Sagaria (36 page)

The memories came rushing back now. A coarsely woven, broad-meshed net had suddenly risen up out of nowhere and seized everyone except Snowmane, hoisting them aloft with terrifying speed. In the chaos of shouts and flying limbs, Flip had grabbed at the rope of the mesh, thinking that his best chance was to hold on for dear life. But his grip had slipped and he’d gone tumbling through the air, spinning as he fell, so that the world was an insane kaleidoscope. The last thing he could remember was landing with a
whoompf
and cracking his head on the ground.

He sat up and felt the lump. It was a big one. Lumps being lumps, it was likely to get a lot bigger before it was done. Even now, he felt as if he had two heads, one on top of the other.

The sun was starting to set. In the distance, he heard the weird call of an owl. This was not a safe time for someone like him to be sitting defenseless out in the open. A tree creaked nearby and he twitched instinctively away from the sound, as if the branches might attack him. Where had the others gone? He was entirely on his own. He peered up in the gathering twilight and saw dangling ends of rope where the net had been. Even Snowmane had disappeared, and the carriage.

“Are you all right?” said a voice.

A gray apparition had suddenly appeared in the dusk by the edge of the clearing. It was about the same size as Flip.
It was his ghost!

He was back on the trail and about twenty or thirty yards down it by the time he realized that what he’d seen was a youthful squirrel, and a friendly one at that, but by then it seemed a lot easier to let his legs keep on running rather than try to stop them.

“Help!” he wailed to the darkening trees as he ran.

There was no reply, just the rustling of leaves and the sinister sounds of unimaginable predators moving surreptitiously through the undergrowth.

Then, abruptly, there wasn’t any trail underneath his feet.

I really must stop landing with a
whoompf
like that,
he told himself, sitting up. Above him, a jagged blue-gray circle was the hole in the road he’d fallen through; almost exactly in its center, twinkling falteringly, was the first star of
night. A muted glow was lighting up the earthy chamber he’d dropped into, as if there were a bank of candles somewhere just out of sight. The walls of the chamber were worn smooth, and here and there he could see silvery hairs sticking to them.

Something softly touched his shoulder from behind.

That’s it, I’m dead,
he thought morosely.
Let’s just hope it doesn’t hurt too much.

He turned his head and found himself looking into a soft brown eye.

A badger. I’m going to be eaten by a badger. Oh, wait a minute. Badgers don’t eat other animals, do they? But they’re likely to kill them anyway to protect their setts. Oh, Jinnia, that all my adventurings should come to this.

“What kind of a rat are you?” said the badger amiably. Its voice was surprisingly high for a beast so much bigger than Flip.

“I’m not a—” he began, then stopped. He was a trespasser here. The badger seemed inclined to be friendly. The last thing Flip needed to do was start an argument.

“I’m so sorry to have intruded like this,” he said politely.

“Quite understandable, quite understandable,” responded the badger calmly. “Happens all the time. When I dug out my sett many years ago, this area was wild, untamed forest. Then the worgs came and built a road, and they didn’t notice that my sett was right in the middle of it.” The badger flapped one ear, then the other. “One of these days I must get round to moving the entrance, but until then …” He shrugged. “It’s interesting meeting new people this way, even if they do have unsightly lumps on their heads. We badgers don’t normally have much of a social life, and so—”

Flip couldn’t control his impatience any longer.

“I’d love to stay and chat with you, but I really need to get out of here. I’ve lost my friends, you see, and I have to find them.”

The badger raised an eyebrow. “If you need to be going so soon, I won’t stop you. But are you sure there aren’t any worgs still out there?”

“Wo–worgs?”

“Yes, worgs. There were dozens of them going by just a little while ago. I popped my nose out of my sett to watch them. The most exciting thing that’s happened all week, until you, ah, dropped in just now.”

“I didn’t see any worgs.”
Then again,
thought Flip,
I was dashing so fast that I wouldn’t have even seen Jinnia if she’d been standing there. I could have easily shot straight past a worg and not realized it.

“A strange-looking bunch they were too,” said the badger, “even for worgs. They were carrying a number of knocked-about humans, which wasn’t so odd,
but they had the most gigantic frog you’ve ever seen with them as well, and they were – I know you’re going to say my eyes were deceiving me, because a badger’s eyesight is not the best, you know – they were leading a horse and carriage.”

“That’s them,” cried Flip. “They’re my friends you saw.” He began wringing his hands. “They’ve been seized by worgs. Oh, my. Oh dearie me. I suppose that by now they’ll all have been …”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

“I should think they might still be alive,” said the badger in a considered tone, rubbing his chin with a paw. “The worgs were heading toward their ceremonial feasting ground. If they’d wanted to eat your friends right away they’d have done so on the spot. But when worgs decide they want to make a ceremony out of a feast, they take their time over it. It can be hours before they get round to even the appetizers.”

Flip stared at him.

“You mean there’s still a chance of saving them?”

“Oh, yes.”

The badger sat back on his haunches as if that were a satisfactory end to the conversation.

“Can you take me there?”

The badger blinked. “Whyever would you want to go there? An exceedingly” – he drew out the word – “dangerous place to go, if you ask me. You’d be much better off staying here.”

“Because they’re my friends! That’s why I need to go. I have to do everything in my power to save them.”

“You ever picked a fight with a worg?” said the badger idly.

“Not in so many words, no.”

“Ah.”

“But I helped two of my friends escape from a worg.”

The badger raised an eyebrow. “That’s more than most people can say,” he conceded. “When a worg catches you, the only way you can usually escape is down its throat.”

“Will you take me to this feasting ground of theirs, or do I have to try to find it by myself? You might at least give me some directions.”

The second eyebrow rose to join the first. “No need to get petulant, ratboy. I’m thinking.”

“The longer you think, the more likely my friends are to be—”

“Eaten? Hm, yes. You do have a point. Still, worgs generally finish one victim before they start on the next. You’re likely to just lose one or two of your friends
while I take this matter under serious consideration. Perhaps it might be best if I slept on it.”

Flip didn’t know if he was going to attack the badger or just explode where he stood. He clenched his diminutive fists. He could feel the hackles on the back of his neck rising.

“You didn’t see any worgs on your way here?” said the badger.

“No.”

“Then I suppose it’d be safe for me to go with you.” The badger nodded. “It’s about time for my evening amble, and I might as well go in that direction as any other. Now, where are my scarf and gloves? Wouldn’t like to catch a chill, you know. These evenings can be terribly deceptive, if you see what I mean. They look warm enough, but once you’re actually out in them you find that …”

Flip somehow got him out of the sett and onto the road. The badger, after making a lot of fuss about being sure the smaller creature had properly cleaned his feet, allowed Flip to ride on his shoulders. Hanging on tightly to the badger’s ruff and breathing his strong but not unpleasant smell, Flip began to feel hope rising in his heart once more as his mount trotted along the beaten-down trail, pausing from time to time to examine some roadside discovery that the badger found fascinating.

Then, after dark had fully fallen, Flip saw the trees ahead of them lit up with the angry red glow of flames. The sound of drumbeats seemed to batter the sky.

“That’s the feasting ground,” said the badger, pointing, “and I should think it must be very close to suppertime.” 

CHAPTER 4

W
ORG
F
IRE
B
REW

agandran looked out through the bars of the cage. The night was full of the sounds of carousal, as worgs of all sizes, shapes and colors cavorted around huge bonfires. Gallons of strong liquor were being poured down capacious throats. Primitive bellows were puffing embers into a brilliant yellow-red heat. Roars of frayed, drunken laughter met every oafish sally. Spits were being oiled and admired.

“They’re preparing far more spits than there are of us,” observed Perima from somewhere behind him.

“Worgs can’t count,” explained Sir Tombin simply. Curiously, he still had Xaraxeer. The worgs hadn’t taken the sword from him. Either they’d been scared to lay a hand on it or they simply hadn’t recognized it, scabbarded, for what it was. Not that a sword was going to do them much good in here. Still, when the worgs came to fetch them for the ritual roasting, followed by the ritual devouring, at least there would be the satisfaction of watching Sir Tombin take a few worgs with him.

Some satisfaction. It wouldn’t make the companions any less dead.

The worg guarding the cage was obviously restless to join in all the fun. He was shifting his weight steadily from one foot to the other and back again; every now and then he got the sequence wrong and staggered.

Affecting a courtesy he didn’t feel, Sagandran managed to elicit from the guard that his name was Snot. Not the sort of name an adoring human mother might have chosen, perhaps, but worgs weren’t human and the guard bore his name with a certain unconcealed pride.

“This dance your friends are doing,” said Sagandran politely. “Is it perhaps some traditional symbolic ritual?”

Snot gave him a disgusted look. “You value your good looks?”

“Er, yes.”

“Den shaddap.”

“Oh.”

So much for conversation.

As Snot turned away, a leather flask dropped from his belt. Quick as a flash, Sagandran instinctively reached through the bars and snatched it up off the ground, hiding it behind his back. It might be a useful bargaining point later, though he couldn’t for the life of him imagine how.

The cage stood on a small hill. A huge worg was climbing up toward them from the fringes of the celebrating mob. It was difficult to tell worgs apart, but he’d know this one’s ugly face anywhere. It was Bolster, the worg he’d encountered not long after he’d met Flip. Wherever Flip now was. The last he’d seen of his little friend had been when he’d looked down from the swinging net. Had some worg picked him up and scoffed him as a snack? Or had Flip just been trampled carelessly underfoot as first Bolster, and then a crowd of other worgs had flooded into the clearing, shouting and cheering over their unexpected capture?

Bolster came right up close to the cage, pressing his broad face against the bars, breathing heavily in gloating triumph. Sagandran recoiled from the sight of the big, broken, rot-blackened teeth of Bolster’s leer; and recoiled yet further from the stench of the giant worg’s breath. Bolster threw his head back and gave a laugh that split the night.

Perima stared at Samzing as if speaking to him. “He’s come to drool over us again,” she said loudly, so that her words cut straight through Bolster’s exultation. “Like, pukesville.”

The worg’s laughter stopped as abruptly as if someone had just cut his throat. “You’re gonna be de first on de spit,” he promised her with a glower. “And I gonna slide you onto it real slow.”

“Coward,” said Sagandran.

“Who you callin’ coward?”

“You. You’re okay taunting a defenseless girl, as long as there are stout iron bars between you and her. Wow. Big tough Bolster. What a chickenheart.”

Bolster tugged angrily on the bars of the cage, and for a moment it looked as if he’d simply rip them clear away. It took all of Sagandran’s nerve just to stay standing there staring defiantly at the vast worg’s furiously contorting face.

“Yeah, chickenheart,” chipped in Perima. “A mere slip of a girl like me, a delicate flower. If you were in here beside me, I’d slap your face, and serve you right!”

Sagandran glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Perima had cottoned on immediately to his idea that he might be able to madden Bolster into throwing open the cage and charging at them. Their chances of surviving would
still be lousy, but at least there would be the hope that some or even all of them might be able to escape. However, he was worried that she might be laying it on a bit too thick with her “mere slip of a girl” act. Then he relaxed. It probably wasn’t possible to lay things on too thick for Bolster.

The boss worg gave a long, growling roar of rage.

“A pity I can’t kill you too, boy.”

Sagandran started. “What do you mean?”

“Da guy called da Shadow Master wants you alive, more fool him.”

“The Shadow Master?” Sagandran’s thoughts raced.

“Yeah. Gotta long name sound like a chain being dragged against a rock.”

Arkanamon!

“He sent his emission ta give me prominences of lotsa gold for you.”

Sagandran translated wildly in his head.
Emissary. Promises.
One of Arkanamon’s spies must have been here. He’d tracked down the worg boss and offered him a reward if he captured Sagandran. By the stupidest of luck Sagandran had forthwith fallen right into Bolster’s pudgy hands. A rotten coincidence. Well, maybe not such a coincidence after all. Chances were that Arkanamon’s spies had made thousands of such approaches to villains all over the land, so Sagandran was bound to be caught by one of them sooner or later. But it might at least have been a more tractable, less bloodthirsty villain than Bolster. On the other hand, it could hardly have been a more dimwitted villain. In that lay their hopes.

“Do you really believe Arkanamon will keep his half of the bargain?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Do you honestly think he’ll pay you the gold for me when he could just kill you instead?”

Bolster puzzled over this. Sagandran would have sworn that you could actually hear the worg’s brain ticking over if you listened hard enough, despite the racket the other worgs were kicking up as they grew progressively drunker.

“His emission
said
da Shadow Master would give me riches beyond da wildest dreams of amaryllis,” said Bolster after a while.

Avarice,
thought Sagandran. This was like a word game.

“And I got no reason not to believe him.” The worg’s voice was still slow and thoughtful.

“Except that he’s the spirit of pure evil,” said Sagandran conversationally.

“Yeah, dat’s him all right. I like dat bit.”

“Which means it’s a matter of principle to him to betray everybody around him, friend and foe alike. Oh, did I say ‘friend’? He doesn’t have friends. Just people he uses. Like he’s using you.”

“So?”

“So, as soon as you deliver me to him, he won’t have any further use for you. Why should he bother giving you the gold?”

Bolster rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. It was clear he was finding this unnatural thinking business a heck of a strain.

“Because if he doesn’t, I’ll … I’ll … I’ll.”

He stopped. What could a worg do, even the biggest and smelliest and most powerful worg of them all, if a tyrant capable of conquering whole worlds decided to renege on a deal? Not a lot, as Bolster was just beginning to realize for the first time.

“But dat’s not da point,” he exploded at last. “Da point is, you’s in my clutches and I’s not letting you go a second time. It don’t matter if I eat you or if I give you to da Shadow Master, youse number is up.”

Better for Sagaria if I’m eaten alive than that Arkanamon should get his hands on the Rainbow Crystal,
thought Sagandran sadly.
At least we’ve made some progress.

His hopes were dashed.

“But I gonna give you to da Shadow Master anyway, gold or no gold.”

“Why’s that?” said Sagandran, trying to sound as if the subject was of only casual interest to him.

“Because you ain’t seen the emission he sent to me, is why.”

Oh yes I have. Or one of his kind, anyway.

“Bolster not know da meaning of da word fear,” thundered the worg, shaking a massive fist. “But if Bolster did know its meaning, Bolster’d a been scared stone dead by dat guy. Bolster not going to cross da Shadow Master even if his emission’s dat scary. You be goin’ to join da Shadow Master just as soon’s Bolster can figger out a way of gettin’ you there.”

The worg boss turned and stamped off back down the hill. The guard, Snot, made a clumsy bow at the boss’ retreating back.

“Well!” said Perima. The single word was all that needed to be said.

“I used to know a magical spell for getting out of cages,” remarked Samzing wistfully. “It was ever so good, you know, but I’ve forgotten it.”

Sir Tombin looked at him in mild reproof; Sagandran doubted that the Frogly Knight was capable of anything sterner. “Thank you for telling us that, old fruit, but I’m not sure it’s frightfully helpful right now, don’t you know?”

“I just thought that you might be interested.”

Perima sighed. “If only Flip were here, we could maybe slip him through the bars of the cage.”

Sagandran glanced in her direction. “What point would there be in that?”

“I’m not sure, really. But I’m sure he’d be able to think of something. You could give him the crystal so that he could run away and hide it somewhere. Then, however badly Arkanamon tortured you, you really wouldn’t know where it was, so you’d not be able to tell him. Oh, I do hope Flip’s all right.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. For someone who was so completely blasé about the prospect of Sagandran being tortured to death, it seemed odd that she agonized so much about Flip’s fate. Sagandran was worried sick about Flip, but whatever happened to the little fellow had already happened; a much more urgent concern was what was going to happen to the people in this cage.

“What I do have,” continued Samzing in the same dreamy tone, oblivious to the rest of them, “is a sachet of Old Witch Fitzeltwig’s Wonderful Sleeping Potion Accept No Substitute.”

“What?” said Sir Tombin.

“Wonderful stuff,” Samzing assured him. “I use it to get myself to sleep on nights when I’m snoring so loudly I keep myself awake.”

Sagandran decided not to try to sort out the logic of that one. “What does it matter if you’ve got some of Old Witch Fitzeltwig’s Potion?”

“Old Witch Fitzeltwig’s Wonderful Sleeping Potion Accept No Substitute.”

“That stuff. I suppose it might be better if you three could just sleep through it all while you were being spitted and roasted alive, but—”

“I couldn’t help but notice, young man, that you scooped up the flask that our rather disagreeably named guard dropped a few minutes ago.”

“And?”

“And don’t you think you ought to give it back to him?” A cunning grin crept into the ancient wrinkles of Samzing’s face.

Sagandran got it. “After we’ve thoroughly laced it with Old Witch Fitzeltwig’s Wonderful Sleeping Potion Accept No Substitute,” he said.

“Exactly, my boy.” Samzing beamed. “We’ll have you doing long division next.”

“
Psssst,
” said a small voice.

“Flip!” exclaimed Sir Tombin. “Why do you have such an enormous lump on your head?”

“Not so loud,” piped Flip. Turning sideways, he was able to slip in between the bars at the back of the cage easily enough.

“Where have you been?” said Perima crossly, her worry turning instantly to anger.

“Sh.”

“Where have you been?” she whispered, if anything, louder than before.

Flip’s tale came tumbling out.

“And so,” said Samzing complacently after the Adventurer Extraordinaire had finished, “you have the other half of my plan.”

This time, Sagandran didn’t need any further explanation. He and Samzing huddled in a corner of the cage while the old wizard carefully tipped the contents of a folded paper sachet into the neck of the leather flask.

“This stuff smells vile,” whispered Sagandran.

“Oh? I’ve always thought it had rather a pleasant scent,” said the wizard.