Kedrigern in Wanderland Page 5

  “Then you won’t help us!” the blade cried.

  “On the contrary, you will help me . . . Panstygia, is it? Very impressive name. What is your real name?”

  “I’ll never reveal it to you!”

  “You will, sooner or later. We’re going to be together for a long time, Panstygia. I know a bit about these enchantments, and I know that you’re bound to obey and protect the one who wields you.”

  “But I don’t want to be a sword! I insist that you change me back!”

  “Not for a long time, if ever. I suggest that you learn to enjoy being a sword. It will save you no end of frustration.”

  “I hate being a sword!” Panstygia cried in anguish. “All that hacking, and smiting, and hewing, and slashing

  and the noise! And the crowds! It’s no fit work for a princess. I was better off sealed in the tree! Help me, Mergith—! ‘11 reward you generously.”

  “With what?” he asked, and laughed in a cruel, superior way. “After all this time, your kingdom is lost metrievably. It’s gone and forgotten.”

  “You’ll have my undying gratitude and respect!”

  “I’d rather have an enchanted sword.”

  “But you’re a wizard, Mergith—wizards don’t need enchanted swords.”

  Mergith glanced sharply around the room, checking all the dark corners; then, in a lowered voice, he said, “Since I know that I can speak to you in confidence, my faithful blade, I will admit you to my secret: I am not a very good wizard. Oh, I can work an effective little spell now and then, but nothing like what Vorvas accomplished. And every time I do work a bit of magic, I’m exhausted for weeks afterwards. Consequently, my hold on Dendorric has become rather tenuous. Sleight of hand and conjuring tricks can keep the townspeople looking over their shoulders and behaving themselves, but I won’t be able to keep the brigands from the woods at bay much longer. They’re too hungry. But with an enchanted sword . He raised the dark blade high and looked lovingly on the glinting edge. “Great days lie ahead for Mergith the Magnificent, the warrior-wizard-king. And great deeds for his sword Panstygia.”

  “I’ll never help you! I’ll miss every stroke and wiggle around in your grip!” Panstygia said defiantly.

  “I think it would be best if you learned at once who is in charge of this partnership, Panstygia,” said the wizard, striding to the hearth. He plunged the blade into the bright

  embers and stepped back. “Perhaps when you’ve toasted for a while, you’ll feel more agreeable.”

  “You’ll destroy my temper!”

  “Quite the contrary. I expect to improve it.”

  “You’ll ruin me! l-Iamarak, get me out of this fire!”

  “I’m afraid Hamarak is in a long, deep sleep, thanks to my hypnotic powers,” said the wizard with a thin smile of triumph.

  “Hamarak, wake up!” Panstygia cried in desperation.

  Hamarak gave a start, turned, blinked, and looked at the wizard and the sword in obvious bewilderment. “What are you doing in the fire, Panstygia? Do you want to get out?” he asked.

  “Yes! Immediately!”

  Mergith reeled back, astonished. “You’re supposed to be in a deep sleep! I hypnotized you! What’s going on here?”

  Rising and drawing the blade from the fire, Hamarak turned to him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really asleep,” be said slowly. “I never sleep during the day. A man told me it isn’t good for you to sleep during the day.”

  “But you were . . . you looked . . . you did as I said! You sat by the fire and didn’t move,” Mergith said, his voice tight and squeaky.

  “I thought that was what you wanted me to do, so I did it,” Hamarak said, raising the smoking blade and inspecting it with apparent concern. “I never met a king before, and I wanted to be polite and do what the king told me to do.”

  “You were right about one thing, Mergith,” said Panstygia. “You aren’t a very good wizard. You can’t even hypnotize a peasant.”

  “Wait a minute, Hamarak,” said Mergith, backing away and skipping behind the throne. “Don’t do anything hasty.”

  Panstygia’s voice was like an arctic wind. “We will not be hasty, Mergith. We will deal with you slowly and deliberately.”

  “No! Wait! I’ll unspell you—how’s that for an offer?”

  “Too late, Mergith,” Panstygia said solemnly. “You’ve already given me a clear idea of your ability.”

  “But I’ll try! At least let me try!”

  “The way you do things, Mergith, I might wind up as a kettle. No, thank you.”

  “I’ll be careful. Please.”

  After a moment of tense, expectant silence, the blade said, “All right. You can try.”

  “Good! Fine. Now . . . you just hold her steady, Hamarak. Hold her by the guard. Parallel to your body, point down, hilt just above your head. That’s it. Hold it there,” Mergith said rapidly. He poked about in the recesses of his sleeve and took out three stubby black candles and a bit of blue chalk. “Stay still,” he directed. He then proceeded to draw a shaky triangle enclosing Hamarak, and placed a candle at each point. Extracting a small black book from another recess in his clothing, he leafed through the pages with tremulous hands until he came to the desired place. He glanced at Panstygia and Hamarak, licking his lips nervously.

  “I want you to know that this is a very dangerous undertaking. There’s no telling what backup spells Vorvas placed on you. A man like Vorvas hates having his work tampered with,” Mergith said, his voice strained.

  “I’m not afraid,” said the blade stoutly.

  “i’m not afraid, either,” Hamarak added.

  “I’m so afraid I can hardly stand,” Mergith whimpered. “This is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever attempted. Are you sure—”

  “Start the counterspell,” Panstygia commanded.

  The words were harsh and ugly, great thorny blocks of gargling gutturals and tussive gouts of consonants unsuited to human articulation. Mergith struggled through the first invocation. Pale and sweating, he paused for a breath, his eyes wild. Suddenly he jerked his head up, dropping the book. His mouth gaped, and he pointed to the fireplace with a pathetic little squeak of terror.

  Something whooshed past Hamarak’s legs. It moved

  quickly, sinuous as a giant serpent, a swirl of dark, oily colors bearing altogether too many glowing eyes, peculiarly arranged. It enveloped Mergith, who gave one awful scream, and then it whooshed back the way it had come. Mergith’s cry faded up the chimney. The trail of the apparition was a smoking ribbon of molten stone.

  “Well, he knew it was dangerous,” said Panstygia.

  “It was a lot more dangerous than he thought,” Hamarak added softly.

  Four

  a crown, like alice

  THE DOOR of the throne room burst open and a score of guards rushed in, swords drawn and pikes leveled at Hamarak. They saw the smoking stone, caught a whiff of sulphur, and stopped in their tracks.

  “Where is Mergith?” the guard captain demanded.

  Panstygia’s voice rang through the chamber. “Mergith has been vanquished by a greater wizard. He will return no more. On your knees, all of you! All hail Hamarak the Invincible!”

  The guards glanced uncertainly at one another and backed away. The pikeman who had conducted Hamarak to the castle drew them together and began to speak to his comrades in low, urgent tones. They looked at Hamarak, at Panstygia, at the pikeman, back at Hamarak; then one by one they stepped forward to kneel before their new ruler.

  “Proclaim the coming of Hamarak among the people,” Panstygia commanded. “And bring back enough help to get this place cleaned up. It’s in a shocking state.”

  “As our master wishes,” said the guard captain. “Are there further commands?”

  “Would you bring back a couple of loaves of nice fresh bread and some butter?” Hamarak added.

  “At once, my lord Hamarak,” said the captain, bowing and backing from the chamber.

  When they were a
lone, Panstygia said, “A very fortunate thing you didn’t have to fight the guards. I’m sure Mergith made me lose my temper. I’m useless as a sword until I have my temper restored, and I don’t think it will be a pleasant process.”

  Hamarak, his brow furrowed, was silent for a time, and then he said, “If I’m king, you could be my ceremonial sword. I wouldn’t hit anybody with you.”

  “Thank you, Hamarak, but if I must be a sword, I prefer to be the real thing, not a decorative object. I have my pride.”

  “Would you like to be my staff? A king needs a staff.”

  “A staff is all right as a disguise when we’re traveling, but I don’t enjoy being one. I certainly don’t want to spend the rest of my life as a stick.” She paused for a moment, then blurted, “Why did that wretched man have to make me a sword? Why couldn’t I be a crown, like Alice?”

  Hamarak paced the room once, then a second time, and finally took his place on the carven throne, which proved to be a snug fit. At last he said, “I get to wear a crown, don’t I, if I’m king?”

  “You get to wear anything you like if you’re a king. I don’t even have a sheath, but you can have a crown, robes, sashes . . . the full regalia.”

  “Would you like to be my crown?”

  “Your crown? I don’t understand, Hamarak.”

  “It would mean being heated up again, and hit with a hammer a few times, but they might have to do that anyway, to give you back your temper. You could be a crown. Like Alice.”

  “But I’m not gold, Hamarak.”

  “I don’t care. You’ve been a good sword, and a good staff, and you’ll be a good crown, gold or not.”

  “Why, Hamarak, what a sweet thing to say! I’m touched.”

  Embarrassed, Hamarak ducked his head, stared down

  into his lap, and squirmed uncomfortably on the narrow seat. In a subdued voice, he said, “Well, if it hadn’t been for you, I’d still be working for other people. Now I’m a king.”

  “You’re a wizard-warrior-king. You can even be a wizard-warrior-farmer-king, if you like.”

  “I can?” Hamarak looked up, smiling. “It’s nice to be a king.”

  “My father always spoke well of it,” Panstygia said. “I’m not absolutely certain I want to become your crown, though. I’ll need time to think about that. Meanwhile, you’d better summon your guards and servants, and give them orders.”

  “What orders?”

  “Any orders will do. The thing is to let them know at once that you’re decisive and demanding. You are Hamarak the Invincible, and you’re not to be kept waiting. That’s the secnt of successful kingship.”

  At the very moment that Hamarak commenced to impose his regal presence on the castle staff, Kedrigern and Princess were crossing the narrow bridge to Dendorric. They rode mounts acquired on their recent travels, creatures of tractable mien but singular appearance, especially useful for passing through dangerous country. Princess was on a transparent horse; in the proper light, she appeared to be comfortably seated in midair, her stately passage marked by the clopping of unseen hooves. Kedrigern’s horse was jet black, a gigantic red-eyed stallion with massive silver hooves and a redoubtable silver horn spiraling from his broad forehead. This was no mincing unicorn, fit only to recline a milky head on a maiden’s lap and roll its mournful eyes in abject surrender; it was a spiked juggernaut that could rampage through an army, leaving a wake of bloody pulp. Thanks to the spectral appearance of one steed and the awesomeness of the other, the travelers had had, thus far, a peaceful trip.

  As the horses picked their way through the oddments of

  splintered wood and shattered metal that cluttered the bridge at midpoint, Kedrigern and Princess exchanged a puzzled glance. Clearly, a pitched battle had been fought here by a sizeable body of warriors, and not long ago: But by whom? And why? And who had won? There was no smoke rising from Dendorric, no cries of victims or roaring of conquerors; nor had they passed a retreating army on their way through the forest, or encountered wounded stragglers, or seen abandoned campsites. It was decidedly odd.

  Even odder was the fact that the bridge was rtnguarded. Far from showing concern at this dereliction, the citizens of Dendorric were in a holiday mood that even the sight of two bizarre horses could not dampen. They greeted the travelers with waves and smiles and shouts of welcome. Several little girls threw flowers.

  Here and there, knots of small boys flailed away at one another in mock swordplay. When all had gone down before the onslaught of one, the victor would cry, “I am Hamarak, and I wield the great black blade of the west, Panstygia! Bring me my bread!” The others would then spring up and begin to shout, “Now I get to be Hamarak!” or “My turn! My turn!” or “I’m Hamarak this time, and you’re the robbers!” Kedrigern smiled benevolently on their play and turned to Princess.

  “It appears we’ve arrived on the festival of some local hero.”

  “Yes. It’s odd, though. . . the people don’t seem to be the least bit nervous, as you said they’d be.”

  The wizard looked about. “They don’t, do they?” he said thoughtfully. “They’re not even curious about our horses.”

  “Maybe Mergith has done something to make them feel more secure.”

  Kedrigern raised an eyebrow and shook his head slowly, skeptically, but said nothing. This was certainly not the fearful, suspicious city he remembered. He doubted that Mergith had the power to bring about such a change, but

  clearly someone or something had, and his curiosity was aroused.

  At the inn, a trembling hostler took the horses only after Kedrigern tipped him lavishly and smothered him under assurances of their gentle natures. This evidence that courage had not become endemic to the people of Dendorric only heightened the mystery.

  Withindoors, a crowd was gathered around the innkeeper, listening in worshipful silence as he pointed out where Hamarak had sat and held up the plate from which he had eaten buttered bread, a few crumbs of which were still available at a modest price. For a bit more, he offered to point out the very room in which Hamarak had slept only the previous night. There was a respectful murmur from the crowd, but no takers, and the innkeeper’s withdrawl behind the bar, and his call for orders, had the effect of clearing the room of all but himself and the two travelers.

  “Good day, sir and madam. Are you new to Dendorric?” he asked.

  “My wife is,” said Kedrigern. “I was here before, when Linran was king.”

  “Oh, yes, poor Linran. Deposed by his own guards, he was. That’s when Joder became king.”

  “So Joder is now king in Dendorric?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Joder didn’t last at all, bless him. Died in his sleep one night, and Hildebad took over. Then Hildebad fell from the tower and Zill became king, and when Zill had an attack of food poisoning—”

  “Who’s king of Dendorric now?” Kedrigern broke in.

  “Oh, that’s Mergith, sir. ‘Mergith the Wizard-King’ he calls-himself, and a very careful gentleman he is, too, sir. Keeps himself to himself, if you know what I mean. Very seldom leaves the castle.”

  “One can hardly blame him,” said Princess with a disarming smile.

  “Tell me, innkeeper, is Mergith a difficult man to see?” Kedrigern asked.

  “Well, he is and he isn’t, if you know what I mean, sir.

  If it’s you as wants to see him, that can be very difficult indeed. On the other hand, if it’s Mergith as wants to see you, well, then, there’s nothing to it. He just sends a few guards and fetches you up to the castle. And sometimes you come back and sometimes you don’t, if you take my meaning,” said the innkeeper, winking and laying a finger alongside his many-times-broken nose, tapping one hairy nostril meaningfully.

  “I think I do,” said the wizard. “And it would seem to be the wisest course to rest and refresh ourselves and do a

  - bit of thinking. Do you have a room and a bed we will not be obliged to share with strangers?”

  “We do, sir and madam
, and a lovely room it is,” said the innkeeper, hurrying out from behind the bar. He snatched up their packs and started for the stairs, saying over his shoulder, “You’re at the other end of the hall from where Hamarak stayed, so you won’t be disturbed by the people coming up to look at where he slept.”

  “We seem to have missed a significant chapter in Dendorric’s history. Who is Hamarak, and what did he do?”

  The innkeeper stopped on the first step of the stairs, turned, and said, “Why, sir, he’s the savior of Dendonic. This very morning, all by himself, with not a soul to stand at his side, he drove off an army of brigands from across the river. He must have slain threescore men with that great black sword of his, and then he came back here and sat in the very room we’ve just left and called for a loaf of fresh bread. And butter.” The innkeeper shook his head in wonderment. “And now he’s up at the castle. Mergith wanted to see him in a hurry. Poor lad. I don’t think he’ll find Mergith as easy to deal with as a hundred ruffians.”

  From outside came the sound of distant shouting. It grew louder, and more distinct, until they clearly heard a number of enthusiastic voices crying, “Long live Hamarak! All hail Hamarak the Invincible! All hail the king of Dendorric!”

  “That’s that for Mergith,” said the innkeeper with a

  fatalistic shrug. “I hope Hamarak lasts a while. Kings do come and go here in Dendorric.”

  “Bring our things up to the room. We’ll be back as soon as we can,” snapped Kedrigern.

  “To the castle?” Princess asked.

  The wizard nodded. “To the castle.”

  Panstygia was giving instructions while Hamarak listened patiently. “For the first few days, it’s best you see no one. Let the people build up a healthy uncertainty about their new lord and master.”