The man who had thrown the spear said he was sorry he had injured my leg, and the farmer said he was sorry for hitting me, so I did not stay angry at them, for I thought, “Ah well, it is a wound, but it will heal soon enough.”
We all sat around singing songs for a time, and I stayed there the night. The next day, the farmer took me to Mian Staff, with me riding on his cart. When we arrived, the earl there, which is to say, the Earl of Mian Staff, received me with great honour, and said, in full view of the farmer, “You must stay with me until your leg is healed.”
Then I turned to the farmer and said, “You see, I am just as important as I said I was.”
The farmer bowed to me then, and he went off on his cart looking very shamefaced at the terrible wrong he had done to such a powerful person as myself.
My leg felt a little better the next day, so I was able to walk around with the help of a stick. But the day after, it grew suddenly worse. It oozed and changed colour and was very unpleasant to look upon. Then I became sick, and the earl brought physicians to look at me.
They said, “This is a very serious wound. There is a small piece of the spear still inside you. We will have to remove it, or you will die.”
They set to work with their knives and needles, trying to find the piece of spear remaining inside my leg. They had made me drink a whole cup of wormsblood to lessen my senses, but even so, having those gentlemen prod and cut at my leg was almost more pain than I could bare, and, brave as I am, I begged them to stop and let me die instead. Of course, they did not, for they were experienced physicians and well used to ignoring such pleadings.
They worked for an hour or so, but they could not find the piece of spear which was lodged inside me, and at last they gave up and told the earl I was doomed.
Fortunately for me, that excellent earl quickly sent a messenger to the royal palace, giving details of what had happened. The message was received by my friend the Earl of Tarphonay, who instantly sent the queen’s physician, Joesken Tesk, to my aid.
Now, Joesken Tesk was from Germany, and he was the finest physician in all the world. When he arrived and took a look at my leg, he told me I would not die, providing the leg was cut off.
I said, “Go ahead and cut it, for it is surely no use to me in its current state.”
Then he gave me some wormsblood, but this time I received only a very small amount.
I thought he had made some mistake, and I said, “Is this all I am to get? It does not seem much.”
He said, “It is all you will need, for I work as swiftly as the wind.”
This was no exaggeration either, for, the moment the wormsblood had taken effect on me, he took my injured limb in one hand and a tiny little knife in the other, and, with just a few deft cuts, the job was done, having taken no more than the count of thirty.
He had hardly finished stitching up the wound than I felt my illness begin to lift, and I knew I would quickly be well again, which, indeed, I soon was.
I felt a little sorry for myself at first, of course, for I imagined it would be a miserable thing to have only one leg. In fact, though, quite the opposite was true. You see, with my leg gone, my vital essence was concentrated into a smaller volume, which made my mind sharper than it had ever been and left the rest of my body very much stronger. So then, far from being an unhappy change, I found the loss of my leg was one of the best things ever to happen to me.
Since then, whenever lame or injured people have come to me asking for my advice, I always urge them to have the afflicted arm or leg cut off without delay, even if the injury is quite a minor one, for the experience is so invigorating in the long term, it is well worth the aches and pains that go along with it. You may be sure all those who took my advice were very pleased with the outcome and thanked me wholeheartedly afterwards, except for a few ungrateful souls who I will not speak of here.
I remained in Mian Staff for a month or so. For a time, it was a problem getting around, for I had to use crutches, and they were very slow. But then my newly heightened faculties struck upon a unique solution to the problem: I designed for myself a kind of false leg, which I might strap upon the remainder of my real one. I had the device constructed by a fine engineer who was indentured to the Earl of Mian Staff. The leg was jointed at the knee, and it had a little ring attached just above the ankle, into which I could insert an ordinary walking stick. Holding the walking stick in my right hand, I could lift the leg and move it forward. Moreover, as the ring rotated through this motion, a simple but ingenious mechanism caused the knee joint of the artifice alternately to stiffen and to bend, so I could walk very well using the device, despite the loss of my leg.
The false leg was made of wood and iron, and I designed it to be precisely the same size and shape as my real leg, so I could pull an ordinary leather boot over it and it would be a perfect fit. When we had finished making it, I hired a goldsmith to cover it with gold leaf and precious gems. He did a masterly job it, so it was a lovely thing to look at, and certainly better than any real leg.
I tried the artifice out and it was a great success. With just a little practice, I soon found I could walk just as fast as before, and it looked so natural in its movement that, if I had worn leggings on it, nobody would have been able to tell it was not my real leg. As it was such a beautiful thing to look at, though, I usually wore it uncovered, except for a leather boot over the foot, so everyone could see the decorations in all their glory and take pleasure from their colourful glitter.
While I was practising with this device, I received a written message from the queen, in the hand of her First Scribe, which meant the message was an account of the queen’s own words. She said how sorry she was to hear of the terrible tragedy that had befallen me, and then she wrote, “When you feel you are well enough to move once more, return here to Ithron. You will be well looked after here, with servants to come and go for you, and to carry you around, and to feed you and bathe you and supply all your needs. Certainly we will never laugh at your piteous state nor hide you away in a cellar. In fact, we shall have you sit about the throne room constantly, so all who visit may see the wounds my loyal Yreth won in my service, and, as I have heard it told, defending my honour.”
When I read this, I thought of an excellent joke I might play upon the queen, so I wrote back, in a deliberately shaky hand, saying I thought I was just barely able to move now, but I hoped to head back soon, and to arrive in Ithron on Saint Emlough’s day, “assuming I do not die on the journey first.”
I sent this letter back with the queen’s messenger, and the next day, I gave my thanks to the Earl of Mian Staff for all he had done for me. I also gave him a large and valuable diamond as a host-gift. Then I returned to Ithron on foot, going at a leisurely pace and enjoying the sights and sounds of the country.
When I finally arrived at Ithron, I wandered the streets for a time, until I found an old beggar who had no legs at all, was missing his left arm, and who also had scars all over his face. I said to him, “I will give you two arrans if you will do as I say.”
He said, “I’ll take your kind offer, providing you do not want me to do something unnatural.”
I roared with laughter at his wit, then I called a couple of strong lads, gave them each an arran, and told them to carry the beggar into the castle to the throne room.
I said, “When they stop you to ask your business, tell them this is Yreth the Stonemage you are carrying.”
Then I placed my travelling hat upon the beggar’s head and let them go on their way, while I followed at a discreet distance.
They got inside easily enough, and I watched them being escorted by myrmidons to the throne room.
I took a different route there so nobody would discover the trick, and when I arrived I saw the queen bending over the old beggar. There were two beautiful girls beside her, and she said, “You have suffered horribly, I can see that. But now the
se two girls will care for you.”
Then the old beggar said, “These girls are a fine gift, but there is something I would like even more.”
She said, “What is that, dear Yreth?”
Then the old scoundrel said, “A kiss from your own dear lips, good queen.”
Just as she was bending down to kiss him, I said from the corridor, “Well! Here is a pretty picture. I have walked all the way from Mian Staff at my queen’s request, only to find she is bestowing her favours on a filthy beggar.”
Everybody looked towards me then, and they were astounded, for they saw that Yreth was not the helpless cripple they had imagined, but was a tall proud figure, with a fine walking stick in his hand and a magnificent golden leg.
Then I walked forward and grabbed the beggar by his collar, saying, “It is time for you to leave, my friend, for I have returned to the queen’s court, and I mean to raise the standard of the courtiers.”
I turned to the two youths I had hired to bring the beggar in, and said, “You lads, throw this rogue into the street where he belongs.”
They hauled him off at once, while he shouted foul imprecations at us all. We certainly laughed to watch that entertainment! When he was gone, everyone congratulated me. They all agreed it was an excellent joke I had played, and it had fooled them all very well.
The queen said, “I had intended to give you these two servant girls, together with your own seat in the throne room, in consolation for your injury. But now I think I shall give you these things in reward for your wit, and for the beauty of your new leg.”
Then everyone admired my leg, and I showed them how it worked, and described all the gems that were placed into it, saying what sort of stone each one was and how much I paid for it. Later, when those present had left the throne room, they talked about my leg to others, who then told others, and very soon my leg was the talk of all Ithron.
In fact, the news soon spread across the land, and I know for a fact that many of the nobles who came to the palace in the following months did so not to see the queen, but to catch a glimpse of my astonishing leg.
After a month or two, I realized it was very selfish of me to keep my leg hidden away in the palace, where only the rich and powerful could see it. “What of the common people?” I thought to myself. “Do they not also have a right to delight in this beautiful leg I am wearing?” Well, of course, I knew they did, so I decided to show my leg to the people of Ithron. I immediately left the palace and went on a long walk through the streets. Wherever I wandered, people pointed at my leg in amazement, saying, “Look at that! It is certainly a strange leg.”
Although the admiration I received brought me great pleasure, I also knew it was a hollow praise, for the people saw only the gold and jewels which decorated the leg, and did not fully appreciate the ingenuity of its design. Therefore, I decided to organize a race, where I might show my leg in action. I placed notices about the town, calling upon all those men who were missing a leg or two to assemble, on a certain day, outside the Three Trestles, where a great race would be held. The winner was to receive a hundred arrans. (The Three Trestles, I might add, is an inn at the foot of Tinder Street.)
When the time came, there were more than eighty men outside the inn, all of them crippled to a greater or lesser degree. Some were missing one leg at the knee, others were missing both legs at the hips. (Such injuries were common at that time, thanks to the war.) There were hundreds of onlookers too, curious to see what sort of a spectacle this would be.
I lined everyone up outside the door of the inn, then I told them they were all to race up the street to the orange orchard. Then I said “Go!” and we started running—they with their crutches and pegs, and I with my Golden Wonder.
The race began. It was splendid fun, and I won the race by a long way. In fact, I was so fleet that, when the race was done, many of my rivals in the race refused to believe my leg was a false one. I quickly silenced those objections, though, for I removed my boot and waved my stump around, bringing cheers from the delighted onlookers.
It was a successful event to be sure—in fact, it was so successful I decided to repeat the event every week, for a larger purse. These races became very popular among the people of Ithron, and folk would place wagers upon the winner. However, all those who wagered against me were sure to lose their winnings, for I always won the race.
Now, because of the races, I spent much more time in Ithron than I had done before. On any day, most of my hours were spent in the palace, working on my designs, but I also used to travel the town, talking with people and hearing the news and so forth. I had many friends in the city—important merchants, and poets, and philosophers, and other learned people.
One afternoon, I went to a soup house looking for some conversation, for this particular soup house was popular with certain of my intelligent friends. Unfortunately, none of them were there that day, only an old woman called Peacock. (This was a joke name people had given her because she always dressed in brown from head to toe.) She had worked in the palace as a servant since she was a girl and knew all the gossip.
Well, I bought myself some soup, and, since I had no one else to sit with, I sat with old Peacock, and we talked about this and that, until she suddenly said to me: “I think it is very shameful about the queen. Do you not agree?”
I said, “What is shameful?”
She said, “That she surrounds herself by so many military men.”
I said, “It is because the queen loves to hear tales of the war.”
She said, “Is that so? Then why does she never keep any of our famous military women around her, such as Besset Wise-Eyes, or Myressa the Thrower? Do they have no tales to tell?”
I said, “No, I am certain they must have some fine tales.”
She said, “There you are, then: the queen cares nothing for tales. The true reason she has those men around her is that she has lustful designs on them, for they are all very young and handsome, and they flatter her with their sweet words. But that is not the whole story, oh my, no.”
I said, “What do you mean?”
She said, “Every night, our good queen brings dozens of these handsome men to her room, and she takes them all to herself, one after the other.”
I said, “I can scarcely believe this to be true!”
She said, “Well, I assure you it is true, for I heard it directly from a very reliable source.”
I said, “Then your source is not so reliable as you think, for I can assure you our queen does not do such things, despite her humble background.”
Then she laughed and poked me in the side, saying, “Hah! I know why you are denying it! It is because you are one of those men the queen uses. You are handsome enough, that much is certain. Tell me now, I am right? I will wager I am.”
I said, “And I will wager you are wrong. I would not participate in such things even if the queen invited me. Besides, I have two young servant girls of my own. They are much prettier than the queen, as well as being supremely talented in their nightly manners.”
She whispered, “Well, that may be, but I have heard that what the queen lacks in talent, she makes up for in variety. Oh yes, you would surely be astonished to hear of the scandalous acts that occur in the queen’s chamber at night. It is the shame of all the kingdom.”
Well, I had finished my soup by then, so I told Peacock once more that she was wrong in what she said, and then I left. Her words troubled me, though, and I thought the matter over, and prayed upon it too. And when no clear answer came to me by these methods, I cast dice to settle the matter. I cast two dice, and they came up a seven, which is the number for sin. Then I cast them again, and they came up a seven again. Then I cast them for a third time, and they came up a four, which is principally the number for food, but is also the number for a wilderness, such as one where Queen Sarla would have spent her time when she was a hunter.<
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Then I knew, in my heart, that what the old gossip had said was true. After all, why should a young queen surround herself by such men as those commanders were if it was not so she could indulge her lustful passions with each and every one of them?
I said to myself, “This is the shame of all the kingdom, and no good will come of it!” Then I thought, “Ah, but it is not the queen herself who is to blame, for she is but a foolish young girl. No, the core of this evil comes from those worthless commanders and their false praise. In believing such praise, the queen thinks herself to be perfect, and nobody may scold perfection.” Then I said, “I pray to God that her eyes may be open to her folly, so she may be made to see her imperfections.” And I added, “I also pray to God that God listens to my prayer.”
This double prayer brought me God’s attention, and about two weeks afterwards He gave to me the perfect opportunity to do for myself the things I had asked.
I was in the throne room discreetly drawing plans—for, as you will remember, the queen had said I should be around the throne room constantly. This, then, was where I did my work, at a table in one corner. The queen had a number of her favourite young commanders about her, and they were very arrogant and boastful, swaggering around with their swords. Even though I called myself a stonemage, and they called themselves warriors, what they knew about warfare did not make up one fingernail of what I know about it.
In any case, the queen was having these young bucks compete, to see who could speak the best compliment about her. And there was no doubt in my mind that the prize in this contest was an evening of intimate favours from the queen.
One of them said, “Your eyes are diamonds, and they are set in the brooch of my soul.”
Then another said, “Your lips are as red as burning coals, and, like those coals, they set aflame all they touch.”
And another said, “The daggers of war are fearsome, but the daggers of your beauty are more terrible still, for I cannot fend them off, and they strike me in my heart.”
The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography Page 38