Scabbard's Song (4 page)

Chapter Two

Soldier and Wo camped in a mountainside wood. The snow was thick upon the ground and the branches of the trees were heavy laden. Every once in a while there would be a soft muffled flop as a lump of snow fell from a shelf of pine branches to the ground. Fox, wolf, boar and deer tracks were everywhere. Game flourished in this region, guarded from harm as it was by the presence of the gods and the fantastical nature of the area. Not many humans ventured into the magical aura thrown out by the Seven Peaks. Humans tend to like a certain order and predictability about the world. Here there was not chaos, but natural and unnatural spontaneity. Strange things happened just like that, without any real warning, and human visitors tended to be jumpy and wary, having to expect the unexpected. Wo lit a fire while Soldier went hunting. Soldier came back with a hare. That is the best you can do? In a place thriving with game? said Wo. Soldier shrugged. The pigs are quick and the deer quicker. Besides, what would we two do with a whole deer or boar? Much of it would be wasted. But a hare. Unless we hang it for two or three days it will be tough and stringy. That worries a canine with teeth like yours? Wo gave him that lopsided grin. True, I can crack open the scapula of an ox with these jaws but thats not the point. What we discuss here is your ability to hunt. Im a soldier, not a hunter dont confuse the two. You cant be both? Soldier grimaced. As my wife keeps informing me, Im only a man and therefore can only think of or do one thing at a time. Give me a single task and Im up to it. At the moment Im acutely aware of being a warrior and cannot put my whole attention to the skills of hunting. The hare actually made a passable stew, being a lazy fat hare in life, having lived high on the hog-grass. Soldier gave the pure white pelt to Wo, who would turn it into a sheath for a knife, or a purse for his loved one. They sat in contentment around the fire, filling their stomachs with the hot stew spiced with herbs. There is something about a camp fire in the woods, amongst the snow, that brings on a sense of well-being in some men. Soldier was one of those. White smoke drifted up through the branches of the trees and into a blackness studded with nights gems. The smell of burning pine branches and needles brought its own feelings of satisfaction. At midnight some strange creatures came out of holes in the trees. Fairies of a sort, but jet black with small orange eyes that burned like tiny candle flames. Wo told Soldier they were harmless creatures, not like the fairy drots which sucked the blood of mammals. It was the smell of the smoke which had drawn them out of the trunks and they simply flew back and forth on batskin wings through the drifting sparks. Every now and again one of them would fly too low, shrivel and fall into the flames, to go up in a blue-green flare like paper soaked in saltpetre. When Soldier expressed his alarm at this, Wo told him that the creatures only lived for a night in any case, so this premature death was no great loss to the species. They are the mayflies of the preternatural world, said Wo, his human language now well developed, revealing a very sharp intellect. They are here and gone in the dark hours. What does it matter, this evanescent life they have, since their souls live for eternity? We are only here to give the soul a chance to embed itself. I sometimes think it would be better if mammals like us were only fleeting creatures. No need for houses, or food, or drink, or wars. These are unimportant to a creature with a quick life. You are sure there is something beyond life? Absolutely. What would be the point of it all, if not? . Well, philosophers have argued over that one for millennia - I dont want to go into it tonight. They bedded down, one either side of the fire, and during the night had many more visitors. Mostly these were grey-ghosts, phantom-like beings drifting by in the darkness, but one or two startling forms came right up to the fire, turned the logs with claw, hoof or horn, sniffed the blankets of the sleeping companions, shook the dew out of their leathery wings or whip-long tails, then went on their way again without troubling the newcomers. One weird warty creature actually ate the smouldering charcoal on the edges of the fire, but for the most part they were simply curious mythagos, wandering through the primal woods of a shadowland hollow, neither here nor there. Their world was actually on the edge of dreams and would not exist at all if men simply closed their eyes and thought of nothing from dusk to dawn. These wonderland, nightmarish forms were the product of enlivened unconscious minds, projecting their flimsy shapes into an intangible landscape created by the restless patterns of sleep in the human brain. The following morning they woke with the first rays of light, and that borderland between reality and fantasy had suddenly moved back, to a horizon far away. They both went down to a pool to drink and their separate methods emphasised once again the differences between them: Wo lapped, Soldier sucked and drank. They were getting used to each other though. Are we close to our destination? asked Soldier, of the finder-of-lost-swords. Or do we still have a way to go? We are virtually there, replied Wo. Over that next ridge, the one bristling with pines, is the cave of Gilchrista and Wilandow, twin dragons who guard its entrance. Within that cave is a crystal cavern and at the bottom of a deep shaft in the cavern is an underground sea. There lies your Kutrama. How do I get past the dragons? In the same tone which Soldier had used the previous evening when talking of hunting and soldiering, Wo said, I am a finder, not a fetcher. You must devise your own way of passing the dragons. If you will recall, I have never been here myself. It is simply a place I have seen in my vision of the hiding place of your sword. You must find your own way past Gilchrista and Wilandow. I do not even know if they are hostile, but I would expect them to be, or why would they be guarding the entrance to the cave? Soldier was a little put out. Are there other treasures in the cave? Again, I do not know. Well, a fine help you are. I told you, I find swords, I dont retrieve them. I doubt the sword would let me in any case. I have seen the hands of thieves and the unworthy burst into flame when taking hold of a named sword. I have seen sword robbers shrivel to nought on touching a magical blade. Not me, Soldier. You must do your own work from now on. I am a spectator. I suppose youre right, grumbled Soldier. Still and all, I would like some assistance, unless youre simply going to turn tail. Wo looked grim. I have a dogs head, but not its rear end. Soldier stared, bemused, then realised what had upset Wo. Oh, that its just an expression, turning tail. I would say it to another human being too. It isnt meant to be taken literally. Wo was mollified. AH right then. No, I shall not turn and run. I shall accompany you as far as I am able. Good. I appreciate it. They travelled that morning to the cave of the twin dragons. When they arrived at the edge of a clearing, there stood the pair, one green, one red, either side of the entrance to the under-earth. They were not leathery dragons, like the little two-legged, red-bellied green dragon who believed itself to be the offspring of Soldier. Soldier had been there at the hatching of this creature and it had imprinted itself on the lost warrior, calling him mother in its own language and following him for a while. Every so often Soldier met with his adopted child and they exchanged simple greetings, delighted to cross paths, before going their separate ways. These two dragons had a silky sheen to their small tight scales and looked soft and dry to the touch. If dragons had royalty, these would be the princes of dragon-world. Their eyelashes were like velvet brushes, long and curving. Their claws were kept manicured by woodland dwarfs and there were none of the usual blemishes or bruises on their tails, which normal dragons were wont to lash at rocks and trees with. They had tall brows, denoting fine brains, and their ears were like glistening spearpoints: the red dragons pricked up, the green dragons bent. They were sister-brothers, these two guardians of the under-earth. Their weapons were their polished and shapely claws, and their long forked tails. There was no fire-breath in their throats, nor terrible teeth, they being herbivores with molars. Ill stay here, said Wo. They look gentle enough. Do they? muttered Soldier, taking a faggot from behind the saddle of his horse. Have you looked at their eyes? Everything else about them is soft and warm-looking, but their eyes are like flints. Im going to get a cold reception. And so you should, until you produce your credentials. Which are? How should I know? asked Wo. Thats up to them. Oh well, here goes. Have I got my tinder box? Yes, its there on your belt. Thank you. Soldier walked boldly out towards the cave entrance, over which hung a bead curtain, like those which covered the openings to the cooking tents of the Carthagans, to keep out the flies. How strange to have such furnishings out here, in the wilderness, thought Soldier. It was too domestic, in a wild land with wild ways, not to be bizarre. Then his attention was captured by the figure of a hunched old woman, a cowl over her head, sorting through a great pile of bones. She was lining up thigh bones, making what Soldier knew as a pilgrims path. She took no notice of him whatsoever. Nearby were more bones, small and large. Piles of round skulls and long skulls; broken rib cages; scapulas; ghastly feet and hands planted like flowers in the ground around the two great dragons. Then a chill went through Soldier as he realised what the bead curtain was made of. Spinal cords! The backbones of warriors who had come to this place and had failed the test. In a pit on the far side of the old woman was a pile of rusting armour, with helmets, breastplates, horse harnesses, chain armour, shields. There were weapons too: many lances and spears, several daggers and swords, a crossbow or two. Here was the graveyard of the unfortunates, with an old woman sexton. Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? muttered Soldier. With finger bones and fleshless toes all planted in a row. The old woman looked up, briefly, and cackled, and stared at his chest, his hips, his shoulders. Not bad, not bad. But the best, I sell to the fairies, she said. Rib cages to gnome farmers for their harrows. Scapulas to goblins for their spades. Skulls for water carriers. Pelvis bones for flower bowls. Your bones are made of fairy gold, stranger. Despite these ugly warning signs - the armour and the bones - Soldier marched up to the dragons. There was little point in pussyfooting around, once he had made up his mind. Dragons would kill you if you were nervous or nerveless, it mattered little to them. At first he thought he was going to be able to stride right between them, without them lifting a claw to stop him. However, just as he was about to do so, they closed together, forming a wall between him and the cave entrance. And you are going where? asked Gilchrista, the red one. And for what purpose? enquired Wilandow, the green. I seek my sword, answered Soldier, and was told by the dog-person, Wo, who is hiding like the coward he is in those trees behind me . . . a grunt of objection came from the forest fence . . . that it was here, in this cave. And the name of that sword? asked Gilchrista. Kutrama. I have his scabbard, here. He touched the sheath at his side. Her name is Sintra. Ah, murmured Wilandow, then you would be . . . ? Soldier. Gilchrista shook his-her head. That is not the name we were given. Dismay entered Soldiers heart. No, I have forgotten my real name. I was once a knight in another world, in another life. In fact I would appreciate knowing the name I bore then, if you have a mind. Well, we dont have a mind, said Wilandow. We are not permitted to divulge names of people or swords. Youll have to do better than this if you want to walk away whole. What, then, is the name of your bride? You mean the name of my dear wife? Ah, that I can give you, he replied, eagerly. That is the beautiful Princess Layana, of Guthrums great city Zamerkand. That is not the name we were given, said Gilchrista. The bride we speak of is dead and is buried beneath the snows of another world. Despair again. Ah, once more I have to fall back on my defence of having no memory of that world, though I do have dreams of her death and those who are responsible. What a pity, said Wilandow, thrashing his-her tail and raising a dust devil. What a great shame. The old woman looked up, cackled again, and seemed to be coveting what lay beneath Soldiers flesh. Pretty hands, she said. Nice feet. Soldier was at a loss. He said, How can I convince you? Wilandow said, You say you are from the other world, the world where your bride rests beneath the snows. My first bride, that is true. And that of course would account for your blue eyes, stated Gilchrista. Yes, there are many in my old world who have eyes of blue, though there are other colours too, including brown. But another came with blue eyes, said Wilandow. And he did not try to enter, so we had to let him go, added Gilchrista. Soldier felt anger inside. That would be the enemy who has pursued me from the other world into this one and seeks my demise. Wilandow said, We know something of the customs of this other world you claim to be from - Gilchrista will ask you a question. If you answer it, you may enter. If you make a mistake any mistake - you will die. Are you ready to stake your life on such a question? Other knights are not. They run away in great fear, though we carol the word coward after them, trying to goad them into returning. Are you too a coward, knight? Is that how knights act in this world you are from? Is that the question? Of course not, growled Gilchrista, for there is no proper answer to that one, only one mans opinion. Give him the question, Gilchrista. My question is: can you list for me by rank of noblemen and commoner which bird of prey each is entitled to use when out hunting with eagle, hawk and falcon? Take your time. Weve got years if necessary. But you must get the list right. Make no mistake. We are aware of your customs and laws, blue eyes, so if you get it wrong we will know instantly You mean, for instance, said Soldier, his heart pounding, only a king is permitted to hunt with a gyr falcon? Thats what we mean, but youve missed one out. You didnt start at the top of the list as I expected you to. Or if you started at the bottom, youve missed a whole lot of them. I dont know whether that counts as a mistake already, said the green dragon, turning to the red. What do you think, sister-brother? Do we have to kill