The Sword Bearer (18 page)

Because the danger of a forest fire was now great, it was decided that they would travel by river.

"It is not without risk," Mab said. "But there may be no more Qadars to contend with. Should there be a forest fire, the safest place will be on water. And two days on the water should take us into Lake Nachash."

So the next three days were spent at the water's edge constructing rafts and tending to minor injuries and burns. They posted a watch for the Qadar, but there was no further sign of them. They also posted a watch as they slept because of Mab's fear of fire. And during the second night fire did indeed begin to sweep up the hillside and in the direction from which they had come. But it posed no threat to their safety.

So on the fourth day following the explosion they set out, a small flotilla of rafts, poling their way down toward Lake Nachash. It was a strange journey. Sometimes the drifting smoke hid even the banks of the river. At other times it would clear to reveal the outlines of the hills alight with a dozen lines of flame that in the distance looked like living fireworms writhing slowly up the mountainsides.

They never grew accustomed to the foul stench which attached itself to their skin and clothing, and mingled with the smell of bitumen. Washing themselves in the river only made matters worse.

But in many ways river travel was better than picking their way through the forest. They no longer had to beware of the ground splitting at their feet to disgorge boiling bitumen. Moreover when the smoke cleared, they would see on the riverbank the leering faces of goblins, watching their progress from among the branches of the trees.

At first John found them very frightening, but eventually he bolstered his courage by making faces at them and sticking out his tongue. Mab laughed when he caught him doing it toward the end of their second day's journey. "They're servants of your friend, the Goblin Prince," he said. "They number in the thousands. But unlike him, they are terrified of water. Here we are safe. But I shall not feel too safe when we camp, as we must, on the shores of Lake Nachash."

John looked at him anxiously, and Mab continued, "They are easy enough to deal with in small numbers, but they know no fear, and a concerted attack from them would be disastrous."

John stared again at the leering faces. They seemed to crowd every tree on the riverbank. Thousands? His fears returned with renewed force. He had not thought about the possibility of encountering the goblins around the campsite.

"How far now, wizard?" King Bjorn asked Mab.

Mab smiled, "No wizard am I, but a seer," he said, "and as a good seer I predict that Lake Nachash will lie a mile and a half beyond the next bend. There we shall have to camp. And there we shall have to determine how to handle the followers of the Goblin Prince."

John's heart sank They could be drifting into a trap. The goblins were obviously waiting for them. It was crazy to think of going ashore and making camp. "Mab," he said hesitantly.
"Must
we make camp? Won't it be dangerous?"

Mab's face was grave. "Dangerous it may be," he said, "but to drift into the lake could be even more dangerous."

They camped that night on the shore of Lake Nachash. The goblins were nowhere to be seen. With the coming of Aguila and the fireflies, peace reigned among the company. But there were no songs and dancing that night

Instead plans were laid. Mab and King Bjorn agreed that the disappearance of the goblins meant they were gathering reinforcements and organizing for an attack. "Which also means," Mab said, "that they will attack in overwhelming numbers. We will have little hope of throwing them off. But they're unlikely to come for some hours, and we may be on our way again before they do. We must post sentries, sleep on the shore itself, and be ready to board the rafts, cast off and leave at a moment's notice."

"Why don't we leave now?" John asked.

"We need paddles, Sword Bearer," King Bjorn replied. "We cannot pole rafts across a deep lake. It will take a good deal of the night to carve paddles."

"What's more," Mab added, "we must first find out whether the forces of the Mystery are back on the island, and whether the lake is patrolled. As soon as we've enough paddles, one raft will go ahead to scout"

They felt the tension again as the table was removed and the comforting canopy of fireflies left them. Instead of sleeping on the beach, Mab and John retired to a Gaal tree ten yards from the shoreline. Mab's last words as they retired were, "If anything happens, don't wait for me. Don't wait for anyone or anything. Make for the rafts!"

John found his bed uncomfortable. He itched and wriggled. At times he tossed the covers aside because he was hot only to shiver five minutes later and pull them back across him. Whenever he closed his eyes he would see hideous goblin faces. And whenever he opened his eyes they felt as though they had been rubbed with sandpaper.

His mind went back over the strange events that had occurred since his thirteenth birthday. He found himself imagining a walk along Ellor Street with old Mr. Leadbetter, the lamplighter. But soon the memory of how he discovered his dead grandmother came back, and so he pushed it out of his mind.

He tried to do the same with the memory of Old Nick, but that was more difficult. Who was Old Nick?
What
was Old Nick? How could he inhabit two worlds and be the same person? Would he, John, really kill him? He thought of his useless sword and was filled with humiliation and bitterness. Everything that had happened in the strange country of Anthropos had been unsatisfactory—his capture by Bildreth and Gutreth, the strange experience in the cave, the trial in the glade, the horrible murder of Vixenia's mate and cubs, his own refusal to drink the wine of free pardon. Finally there was his failure to attack Nicholas Slapfoot in the cave and his discovery of the uselessness of his sword.

He could almost taste bitterness in his mouth. "Sword Bearer," he muttered in disgust. He had so wanted to impress the Matmon who had witnessed the humiliation of his trial. He had wanted to prove he had power—like Mab.

His feelings about Mab had been changing and growing. Something about the old man powerfully attracted John, though he still resented his humiliating need to be with him constandy. Yet now as he listened to the old man's quiet breathing, he knew that he did indeed like him. Mab was one of the nicest things that had ever happened to him, apart from the Changer. Or
was
that just a dream?

Restlessness refused to leave him, and he slid his feet over the side of the bed and laced up his sandals. He knew now how to open the door of a Gaal tree. He would go outside for a while until he felt more sleepy.

The night air was clear at last The dead copper moon stared down at him. A few yards away a group of Matmon were working, some preparing suitable sections of a tree they had felled for carving and others carving the needed paddles. He began to move toward them but changed his mind. They might insist that he return to the Gaal tree.

Instead he moved slowly into the trees. Almost at once a pair of steel-strong arms wrapped themselves round him, pinning his own arms to his side.

"So we meet again, Sword Bearer! What good fortune!"

That voice! Didn't he know it? The speaker went on, "I thought I would have to catch you in the middle of our attack But you came, yourself, into my waiting arms." The arms around him had the strength of iron.

"Bildreth!" John was shocked and enraged.

"Bildreth, no less, my lord! And this time you are going to become the servant of the rightful ruler of Anthropos!"

John raised his leg to kick at the Matmon's shins, but Bildreth was too quick tripping him from behind and flinging him forcefully to the ground where he lay winded. He tried to cry out, but he could not draw in any breath. He caught a glimpse of Bildreth's silhouette, one arm raised and holding a club. The club descended with appalling rapidity. John felt no pain. Felt nothing at all. He was unconscious for the next three days.

At first he was only aware of a terrible pounding in his head. He opened his eyes but shut them at once as an extra wave of pain flooded his skull. Blackness again engulfed him and several more hours passed before he awoke.

This time the pounding in his head was almost gone. For a few moments he lay still, aware that he was warm and comfortable. He moved his fingers, feeling soft silky material. He had no recollection of what had happened and opened his eyes, expecting to find himself in bed in a Gaal tree.

He was certainly in bed, or at least on a couch, but he was not in a Gaal tree. He was in a very large and circular room with a high, frescoed ceiling and walls of intricately carved paneling. He lay on a canopied couch. Beside him on a low table was a flagon of wine and a bowl of fruit. A richly patterned carpet covered the floor. Opposite him a solitary window opened into the darkness. He lay back and stared at the ceiling thirty feet above him. Slowly as he lay wondering, the memory of Bildreth came back But where was this? What had happened to him? It was not long before he found out

"You are in the Tower of Darkest Night" A disembodied, musical voice was speaking. "From this tower I send out my powers to control the movements of the planets until such time as I bring this planet under my personal sway."

A white opulent presence filtered through the floor. And as it did so, there arose a terrible throbbing pain in John's shoulder. Yet John watched, fascinated as the mist rose in a cloud of luminous white, boiling gently and filling three-quarters of the large room. Soft lights flickered from deep within it greens, yellows and an occasional flicker of fiery red.

The cloud grew denser and more solid. John had always been able to see shapes and faces in clouds, but this was different. It was indeed assuming a shape, the shape of a human head, a massive human head facing John. A film of skin spread over it, like the cooling surface of wax.

Blank, colorless eyes stared blindly down at him over a massive nose. As the nostrils opened up, John was horrified to realize they were big enough to climb into. The lips, on a level with the couch, were thick, wide enough if they opened to swallow John, the couch and the table all at once. Instinctively John shrank back, pressing his free hand over his shoulder in an effort to lessen his pain. The chin seemed to be lower than the floor which seemed to have disappeared.

The eyes suddenly opened to reveal bright and luminously yellow orbs, staring down at him. John gasped. He was looking into the hideous and beautiful face of the Lord Lunacy. It was like a death mask come to life.

The lips opened like theater curtains to reveal ascending teeth and the vast cavern of a mouth. Foulness enveloped him as the music continued, "I'm so glad we are together again. Welcome home!"

John said nothing. His mind was empty. The Lord Lunacy continued, "Let me go over our last conversation. You are evil—you remember?"

John found himself nodding. Yes, of course he was evil. The throbbing pain in his shoulder grew strangely pleasurable. His fear began to leave him, or at least to be transformed into pleasing excitement. He felt a little giddy.

"You are beginning again to feel the power of evil within you."

"Yes."

"It is good, is it not?"

"Yes. Yes, it is." The words jerked mechanically from his lips.

"And you are to be the ruler of Anthropos."

"I am?"

"Yes. You are to go to the Island of Geburah, the island on the lake, in readiness for the coming of the Regents. The Sword Bearer is to be king. That is the real plan—my plan."

John stared at the mouth as the curtains of the lips fell once again. A surge of wild excitement exploded inside him. A
king!
He was to become a king! But how would it happen?

"How can I be a king?"

"You will drink the wine on the table beside you. When you do so, you will be filled with the dark powers that I have placed in the wine."

That was strange, John thought. First there was the wine of free pardon. Now this wine. But it was as though the Lord Lunacy had read his thoughts. The yellow eyes seemed to envelop him.

"You will never drink the wine of free pardon."

"I won't? Why not?"

"Because Mab the seer is dead. He was killed three days ago in the goblin attack while you were on your way here. Most of the Matmon were killed too. Only the king and queen escaped with your friend Folly the donkey and Vixenia. I told the goblins I wanted them to live a little longer."

For a brief moment John was appalled.
Mab dead!
Mab? He felt dizzy and faint.

"You didn't really care for him. You just thought you did." The Lord Lunacy was reading his thoughts. John shuddered.

"You thought you liked him. But deep in your heart you hated him. You are evil, you know."

"Yes, of course. I'd forgotten." The dismay drained out of him. A cold strength grew within. He felt no sorrow, only a fierce and exultant pride.

"And when you meet the Regents on the island, you will give them some of my wine. They will rule for you—but only for a short time. You are to be king."

"What is going to happen to them?"

"They are to become my servants and yours. This will be necessary if you are to rule."

"But I will be a king?"

"Yes." And then a pause. "There is a price, of course."

"A price? How much? I don't have any money."

"No. But you have something else. You have your father, don't you?"

"No. I mean, yes. You said he was a drunk and that he didn't want me."

"Then give me the ring and the locket around your neck!"

Something was wrong. John could feel it. But what was it? He didn't really want the ring and the locket anymore. So why was he hesitating? After all, what were the bits of gold worth in comparison with becoming a king? A
king!
He was to become a king! His hand strayed inside his tunic before he could stop it to close round the gold chain that rested in the pocket there.

"Let me put it on, just for a moment," he found himself saying.