The Wordsmiths and the Warguild (4 page)

       
Five of the teeth were
poisoned.

       
It stank of rotten
oranges.

       
Its fingernails smoked
with blue light.

       
"Who are you?"
said Baron Chan Poulaan, speaking roughly.

       
"Ska," said
the ilps.

       
"Where do you come
from?"

       
"Ska. Nanesh
stel."

       
It was fading rapidly.

       
"Where were you
born?"

       
One of its mouths
collapsed.

       
The baron assaulted the
ilps with harsh, insistent questions. Disintegrating under the attack, it
started to retreat. But he followed, urging his horse forward, asking one
question after another. Finally, battered to death by his verbal assault, it
broke apart into a dozen rainbows, which scattered into discordant chords of
music.

       
Nothing remained but the
smell of rotten oranges.

       
"That was a large
one," said Prick.

       
"They get larger
all the time," said the baron. "And more numerous. Unless someone
brings the Wordsmiths to heel, we'll have a regular disaster on our
hands."

       
The Wordsmiths claimed
that their precious odex held all the knowledge of the ancient long-lost
civilizations which had existed before the Days of Wrath. They claimed to be
learning how to control and manipulate the odex, but all they had produced so
far was a string of distorted monsters.

       
Baron Poulaan could
reasonably claim to be the most powerful man in Sung, but that meant little; as
yet, he lacked the power to challenge the Wordsmiths, for his fellow barons
were not yet convinced that the odex was a bad thing.

       
Brooding about the ilps,
the odex and the Wordsmiths, the baron led the way into Keep, passing between
mountainous slag heaps. They passed a few houses then a mine shaft. A fire was
burning by the shaft, helping to draw stale air up from the depths and keep the
miners alive. A creaking bucket lift was bringing up gemstock from one of the
veins which ran far underground.

       
"Dismount,"
said Baron Poulaan.

  
     
They went on
foot thereafter, leading their mounts through the tilted, canting streets.
After five generations of mining, which had hollowed out a considerable portion
of the rock beneath the town, the whole urban area was very slowly subsiding.
Hence the odd angles of the streets, which were buckling and twisting, and the
nightmarish angles of the shops and houses.

       
After a slow and
dangerous journey, they reached the far side of Keep and set off for the palace
of King Skan Askander, scourge of the Hauma Sea and lord of the Central Ocean.
They had gone through the town rather than around it because Baldskull Mountain
lay on one side and Dead Man's Drop on the other.

       
Once out of town, they
mounted up again, but soon had to climb down to lead their animals across a
massive subsidance in the road, which was only slowly being filled in with
slag.

       
"That's new since I
was here last," said Baron Poulaan. "And that was scarcely a month
ago."

       
One day, he expected to
come this way and find that the entire town of Keep had fallen into a hole. He
would not be unhappy when it did. After all, his estate never saw a single flog
or splorin's worth of the town's mining profits. He had no love for the
earthgrubbing miners, or for the merchants who fattened on the profits of the
trade in opal, topaz, jade, japonica, russellite, kolzaw, fuze, buff, celestine
and carnelian which the miners recovered from the gemstock.

       
"My lord!"
said Prick, pointing. "Ahead! The palace!"

       
"I saw it some time
ago," said the baron.

       
Togura, who had never
been this way before, looked for the building of white marble which so many
people had spoken of, but could not see it for the fences, sheds, huts and
granubles of the surrounding piggeries.

       
Shortly afterwards, they
were shown into the presence of the king, who invited them to dine with him.

       
"We will be having
swedes, rutabaga and the kidneys of several pigs," he said.

       
"We will be
honoured," said Baron Poulaan.

       
"And, dear
baron," said King Skan Askander, "my darling daughter will be dining
with us, so your son will have a chance to meet his future bride."

       
Togura nerved himself
for this ordeal. But he was confident that it could not be as bad as people had
led him to believe. After all, Slerma was only sixteen years old; there was
scarcely time for her to have grown to the enormous size which she was alleged
to have attained. She was probably just a little fat and sludgy. Well, he could
endure that - he thought. It would mean that he would one day inherit the
palace and the piggery, which would be a valuable asset once it had fully
recovered from the effects of the swine fever which had caused the Devaluation.

       
If Slerma was no great
beauty, she would doubtless welcome the attentions of a real man like himself.
She would at least be a real woman, hot and wet in the right places. She would
complete his sentimental education and initiate him into manhood.

       
They were shown into the
dining room. The king seated himself on a couch, which creaked ominously
beneath his weight. Then he snapped his fingers, and a young woman entered.
Togura's face fell. This was Slerma? She was worse than he had expected. She
was more than plump; she was positively bloated.

       
"My wife,"
said the king.

       
And the young woman
bowed to them.

       
Togura was relived.

       
"Where is Slerma,
my dear?" said the king.

       
"She's just coming
now, my lord," said his wife.

       
"Ah, there you
are," said the king. "Hello, Slerma. Meet our new guests."

       
As he was speaking, a
vast and slovenly giantess was in the process of forcing her way into the room.
She was huge. She was gross. She was impossible. Togura wanted to scream and
run, but found himself paralyzed by fear.

       
"Is this it?"
she said in a thick, slurred voice, eyeing him with disapproval.

       
"Yes, my
dear," said the king happily.

       
"There's not much
to it," said Slerma, laying one prodigious paw on Togura's shoulder.

       
She squeezed. He felt as
if he was being crunched by a vast nut cracker. Then, just before she did
permanent damage to flesh and bone, she released the pressure.

       
"There's no meat on
it," she complained. "I want Guta."

       
"No!" said her
father sharply. "You cannot marry the baker's boy. I forbid it."

       
"He's a real
man," said Slerma. "Not like this - this thing. Do you speak,
thing?"

       
"I am articulate,
intelligent and proud of it," said Togura, finding his voice at last.

       
"What does
articulate mean?" said Slerma.

       
"It means,"
said the king, "that all his working parts are in good order."

       
"They'd better be
in good order, thing," said Slerma, addressing Togura. "I'm a girl
with big appetites. Remember that! Once we're married, you'd better be
faithful, too. Or I'll kill you."

       
"Now dear,"
said her father mildly. "Don't frighten him. He's a good little boy. I'm
sure he'll behave himself."

       
"Far too
little!" said Slerma. "Not like Guta."

       
"I'm sure you can
fatten him up," said the king. "In fact, now is as good a time as any
to start."

       
He clapped his hands,
and their meal was brought in. There were two or three plates apiece for
Togura, the baron and Prick, a number of heavily laden platters for the king
and his wife, and a large trough for Slerma.

       
Togura found his
appetite had failed him.

       
"Eat!" ordered
Slerma, filling the room with the ominous rumble of her thick, slurred voice.
"Eat! Food is good for you!"

       
And she set an example,
gouging out huge handfuls of swede, rutabaga and kidney, slapping them into her
mouth then swallowing, apparently without chewing. Togura tried to see if her
teeth were missing, but failed. It was impossible even to tell whether her
vast, wallowing face had a jawbone. Technically, some of that flesh must have
belonged to her face and some to her chin, but such distinctions vanished in
the awesome slurry of fat which constituted her face.

       
"You're not
eating!" she bellowed.

       
She seized Togura and
plastered his face with kidney. Some went up his nose, some squeezed its way
into his mouth and some fell into his lap.

       
"Eat!" she
yelled, hurting his ears.

       
She gave him a shake. If
she used any more force, she was going to dislocate bones. Togura tried to
wriggle free, but it was impossible.

       
"Eat, thing!"
hissed Slerma, spraying him with spittle.

       
To his dismay, he began
to weep, crying hot tears of agony and shame. Slerma gave him another shake
then tossed him aside.

       
"Your son insults
us," said King Skan Askander, his voice going very cold.

       
"Togura!"
shouted Baron Poulaan. "Pull yourself together!"

       
His son got to his
knees.

       
"I hate you!"
he said, clenching his fists.

       
He sniffed.

       
Then he took another
look at Slerma, and suddenly vomited.

       
Then he fled.

Chapter 4

       
Towards the end of the
day, Baron Chan Poulaan finally managed to locate his son Togura, who had taken
refuge in the Murken Hotel. This building, the victim of a subsidence, looked
just about ready to fall over. Outside, huge timbers shored up the walls.
Inside, the place was a maze of props and cross-struts. As the baron entered,
the building was alive with hammering; it had taken an alarming lurch sideways
that afternoon, and emergency reinforcements were now being put into place.

       
The proprietor, a
foul-smelling hunchbacked dwarf with a huge goitre, directed the baron to
Togura's room.

       
"Take me
there," said the baron.

       
The dwarf flattened his
nose against the back of his hand, which, in those parts, was an emphatic
gesture of refusal.

       
"I don't venture
upstairs," said the dwarf.

       
The baron saw the wisdom
of that as soon as he started up the rickety stairs, which creaked and groaned
beneath his feet, imploring him for mercy. Reaching Togura's door, he hammered
against it with both fists. A slow dust of powdered dry rot began to sift down
from the beams above; alarmed, the baron stopped hammering.

       
"Togura!" he
yelled. "I know you're in there."

       
Silence from within.

       
The baron threw his
shoulder against the door. The floor shook, the stairs creaked alarmingly, but
the door held.

 
      
"Come out, boy," shouted the baron.

       
From within, a muffled
voice responded.

       
"Go away!"

       
"Open the door, so
we can talk."

       
Silence replied.

       
"Come on, open the
door!"

       
There was a pause, then
confused sounds from within. Then the door was opened a crack. The baron, with
a roar, threw his weight against it. A crossbeam overhead ruptured, showering
him with sawdust. But the door still refused to admit him.