Hugh Cook - The Wicked and the Witless

Then, to multiply the confusion, the Regency proclaimed that any and all citizens who wished to march with Sean Sarazin's army were at liberty to do so. A mistake!

For, along with the assorted psychopaths, lunatics and apprentice boys who took advantage of this offer, the Master of Combat for the Watch volunteered to follow Sean Sarazin on his campaign. A hundred members of the Watch promptly decided to follow Thodric Jarl to war. Sarazin, acting on Jarl's advice, promptly swore them in as his military police.

Sarazin's need for such was dire indeed, as he saw when he reviewed his troops with Thodric Jarl. Disgruntled veterans, convict scum, human refuse from the streets, mumbling lunatics and dolt-eyed idiots. Still, he faced them bravely and made a speech. 'Death or victory!' said Sarazin Sky.

And his men cheered, for the sun was shining, the enemy were very far away, and they were happy – at least for a moment – to fancy themselves as heroes. Then Sarazin went on to say:

'As token of my dedication to battle I take for this campaign the name Watashi.'

A grim name indeed! Sarazin's men greeted it with further cheers, for he had given himself a name truly fit for battle. It meant blood, death, fear, murder, slaughter.

And Sarazin exalted. For he had taken another step to fulfilling his prophecy. He was now known to all the world as Watashi.

In the end, Sarazin's army amounted to 500 cavalrymen, 400 skirmishers and 100 military police. Thodric Jarl, with a lifetime's experience of war behind him, had no trouble organising this paltry force, and, late in the summer, they were ready to march to war.

The night before Sarazin's army quit Selzirk, Sarazin sat up late debating with himself. Should he or should he not take his ring of invisibility, his dragon bottle and his magic candle to war? Once more, he read through the intelligence reports. The enemy, whoever they were, were not in strength sufficient to threaten Selzirk.

This invasion, then, was not a matter of great moment. If Sarazin won, that victory would win him, at best, a transitory popularity. If he lost, the disgrace would be bearable, and he was unlikely to lose his life.

He decided his magic was best reserved for a crisis which severely affected either his own life or the very survival of Selzirk. So he hid his magical artefacts away behind a loose stone in one of the walls of his own quarters, thinking that hiding place as safe as any.

And, the next day, he marched from Selzirk with his army.

Shouda Flow: river rising in foothills of mountains little more than a hundred leagues east of Selzirk. A waterway of little importance since, unlike the Velvet River, it is not navigable, seldom floods, and tends to run dry in summer.

Thus it came to pass that in the summer of the year Alliance 4326 the young warlord Watashi rode forth at the head of his troops. As he rode to war. Thodric Jarl let him bear the blade of firelight steel which had been Lord Regan's gift to him. His dwarf Glambrax, who rode beside him mounted on a donkey, carried the same crossbow with which he had done battle in Shin, in Chenameg.

Sarazin's army moved a march a day – ten leagues between sunrise and sunset – keeping to the north bank of the Shouda How. Soon after passing the only dam on that river they received fresh news of the marauders, and quickened their pace. On the ninth day, when they were nearing the river's headwaters, their lead scouts spotted enemy outriders on the opposite bank.

'What now?' said Sarazin. 'Should I cross the river and give chase?'

'Given the quality of the troops under your command,' said Thodric Jarl grimly, 'your best hope is that the enemy will run away. I suggest you halt here to give them the chance to do just that.'

Sarazin, with some reluctance, eventually agreed, and the army camped for the night. On the morrow, they rose to find the enemy on the opposite bank. Jarl did a quick headcount and estimated that Sarazin's men were out- numbered three to one. 'Should we run now?' said Sarazin, on hearing this.

'If they attack across the river, then yes,' said Jarl, 'definitely yes. But let's try to bluff them first.'

'But if our bluff doesn't work,' said Sarazin, 'they could be on us in a moment.' 'Could they?' said Jarl. 'Examine the river.' Sarazin did so.

This close to the mountains, the Shouda Flow had shrunk in the summer heat to a weed-green creek. The bank on this, the northern side, was the height of a man. On the southern side it was lower. The enemy could charge into the river easily enough but, to get up the man-high bank on Sarazin's side, would have to leave their horses behind.

'I wasn't thinking,' said Sarazin. 'Now – how are we going to try to bluff them?'

You work it out,' said Jarl, who thought the question too elementary to deserve his attention. 'But think fast – there's a herald coming across the river now, possibly to parley.'

There was indeed a herald from the enemy camp walking across the river, a green bough in his hands as a sign of peace.

'How does he do that?' said Sarazin, fascinated by the sight of the herald's feet twinkling across the surface of the water. 'Ask him when he gets here,' said Jarl.

Then the pair of them withdrew to Sarazin's tent and waited until the herald was shown in. Whereupon Sarazin asked the man the secret of his water-walking.

'I am descended from the High Elves of Izlarkloza,' said the herald proudly. 'Hence my ability.'

Whether he was telling the truth or not is, of course, another story. Sarazin was inclined to believe him, for he liked the herald on first acquaintance – not least because the man addressed him in the Geltic of the Rice Empire, language of his childhood, language of his youth.

"Now to business,' said Jarl, also glad to be speaking that same Geltic.

Yes,' said Sarazin, beginning the work of bluff. 'First, you'd better know that this isn't my whole army. This is just the advance guard. In fact-'

The rest of what Sarazin said is predictable enough. The herald listened, took it all in, then said:

Your message will reach my commander's ears in undiluted form.' (Or, to quote the herald more exactly: with no tea in its coffee.) 'But,' continued the herald, 'whether he chooses to believe it or not is nothing to do with me. My own duty is to deliver a message to you from my commander.' 'What is that?' said Sarazin.

'My commander is prepared to send forth a champion to meet a champion of yours in single combat in the middle of the river. Both will fight with bare blades, no shields and no armour. Combat will be to the death.' 'How much do you stake on this fight?' said Sarazin.

Much,' said the herald. 'If your champion wins, we will withdraw back to the Marabin Erg from whence we came. If our champion wins, your army will march away and let us cross the river unhindered.' 'What then?' said Sarazin.

'Then you are at liberty to attack us. All we want is to get across the river without a fight. Is it a deal? A duel to decide whether our side retreats or crosses the river unhindered. What say?'

Yes!' said Sarazin. Then, feeling heroic: 'I myself will champion the Harvest Plains.'

Yes! This was the ideal way for a war to be decided. By single combat between champions. More importantly, Sarazin could thereby win personal renown from this campaign. A military enterprise which had till now seemed the most unpromising of routine operations suddenly offered him a chance of deathless fame and glory.

'Bare blades,' said the herald, reminding him. 'Oh, and did I mention helmets? No helmets.'

'Fine,' said Sarazin. We will meet unhelmeted in mid- stream with bare blades and no armour.' 'Be ready soon,' said the herald. And departed.

'Did I make the right decisions?' said Sarazin, turning to Jarl.