Scabbard's Song (6 page)

the one time, with my kinsman Vau, did you overstep the mark, for that unconsciously brought to mind your old antagonism, the old wrong you suffered the assault of a bride. Vau had scarred the beauty of the woman who was your wife and so you took revenge. All this can be understood, if not approved of. But now it should be over. Two brides dead, two families stripped to the very core, with one member of each left living? That is enough. Forget this Drummond. Live your life now. There was great sense in what Wo was telling him, yet Soldier still felt a pull, an urge to plunge his sword into the last Drummond. Surely then it would be all over and only then? Yet, if he were to reflect on his feelings when other Drummonds had died something he could do now the memory of his old life had returned - he would admit to feeling no great satisfaction, no settlement of his anger, no sweet sense of revenge. If anything, he had felt more agitated, more angry. Part of that anger was with himself, for being seduced by thoughts of revenge, for allowing rage to control him. Guilt was as heavy a burden as a feeling of injustice if not heavier. The still, small voice of calm was the only sanctuary from hurt and injustice. Not to forgive or forget, but to stand aside from revenge, to avoid indulgence in destroying the destroyer. To remain aloof from the great violence which fuelled a feud and turned it into a wild fire of torture and death impossible to halt. You are coming to the right decision, said the raven. Leave it be, Soldier. Leave it be. Soldiers head came up. You know what I am thinking? I guess it, said the bird. I can read your facial expressions they take me on a journey through your head. You humans are very transparent, wouldnt you say so, Wo? The dog-headed man nodded, emphatically. Yes easy to read. But the Drummond is here, seeking my death, groaned Soldier. Am I to stand by and let him kill me? If he attacks you, of course you must retaliate, said Wo, but do not be the first to initiate violence. Every man has a right to defend himself. But do not seek him out, goad him, provoke him. Remain conscious of his presence, but otherwise ignore the creature. Soldier suddenly felt hypocrisy working. This, from a dog-head? he said. You plunderers, pillagers, rapists? Why, you live by raiding farms and wayfarers, let alone joining together to attack cities. What right have you to lecture me on violence? What you say is true. There are those among the head clans who follow the Hannack way. The Hannacks cannot help themselves. They have the brains of sewer rats. They have human form but they have the intellect and the mind-set of a low predator like a shark. We, on the other hand, are quite bright in comparison. Yet there are those among us who preach barbarism as the only way of life left open to us. I make no apology for them, or for myself; I only offer advice to someone who in the last few days - I have come to admire. You once acted in a brutal and bestial manner do not now return to that way, or I believe you will regret it. Soldier sighed and began to pack his horse. You are right. You are both right. I still live by the sword, it is true, but it is the honourable sword of a soldier and not that of an assassin or murderer. One must live within rules, within laws, or perish in the mire of the utterly depraved and deviant. I have not finished fighting wars - there is the question of Humbold and Zamerkand to settle - but if I must fight, it should be with reluctance, when all else has failed. I will try to negotiate with those inside the walls of Zamerkand. If they will give up Humbold, I will settle for that. I will not break the laws of two lands and attack the city with the Carthagan army. He looked up at the raven, then across at the dog-person. And I will forget Drummond. He is already dead to me. Good, good, said Wo, getting up to pack his own mount. And so, you have a name now. Valechor is that what we shall call you? Soldier thought about it, then said, No, in this world I am known as Soldier. He grinned. Would you have me give up all the hard-found fame which that name gives me in this place and hide behind one that means nothing to the hearer? I have no desire to slip into anonymity yet. The name of Soldier is respected . . . Feared and hated, added the raven. . . . throughout several kingdoms, finished Soldier, ignoring the black bird. Until IxonnoxI is established as the rightful King Magus, and Zamerkand has got rid of Humbold,. I must hold on to all the power that my name in this world gives me. The raven flew off, leaving the two companions to finish their packing. When they were ready, the riders set off again, back towards where the tracks forked, one going to Zamerkand, the other to Falyum. On the journey the scabbard, who had not finished her song of the old world to her satisfaction, filled in the rest of Valechors history. It was during a battle in his old world that he had been flung into this one, to wake on the warm hills side without his memory, there to kill a snake which had been about to attack a raven, and there to meet a hunter who was to become his wife. That terrible battle, sang the scabbard, was still in progress. Men had been fighting on that high boggy moor for as many years as Soldier had been in Guthrum. On one side had been the last Valechor, on the other had been the knight Drummond, who had killed the king and made himself monarch, thus giving himself access to greater forces of men-at-arms. With these overwhelming numbers he had marched against knight Valechor, the armies meeting on a high moor covered in peat hags and deep marshy ditches. The fighting had been at its most desperate when the two leaders, both living under a curse, crossed swords. The battle being fought on a magical moor, the spells they were under were invoked and they were flung out of their own world and into another. In that other-world they made their own separate ways, not knowing of the others presence. Drummond had landed in the continent of Gwandoland and had retrieved his named sword, and thus his identity, before Valechor. Valechor himself had pitched into Guthrum and had become the Soldier, a man who had risen from condemned malefactor to general of a mercenary army without knowing his real name or where he came from. Both had suffered extraordinary experiences. Now, as in their old world, they had chosen opposite sides. Valechor was for IxonnoxI and Drummond for OmmullummO. It seemed Soldier was destined to battle with his old enemy, if they both survived long enough to cross swords again on the killing fields. And what of my poor army in the old world? he groaned. Are they then fighting still? They are bloody but unbowed, sang Sintra. Every day they rise from their beds and fling themselves into the fight anew. Many seem lost to the black bog. Many seem to succumb to disease. Some appear to die of mortal wounds. Yet somehow on that magical moor their numbers do not decrease. They strive, as do the more numerous enemy strive, to gain advantage. Both armies have long grown weary of the fighting, and rise from their sleep with a great lethargy of spirit, their limbs like lead, their bodies groaning under the weight of their efforts. Their souls have grown grey with age and violent toil and all kneel around the evening watchfires and pray for an end to the fighting, so that they can go home to their families. They age not, nor do their kin, for eternity is become an hour, all time constricted within those sixty minutes during which two clashing armies should settle their differences and the survivors return to their hovels, farms and castles in their homelands. Fighting still? groaned Soldier. How terrible. They must feel they are in hell, and indeed for all eternity. A battle that lasts for ever. What can end it? Only you, and the last Drummond, can end it. How? There are two ways -friendship, or death. The death of both, or the death of one? That is unknown. Then we must put aside our old enmity and become friends, Soldier said, bitterly. It is a hard thing to bear, but it must be done. He will see that. He too has an army, has friends who have been fighting his cause forever-and-a-day. Drummond will want to see an end to this fighting, surely? One would think so, said Wo, who heard all and was as amazed and appalled by it as Soldier himself. One would hope so. The face of the sky was mustachioed by a long, thin cloud which drooped at the ends. It seemed peaceful enough up there. Whenever there was trouble between gods, wizards or magi the sky was the place where that trouble was reflected. Things had obviously quietened down since the day the magic colours had been cast over the heavens. The two creatures, the man and the dog-man, parted at the ways: there was now respect and friendship between them. Soldier continued back to the Red Pavilions where Layana was waiting for him. She had been standing on a hilltop, watching the horizon, and rode out to meet him. They embraced, exchanged frivolous love epithets, and were then interrupted by the arrival of others. Spagg came, full of excitement, wanting to hold the sword Kutrama (which Soldier would not allow him to do). Also Velion and some of his friends from amongst his troops. By the look of things, and Velion confirmed this, not a great deal had changed in the time Soldier had been away. Its good to hand back command, said Velion, as they all rode back towards the Red Pavilions. I dont enjoy all that responsibility. Can you arrange a meeting with General Kaff? asked Soldier. We need to start discussing peace plans. Peace plans? Velion, and indeed Layana and the others, were all flabbergasted. This is Humbold youre talking about. I know, I know, but up in the Seven Peaks Ive had a lot of time to think. The violence has to stop somewhere. Any agreement of course would mean that Humbold would be exiled for life . . . That evening, Soldier and Layana were alone for the first time. What has happened to you, my husband? she asked. You seem quite different from when you left us. Im still desperately in love with you, if that is what concerns you, he replied. No, it is not. She stared into his face. I can see the love still burning in your eyes. But you are strangely quiet and thoughtful. And all this talk about peace with Humbold? This has been a sudden turn-about for you. Something has happened. Is it to do with your sword? She nodded at the weapon which now lay across a stool, within reach. Partly, yes. When I returned the sword to the scabbard, Sintra began to sing to me. Now you know she has always sung, when an enemy has been sneaking up on me, as a warning. But before now I have not understood the words. This time I did, and it was not to warn me, but to tell me of my past history in my other life, my other world. Hmm. And now you know who you are? Im envious. Dont be. I can tell you your history and it is full of nothing but self-sacrifice and good. My history on the other hand is atrocious. I am a bloodthirsty barbarian was - in the other world. I pursued a family and drove them into their graves. Oh, yes, they did the same with my people, killing my newly wedded bride amongst others, but what does that signify? If I had sued for peace instead of hunting them down and slaughtering them, how different my history might have been. Can you believe the song? After all, the scabbard is surely not a living creature, in the true sense, and may be just repeating the song mechanically, like an automaton. Kutrama and Sintra were once flesh and blood, before they became a weapon they have souls like you and me. But still, can you believe her song? Yes, because it feels right. Now that the memories have been stirred from the dust of my brains, they are familiar. They make sense of who and what I am today. I am, my darling, a knight called Sir Valechor a terrible fellow whose blood-rage has been responsible for starting wars. Here, in this world, I have killed, but as a soldier. In my last life I think I might have murdered in cold blood. Certainly it seems I was responsible for the massacre of the Drummonds, the last of whom is here too, having followed me or I him, its not certain yet he is here, to kill me. All this killing talk is doing your spirit no good. Come, sit on this silk cushion at my feet, while I soothe your brow with my cool hands. There, there, my husband. The stroking of his brow was indeed helping. The hot fever of agitation left him. He relaxed and even took a drink of wine. Layana continued speaking softly to him. Sir Valechor? That sounds a noble name. Much nobler than Drummond. Did he come from the same country as you, or was he an enemy from a distant land? We were almost cousins. Certainly we were both from border clans, neither in nor out of two neighbouring countries. Our allegiance was to the greater northern king, though the greater southern might call upon our arms if not our total loyalty in times of crisis. So long as these greater-kings did not fight each other, both Drummond and I might be of the same army. But in my world, border clans are notoriously unsettled, often earning their living by raiding, much as the beast-heads and the Hannacks do here. Our lesser-king knighted both of us, heads of families, hoping this would tame our wildness. It didnt, of course, it simply gave respectability to our savage ways. I understand, but that is in your past now, in a distant place you cant reach even if you wanted to. True. I gain some solace from that. I am no longer the man I was then, I hope. And I shall call you Soldier, not Valechor, for he is nothing to me, and you are everything. How well she understood him, this woman, this princess of an alien otherworld. Better than those in his own birth-land. They lay on the silk sheets of the bed and talked into the early hours of the morning. This was not a time for making love. This was a time for revelations, for speaking truths and discovering meanings. They clasped each other of course, and held hands, and did all those touching-things that new lovers did, for they had been parted many days. When the grey dawn came they fell asleep, to be woken, near to noon, by Velion. Velion lifted the tent flap and said bluntly, Kaff has come. Then let it fall back into place. Soldier dressed in his best sandals, put on the gold breastplate that he had been given by the rulers of Carthaga as a symbol of his generalship and command of their northern army. His sword and sheath he left behind, along with his helmet, to show he was not in a mood for war. Kaff was standing by a water trough, with his retinue of Imperial Guardsmen. His face was like stone. Once or twice, as Soldier walked to meet him with his own retinue, the Guthrumite stared round him as if checking that he was not going to be attacked without warning. General Kaff, said Soldier, stretching out his hand. Good of you to