The Wordsmiths and the Warguild (12 page)

       
Baron Chan Poulaan was
worried about the forthcoming marriage between the king's daughter, Slerma, and
the valiant Roy Suet. King Skan Askander, on his own, was harmless, but the
Suets were a wily breed - cunning, scheming, and devious. And rich. And
numerous.

       
The Suets had already
taken the matter of the currency in hand, and now the baron's spies brought him
unconfirmed rumours of plans for a paretorian guard, a police force, a small
army of infantry, a poll tax, a mining tax, a road toll and a bridge toll, and,
in addition to this, a special estate tax to be levied on barons.

       
It seemed that the
wealth, power and energies of Keep were about to be harnessed and directed,
undoubtedly with the idea of establishing a true kingdom which would end the
privileges and freedoms of the barons. For his part, Baron Chan Poulaan was
coming to see the Wordsmiths as part of an alliance of his enemies; he was
sending horseback messengers across Sung, summoning a meeting of the Warguild.

       
This could mean civil
war.

       
As Brother Troop refused
to yield up Togura Poulaan, Baron Chan Poulaan finally sent Cromarty to Keep to
bring the errant lad to home and to heel. Cromarty, admitted to the Wordsmith's
stronghold, found Togura matching swords with a rough-bearded servitor. As
Cromarty had arrived with no more than a boot-blade to his name, and with no
bully boys to back him up, he had to attempt diplomacy; his wretched efforts in
this direction excited laughter from the servitor and open contempt from
Togura. Cromarty, to his shame, had to go home empty-handed.

       
Togura was training with
the sword because he was preparing to go questing. His mission: to venture to
Castle Vaunting, in Estar, and there, hopefully with the permission of Prince
Comedo, to contend against the monster guarding the green bottle, retrieve the
bottle, recover the index, return to Sung, find out how to use the index, and
rescue his true love from the clutches of the odex.

       
A jovial Suet had
already told him that the loss of a daughter was of no account; there were
plenty more in stock and, if he wanted, he could marry one tomorrow.

       
"I have to save
her," said Togura. "It's a matter of honour."

       
It was a matter of many
things. It would be one in the eye for his father, if he could rescue Day Suet
from the odex. It would raise his status in Keep, confirming him as a hero. It
would make him rich, because he had negotiated an agreement with Brother Troop
which would guarantee him one percent of the wealth generated by the odex. It
would prove that he was a real man. It would make him famous. And, apart from
all that, he was in love with Day. He thought.

       
So he trained with the
sword, and received good advice from all quarters. The more he learnt, the
easier his mission seemed to be. The chance of getting killed came to seem
comfortably remote; he could not understand how other people had failed, and
suspected that they were misfits who had not really gone questing, but had
sneaked off into the never-never to start their lives afresh elsewhere.

       
After all, Estar was
fairly close. Galish convoys went there all the time. Prince Comedo of Estar
was, according to his reputation, not the nicest of men, but a promise of a
percentage of the gains from the odex should sweeten his temper enough to bring
him to let Togura have a crack at the monster guarding the green bottle.

       
The monster itself, he
learnt, was a kind of disk-shaped slug known as a lopsloss; he could not
imagine an overgrown slug giving him much trouble. He was startled when told
that he would actually have to go inside the green bottle to get at the box
holding the index; he doubted that this would be possible until the magic of
bottle-rings was explained to him, at which point it came to seem easy.

       
In fact, he thought the
whole thing was going to be a doddle. When he heard that Brother Troop was
laying on an escort to take him to Estar, it seemed easier than ever. There was
not a cloud on the horizon. Until he received his invitation to Slerma's
wedding.

       
Then he panicked.

Chapter 10

       
In the end, Togura
Poulaan accepted the invitation to attend Slerma's wedding. As resident hero,
he hardly had a choice. By declining, he would have offended both the Suets and
the royal family, which would in turn have earnt him the disapproval of the
Wordsmiths.

       
Because of the wedding,
Togura's departure for Estar would be delayed by two days. He was not entirely
unhappy with this. Though he had only been with the Wordmiths for a short time,
he felt at home in the Wordsmiths' stronghold; though his mission no longer
seemed suicidal, he was not exactly enthusiastic about setting out.

       
For the wedding, Togura
dressed in new breeches, new boots, a stout jerkin and a padded jacket; he wore
a sword at his side and flaunted a feather in his cap.

       
"Etiquette does not
permit swords at weddings," said Brother Troop.

       
"For ordinary
people, no," said Togura. "But certain things are expected of a
hero."

       
"You may be
right," said Brother Troop, and let him go dressed as he pleased.

       
The wedding was scheduled
to take place in the morning in the Suets' Grand Hall, a building which Togura
had never visited before. Arriving early in bright autumn sunshine - a good
omen, surely, as it had been unbroken rain for days previously - he found this
immense wooden building almost empty except for workmen who were finishing off
reinforcements to a section of the floor, and Suet women who were responsible
for catering.

       
Togura walked through
the building, strutting a little in his fine new clothes, and admiring all the
good things to eat which had been provided in such profusion. Among other
things, there were marvellous cakes created in the image of the new coinage.

       
The building echoed with
bright, happy voices. Louder, ominously hollow echoes came from underfoot as
people walked this way and that across the wooden floor. Togura walked across
one spot where queasy floorboards sagged beneath his weight; he cleared the
area quickly, then tapped the floor with his heel and toe, listening to the
echoes.

    
   
"There's a mine shaft
underneath us," said a well-fleshed well-dressed elderly man.

       
"It must be a big
one," said Togura.

       
"One of the
biggest. It was Shaft Suet, the richest gemstock sounding in all of Keep. It
gave the family its start in life. By the time Shaft Suet was exhausted, the
family was rich. Anyway, enough history. You're Barak the Battleman, aren't
you?"

       
"I am. And
you?"

       
"Name's Raznak the
Golsh. I'm a Suet by birth and by breeding."

       
They idled there for a
while, talking of nothing in particular - weddings, cakes, music, the weather.
But Togura sensed that Raznak the Golsh had a proposition for him. He was not
wrong. Soon Raznak began to speak his mind.

       
"I hear you're soon
to set off on your quest."

       
"Very soon.
Tomorrow, in fact."

       
"What a pity. At
the moment, we've got an opening which would just suit a fierce young warrior
like yourself. We need a commander for the fighting force we're forming."

       
"Honesty compels me
to tell you that I'm not the fighter I'm cracked up to be," said Togura.
"Besides, I'm too young. Few men would follow me."

       
"We can use your
reputation," said Raznak. "You'd grow into the job. We've got people
who can help you find your feet. You'd be a regular sword-slaughterer in a few
short years."

       
"I'm not the
type," said Togura, who had heard the rumours of civil war, and wanted
nothing to do with it. "I'll never have the fighting prowess."

       
"Don't run yourself
down. I was lucky enough to see you kill the monster which you rode up out of
the mine pit. You've got what it takes, young man."

       
"That was a
fluke."

       
"Perhaps. But your
reputation's solid. So I'm making you an offer. Join us. Sung will soon be a
proper kingdom. Soon enough, we'll be the royal family. Skan Askander won't
last forever."

       
And Raznak winked.

       
"I've got my duty
to Day," said Togura.

       
"You've been
offered a daughter Suet before," said Raznak. "The offer still
stands. It wasn't your fault that the little girl met her unfortunate end.
Don't go throwing your life away on an impossible quest. I met some of those
who went questing and were never seen again. Strong men. Brave men. Not a fool
amongst them. They were strong, determined, capable. But they vanished, one and
all."

       
"All five of
them."

       
"Five! The
Wordsmiths told you that? There's been fifty men go questing, if there's been
one."

       
The revelation shook
Togura.

       
"Tell me you'll
join us," said Raznak the Golsh.

       
"I'll think about
it," said Togura.

       
"You do that, young
man. You do that."

       
And he most certainly
did, pondering the options while the hall filled with guests. Fifty heroes, all
missing in action! Could it be true? If it was, then Raznak's offer certainly
had its temptations. So who could he trust? Who could he believe?

       
His troubled mind
worried away at the problem until his cogitations were interrupted by the
announcement of the arrival of Roly Suet. The young groom, fatter than most
people but thin for a Suet, was dressed like a peacock. He looked calm - too
calm. His eyes had a glazed, fixed expression. Togura suspected he had been
drugged.

       
"Enter the
sacrifice," muttered a voice.

   
    
"The things
people do for power!" said another.

       
Shortly after, the hum
of conversation in the hall fell away to an absolute silence as Slerma entered.
She was led into the hall and then seated by guides and helpers who made sure
she kept strictly to the reinforced section. At the sight of her, one tender
young lady blanched and fainted. Two old ladies, a spinster and a relict, began
to titter, and then, unable to help themselves, broke into frank and horrified
laughter.

       
Slerma did not appear to
hear. She stared around her, letting her eyes ooze slowly over the vast mounds
of food which were on display.

       
"Slerma will eat
well," she said. "This is good."

       
Two female Suets with
fixed smiles draped a veil over her countenance, but Slerma mauled it away from
her face. She had gone to a lot of trouble with her appearance, and did not
want her efforts to go to waste.

       
Slerma's makeup
represented a unique experiment in abstract art. Stains of green and red were
smeared across the flanks of her face, creating washes of gently undulating
colour which swelled and contracted as she chewed her cud. She had applied
mascara; dabs and dobs of black were scattered above her eyebrows, looking like
the distant heads of soldiers peering over the brow of extensive earthworks.

       
Togura felt it rude to
stare, yet could not help himself. He was not alone. Slerma was as huge as he
had remembered - if anything, worse. A buxom girl could have been made from
each of her forearms, and a respectable whore from each of her thighs; her
belly could have given birth to a regular conclave of washerwomen. Her fingers,
as fat as sausages, looked deceptively soft and helpless; remembering the true
strength of those bone-crushing hands, Togura shuddered. To think that he had
almost been married to this!

       
Watched by a
disbelieving audience, the wedding ceremony was conducted.

       
"If any man alleges
prior claim to possession of this woman, let him speak now or forever
afterwards remain silent," said the marriage celebrant, looking around
sternly. No claims being forthcoming, he announced: "I find, rule and
declare that there are no prior claims on this woman."

       
"What woman?"
cried a wit.