Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (31 page)

“I gather you
find these vegetables toxic?”

“I most
absolutely do!”

“A crassly
cunning lot, these villagers!” fumed Baus.

“Neither do I
season my meats, pastes and compotes or pâtés with onions. Which
reminds me—I have invited you jacks to dinner! Swag back your
beverages, lads, and partake of a glass or two more! Tonight we
dine on lavish viands!—fresh hare, roasted with pâté a l’orange and
breadcrumb-stuffed pheasant!”

Baus clapped
his hands with delight. “A splendid choice, Dakkaw! We shall sup
and bathe, after which, my friend and I shall take our leave of
you. We have urgent business in New Krintz and shall not wait for
spoilings.”

“A project
most unfeasible!” chided the Dakkaw. “You must lodge here with me
tonight. Anything else is simply insulting and a disparagement of
my geniality!” He wattled his throat, an act which Baus found
unnerving.

The Dakkaw
donned an affectionate smile. “Again these hasty words, and more
simply voiced from an impassioned perspective. As salubrious as one
night’s rest shall prove, another shall be better—”

“Another?”
Valere inquired.

The Dakkaw
banged an impassioned fist down on the table. “Two nights! A measly
period. This is all I ask. A visit of this length is not
inordinate! Three or four moons is more seemly a duration—much more
of what I had in mind.”

Valere pitched
a groan. He glided to his feet in poignant disbelief. He stared at
the ogre. “Are you off your crown, Dakkaw? You wish us to stay here
for four months?”

“Yes, plain
and simple,” asserted the Dakkaw, spreading palms. The display of
jubilance seemed more met with stupefaction than anything. “Where
is the problem? I resent your insolence. Is there something ailing
with my communication?”

Baus shook his
head. “’Tis only that the Captain is stunned and thinks that things
are happening so fast! After all, we just met you. As mentioned,
Valere and I have plans to travel post haste to Krintz.”

“Then you must
abandon these fly-by-night programs and abide by my new schedule! I
have need of company—a thirst in fact which shall have no
quenching. What the Dakkaw wishes, the Dakkaw gets!” He boomed out
the words in ominous tones.

Valere was
less than thrilled with the idea. “And how shall we occupy our time
in this gloomy warren of yours?”

The Dakkaw
fiddled his fingers. “This is your own worry.”

Baus offered a
stout affirmation to Valere’s concerns. “We shall tire of our
insipid solitude here. Like Mearl, we shall languish in
boredom!”

“Arrest these
paltry fears of yours, boy! By day I hunt, I garden and conduct my
crafts, by night I boil rutabaga and radish, and together we must
feast upon wegmor meats and wild hares sizzling over slow fires.
Dining amicably, we shall come to know only peace and
exaltation—withal, for weeks on end. Such a splendid way in which
to pass the time!”

The Dakkaw
paused to reminisce. “Warmth, care and comfort, ah! There is
nothing like it. Withal, free from conflict and idle jabber. You
shall have free rein of my abbey during the period in which to
study my marvellous collection—rich with folios, curios and
artifacts. I harbour trophies, coins and collectibles galore! When
I return from my hunting expeditions, you can oblige yourselves in
amusing me with your tales—which I might add, neither of you jacks
have shared but a single word.”

“You speak in
truth,” observed Baus languidly, “but what if we wish to accompany
you on these hunts? Shall we mope about Bisiguth’s dreary and
dismal fastnesses while you enjoy the thrill of the chase?”

The Dakkaw
regarded Baus from under sullen, drooping lids. “Do you take me for
a lout? What would stop you from disappearing into the brake?”

Baus
manufactured an offended croak. “That would constitute an
impudence, disappearing before dinner. Would you think so lowly of
us?”

The Dakkaw
frowned at the possibility. He pulled at his chin. “Perhaps! But I
am not one for dichotomies. Tomorrow we will initiate the program.”
He grumbled under his breath and said that at least he would
consider the matter. “In the meantime, we must sup!” Happily the
ogre skipped to the scullery, from where he returned carrying
heaping tureens of stewed rabbit and herbs, which Baus and Valere
reluctantly devoured.

VII

Over dinner,
the Dakkaw went to fetch another bottle of wine, during which
period Baus learned that only a handful of Heagramers had escaped
the snauzzerhound jaws. The Constables, according to Valere, raced
about scouring the wilderness like jackals, yet had failed to root
out Dighcan, Zestes, Lopze, Karlil and himself, all of whom had
fled north. Zestes had chosen to follow the road to Hamhuzzle, in
hopes of escape. The others had fled south. Karlil, Lopze and
Valere had been separated on the road to Hamhuzzle when a merchant
had startled them, scattering their numbers with his wagon. Fearing
discovery, all had bolted in opposite directions.

The Dakkaw
returned with a mouth full of hare, urging the twain to continue
with their interesting stories which he had only half heard from
the kitchen. Baus plied the ogre from a different tack, questioning
him on the origin of Bisiguth and the desolate ruins.

“Bisiguth is
that manor erected by Baron Bisiguth,” he said, “an eccentric
visionary of Taven. In the early part of this age the estate was
constructed by renowned architects, hence the hyperbole of the
floating spheres. The city is in fact the site of
Old
Krintz
, which is that settlement of quality which you see
around you. Beyond the ruins lies the more modern village of New
Krintz, a few leagues farther west—whose odious stench I deplore.
The monuments, pillars and statues littered about Old Krintz were
once the glorious possessions of our ruler barons—of that ancient
realm of the south—Morveuntz, far beyond Owlen and Karsh. The
forefathers sailed north by barque. They founded the capital of
Kereuntz, which later was renamed ‘Krintz’. Since then, it has
dwindled to a straggling ruin, half forgotten. Bisiguth is that
stronghold ruled by Noblore, and a succession of noblemen—the
daring Estyon and Griffax whose armour and plates you see dressed
on the wall, which give me great pleasure to display.”

Valere deigned
an intrusion: “I recall passing ruins myself on my way north while
pondering the legends. I heard myths of similar nature—that the
realm of ‘Kereuntz’ and its ancient brother ‘Fereuntz’ were still
intact—at least the remnants of glory. But I never believed it to
be this vast! I am baffled and humbled in the extreme. The
enchantment that we suffered from those wretched flowers—it has
something to do with the magic of those old days?”

“Right,
Captain. Back when Kereuntz basked in all its glory, countless
adepts roamed the regions, versed in the arts of sorcery, but it
was not until Kereuntz’s full days of waning that an alchemist
named Murtle created an amazing potion—an elixir of such potent
distillation that she let it sit in a quiet glade to temper, and
cure it of its mettle. While she was away, a vicious storm blew
from the sea. It brought howling winds and rain to plague the coast
and cause her ewer to overflow, spilling out a putrid, yellow scum,
blighting the land. Something had gone dreadfully wrong. Murtle’s
spell had backfired. Gorse, twitch, spikenard, furze—all such
plants perished. Only asphodel, acacia and gardenia survived—flora
yellow, for reasons only known to Murtle’s understanding. The
flowering seeds spread, drifting to other glades. They infected
other flora with caustic blights. Whatever the original portent of
the spell was, it was lost to record, but it remains only to eat or
inhale of Murtle’s asphodel, to become infected, then drowsing
until such time as one is rescued from the peril.”

Baus and
Valere only framed solemn acknowledgements to the lore and the
Dakkaw, while reclining in his chair, let his eyes pass glistening
over their scruffy attire with a thoughtful intent. He motioned to
the brass instruments affixed along the wall. “These gongs are the
very same that the troubadours of old Kereuntz used to ring on the
hachylons
—those rowers of excellent quality who propelled
the hefty vessels across the seas.” His eyes grew rheumy. “How the
dragon galleys, their prows carven with sea harpies and griffins,
used to ply the routes between Kereuntz and Haikken! They fought
dire foes and made trade in days of yore. Days of adventure those
were—surely not to be revisited again in these torpid times
today.”

Valere
grunted: “Haikken is the modern day port of Owlen?”

The Dakkaw
nodded. “From where Prince Arnin now commands his fleet. I hear he
makes his private war with the Poesasian buccaneers with avidity.”
The ogre turned his moody gaze on Valere. “Notice the poison
nettles hanging from the oriels.” He pointed a finger to the
vaulted ceiling. “One touch, and the victim falls paralyzed to
doom. Is this not frightful and ruinous?”

“It is an
unnecessary precaution!” cried Valere.

Baus bit his
lip. “Surely there is little chance of burglars entering from such
heights?”

“Burglars,
no!” the Dakkaw cried, laughing. “But guests? You would be
surprised at the number of ingrates who would seek to strap
ladders, ropes, stilts, mauls, lassoes, barbs and anything else to
seek egress from my manse. They wish to cause me irreparable
injury. Such tactlessness and cunning is without bound!”

“It hardly
seems conceivable!” Baus cried adamantly. “What person would breach
such a covenant of etiquette?” He motioned to the strange
contraption beside Noblore’s ancient armour. “What of this eldritch
coat-rack and its coils? It seems a seven-foot high shaft,
burnished of larch!”

“Aye, on it
are attached many sizeable rings of various colours.”

“Is it too a
relic of long-perished Kereuntz? I see each ring affixed by
mechanisms most peculiar.”

“It is not a
relic!” stormed the Dakkaw. “It is an invention: a game called
‘Whig the rigs’—of my own innovation.”

“Indeed! Is
anyone eligible to play?”

“Naturally!
‘Whig the rigs’ is designed for two or more players. Shall we
try?”

“Why not? I
profess to interest,” cried Baus.

The Dakkaw
nodded, as if he did not seem to find the circumstance implausible.
He explained that each player was to choose a poker, attempt
dislodging a ring in such a way as to incommode its neighbour’s
opponent’s ring—or at least halting its progress at midway. “But
take note!” the Dakkaw cried fervently. “The rings harbour
different weights and sizes. The lengths of each chain holding the
rings are calculated to confound a player into committing faults.
Attention is due to promote interesting play!”

Baus
agreed.

The Dakkaw
selected pokers; the ogre handed Baus a stout limb and a smaller
one to Valere. He urged them to house their rings, but Baus lifted
a hand, insisting that other noteworthy items were to be given
attention along the farther wall, to which the Dakkaw agreed.

A short,
squat, apish creature suddenly thrust itself out of the darkness.
It had a plump, grinning face.

The Dakkaw
clapped his hands. “Ah, Rilben. You arrive! Not getting into
mischief, I hope?” He was pleased with the presence of the
creature.

“Nothing of
the sort, sir!” squeaked Rilben. “I was just cleaning up these
ceremonial cymbals and antediluvian disks.”

“What an
excellent person you are! You are a nonpareil!”

“True.”

Rilben, as
Baus saw, stood no more than waist high to the Dakkaw. The ape was
armed with a grey, goblin face and wore fancy shoes. A small
leather skull-helmet with ear flaps was affixed to his skull. An
embroidered gown over immaculate breast armour, and a set of tweed
pantaloons which precisely matched his cornflower cravat covered
the rest of his body. The creature harboured a parrot-like strut,
which under the circumstances, and with its broad shoulders and
matching lanky arms, seemed to smack of incongruity. Needless to
say, it was not Baus’s place to criticize.

The Dakkaw
touched his cheeks with great fondness. “Right then! Smartly now!
There are folks I’d like you to meet. Baus—meet Rilben!
Valere—Rilben, and Rilben, Baus, a renowned wayfarer—as is Valere,
a real life sea captain.”

Rilben bowed
and showed an admiring face. “Rilben the Bête, at your service.
Many honours, sirs!

Valere
acknowledged the salutation; Baus muffled a cough.

“Rilben is my
‘associate’,” explained the Dakkaw urbanely. “He is a creature, or
rather pseudo-baboon, from descent in the Tarnshorn hills.”

Baus narrowed
his brows. “This is an appreciable distance.”

The Dakkaw
nodded vigorously. “I discovered Rilben in my travels across the
Tarnshorns in a land called ‘Bête’. It was in my youth,” he
exclaimed fondly. “Rilben was then only a pup, the breadth of my
hand.”

“Intriguing,
if not beguiling,” remarked Baus incredulously. “And what prompted
such fortuity?”

“Ah . . . you
ask. Who knows the ways of consequence more than Rilben? The imp
was no bigger than my toe when I found him sprawled and abandoned
in a lonely glade by his peers.”

Baus clapped
his hands in consternation. “Whatever becomes the world when one
discovers travesties exposed in glaring condition?”

The Dakkaw
agreed. “I had hidden Rilben in one of my pockets, whilst
traversing the snow peaks of Tarnshorn, and then transported him to
the Tevers pass, the stony gulches, and the windy swales of
Sarch.”

“An ingenious
itinerary,” complimented Baus.

The Dakkaw
blushed. “I thought so.” Fondness and nostalgia crept into his
face. “Rilben had a pet, oh what was its name? I forget!”