by A J Dalton
Young Strap nodded.
‘Fine. More than a few petitioners have become too ardent and lost their lives in the precinct. They get fewer now than they used to. When we are admitted to the royal presence, keep your eyes downcast and do not speak unless given explicit permission to do so. Oh, and never turn your back on the royal personage.’
‘Got it!’
‘I hope so, cos if you haven’t you won’t get a second chance.’
They had arrived at a pair of large, iron gates at the edge of the plaza across which the white, marble-clad buildings of the royal palace began. An over-sized statue of a warrior stood to each side of the gates, backlit by moonlight shining off the palace.
The Old Hound led them forwards without hesitation and it was then that Young Strap heard one of the statues breathing. He flinched but kept up with the Old Hound.
‘The guards at the city gates will have told the palace of our arrival in Corinus. They will be expecting us.’
‘No one can be that tall!’ Young Strap wondered.
‘You will see bigger guards still but now is not the time to discuss it. Once across the blood moat, we’ll be met by the King’s Chamberlain. No matter what he might say to you, do not respond. He is quick and will attempt to ensnare you. It is his job to do so, to test those who will have access to his liege lord.’
They were soon across the plaza and crossing a sort of lowered drawbridge. ‘So the blood moat does exist,’ Young Strap murmured peering down at the murky waters. ‘Is it really filled with the blood of the enemies of Dur Memnos? It can’t be! It would thicken and the stench would be overwhelming. There would be flies and disease and…’
‘I heard that the blood is kept fresh by temple magic, but I suspect it’s just water that’s got clay or iron in it or something. Still, you never know. Ah, Chamberlain! Well met!’
A small, wiry man had scuttled up to them. He was immediately at Young Strap’s elbow and peering closely up into his face. Bad breath assailed the young King’s Guardian and he craned his head back.
‘Who’s this, hmm? What’s your name, hmm?’
Young Strap began to open his mouth but the Old Hound was ahead of him. ‘Strap! His name’s Strap. What news, Chamberlain?’
The Chamberlain scampered over to the Old Hound and Young Strap stopped holding his breath. A darting look from the Chamberlain told him that his sigh of relief had not gone unnoticed.
‘News, news? The King’s Scourge should have news, hmm? The King waits, you’re late, you’re late! Why so late, hmm?’
‘If I tarry to answer, I will be delayed further,’ the Old Hound grumbled.
‘If you do not tarry, you will be delayed longer, Scourge. You take my meaning, hmm? Not so hard to understand is it, hmm? Then he was whispering, but loud enough to be heard: ‘Tell me of this Strap. He is young. I catch him looking at me. What does he see, in his innocence? Or is he not so innocent? How long can one who rides with the Scourge remain innocent, hmm?’
The Old Hound hesitated, clearly trying to judge what to say next. Young Strap looked harder at the hovering Chamberlain. He was clad in a tight, black tunic and hose, so that he looked spindly and insectoid. His pale hands fluttered everywhere nervously like ghostly night moths. His features were predictably pinched and constrained. Young Strap smiled to himself, reached out a hand slowly and grabbed the Chamberlain’s forearm. The Chamberlain had seen it coming but had watched with a strange, mesmerised air. Then his eyes widened in alarm.
‘Argggh!’ he screeched. ‘It touches me! What does it do? What does it do?’
He slipped his arm free and skittered back. Then he spun and fled into the palace. The Old Hound stood staring after the Chamberlain in dumb amazement.
‘Shall we follow him?’ Young Strap said softly.
The Old Hound blinked. ‘Well, I’ll be! You must be a magician, lad. Never have I seen such a thing. That was all it took to disarm him. All these years that he’s been a bane to me and it was as simple as that.’ For the first time Young Strap could remember, there was a genuine smile on the Old Hound’s face. ‘How could you know?’
‘There were men such as him in the tavern when I was a tap boy. They would never dare touch the young in front of someone else, someone who might realise their secret.’
The Old Hound turned serious eyes on Young Strap. ‘Let’s go, lad. The King waits and the sooner we’re free of Corinus and its people, the better.
***
They must be an illusion, Young Strap thought to himself as he leaned back to look up at the full size of the guards at the doors to the throne room. They’re certainly not natural. Maybe it’s some temple magic. The guards virtually touched the roof of the corridor and must have been nine feet tall. They had massive shoulders, and arms that hung close to the ground. How much do they eat each day?
‘Ready, lad?’ the Old Hound cut in and began to push on the large doors. They swung open ponderously, obviously counterweighted by some mechanism within the walls. They gave way to a view of a long, sumptuous throne room, at the far end of which were two occupied thrones.
‘Bow!’ the Old Hound whispered.
As Young Strap lowered his head, his eyes had but a second to register the layout of the whole room before they were fixed on the floor directly ahead of his feet. They walked a deep, purple carpet that stretched all the way to the base of the thrones. Ornate suits of armour lined the walls, standing elbow to elbow. It wasn’t clear if the suits were occupied. A few of the helmets were styled as the heads of fearsome creatures; tusked boars, lions, wyverns, bears and some he did not recognise. The walls were hung with large tapestries of war scenes, great hunts and decadent feasting. He didn’t catch any details. But he got the impression that it was the extremes of human emotion being represented.
They progressed down the room and stopped about ten metres short of the thrones. Unprompted, Young Strap threw himself prostrate, his forehead pressed to the ground. He remained in position, waiting.
The Old Hound sighed inaudibly and looked up at his monarch, whose throne sat on a raised platform. He met Voltar’s crawling gaze and gave him a curt nod. He was startled to see Voltar’s blizzard-white concubine sitting on the other throne. He’d only heard rumour’s of this woman’s existence before, and here she sat occupying a royal throne! What did it signify? He tried to study her more closely, finding it difficult to identify the lines of her features in the flickering torchlight. She was undoubtedly beautiful, but her eyes were a disconcerting, opaque, misty blue. Was she blind then? The way she held her head suggested otherwise. Her skin and hair were so white that they were almost luminescent. Even the light gauze of her diamond dusted dress added to the impression of a ghostly bride.
Voltar’s black garb and hair made him the perfect counterpoint. Where she reflected light, he seemed to absorb it. His dark pupils drew you in, started to make the room smaller and made it feel as if you were falling into the void. The Old Hound snapped his head to the side and broke the gaze.
Voltar was of indeterminate age, and a smile constantly spidered around his lips. He regarded the creatures before him unblinkingly. Still the old one challenged him. Of course, he was of no threat, but apparently that did nothing to dampen his rage; rather, it stoked it ever higher. He was surprised the man didn’t leave burnt footprints in the carpet where he trod. The Scourge had always diverted him, always remained unbowed even in the face of the divine, as if… yes, as if the gods themselves disappointed him! It was amazing, absurd and terrible.
‘Report!’ whispered the King.
A twitch at the corner of the Scourge’s eye betrayed him as ever. ‘Sire, the body of one of your heroes has been spirited from the battlefield. I believe it was taken during the battle itself.’
The King regarded his Scourge silently for a while. Then: ‘The hero must be found at all costs. And the dead body of the responsible necromancer must be returned to me as well. Do you understand?’
‘Of course, Sir
e!’
‘You will leave immediately, tonight. Do not return without the two bodies. Now, what else do you have to report from the field?’
‘Nothing, Sire!’ the Scourge replied promptly.
‘Really? A great, big, tempting battlefield like that and nothing else to report?’ the King asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘So many necromancers around and nothing else to report from the field? Maybe your companion recalls things differently. After all, he’s young and probably still in command of all his faculties. Stand up, youth, before you wear out the royal carpet.’
Hesitantly, Young Strap rose to his feet and raised his head. His eyes drifted towards the ethereal concubine and fixed there. The Old Hound saw Young Strap’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down and prayed it did not betoken the beginnings of adoration.
‘Are you loyal, youth?’ the King murmured.
‘Yes, S-sire!’ Young Strap stuttered, struggling to drag his gaze back to the monarch.
‘Did anything else happen on the field? Your hesitation says it did. Speak!’
Young Strap gave the Old Hound a nervous, side-long glance. ‘Well, there was this necromancer. He made the dead soldiers move and they attacked us. And then the Old Hound killed the necromancer and the zombies stopped moving. And then we read the field and made it safe. And then we came here just as fast…’
‘So, they call the King’s Scourge the Old Hound now? But surely hounds are mean to be loyal and faithful? How is it then, Old Hound, that you neither mentioned this other necromancer nor returned his body to me?’
The Old Hound knew his life was likely to depend on the persuasiveness of his next answer, no matter how many years of true service he’s rendered to the crown: ‘The necromancer burnt to death, Sire. There was nothing left of him worth returning to the palace. I failed to mention it for fear of its being too trivial for the royal attention, Sire. It was naught but a lowly, wretched creature, Sire.’
‘It is for me to decide what is worth returning to the palace!’ the King grated, for the first time allowing displeasure to show. ‘It is for me to decide what is worthy of the royal attention. It is for me to decide who is a lowly, wretched creature! Or do you challenge the authority of this throne, in your arrogance and presumption?’
‘Of course not, Sire! I am a King’s Guardian. I am a vessel for His authority and empty without His authority. I act in His name, and only as it serves Him,’ the Old Hound replied smoothly, but cursing his brow as it broke out in a sweat.
The King contemplated the Old Hound’s contorted response and found it amused him. ‘Youth, is that how it happened? The necromancer died by way of fire?’
‘Fire? Yes, Sire! As soon as the flames touched him, he went up with a whoosh! He burned so hot that we couldn’t get close to him. All that was left were a few black bones.’
‘Very well!’ said the King, losing interest and completely forgetting his earlier anger. ‘But you will not be known as the Old Hound. You will be the King’s Scourge until I say otherwise. Be sure to be gone from the city tonight, before I change my mind. You may go now.’
‘Wait!’ came an eerie whisper from all around them. It took Young Strap a moment to realise it was the concubine who had spoken. ‘I require a champion. Youth, will you pledge yourself to me?’
Suddenly filled with a deep misgiving, the King’s Scourge couldn’t help speaking out of turn. ‘No! He is a King’s Guardian and under oath to the King.’
‘I will allow it,’ the King said indulgently. ‘But the choice belongs to the youth.’
‘There is an ardour in him,’ came the surreal, disembodied whispering again. ‘Youth, will you pledge yourself to me?’
Young Strap looked confused. He turned a questioning gaze to the Scourge. Don’t do it, the Scourge thought furiously, but knew better than to speak out of turn a second time. Come on, lad, you’re smart enough to know you should refuse, spin on you heel and march out of here with me. He shook his head almost imperceptibly at the youth.
‘Look at me!’ she crooned and Young Strap’s eyes were drawn to her again. ‘Will you at least give me your name?’
‘S-Strap, milady,’ came the flustered reply.
‘Strap, I name you. Can you really refuse me? Will you not protect me from harm? Come closer and kneel, Strap.’
And the youth woodenly moved to obey.
***
‘You are a dolt!’ the Scourge sneered, but was just as angry at himself as he was Young Strap. ‘I should have left you at the Bloated Corpse and come to the palace on my own. But, no, you insisted that you were a man now and should be treated as such. I should have remembered what bravado comes from the young and either ignored you or slapped you down!’ he said in a raised voice, even though they still hadn’t left the precinct. He was picking up momentum now. ‘You behaved like a moon-calf! You almost got me killed by mentioning that necromancer. She looked at you once, made a moue of her lips and you almost swooned on the spot. What, are you a virgin, to be bewitched so easily?’
‘No!’ Young Strap said stupidly, shaking his head to clear it, and stumbling over his feet as he attempted to keep up with the raging Guardian. ‘I couldn’t help it. It was as if I wasn’t in control of my own body… as if I was watching myself from far away and shouting, but couldn’t make myself hear.’
The Scourge expelled a breath sharply. ‘And you gave her your name! What were you thinking? No one in their right mind gives a sorceress their name.’
‘S-sorceress? How do you…’
‘Oh, shut up!’
Young Strap was coming back to himself. ‘Why didn’t you tell the King about the necromancer, then? Why did I have to lie for you? Why would you decide not to return the body to the King? And another thing: what’s wrong with me being the lady’s champion? It strikes me Scourge, Hound, or whatever name you currently go by, that you are the one with explaining to do. I have very little to explain. I simply spoke the truth when my King commanded me to do so. What else could I do? I have sworn an oath to him after all, as you so rightly pointed out back there.’
‘You don’t even know her name,’ the Scourge said softly.
Even in the weak moonlight, Young Strap’s blush could be made out. ‘I don’t need to!’
‘A fine sentiment, lad, a fine sentiment. They took advantage of you back there, but it is them that are shamed in doing so. You have done nothing dishonourable.’
‘I do not feel aggrieved. I do not see that I have been taken advantage of.’
The Scourge let out one of his characteristic sighs. ‘You were in the thrall of a sorceress. You may be still. You said yourself you were not in control of yourself. Lad, I know much of this is new to you and you’re still learning but you will need to learn faster and start developing better instincts if you are to survive.’
Young Strap brooded upon this for a while and decided little would be gained by pursuing it. ‘Corinus is not the place I thought it was. I’m glad we are to leave soon. At least the lady did not demand I stay here. In fact, she didn’t really ask anything of me at all, so what is it a champion does exactly?’
‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you gave her your pledge. Let us hope it does not return to haunt us, eh? Let’s get our horses and gear quickly, make one last stop and then be on our way.’
Young Strap stopped in the middle of the street, forcing the Scourge to come to a halt as well. ‘We have another stop to make? The King said we should leave immediately.’
‘Lad, believe me, I’m in as much of a hurry to leave as you are. However, the King would not expect us to leave without renewing our supply of water blessed by the temple of Shakri, now would he?’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘You need to do better than guess. And another thing, if you continue to question me, I will have to find a more final manner of explaining things to you. Your lady might end up without a champion if you take my meaning. It is not my good judgement that is in doubt here. In fact, I hav
e half a mind to leave you here so that you can question your elders and betters to your heart’s content or until their indulgence is at an end, whichever comes first. I do not think it will be down to Wim to determine which of the two it is.’
‘Scourge, it was your own good judgement to take me on in the first place. And if you leave me here, who will you have to save your life next time?’
‘I swear, if you do not still your tongue, I will have to cut it out. My knife-hand does not yet shake so much that I cannot do so.’
‘Don’t worry, now that you’re in your dotage, your hearing’s likely to go soon.’
‘That would be a mercy.’
***
Leading their mounts, they made their way through the backstreets of Corinus. It was the dead of night and the sound of their horses’ hoofs echoed loudly in the narrow alleys and passageways. The moon was absent, the black granite of the city’s buildings made it all but impossible to make out each other’s outlines and very few of the houses in this area could afford the candles to show any light. Even having made the trip so many times before, the Scourge found it difficult leading them. More than once they had to backtrack.
Finally, they reached a small courtyard edged by several houses on each side, with an old, dry fountain in the centre. They tied their horses to a post and the Scourge led them to one of the houses. It was anonymous save for the worn statue of a young girl asleep on the doorstep. Supplicants would bend to touch the image of Shakri and receive her blessing as they entered the holy house.
‘Surely this mean place is not the temple of Shakri? It is not the place I remember from my youth,’ Young Strap whispered.
‘As I told you, the temple has fallen on hard times. It seems the power of the goddess wanes, such that she cannot even protect her own priests anymore. Or perhaps she is displeased with their failure to inspire devotion in the people of Corinus, and no longer deigns to keep them in comfort.’