The Woad to Wuin

by Peter David

  Not only that, but the great hall had been decorated in early-and middle-period Apropos. There were paintings and tapestries hanging upon the wall, and busts of me mounted on pedestals. All of them depicted me in various scenes of conquest, standing upon piles of casualties or going sword to sword with a dozen men at one time. The expressions on busts were serenely smug in their sculpting, which gave them the closest resemblance to me, but the visual displays … in all of them, I could scarce identify my own face. I mean, it was mine, but my expression was twisted in a dark and fearsome look of loathing for everyone that opposed me.

  Most striking of all was a window inset into the far wall, about a foot or so from the ceiling. I had heard about such things, but never seen the like.

  It was made of stained glass, an object so rare that only the best alchemists and metallurgists were able to craft something so complex. I had heard about such artistic wonders, but never before actually seen one with my own eyes. And the object of art that it constituted was the most stunning thing of all.

  It was me. Or at least a depiction of me, seated upon a horse, holding my sword in one hand and my staff in the other. This, of course, left me no hands to grip the reins, and in real life I would have fallen off the dumb beast in no time at all. But this was art, a depiction not of the Apropos that was, but instead the idealized Peacelord Apropos conveyed through the genius of the artisans that had created it.

  And that face, likewise, had the obvious tint of blackness upon it. Staring into that face so close to my own, and yet so different, I could no longer repress a shudder that ran the length of my spine.

  And yet, in a way, I did recognize it. It was the face of how I saw the world. The face of anger and contempt that I held for a civilization so depraved, so without moral bearings, that it would have me in it. Me, Apropos of Nothing, born of a mother who was raped by knights purporting to be defenders of a code of chivalry. I had always thought that if I permitted that face to be seen, if I wore it on the outside, all who beheld it would run from it in revulsion. Instead apparently I had sported that grim and frightening visage for the better part of a year, and had garnered only followers, wealth, fame, and gratification of all kinds. It made no sense to me at all. I fancied myself a cynic, someone who knew the true way of things while others lived in their pleasant fantasy world. Instead it was beginning to seem as if I was the one who knew nothing at all … and I couldn’t say I was all that enthused about the lessons I was learning.

  Scattered all over was loot taken from our various excursions. Outrageously fancy clothing was being sported in jaunty fashion by the celebrants, tossed together and upon their bodies in the haphazard manner that signifies stolen goods being flaunted by those who stole them.

  It sickened me.

  I stared at one woman gallivanting about with her man, and she was wearing a gleaming tiara and furred cape, both of which were too big for her. I wondered about the woman who had previously owned them. Was she alive? Had the dancing woman’s conquering hero cut the previous owner to pieces and pulled them off her still-steaming body? How many lost lives, how many dashed hopes, were being celebrated this evening?

  I had never made any pretensions to being heroic, or caring about the concerns of anyone save myself. But seeing this orgy of joy being celebrated by people who had no right to celebrate beyond the fact that they were the biggest bullies in the valley—and the notion that it was I who had made it all possible—made me feel creepily uncomfortable in my own skin.

  So naturally I did what anyone in a situation that leaves them with a foul moral taste in their mouth tends to do. I proceeded to rationalize it. Make it livable for me.

  The fact was that I knew nothing about any of the peoples that we had conquered. Perhaps … perhaps they were deserving of it. Perhaps they were rich and indolent, and were perfect examples of everything that was wrong with humanity. It could very well be that these people, my followers, my legions … it could have been that they were, in fact, more entitled to enjoy these pleasant trinkets. Perhaps it was their hard work which had placed the previous owners of these objects in positions of wealth and power, and in stepping in as the first “Peacelord” of Wuin—indeed, of anywhere, most likely—I was making the balance more even. And maybe …

  … just maybe …

  … the gods wanted me to do it.

  For what I think was the first time in my life, I suddenly understood just why it was that people embraced gods. It was definitely an attractive notion, this whole business of operating as a result of the will of beings before whom I was helpless. I also reminded myself of the entire business of the Visionary. There was absolutely no point in denying it at this juncture: He had foreseen the future. My future. Unlike Soothsayers that I had encountered who had spoken in broad prophecies that could be interpreted a variety of ways, the Visionary who had come to Bugger Hall had spoken plainly and true. Granted, his visions had been somewhat truncated thanks to his demise …

  … and, of course, there was no reason to think that this life I had undertaken was part of that already-determined destiny …

  Quit while you’re ahead, my ever-wise inner voice suggested, and I saw the prudence of that advice. As long as I didn’t overthink the matter, I could take solace in the twin notions that I had simply acted in accordance with the whims of the divine and fate, and that I might actually be making the world a better place while doing it. Those beliefs would be more than enough to get me through the evening without dissolving into tears or having fits of uncontrolled screaming.

  Kate had wanted to wait and make a proper entrance, announced by some jackass with a booming voice who lived for stopping the proceedings dead while bellowing the name of every new arrival. But I turned my nose up at the thought. “These are my people, and I am one of them. I’ll not stand on ceremony,” I informed her as archly as I possibly could. And with that, I strode out into the throng, leaving Kate to catch up as best she could.

  I was spotted within moments, of course, and cheers started that increased in waves, building to an earsplitting crescendo. Well-wishers converged on me, much as they had when I’d first arrived at the stronghold. Somehow That Guy made it through the crowds to get to my side. I’d no clue how he’d managed it, considering he was nowhere near me when I’d first arrived. The man moved like a specter. Perhaps it resulted from all the energy he saved by not talking.

  But I was in no danger. Everyone around me was my friend, after all, and why shouldn’t they be? Was I not responsible for this bounty that they were all enjoying? All hail to me, Apropos the Peacelord, master of all he surveyed. I wondered for a moment just how many cities I had actually ransacked. And was there any purpose or plan to my rampage aside from simple destruction? It did not seem as if I was endeavoring at all to string cities together into a unified state over which I could rule, and which could defend itself against foreign attackers. Instead I seemed satisfied to destroy all that I saw.

  Kate was by my side once more as we moved through the crowd, smiling and shaking hands and nodding to all well-wishers. We were making our way toward what was obviously the places of honor: huge, ornate chairs, with plush red cushions that reminded me of nothing so much as the thrones upon which King Runcible and Queen Bea had sat. Carvings of exotic beasts ran the length of the chairs’ edges, and the feet were genuine clawed feet.

  I thought of all the rulers I had encountered in my time. Of Warlord Shank and his grand hall of depravity; of King Meander, the Keepless King who wandered from realm to realm as he sought surcease from memories that would never grant him peace; of King Runcible, of course. And now … here was my place of power, my seat of authority. As I slowly walked up to the great chair, I mused upon the notion that most lowborn creatures such as myself never had the opportunity to set their eyes upon even one ruler. And here I had not only encountered more than my share, but I had risen to a degree of rulership myself. That was one hell of an accomplishment, even if I couldn’t remember how in the
world I had done it.

  And here was another thing: There were several steps leading up to the throne. I couldn’t help but notice as I climbed them that I did so relatively easily. It is, of course, little cause for remark or celebration just for climbing a flight of stairs. That is, unless one has a lame leg, in which case even the simplest of such endeavors can prove a challenge. Not in this instance, though. I walked up the steps with such brisk efficiency that it was only upon reaching the chair that I realized I had done so with no effort at all. My right leg was not as strong as my left … but it was far more than the useless appendage it had been until that point. I cast my mind back to my bath and realized that even then, there had been more strength in the leg. I hadn’t perceived it because it seemed such a natural thing that I had taken no more notice of the proper functioning of my right leg than I would have of my left leg, or my arms.

  I stood in front of the chair, paused dramatically, and then turned to face the others. Kate was in front of her own chair, but she was waiting for me to sit. Her hands were gently folded one upon the other, and she had a pleasant, almost beatific look upon her face. People started calling her name as well, and she basked in the adulation with a smile of pure joy fixed in place, soaking up the attention as if she were a sponge.

  Spreading wide my arms, I called out, “My good friends! It is a pleasure to be back among you!”

  Oh, the huzzahs that went up at that point, the cheers and the exaltation that were being given me. I was their Peacelord. In their eyes I could do no wrong. I gestured for quiet and they immediately obeyed. “I will be taking my time before my next excursions,” I continued. “I shall meet with my lieutenants, decide which cities are the most ripe for conquest, and attend to them in their own good time. In the meantime,” and I raised my voice, “may the joy that is Dreadnaught never be diminished!”

  Well, this got even greater cheers, and they were shouting my name and stamping the floor repeatedly with their feet, doing so with such vehemence that for a moment I thought they were going to jar loose the stained-glass window and send it crashing to the ground in a thousand stained-glass shards.

  I turned to the Lady Kate then, took her extended hand, drew her to me, and kissed her firmly on the lips. The warmth of her flooded over me, and the crowd was certainly as enamored of the moment as I was, for they let loose a deafening howl of approval.

  “All for you, my love,” she whispered, “all for you.”

  We took our seats then to oversee the revels. Food was brought to us in abundance, and I sank my teeth into it with relish and gusto. There is nothing like thinking that you are about to die in a gods-forsaken desert to make your first good meal taste all the sweeter. I had never been more glad to be alive.

  At one point a plate with small round, brown balls was placed before me. Naturally I regarded them with some suspicion, as I think anyone would have been wont to do. At the “Try it! Try it!” urging of my consort, I picked up one of the balls in a most cautious manner with my fingertips. Even at that point I was concerned that this was a nauseating practical joke, and I was holding a small wad of excrement between my fingers, but the smell that wafted from it quickly set that notion aside. The scent was exquisite, sweetness mixed with an aroma promising an energetic burst of taste that bordered on the sensual. I bit off a piece carefully, allowed it to slide down my tongue, and could scarcely believe it. I realized that this had to be the “chocolate” that Sharee had made reference to. Gods, it was practically a taste that was worth dying for. I rolled it around, smacked my lips together, and marveled at the things that humanity could produce when it put its mind to it.

  And so it went, an evening of frolic and hilarity, right up to the point where Boar Tooth approached me. I noticed that he, too, had washed the woad from his face, and I was depressed to see that he looked even more vicious without it than with it. He bowed low without taking his eyes off me, and then bowed again to the Lady Kate. Revelers noticed that he had come toward me, and the merrymaking dimmed in volume just a little, enough so that Boar Tooth could be heard.

  “You have been informed of our newest prisoners, I trust, Peacelord?” inquired Boar Tooth.

  By that point, I have to say, I was feeling pretty damned relaxed, considering the amount of ale and mead that I had imbibed as the evening progressed. I had not gotten that stinking drunk since the days I drowned my sorrows as a put-upon squire in King Runcible’s castle, sneaking down to the hidden wine cellar and availing myself of its contents. Here, no sneaking around was involved. Everything we had was at my disposal, and I was all too willing to dispose of it. Moral conundrums, struggles of conscience, are battles best fought at sea … in my case, upon the sea of blissfuly alcoholic haze. Well, I was certainly out to sea on this occasion, with my three sheets billowing solidly to the wind. I still had a generally sound idea of who and where I was, but I wasn’t capable of much beyond that. Even the simple act of locomotion might have proven a challenge. Fortunately enough I wasn’t endeavoring to go anywhere, although I was slumping quite a bit in my chair. I was resting my chin on one hand, except my chin was developing the annoying habit of slipping off the support. As a consequence I kept nearly punching myself in the face. I had to focus very carefully on what Boar Tooth was saying, because if I let my attention wander for even a moment, then his words would have gone floating past me, and I would have cheerfully waved as they passed. “Newest prisoners?” I asked, overenunciating each word so that I was comprehensible to him, and to me.

  Kate reached over and touched the top of my hand. “The rebels, my Peacelord,” she reminded me in a soft voice.

  Immediately I perked up, and spoke in a voice that was considerably louder than it needed to be. “Of course! The rebels! Wanted to kill me! Those bastards!”

  “Yes, indeed, Peacelord,” Boar Tooth concurred, bowing once more.

  “Kill me! Me! Me! Me! Me!” I paused, my brow furrowing, and I stared blearily at Boar Tooth. “Was I warming up to sing just then?”

  He looked at me with open amusement. I wondered why he was tilting his head at such an odd angle, and then realized in some distant sector of my brain that he was doing it in order to maintain eye contact with me, since my head was similarly slumped over. “Peacelord … if you prefer … this can be attended to when you are less … how shall I put it … ?”

  “Drunk?” I asked. This candor on my part caused ripples of laughter throughout the great hall. I waggled a finger scoldingly at Boar Tooth and admonished him by saying, “I’ll have you know I’m not nearly as think as you drunk I am.”

  “That’s comforting to know, Peacelord.”

  “My dear,” suggested Kate, leaning toward me, “perhaps it would be better to wait for another—”

  “Nonsense!” If any noise from the crowd had been drowning out my voice up until that point, that was certainly not the case after my little outburst. I had the full attention of everyone in the place. “My good friends!” I called out, once again struggling not to slur my words. “Who wishes to see the rebels attended to, eh?”

  Well, naturally cries of support and multiple “huzzahs!” rang out, and that was all the incentive that was needed. Boar Tooth gestured toward That Guy, who sheathed his sword and exited the great hall. There was a good deal of buzzing going on among the people, excited whispers and speculation as to whether I was just going to have the rebels executed right then and there, or make them suffer the agony of condemnation and subsequent waiting for their demise.

  As for me, it was as if I had stepped completely out of my body and was observing myself from a very great distance. A warm haze had descended upon me. The persona of Apropos, barbarian Peacelord had taken hold, as if I was playing a part in some great pantomime rather than doing anything that had any bearing upon reality. There was a faint warning in the back of my head that I was going to regret the actions I was taking once sobriety returned, but it couldn’t begin to penetrate the buzzing in my skull that urged me to enforce th
e rule of law. To show any other would-be murderers who might be watching what would happen if they even considered going up against the Peacelord of Wuin.

  There was a creaking and groaning of wheels then, and the doors to the hall swung open to reveal a large cart being hauled in by two bulky slaves dressed in loincloths, with perspiration slicking their upper bodies. Some of the women were murmuring in appreciation, and even Kate seemed interested. I was too far gone to care at that point. Indeed, so much of it was a blur that to a degree I’m only guessing now, as I write of those events of days gone by, about the specific order of things and what exactly was going through my mind, since the definitive details are lost to an alcoholic cloud … or at least they were until I had cause to sober up quickly.

  A cage had been built atop the cart, and inside it were what appeared to be about eight or nine prisoners. Whatever they’d been wearing when they first arrived at Dreadnaught was long gone, replaced with tattered rags that barely maintained their modesty. They did not look particularly rebellious. Their reactions varied from man to man: Some appeared defiant, looking with a sneer at the crowds who were shouting imprecations. Others looked scared, and one of the older men was swaying back and forth with his eyes closed, his mouth in almost constant motion. Obviously he was praying. I had no idea if anyone was listening. There were several more in the middle of the group, but I couldn’t make them out. Then again, considering how soused I was, it was amazing that I was able to see the cart.

  The cart, which creaked along on two large wheels, was brought to about twenty feet away from me, before it came to a halt. The slaves stepped away and Boar Tooth swaggered up to the cart. He was saying something, but I couldn’t make it out at first because the roaring and chanting of the crowd (“Death! Death! Death!” Uninspired, but effective) was drowning out any one single voice.

  It was Kate who silenced them. She rose to her feet, the motion commanding instant attention, and her outstretched hand instantly quieted the mob. “Thank you, my dear. Well handled,” I said, and she bobbed her head in appreciation of the compliment. She sat, and once more I had to focus all my attention on just being able to string coherent syllables together. “Boar Tooth … do they have a defense they wish to give? A spokesman, perhaps?”