King of the Scepter'd Isle (Song of Earth) (16 page)

“You don’t understand, Miggot,” said Fang sadly. “But thank you for trying.” And he followed the Miggot and Lady Duck across the glade to the remaining rabbits.

As he prepared to mount Thunderer, the Princess stepped out from the blackness of the undergrowth. “May I come with you, Fang?” she said in a small voice.

“Of course you can.” He took her hand and pulled her up behind him. She put her arms around his waist and hugged him close. He was about to utter his famous cry that harked back to the Slaying of the Daggertooth but realized it was not appropriate. “Get going, Thunderer,” he muttered.

The rabbit loped slowly along the dark path through the trees, as though affected by the gloom of its riders. After a while the Princess said, “Perhaps I should go away for a while. I never was a very popular gnome, and I’m afraid we both know why. I’m an embarrassment to you, Fang.”

“We’re staying together, Princess.”

“But they’re going to make Bison leader again! I know they are!”

“That’s not important.”

“Isn’t it? Are you sure, Fang?”

He hauled on Thunderer’s ears, pulling the rabbit to a halt, and twisted around to face her. “The only reason I became our leader was because nobody else knew what to do in a crisis. I don’t know quite why it is, but I seem to think better when things are moving fast. Now we’re going to rebuild gnomedom, and it’ll be a slow business. Honestly, Princess, it would bore
the pants off me to be in charge of all that, arguing with people, having to make all kinds of silly little rules and decisions, and having Elmera and the Miggot and my father complaining all the time.

“But one day things will go wrong again and I’ll find myself in charge quite naturally, like the last time, without having to persuade people to vote for me or having to compete with someone I like, such as Bison.”

“King Bison …” mused the Princess. “You’re the real king, Fang. Remember what Nyneve said about Arthur? ‘A king isn’t king because he’s the most popular man in the country. It’s because he’s the strongest.’ ” Unexpectedly she gave a little shriek of laughter. “King Fang,” she intoned. “The words were almost made for each other.”

Fang laughed, too, and kissed her. They clung together for a while. “Come on,” he said at last. “We’d better not keep them waiting too long, or you know what they’ll think.”

When they reached the blasted oak, they found the others were already thinking it. Rows of gnomes sat on the blackened roots, and a large number of rabbits could be seen among the trees. It seemed that messengers had ridden the forest paths, rounding up most of the gnomes in Mara Zion. Broyle the Blaze had kindled the Wrath of Agni, and the merry dance of flames reflected from bright eyes and simple jewelry. There must have been almost a hundred gnomes there, being harangued by Lady Duck.

“ … wallowing in the responses of unnatural instincts and perverted flesh,” she was shouting, amid groans of horror from the assembly. “Oh, it’s you, Fang,” she said more quietly. “Take a seat. You understand there’s nothing personal in all this, of course.”

“In all what?” asked Fang innocently.

“In my assassination of your character. It’s expected on these occasions, and it rarely results in grudges being harbored. The main thing is to retain your dignity and not be goaded into retaliation.”

“I don’t have the heart to say anything against Bison.”

“And then there
is this Princess!” roared Lady Duck, satisfied. “We all know what
she
is. She is the spawn of two foul gnomes, infected with the poisons of the wild wart, who have since been banished to opposite reaches of the land!”

“Argh!” shouted the gnomes in disgust.

“Actually,” said the Princess in clear tones, “they both went in the same direction.”

“By the Great Grasshopper!” cried Lady Duck. “Is there no limit to their shame?”

The Miggot stamped forward, a squat, furious figure. “You all know me,” he snarled, “and I’ll bet none of you likes me. And that’s fine, because I’m not too bloody fond of you, either. And why is that? Because you’re fools, and I can’t stand fools. You know what’s happening here? You’re being duped into dumping the best leader you ever had, and electing a failed has-been who’s already proved he can’t lead a rabbit to a dandelion!”

This was the first overt mention of the purpose of the meeting, and Lady Duck took it up. “Bison is fit and ready to take up any duties this gathering may entrust to him!” she cried. “Bison is a giant refreshed! Tell them, Bison!”

Bison’s eye rolled like a spooked horse as he cast around for words suited to the occasion. “I am a giant refreshed!” he boomed finally. “That is not to say”—he dropped his voice to more normal tones—”a giant in the sense of a
human,
if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t want you to think—”

The Miggot cut him short. “And all because of a minor disorder. In any other species, it wouldn’t be looked on as a disorder at all!”

“
Minor
disorder, Miggot?” thundered Lady Duck.

“Fang’s little sexual dysfunction. It—”

“Dysfunction? Dysfunction, you call it? He functions too bloody well, that’s his problem!” screeched the Gooligog. “Filthy young bugger!”

“Do we blame Clubfoot for being clumsy?” yelled the Miggot furiously.
“Do we blame Lady Duck for her voice? Do we blame Pong for being intrepid?”

“Being intrepid is good, isn’t it?” asked Bison, puzzled.

“Well, all right, then. Do we blame the Gooligog for his foul temper?”

“Of course we do!” cried Elmera. “The Gooligog is a pain in the ass, and his son is going the same way—mark my words!”

“Fang,” said the Miggot wearily, “don’t you have anything to say?”

“Not really, Miggot. I think they’ve made up their minds.”

“Bison! Bison!” came the roar from a hundred throats.

“Bugger the lot of them, that’s all I can say,” muttered the Miggot.

It was dark and the forest leaves were rustling to a cold night wind by the time Nyneve arrived at the village. A huge pit fire had been lit the day before, and an ox (or to be honest, a cow recently savaged by wolves and deemed incurable) had been roasting for many hours. A noisy party was in progress, with beer and wine flowing freely from kegs set up on the other side of the green. The Baron’s men were still there, getting to know the village girls to the obvious annoyance of Mara Zion’s young men, but the inevitable fighting had not yet taken place.

Much to her relief, Nyneve caught sight of Margawse at a long table near the fire pit, attended by Baron Menheniot. It seemed her legendary charms had not captured Arthur.
The story must be wrong,
she thought.
And if this part is wrong, then perhaps the rest of it is just as unreliable. Including the part about Guinevere. …

The same thought seemed to have occurred to the Baron. As Nyneve joined them, he asked Margawse, “Have the chivalry stories reached your part of the world yet, my lady?”

Margawse laughed, a jolly sound. “Oh, yes. I’m quite flattered. I never thought I’d be the kind of woman to play an important role
in a saga! What a pity that kind of thing never happens in real life.”

“Nyneve invented the stories,” said the Baron, grinning.

“I … I didn’t exactly
invent
them,” Nyneve said, stammering. “They just kind of
happened.
And I honestly don’t know how you got into them, my lady. I thought most of the story-people were imaginary.”

“Nyneve’s a witch,” said the Baron with conviction.

“I’m just a village girl, really. My foster mother, Avalona, has the powers.”

“Where is that old hag, by the way?”

“At the cottage with Merlin, I expect.”

“I doubt it. Merlin’s here, licking his wounds. I had the old fool thrashed, and he’s lucky I didn’t hang him.”

“You thrashed Merlin? But he has powers too!”

“Not strong enough to protect his back, I fear. You’d better take him home.”

“But what … what did he do?”

“You must ask him that. I don’t want to talk about it.” The recollection seemed to have put the Baron in a bad humor. “And if you run into Arthur, for God’s sake pry him away from that Morgan woman. I’ve had a treaty drawn up between Menheniot and Mara Zion, and I need his mark on it. At least some good’s come out of this day’s work.”

“Arthur’s with Morgan le Fay?” A vague misgiving took hold of Nyneve. “Where did they go?”

“I don’t know.” The Baron eyed her speculatively, obviously regretting his obligations to Queen Margawse. “Well, if you must leave us … Ask Merlin. He should know everything, if he has the powers you credit him with.”

She found Merlin sitting under a tree at the edge of the forest, watching the festivities from a safe distance. He looked so disconsolate that she was moved to pity, and for a moment put aside her own worries. “Merlin! What happened?”

“That barbarian of a Baron had me whipped!”

“Why would he do a thing like that?”

The old Paragon snuffled miserably. “It wasn’t my fault. The circumstances were
beyond my control. But he wouldn’t listen.” Rheumy old eyes met Nyneve’s, then looked away again. “Sir Bors de Ganis died,” he mumbled. “The Baron held me responsible.”

“How terrible! How did it happen? I thought Sir Bors was just cut up a bit.”

“He was. But the leeches killed him. You’ve no idea what a ghastly experience I had, Nyneve. Although,” admitted Merlin, “it was probably worse for Bors. After I’d treated him I forgot about him for a while. The excitement of the tournament, you understand? When I finally went back to the tent we’d rigged around him, he was gone. Or at least, I thought he’d gone. It was getting dark, and my eyes aren’t what they were. I’m getting old, Nyneve.”

“You’ve been getting old for the last few thousand years,” said Nyneve, becoming impatient. “Get on with the story, Merlin.”

Sniffing, he resumed. “I noticed a kind of pale cloth on the ground, and I saw the outline of Bors under it. I thought somebody had put a sheet over him, to keep him warm. So I took hold of it and pulled.” He groaned, shuddering. “But it wasn’t a cloth. It was Bors himself—just his skin like a bag, with the bones rattling about inside. The leeches had sucked him dry!”

She stared at him. “How could leeches do that?”

“They must have injected him with some kind of solvent and let it sit for a while, then sucked all the nourishment out of him.”

“You’re thinking of spiders.”

“They were leeches! You think I don’t know the difference?”

“Perhaps they were something that looked very like leeches. Something from the gnomes’ world. But even if they were, how could tiny little things like that suck a man dry?”

“Exactly what I asked myself!” said Merlin eagerly. “But then I thought of something else, and it made my blood run cold, I can tell you. Those leeches may have been tiny little things when
I applied them to Bors, but they surely wouldn’t be tiny little things anymore. They would be great big thriving things, their appetites whetted!”

He shivered at the memory. “I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I got out of that tent and took a look at it from the outside. Then I saw them through the fabric, outlined against the firelight, huge blobbish things lurking under the tent roof and just waiting to drop on someone! Or so I thought at the time,” he said gloomily.

“So what did you do?”

“I went to find the Baron, to warn him, for the good of the whole forest. I described what I’d seen. ‘Those things are a danger to us all!’ I told him. And he gave me a kind of funny look. I knew right away he didn’t believe me, so I told the silly bugger to come and see for himself. But he was enjoying himself with Margawse and it took some time to get him away. And when we finally got back to the tent, we found the most ghastly thing!”

Squatting under his tree, he shot her a frightened glance. Nyneve felt a thoroughly reprehensible urge to laugh. “Even … even more ghastly than the thing you found before?” she managed to ask.

“Much more ghastly,” Merlin assured her. “The leeches had burst and fallen all over Sir Bors!”

“I expect it’s nature’s way of preserving a balance,” said Nyneve. “If they could keep growing indefinitely, they’d fill the world. There has to be a limit to everything.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “All that is beside the point. What matters is that I’d told the Baron a very strange story, and when I tried to back it up, the evidence was gone. There was just the remains of Sir Bors smothered in a rich sauce, and I can tell you the Baron was very unhappy about it. ‘What the bloody hell have you done to him, Merlin!’ he shouted, and I didn’t have any good answers. I told him I’d done everything I could for my patient and intended to return to the cottage, and he seemed to lose all control of himself. ‘Soldiers!’ he shouted. I tried to explain that violence was no solution to the problem.

“ ‘Can you think of
a better solution?’ he asked as the soldiers came running. I couldn’t, so in all fairness I warned him that I had powers, and that his actions may come back to haunt him. ‘I’ll take that chance,’ he said, laughing nastily. He was beyond reason, so I submitted reluctantly to his wishes. The rest,” concluded Merlin miserably, “you know.”

“What I don’t know,” said Nyneve, “is what’s happened to Arthur.”

“He went off with Morgan.”

She tried to appear noncommittal. “Oh, yes, the Baron mentioned something about that. Did you happen to notice which way they went?”

“That Morgan,” said Merlin enthusiastically, “she’s quite a woman. Quite a Dedo, I should say. Different from Avalona. Between you and me, Nyneve, Avalona gives me the creeps, prowling around the forest and coming up behind a person suddenly, like Death itself. Morgan, now … she’s different. You should have seen how she got Arthur!”

“What do you mean, ‘got’ Arthur?”

“Well,
you
know what I mean. He was talking to her quite normally, and then suddenly his face changed and his hands began to tremble. He kind of moved closer and was breathing heavily, and for a moment I thought he was going to jump her there and then! She’d put a spell on him, you see. But somehow he held off, and she led him away into the forest. Where they are now, and what they’re up to, is anybody’s guess!”