The wizards and the warriors

'The Melski,' said Phyphor. 'You seemed to know them well. Ask them if they know where Heenmor went.'

But Blackwood was eager to get back to his wife. 'Mister,' he said, 'It's no good talking to the Melski.

They're animals. They can't be trusted. A certain pox doctor told me so.'

'The prince has made peace with these people,' warned Hearst, who did not want to see Blackwood get into trouble. 'Do what they want.'

'Mister,' said Blackwood, 'your orders command me.'

And he obeyed.

One of the Galish demurred when Blackwood tried to board a raft, but a Melski he knew, seeing his predicament, summoned him.

'You see,' said Blackwood. 'He slaps his thigh. He calls me.'

'Go to him then – but keep out of the way.' 'Thank you,' said Blackwood, and went to the Melski.

The Melski, a male, was named Hor-hor-hurulg-murg for short, and more pretentious things for long. He was leaning against a sweep-oar; he had been out of the water for a long time, and the webs between his green fingers were dry and wrinkled.

'Greetings,' said Blackwood in the Melski tongue, a language which lent itself to sonorous formality. 'Greetings in the hour of the sun, greetings from the land to the water.'

'Greetings, Bla-wod,' said his friend. 'Greetings from the water to the land. May our days lie downstream together.'

'One may hope the cycle permits it,' said Blackwood.

'Indeed, one may hope. One may always hope. We hoped for you, Bla-wod, though the river said your house was ash, your bones the same.'

'The house, yes,' said Blackwood. 'The bones, as you see, still need picking.'

Then they began to talk in earnest. Hor-hor-hurulg-murg told how the Galish, finding out about the Collosnon raids, were cutting short their stay in Estar. Their convoy would leave before nightfall, Melski muscle labouring it upstream against the Hollern River to Lake Armansis, deep in the Penvash Peninsular; from there, the Galish would cross a mountain pass to the coast then make the short sea journey west to the Ravlish Lands.

Asked about the wizard Heenmor, Hor-hor-hurulg-murg said he knew nothing.

'Me and mine have wintered in the far of the river, north by north from Lake Armansis. Our southing has given us some of the news, but not all. I will ask the river for you; when we meet again, I will have the answer.'

'Thank you,' said Blackwood.

And returned to the bridge, where the wizards and the warriors were waiting for his return.

'You took your time!' said Garash. 'Why so slow?'

'Mister,' said Blackwood, 'The Melski think before they speak. Try it some time – you'll find it slows the speech remarkably.'

'What did they say?' asked Phyphor, as Garash sought for a suitable retort.

'They don't know. That's all. But they'll ask.'

'Ask what?' said Garash. 'The sky? The trees? The river? Or your precious talking stones?'

'They'll ask their kin,' said Blackwood. 'Then answer us.'

'Till then,' said Hearst, 'we can organise patrols to search north, south, east and west. North in case he's in the forest far from the river and the Melski. South in case he's doubled back on you. That's what I'd do -hide where you'd searched already. West, the river meets the sea. He may have taken a boat from Iglis. East, in case he's fled to Trest. I'll talk to the prince about putting out the patrols.'

'This doesn't mean we're making a common cause with you,' said Alish. 'Just that we all want Heenmor dead.'

Alish disliked Hearst's enthusiasm for working with 118 the wizards, but Alish did want Heenmor's head – and the death-stone. One thing was for certain: wherever Heenmor went, he would have been noted. Twice the height of any other man, he had no hope of hiding himself in a crowd. That made their task easier.

Unknown to Alish, their task was shortly to be complicated by war. Enemy troops were already within the borders, and were closing swiftly on Lorford.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Collosnon Empire: realm of the Yarglat horsetribes and their subject peoples.

Capitaclass="underline" Gendormargensis, ruling city of Tameran.

Ruler: the Lord Emperor Khmar. a warrior ferae naturae.

Religion: no state religion, though the horse cult of Noth is powerful amongst the Yarglat.

Language: Eparget (the ruling Yarglat dialect); Ordhar (the command language of the armies); sundry minor tongues.

History: like most imperial histories, a tale of blood and ashes; the dominant theme is conquest.

By nightfall, the day which had begun so brightly had turned to heavy pounding rain that fell without relief. Through this rain, the first refugees began to arrive from the countryside, bearing confused tales of attack by night, pursuit, swords and slaughter, armies on the march. At dawn, people began to evacuate Lorford, seeking safety in Castle Vaunting; the central court soon filled with the clamour of homeless citizens, their animals and their bewildered children.

Shortly before noon, Collosnon cavalry attacked Lorford, claiming many victims: people who had delayed leaving, being sceptical of the reports of invasion. Prince Comedo ordered the drawbridge pulled up. Some half-hearted smoke ascended from parts of Lorford; the town had been too badly dragon damaged for the enemy to have much success in burning it.

While the cavalry were still completing their kill, infantry marched in from the east, from Trest, so now everyone knew Trest had been conquered by Khmar, the Red Emperor, ruler of the greater part of Tameran. Red he was called, because that was the colour the rivers ran in the lands his armies marched through.

Alish watched from the battlements, feeling a strange sense of exultation at the sight of enemy soldiers swarming over the land. He estimated five thousand stood against them, as opposed to a few hundred able-bodied men within the castle.

'Beautiful,' he murmured, as he watched.

The old excitement possessed him. What better sight than the coherent power of thousands of men unified by a single will? He remembered his days of greatness. Elkor Alish, Our Lord Despair, had been a famous commander in the Cold West. But those days were behind him. His conscience – rare flower among Rovac warriors, that conscience – could not sanction any more killing of the innocent.

But even so, watching the men out there, he yearned for an excuse to campaign. To satisfy his conscience, it must be a pure campaign against an enemy of unmitigated evil. Alish knew of a war which would fulfil those needs: a war against the wizards, the ancient enemy which had once committed a monstrous crime which only wizards and Rovac warriors knew of.

Given possession and control of Heenmor's death-stone, Alish could become a world conqueror. Armies would follow him. They would march south in glory to sack the wizard strongholds, fighting a war where every action would bejustified by their cause. Alish knew this to be his duty: for he was a member of the Code of Night, Rovac's elite secret instrument of vengeance.

Castle Vaunting could not be saved; it would have to be abandoned to the enemy. The Heenmor hunt came first.

When Prince Comedo found Alish on the battlements, and asked what they should do next, Alish answered promptly: 'I suggest we hear their terms,' said Alish.

'Agreed,' said Comedo, promptly; he was terrified of the thought of fighting.

Til go,' said Alish, a skilled negotiator.

'No,' said Comedo. 'You're captain of my bodyguard. You stay. We'll send… Andranovory.'

Alish almost groaned, but restrained himself. Fortunately, Andranovory was drunk, as usual; as he was completely legless, he had to be excluded from the diplomatic corps. Unfortunately, Comedo then insisted on sending Hearst.

'Don't,' said Alish to Hearst, 'give them any bullshit and bluster. Take what we're offered. Remember, half a cup's better than nothing. And while you're about it, see if they've got my resting woman – you know the one. She seems to be lost.'