by Galen Wolf
The monsters had been receiving reinforcements all the while and were now pressing in on all sides. The day was surely lost.
"The day be surely lost, mas'er," said William. "I be weakenin' - sure as a nut, I be weakenin'."
Zventibold, however, did not hear him, but rather turned in a swirl of arcane cloth. He had a triumphant look upon his face. Then a strange groaning came from the pile of bones as they raised themselves up - bonded by weird magical forces. They were skeletons of men - many of these - horses, wild boars, bears, rabbits, hamsters and a lot of chickens. In fact the bones of all the creatures that had been devoured in that hall and their remains untidily disposed of. And all the bone things had two things in common - they were all incomplete, although some had more bones than others - and they all burned with revenge on the creatures which had so mercilessly eaten them. They were made savage by this blood lust and their hatred filled the room. The skeleton creatures began to pick up the weapons of the fallen and as they did so, even the most hideous mouth-man or tongue-beast felt its blood run ice and its heart go chill. They began to edge back, but it was too late - far, far too late - far, far, far too late. With a communal groan the skeletons hurled themselves at their enemies. Steel clanged on steel, bones chunked on tooth. The battle surged this way and that until at last the skeletons were victorious. When they had killed the last squirming mouth-man, Zventibold allowed their bones to crumble into dust. Never more would they be used this way. Now they were free to go to the shadowy halls of Death, their master. Where they hoped, no doubt, to have a good rest.
When Zventibold came to from the trance of exhaustion in which his exertions had placed him, he found a weeping William, knelt at Turgid's headless corpse.
"Easy, William, easy. He was a brave lad. Death is not trouble-free for any of us to take," said Zventibold.
"I know, mas'er, but 'e gave 'is life for me. An' that after I was so nasty to 'im and ignored 'im all the time. Why did 'e do that, mas'er?"
"Easy, William. He wouldn't have wanted you to weep over him like this. The least we could have done elsewhere is give him a decent burial. But as we are in a rock cavern and have no spade, we can give him a blazing pyre, so the beasts don't eat him."
"Ar, mas'er, it be true."
"Right oh then, you get his harms and we'll lift him onto that table."
"No," said William.
"What do you mean - no?" queried a querulous Zventibold.
"I baint liftin' 'im.'E be covered in shit."
Zventibold was shocked but then his attention was attracted by a shuffling over at the Boggle's hole.
"It could be more of them," said Zventibold wisely. "Quick, leave them. Through that door!" He pointed at the door they had been making for before they had been so rudely interrupted. They crossed from the cavern into a corridor. It was deserted but there was a junction. Zventibold gestured to the middle passage. Some strange seventh sense told him that this would lead him to the feared sorcerer, Tyros Blut. "That leads to Tyros Blut, I know it," he said. "Follow me!"
William took his master at his word and undaunted he followed the small wizard into the belly of Blut's labyrinth. It snaked down. Verily into the bowels of the earth, it snaked. This was common practice in this sort of place so the duo was not unduly alarmed.
Finally they saw a huge oaken door blocking their way. Zventibold was all for turning back until he saw a human guard. The guard went to blow his trumpet, but Zventibold's speeding knife silenced him before the warning went out.
"Blut is in there," said Zventibold quietly and in a tone that warned William not to pooh-pooh his master's idea. They hesitated for some time in front of the oaken door. They realised how alone they were - two against such unbelievable odds - such incredible evil. Finally, Zventibold mastered the gleaming brass knob and turned it to the right.
The interior of the room was not as they had expected. The room was walled in gibbon fur and many lights set diamond chandeliers glittering. The carpets were multicoloured and their pile was deep. Possibly shag.
In the centre was a leopard skin and on it languished the tall figure of a man they took to by Tyros Blut. In the long slender fingers of his ebony hand was a smooth crystal the size of a duck's egg. He looked up lazily from the pornographic jigsaw he had almost completed when Zventibold and William entered. The armoured carrot men on either side of him snapped to attention. Blut smiled, showing his pearly white teeth.
"Aha," he said. "So you are the two adventurers who have been disturbing the peace of my cavern."
"And you are the evil Tyros Blut. Your paltry attempts to conquer the world are surely pitiful. We in Piraktesh have never even heard of Tyros Blut."
Blut smiled and arrogantly picked his teeth with his fingernail. "Oh hideous sorcerer - oh twisted Zventibold Berok, but I have heard of you. And I think you have heard of me too. Verily, I am the greatest evil genius that this world, or indeed any other, has ever known. I have many names. You say you do not know the name of Tyros Blut, but perhaps you are familiar with the name of Hermann Fleisch, or maybe Dr Cyclops?"
Zventibold shivered. William's heart went cold - his blood ran ice. Only now did they realise who they faced.
"But my mammy used to threaten me with the name of Dr Cyclops when I beed a know-nothing babe." The voice was William's and he was obviously frightened.
But Zventibold was not nonplussed, or perhaps yet even plussed. He said, "We will take your life Blut, or Dr Cyclops or whatever you prefer to use."
"Fleisch - call me Fleisch," shrieked Blut.
"Ok, Fleisch - but know this: nothing can stand in the way of me and my revenge - between me and Melissa's love."
Blut smiled enigmatically. "On reflection, I'd prefer if you called me The Enemy - you'll see why later, but to tell the truth, it's always been my favourite name." Blut stood lazily up. "But how will you take my life Zventibold Berok - who surely has become evil in his turn? Please tell me how you will unseat me? I think your feeble plans will amuse me." Blut preened himself, paying particular attention to his scarlet codpiece, adorned as it was with garnets and the reddest rubies. Then he continued. "I have here The Crystal of Radiance - note the capital letters. At my hands are many guards, both animal and mineral. Also some vegetable." He gestured to the carrot men, who had looked left out. A rock nearby growled. It was hard of hearing and thought it too had been neglected. Blut gestured to it and it snarled theatrically. "Through this crystal I control them!" he screamed. "I have a huge army ready to take over the world - or at least they will be ready tomorrow. My furnaces have been thundering day and night to arm them. They will be finished by the morn. By next month I will have conquered all the Northlands and a few weeks after that, the World. I will be god-emperor of all, do you understand that? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Blut laughed maniacally.
"Seems we comed in the nick o' time," said William.
"Aye, William, but how will we end him? Have you seen those carrots?"
But William was not nonplussed either. "Stop thy laughin' evil Tyros Blut!" he shouted.
"Call me The Enemy!" responded Blut
"I shall not do that," said William.
"We will not dignify thy evil arrogance," said Zventibold standing slightly behind William.
Blut turned. "And who is to say that I am wicked? I have worked hard for all I have. I deserve a break."
Zventibold went towards Blut. A carrot man and a lettuce man went to block his way. The rock glowered savagely.
"Let him pass!" shouted Tyros Blut. "He can do me no harm."
"I want that crystal Blut. I need that crystal," said Zventibold.
"And how will you get it oh sorcerer?" said Blut.
"Like this!" said Zventibold and snatched it from Blut's elegant grasp. Blut looked shocked - almost drained. Zventibold on the other hand looked strange to William's practised eye.
"I feel the poo-ooo-ooo-wer! Kill him!" he screamed to the carrot man who promptly attac
ked his old master. The lettuce man jumped to the attack and speared Blut with the tip of his halberd.
"Kill him!" screamed Zventibold again. "Murder him! Give me blood! I want blood!"
Blut had fallen on the floor and seemed to be dying. He was muttering something. "Don't fear…gargle…snorkle…you haven't…whorkle…burble…the last…of Tyros Blut." Then his head lolled. He had breathed his end.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!" laughed Zventibold. "Nothing can stop me now I have the crystal - nothing!" Zventibold seemed genuinely happy. It was the first time William had seen him like this and on the whole he pleased with this change in his master, although he did not like the way Zventibold's eyes rolled around his head.
It was just at that time that Turgid walked into the room. William was aghast. This was the man he had just seen beheaded. True there was a red mark on Turgid's neck but he did not seem to be in any pain. Zventibold was crazed with the power of the Crystal and he did not notice anything untoward in Turgid's unexpected reappearance.
"Ah Turgid - did you see? I have the crystal. I shall use it to take Blut's army to the gates of Piraktesh and recover what is mine. Melissa shall be my bride. You shall be cook and William butler. Can you cook?"
Turgid nodded silently.
"Then we shall have blood- blood - blood - yes blood!"
"But," said William - and his concern was etched in the lines of his old face. "What of truth, honour and justice? What of these?"
"Don't be boring, William. Those were the snivelling virtues of my step-father Zamborg. Why he even whispered about those when I stabbed him to death."
William looked shocked. Now he understood how the foul Turvius Sullius had brainwashed Zventibold to kill the great Zamborg. He had suspected it of course in his darkest dreams, but now he had a confession. William was a shaken man.
"Oh William, don't look so shocked," continued Zventibold. "I remember it all now. First the spinning gold watch. Then the walk in the garden. I killed Zamborg, then I killed Zildak to put the blame on him. That was a favourite adage of my dear Turvius - dead men tell no tales."
"An evil night's work," muttered William.
"And when Melissa and I are married, we shall drink blood from golden chalices made from the gilded skulls of the Autocrat and his little kittens."
The undead Turgid seemed pleased. "Aye blood - aye blood!" he urged.
William scowled and said only, "I do thy will master."
27.
28. The Return
The bulk of Blut's beastman army were held in a magical sleep in the lower levels, but soon Zventibold, with the power of the Crystal, had roused them and armoured them from the dungeon weapon store. But the process was not quick as many of the beastmen were grumpy after their long slumber and took a while to come round. This meant the lads had to wait it out in the Dungeon of Wormoria for longer than they had hoped. They spent their time, when they were not magicking, playing cards and doing the washing.
Late one night, William, Turgid and Zventibold were sitting in Tyros Blut's old torture room - a place that Zventibold had become unusually fond of lately. As they sat, Turgid and Zventibold sipping cups of blood and William with his cup of water and stale crust, they discussed strategy. All around them were the gruesome instruments of torture and William could feel the evil spirits of the dead collecting outside the circle of candlelight. "Sure as a nut", he thought, "this makes me feel uncomfortable." He did not take much part in the talk, being more of a tactics man, and in any case he felt burdened with his own heavy thoughts.
Zventibold of course wanted to take the beast army as quickly as possible to Piraktesh where they would throw down Axtos and set him up as Autocrat in his place. His argument was that the hamster men were nearing the pitch of their training - much more and they would overdo it and be useless to him because of sore legs and cheeks. The hamsters were useful as they could carry secret supplies in their cheeks and they had been practising stuffing more things in there to try and expand them - but it made them sore and Zventibold knew they could not take too much of it.
"But," said Turgid in a low flat voice, "it is a long way back to Piraktesh."
"Ar, it be," said William chewing his crust.
"The first leg," said Turgid, "may decimate your army, the route winding, as it does, through the twisted peaks of the Mountains of Doom. And then," Turgid went on.
Zventibold scowled, he did not like this defeatist talk, but there wasn't much left he could do to chastise Turgid, him being already dead.
"Not to mention the steaming jungles of Wamawama," continued Turgid in his monotone.
"Ar but," said William.
"But?" queried Zventibold, leaning forward and sloshing blood from his mug. "But? William, wherefore this but?"
"But," said William nonchalantly, dragging it out. "But there is a sea coast to Wormoria, where the bleak mountains meets the blue ocean."
"How do you know this?" said Zventibold, his hope soaring, but wanting to keep realistic.
William tapped his old bony nose. "I knows, you know."
Zventibold wanted to believe him, but he didn't dare to trust such good tidings. "Tell me how?"
"Ar," laughed William, his face lighting at old recollections. "Before I was a doorman, I beed a sowjer."
"If you mean 'soldier' then that I know," said Zventibold.
"But before a sowjer, I beed a seadog."
"Ah seadog?"
"Ar," said William. "'Ow be you thinkin' I come to speak like this, if it weren't learned from the lips of other dogs of the sea?"
And so Zventibold trusted his ex-doorman and future butler.
"Yes, it has," droned Turgid.
But this was strange, thought Zventibold when he was able to prise his thoughts from the visions of blood and guts that had obsessed him so recently: Turgid had never been to Wormoria before, or so he believed. He voiced this, "But Turgid, I thought you'd never been to Wormoria before?"
In his dull voice, Turgid said, "You can do a lot in three thousand years. I came on holiday once here with my uncle Big Jeff Hammond - you have heard of him?"
William and Zventibold both shook their heads simultaneously.
"No matter," said Turgid. His voice was so flat they wondered if he was sulking about something. "He was into accordions. He won a championship. But that was in another country, and besides Big Jeff is dead."
But William wasn't convinced at Turgid's story and he marked his disquiet well by writing it inside his Militia jacket sleeve.
Zventibold, for his part, was delighted and he jumped up straight away to go and order the beast officers to tell the beast sergeants to get the beast men ready to move out.
The coast was a mere six leagues distant. It was a wonder they had not smelled the sea tang earlier. Soon after the made camp in the seaside forest, Zventibold had his beastmen constructing ships from the numerous logs and pieces of driftwood that lined the frozen coast. William took command of the shipbuilding and for him the work was hard. But not for Zventibold and Turgid who drank mug after mug of mulled blood and watches the horizon. One thing that struck Zventibold was the amount of odd shoes along the tideline. Only one of each pair, but many hundreds in total. He told the beastmen to watch out for an attack from hopping one legged enemies. Not in this alone was his paranoia increasing.
When it came to the shipbuilding William hoped he was doing it right. It was soon obvious that the beastmen hadn't a clue. The vegetable men were worse, "But," William cursed to himself, "who could expect a lettuce man to build a ship? It was folly."
William's seadog days were far behind him and truth be told he had been the seacook and spent all his time in the sea galleys rather than atop the mains'l. In fact all he could remember about the building of ships was drawn from a matchstick ship in a bottle he had won from a drunken sailor one night playing knuckles. He glowered over at Turgid and Zventibold supping their blood and guffawing. He had no taste to spend time in their company and so instead beg
an to socialise with the mouth-men, whom, once you got used to them, he found to be quite a fine bunch.
Soon, with the end of the year in Wormoria coming closer, they set off in their fleet of fifteen ships and rafts. Driven by westerly winds in their seaweeds sails, they made landfall in Wamawama in a couple of weeks. There they were becalmed and off the coast of that tropical land they lay - the mouth-men and the carrot men sunbathing while the hamster lads worked out crazily on deck. And then the winds changed and they sailed down the coast, looking for a landing place.
"It would have been quicker to walk, really," said Zventibold but William ignored this slur on his efforts and pointed instead to the wall of green that lay to landward. In fact it was land.