Krull. Part 6

"If the Slayers conquer all Krull," Colwyn added, seeing how Ynyr's words had shaken the bandit chief, "your children will be enslaved forever."

"Words." Torquil wrestled with an inner demon. "You twist words like a solicitor. How much is truth and how much built on this accursed fog, I cannot tell."

"What are we to do, Torquil?" asked an impatient, uncertain voice from behind a dead oak.

"Aye, the old man makes sense," said another.

"Shut up, you idiots, before the one who carries his sword as carefully as a swaddling babe learns each of your positions!" The woods went quiet.

But one of Torquil's band didn't wait for his chiefs decision. The slim youth who stepped forward looked out of place alongside such experienced ruffians as Torquil and Sweyn. You had to look deeply into his eyes to see the pain and torment of an unhappy life, of events that had driven him into such company. Torquil frowned but said nothing.

"My name is Oswyn," the youth declared. "I am no chief and I have no children, but I do have a mind of my own." He glanced across at Torquil. "The old man speaks truth. I do think he uses his tongue not to twist words but to impart them. I have been a slave too long already." He looked up at Colwyn and lowered his voice.

"I will go with you. I have seen what the Slayers do to helpless villages and people. I would rather die fighting them with a sword in my hand."

"Thank you," said Colwyn gratefully. He looked off into the woods as he fingered his father's medallion, his eyes searching trees and rocks. "I need men to follow me. Men who are not afraid of Slayers or their own feelings. This boy is more man than any of you who hide behind selfish desires and trees. He shames you all."

The key he removed from the obverse of the medallion was small but solid and very complex in design. He was taking a chance, he knew, in showing it to the desperate men who confronted him, but it seemed like a worthwhile risk. If they fought and he died here, they would likely discover it anyway. Neighboring kingdoms cooperated in such matters and this bog was not far from Turold. It seemed reasonable to a.s.sume that the key would work.

"Oswyn, give me your wrists." Uncertain but unafraid, the youth moved close.

Colwyn slipped the key into the lock on the boy's right manacle and twisted. For a second nothing happened, but a little determined jiggling was rewarded by a gratifyingly loud snap. The manacle was rusty and full of grime. He repeated the action with the left band.

Oswyn backed away, rubbing his freed wrists and looking repeatedly from them to his benefactor. Colwyn sat back on his horse and tried to present a properly regal appearance. He was not very good at it and he kept one hand on the hilt of his sword.

The youth hesitated, still watching Colwyn, then bent and picked up the pair of opened manacles. He turned and wordlessly heaved them as far into the fog as he could. A distant splash told where they fell. When he turned back to Colwyn again, he was smiling.

Torquil had watched closely. Now he frowned thoughtfully up at Colwyn from beneath heavy brows, still not quite willing to countenance what his own eyes had just seen.

After a long moment he finally murmured carefully, "Only a king or a lord marshal would have keys to manacles like these, and you don't look much like a lord marshal. You're giving it a good try up on that fine horse, but somehow it doesn't suit you."

Colwyn relaxed in the saddle and grinned. "No, I guess it doesn't. You're right, fellow. I'm no lord marshal."

Torquil rubbed at his whiskers. "Matter of fact, what you do look like is about the right age to be the son of a certain king."

"Anything's possible," Colwyn admitted.

"King Turold's son, to be more precise."

"The exact age, in fact."

Torquil sighed and shook his head ruefully. "Ah, Torquil," he mumbled to himself, "it must be that you are growing old. Your brain is softening."

Page 26 "But not your sword arm or your wits, I'd wager," Colwyn replied.

"I've no love for the kingdom of Turold. Its jails are neither better nor worse than those of any other country," the bandit growled. "Yet I must admit to having spent good times in its towns."

"There will be no more good times in any towns because there will be no towns nor even kingdoms in a few years unless we do away with the Slayers and their master," Colwyn declared firmly.

"Aye, so you say. So many claim. I am not certain I believe that yet, but I believe the rest. King Turold's son is named Colwyn."

"That is my name."

"And you would have us in your service? We hardly have the look of a royal guard." Guffaws came from his companions.

"It is not looks I need," Colwyn told him somberly. "Join me and help me, and you will all have a full pardon and whatever else it is in my power to grant."

He reached down with the key. To his surprise, Torquil waved him off.

"Nay. If we succeed, unlock them. Otherwise, I will die with them." He smiled. "These cursed wristlets have already turned more than one sword stroke.

Unlike young Oswyn there, I've developed a certain affection for them." He jangled the broken chains, then reached up and accepted the key to pa.s.s it to the man standing on his right. "Kegan here feels differently than I do, however."

"That I do, Torquil," said the man, rushing to unlock the manacles. Other men emerged from concealment, eager to make use of the key. "I harbor no fond memories of my iron," he told the man on horseback.

"Colwyn will suffice, Kegan. There are no kings on this journey. Only fighters."

"Rather a fighter defending my back than a king any day," said Kegan. "No offense, m'lor-Colwyn."

Colwyn formed an immediate liking for the man and wondered what terrible circ.u.mstance had forced so pleasant a fellow to follow so grim a path. Perhaps he would find out, though such men tended to guard their pasts as zealously as they did their gold.

"Nine like you are worth an army," he said as he inspected each of them in turn. "Soldiers spend too much time on secure, peaceful walls, too much time dreaming away easy nights in comfortable barracks. Each day you do battle with life itself. Soldiers have time to forget what their profession is all about. Like anything else, it is a trade that must be practiced to be perfected."

"Practice we've had aplenty," Torquil told him. He turned to his men. "You heard him, you smelly lot. It's official. We are now an army." There sounded a loud squeal and he looked down at his ankles. The piglet was easily swept up in the vagabond's arms.

"Well, well, our dinner comes to join us tonight. A fortunate meeting indeed." The pig squealed louder and squirmed in Torquil's grasp.

Colwyn peered closely at the porcine prisoner. "Don't be too quick to set a place. I think that's Ergo the Magnificent."

"Looks more like roast pork to me, though a mite skimpy. I certainly wouldn't call it magnificent." He prodded one ham.

The pig twisted violently. Torquil let out an exaggerated sigh. "Ah well.

Shame. He's your companion, and I've yet to eat a friend, or even a friend of a friend."

"Look on the ground nearby. You'll probably find a sc.r.a.p of paper with a formula written on it."

Obediently, Torquil bent to scan the damp earth, still cradling the unhappy porker. Perhaps they would be lucky and there would be no such paper. He was hungry. Ah, but there it was. He picked it up and scanned the writing. The words and symbols meant nothing to him, but in his grasp the pig squirmed excitedly. He held it before the questing snout.

Then he was holding a white cloud that was part pig and part unhappy traveler. The cloud disappeared with a sharp pop and he found himself grasping a small man by the back of his shirt.

"Put me down, you lout! I can still turn you into a pig!"

"Yes, your demonstration of your powers has been most convincing," Torquil said wryly.

"With hot fudge sauce, Ergo?" Colwyn inquired. Ergo eyed him sourly but said nothing as Torquil let him go. He tried to straighten his shirt and dignity, both of27 which were badly ruffled.

"You had better manners as a pig," Torquil told him, "and it's plain to see you're still something of a ham." He looked up at Colwyn. "Of what use to you in your quest is this midget?"

"Now look here, you hirsute oaf, I-"

"Peace, Ergo," said Colwyn tiredly. "And you, Torquil. Every man has his talents to contribute." Ergo accepted that and managed to calm himself. "We will need all the help we can muster. Now we must go, now that everyone has been properly introduced." He chucked his reins and started off down the path. Torquil and his men followed.

Only Ergo, still miffed, hung back, shouting after them. "Ergo the Magnificent does not travel with thieves and cutthroats! I am no companion of bandits and murderers! I do not lie down to sleep alongside pickpockets and wife-beaters!"

The fog swirled in around him, already masking Colwyn's party. Shapes began to form in the fog, unworthy of notice when traveling with companions but suddenly sharp and demanding now that he stood by himself.

One of the gray nebulosities blinked; a single, one-eyed blink. Ergo gaped at it but it did not vanish.

"Except when necessary," he muttered to himself as he scurried after the others with admirable speed.

Several days of uneventful travel brought them to a hillside overlooking a devastated valley. Once it had been a picture of villatic contentment. Now it was a panorama out of h.e.l.l.

Smoke rose not from cook pots and comforting fireplaces but from half a dozen burning towns. The wails of the distraught and the screams of injured men and dying animals rose from the smoking vale. Colwyn was glad they were not close enough to see any more than they could from the hillside. Silently the men resumed their trek along the crest of the heavily wooded ridge.

"Why do they burn the villages?" Torquil asked grimly as he marched alongside Colwyn. His gaze kept returning to the ruined valley. "There's nothing to gain. They never carry off booty or even food."

"They do it to keep us down," Ynyr explained. "Men who must concern themselves with rebuilding homes and replanting crops have no time to think of other things, no time for philosophy or science, learning or art. They force a lowly existence upon Krull."

"But why?"

Ynyr gave a little shrug. "Their intent is clear if not their ultimate motives. Perhaps they find it amusing to torment us. Perhaps they have other reasons." Torquil felt the old man wasn't telling all he knew, but the thief did not know how to pry the information out of him.

"You say there's nothing to gain," Colwyn told him. "You're wrong. There's fear to gain. You don't have to burn every village to control all. Raze one to the ground and the neighboring dozen may acknowledge your rule. Burn one valley and you might control a kingdom. They acquire such fear with fire.

They spend it to rule."

"So do many human kings."

"But not all."

"No, not all." Torquil grinned. King or not, this Colwyn of Turold was a likable chap. With the right kind of upbringing he might even have made a proper thief. Torquil could bestow no higher praise on a friend.

Ergo had been listening closely to this conversation as he shuffled along behind the horses. His eyes had widened as the import of the conversation became clear.

"Is he a... a king?"

The tall ruffian striding along next to him, one Bardolph by name, nodded once. "Colwyn of Turold, or so Torquil believes. Heir to the combined kingdom of Turold and Eirig." He shook his head in disbelief at the circ.u.mstances that had overtaken him. "From fugitive to king's service in one morning. I never thought to see such a day. I must say it's nice to be able to walk about freely in the daylight once again."

Ergo cared little for Bardolph's musings, full as he was now of his own fearful misgivings. "Oh dear, oh my. Oh no. I threatened to turn him into a toad. He might have done anything. He might have ordered my head chopped off."28 Bardolph instantly a.s.sumed a somber mien. "As a matter of fact, I seem to recall some conversation to that point, friend. Yes, I remember distinctly now. He and Torquil were chatting and he reflected upon that very business."

"What-what did he say?"

"He did order it. Your head to be cut off, I mean. He told Torquil, who referred it to me. I'd just forgotten all about it until you reminded me.

'Bardolph,' he said, 'chop that little man's head off. He'll never miss it.' " As he spoke he was sliding a very long, gold-plated dagger from his belt. Now he thumbed the shiny edge and eyed Ergo speculatively.

Ergo backed away from him. "Stay away from me, you bloodthirsty hooligan!

King's orders or no king's orders, I can still turn you into a toad."

Bardolph took a step toward him, smiling and fingering the blade meaningfully. "Or a pig, perhaps? I've seen your work and thus am quaking in fear.

Come, make yourself useful and compliant all together. Turn yourself back into a pig. It's been some time since I've enjoyed fresh bacon."

"I'm warning you, I-" He stopped, frowned, and began sniffing at the air.

"What is it?" Bardolph asked curiously.

"I'm not sure. The fragrance of heaven, maybe."

Bardolph favored him with a look of disgust and slid the dagger back into its scabbard. "Well, don't linger too long over it or you'll find yourself left behind." He increased his stride and moved up to talk with Kegan.

Ergo fell off to one side. Still sniffing, he angled into the bushes, shoving branches aside as he progressed. A bush heavily laden with dark, pungent blotches soon came into view.

"Gooseberries! Ripe ones," he added in a tone usually reserved for funerals.

He plucked one, popped it into his mouth and chewed. An expression of pure bliss came over him. "Ah, the nectar of paradise. Providence has taken pity on me and has seen fit to compensate me for the travails of the past days." He began picking at the bush, shoving gooseberries into his carry-pouch and every available pocket.

So intent was he on his task that he paid no attention to the rustling in the bushes nearby. When the crunching of leaves and twigs underfoot became too loud to ignore, he turned just in time to see the black face of a Slayer staring down at him. A handful of gooseberries fell to the ground, forgotten.

The Slayer stepped out of the copse. Ergo looked around wildly, too terrified to cry out and certainly beyond attempting any incantations. Big as the Slayer was, it seemed certain to remain unaffected by any mumblings he might muster, even if he succeeded in finding his voice.

Bending over, he grabbed up a broken branch and brandished it in the Slayer's direction. Its hand dropped to the battle-ax tied to its waist.

The bush on Ergo's left moved. Reflexively, his gaze moved from the Slayer to the bush, to see an enormous cyclops step into the clearing. He was holding a tree-sized trident, or so it appeared to Ergo. All this was too much for an essentially gentle mind. Ergo's eyes rolled up and he fell unconscious to the earth.

The Slayer too had taken note of the Cyclops's appearance, but its reaction was not what Ergo would have antic.i.p.ated. It let out a violent hiss, then whirled and retreated, crashing madly through the bushes. The cyclops considered its departure for a moment, then moved forward to bend over Ergo's crumpled body.

Fingers touched Ergo's forehead. Then the one-eyed giant turned and hurried off in pursuit of the fleeing Slayer.

Colwyn turned in his saddle to look back along the line of men. He spoke to Torquil. "My friend is lingering longer than usual."

"Perhaps he had business in the trees," said Torquil noncommittally.

Bardolph overheard and moved closer.

"We were, uh, jesting with each other when he smelled something and went exploring. I told him not to fall behind."

Colwyn's gaze returned to the empty trail behind them. "He'd better not. I don't want to lose time waiting up for him."

They heard the scream then. It hung long in the air, making the horses start, before finally fading to silence. Somewhere behind them a life had disappeared along with that scream.

Colwyn turned his horse. "Back, and quickly!" The others rushed after him.

There had been an evening of the most exquisite delights, Ergo recalled, spoiled only by the unexpected early arrival of the young lady's husband. This29 propitiated the most unfortunate defenestration of the reveler, who was saved from a early death only by the fortuitous pa.s.sage at the critical moment of a hay wagon beneath the good lady's window.

His head now reminded him of that night, for it throbbed as strongly as if he'd struck the street instead of the wagon. It seemed that the outraged husband had followed him even this far, for someone was peering into his eyes. Or into his eye, rather, for surely one could not penetrate where two could see? Or were there two eyes, small and bright red and alive with malicious intent? He could not tell. It was very confusing.