The Wordsmiths and the Warguild (13 page)

       
Who was suppressed,
strenuously.

 
      
At the
conclusion of the wedding ceremony, Slerma embraced Roly Suet, engulfing him in
her arms. She held him close. She had decided to be very loving today. After a
while, Roly began to make violent, animated movements with his arms and legs.
It appeared he was suffocating. This was highly embarrassing! Senior Suets
stood by, one openly wringing his hands, while people pushed and shoved to get
a good view, standing on tiptoe and craning their necks. Gladiatorial sports
were unknown in Sung, so they had never seen anything like it.

       
Finally, Slerma released
her prey. He slid down to the ground and lay at her feet, limp but still
breathing. Taking him by the hair, she hauled him onto her lap, where he lay
like a rag doll, his face plastered with red and green and black; he had been
kissed.

       
Someone cheered.
Infected by an outbreak of mob hysteria, the others took up his theme; the hall
rocked and resounded with applause. Slerma beamed. She was a success. She was
glorious. She was beautiful. She was loved. Her happiness would have been
complete if her father had been there to see her triumph, but unfortunately he
was laid up with gout.

       
Determined music began;
the cheering died away, and was replaced by a babble of talk, gossip and
speculation. The festivities were underway.

       
As a skavamareen wailed
along in the wake of a galloping thrum, Togura encountered a girl named Zona,
who made it appear that she met him almost by accident.

       
"Are you a
Suet?" he said.

      
 
"Yes. How did you
guess?"

       
"What else would
they send to seduce me?"

       
"The cheek of the
animal!" she said.

       
"A kiss would be a
good way to start," said Togura.

       
She blushed, and Togura
saw his suspicions were correct. The Suets had sent one of their expendable
females to romance him. He was flattered.

       
"Dance with
me," he said.

       
She yielded, so soon
they were dancing the Dalataplash, kicking their heels and punching the air,
whooping at the war-scream and shouting at the hoot, then embracing each other
in the couple and the grind. She laughed a lot. She might have been sent, but
she was willing. He was young, handsome and a hero, and a baron's son besides,
heir to the estate if he killed his half-brother Cromarty. There was good meat
on her bones; he knew himself lucky.

       
They danced then ate,
danced then drank, then danced again. Togura cast occasional glances in the
direction of young Roly Suet, who seemed to be making a remarkable recovery
from his traumatic experience with Slerma. The royal couple were not dancing:
Slerma was still eating, with Roly at her side feeding her choice morsels from
a bucket.

       
"Would you marry
me?" said Togura to Zona.

       
"Would I if
what?"

       
"If I asked."

       
"Ask."

       
"That's no
answer."

       
"Still, it's the
answer deserved. Are you a hero or aren't you?"

       
"I'll think about
it," said Togura. "Come, the music's wasting. Let's dance."

       
And dance they did. She
was smooth, lithe, clean-limbed and lively. He wanted her. She was his answer
to the urgency of the flesh. She was part of a contract for a fabulous future.
In the face of such offers, what wisdom in questing? Fifty men missing, most
probably dead? Where was the temptation in that?

       
It was many generations
since Togura's ancestors had been sharp-bargaining Galish merchants, but,
nevertheless, a trader's caution was still part of his heritage; he disliked
unnecessary danger on principle, being entirely lacking in the kind of
hang-devil recklessness which welcomes impossible odds.

       
But Day!

       
How could he forget
about Day?

       
How could he write her
off like this?

       
He tried to bring her
face to mind, but failed. He could not remember what she looked like. He tried,
in a dutiful way, to fabricate feelings of regret and remorse, but failed.

       
"Kiss me,"
said Zona.

       
And he could hardly
decline.

       
As they danced, the
music grew louder. An old-fashioned canterkade beat out a rhythm in direct
opposition to a new-fangled clay. A sklunk back-thumped, a chanter whined, a
snot-pipe shrilled, then massied plea whistles hooted and honked, joining the
screaming high pinions in a caterwauling fanfarade.

       
"So what's it to
be?" said Zona, as the last of the music jogged down to nothing.
"Where will you sleep tonight and tomorrow? By some bone-rotting
mountainside bog? Or elsewhere, far warmer?"

       
"Give me time to
think," said Togura, with a laugh of joy and triumph which he was unable
to suppress.

       
Already he knew his
answer. It was no contest. The people of Sung - even the young men - were
essentially too sane and sober to make good questing heroes. They seemed wild enough,
with their feuding and fighting, but such localised sports are essentially
civilised in that they never take you more than a couple of days from your own
warm bed and a hot-bread kitchen.

       
Though the Wordsmiths
did not know it yet, Togura had just cancelled his quest for the index.

  
     
"Let's find
a seat," said Zona.

       
"Let's," said
Togura, coughing.

       
"It's rather
smoky," said Zona, waving a hand in front of her face.

       
"Rather," said
Togura, looking round to see who was smoking the acrid pipe.

       
He blinked. His eyes
were stinging. People were starting to shout. Somebody screamed. Suddenly
Togura realised there were clouds of smoke curling and coiling overhead. People
were panicking, rushing for the exits. Togura drew his sword, then looked at it
in astonishment. Why had he done that? He sheathed it hastily, before Zona
noticed. Zona?

       
"Zona!"
shouted Togura.

       
His voice was lost in
the uproar. She was gone. She had fled. Somewhere, a loud voice boomed,
roaring:

       
"Fire! Fire!
Fire!"

       
Togura jumped on a
table.

       
"Don't
push!"he bawled. "People will get crushed!"

       
But he was ignored. He
coughed; the air was harsh with smoke. Looking round, he saw a disturbance. He
saw part of a wall breaking down, admitting bright sunlight and a wedge of -
masked men!

       
"We're under
attack!" shouted Togura.

       
But nobody heard him.

       
He jumped down from the
table and waded toward the attackers. With Suets and their guests crushing each
other to death in the jam-packed exits, he figured that the break in the wall
offered him the best chance of escape from a building now definitely burning.

       
He drew his sword again,
and this time did not feel stupid for doing so.

Chapter 11

       
Togura, dizzy with smoke,
fear and excitement, hung back as the masked men attacked. His drawn sword was
strictly for self-defence. He was them close in on Roly Suet, who fought as
best he could, crowning one with a food bucket and kicking another in the
privates. They overwhelmed him and carried him off.

       
"Give me back my
man!" said a vast, slurred, grubbling voice.

       
It was Slerma. She was
not pleased.

       
A man slashed at her
with his sword. She threw up a forearm to defend herself. By rights, sword
versus arm should lead to instant amputation. But the blade scarcely managed to
cut deep enough into her blubber to reach the bone. Next moment she had seized
the miscreant by neck and by ankles, and was tearing him apart. As Togura
blinked, gaped and boggled, the man ruptured and split, spilling -

       
Togura closed his eyes,
feeling sick.

       
By now, others had
realised what was going on. Suets and guests, arming themselves with tables,
chairs, carving knives and roasting spits, gave battle. Those with no weapons
flailed at the attackers with jackets, coats, cloaks and capes, seeking to
entangle their swords or beat them down so they could close for a stranglehold.
Roly's kidnappers were cut off from their escape route. Two sat on Roly,
holding him down, while the others fought in the burning building.

       
Slerma, thinking the
battle was going against her side, went to the rescue.

       
"No!" screamed
Togura, seeing her bulking off the reinforced section of the floor.

       
But he was not heard or
was not understood or was ignored. Slerma rumbled ahead, spitting and growling,
ready to defend her true love with her life, ready to kill, crush, mutilate and
mangle. Some of the masked intruders fled howling at her approach. Slerma
advanced in triumph.

       
Then floorboards broke
beneath her, precipitating her into the abandoned mine shaft below. The
invaders raised a cheer, and began to prevail. Then a squad of musicians joined
the affray, their instruments becoming weapons of war.

       
As battle raged,huge
bubbling roars came from underground. Slerma was still alive, and most
indignant about her predicament. Two suets, overwhelming an invader, tossed him
into Slerma's pit. Shortly his pitiful screams maimed the air, then came a
slubbering groan, and then - from him, at least - silence. The din of battle
masked the sounds of feeding.

       
Togura, sword in hand,
skirted round the outskirts of the brawl, making for the daylight. But a masked
fighting man stepped forward to confront him.

   
    
"Who is it who
dares to trifle with Barak the Battleman?" shouted Togura.

       
"Me!"

       
And the masked man tore
away his disguise. It was Cromarty, claymore in hand.

       
"Crom!" cried
Togura.

       
"None other,"
said Cromarty, grinning with open delight. "And what have we here? Why,
why, it's little Tog-Tog. Gather round, boys. Now it's really party time."

       
But there were no boys
to gather round.

       
"You're on your own
this time," said Togura.

       
"That's all
right," said Cromarty, evenly. "I'll manage."

       
And, turning ferocious
without further ado, he attacked.

       
Their war-blades
clashed. Togura sliced Cromarty's thigh. Cromarty nicked his nose. Blooded,
they broke apart, coughing and panting, their eyes stung with tears as smoke
whirled about them. They began to circle, posing fiercely and talking tough.

       
"Come closer,"
said Togura, "and I'll slice you from pox to piles."

       
"Not so hasty,
salami minor, or you'll be eating your arsehold for breakfast."

       
"Talk's cheap, you
son of a slut."

       
"A slut? Look who's
talking. I raped your mother on the night she died."

       
"Shut your filth
and swallow it."

       
"Believe me,
Tog-Tog. She loved it. She asked for more and more and more. She licked my -
"

       
"Liar!"

       
A burning beam crashed
down between them. A smaller timber fell, striking Cromarty, knocking him to
the ground with a glancing blow. As the building broke up, the fight was
breaking up. People were running for their lives. Togura started to scream a
threat at Cromarty, but broke out into a fit of coughing instead. His
half-brother was lost in the swirling smoke. Togura sheathed his blade. A man
came blundering his way, blinded by blood streaming from a cut on his forehead.
It was Roly Suet.