The Wordsmiths and the Warguild (25 page)

       
"That's not very
polite, you know," said the dragon, mildly. "Come outside. Let's have
a look at you."

       
The cave was large
enough to admit the dragon, so Togura saw no percentage in disobeying.
Reluctantly, expecting at any moment to be incinerated, he quit the cave. As no
immediate disaster befell him, he was able to take stock of the dragon.
Entirely green except for its eyes - which were red, with yellow pupils - it
stood about as tall as a pony but was three times the length. It had short,
stubby wings which were folded against the side of its body.

       
"You look
cold," said the dragon. "You need a fire. I'll give you one. I'm an
excellent pyrotechnist."

       
"A what?" said
Togura.

       
"Watch," said
the dragon.

       
It clawed together some
driftwood then breathed out flames which were delicate shades of blue, yellow
and green. The wood scorched, charred and flamed. Togura squatted down by the
fire.

       
"Thank you,"
he said belatedly, remembering his manners.

       
"It was
nothing," said the dragon, in a voice which managed to hint that it was
really quite something. "We sea dragons are very talented, you know."

       
"I'm sure you
are," said Togura, hoping that he was engaging in a real conversation and
not just being subjected to a before-dinner speech.

       
"Sea dragons are
characterised by versatile genius," said the dragon, encouraged. "Not
like those ignorant hulking land monsters we are so often confounded with. We
are not primitive brutes like the land dragons. No! A thousand times no! Sea
dragons are the true lords of the intellect, noted for their wit, intelligence,
grace, charm, sagacity and fashion sense, for their matchless command of all
the philosophies, for their eloquence, good humour and comradeship, for their
surpassing physical beauty, their wise counsel, their profound logic and their
highly developed artistic sensitivity."

       
"And for their
modesty?" said Togura - and instantly wished he had bitten off his tongue.

       
"That too,"
acknowledged the sea dragon, failing to realise that his comment was somewhat
barbed. "Considering the true extent of our genius, considering the power
of our swift-speeding inquiring minds armoured by their world-famous panoply of
knowledge, we're remarkably modest, believe you me."

       
"I do, I do,"
said Togura, earnestly.

       
"Now warm yourself
by the fire, young human," said the sea dragon, "while I go off to
get instructions. Don't worry! I won't be long!"

       
It waddled down the
beach, its tail dragging across the shingle, then spread its wings - which were
water wings, not capable of flight - and plunged into the water. Swimming
swiftly and gracefully through the lumbering seas, it rounded a headland and
was lost from sight.

       
It had gone to report to
its master - the wizard of Drum!

       
Togura knew what he had
to do. He did it. He made himself scarce, and, for the next five days, used all
his native cunning - plus a lot which had been grafted on in recent months - to
avoid and evade his pursuers. But, in the end, he was cornered by a number of
dragons - all very pleased with themselves, and saying so at great length -
and, after a lot of spurious speechifying, the dragons led him off to the grim,
castellated stronghold of the wizard of Drum.

Chapter 21

       
As Togura Poulaan was
marched into the shadows of the castle of the wizard of Drum, the iron-clad
gates creaked open. Yawning darkness hid the nameless horrors beyond.

       
"Come on,"
said the leading dragon, as Togura hesitated.

       
The command ended with a
short bark, followed by a hiss of smoke, steam and pulsating flame.
Reluctantly, Togura shuffled forward. He was sure his death awaited him.

       
Darkness gave way to the
daylight of a big, bare, high-walled courtyard.

       
"Stand here,"
said the leading dragon.

       
Togura obeyed. The
dragons formed a circle, with Togura in the middle. They looked eager.
Expectant. Something was about to happen. Togura closed his eyes. One of the
dragons started to sharpen its claws against the courtyard stones with a slick,
evil, sizzling sound which reminded him unpleasantly of a butcher's shop. The
leading dragon cleared its throat.

       
"This," it
said, "is the dragon hof. Here we gather each evening to eat, drink and
recite poetry."

       
There was a pause.
Togura opened his eyes. All the dragons were watching him, as if they expected
something from him.

       
"That sounds very
nice," said Togura cautiously. "Very civilised. Dragons do seem to be
very civilised." This was going down well, so he elaborated. "I only
wish I had time to know you better. Time to appreciate your full conquest of
the higher intellectual dimensions."

       
"Time to hear some
of my poetry, perhaps?" said the leading dragon, eagerly.

       
"That too,"
said Togura.

       
"Then we shall
oblige."

       
And, to Togura's dismay
and astonishment, the leading dragon began to recite its poetry. At great
length. It was windy, ostentatious and stunningly boring. Nevertheless, he
applauded politely.

       
The other dragons,
jealous of the applause, demanded to be given their own chances to recite. Togura,
faint with hunger, listened to their angry, arrogant, hogen-mogen voices
disputing precedence. Each wanted to be first to recite. They barked, snapped,
spat smoke, and suddenly fell to fighting. Togura, ringed round with fighting
dragons, screamed at them:

       
"Stop! Stop!
Stop!"

       
It did no good
whatsoever.

       
Then a voice roared:

       
"Begenoth!"

       
The quarrelling dragons
instantly quailed down to silence.

       
"Shavaunt!"
shouted the voice.

       
And the dragons turned
and fled.

       
"Now then,"
said the dragon commander, entering the courtyard. "What started all that
off?"

       
The dragon commander was
an old, old man with a dirty grey eard, who walked with the aid of a shepherd's
crook. Despite his age, his eyes were bright, his voice was firm, and he looked
fit and healthy.

       
"Well, boy?"
asked the dragon commander.

       
"I ... I asked if I
could hear some of their poetry."

       
"You what!?"

       
"Only some poetry,
that's all. I just said I wished I had time to hear some."

       
"No, boy, no, a
thousand times no, that is one thing you must never ever do when you're face to
face with a sea dragon. You must never ever - not on any account - encourage
their artistic pretensions. Art, you see, is purely their excuse for being the
most lazy, idle, shiftless, foolish, irresponsible, degenerate pack of
gluttonous sex-obsessed drunkards this side of the east ditch of Galsh
Ebrek."

       
"I'm orry, sir, I
didn't know."

       
"This time you're
excused," said the dragon commander. "Come this way, boy."

       
And he led Togura along
halls and passageways, up and down staircases, through doors, gates and gloomy
portals, past statues, weapon racks and antiquated skeletons, and, at last,
into a comfortable room with wall-to-wall carpeting, leather furniture, two
cats, a hubble-bubble pipe and large leaded windows where the glass was
patterned in circles, squares and diamonds.

       
"Sit, boy,
sit," said the dragon commander, motioning Togura to a chair. "Good.
Now tell me what you've been doing with yourself since you left Sung."

       
"Sung?"

       
"Your homeland,
boy. To be specific, Keep."

       
"How did you know
that?" said Togura, in amazement.

       
"I met you there. I
introduced myself, didn't I?"

       
"Did you?"

       
"Of course I did. I
distinctly remember giving you my name - Hostaja Torsen Sken-Pitilkin, wizard
of Drum. Well, boy? Why are you so blank? Senility, is it? Losing your memory
already? And you so young? A tragic case!"

       
"I really don't
think - "

       
"You don't think!
Confession time, is it? I'm sure you don't think. I only hope the condition
isn't permanent. What did they call you? Let me think. The girl called you Tog.
Yet the rumbustical boy called you Spunk Togura. Or did he call you Chids?
Anyway, the man - the man called you Master Togura. That's for certain. That
was before he bedded me down in that shacklety old building - a garrow, I think
he called it."

       
"Well ...."

       
"Come on, boy!
Surely you remember. There was a dreadful noise. I complained. I remember that
distinctly. You called it music - a mistake, I thought, but I didn't object. I
was tired. I'd just flown in from Chi'ash-lan."

       
"Ah!" said
Togura, suddenly enlightened. "You were the old man with the bundle of
sticks. A great big clutter of sticks like a huge bird's nest. You called it a
ship."

       
"Yes, boy, and if
you'd roused yourself from your slumbers in the early morning, you'd have seen
me fly away in it. Why didn't you remember my name? I always introduce myself.
I did so then. I'm certain of it. Or was that in the morning? Perhaps I
introduced myself in the kitchen, when I scavenged the breakfast that nobody
thought to offer me. I had a long argument with the cook. She was drunk."

       
"That would be
Salomie," said Togura.

       
"That's the name!
And what are you, boy? Tog, Spunk, Chids? Speak up, boy!"

       
"Togura Poulaan, if
you please. Son of Baron Chan Poulaan."

       
"Ah so! You're the
one they call Barak the Battleman. There's a price on your head. I could use
it. What say you give me your head, boy? I'll split the reward with you.
Straight down the middle."

       
Togura blanched.

       
"Come now,
boy," said the wizard of Drum. "Can't you tell when someone's joking?
I wouldn't dismember a guest. Come now, don't say you believe all that slander
spawned by King Skan Askander? All that nonsense about using people as
dragon-chop and such-such? Boy, you're looking quite faint. When did you last
eat?"

       
"I don't
remember," said Togura.

       
"Then sit here
quietly and I'll get you something. You're looking as bad as I do after a long
trip by air. Relax, boy, relax! You're safe on Drum."

       
Togura did not feel safe,
but he relaxed all the same. In fact, he closed his eyes and went straight off
to sleep. The wizard woke him to eat, and, as he ate, his spirits began to
revive.

       
He realised that he had
reached a place of refuge.

Chapter 22

       
In the days that
followed, Togura gave the wizard a long account of his adventures, which,
despite several evasions and a certain amount of exaggeration, was generally
truthful. The one big lie in the whole account was Togura's claim that he was
dedicated to questing for the index.

       
"You're very
brave," said the wizard.

       
"It's my duty,
sir."

       
"Don't call me sir,
call me Hostaja," said Hostaja Torsen Sken-Pitilkin. "Tell me, what
are you being offered for success? Hmmm? Exactly what do the Wordsmiths propose
to pay you?"

       
"One percent of
everything won from the odex."

       
"One percent?
That's scandalous. Young man, you've been done! Diddled and cheated! Ten
percent is a minimum, that's what I say. You need an agent."

       
"But I've made an
agreement already. It's a little late to change now."