Scabbard's Song (15 page)

of the blankets. We can get you some proper clothes later. He stared at the child and smiled with pleasure. Good to meet you at last. You and I are already great friends, through your other self, the raven. What do we call you, lad? Do you have a name? They they used to call me Ragworm. Ragworm? Thats no name for a hero such as you, survivor of many fierce encounters, as well as that last attack by a golden eagle. We shall call you . . . Soldier paused and gave it thought, before saying, Musket which is a male spar-rowhawk. A small but highly spirited bird, quick, with lightning actions. Yes, Musket, thats you. The boy seemed pleased. He also appeared very tired and eventually closed his eyes and slept. Soldier covered him with a blanket and then set about making him the shift. At noon he woke the child and gave him some hare soup, told him he must drink plenty of water. I feel a little better now, confessed Musket. Youre not getting up for another two or three days, so put your mind at rest on that matter, young man. Young man! marvelled Musket. How I have longed to hear someone call me that over the many years. Yet I did enjoy being a raven, sometimes . . . You mean when you picked out the eyes of dead warriors on the battlefield? joked Soldier. Musket surprised and shocked him by licking his lips. Soldier shuddered. Clearly there is some residual crow still inside you, lad, which were going to have to winkle out. We cant have you chewing worms in front of the ladies. In the meantime, eat some more of this delicious soup. I dont want you scavenging on dead creatures behind my back . . .

Chapter Five

After three days Musket was well enough to be able to travel. He was an engaging young man, a little reluctant to shed his pets and dirt, but eventually Soldier managed to persuade him to clean himself up. If you dont, I shall leave without you. The boy was terrified of being left alone in the forest and was therefore encouraged to rid himself of his fleas using Soldiers betony, and wash himself thoroughly in a stream with lye-soap. Soldier supplied him with a hand-stitched shift with a leather thong for a belt. Musket was not enthralled with his apparel either, finding it itchy and uncomfortable. My feathers didnt feel like this. You can make yourself a cloak of feathers once we return to Zamerkand - in the meantime, you will make do and mend. Who says so? I say so. Youre not my father. Soldier had to accept this was true. He had no real authority over the boy, apart from the fact of their respective ages. But since Musket wished to travel with him, he said, the child would have to do as he was told. If Musket wanted to leave and go it alone, why that was perfectly acceptable to the knight. Otherwise, he could stay and be Soldiers squire, but if he were to agree to squire for a knight, Musket had to give up his freedom of choice. He had to agree to bondage with that knight, and being bound, was expected to obey in all things. If you make me your son, replied the youngling, I will have to obey you. Crafty, young Musket, but I dont accept the conditions. I want for no son, and when I do, my wife the princess will supply me with one in the normal way. Do you realise what an honour youve been given? How many street urchins are offered the position of squire, a post which is normally open only to boys from high-born families? Very few. It is a position of great responsibility, involving duties of a sacred nature. To carry, on occasions, the knights weapons. To provide the knight with his vessel of wine before a tourney. To serve his master with all diligence. Those are duties of a sacred nature? said the boy, incredulous. Of course. A knight has a holy task. Well, the knight can stuff it. Im not lugging weapons around for him, nor fetching his wine. The knight can go and fart into the wind. Can he now? When he likes. Soldier foresaw difficulties with this youngster, who had been too long a free-flying bird to be caged. He was exasperated by the child. Of course he could not abandon Musket, not now he was a human boy. He had to make the child see sense. Perhaps, he thought, a threat will do it? No need to carry the threat through. He decided he would just wave a stick at the youngling and tell him to fall in line. He cut a switch and confronted the boy. Well, lets see a if a little corporal punishment will bring you round to my way of thinking. You better not touch me with that Ill peck and scratch you, warned an alarmed Musket. Ive got a very poisonous set of claws, I have. Soldier advanced, swiping the air menacingly with the switch. Musket lost his healthy pallor and began running down a slope. For the moment he forgot he was not a bird. At the end of the run, where a boulder jutted out over a verdant hollow, he launched himself into the air, flapping his arms, only to come crashing down on the turf. He struggled to his feet, winded but unable to reconcile himself to the fact that he could no longer fly. He had been gliding through the air for so long the idea was lodged in his brain. Once more he attempted to take off, and once more he fell heavily to the mossy ground. Soldier caught up with him and lifted him by the scruff of the neck, so that his feet were windmilling in mid-air. Calm down stripling, growled the warrior. Just be still. I wont. I wont, cried the boy, hot tears of frustration and anger coursing down his cheeks. You let me be. Ill let you be when you agree to obey me. All right, replied the boy, sullenly. I will be good. Soldier put him down on the ground. This time Musket did not run away. He followed Soldier back to where the mare was tethered. Soldier made ready for them to leave. At one point Musket went to pick up Soldiers sword, where it lay resting against a tree. Dont touch that, Soldier snapped, sharply. Ill tell you what weapons I want you to carry. The crossbow. Why so touchy about the sword? said the boy. Soldier explained, Its a named sword. Kutrama. I know that. What you dont know is that you must never touch a named sword. As a raven you werent interested in it. As a boy its attraction is irresistible. But only its owner is privileged to handle a great sword. The sword might turn on you and cut you down. If you pick it up with your right hand, it might swing and sever your left from your arm. Oh. Soldier armed himself, cap-a-pie, and then heaved himself up into the saddle. He offered a hand down. Here, come up behind me. Thats where you usually ride. I know, but I thought you might make me walk. Im not a monster, growled Soldier, put out. Come on, boy. The youngling swung up behind Soldiers saddle, sitting on the rump of the mare. It felt as if he was there for the first time. There was a wonderful swaying motion to the beast. Its hair was smooth and groomed to a shiny gloss. Musket felt like king of the world, sitting up there behind this armed knight, clinging to the back of his saddle. He felt he dwarfed all other creatures in the forest, including the red deer. I like this, Soldier, he said. Whats the horses name? She hasnt got one. Your sword has got a name but your charger hasnt? But the horse is flesh and blood! Soldier shrugged as they went through the dappled wood, the leafy foliage flickering in the breeze creating dancing shadows. I just never thought to give her one. Shes not a pet. Shes a warhorse with duties to perform. I never gave you a name, did I? Not when you were a raven. Then I shall name her, cried the boy, delighted to have found a task. What shall I call her? He noticed a flower out of the corner of his eye. I shall call her Primrose. Soldier was shocked. You cant call a charger Primrose. It doesnt sound right. If you give her a name it has to be one full of blood-and-thunder. Horses called Primrose pull drays and carts, or even ploughs, but they dont carry knights. What am I to say to any giant or evil knight when I cry, Onward, Primrose! and they burst out laughing and tell me I am a nurses bib? How will I hold my head high? Oh, yes. All right, well call her Blood-and-thunder, then. Well, thats a bit long. How about shortening it to Thunder? The boy agreed with a good deal of excitement in his voice. Dont forget I was the one who named her, he said. She belongs to me, really, like your sword belongs to you. Then I shall have to ask for a loan of her, replied Soldier, indulging the boys fancies. Yes you shall, but I shall allow it, since you are a great knight. It would be boasting to agree with you - but yes, I am. I have survived many battles, and one or two wars. Now sit still for the next few hours and try to hold your tongue. We dont want to arouse any malignant creatures in this forest. Once we are out of it and on the windy plains, you may talk as much as you like. Musket did as he was told. They continued through the forest, once or twice surprising some eerie and unsettling forest beings, but nothing which was highly dangerous. Goblins sprang from the boles of oaks and gnomes leapt with spraying agility from stagnant pools. These forest creatures had fungi growing from their heads and backs, and moss flourished like mould in their ears and nostrils. Soldier and the boy were allowed to go on their way with perhaps only a few choice oaths flung in their direction. Musket wanted to know the meaning of some of the words a woonkie yelled after them, but Soldier told him he wasnt old enough. They left the woodland and its creatures behind and went out on to a plain. There before them stretched a purple outland. Soldier had since discovered something about his white road: it left a green one in its wake. Once the snow and ice had melted, the water left behind freshened the greenery beneath it. Thus the grass, the moss and other vegetation was a slightly greener green than its surrounds. It was not the most reliable of roads to follow, but it was the only one they had. When night came, and they slept beneath the stars, the white road would reappear. Sometimes they found themselves directly on its path and woke shivering with the cold, often covered in snow. Other times they woke outside its swathe, but always within sight of it. Never once did they see what phenomenon made the winter trail, though they did experience dreams of great wide shadows passing slowly overhead. Even as he was on this quest to cure his wifes loss of memory, Soldier continued to occupy his mind with the fate of his friend, the rightful heir to the position of King Magus. The rogue magus OmmullummO had usurped the throne of the erstwhile witchboy. IxonnoxI had been too young to take his place in the magical order of the universe and the usurper would not now abdicate. IxonnoxI would therefore have little choice but to fight for his place amongst the moons and stars of the mystical world. Soldier was determined to help his friend in any way he could. There was also a fondness in his heart for IxonnoxIs mother, Uthellen. Had things been but slightly different history moved sideways to the thickness of a shadow Soldier and Uthellen might have been betrothed to each other. As it was, Soldier was in love with his own beloved and naturally jealous wife, and Uthellen could not be anything more than a dear friend. But dear she was, and he wondered after her welfare. Uthellen was at that moment struggling through the mountains of a distant land, on her way to join her son in his fastness hideout. She too had seen the strange magic scattered like coloured moondust over the heavens and knew that her son would soon be engaged in a battle which would see either the making or the disappearance of him. Wizards do not die easily and IxonnoxI was not only a fully fledged wizard, but a hundred times more powerful than any marabout apart from his father OmmullummO, the present occupant of the seat of King Magus. Any personal struggle between these two highly potent wizards would shake the seven pillars of the earth. Fire, flood, earthquake and eruption would sweep over the world if the pair decided on single combat. It might even lead to the annihilation of the whole human race. Both sorcerers knew this, and while OmmullummO was not concerned at causing catastrophes and disasters, he did care that the world was peopled. If everyone were to be wiped out he would have dominion over no one and nothing. It is pointless being the most powerful being in the universe if you are the only sentient living thing around. Those who would be kings need subjects, or they are kings of nothing but their own hearths. IxonnoxI was concerned about causing mayhem and slaughter, and therein was his reason for not throwing himself into a battle of champions. There was another course for the two great beings to follow. This would be to have armies of men and women fight their fight for them, in order to keep the world from such destruction as those natural and unnatural disasters would cause. Both would have to agree to abide by the outcome if such armies were employed. A pre-set mechanism for the loser, one which satisfied both wizards, would need to be put into place, a magic spell which automatically went into effect once the battle between the two armies of men was over and the winner declared by the gods. This spell would in fact banish one of the two wizards to the dark and far-flung nether regions of the universe, there to remain until death. It might seem to the observer that the two wizards had the best of it. They had no need to risk their lives in battle if mortals were to do it for them. Yet their fate, their punishment, for being the loser was too hideous and horrible to contemplate. There were no monsters in those spatial territories to which the loser would be exiled, no terrible storms, no infestations of insects, no swamps or deserts, no devils or demons, no ghosts. There was, in fact, nothing. Nothing at all except darkness and dust. A wizard, or indeed any other intelligent creature, sent to such a place would be screaming mad within a short period of time, driven there by pure boredom. Whoever went had to remain there for the whole of their life, and wizards live a long, long, long time in comparison to mortals. All this was in the mind of Uthellen as she scurried through the mountain passes, hoping to be with her son within the month. She would have been with him now if she had not been sent away a mere mortal, even if the mother of a great wizard - for her own safety. Yet now she was disturbed by the separation, and wished to be with her son. If it were possible she intended to go with him on his banishment, should he lose the battle against the ruthless and contemptible OmmullummO. With the night coming on and the wind growing stronger, Uthellen sought shelter. A cave would do. Even a rock hang, out of the wind. But she actually came across a dwelling with a strangely thatched roof, stuck out on a ledge, overlooking a monstrous drop of some two thousand metres. The fall was only frightening if one went to the very edge and looked down. Back on the trail it was simply a direction to be avoided in the darkness. She went to the doorway of the hut, which had not a wooden door, but the hide of an animal hanging down from a lintel. Hello? she called. Anyone there? There was no answer from within. She tried calling twice more. Still no one came or replied to her call. Finally she brushed aside the soft skin curtain and entered. The room was dim within, naturally, for there were no windows. The smell was extremely unpleasant, but not unbearable, certainly not for someone whose only other choice was to spend the night in the open on the side of a bare mountain. When her eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, Uthellen was able to see that it was sparsely furnished, as was to be expected of a drystone dwelling hanging on the edge of a mountain, unless it were owned by an eccentric sultan or a wealthy merchant turned mad. There were a few animal skins spread about the floor, a bed of stone covered in wood bark in the far left corner, and a fireplace in the centre with the usual hole in the roof for smoke. Very little else was there, apart from bones piled in the opposite corner to the bed. She supposed them to be the bones of animals, for they were too large to be those offish or birds. Exhausted by her journeys, Uthellen lay down by the central fireplace, unwilling to take a strangers bed. If it were that of a shepherd or goatherd, the owner might return soon with his flock and want his own resting place. She had found the hospitality of such men and women to be good, but then she had not taken advantage of