Hugh Cook - The Witchlord and the Weaponmaster

Drum: Sken-Pitilkin's home island in the Penvash Channel (otherwise known as the Penvash Strait) from which he has long been exiled. In spring of the year Alliance 4293, the peace of Drum was disturbed by the arrival of fugitives, these being Pelagius Zozimus, the dralkosh Zelafona and the dwarf Glambrax.

All three were running from the wrath of the Confederation of Wizards. Sken-Pitilkin gave them shelter, only to find that pursuit was hot on their heels. Fearing for his life, Sken-Pitilkin fled from Drum with the others, and after two years of wandering all four arrived in Gendormargensis, in spring of the year Alliance 4295, at which time Guest Gulkan was only five years of age. It is now Alliance 4315, but Sken-Pitilkin has not returned to Drum in the 22 years since he first fled from that island.

To make a swift transit to Drum, Shabble soared high above fog and clouds, then navigated by the stars. But Sken-Pitilkin kept his stickbird firmly in the mist, and flew throughout the night in those realms of obscurity.

In the gray of dawn, the exhausted wizard of Skatzabratzumon set his stickbird down in a swampy clearing somewhere in the woods. Which woods? Sken-Pitilkin and his passengers could not tell.

"We don't know where to find ourselves," said Sken-Pitilkin,

"so it's most unlikely that Shabble can hunt us. Therefore I pronounce us safe. Guest. Look to our security. For I must sleep."Sken-Pitilkin was as good as his word. He curled up in the bottom of his stickbird, shrouded himself with a solskin horse blanket, and in moments was as dead to the world as a hedgehog wrapped in clay.

Whereupon Guest marched across the soft and yielding turf, making for the nearest tree. The over-bright luxuriant green went squidge-slush-slurk beneath his boots. He grasped the lowest branch of the nearest tree then began to climb, forcing his way upward to the heights which rustled with the dry rasp of leaves growing brittle-brown as their autumn change beset them. Guest expected his survey to reveal a clutch of bloodthirsty saurian monsters, or mayhap a crocodile. But all he saw was swampland and the glimmer-glip of water clipped by the sun.

In such a setting, it was hard to take seriously the possibility of pursuit. But of course there would be pursuit.

Shabble would hunt for the star-globe, because if there was one thing Shabble loved it was a toy, and the Door of the Partnership Banks was surely the greatest toy of all. Guest, then, was doomed to be hunted by an immortal bubble.

And how exactly could one hide from such a bubble for three years, particularly when rumor's sweep tracks out a radius measured in leagues by the hundred? Shabble would be monitoring rumor. And so too might the various demons such as Italis of Alozay and Ko of Chi'ash-lan.

If the demons conspired with Shabble, and dedicated themselves to sifting the news which filtered through cities such as Obooloo and Chi'ash-lan, then Guest and his companions would have to shun all of civilization for fear of discovery. And, speaking of demons – how many of the things were there exactly?

There were two of the jade-green monsters in Obooloo alone: the demon Lob in the precincts of the Bondsmans Guild and the demon Ungular Scarth in the Temple of Blood.

Demons and Shabble.

A dire combination, if it ever came to pass.

Meantime, Shabble alone was formidable enough.

Human pursuit is constrained by time, weather, money and mortality, but Shabble acknowledged none of those. Only boredom would bring Shabble's hunting to an end – and would a three year hiatus be long enough to guarantee such boredom?

What if Shabble found the very hunt itself to be an eternally rewarding game?

So thinking, Guest tried to rouse himself to a state of concern. But all was autumn drowsiness.

Sunlight.

Shadow.

Peace.

Somewhere a bird called:

"Kil-klop! Kil-klop!"

Its song was bright-metallic, a slither of sharpness needling through the utter relaxation of the day.

After his ravaging journeys, the Weaponmaster had at last entered upon a phase of utter peace and oozing time. He felt strangely at a loss; and then, in his idleness, gradually became conscious of his overwhelming fatigue. So he descended from his tree and joined Sken-Pitilkin in sleep; and he slept like a baby until roused for a conference. Sken-Pitilkin kicked off that conference.

"I had thought to run to Drum," said Sken-Pitilkin, "but on mature reflection that seems too obvious. After all, I am known to all of Safrak as the wizard of Drum."

"You are?" said Guest, by no means certain that Sken-Pitilkin was as famous as he thought.

"At the very least," said Sken-Pitilkin, "the demon Italis knows me as such, and it may well be that the demon will tell Shabble where to look for me. So we must not go to Drum. At least, we must not go there directly. As we know, the bubble's weakness is its capacity for boredom. It lacks persistence. If it does not find us in a season, then, having searched Drum and found it empty, it is unlikely to return."

"We hope," said Sod.

"We hope, yes," said Sken-Pitilkin. "In any case, we know that we must at a minimum secure our disappearance for our season.

Therefore we must choose some place which is less than obvious."

"Ema-Urk," said Guest, naming the island on which his brother Morsh Bataar had wife, children and sheep farm.

"You jest, I hope," said Sken-Pitilkin, "for Ema-Urk is far too close to Alozay."

Then the wizard of Skatzabratzumon pulled out a map of Tameran, a weathered map of parchment which had dirt seamed in its folds.

"As you can guess from the condition of this document," said Sken-Pitilkin, "it is no map of mine. I abstracted from a room of maps in Trilip Obo, the Archive Stratum of the mainrock Pinnacle."

Then Sken-Pitilkin pulled out a handful of coins.

"What's this?" said Guest. "Divination?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Sken-Pitilkin. "We must each write down the name of one of the destinations shown on this map, then choose a destination by the tossing of coins."

"Why?" said Guest.

"Because," said Sken-Pitilkin, "Shabble is smart enough to out-guess us if we work by logic. Therefore we must call chance to our assistance."

Then Sken-Pitilkin demanded that they each choose a destination. Guest Gulkan vacillated between Stranagor – the place of his birth – and Gendormargensis. He settled on Gendormargensis. His brother Eljuk opted for Qonsajara, high in the mountains of Ibsen-Iktus. Thayer Levant decided upon Favanosin, while Ontario Nol chose the uplands of the Balardade Massif. Sken-Pitilkin himself then chose Stranagor.

"And you?" said Sken-Pitilkin to Sod.

"I," said Banker Sod, "choose Alozay itself."

"Alozay!" said Sken-Pitilkin. "Why, but that's impossible!"

"Why?" said Sod. "Shabble will surely have left Alozay to seek us elsewhere. If we return, then we can revenge ourselves upon Shabble's creatures. Furthermore, we can glut our pockets with gold, which would see us better prepared for a journey than we are at present."

Sod's plan was extremely dangerous, but Sken-Pitilkin, though he thought Sod over-audacious, nevertheless accepted that plan as one possible option.

Then Sken-Pitilkin tossed the coins that the coins might decide which plan they would opt for.

The coins directed them to Guest Gulkan's choice:

Gendormargensis.

This occasioned uneasiness amongst all of them, even Guest Gulkan himself, for Gendormargensis was ruled by the Red Emperor Khmar, who had won his name by slaughtering so many of his enemies that the rivers ran red with their blood.

"I have another plan," said Nol. "It lacks the virtue of being randomly chosen. But, even so, I do not think that Shabble will divine this plan."