its back. It can split a rock with its glance. Ive seen the devastation it leaves behind it. A strip of desert littered with debris. OmmullummO was said to have created this one from the egg of a cockerel, the egg being the root which grows a cockatrice. Cocks eggs, as you may guess, are pretty rare. If you kill his monster its doubtful hell manage to make another for a while. Not one of the same. The two men went back to discussing possible methods of killing the cockatrice before any of the party either saw, smelled, heard or touched the dreadful creature. It seemed impossible! How could one get near enough to such a monster without being killed? The raven waited patiently for the two men to finish their discussion, before telling them how it could be done. A weasel, said the bird. Youve forgotten what Ive already told you just a short while ago. The weasel is the only living creature immune to the cockatrices lethal charms. A weasel will attack the monster on sight. The same enmity exists between the weasel and the cockatrice as exists between a mongoose and a snake. We have to trap a weasel, said Soldier. Now, are we speaking generally of weasel-like creatures? Will a stoat do? Or a ferret? Im not certain, but I think theyre considered of the same ilk, replied the raven. What have you got to lose? If you cant catch a weasel, a stoat or ferret will have to do. What shall we use as bait? Golgath suggested, Raven? Very funny, clucked the bird. Have you caught any rabbits lately? Or mice? Voles? It was dawn when they reached the oaks and they found Uthellen and the youth up and about. Ixonnoxl, cried Soldier, dismounting. Can you create anything yet? I mean, weve seen you raise the dead, but can you make a creature from nothing? Not from nothing, no. What do you want? A weasel, or a stoat, or even a ferret. The boy beamed with pleasure. Ive got a weasels corpse, here in my sack. A poor raggedy creature which I found hanging on a farmers gibbet outside Bhantan. I collected several other carcasses from that gibbet. In fact, he opened the sack and began rooting around, peering into his bag of treasures, And Ive got moles and squirrels - and a dead young fox too! Would you like me to raise them all from the dead? The memory of raising the dead horse was still vivid in the minds of the two men, which caused Soldier to hestitate for a moment, but then he was mindful of the urgency of the thing. Just the weasel, said Golgath. How soon, asked Soldier, can the resurrection take place? Ixonnoxl transformed the dead weasel into a live one within the hour. All the while the excited raven was telling everyone that he sensed the approach of the cockatrice, that if the wizard-boy was not quick they would all be cinders. He flapped around, landed, stamped around, and generally made himself a nuisance, until he was told by Soldier to stop hindering Ixonnoxl or else. Or else what? cried the belligerent raven. You want to fight me? In single combat? Im a champion, I am. Ive sent two crows, three jays and a dozen rooks to their grave. Im the fastest thing on two wings. I could peck your eyes out before you could say Jack Daw. You want to watch who you challenge, you do. Im a veteran, I am. How about you fight the cockatrice? Golgath said, which had the desired effect of silencing the bird. Finally, the weasel was alive and running. Running so fast around her flimsy cage she was in danger of breaking out. But her wicker prison held her. When they stared at her they could see holes in her coat, one ear was missing, and her hind kneebones were showing through her musty-smelling fur. Also, disconcertingly, her tail had gone, which made her rudderless and a little inclined to run sideways at times. Are you sure shes any good? said Soldier, doubtfully. Will she get the job done? Ixonnoxl was quite proud of his reincarnation. Of course. Good as any live weasel. I mean, a weasel that had not died in the first place. Now, one of us has to carry -the cage, with her in it, to the cockatrice. Ive also made this, for that brave person to wear ... Uthellen stared at her sons invention. It was a mask, with eyeholes, such as brigands and robbers might wear. Ixonnoxl had fashioned it out of reeds. However, stretched over the rather small eyeholes was a kind of filmy skin. You wear it like this, explained the wizard-boy, putting on the mask and looking like some god of a primitive tribe. Soldier tried it on next. His vision was slightly distorted. He could see shapes through the translucent eyes, shadowy forms, but nothing had a definite keen edge to it. What are these? Soldier went to touch one of the eyes-in the mask, but Ixonnoxl yelled at him. Dont! Theyre delicate. Theyre fashioned from a weasels eyes. Eyes I took from another of my corpses - one in a more advanced state of decay, its true. But putrefaction apart, theyll protect the wearer from the glare of the cockatrice. If the weasel is the only creature which can look on the cockatrice with impunity, then I believe we can use its eyes to peer through. Whats this crazed effect? questioned Soldier, inspecting the membranes dubiously. Ixonnoxl said, proudly, I skinned the eyes and used spiders webs to stick the skins to the mask. Golgath shook his head in distrust. It doesnt sound very convincing to me. Surely it wont work will it? I for one would not trust the skin from the rotting orbs of some dead weasel to keep me from being scorched to a cinder. Would you, Soldier? I - well, truthfully - it seems a very fragile plan. Do the weasels ever lose? asked Golgath of the wizard-boy. Are they ever defeated? Who knows? Ixonnoxl said, cheerfully. Do you know, raven? If they were ever beaten, thered be nothing left of them but ashes, so how could you know? It all sounds rather risky to me, Soldier complained. Ixonnoxl was serious now. What choice do we have? Both Soldier and Golgath admitted there was none. Uthellen suddenly snatched the mask from her sons hands and said, Ill be the one. One what? said Soldier. Ill take the weasel out to kill the monster. Once the woman amongst them had volunteered to do the task, the two men immediately told her she couldnt, that it had to be one of them. Why? Because she was a woman and they were men. It was obvious why. Uthellen said it wasnt obvious at all, for she could do the task as well as any man. All it involved was carrying a cage and releasing the occupant. They protested. She protested. They protested harder. Eventually they drew lots. Soldier lost. They set to work on him. They stuffed wax in his ears and plugged his nostrils with the same material. He could hear nothing, smell nothing. His ears hurt and his nose hurt. He told them there was too much wax and to remove some. They frowned and moved their mouths and he took this silent reply as a refusal. He was then handed the woven reed mask. Lastly he picked up the cage with the mad weasel still racing around in circles inside it, and walked off into the day. The others shouted their farewells, wished him good luck. These encouragements went unheard. Soldier felt very alone and isolated in his world of utter silence. At noon he came across a swathe of deadness which ran across the landscape, a wide track of withered plants and hunched trees. The still bodies of animals and birds littered the scene. Even as he watched, an eagle dropped from the heavens and landed with a thump on the ground ahead. After falling to earth it never moved. Whatever had killed it - with sight, sound or odour was behind a cluster of rocks ahead. Soldiers heart was beating fast. He whipped the mask over his features. Immediately the world became a vague, misty place. He moved cautiously forwards, holding the caged weasel. The ragged weasel herself had now stopped hurtling clockwise round her prison and was up on her hind legs like a short pole, alert, breathing shallowly, expectant. Neck stretching, little head going from side to side, eyes staring keenly ahead, she knew. On the nape of her neck her hair was bristling. Her senses had warned her that her enemy was somewhere in the vicinity. Soldier rounded a hill spur and immediately his flesh started to crawl. He could see a small, strange, winged creature just ahead, dragging a thick, loathsome tail behind it. On noticing Soldier the creature stopped, seemed to peer hard at him, then opened its foul beak. Whatever the sound was which came out, Soldier did not hear it. Whatever deadly vapours it was producing, Soldier did not smell them. Any hissing, any release of pungent gas, was wasted on the weasel-eyed Soldier. Not on the resurrected weasel, though! She flung herself at the wall of her flimsy cage and burst through the wicker-work in a fury of excitement. Racing across the ground between her and the most deadly creature on earth, she hurtled straight into the face of her foe. Some kind of ancient hatred flared between these two protagonists. The reasons behind it had been long forgotten, but the enmity still simmered and boiled over whenever these two combatants met each other. On turf or sandy desert, on stony mountain or woody slope: they immediately rolled into a furious ball of biting, scratching fur and feather; teeth drawing blood, beak stabbing through muscled hide, spit and bits of body flying. No human was meant to witness the battle of two such savage creatures. The attacks were swift and merciless, the injuries quick and horrible. Soldier was shocked to the core by the ferocity of the contest. Even through weasels eyes it was a terrifying sight, an ordeal even, that he would gladly have forgone. It was not something which a human mind could absorb without horror welling up in the throat, without bile burning the belly. Better, he felt, to turn away from such a scene. Yet he could not turn, could not cast his eyes down, for the terrible fight held his dread-seized brain in thrall. Finally, out of that hurricane of fur and feather, the weasel emerged triumphant, licking her wounds with that small red tongue, satisfied that victory once again had gone against her eternal supernatural enemy. Soldier could see by her rolling gait, her swagger, that weasels were used to winning such encounters. There was such pride in her bearing, such arrogance in her tread. The weasel slipped away, into the rocks, and out onto the plain beyond, having been granted an extended life by a wizard-boy practising to become the King Magus, With its throat torn out, the cocktrice lay in a pool of its own acid fluids, decomposing. Soldier had been told not to look on the corpse with the naked eye. Nor to remove the wax from his ears, for its after-life hiss was as deadly as ever. He simply turned and left it, making his way back to where the others waited in the camp. When he reached them, he removed his ear and nose plugs. As he informed them of the victory, they chortled and let their relief be known to the world. They slapped him on the back and asked him to describe the fight. Never, he said, meaning it. I never could.