Wizard's Funeral (2 page)

carvings, and Spagg. Spagg was a purveyor of dead mens hands. Not just men either, but women kill mostly for love and men mostly for money, and there is more money than love in the world. Once the murderers were hanged Spagg had a licence to cut off their hands and sell them as hands-of-glory: hands with magical properties, such as the power of invisibility. There were many unsatisfied customers, but Spagg always told them magic required belief and it was their lack of faith that was the cause of the failure, not the hands-of-glory themselves. What? cried the short, hairy man as Soldier approached. Spagg saw the look in Soldiers eyes. Oh no, he said. No, no, no. I went with you once before, but I aint goin again. I was lucky to get back with my skin and good eye intact. I aint goin to risk it a second time. You havent got any choice, replied Soldier, firmly. Unless youd rather explain your reluctance to the Queens Torturer? Spagg picked up a rather blue hand with swollen knuckles and threw it down hard on the table. Its not fair, he whined. I was just goin to the temple, for the winter. They wont have you this year. I told them you laughed at the gods when we were on our journeys. I told them you cursed the priests and swore at the deities. That aint true! Yes, it is. Well - you shouldnt be a tattle-tale, you snitch. I was under stress. Anyone would swear and curse with a bunch of bloodthirsty dwarves after em. I bet even the priests would let out a few oaths. Soldier shook his head sadly. You see, its that kind of remark that gets you into trouble. Slowly and reluctantly, Spagg covered his stall and wheeled it from the market-place. I dont understand you, he said to Soldier. You dont like me at all. Whydyou want me with you, on these treks of yourn. I find your company stimulating. Liar. Well, lets put it this way, theres not many people in Zamerkand I would want with me, so theres not much choice. I know you. I can judge your stamina, your courage - or lack of it and every aspect of your character. Why would I take someone who is a mystery to me? Id never know when to run and when to stand and fight. But with me, you always have to run. Exactly, I know where I stand that is to say - run. Funny beggar, aint you, grumbled Spagg. Im splittin my sides, I am. The barrow was locked in a stable. Theyll all be rotten by the time I get back, grumbled the hand-seller. Theyll fall to bits. You could pickle them. Nah. Theres one or two of em got leprosy, and I cant remember which. Puttin them in vinegar only hastens the rot. The pair collected their horses outside the gates. They rode through the Carthagan red tents, Soldier collecting one or two greetings on the way. He was well thought of by the mercenaries. Not just because he was one of them, and a captain at that, but because also he was not a Guthrumite. The Carthagans were loyal to the country they protected, but they thought its citizens weak and pathetic. The Carthagans were short, dark and stocky, like small bulls. The Guthrumites were taller, pale and tended towards the lean. The Carthagans were soldiers from the womb. The Guthrumites had to be moulded into fighters like Captain Kaff- they had to be taught skills which came to their mercenaries naturally. Soldier stood somewhere between these two types. What he had that neither of them possessed was an intrinsic fighting skill, learned in some other place. His moves could not be anticipated, because he was unorthodox. Somewhere he had learned to kill men without compassion, in ways that were new to this world. Watching Soldier and Spagg leave, from a high position on the battlements of Zamerkand, was Captain Kaff. Once the two men were out of sight, Kaff wasted no time. He changed from his uniform into a silk shirt, breeches and a flamboyant hat. He fitted a dove to his wrist and put a sprig of myrtle in his buttonhole. Then he hurried off towards the Palace of Wildflowers - the home of Princess Layana and her absent husband. Forcing his way past the servants, he demanded audience with the princess. They told him she was not in a fit state. Shell see me, he said. She always sees me. Not today. Not in her madness, replied Drissila, firmly. In any case, my master will kill you when he returns. If he returns, muttered Kaff. All right, Ill be back tomorrow. She might not be well by tomorrow. Then the next day. I only want to talk with her. I want to make sure shes happy . . . Of course shes not happy, snapped Drissila. Shes sick. I mean, happy with him. The raven was a silent and unnoticed witness to all this. He flew out, over the walls, and caught Soldier up, landing on the rump of his mount. The bird chanted in rhyme: Captain Kaff was there today, Captain Kaff wont go away, Husbands all, lock up your wives, Kaff is stalking through your hives. Soldier did not even look at the speaker. Humans dont live in hives, bees do. Couldnt think of anything to rhyme with wives, replied the raven, pecking at the horses rump to make it trot rather than walk. The raven jogged up and down on the now bouncing rump. I thought it was pretty g-good myself So he is there? I told you. Soldier was quiet for a long while, during which all that could be heard was the clopping of the horses hooves. When I get back, he said at last, Ill kill him. Thats what Drissila said. It didnt seem to impress him. It will - I swear by the seven gods - it will.

Chapter Two

Soldier and Spagg crossed an open country littered with trees and gallows decorated with hanged people. Here and there a tree fluttered with ribbons and rags, to denote sorrow for the departed. It was not a happy time for Guthrum, but, now that the old King Magus had died, perhaps they could return to a more civilised way of life. Spagg looked enviously at the harvest of hands, but knew that if he cut them from the wrists of the dangling miscreants, they would probably rot before he got them to his stall. He noticed also, not without a queasy feeling of alarm, that many of the bodies had been scalped and their lower jaws had been cut away. The rooks and crows feasting on the softer parts were not responsible for that. Hannacks were. There were no roads in Guthrum. Guthrumites were suspicious of such things. If you built a road, they said, the robber bands, be they Hannacks or others, knew exactly where to stand and wait. Merchants and the like preferred to vary their routes across country, using tracks occasionally, but making sure there were plenty to choose from. From time to time foreign engineers arrived in Guthrum, insisting that in such a wealthy kingdom roads should be built, eager that they should be allowed to put their skills to the test. But they usually ended up being stoned and their bodies returned to their home country. Spagg came across a martyred priest, a young man with a sweet face, nailed upside down to a tree. The priests inverted head was level with Spaggs own as the horse took him past. A skin-deep smile above a dark lock of hair which hung from the youths brow caused Spagg to halt and stare at the boy. His gaze took him outwards, to the ends of the arms, along two branches. Slim, pale fingers drooped limp as lily petals from kissing-soft palms that had not seen rough work in their lives. Whats he got to laugh at? Spagg said. Look at them hands - beautiful hands but ruined by spikes. Id like to get the man what drove them nails through such a lovely set of hands. Probably beast-people, remarked Soldier. No doubt this boy thought he could convert them, and went forth with the Seven Gods in his heart, only to find that the beast-people worship more savage deities than any Zamerkand has to offer. The pair continued northwards. From time to time Soldier had the uneasy feeling that they were being followed, but he could see no one behind him. There was a chance that he was being monitored by the queen, of course. Queen Vanda would not be above having a magician diguise himself as a creature of the wild to watch over their progress, but Soldier did not see the same bird or mammal twice and in the end he shrugged off his worries. If we go much further, grumbled Spagg, well be in beast-people country. At the very moment he spoke, Soldier held up a hand. On the skyline was a mounted hunter, a naked man with a foxs head. A tribesman from the Fox-people. The russet head turned and saw them. The creature had a bow and a long knife stuck in a strip of hide around his waist. Soldier and Spagg were assessed, their considerable weapons noted, and then the fox-soldier rode below the crest. He was gone. Spagg let out his breath. Thats lucky. Not necessarily, said Soldier, a little worried himself. He had fought against the beast-people fox-heads, wolf-heads, dog-heads with the Carthagans. They were formidable: more intelligent than the Hannacks, whose stupidity hampered them in battle, and certainly just as savage. It may be hes gone for the main hunting party. Wed better move on quickly. Look, theres the tree line, over there . . . Within an hour they were inside the relative safety of dark woods. The trees towered over them as they rode through the forest where Soldier had last seen Uthellen and her son. The child had been called a witch-boy in Zamerkand, but Soldier knew that the boys father had been a wizard and his mother was an ordinary mortal. His only connection with a witch was the handprints burned on his ankles by the fingers of the sorceress who had acted as a midwife and delivered him into the world. I dont like this place, muttered Spagg, looking up at the dark gloomy trees. I dont like it at all. As he spoke the market-trader removed his hat and scratched his head. Soldier stared. Whats this? Youve shaved your head. Too right, replied Spagg, replacing his battered broad-brimmed hat. If we meet any Hannacks, Ill keep my scalp. You on the other hand, with those fine, long, curly, black locks, will lose yours. Ill have fun, watchin you get topped like a hard-boiled egg. Soldier knew that Hannacks, aside from being barbarous villains of the most savage kind, were born bald. They went through their lives being jealous of every hairy creature on the planet and would slice the top off an enemys skull - or if that enemy was bearded, remove his mandible and cover their baldness with the grisly wig. Not being over-fussy, Hannacks didnt even bother drying the scalp, or removing any loose bits of flesh. They had very little regard for niceties like that. Spagg had seen delighted Hannacks with blood running down their cheeks, parading in a lower jaw recently torn from some unfortunate bearded man. You seriously think that Hannacks will let you live, even though you havent got any hair? Spagg shrugged. I dunno. It just seems a bit silly, temptin them shiny-pated brigands with a fine head of hair. You never had a fine head of hair. Your hair was a grey, greasy, plaited hank that hung down your back like the tail of a donkey. Soldier had halted his gelding. Ahead of them was a wide glade where no trees grew. The ground ahead looked treacherous. Spagg sat there on his jade, while Soldier on the better mount went forward, testing the marsh with a staff he had cut earlier. The pole indicated soft ground and the horses hooves began to sink. He backed the gelding away from the edge, into the trees again. This was strange. The last time Soldier had entered the wood, there had been no such bog in his path. It was as if the woodland were saying thus far and no further. The forest, or some magical element, had placed a barrier. Could it be that the wizard in the boy had emerged? Perhaps it was just Uthellens son protecting them from harm? Or perhaps there was some malevolent presence hereabouts. There was an air of doom about the wide bog, which had nothing to do with the swarms of insects and dragonflies, nor the foul smell of marsh gas. Soldier was happier facing mundane physical hazards chasms, hostile warriors, monsters, storms than he was with magic against him. Spagg seemed to be unaware of any danger. He was picking crabs from a tree, singing softly, I am the ancient apple-queen . . . Shall we camp here? said Soldier. Spagg stopped singing. Why are you askin me? Youre the one who brought us here. All right. Well camp here. Good. Give me time to fry these crab-apples. Ever had fried crabs? Dee-licious. Later, when the cook delivered on his promise, Soldier was inclined to believe him. That wasnt half bad. Fried in rabbits fat? I must remember. Spagg smirked. Not just a pretty fellah, me. As they bedded down on a mossy bank for the night, Soldier thought about splitting the dark hours between them, one standing guard while the other slept. He changed his mind when he saw that Spagg had collapsed on his blanket and had fallen instantly asleep. Soldier tried to remain awake, but it had been a long dusty trail, and eventually he too dropped into a deep and dreamful sleep. At some time during the night he was disturbed by the sound of singing, but he was too far gone to wake, which was a pity, because it was his scabbard warning him that enemies were approaching the camp and he was about to be attacked. He awoke trussed with cords. In the mornings gloom he could see small creatures, with large knotty ears on big heads, rilling through his saddle-bags. Spagg was also awake. The hand-seller was staring gloomily at the two dozen or so beings who now occupied the area of the camp. Goblins, he muttered. Ugly bastards. The nearest goblin turned on him and spoke in a voice like sandpaper rubbing oakwood. You watch your tongue, baldy, or Ill cut it out. Spagg wisely took this creatures counsel to heart. Soldier said, Forgive me, but what are you looking for? Theres nothing of real value in those saddle-bags. A goblin in a red cap and green doublet came over to him. How do you know whats valuable to goblins and whats not? Well, I dont - I only know whats of value to humans. Then keep your rabbit-hole shut. I just thought if I could be of any help. Was it you who placed the marsh there? A very clever trap. Redcap said, Yes, isnt it? His mouth was the widest one Soldier had ever seen in his life. It seemed to stretch from ear to ear on that enormous head. Do you want to know what were doing here? asked Soldier. Not especially. Im looking for the witch-boy who used to live in the forest with his mother. Redcap shrugged. What about him? Hes the new King Magus. That stopped them. The searching was forgotten. They all froze in their current positions and stared at him. Youre lying, Redcap said, uncertainly. I can tell. If you can tell, youll know its the truth. A female goblin had found the frying pan, still with the remnants of last nights supper in it. Instead of licking the fat and pieces of crab-apple, she bit into the metal, covering half the pan with her mouth. Then she scraped her small, even teeth over the whole pan, leaving deep dents where she had brought her jaws together: the marks of her incisors. With her mouth full of rancid fat, she began to swallow, noisily. Stop that! ordered another female goblin. Didnt you hear? The new King Magus. The goblin with the frying pan blinked, then tossed the cooking utensil over her shoulder. Redcap said. It is true, then? Yes, replied Soldier. I have been ordered to escort the new King Magus back to Zamerkand. Soldiers bonds were cut away. So were Spaggs. A fire was lit for them. They sat around it warming themselves, for the morning ground had been damp and cold. A mist from the marsh had crept into the camp and now wound its way around the tree trunks. The boy, explained Redcap, is no longer here. Hes been taken by his mother to another place. A small country to the north-east. You may have heard of it. Bhantan? No, cant say I have, replied Soldier. Not surprised. Youre a stranger here, arent you? Can tell that by your blue eyes. Spagg said, Ive heard of it. Ruled by twins - the Rose Prince and the White Prince. Thats the place, said Redcap. Soldier nodded at Spagg. I knew youd be useful. Youre not as ignorant as everyone says, are you? Once the goblins had been through everything the two men were carrying, they were allowed to proceed. A few things had gone missing, of course a comb, a mirror, a ball of twine, some salt - but goblins are not interested in weaponry, food (or at least the kind that humans eat), except salt, of course, or money. Goblins are poor at making artefacts, and it is only manufactured objects which they take, plus the odd wool shirt or blanket, mens breeches being too long and thin for their stumpy legs, and mens boots being too small for their enormous feet. The marsh was removed by the same method as it was placed there: magic. It was simply a matter of perception. Nothing had actually changed. The ground was in the same condition, but it now looked hard and unyielding to the travelling mortals The goblins had lifted the spell they had put on the place and now Spagg and Soldier saw it as it actually was. So, said Soldier, as they rode through the trees once again, you know this place Bhantan? Youve been there? Everyone knows Bhantan, replied Spagg, wearily, except you. A five-year-old child would have been just as useful to you as I am. Yes, I know of Bhantan. No, Ive never been there. Well, heres an opportunity for some experience. Id rather be at home, selling the hands of the hanged. This was ignored. Tell me what you know about it. Ive told you what I know. Ask your blasted raven. He seems to know everything. Soldier noticed the raven, perched on the back of Spaggs saddle. Know what? the raven asked. Cant I leave you two for one minute but you get captured by goblins? Bhantan, said Soldier. Been there? Been there, flown over it, dropped lime on the rooftops. And? Bhantan is a country ruled by twin princes, the Rose Prince and the White Prince. Theres strict rituals to adhere to, even for the rulers, because its that kind of place. Everything is ordered too ordered. You cant scratch your nose, unless its the right time and place to scratch it, otherwise you get arrested and told to write an apology. If you cant write they stick you in front of a wall and shoot you full of arrows. Is that true? cried Soldier, alarmed. Are they that insistent on following their rules and regulations? Absolutely, interrupted Spagg. Discipline and prescription. Everything is prescribed and woe betide the man who doesnt know when to do what, and where. The raven continued. Two years ago one of the princes died the Rose Prince. When that happens, as it eventually must unless they both drop dead the very same second, which is unlikely, you will admit ... Get on with it, muttered Soldier. When that happens, the remaining prince goes into black robes and becomes the Black Prince. While they are both alive the Rose and the White Princes have to enter and leave the palace and everywhere else by their own particular doors, marked with the colours rose and white. With one of them dead, however, the Black Prince has to enter and leave by a third door, coloured dark blue. Dont ask me why blue, cause I dont know. It just is, all right? Recently, the Black Prince died. Over the last few years the court officials have been preparing the next set of twins down the family tree, and the set below them, to govern the country. All the rituals have been gone through a thousand times, for if the rulers cant get it right, why should the ordinary citizens? However, along came an epidemic of measles Bhantan has discovered to its horror that natural diseases apparently cock a snook at discipline, order and ritual and wiped out both sets of twins. The epidemic took away a few sets below the next in line also, and now theyve had to crown two urchins, having had to go so far down the family tree they ended up in the shanty town gutters. Soldier said, Serve em right, for being so rigid. Thus, said the raven, they have found that their system of government - one prince to rule at home, while the other goes to war has crumbled beneath their feet. They suspect that the two new princes, identical twins, of course, dress in each others robes and go through the wrong doors, just for fun. The shock! The horror! But how to discipline them, when no one really knows, except perhaps the mother who bore them, who is a simple soul and just sits and smiles through the barrage of questions, and asks