by Hugh Cook
Drake went straight to the Gates, and offered himself for hire.'What are you?' they asked.'A master swordsman,' he said.'But you have no sword!' they said.
And threw things at him. First clods, then rocks. So he retreated, and scoured amongst the camp, seeking steel for sale. Much there was, and cheap, but most was worthless. He saw any number of worthless duelling swords, their thin blades welded to the hilts. But what he wanted was good steel, blade and tang forged as a single unit.In the end, he found what he was seeking.
And bought it, with five fists of meat.
Then took it away, and drew it to a rare ray of winter sunlight, and gloated. Steel it was, and slender, light enough to thrust with, yet with weight enough to hack wood at will, or cleave head from shoulders. Within the blade, the play of light and shadow hinted at a thousand interlaced perfections.'Now,' said Drake, 'to seek some honest employment.'
So he went back to the gabionade which guarded the Gates of Chenameg. But another weaponmaster was there before him. And Drake saw the man go up a rope ladder all happy-eager, then his corpse come down without his weapon.'So much for that,' said Drake to Drake.
And found work as protection man for a tented brothel, taking his payment in meals for each of his appetites. Meanwhile, he put out word as wide as he could. He was interested in a woman. Red in hair, red in skin – not by dye but by nature.
Now, in the face of the Swarms, there were but three reasonable routes of escape.
One was to outrun their onslaught north by fleeing along the Salt Road. Many had taken that route, some with success – and others without.
A second was to try for the west, daring the open waters of the Central Ocean. But that needed ships, and many who could flee that way had left it too late.
The last option was to head east. Inland. Which many had done. And, as the Swarms encroached further east, many who had broken their journey (to sojourn at hunting lodges or elsewhere) were driven to the gates of Chenameg.
And, towards the end of winter, Drake got news of a woman in red. He responded without undue excitement – there had been seven false alarms already – and followed the newsbearer to a rainshelter near the river.
Inside the rainshelter sat Plovey of the Regency, warming himself at a small fire.
Outside, two hulking men were working to erect another rainshelter. Sitting in the mud, hands tied behind their backs, were three women, roped neck to neck.One was Zanya.Who saw Drake, but did not shout or cry or even smile, for she guessed that her silence would serve him best.
And Drake sauntered up nice and easy to the two hulking men putting up the rainshelter.'Good morning,' said Drake, polite as anything.'It's afternoon,' said one of the men, without turning.'Why, so it is,' said Drake.
And knifed him.
'Gurumph!' cried the knifed man, in a choked voice. And fell.
The other leaped back and drew a dirk.
And Drake stamped down hard in the underfoot muck, blinking his eyes at just the right moment. But the other fellow got mud in his eyes, and was dead before he could clear them. Dead with his own dirk buried to the hilt in his heart.
'What's going on here?' asked Plovey of the Regency, stepping out of his rainshelter.'Murder,' answered Drake grimly, drawing his sword.
Plovey looked at him in silence. Then, slowly, drew his own blade.
'You dare much, darling boy,' said Plovey. 'For I am acknowledged as a master of the blade.' 'Aye, maybe,' said Drake. 'But I am my father's son.' 'And what means that?' 'Put steel to steel and find out,' said Drake. And strode forward.
There was no braggadocio about him: only business. He was utterly calm. He felt remote from what was happening. It was like something in a dream.
The thin winter sun shone down as the two men clashed. Blade chimed against blade. And Drake beat down Plovey's blade, and struck. And the pitiless perfection of his sword drove home, going deep, deep, deep through skin and flesh and bone and vein.
Thus was the need of steel slaked with gore, and, when Drake withdrew the blade, the blood-eddy shimmered in the glittering sun.And Plovey fell.Flopping to the mud like a dead fish.
And the spray of mud and blood and water which scattered from his corpse broke Drake's dream-trance, and suddenly he was hot, hot, hot and burning.
He cut Zanya loose.
They said nothing, but kissed.
Then held each other.
Then wept.
Then clouds consumed the sun, and the heavens wept with them.
58
Royalty: a notion devised in an attempt to consolidate tyranny through genetic inheritance, to deny the rightful aspirations of the common people, to cripple the Class Struggle and thereby institutionalize feudalism.
In Argan, the real power has, in most places, been for generations in the hands of the guilds and immortal government bureaucracies. Even so, lip service has still been paid to the notion of the superiority of the Favoured Blood -and those of the Blood have clung fiercely to any surviving privileges remaining to them.
Superstition, assiduously cultivated by state propaganda in the form of fairy tales, has long convinced the common people of Argan that those of the Favoured Blood are in fact their actual rulers – and that only such are fit to rule.
Night.
Drake and Zanya, drowsy with love, lay between grubby sheep-skins, talking.
'You'll throw out Plovey's head tomorrow, won't you?' said Zanya.'Why?'said Drake.
'Well. . .gloating is all very well, lover dearest, but soon it'll start to smell.'
'I want to keep it till I'm lord of the Gates of Chenameg,' said Drake. 'Then I'll plant it on a stake by way of display.''You think to master the Gates?' said Zanya, amused.'Why not?'
'Dearest heart, you don't have the necessary stature to become a ruler.'
'That's all right,' said Drake. 'I'll get a pair of built-up boots.'
'That's not what I meant, and you know it,' said Zanya. 'I mean, you're not of royal birth.'
'I'm rightful king of Stokos,' said Drake, 'for King Tor named me his heir.'
'You've told me all about that,' said Zanya. 'Thrice. But he's dead. And you never got to marry his princess daughter. You'll have to do better than that, I'm afraid.'
'No problem,' said Drake. 'I've a world of fatherhood to choose from. Should I be a prince of the Rice Empire, perhaps?'
'No, fool!' said Zanya. 'For the Rice Empire is an ancient enemy of the Harvest Plains.''Then I'll think of something else,' said Drake.'Think of me for a change,' said Zanya.'Dearest. . .' said Drake.And thought of her diligently.Sometime later, drowsier still, Drake said:'Did I ever tell you about Blackwood and Miphon?'
'Miphon I know well,' said Zanya, 'for I spoke often and long with the wizard on Burntos. But Blackwood? Who's he?''A woodsman,' said Drake. 'Remember? In Estar-'
'Oh, yes!' said Zanya. 'I remember now. He found us when you'd got us lost in the forest.'
'When I'd got us lost! It was you who said that strange little path would lead to safety!'
'Me?' said Zanya. T said it looked interesting, that's all. I never said we had to walk down it through five thousand leagues of mud and brambles!''Gah!' said Drake.
'Anyway,' said Zanya. T remember your Blackwood now. He had a wife. Misral? Mysral?' 'Mystrel,' said Drake.'Trust you to remember the woman!' said Zanya. 'But she wasn't anything to look at. Neither was that Blackwood. A rather dull fellow, in fact.'
'Yes,' said Drake, 'but did you know? Blackwood and Miphon both became questing heroes in company with Morgan Hearst.'
'Oh, Hearst!' said Zanya. 'that warlord fellow! He killed all gossip in Selzirk for days, for all the talk was of him. I wonder where he got to in the end? Anyway -what's all of this got to do with you and me?'
'Don't you see?' said Drake. 'If someone like Blackwood can become a questing hero, then what's to stop me being anything I please?'
'There's a big difference,' said Zanya severely, 'between being a questing hero and being a king. For
a start, in every fairy tale I ever heard, potential kings always had a great doom written on their brow.''That's daft!' said Drake.
'Yes,' said Zanya, 'but that's what the fairy tales say, so that's what people expect. You won't get far without it.'
'I don't hold with this writing stuff,' said Drake. 'Not on my brow or anywhere.'
'You've got a snake ruling your love life,' said Zanya, 'so what's a few words on your forehead?'
'The snake's private,' said Drake. 'Nobody sees it unless they're entitled to. But words on my brow – man, people will laugh themselves sick.'
'They won't,' said Zanya. 'These are troubled times. People are desperate for leadership, for belief. Talk boldly, and you'll gather them in to your leadership.''So you do think I can do it!''Of course, darling treasure snake.''You sounded doubtful enough before.'
'Don't you know when I'm teasing you?' said Zanya. 'Tomorrow. . . tomorrow we'll make a start.'
The very next day, Zanya scavenged some paint. With that paint she wrote A GREAT DOOM on Drake's forehead in Galish orthography.
They were ready to begin.
59
The Gates of Chenameg: endpoint of the Manaray Gorge.
Here the Velvet River enters Chenameg, pouring in a torrent from between two cliffs. A steep and narrow path cut into the side of the southernmost cliff provides the sole practicable route inland from Chenameg.
THE CHRONICLE OF AENOBAE
Of Dreldragon and his Doings at Chenameg
Now let me tell of Lord Dreldragon, and of his coming to
the Gates of Chenameg.
Lord Dreldragon was heir to the Scattered Empire, the sea-power realm of the southern seas, which stretches from Ling to Hexagon. Mighty were the weaponmasters of that realm, and beautiful were the women; but, more than either, the kingdom valued its honour.
And it came to pass that Lord Dreldragon heard rumour of great disaster in Argan.And he said unto his father, the great Jon Arabin:
'My lord king, is it right that we should sit in idleness while a continent entire falls to the evil of the Swarms?And his father answered him thus:
'It is written that a darkness will fall over Argan and will persist for tens of years upon thousands. Such is the fate of fair and foul alike. What can we avail against prophecy?'
That we know not until we try,' said Lord Dreldragon.
And, grim in decision, he took the battle-sword Warwolf, which had been in his family for thrice five generations, and he went forth from the Scattered Empire that he might contend with the mighty evil which was come upon Argan.
With him went the Lady Zanya, whom he had taken to be his lawful wedded wife, for she was a woman strong in decision, and there was naught beneath the stars which could daunt her courage.
And thus the two came unto Argan, where they had command of armies. These armies they led against the monsters of the Swarms. And many fell deeds were seen beneath sun and beneath stars. But, in the end, heroism availed not against prophecy, and all who survived from the wars against the Swarms retreated into Chenameg.
Now it happened that toward spring in the year Celadric 2, Lord Dreldragon and the Lady Zanya came unto the Gates of Chenameg.
The people were amazed to see them, for surely there was nobility about them. For the Lady Zanya was not as other women, but walked with the stars about her. And the wise, when they looked on Lord Dreldragon, saw that a mighty doom was upon his brow, and they knew him for the son of a king.And they asked him:'What do you here?'And he answered:T bring justice.'
But there was a rough-speaking brigand by name of Plovey who said:
'What need have we of justice when the very skies are falling? Now is the time for rape, slaughter, butchery, the rule of strength over weakness, of steel over flesh.'
And he drew a blade against Lord Dreldragon.
But the blade Warwolf availed over Plovey, and his head was buried separate from his trunk.
Now it happened that at that time great Groth, master of the hordes of evil, held the Gates of Chenameg against those who sought refuge from the Swarms. There was but one passage out of Chenameg, and that was through the Gates. For long had Groth sore oppressed the people, and Lord Dreldragon saw that his rule was an abomination.
Thus Lord Dreldragon tempted Groth with rumours of a mighty wealth to the south. And Groth rode out with a warparty. But Lord Dreldragon and those men he had rallied around him fell upon Groth in a place of ambush, and made a mighty slaughter.
Then Lord Dreldragon returned to the Gates of Chenameg with Groth as a hostage. But his lieutenants laughed, and said:
'Are we not men, even as Groth was? And can we not therefore govern in our own right?'
Whereupon Lord Dreldragon set Groth at liberty to walk amongst his ancestors.Then Lord Dreldragon said to those who held the Gates:
'Know that I am of the Favoured Blood. I am descended from a royal line, appointed by Higher Powers to rule over lesser mortals. Yield to my lordship, for your submissionis fitting.'
But those who held the Gates laughed mightily, then threw rocks, then threw worse. Therefore Lord Dreldragon said unto them: ' Very well. Hold the heights, and I will hold the flats, and there will be no war between us, for I will yield up a rich tribute daily.'
And the next day he brought a great tribute in meat and wine. And he said:
'Point to any portion, and I will eat thereof and drink thereof, that you may know it safe.'And this was done.
Then meat and drink were taken into the fortress of the Gates of Chenameg, and those within glutted themselves on the goodness, for they had seen nothing so good for many a day.
But, while they were eating, a doom came upon them, and all but a few were struck by death.
Then the Lady Zanya stepped forward and spoke in a voice of wrath to those still upon the Gates:
'Behold me, for I am a princess of Hexagon. Deep is the magic of our islands, and fell is my skill. A doom have I put upon you. Those yet standing will die before the morrow but for my mercy.'
Then those who survived surrendered, and came down from the fortress that they might receive the mercy of the Lady Zanya. And she gave them a magical wine, which brought a swift death upon them.
Then Lord Dreldragon and the Lady Zanya held the Gates in justice, and their levy on the traffic which went inland was but 10 per cent.Yet this justice was not welcomed by all.
For it happened that a band of priests came to the Gates. With them was an old man whom they named as Gouda Muck. They alleged that Muck was the High God of All Gods. And the priests disputed the right of Lord Dreldragon and his consort to live – let alone to rule.
For the priests claimed Lord Dreldragon to be the son of the Demon Hagon.'Who says?' declared Lord Dreldragon.'Gouda Muck says,' replied the priests.
'Then let Gouda Muck stand forward and declare it so,' answered Lord Dreldragon.
Then were the priests loath to permit Gouda Muck to speak. But a mob had gathered around the priests, and the mob denied choice to them.
Thus it was that Gouda Muck stood forth and spoke unto Lord Dreldragon and unto the fair Lady Zanya and unto the multitude.
And Gouda Muck gazed around in perplexity, then declared that the streets of Selzirk were passing fair, that the blossoms strewn beneath his feet were sweet, and that the thousand naked maidens dancing before him were beautiful to behold.
Then one cried from the mob that there were no maidens and there was no blossom, that Selzirk was fallen andthat the Swarms had over-run the Harvest Plains. Whereupon Gouda Muck frowned, and said: 'That man is mad! Arrest him!'
Then Gouda Muck spoke as if he saw before him first trial then execution.
And he then spoke in a high voice to people not present. He addressed the rulers of Yestron and of Dalar ken Halvar. He accepted tribute in gold and in jade from mighty men invisible to the multitude.And Lord Dreldragon declared:
'The old man is mad and has been for years. His madness is its own pardon. But as t
o the priests who knew he was mad, yet pretended to draw authority from him – in such men there is evil.'
Whereupon the mob fell upon the priests, and Lord Dreldragon was unable to offer them the benefits of his mercy.
And it came to pass that Gouda Muck dwelt at the Gates of Chenameg in his madness, and was fed and clothed and housed by Lord Dreldragon and his consort.For Lord Dreldragon said:
'This man's madness has wrought much evil in the world. But many things wondrous fair have passed from the world in a great destruction. Muck is not fair nor wondrous, saving in the extent of his madness, yet I lack the will to add to the world's destruction by encompassing his doom.'
And it happened that when Gouda Muck had lived at the Gates for seven moons, he died in his sleep, and was given to the mercies of the river.
Then it came to pass, after Lord Dreldragon had held the Gates for upwards of a year, that the Swarms were seen before the very fortress of the Gates.Then Lord Dreldragon said:
'They cannot pass beyond the Gates, for the cliffs are sheer, the river swift, and the path scarce fit for goats. Truly the mountains will stand sentinel here, for now and for all time.
'We have held the Gates in justice for upwards of a year, and there is no need remaining here for our strength. Therefore let us depart, for such ghosts as remain here can hold the Gates as well as we.'
Thus they departed, taking with them such food as they could carry, and such gear of war. And they endured the suffering of the Dragon Way, as others had before them.
To the borders of the Araconch Waters they went, then passed beneath the shadow of Mountain Barg, which was named in antiquity for Barglan of the Empire. And thus they passed into the Broken Lands, then followed the River Amodeo even to the Lanmarthen Marshes.
Then Lord Dreldragon declared that he would turn west and dare the Dry Forages and the mountains beyond, for it came to him that it was meet that he should return once more to his homeland. And the Lady Zanya declared that she would venture with him, for she was constant in her love for him, and their marriage had always been a chastity proof against all temptation.