Scabbard's Song (27 page)

of his business, and he tried to ignore the hissing of the female trolls as he passed by their clay homes, and the oaths and missiles of the male trolls who seemed to spend their time blocking passageways. Q3OO3Q took Soldier all over the underworld. Far from seeming loyal to him, his subjects appeared to regard him as some kind of fool. They jeered at him when he tried to explain what Soldier was doing there. They questioned every sentence that left his mouth. They even leaned on their mops and brooms, blocking his way when he tried to use the tunnels. The king appeared to be entitled to no respect whatsoever from his disloyal subjects. Finally Q3OO3Q led him to a wide series of chambers and pointed to the earthen ceiling. This is the spot, he said, under the hill above the Ancient Forest, by the petrified pools of Yan. Your army can break through here and come up behind the enemy. But, said Soldier, looking up, this seems to be one area of your underground kingdom that is highly regarded. Arent those fetish dolls hanging from the roots of the ancient trees? Dont your subjects regard this as a holy site? Oh, dont worry about that, said Q3OO3Q, none too convincingly. Ill soon persuade them to agree to ignore the sacrilege. Those dolls have only been up there a thousand years or so. You leave that to me. The air shafts are too important to let things like sacred sites stand in our way. You can feel how hot and stuffy it is down here. We have to get more air in. One breeze is worth violating a dozen temples to Theg. Well, dont you have to get some sort of permission first? Permission? snorted Q3OO3Q. Im the king. Yes, but the office of king doesnt seem to carry much weight around here. Oh, itll be all right. Id like to hear someone else say so. Q3OO3Q shrugged and called down the tunnels. Trolls in yellow garments appeared. These are priests, explained the king. Look, he said to the troll priests, were going to smash up the ceiling a bit. Thats all right, isnt it? Its for a good cause. Its to get air shafts. The priests started wailing at the tops of their voices. Q3OO3Q waved impatiently for silence. When it came, he said, Ill give you the Quartz Crystal Gardens and the Malachite Caves. You can build your temples there. There was no more wailing. One of the troll priests mentioned the fact that nothing could replace ancient trees in the eyes of Theg. Ancient trees were a force of nature that had no equal under the gods. They were living proof of the pacifistic nature of the real world. They were strong-limbed, strong-bodied, and symbolic of all that was good and green. The Malachite Caves and the Quartz Crystal Gardens were but poor substitutes for the Tree Temples. All right then, Ill throw in the Halls of Garnet too. The priests looked at each other and nodded, ambling back into the darkness whence they had come. Soldier was amazed by the avarice of the trolls, but Q3OO3Q said that trolls had always been greedy. They would sell their firstborn for an apple, he told Soldier. They respected nothing, not traditions, not holy sites, not kings, not each other. They treated everything with contempt and were so easy to bribe it was laughable. It was said that if you threw a tiny silver farthing in amongst a crowd of sharp-toothed trolls, they would all go away with a piece of it. Do not concern yourself, Soldier - Ill get your army to this place, and there will be ladders ready to burst through to the overwork!. Soldier returned to Zamerkand. First he visited General Velion, his second-in-command in the coming war. Together they assembled the troops on the hard parade ground outside the city walls. Make ready the Red Pavilions, he cried, addressing his warriors. I call on the Wolf Pavilion, the Eagle Pavilion, the Elephant, Lion, Tiger, Hawk I call on all my Carthagan warriors, for we are about to begin the most important battle of our lives. If we lose, the world will descend into darkness and chaos. If we win, the King Magus usurper will go and the new young King Magus will rule the magic of the earth. Commander, cried a captain, raising his sword, when do we leave? Tomorrow, was the reply. Soldier then returned to the city. He spent the night with his wife in one long embrace. Golgath came to fetch him just before dawn. Q3OO3Q will meet me and my army at the edge of the woodland - we are leaving now Good, said Soldier, dressing as they spoke. He wore a breastplate, sandals and leather kilt only. For the rest, his limbs were bare and his head helmetless. He fought better unencumbered. My own Red Pavilions will be ready for me. Wo and his dog-heads are waiting with them, along with Guido and his small force of Bhantans. We have fashioned rafts in the reeds of the Blue River. As you know, the Blue River breaks into three, the Red, the Green and the White Rivers, just before it reaches the petrified pools of Yan. We will be in three forces, coming down those rivers, arriving just before noon to engage the enemy, who are gathered on the hill above the Ancient Forest. You will burst forth from the ground within the enemy lines precisely at noon. Is that understood? Perfectly. They each laid a hand on the others shoulder, then hugged like men. Good, said Golgath. May the Sacred Seven be with us, though I very much doubt theyll even take an interest, stuck up there in their lofty peaks. Oh, you never know, gods are such fickle creatures they could be taking wagers right now. Spagg is down in the marketplace doing just that, damn his soul. I have heard that the odds are two to one that well lose, a hundred to one that well prevail. Both men laughed. One last thing, said Soldier, buckling his sword. You know we may have to kill your brother, Kaff . . . Golgath sighed. One hopes that ones family is instilled with honour and good, but unfortunately my brother is empty of both. He is an unworthy vessel. However, if he has to die I pray it will not be by my hand, but that of another. Fratricide is a terrible crime. Hardly murder, Golgath. This is war. Soldier looked around for his wife, but she had disappeared. Musket was there instead, standing in one of the several doorways. Goodbye, son I shall return as soon as I can. Yes, Father. Will I rule the city while you and Mother are gone? Why, surely your mother . . . Soldier realised something and frowned. He turned again to confront Golgath, only to find his friend and general had vanished too. Ah, she will be on the battlefield, that little vixen, he said quietly. Then, to Musket, Yes, while we are gone, son, you are in sole charge. Rule Zamerkand wisely. I will, Father. Soldier left and joined his troops. He led his army to the river and there they boarded the rafts. They sailed forth, down the waters, towards the sea. Mid-morning they sighted the delta and the rafts split between the three now separate rivers. One raft overturned in a fierce current, but the rest made it to the end of the journey. The Red Pavilions, warriors every one, poured forth on to the shores. Humbold, Kaff and Drummond were waiting on the hill above the Ancient Forest with their immense army. On seeing the Red Pavilions the captains of their troops became excited. Instead of waiting for the Red Pavilions to ascend the slope, they ran down in great numbers, to fall upon the oncoming allies, despite the recalls of their generals. It is always a hazard with an unwieldy army that communication will break down. So it was with Humbolds army. Yet he, Kaff and Drummond still retained confidence, for they outnumbered the enemy a hundred to one. Battle was joined. Soldiers side had no cavalry. The enemy cavalry consisted mainly of Hannacks, those wild, crazy barbarians who wore the skins of flayed men as cloaks and severed bearded human jaws on their bald heads as wigs. The Hannacks charged not in controlled squadrons, but as individuals, as barbarian hordes are wont to do. Their hearing was poor so they heard no commands: they listened to no drum or bugle. They simply thundered in with the joy of bloodlust to chop and hack at their pleasure. Soldiers disciplined regiments of long-spearmen stood fast in determined rows. The long spears broke up the horde into small isolated groups, the swordsmen moved in to drag them from their horses, and they were put to death at the points of weapons. Soon there were few Hannacks left and those that remained were bewildered by the speed at which their comrades had fallen. The enemy cavalry having been dealt with, Soldiers pavilions did their best to roll up the flanks of the infantry and confuse them by crowding them in together. Soldier found himself fighting hand to hand with someone he had met in the Unknown Territory, Prince Fabulet. What are you doing, fighting for that tyrant? gasped Soldier in the young mans ear. Do you not know he will discard you all once you have got him where he wants to be? My father, replied the prince, miserably. I had to obey my fathers wishes. Then they were parted by the bodyguards of both and found themselves swept to other areas of the battlefield. As noon approached it seemed that Humbolds army was gaining the initiative. The Red Pavilions were being thinned by the minute. Bullroarers were blaring, trumpets were crowing. The drums beat and the cymbals clashed. Enemy standards were waving proud, while those of the Red Pavilions were wilting. There was an air of anticipation in the foe, who like all who believe they will triumph were enthused. Their success gave them strength. They forced the Red Pavilions on to the back foot. Though none of the allies fled, for Carthagans never run, they were in despair. Humbold stood high on the hill, Kaff at his side, victory in their faces. Drummond shouldered his way through to the front line and sought out Soldier. The blue-eyed borderer slew several Carthagans and one or two dog-headed barbarian beast-people to reach his hated foe. Then he stood before him, broad and powerful, ready with his sword. Now you die, Valechor! Please, replied Soldier, no talk just fight. A mighty struggle began between the pair. Both were not up to full strength, still nursing their earlier wounds, but they fought like savage animals. Soldier wielded Kutrama with great skill, while Sintra now sang inspiring battle songs at the top of her voice. Her high, clear notes unnerved Drummond, but still he slashed and thrust with equal skill, using an ancient claymore which had accompanied him into this world. In the middle of their struggle the sun reached high noon. To Soldier it was the hour of the resurrection! The earth seemed to open in a hundred places, like swollen graves bursting. All over the battlefield a fresh new army began to pour forth from the depths. Golgath and the Guthrumites now came tumbling from below ground to join with the confused enemy. Soldier saw that the scheme had worked. The tide was now turning, for Humbolds army had no idea how many subterranean troops would come from beneath their feet. All they saw were warriors leaping as if from hell, flying from dark earthen holes with great energy, screaming and yelling oaths, hacking, chopping, stabbing. Some of Humbolds troops were confused and began to panic. Battlefield rumours flew amongst them. These newcomers were demons from the lowest fires! They were devils baked and cooked hard in the ovens of the middle-earth! They were sons of the volcano, invulnerable and unstoppable! The fringes of Humbolds army believed these whispers and turned to run, leaving the core to continue the fighting. The smell of gore, blood and sweat filled the hot noon, and underlying these, the horrible odour of fear. Many in the centre of Humbolds army, seeing the edges crumble and run, began to lose their reason. They went berserk, attempting to slash an avenue through their own troops as well as those of the enemy, in order to force themselves an escape route. Soon it was difficult to see who was fighting for Humbolds cause. Soldier and Drummond remained locked in single combat. They had a bare patch of ground to themselves. Around them was death and chaos as the tide of men rolled back and forth. A strange thing began to happen. One moment the pair were fighting in this world; the next they were back in their old land. Soldier saw about him the kingdom of the border country. One second he was wearing a light breastplate and sandals, the next he was in full armour. Both men had been growing more fatigued, their strokes less skilful, their parries less able. Yet this unusual phenomenon invigorated them. They renewed their attacks on one another, each seeking a chink in the others defences, each hoping to deliver the death blow. Valechor saw men about him in bright armour and riding battle horses. Their weapons were broadswords and maces. They were fighting in cold green woods and on frost-covered grassy slopes. The conflict was desperate and the sway of battle heaved first one way, and then the other. A stroke from Valechors sword landed on Drummonds shoulder, the armour dinting but not splitting. Drummond then counter-thrust at his opponents eyes, but Valechors helmet protected his head from the blades sharp point. Then, just as suddenly, the world was dun-hued dirt ground again, and the fighting men half-naked warriors, with a hot sun burning above them. Short-swords and bossed wooden shields were the weapons here. Soldier battled in the choking dust, trying to find a way through Drummonds guard. A sandal slippery with sweat flew off Soldiers right foot. He kicked the other off to join it, continuing to fight in bare feet His wooden shield was hacked at the edge, Drummonds blade almost cutting through. So it went, the pair slipping back and forth, first in this world then in another. They sensed a universal destiny. The victor of one fight, it seemed, was bound to be the hero of the other. Valechor was aware that overall victory depended upon winning both battles. He and Drummond were fighting them as one, and all wrongs and rights were to be settled here on this day, a twin conflict in which only one could prevail. A regiment of witches were let loose upon the dusty hill in the first world, while a company of trained wolves were unleashed from beneath the greenwood trees in the second. Soldier and Drummond ignored all these distractions, focusing only on a single foe each other. Finally the hapless Drummond slipped on an icy patch in the old world and fell forward on Soldiers blade in the new. Kutrama, the named sword, had triumphed. Drummond staggered back, the sword protruding from his breast. This is not how it should be, he gasped in pained disbelief. I was the one who was wronged. It was an accident, replied Valechor, who was Soldier. You fell on the blade. The hate in Drummonds eyes dimmed, to be followed by the glaze that heralded death. He fell forward at Soldiers feet, crashing to the ground in his armour in the old world, then raising the dust in the new. A
king, an erstwhile cattle thief and highway robber, had gone to that level ground where his clan had gone before. His despised foe, Valechor, would join him one day, but this was not that day, and victory was Soldiers . . . Elsewhere the fight was also coming to an end. Guido was slain by Kaffs sword. Wo and his dog-heads chased the remnants of the Hannacks from the field. Humbold was beheaded by Golgaths axe, his head rolling down amongst the frantic witches, their regiment in disarray. Layana threw back the visor on her helmet and Captain Kaff, on seeing her beautiful face, went to her. She stabbed him once in the throat, quick as a viper. I loved you, he said, falling to his knees, the blood gushing forth. And you once loved me. Never, she replied. It was but a fancy. The enemy army collapsed, their retreat turning to a rout, their heels shown plain and clear to the victorious allies.