Hugh Cook - The Witchlord and the Weaponmaster

But nobody had a better plan.

"It gives us at least the chance of victory," said the Witchlord Onosh bravely, drawing on a lifetime's experience to give his best possible imitation of confidence, "which is better than running away."

So the Witchlord Onosh and his son Guest began planning for the withdrawal to the south, Guest's role in this planning mission being chiefly to say "yes" and "why not" and "I think that's an excellent idea". For, as the crisis deepened, Lord Onosh had by insensible degrees obtained an almost unconscious ascendancy over his son. This was only natural, for in his early manhood the young Guest Gulkan as yet lacked the experience to grapple with the full complexities of such a crisis, and his wizardly advisers were busy with the control of bread and barley, with the cooking of fish guts and the building of experimental airships.

As this planning got underway, Sken-Pitilkin asked permission to be relieved of his airship labors. But he was told, rather, to hurry himself and get the roof of the great hall air-mobile.

"For," said Lord Onosh, "if you can complete and perfect this terror-weapon, then we may yet defeat Khmar here at Locontareth."Sken-Pitilkin was dubious, but he went to work regardless, and saw to the installation of a great many chairs on the top of the roof, and saw to it that the roof was detached from the walls in accordance with the carpenters' earlier advice, and so was ready to fly.

"How goes the work?" said Lord Onosh, two days before the army was scheduled to retreat south toward Favanosin.

"My lord," said Sken-Pitilkin mournfully, "much as I have been looking forward to this great experiment, I regret that the construction of this airship requires another season at a minimum."

This was a lie, for the thing was more or less ready to fly.

But, though the airship was ready to fly, Sken-Pitilkin was not: in fact, every time he thought about it he broke out in a cold sweat. In proof of his native sagacity, the wizard Sken-Pitilkin had found himself an amenable donkey, and had loaded the brute with bags of barley, with a stash of opium and the answering opium pipes, with bundles of parchments and boxes of books, with a tent, with warm blankets, with foot-warmers, with sleeping bags, with spare pillows, with cushions, with a collapsible armchair, and with other gear of war, and so was ready to foot it toward Favanosin with the army. Though such a march would be harsh, and cold, and direly uncomfortable, Sken-Pitilkin would far rather risk the harsh yet certain dangers of such a withdrawal than chance the lunatic uncertainties of experimental flight.

"Another season!" said the Witchlord, scandalized.

"It is so, my lord," said Sken-Pitilkin mournfully.

"Then," said the Witchlord Onosh with a heavy heart, "we will have to abandon the experiment and retreat on foot."

And he went to supervise the final preparations for his army's plan to do just that.

But before Witchlord and Weaponmaster could move south with their army, Khmar attacked. Like a billion rabid rats assaulting a sack of sugar, like sharks in their blood-madness assailing a wounded whale, like a great gang of lawyers falling upon a law case, so in the rage of their onslaught did Khmar's brutal barbarians attack the city of Locontareth. Khmar's soldiers came over the city walls by night, using siege ladders and grappling hooks, and before the sentries were properly aware the entire city was filled with shadows which struck with steel and killed.

Before long, the city was burning, most of the fires being set by defenders who sought to stir confusion through arson, hoping to make their escape in that confusion.

But in the ruling hall of Locontareth there was no confusion, only a terrible haste, for under the direction of the wizard Sken Pitilkin the final preparations for flying the roof were being made. Carpenters were checking that the roof was entirely severed from the walls of the hall; mighty warriors were risking the bursting of blood vessels as they winched the Witchlord's treasure chests to the heights; and other warriors were likewise trying to winch upwards Sken-Pitilkin's donkey.

To this scene came the Witchlord himself, in company with Pelagius Zozimus. In honor of the crisis, the slug-chef Zozimus had dressed himself in his famous fish-scale armor, perhaps hoping that he should at least make a well-dressed corpse. The armor reflected the fiery blaze of arson-struck buildings, blood- red and glowering. Padding along behind Zozimus came the dwarf Glambrax, with the sister-witches Zelafona and Bao Gahai bringing up the rear.

When the Witchlord saw Sken-Pitilkin's mightily laden donkey swinging upwards from a winchrope, he stopped short, as if hammered to a halt by thunder.

"What," said Lord Onosh, "is that?"

"It is a donkey, my lord," said Sken-Pitilkin.

"I know that!" said the Witchlord wrathfully. "But why in the name of blood are we wasting time trying to get the beast aboard?"

"Because, my lord," said Sken-Pitilkin, observing with some alarm the pendulum-like motion which had begun to affect his free- swinging donkey, "I have an earnest desire to test the effects of flight upon the physiology of the beasts of burden."

"Grief of gods!" said Lord Onosh. "What on earth for?"

"My lord wishes to employ this airship in war, does he not?" said Sken-Pitilkin, looking anxiously upward at his much-burdened donkey.

"He does," said Lord Onosh, referring to himself in the third person, which is one of those grammatical idiosyncrasies commonly allowed to the great.

"Then," said Sken-Pitilkin, stepping backward from the possible impact zone into which the donkey might fall should the winch-rope break, "my lord should share my interest in discovering whether a horse can survive transport by air, since the survivability of horses under such circumstances is vital for determining the degree to which the airship can be fully employed in war."

"But," objected Lord Onosh, moving backwards in step with Sken-Pitilkin, "that is not a horse but a donkey, and, being as overloaded as it is, it can be expected to expire of unnatural causes in any case, leaving aside all questions of airflight."

At which point the rope which had been struggling to sustain the donkey's weight happened to break, and the beast was precipitated downwards, miring a certain slug-chef's armor with a great besplattering of fire-thawed mud. So the donkey died, thus becoming a martyr to experimental science.

And Sken-Pitilkin lamented its loss greatly, though the pressure of events meant that the grieving process did not have time to run its full course, for the wizard of Skatzabratzumon was tying himself into his especially designed flightmaster's seat long before he had had time to absorb the full implications of the loss of his donkey.

Others acted in likeminded haste, and so -

"My lord!" said Sken-Pitilkin. "We are ready to fly!"

"Ready!" roared Lord Onosh, still checking the chaining of his treasure chests, the padding of them, the bracing of the great logs which sustained them, and the torsion of the twisted ropes provided as back-up for their restraining chains. "We'll be ready when I'm ready, and not before!"

But at last the Witchlord was satisfied, and tied himself into his seat.

And so -

When the great Khmar battle-bulked to the door of Locontareth's ruling hall with a battle-axe in his hand, Witchlord and Weaponmaster were atop the roof with a complement of half a thousand assorted wizards, witches, dwarves, bodyguards, scouts, soldiers, sub-chefs, carpenters, barley-factors and bootmakers.

One and all, they had tied themselves into the flight-seats with bits of rope and length of old chain, thus preparing themselves for adventure or death.

Meanwhile, down below -

Khmar threw down the door to the ruling hall of Locontareth and led the charge inside -