The Wordsmiths and the Warguild (31 page)

       
Walking upstream, Togura
was met by a solid wall running flush with the river. Going downstream, he met
the same. He realised he was standing on a kind of landing bay. There was no
path by the river. He could trust himself to the water, which thrashed into
thunder in the darkness ahead, but he suspected that would be suicide - or at
least a severe form of masochism. The alternative was to see if there was a
tunnel, stairway, chimney or sump leading away from the landing bay.

       
Togura wandered about in
the dark, bumping into things, swearing, shouting to test the echoes, and
falling into holes. One of the larger holes dropped him down so sharply that he
almost broke his leg. He got off with a sprained ankle. Hobbling about,
swearing more viciously than ever, he found, at last, a stairway, which he
climbed.

       
The stairway led into a
maze of passages dimly lit by strips of green illumination running along the
ceilings - a kind of lighting unlike anything Togura had ever seen before. The
passageways, which were hazy with spiderwebs, were thick with dust and littered
with junk - shards of pottery, empty stone jars, petrified bones, snail shells,
drifts of ironsand, broken glass of truly amazing quality, containers of a
light and fragile metal which did not seem to rust, and other oddments.

       
At regular intervals,
the floor was punctured by bright sunlight streaming in through slit windows.
Peering out through one of these windows, Togura found himself looking to the
south; the river exited from the castle below him. Two men on the bank were
patiently watching the river. Much wandering later, he found himself able to
get a view to the north. The view here was graced by the presence of a man
squatting by a riverside fire, apparently roasting something on a spit.

       
Togura was - this did
not surprise him, for he was used to being in this situation - both hungry and
thirsty. He was not yet seriously worried. However, after having lost himself
and found himself several times, he realised that he was going round in
circles. His clothes were still damp, his boots were still sodden, and he was
getting very tired from walking on the hard, unyielding floor.

       
"It'll take a
miracle to get out of here," said Togura, in one of the moments of despair
which he thought he had outgrown.

       
A miracle - or magic.

       
Of course! Why not try
magic? There was nothing to say that wizards had built this place, but, on the
other hand, there was nothing to say that they hadn't. Togura promptly tried
some of the tricks which the wizard of Drum had taught him, in defiance of all
the laws, rules and regulations of the Confederation of Wizards. He tried a
Word of Opening, a Word of Closing, then three or four Words which were
supposed to do something, though he could not for the life of him remember
what.

   
    
Nothing happened.

       
The brick remained
brick, the dust remained dust, the glass remained glass, the bones remained
bones. In frustration, Togura shouted aloud a Word of Ultimate Destruction, which
he had been warned never ever to use except in the direst emergencies. Again,
nothing happened. If wizards had left any power in this place, he had failed to
find the right Words to activate that power.

       
What else could he try?

       
"Onamonagonamonth!" chanted Togura.

       
It was a Word of
Location.

       
It worked!

       
In the distance, a
ringing note, like that from a bell, sounded loud and clear, then died away to
nothing. An artefact of power lay in that direction. Togura took a few paces,
then spoke his Word of Location again. The bell-bright tone ignited once again.
In this manner, he led himself through the maze, reaching, at last, a big,
high-vaulted hall where the ringing tone was almost overwhelming.

       
"It's here,"
muttered Togura, as the note once more died away.

       
But where?

       
The hall was cluttered
with the most appalling jumble of antiquated lumber, spinning wheels, mirrors
of startling brightness, decayed paintings, broken tiles, weapon racks, body
armour, spokeless wheels of a black substance which was hard yet flexible, and
assorted lumps of rust which perhaps had once been something flexible, together
with old leather-bound books in indecipherable script, stone tablets, graven
images of bronze and jade, coins made of lead and bits of seamless lightweight
piping.

       
"Onamonagonamonth!" cried Togura.

       
The ringing note almost
deafened him. As far as he could tell, it seemed to come from one particular
corner. As the sound died away, he waded toward it, barking his shins on an
ironbound chest, which served to diminish his enthusiasm. He cautioned himself
not to get over-excited. When he found the whatever-it-was, he might find it
incomprehensible. Or useless. It might be a wizard-made device for skinning
onions by enchantment, a magic funnel for desalinating the sea, a novel weapon
specifically designed for killing dragons, or any other of a thousand million
unhelpful devices.

       
Once he reached the
corner, he rummaged through various kinds of junk - more rocks, more bones, a
crown made of a heavy metal which was possibly gold, a box decorated with the
design of a heart and a hand, a couple of dirty stone jars, a feather cloak
which fell to pieces when he picked it up, a lump of rock-heavy swamp kauri and
a ship in a bottle.

       
The only thing which
looked like it might be magic was the ship in the bottle, for it was a thing
which was, on the face of it, an impossibility. Togura hated to break a piece
of glass so large, so finely wrought and so rare, but, yielding to necessity, he
smashed the bottle. Then, for good measure, dismantled the ship. Finding
nothing. He ran through his Words again. There was only one he had failed to
use, so now he used it on principle:

       
"Sholabarakosh!"

       
There was a sharp click.

      
 
And, in the dust, something
moved.

Chapter 27

       
What had moved?

       
As far as Togura could
see, nothing had changed.

       
Then he noticed that the
casket bearing the design of a heart and a hand was ajar. For some reason, the
decoration on the lid of the box seemed familiar. Of course! Now he remembered!
Long ago, in the Wordsmiths' stronghold in Keep, Brother Troop had sketched
that identical design for him. Later, the wizard of Drum had drawn the same. At
his feet was the box which held the index!

       
Or so he hoped.

       
Togura stooped to secure
the box. As he lifted the casket, the lid snapped shut. He could not pry it
loose by any exercise of brute force.

       
"Sholabarakosh!" said Togura.

       
Raising the lid, he saw within
a very curious device, which he removed, discarding the box. This device was,
he presumed, the index which he had been questing for - on and off, with
varying degrees of resolve - for so long.

       
It looked rather like
three miniature harps stuck together, each harp string ending in a pearl-white
button. The three layers of buttons, corresponding to the three layers of
strings, were stepped, so they did not obscure each other. There were also a
dozen multicoloured buttons which were not attached to any strings.

       
Cautiously, Togura
plucked a harp string with one of his broken black-rimmed fingernails. It did
not respond. Then he touched one of the buttons. A pure, clear note, sweeter
than birdsong, sounded through the hall. Other buttons raided other notes, some
low, some high. Togura was at first entranced, then disappointed. This could
hardly be the index, for it did not speak. It was no more than a musical
plaything from the days of antiqity - charming, but ultimately useless.

       
He tossed it aside.

       
Then he sat down in the
dust, feeling despondent.

       
He must have been crazy
to think that he had found the index. The index, as he knew full well, was at
the bottom of a bottle guarded by a monster in Castle Vaunting, at Lorford, now
many leagues to the north. So it could hardly be here. There was, after all,
only one index.

       
Or was there?

       
Togura tried to remember
precisely what he had been told about the index, but it was difficult. He
lacked the scholarly impulse; if he was honest with himself, he would have to
admit that he had never given his full attention either to Brother Troop or the
Wordsmiths or to the wizard of Drum. His chaotic lifestyle, full of death,
horror, disaster and sundry shocks to the system - sea serpents, walking rocks!
- had not improved matters. It was hard to spare much thought for scholarly
revision when one starving to the bone in a foreign land, or being hunted
through the wilds by assorted rapists and butchers.

       
Nevertheless, after some
concentrated thought, Togura did manage to remember something of the lectures
he had endured. The wizard of Drum, Hostaja Torsen Sken-Pitilkin, had talked
about the index in connection with the Old City of Penvash. Or was that the
odex he had been talking about? Brother Troop had mentioned that there might be
another index in Chi'ash-lan - or was it Galsh Ebrek? There had been some
mention of other places, too. Androlmarphos? No. But some place in the south.

       
"Let's be
honest," said Togura, speaking aloud. "To tell the truth, I've
forgotten."

       
His voice sounded so
forlorn and lonely in that old, dusty hall that he wished he had not spoken. He
gave the musical instrument a little kick. He was tempted to break it, but his
mercantile instincts restrained him. In context, the triple-harp was a useless
piece of junk, but in a cultured city like Selzirk it might well be worth a
fortune. Togura put the triple-harp back in its casket. Harp and box were light
and easy to carry.

     
  
"On your way, Togura
Poulaan," said Togura.

       
He left the hall by way
of a high, arched doorway. The floor beneath was paved, not by bricks but by
huge slabs of stone.

       
"Curious,"
said Togura.

       
He advanced boldly down
the passageway, then stopped when one of the huge slabs of stone seemed to
shift underfoot.

       
"Curiousr
still," said Togura, sweating a little.

       
Cautiously, he started
to retreat back the way he had come. But he had taken only two steps when the
stone slab pivoted, flipped, and precipitated him into the darkness below.
Screaming, Togura fell through the darkness toward a roar of thunder.

Chapter 28

       
Togura Poulaan, alive
and still kicking, floated into the sunlight on the southern side of the castle.
He dragged himself ashore and collapsed at someone's feet. Someone's boot
nudged him, so he raised himself to a sitting position and looked around.

       
A fierce young man in
wildskin clothes was standing over him. Another man similarly dressed was
wading in the river in pursuit of something bobbing away downstream.

       
"Togura," said
Togura, pointing at himself.

       
"Kogo," said
the stranger, slapping his heart.

       
"Do you speak
Galish, Kogo?" asked Togura.

       
Koko didn't.

 
      
Kogo's
friend came wading out of the river, bearing his trophy, which was the casked
which could only be unlocked by a Word. Togura, after plunging through darkness
into the river, had forgotten all about it.

       
"Togura," said
Togura, slapping his heart - he was learning fast.

       
"Satari," said
the stranger, introducing himself. "Seki Natabari Satari."

       
"Do you speak
Galish?"

       
Satari didn't.

       
"Another dormant
bunch of ignorant savages," said Togura, who felt that life would be a lot
simpler if everyone had the decency to learn some Galish.

       
Satari, failing to open
the enchanted casket he had retrieved from the river, passed it to Kogo, who
tried to pry it open with a knife, then passed it to Togura.