The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both

by Dominic Barker

  Beo sighed.

  ‘I was young. I had drunk many flagons of mead. I woke up to find that during the night I had got married. My fellow warriors insisted I celebrate. We drank more flagons of mead. The next time I woke up my wife had gone and I had forgotten her name.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask your friends what her name was?’ asked the wizard.

  ‘They had drunk more mead than me,’ lamented the warrior. ‘They can’t remember either. All I know is that I am married, but to whom is a mystery.’

  ‘You could marry again,’ suggested Blart.

  Capablanca shook his head.

  ‘That would not be a proper marriage,’ he said. ‘And would not fulfil the prophecy.’

  ‘Perhaps you should marry the Princess,’ said Beo to Capablanca. ‘Perhaps then your magic powers will be restored and you will be able to defeat Zoltab’s minions.’

  Capablanca shook his head.

  ‘Do not worry about the age difference,’ said Beo.

  ‘It is not that,’ said the wizard. ‘But I cannot marry the Princess. For I am also already married.’

  ‘Who are you married to?’ said the warrior, surprised that the wizard, so single-minded in his dedication to ancient lore, might have a wife.

  Capablanca drew himself up to his full height.

  ‘I am married to a beautiful witch,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve never mentioned her before,’ said Beo.

  ‘We were tragically separated,’ said Capablanca and the hint of a tear glinted in his eye. ‘I have not seen her for many years.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Princess Lois.

  Capablanca did not answer directly.

  ‘You must understand,’ he said, ‘that I was a young wizard experimenting with my spells.’

  ‘What happened?’ repeated Princess Lois.

  ‘I turned her into a mouse.’

  ‘A mouse!’ said Blart. ‘You’re married to a mouse?’

  Capablanca did not reply.

  ‘Couldn’t you just turn her back into a beautiful witch?’ asked Princess Lois.

  Capablanca sighed.

  ‘I would if I could,’ he said. ‘But she disappeared behind the skirting board and I never saw her again.’

  There was a silence while Capablanca and Beowulf dwelt on their disastrous marriages. Then there was a noise as Princess Lois realised what this meant.

  ‘You,’ she said, looking at Blart with horror.

  ‘You,’ answered Blart.

  It wasn’t exactly love at first sight.

  Chapter 52

  Capablanca had to take the Princess to one side of the icy cave and explain to her time and time again the importance of getting married. Finally she was convinced. Blart was easier to convince. He was promised a large pig farm if he did get married and the removal of his head with Beo’s sword if he didn’t.

  ‘Remember,’ said Capablanca as they approached Votok’s cave. ‘The hermit will not marry you if he does not believe that you truly love one another. Therefore let me do all the talking and just try and look tenderly at one another.’

  Blart attempted to look tenderly at Princess Lois. The Princess backed away.

  ‘Couldn’t you marry us?’ she asked the wizard. ‘And then as soon as Blart’s done whatever it is he has to do you could unmarry us.’

  Capablanca shook his head.

  ‘A wizard cannot perform a marriage,’ he said. ‘It must be done by a licensed practitioner like Votok the Hermit. And then you must stay married until death parts you.’

  Princess Lois looked downcast.

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ said Beo, who did not like to see a downcast damsel. ‘As soon as you are married Blart has to face Zoltab the Dark Lord, so death could be parting you pretty soon.’

  Blart gulped.

  Votok was sitting outside his cave.

  ‘Greetings,’ he said when he saw the questors.

  ‘Greetings,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘We’d like you to perform a marriage for us,’ said Beo.

  Votok was taken aback by the suddenness of this request.

  ‘But I no longer perform marriages,’ he said.

  ‘This isn’t like those other marriages,’ Beo assured him. ‘This is a love match.’

  ‘A most touching love match,’ Capablanca continued. ‘Two young people, who, at the top of the highest mountain in the world, were suddenly overcome with passion and became engaged on the spot. Look at how they glow with happiness. Surely you would not deny them your legal blessing on their union.’

  Blart and Princess Lois attempted to glow with happiness. They didn’t succeed. Firstly, because they were both miserable, and secondly, because it was too cold for glowing. But Votok didn’t notice their lack of a glow. Instead he spotted something else.

  ‘Weren’t there five of you when you left this morning?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh,’ said Capablanca, remembering Uther and his terrible treachery. All the time he had been suspecting Votok, Uther had been preparing to betray them. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is your fellow climber?’ asked the hermit.

  Capablanca was at a loss for a satisfactory answer. Explaining about Zoltab and his minions would take too long.

  ‘He fell off,’ said Beo suddenly.

  ‘Fell off?’ repeated Votok in shock.

  ‘Just before we reached the top,’ said Beo. ‘Plummeted to his death. A tragic accident.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ said Votok. ‘Surely we couldn’t countenance a marriage on such a sad day. We should be reflecting on your companion’s life.’

  ‘Of course we should,’ said Capablanca. ‘But it was Uther’s last wish that the two of them should be married today.’

  ‘He shouted it out just before he smashed into the bottom of the ice cliff,’ added Beo with perhaps more detail than was strictly necessary.

  Votok’s look of horror changed to one of puzzlement.

  ‘But I thought you said that he fell off before you reached the top and that the young people didn’t get engaged until they reached the summit.’

  Capablanca and Beo were stumped by this question. Votok looked more and more dubious with each second their silence lasted. Any moment now he would refuse their marriage request and the prophecy would go unfulfilled.

  ‘Blart confided in him,’ said Princess Lois.

  ‘Did I?’ said Blart.

  ‘Yes,’ said Princess Lois. ‘You asked him for his advice.’

  ‘What did you ask him?’ Votok wanted to know.

  Blart tried to think of a satisfactory answer. Without much success.

  ‘I … I … I …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I asked him which knee I should go down on.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Votok.

  ‘When you ask someone to marry you,’ said Blart desperately, ‘you have to go down on one knee and I wasn’t sure which one, so I asked him and he told me.’

  Votok considered this response.

  ‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘if you are truly in love and as it was your companion’s last request then I will consent to marry you.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Capablanca. ‘Now can we have the shortest service, please? We’ve got things to do.’

  Votok held up his hand.

  ‘Do not be hasty. I said if the young couple are truly in love. I will talk to them alone and if I am satisfied of their mutual devotion then I will marry them.’

  ‘What’s mutual devotion?’ asked Blart, following Votok and the Princess into the cave.

  Capablanca spent some minutes pacing up and down and looking nervously at the sky. The sun shone brightly above him, indicating it was noon. So much had already happened that day and yet so much still had to happen, thought the wizard. The war on Illyria started tomorrow. He cast another worried glance at the cave. What was taking Blart and Princess Lois so long?

  Inside the cave, Blart and the Princess were being closely questioned.

 
; ‘So what kind of things does Blart like?’ Votok asked Princess Lois.

  ‘He likes pigs.’

  ‘And do you like pigs?’

  ‘No.’

  Votok looked doubtful.

  ‘I could learn to like them, I suppose,’ said the Princess.

  Votok turned to Blart.

  ‘What does the Princess like?’ he asked.

  Blart looked blank.

  ‘You can’t think of anything?’

  Blart shook his head. Votok was about to reach the conclusion that the marriage could not possibly take place because the couple had nothing in common.

  ‘I can think of things she doesn’t like,’ said Blart. ‘She doesn’t like fruit and she doesn’t like people being nice and she doesn’t like her parents and she doesn’t like doors.’

  ‘Doors?’ said Votok.

  ‘She’s always slamming them,’ said Blart.

  ‘You’re always making horrid noises,’ said Princess Lois.

  ‘You call me names,’ said Blart.

  ‘You deserve them.’

  For the first time Votok noticed a shared passion in the eyes of Blart and Princess Lois. They continued to insult each other. Each insult was keener than the last and was responded to with gusto. He noticed similar interests in saying nasty things, in pointing out faults and in blaming each other for numerous failures. With each spiteful word that came out of their mouths it became obvious to Votok what was not at all obvious to either Blart or Princess Lois.

  They were soul mates.

  ‘I will marry you,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ said Blart and Princess Lois, who had become so engrossed in their row that they had forgotten he was in the cave with them.

  ‘You were obviously meant to be together. I will marry you.’

  Even Blart and Princess Lois were temporarily silenced.

  A few minutes later, the sun shone down on Blart and the Princess as they stood in front of Votok’s cave while Capablanca and Beo looked anxiously on.

  ‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ said Votok.

  ‘Come on,’ said Capablanca immediately. ‘We’ve got to climb back up that mountain.’

  ‘The groom hasn’t kissed the bride,’ protested Votok.

  ‘We’ve no time for that,’ said the wizard. ‘We’ve got to stop a war and save the world.’

  ‘Go in peace,’ said Votok before they rushed off.

  ‘Peace,’ laughed Beo. ‘That’s the last thing we’re going in.’

  And so Blart and Princess Lois embarked on married life by climbing the unclimbable peak of Mount Xag for the second time in one day. It would not have been most people’s choice of honeymoon.

  But they had no alternative. Above them the sun moved inexorably towards the west. High up on the peak, against the white of the snow, they could see black figures busy working. At this distance the figures seemed tiny and insignificant, but each of the questors reminded themselves that up close they were heavily armoured minions with fearsome weapons. It seemed madness to be walking towards them. But Capablanca held fast to the power of the prophecy. And Beo held fast to his promise to cleave Blart in two if he tried to run away. Even on his wedding day.

  And so they kept climbing once more. But they were not the climbers that they had been earlier in the day. The easy footsteps had become a weary trudge. The bright eyes were dulled as they grimly marched towards their fate.

  Had Zoltab’s minions succeeded in freeing him? The answer lay in the cold dead land above them.

  Chapter 53

  The sun was beginning to slip behind the Xanthian mountains. There was not much daylight left. Far away on the Illyrian border the soldiers of the Grand Alliance prepared to do battle. Nearby, Zoltab’s minions toiled to free their master.

  The questors had crept up the final slope as close to Zoltab’s prison as they could without being seen, and were lying on their fronts in the snow, watching.

  ‘What do we do now?’ whispered Beo to Capablanca.

  It might have been a slip brought on by tiredness but Capablanca uttered his three least favourite words.

  ‘You don’t know?’ hissed the Princess. ‘You mean I’m married to weasel-features for the rest of my life and you don’t even know what to do next?’

  ‘I can only think of one thing,’ said Capablanca. ‘We must trust to the prophecy. We must follow the husband of Zoltab’s betrothed and march on Zoltab’s minions.’

  Blart remembered that the husband of Zoltab’s betrothed was him.

  ‘I’m not marching on anyone,’ he said.

  ‘We have no choice,’ said the wizard. ‘We have come this far. We cannot do nothing.’

  ‘It will be a worthy way to die,’ agreed Beowulf. ‘To follow a prophecy and march to our certain doom. Four against fifty. There is a nobility to it.’

  ‘There’s a stupidity to it,’ said Blart. ‘Isn’t there, Princess?’

  ‘If I have to spend my life married to you,’ answered the Princess, ‘it might as well be a short one. I will march too.’

  ‘But …’ protested Blart. They were all mad. Completely and utterly mad. Unfortunately they were on his side.

  ‘Let us stand together,’ said Capablanca. ‘All for one and one for all.’

  ‘But …’ said Blart again, but even he could see it was hopeless. The wizard, the warrior and the Princess had one thing in common. When they made up their minds there was no changing them.

  Together the wizard, the warrior, the Princess and the pig boy stood up.

  Two hundred feet away, fifty heavily armoured minions turned towards them.

  ‘You are the husband of Zoltab’s betrothed,’ Capablanca told Blart. ‘You must lead us.’

  Blart looked ahead. He saw the black armour of the minions. He saw their swords, their lances, their daggers, their bows and arrows. He saw his doom.

  ‘Take heart,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘Courage,’ urged Beo.

  ‘You’re in my family now,’ said the Princess. ‘Do not shame our royal name.’

  Blart put one foot forward. And so began the questors’ final ascent towards the peak of Mount Xag and their destiny.

  Zoltab’s minions formed a black line and waited. Ever closer marched the questors. They were in the open now and vulnerable to a sudden charge or a bolt from an arrow, but Zoltab’s minions did not move. Instead they watched, impassive and terrible like the mountains they stood upon. Each step brought them nearer to the weapons and, with no plan other than a belief in a prediction written on a torn piece of paper, surely their deaths.

  ‘Halt,’ said Capablanca when the questors were no further than thirty feet away from Zoltab’s minions.

  ‘Halt?’ said Beowulf, gripping his mighty sword. ‘Don’t you mean charge?’

  ‘We must give them a chance to surrender,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘Surrender?’ said Blart incredulously, looking at the implacable forces lined up in front of him. ‘Isn’t that what we should be doing?’

  The wizard ignored him and addressed the fearsomely armed enemies.

  ‘Minions of Zoltab. Know ye that we are the Questors of Good and Valour.’

  ‘Are we?’ said Blart.

  ‘We order you to surrender,’ said the wizard boldly.

  Harsh derisive laughter came from Zoltab’s minions.

  Capablanca reached into his pocket and pulled out the prophecy. He held it up in the air. It fluttered slightly in the breeze.

  ‘Know ye that I have here a prophecy which predicts Zoltab’s defeat,’ he announced. ‘Earlier today the prophecy was fulfilled and Zoltab’s defeat was assured. The inevitable forces of destiny are now lined up against you. Zoltab will not be freed and there will be no war. This piece of paper guarantees us peace in our time.’

  This time there was no harsh derisive laughter from Zoltab’s minions. The power of prophecy was well known and coupled with the confidence of Capablanca’s speech in the face of such seemingly overwhelming
odds they were silenced.

  The middle of the minions’ line parted to reveal a tall, thin, black-cloaked figure that they had last seen standing by Zoltab’s side in the Terrorsium.

  The Master.

  Zoltab’s most senior Minister.

  ‘We meet again,’ said the Master softly, but in the silence of the mountain tops his words still reached the questors and they felt their deadly menace.

  Capablanca paled at the sight. The Master had outwitted him before.

  ‘It is most irritating,’ said the Master, ‘to be called away from my sacred task of freeing Zoltab the Dark Lord, which was nearing completion. But I am told you have a prophecy.’

  He spoke so calmly that Capablanca, still holding the prophecy high in the air, began to feel a little foolish, and he felt his hand begin to shake. But bravely he fought back his fear.

  ‘I have,’ said the wizard. ‘It foretells that the husband of Zoltab’s betrothed will prevent his escape. Zoltab is not yet free and the husband of Zoltab’s betrothed has arrived in time to stop it.’

  ‘Where is the husband of Zoltab’s betrothed?’ asked the Master.

  ‘Here!’ said Capablanca, pushing Blart forward.

  There was a short silence.

  Then the Master began to laugh. The laughter spread to Zoltab’s minions. Louder and louder they laughed. It echoed off the surrounding mountains. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun the laughter stopped.

  ‘Blart the Pig Boy,’ said the Master. ‘You think he can prevent the release of Zoltab and save the world?’

  ‘I did it before,’ said Blart defiantly.

  ‘You were lucky,’ said the Master. ‘You will have no such luck this time.’

  ‘We have more than luck,’ said Capablanca. ‘We have a prophecy.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the Master dryly. ‘That flimsy torn piece of paper you hold in your hand. Your friend Uther mentioned it to us.’

  ‘He is no friend of ours,’ said Beowulf. ‘He is a traitor.’

  ‘Whatever he is, he proved most informative.’

  ‘He’ll do anything for money,’ said the Princess scornfully.

  ‘Oh, we didn’t think it necessary to pay him,’ replied the Master. ‘We have much more effective ways of persuading a man to tell us all he knows. And he told us everything. He told us that you are a wizard so weakened that he can no longer use magic.’