Authors: John Dahlgren
Sagaria (66 page)
Memo let loose with a jabber of conflicting syllables while Flip noticed, with a sort of sick fascination, that the helmet Sir Tombin wore wasn’t actually joined onto or articulated in any way with the neck of the suit of armor. The edge between the two was jagged, where Xaraxeer had sheared through it.
Gulp
, he thought.
The girl responded to Memo with a similarly incomprehensible stream of sounds. After she’d gone silent, he turned to his friends again.
“She tells me she doesn’t have a home of any kind. She did have once, but she has no idea how long ago that was. One day, the Shadow Knights came and seized both her parents and dragged them off to the slave mines, unless
they simply slaughtered her parents somewhere out of sight – she doesn’t know which. The mines are where the Shadow Master gets all the metal he needs for his armor and his weapons. The Shadow Knights took all of the grown-ups in her village except the ones who were too old, whom they slew where they stood. The children of the village turned and fled – as far as I can make out there were about half a dozen, but there are a few words she uses that are unclear to me. Since then, they’ve been running, hiding from the Shadow Knights and living off the land as best they can, which as you can imagine is not very well. The Shadow Knights have been picking them off one by one, so now this girl – her name’s Cheireanna, she tells me – now she’s the last one left. She’s completely alone in the world, as you can see.”
“
Imsha
,” the girl put in.
“She says thank you to all of us,” Memo translated.
“Well,” said Sir Tombin after a silence, “she’s no longer alone. She has gained some friends once more.” He bowed deeply. “Welcome among our company, Cheireanna.”
“
Imsha
?” she said hesitantly.
Memo said a few quick words to her and her whole body relaxed against Snowmane. A smile crept with increasing confidence across her grimy face.
“Fre-end,” she said. “Cheireanna fre-end.”
“I think you have a little explaining to do, my friend,” said Sir Tombin as they continued along the dreary road. They’d rested for a couple more hours, Flip dozing fitfully and Samzing dozing comprehensively and noisily while the Frogly Knight sat awake, alert for danger, Cheireanna resting against him. Now Flip was sitting on Sir Tombin’s armored shoulder, having decided that he’d had enough of the wizard’s pockets for now.
“What do you mean?” he asked Sir Tombin.
“We’re very grateful that you solved our minor dilemma so, well, spectacularly. I’m particularly thankful to you for having reduced my onerous task, so my spirit is only heavy with the weight of having killed one Shadow Knight, rather than two. But what I’m questioning, my spunkily diminutive comrade, is your method.”
“Ah, yes, I was going to explain that.”
“Then explain away, dear boy.” Sir Tombin gestured magnanimously with an open hand at the bleak roadway ahead of them as if there were countless invisible listeners just waiting to hang on to Flip’s every word.
“Er, yes, well. It’s complicated, you see.”
“Explanations usually are. Especially yours.”
Flip thought longingly of Samzing’s nice stuffy pocket. Getting lint up his nostrils would have been a small price to pay to be spared this moment.
“Um, you remember when we were confronting all those thoughts in the limbo between the worlds?”
“Only too vividly. Pray continue.”
He’s enjoying this
, thought Flip savagely.
That rotten amphibian’s enjoying it
.
“Well, they all started vanishing, one by one, even the sardine, and—”
“The sardine?”
“The one with the, ahem, the—look, the one you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off.”
“Ah, that comely mermaid, you mean?” Sir Tombin smiled wistfully.
“Yes, she was rather a dish, as I recall.”
A fish, more like
, thought Flip, but he decided it was wiser not to say so.
“The only one that was left behind was the Jello Pudding, you see, and I started feeling sorry for him.” Flip swallowed. “I mean, it wasn’t his—er, its—fault that he—er, it—was so hideous. He was born that way, wasn’t he?”
“Conceived that way, anyway.”
“Exactly. No one has control over what they look like when they come into this world—ah, whatever world it is they come into. Looking like him, it was obvious anyone in their right mind would run a mile rather than have a thought like him. He was going to be stuck in the void forever if nobody rescued him. Like I say, I felt sorry for him.”
“So you decided to have that thought?”
“You got it in one, Sir Tombin. I know I shouldn’t have, but, well, I sort of did.”
“You do realize you put yourself in great danger? That thought could easily have been as evil as it looked, Flip.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m the Adventurer Extraordinaire, you see,” said Flip with attempted sangfroid, “and I’m supposed to face down countless nameless dangers with never a fear for my own safety.”
“And in doing so, you imperilled us all? And thereby our mission? And thereby Sagandran and that sweet girl, Perima?”
Flip thought it was stretching plausibility a bit describing Perima as sweet (not to mention stretching one’s luck if she ever heard you saying it), but again he held his peace.
“And,” Sir Tombin took a deep breath before speaking his climactic accusation, “thereby the fate of the three worlds? You did all of this on your own initiative?”
“Um, yes.” Flip wished there were pockets on a suit of armor, so he could tuck himself safely out of sight for a while until things had cooled down. All there was, though, was polished, articulated steel. “That’s more or less the picture, yes.”
Sir Tombin drew another huge breath and the Shadow Knight’s armor clanged and jangled. “Well, Flip, all I can say is that—”
“Yes?”
“—I’m prouder of you than I ever thought possible. That so much courage could fit into someone so small is almost inconceivable. I am humbled to call myself your friend.”
Sir Tombin tramped on a few paces in silence. Flip, who’d privately come to the conclusion that he’d been something of an idiot for taking the thought on board, no matter how fortunately things had turned out, could hardly believe what Sir Tombin had just said.
“What it goes to show,” continued the Frogly Knight, having obviously spent the moments of silence chewing the matter over in his mind, “is that there’s truth in the old adage: a kindly act will always repay you well. You, Flip, acted out of the purest goodness of heart, with a kindness I wish I could find it in myself to emulate, when you took in that poor, isolated, repulsively ugly thought. And you were repaid by it coming to your rescue in your hour of need. This is a pleasing reminder that there is indeed justice in the world.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” said Flip casually. “As I said, I’m the Adventurer Extraordinaire, after all.” He wished he had fingernails to blow on.
“Only,” added Sir Tombin quietly, “don’t become insufferable because I said that or I’ll dunk your head in the nearest cesspit, you understand?”
“Ah, yes, Sir Tombin.”
“Extraordinaire or not, I can’t stand uppity people. Especially when they’re, not to put too fine a point upon it, rodents.”
“I think you’ve got your message through, Sir Tombin.”
“Good.”
seem to be arriving somewhere,” said Sir Tombin. With Flip on his shoulder, he had got a little way ahead of Samzing, who was leading Snowmane. Cheireanna was sitting bolt upright on the back of the horse and looking around intently, as if certain that Shadow Knights might leap up and attack them at any moment. While they waited for the wizard to catch up, Sir Tombin and Flip looked at the collection of buildings that had been revealed as they came over a little hill. Small houses jostled together on either side of narrow, crooked streets. There was no sign of life, except the flicker of candlelight through cramped windows here and there.
Cheireanna’s eyes widened as she saw the little settlement. “Zort Xoqua,” she said in a low voice.
“Eh? What’s that?” said Sir Tombin.
“It’s the name of this place,” explained Memo. “It means ‘The City of Fear.’”
“Hardly a very auspicious name,” commented Flip.
Samzing gave a little mirthless snort. “Hardly a very auspicious place either.”
Still, they pressed on into The City of Fear. All talk among them died as they looked to either side at the blank-visaged buildings. Sir Tombin had drawn Xaraxeer and nobody thought to ask him why. The golden light of the weapon gave needed comfort.
About a hundred yards down a long dark road and, for the first time, they could hear the sound of other human voices. On the far side of the square was a building whose windows were brightly lit, evidently an inn of some sort. A gray marble statue of a huge and monstrous creature stood in the square’s center and beneath its upcurving, dagger-sharp horns, its cold stone eyes seemed to be staring at Flip.
Flip shuddered.
“Who’s that?” he said to Memo, pointing, and the memorizer translated the question to Cheireanna.
“She says it’s Arkanamon,” announced Memo a few seconds later.
“Then he’s changed a lot since I knew him,” said Samzing drily.
Sir Tombin stamped his feet impatiently. “Let’s see if we can get something to eat and drink at the inn. Perhaps a room for the night as well.”
“What are we going to do for money?” asked Flip.
“Our dead friends had the foresight to provide us with some coinage,” said Sir Tombin. He shrugged guiltily, though because of the armor, Flip was probably the only one able to detect the movement. “I felt bad about taking it,” continued the Frogly Knight, “as if I were a grave robber, but on the other hand, they no longer had use for it and we most certainly did—do.”
“The first drink’s on Casspol then,” said Samzing, grinning. It was clear he had no compunction at all about using the dead men’s dosh.
Flip felt the same way. “About time that tightwad Casspol bought a round of drinks,” he agreed.
There were no ostlers outside the tavern but beside it, squeezed between it and the next building, was a shed where a couple of horses sheltered. Samzing led Snowmane there and helped Cheireanna dismount. Flip thought the wizard would never be able to tear the girl away from the stallion, but finally he managed it.
“We’ll bring you something to eat, don’t worry,” Sir Tombin told the horse.
As they walked to the hostelry’s door, Tombin gave the others their instructions in a soft voice. “Remember, I’m a Shadow Knight and you are my prisoners. You’d better all seem cowed and beaten; you’re terrified of me, remember. Hm, Samzing, I’m rather looking forward to the experience of you showing me a little respect, for once. I’m taking you all to the slave mines or perhaps to the court of Arkanamon for punishment. I shouldn’t think anyone here will dare question me for details, unless there’s another Shadow Knight on the premises by chance, in which case I’ll have to think fast. I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it. Memo, dear fellow, make sure the girl understands all this, if you’d be so good.”
Sir Tombin paused at the door. It looked as if it might fall off its hinges at any moment. Numberless generations of termites had made a good living off this door, while the elements had done their damage as well.
“Are we all clear on the plan?”
The others nodded.
“Yep,” Memo piped in assent.
“Ah,” said Sir Tombin, looking at the bespectacled face. “I think it might
be better if you and Flip remained in concealment, in case you attract undue comment from the revelers within. Samzing, old cheese, could you spare your pocket once more for the Mishmashian adventurer?”
Once Flip and Memo had been stowed away out of sight –
it seems to have got even smellier in here
, thought Flip resentfully as he peered through a thin patch of fabric of Samzing’s robe – Sir Tombin finally sheathed Xaraxeer and swung the inn door open.
The scene inside was hardly one of jollification and junketry. Tables and chairs echoed the battered condition of the door, and the few customers scattered around the large room seemed to be in the same sort of shape as the furniture. Every eye swiveled round to stare suspiciously at the newcomers, then, seeing the armor of a Shadow Knight, they turned swiftly away again.
Sir Tombin rapped his steel-clad fist against the wall to attract attention, as if that were necessary.
“Innkeeper,” he demanded imperiously.
A small man shuffled fawningly from behind the tavern’s lopsided bar. His face showed the signs of breaking up a thousand tavern brawls over the years. His nose had been broken at least twice, his cheeks were a contour map of scars, and a black patch covered one eye. He made a movement with his hands as if he were trying to wash them on his grease-stained apron.
“Greetings, master knight,” he said unctuously. “We are graced indeed by your presence among us this evening. What a rare honor to have a Shadow Knight, a servant of the great Arkanamon, whose name be praised, among us. How may I serve you?”
Flip hardly recognized the cruel voice as Sir Tombin’s when the Frogly Knight spoke from behind the mask of the silver helmet.
“Food. Drink. A room for the night. These scum,” he said, gesturing toward Samzing and Cheireanna, “will need to be in my room with me. I daren’t let them out of my sight. Spies, you know. If you have chains for them I’d be grateful.”
Uh oh,
thought Flip.
You’re slipping out of the character of a Shadow Knight, Sir Tombin. Shadow Knights don’t ask. They demand.
But the innkeeper didn’t seem to notice that this armored man was surely far too polite to be a minion of the Shadow Master. Instead, he just responded to the harshness of Sir Tombin’s assumed voice.
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.” He eyed Cheireanna with particular interest. “For the slave mines, are they?”
“My business is none of your concern, my good man but, harrumph, yes they are.”
“Would the excellent master think to sell one of them to me?” said the innkeeper, once again making that washing movement with his hands. “It’s a long distance to the slave mines, and surely it would be easier for the master to take one captive there than two.” He gave a repulsive chuckle. “I was thinking of the girl, fine sir. I have need in my humble hostelry for a slave as a … serving wench. Yes, that’s it. A serving wench.”
Sir Tombin fiddled with the hilt of the sword at his belt in a way that made a couple of the inn’s customers dive for shelter behind the furniture.
“I told you, oaf, I am taking these vermin to the mines. Do you challenge my intention?”
The innkeeper’s scrawny adam’s apple bobbled nervously.
“Of course not, your knightship. Just making conversation, like. Just thought you might wish to rid yourself of a part of your burden, and gain a few fine copper coins in the bargain.”
“Silence, before I cut your gizzard into a, harrumph, deck of playing cards. Rather soggy playing cards. Fetch me food and drink, at once.”
“Right you are, sir.”
“And some leavings for these creatures as well.” Sir Tombin half-turned to gaze at his prisoners. Cheireanna did a good job of cringing, but to Samzing it obviously went against the grain. “I’d not wish for them to die of starvation before I claim my recompense for their delivery.”
“No, not at all, sir. How vile do you wish the leavings to be?”
“As vile as you can make ’em, man. Do you have to be told?”
The innkeeper bowed obsequiously. “Certainly, good Shadow Knight. Here at the Sign of the Cross-Eyed Ferret we’re proud of our leavings, sir. Not one of them hasn’t been refused twice by the domesticated animals, sir, ’cepting those the animals accepted the first time through, if you take my meaning.”
“Enough of your idle chatter! Fetch me the food.”
As the innkeeper scuttled away, Sir Tombin sat down at one of the tables. The chair groaned uncertainly beneath his armored weight. With the air of a man granting an enormous favour, he gestured to Samzing and Cheireanna that they should seat themselves as well.
“I say, old fellow,” murmured Samzing once it was obvious no one was listening to them, “no need to take this master and slave business too far, is there? I could do with a square meal, and I’m sure my young friend here could as well.”
“Verisimilitude,” responded Sir Tombin in the same low tone. “Keep acting the part, for the sake of goodness. I wouldn’t want to have to start smacking you around because of your dratted impertinence.”
“For the sake of this verisimilitude of yours, you mean?”
“Yes. Now shut up. You could think about cleaning off the table for me. That’s a suitable thing for a slave to be doing, I think. It looks as if the last person here tried a dish of the establishment’s leavings and really, really regretted it.”
Smells it as well
, thought Flip as Samzing moved to obey.
“
Dang simo ymra
,” whispered Cheireanna under cover of the activity.
“She says,” piped Memo, “that she thinks the innkeeper looks evil, devious.”
“Stating the obvious, if you ask me.” Samzing, still huffy about being ordered to perform the menial task, made a point of sweeping some of the glop from the table onto Sir Tombin’s lap, then sniffed when he remembered his friend was covered in armor.
Flip, secure in Samzing’s pocket, was brought close to Sir Tombin’s ear by the swing of the wizard’s robe. “Should we ask if anyone here has seen Perima or Sagandran?” he said.
Sir Tombin gazed around at the rest of the tavern’s clientele. Several of them had slipped quietly out into the darkness since the arrival of the newcomers, obviously not fancying the prospect of sharing space with a Shadow Knight. Depressingly, the two or three men remaining looked even less appetizing than the innkeeper.
“No,” he said shortly.
The host returned to their table bearing a tray with a mug and a plateful of green-tinged bread and worm-eaten cheese.
“Fine leavings indeed,” declared Sir Tombin with every evidence of satisfaction.
“Aha, good master, you jest. Very witty, if I might say so. Very witty indeed. The leavings is on their way, be here as soon as we catch the cow. This is the widely acclaimed Special of the Day, what brings the kitchens here at the Sign of the Cross-Eyed Ferret much praise and repute.”
“It is?”
“Yes, indeed, fine sir,” said the innkeeper proudly. “Only the best for an officer of the Shadow Master. And might I draw the good knight’s attention to the beer in this here mug, which is not only an enchanting little vintage but has been proven efficacious against scorpions, should you find one in your bedding tonight.”
There was a curious hollow sound, like someone hitting a bell with a sponge. Flip realized that Sir Tombin had just gulped inside his armor.
“I have decided I am in a beneficent mood for once,” Sir Tombin said. “These curs may share my repast with me. I am not so hungry as I was. Bring some extra mugfuls of this ale of yours.”
He produced a coin from somewhere and tossed it to the innkeeper, who caught it adroitly, bit it, examined it, and then oiled himself away backward, clucking the occasional grovel in Sir Tombin’s direction. Although Flip was sure the others were as hungry as he was, no one made an immediate move for the food. Samzing tried the beer cautiously, took a sip, made a face, shrugged, and took a longer gulp.