Hugh Cook - The Wicked and the Witless

'Graap groop greep greep,' sang a million million freckled frogs, welcoming the conquering hero. Sarazin shuddered.

This place was all too much like the approaches to Tyte. Then he raised his eyes to the mountains and was reassured. Good rock awaited: not filthy wastelands of slime where cackling anarchists could mock his blundering scouts by day and night alike. -But how much mud parts us from the mountains?

The foremost soldiers were already walking ankle-deep in mud. At first the rest followed in a column, but this meant the last of the men were walking through mud trampled to knee-deep liquid filth, and the baggage wagons were getting hopelessly mired. So Jarl had the army spread out in a line abreast.

In its wake, the army left bog-sprawling footprints and slovenly wheelruts which slowly filled with the glitter of water.

Where do we sleep?' said Sarazin in something like despair, for he saw nowhere dry.

Once, on his long campaign in Tyte, he had spent nine days up to his waist in liquid mud. He had scarcely slept at all – though he had hallucinated often. If he had to endure that again, he would – he would- -I would die!

Mud, mud, mudl Everywhere! No wood for fires, either. Just the evil green of luxuriant grasses growing hot, rank and feverish. A hallucinatory flash of kalaidoscopic colour from the wings of a dragonfly. 'We sleep in liquid mud,' said Jarl.

Then, without warning, dismounted. His hand lunged for something, throwing up a spray of mud and water. He hauled a pink snake to daylight. A snake? No, it was an eel. An eel? A worm! A worm as thick as a wrist and as long as a leg.

Sarazin opened his mouth to say something – and a fist-sized fly tried to wing its way into the slubbering warmth within. Sarazin battered at the thing with such force he nearly broke his jaw. He swigged a little sun-hot water from a leather bottle, swooshed it round his mouth then spat. He shuddered, imagining he still felt the fly's touch upon his lips.

'What happened?' said Jarl, who was bundling the struggling worm into one of his saddlebags.

'A fly kissed me,' said Sarazin, doing his most heroic best to joke about his trauma.

'FunI' said Jarl, mounting up. 'Sandpaper your hps and they'll be right enough.'

Sarazin wondered what Jarl wanted the worm for – then decided he would rather not know. As his horses plodded on at baggage-wagon speed, the young com- mander studied his soldiers. He heard the occasional coarse guffaw, the odd snatch of song. His men were happy enough. But… after a night in the mud? 'Tonight,' said Sarazin. Yes?'

Tonight we won't stop. We'll march for the mountains – we can hardly get lost. I reckon we'll be there by dawn. Hard rock and, with luck, some firewood with it. What say?'

'It's your decision,' said Jarl. 'It all depends on whether the mud deepens closer to the mountains. If you'd sent scouts forward to reconnoitre then we'd know. I can't for the life of me think why you haven't done so.'

You never suggested it!' said Sarazin, stung.._ You shouldn't need me to hold your hand,' said Jarl. •A great help you are,' said Sarazin bitterly, and sig- nalled his heralds to come to him that they might receive his orders.

Then screamed with rage and slapped his cheek, splatter- ing a huge fly which had been pestering at his sweat. He looked at the ghastly mess on his hand then swore, then dismounted and, for want of anything better, wiped both hand and cheek against the flank of his horse.

At least there had not been monstrous flies in the marshlands of Tyte. Hies of regular size, yes. And leeches, swamp snakes and bad-tempered eels which bit. But nothing quite so disgusting.

At dawn they reached the mountains which rose in walls from the mud. The sheer escarpments were interrupted by a narrow, steep-rising valley. This led to the Eagle Pass – and it was obviously impassable by baggage wagons. 'What now?' said Sarazin. You work it out,' said Jarl. Sarazin considered. Then spoke.

"My campaign fails if the enemy can hold the pass against me. So my priority is to seize the heights. I need speed. Surprise. Every day's delay increases the chance that the enemy will discover my advance and reinforce the pass. So we'll leave all our baggage here and march light and fast now, today, immediately.' 'Not immediately,' said Jarl. 'Let's have breakfast first.'

They breakfasted. Then marched. At dayfail, they were near the top of the valley. And early the next day they reached the heights. A hundred of the enemy defended the pass, but these – to Sarazin's disappointment – surrendered without a fight in the face of overwhelming odds.

Still, he was delighted by his success. He had seized a major objective. His bloodless victory had given him a taste for more. Conquest, triumph, glory. It was good in itself. Beautiful, beautiful! "f

Sarazin had the enemy's commander dragged before him. This was a big blond peasant who, after being cuffed a couple of times, admitted that he spoke Galish. His name, he said, was Heth. Interrogation proceeded.

'We thought attack unlikely from the north,' said Heth. Why do you march against us? We're not at war with the Harvest Plains. Our enemy is the usurpers who have overthrown the rightful rule of kings on Stokos.'

'Don't give us that nonsense,' said Sarazin. You're supporters of the evil ogre Tor, as well we know. You fight with an ogre against human beings. You should be ashamed of yourself!'

'Ashamed of what?' said Heth. 'Of honour? Of loyalty? Of patriotism?'

This argument could have gone on for a very long time indeed, but Jarl, with something of a growl, inter- rupted. Then demanded to know the disposition of Tor's forces.

Most of our men guard the coast,' said Heth. We always feared attack from Stokos, hence women, children, animals and stores are kept in a camp in the northernmost part of the Willow Vale. If you descend from the Eagle Pass then you will come upon that camp directly.'

'Good news,' said Sarazin, happy to believe it. Then it occurred to him that Heth might be lying. So, watching Heth carefully, he said: 'But it could be a trap.'

Trap or no trap,' said Jarl, 'we have to come down from the Eagle Pass if we're to finish off Tor. Either we descend or we end our campaign right here and now.' 'What do you recommend?' said Sarazin.

'I make no recommendations,' said Jarl, 'for I am but a simple military policeman who knows nothing of war.'

TJon't be like that!' said Sarazin. 'Have I done something to offend you, or what?'

He was upset that Jarl should be so dour and sour when he, Sarazin, was happy, victorious, on top of the world.

There's no quarrel between us,' said Jarl, 'but here I'm as ignorant as you are. I've never been to Hok, I know nothing of this Tor and I cannot predict the future. Perhaps we'll find the camp Heth speaks of. Perhaps we'll find an ambush. We don't know. Such is war – and you must live with it.'

Whatever decision Sarazin took he must take it quickly, for his men had but a single day's rations left. He longed to order all his men to march south to war and victory. But memories of various disasters in Tyte made him cautious. His seizure of the Eagle Pass might be a single isolated lucky stroke, a one-off fluke. He decided to hedge his bets.

In the end, Sarazin sent a third of his soldiers back to the baggage wagons with the prisoners (though Sarazin kept Heth with him, thinking the peasant potentially useful as a hostage). When that party reached the baggage wagons, some would stay to guard the prisoners while the rest returned with food.

Meanwhile, all Sarazin's soldiers divested themselves of all their rations. These rations were then divided among the one third of Sarazin's men who would stay to hold the Eagle Pass.

The remaining third would march without rations under Sarazin's command to attack the unprotected camp which, so Heth alleged, lay not far to the south. If the camp truly existed they would be able to feed off its supplies, while if the enemy lay waiting in ambush food would be no help to them. 'What do you think of my plan?' said Sarazin.