Hugh Cook - The wizards and the warriors

The surviving soldiers of the enemy were on the battlements, keeping their distance from archers who could shoot from the heights of the gatehouse keep. How many were left? Two hundred? Three? Enough, for certain.

Alish knew they would attack again.

And he knew which way the battle would go.

Dough-faced men watched the hammering rain. Men who had repelled repeated fanatic charges now faced the day with eyes as blank as drowning. They moved slowly, with effort, as if their limbs had been swollen with elephantitis. Miphon, helped by Blackwood, was tending to the wounded.

'A good battle,' said Gorn cheerfully; his shoulder had been heavily bruised, a blow driving links of his chain mail into his flesh.

'Yes,' said Alish. 'It was a good battle.'

'They will make a song for us," said Gorn.

'We can hope as much,' said Alish.

And said no more. He was too tired for sorrow or guilt. He was too tired even to wonder that he was still alive.

'Well,' said Phyphor. 'Do we have a common cause?'

Alish turned: he had not heard the wizard approach.

'Come,' said Phyphor. 'We have to talk. Miphon, are you finished? Then come. It's all right, Elkor Alish: talk commits you to nothing. So listen to us: you've got nothing to lose.'

They sat together in council: Alish and Hearst, the three wizards and Prince Comedo. Phyphor outlined their situation: 'If we fight, we die. Yet we can't surrender. That leaves us, it seems, no choice at all. Yet this castle holds a power which could destroy the enemy without another blow being struck.'

'What power?' demanded Alish. 'Why haven't you used it?'

'It's not yet mine to use.'

'Where is it then?'

'It's guarded by a desperate danger.'

'Really?' said Alish. 'You'll find us warriors take our dangers lightly.'

'Smile away,' said Phyphor, resisting the temptation to add the word 'fool'. Then, continuing: 'For your information, I fought through the Long War. I stood against the Neversh. I know what truly constitutes desperate danger.'

'So tell us,' said Alish.

'Only if you join with us in a common cause,' said Phyphor. 'You can start by telling us about Heenmor. I understand you were the only one who got to know him well.'

'I'll tell you nothing.'

'You will, you know. Then you'll take an oath to bind you to our quest to recover whatever magic Heenmor took from the Dry Pit – and to kill Heenmor while we're about it.'

'I won't do it.'

'Then the Collosnon will kill you.' 'And you!'

'We all have our privileges,' said Phyphor dryly.

'This is blackmail,' said Alish.

'Precisely. What do you say, Morgan Hearst?'

'Before I could join your cause,' said Hearst, 'My prince would have to free me from the words which bind my honour to his service. The same, of course, holds good for my dear friend Alish.'

They all looked at Prince Comedo.

'I want to live,' said Comedo simply.

'Then I will make a common cause with these gathered here,' said Hearst. 'And you, Alish? Come now! Dead is dead. We've seen dead. Do you want to finish here, like a rat in the trap? And if so, why? Alish -there's no shame in this.'

Alish bowed his head. His voice was low and toneless:

T will tell what I know of Heenmor's magic. I will join Hearst in an oath to bind us to your service. I will make a common cause with those here gathered.'

So he spoke.

And so it was done.

Smoking torches inflamed the fatigued darkness. Tunnels stumbled downwards. Phyphor's jawbone lagged. Spelaean echoes dogged their heels and played cat-rat to the fore. Garash and Alish jostled each other, and almost came to blows.

'This,' said the executioner, as the tunnels forked. 'This way.'

'I remember,' murmured Blackwood.

'Remember?' said the executioner. 'Remember? Yes, two can remember. Watch yourself, my child!'

Blackwood, silenced by this cryptic threat, said no more. Comedo grumbled about the toll on his legs; his night-time climb to his gatehouse keep had just about crippled him.

'How much further?' said Comedo.

'Prince,' said the executioner, 'prince, my prince, this is this. Left and right, room to stand.'

They gathered at the edge of the pit. The executioner's clay face swung to the dark.

'Hungry,' he said. 'Yes. No feeding this day or last.'

'Lower a light,' said Phyphor.

A lantern, lowered on a cord, at last illuminated a fraction of the slow-bulking monstrosity below. The vastness stirred, slowly; the ages had given it time enough to learn leisure.

'Feed,' said the executioner. 'We could feed him.'

He pointed at Blackwood.

'Yes!' said Comedo.

'No!' said Hearst.

Comedo hesitated, then: 'I concede the woodsman's life to the hero.'

Hearst did not thank him, but studied the gross, amorphous appetite below. It moved, with a noise like a boot dragged out of a sucking swamp.

'Moves,' said the executioner. 'Moves fast, when it wants to.'

'I'm sure it does,' said Hearst. Then, after the briefest of pauses: 'But I'll dare it.'

'Will you?' said Phyphor.

'I have already said as much.'

'But saying is not yet doing, mighty slayer of dragons.'

From the way Phyphor spoke, Hearst knew at once that the wizard was certain Hearst had not killed the dragon. Phyphor knew enough about dragons to know the feat Hearst boasted of was next to impossible. Let him sneer then: he could prove nothing.

'I'll prove myself to my word,' said Hearst.

'You will? Then remember: run to the far left-hand corner. You'll find stairs leading up into the tower of Seth. That's where the valuables are. Only a wizard of Seth can enter that tower, except by this one free way.'

'Why are the valuables in there?'

'Because there had been too much killing for their possession. All wanted them, so we finally had to agree that none should have them. Seth was set to guard them. No wizard truly trusts a wizard, but we counted those of Seth the ones we could trust the most.'

'Why hasn't anyone stolen them before?' said Hearst.

'Nobody's stupid enough to try,' said Garash.

'The lopsloss was made to be immune to all magic,' said Phyphor. 'So no wizard could try the venture. It needs a hero. Are you the man?'

Down below, with a sudden surge, the lopsloss thrust itself forward. The lantern went out. The cavernous space reverberated with the solid smack of bulk battering itself against the wall. Hearst hesitated.

'He'll do it,' said Alish. 'I'll hold the battlements as far as the tower of Seth till nightfall, if need be.'

As Phyphor had explained, only a wizard of Seth could enter Seth's tower from the battlements, but anyone could exit.

'Go now,' said Phyphor. 'Remember what you're seeking: two boxes, each made of lead, each box bearing the null sign of the dead zero, sign of the nether magic. Do you remember that sign?'

'Yes.'

'And don't open the boxes! If you do, you're dead. Oh, another thing. If there's a bottle there, that'll be worth bringing out, too.'

'A bottle?'

'You'll recognise it if you see it,' said Phyphor. 'Well, are you going? After dragon killing, this should be a picnic!'

Hearst's bootlaces felt too tight. Should he alter them? If he did, he would find his sword was not riding comfortably at his side. And with that adjusted, his boots would feel too loose.

'Yes,' said Hearst, nodding. 'Time to go.'

'Luck,' said Alish, and turned on his heel and strode away: he had to command the defence of the battlements.

'You'll do it,' said Blackwood, offering encouragement.

'Unless you don't,' said Garash.

'If don't, then dead,' said the executioner. 'The feeding isn't always quick.'

Below, the lopsloss sucked back, then rammed the wall with a blow which set the stones beneath them shaking.