Ifrael Forest: an almost uninhabited area of Chenameg rumoured to be the haunt of wolves, witches, werewolves, vampires and worse. Sean Kelebes Sarazin, aka Watashi, has blundered into the deepest, darkest, most dangerous part of this shadow-doomed wasteland.
In the cold dawn Sarazin breakfasted upon broken biscuits and leather-tough jerked meat while the sullen rain fell with a noise like fifty million rats scuttling through the undergrowth. Then he pushed on, hoping he was going in the right direction, but fearing he was hopelessly lost.
At mid-morning, he was riding at walking pace in a (possibly) easterly direction when he heard a woman screaming. He spurred his horse, and shortly came upon a frightening scene. In a muddy clearing were two people tied to posts. One a fair damsel; the other, a dwarf.
Both were being menaced by a gore-clawed monster which had the head of a rat (swollen to gigantic size), the body of a bull and the tail of a lizard. This apparition so disconcerted Sarazin's mount that it reared, throwing its rider. Sarazin, flung to the earth, scrabbled for his sword as the monster loomed over him. Finding his steel, he slashed at the brute, missed, drew back his blade and saw the horrifying creature turn to mist then vanish. What's this? said Sarazin, in bewilderment. 'Fewer questions and more action,' growled the dwarf. Then began making grotesque faces at Sarazin.
Yes, cut us loose, for pity's sake,' said the damsel fair, in excellent Galish.
Sarazin advanced, awkwardly. He felt ashamed of the state he was in. He had not bathed for days. His clothes were befouled with mud and with worse.
Feeling gauche and uncomfortable, he cut free the lady. Her hair was fine-spun gold, her eyes chatoyant. Her silks – this was strange! – bore no spot of water. There was mud underfoot, but it had stopped raining. "Now that,' she said, pointing at the dwarf. 'Loose that.' 'Yes, loose me, loose me!' said the dwarf frantically.
'I'll not set free that evil mannikin,' said Sarazin, who did not like the look of the dwarf at all.
'Hell swear to obey you,' said the damsel he had rescued. 'I'll do no such thing,' said the dwarf, promptly.
Her eyes flared. Momentarily, their captivating iri- descence was gone – replaced by a baleful red. 'Naj aji jin inz n'zoor,' she said, her voice axe-hard. The dwarf flinched. Like a spider cringing from flame.
'Glambrax will swear himself to your service,' she said. Tor my part, I will bind him to what he swears. Glambrax! Your oath!'
Reluctantly, the dwarf spoke, saying many things in a strange, hissing language Sarazin had never heard before. Then the woman spoke also in a similar tongue. Reverting to Galish she declared: 'He is yours. For life. His name is Glambrax.' 'Might I know your name, fair lady?' said Sarazin.
'I am Zelafona, a princess of the elven folk. Immortal is my health, yet insult sufficient can rend apart the spirit from the flesh.'
That – that monster,' said Sarazin. Was that sent by someone to – what? Kill you? With claws? Or with terror?
What kind of monster was it? How come it vanished at a sword-slash?'
'I know not,' said Zelafona, 'for not all is given to me to know. Let us retire to my home.'
'I trust it is not far,' said Sarazin, 'for, as you see, my horse has fled.'
Upon which Zelafona put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. High, pure and clear sang the note, and forth from the forest came Sarazin's horse in company with a milk-white mare richly caparisoned with gold and velvet. 'Come, Sarazin,' said Zelafona. 'Mount. Ride!' 'How did… how did you know my name?' 'I have my arts,' said the damsel.
'Not art sufficient to protect against your enemies, though. Who was it who bound you to that post? Who conjured that monster?'
Wiy mind is clouded,' said Zelafona. You ask many questions to which I have no answers.'
With that, Sarazin had to be content. He mounted his horse. Glambrax scrambled up behind him, and they were off, with Zelafona leading. We are here,' she said, shortly.
The gloomy forest gave way to verdant lawns sweeping up to a house. A house? A four-storey mansion set amidst noble trees and groves of ornamental bamboo. A buttermilk sun shone down from a blue sky as soft as a baby's bum. The sun illuminated carp pools and soft-playing fountains of waters coloured variously green, blue and yellow. But Sarazin's eyes were all for the house, which offered them a frontage in which a hundred windows glittered.
What… what are those windows made of?' said Sarazin. 'Of glass?' 'But of course,' said Zelafona, with a smile.
Sarazin had seen much built in stone, but had never in his life seen such a wealth of glass. He was impressed. What happened to the rain?' said Sarazin.
Was there rain?' asked Zelafona, her voice dreamy, a slim smile dancing delicate on her lips. Yes. A downpour which seemed forever.'
'Elven folk live sideways from the rest of the world,' said Zelafona. You are… of the elven folk?' 'I told you so at first acquaintance,' said she.
Was that true? Possibly, for the elven folk were known to be most wondrous fair. Or, alternatively, the woman might be a princess of human breed, the daughter of some kingdom far greater than Chenameg, living exiled here in splendour. Either way, she was something special, that was for certain. You look distant,' said Zelafona, 'Are you all right?'
The monster,' said Sarazin, 'it gave me a shock. Forgive me. My nerves-'
'I understand,' she said. You have my name, then. Zelafona. Our time together will be but brief, but you will have Glambrax with you for a lifetime. Thus you will remember me.'
'I don't want to sound ungrateful,' said Sarazin, "but I'd have to think very carefully before taking Glambrax into my service.'
'But he's sworn his loyalty to you already!' said Zelafona. You heard him yourself.'
Yes,' said Sarazin, Tjut I – I'm not sure I want a dwarf as a servant.'
'But you will take him,' said she. 'As a courtesy. To me. You will swear as much.'
Such was her charm that Sarazin could not deny her this trifle. After all, he did not want to upset his princess. Whether she was a human or an elven daughter, she must surely be the one the prophecy spoke of, the one he would win. She was beautiful, voluptuous – she rivalled even Jamba's charms. Therefore he gave his oath on the matter.
Inside the mansion, grey-masked servants showed Sarazin to his room. He tried to prevail on them to stay, for he had questions to ask. But they smiled and left. Vanished, almost. Grey cloaks swirling away. Soundlessly. Were they ghosts? Perhaps.
Still – the bath was real enough. It had limitless hot water pouring from a faucet of a kind Sarazin had once seen illustrated in a very ancient text preserved in a library in Voice. Sarazin soaked in the hot water, luxuriating in the warmth. Cleansed himself with sponges and strange perfumed soaps. Dressed himself in clean linen which had been laid out in his chambers. Then, overcome by weariness, he sank to his bed and slept.
He woke at dusk, and was delighted to find it was dinner-time. He ate with Zelafona at a table lit by a thousand candles gleaming in chandeliers. They had lamb, venison, beef, and three different kinds of fish. Then, for dessert, bananas topped with zabaglione. 'This is wondrous rare,' said Sarazin.
'What? The custard? My chef makes it from sugar, marsala and egg yolks.'
'No, I meant the bananas. I've seen them but twice before in my life.'
The bananas eaten in Selzirk came from Hexagon, one of the Scattered Islands far out in the Central Ocean. 'Think nothing of it,' said Zelafona.
Sarazin obeyed. He thought of her instead as he ate fruit salad, swilled red wine and slowly became tipsy.
He was not at all surprised when, after their meal, she led him to her private chambers, and there allowed him to seduce her. When he took her glimmering flesh he experienced a strange, unearthly ecstasy which he had never before experienced with a woman. She rode him until he was lathered. Yet still his lust did not diminish. Feverishly, he matched his man to her woman. Until, at last, dawn glimmered through the windows, and at last he slept. Much later, Sarazin woke. 'Zelafona?' he murmured.
Opening his eyes. To a horror-shock insult to soul and sensibility. He was lying beside a dead woman on a frowsty truckle-bed in a filthy cottage, a place of whispering dust and creaking spiders, of rustling shadows and grey- masked rats. 'Zelafona?' he cried.
Nobody answered his call. The haggard flesh of the crone beside him looked like old leather cracked by a thousand seasons of relentless weather. Her slack jaw gaped down revealing a jumble of decayed teeth. A swollen purple tongue furred with green and yellow. She stank of cat's piss.
Sarazin stumbled naked from the bed. He grabbed his mud-wet trousers, shuddering. Boots, where were his boots? In the corner, in a heap with the rest of his clothes, plus sword belt and sword. He dressed in haste, as if summoned to a battle. Then checked his pockets – and found his magic missing.
All his gifts from the druid Upical were gone. The silver ring of invisibility on its silver chain. The magic mudstone. The small bottle in which lurked the dragon Untunchilamon and eight other beasts almost as mighty. The green candle which was worth killing for. All stolenl
Floorboards creaked as he strode to the door. Which fell off its hinges as he yanked it open. He strode out into the mud, the drizzling rain, the dismal grey, looking around as if hunting for a murderer.
The cottage, which had a thatched roof, stood beside a ramshackle barn in a wasteland of waterlogged mud in which lay a dead dog and the corpse of a bullock. A paling of sorts ran round that field of mud, and on the fenceposts were some lumpy things which Sarazin realised were the heads of assorted men and animals.
Beyond the fence was the dark, brooding forest. Over- head, a louring sky. Sarazin trudged through the drizzle to the barn, where he found his pony, looking thoroughly miserable. Something stirred in a heap of decaying straw, then sat up. It was the dwarf, Glambrax, grinning like an open wound.
'How did you like your night of passion?' said Glambrax in a sly, insinuating voice.
Where is Zelafona?' said Sarazin, with murder in his voice. 'She's in bed, where you left her.' 'There's nothing in bed but a… a.. .'
That's her,' said Glambrax, grinning still. 'She knew she was going, so she wanted to go out in style.'
You mean… you… but… gods, this can't be true! She – she was a princess. She said so. An elven princess. That's what she said she was. She said she was a princess of the elven folk.'
'And you believed her!' said Glambrax scornfully. 'Aren't you a little old for fairy tales? She was no elf. There's no such thing as elves.' Then what was she?'
'A witch, of course,' said Glambrax. 'A death-hag. A nightwalker. You're lucky, oho, lucky you met her near death, my child.' 'Lucky! She – that-'
Sarazin thumped his head against the wall of the barn. This was intolerable!
'Doubtless you got a bit of a shock this morning,' said Glambrax. 'But, face it – -any woman you have will end up that way. There's no such thing as immortal youth. Only difference is, most decay so slowly you've got time to get used to it.'
'I don't understand this,' said Sarazin. 'How come she knew my name? How come the monster – was that part of her game?'
'Oh, she saw you coming, you might say,' said Glam- brax. 'Oh yes, she saw you coming.'
Then, whistling in a cheerful way, he quit the stable. Sarazin slumped down on the straw, cold, hungry, depressed, humiliated and disgusted with himself, with mortal flesh, with life, the world and the universe. He indulged himself in self-pity and despair until he was roused by the smell of smoke. Fire? Was something burning?
He quit the barn – and found the house aflame, with Glambrax capering up and down in front of it.
The house went up with a roar, vomiting smoke and spitting flame. A flight of blood-red bats burst from beneath the eaves, screaming in shrill, demented voices as they fled. Rats scarpered across the mud, making for the forest.
Sarazin ran towards the cottage, half-imagining he could extinguish the fire. He plunged into the billowing smoke. Its stench sent him staggering backwards, retching. Eyes bleared by smoke, he looked round wildly and saw Glambrax laughing.
You!' said Sarazin, in fury. Tell! How did the house catch fire?' 'I set it alight,' said Glambrax. 'I never told you to!' You never told me not to.'
There were things of mine lost somewhere within,' said Sarazin. What kind of things?' said Glambrax. 'There was – oh never mind.' 'A ring, perhaps?' said Glambrax.
There was – suddenly! – a silver ring on a silver chain dangling from his fingers. 'Give me that!' said Sarazin, grabbing for it. Glambrax jerked his hand away. 'First you have to promise,' said Glambrax.
'Promise? Promise what? Give me my property, mannikin!'
'Ah,' said Glambrax, darting away. 'Promise first. To honour your oath.' What oath?' 'See!' said Glambrax. You've forgotten already!'
Belatedly, Sarazin remembered. He had sworn to keep Glambrax with him as his servant. For life. A disastrous mistake! For, as he saw all too clearly, the dwarf was unlikely to be an asset to his lifestyle.
'I have given my oath on the matter already,' said Sara- zin. 'If you trust not my oath, what good is a promise?' 'So it remembers,' said Glambrax, cackling. 'It remembers!'
Yes,' said Sarazin, bitterly, 'and I remember this, too. My oath was extracted from me under false pretences.'
Was it?' said Glambrax. 'Oh no, I don't think so. I heard the lady say herself her time with you would be but brief. Your authority to think otherwise was but that of your own ego.' Sarazin thought back to the day before and remembered.
Yes,' he said. You're right. But I – I – oh, never mind. Give me my valuables.'
Satisfied, Glambrax handed over the ring of invisibility. And the magic mudstone. And the bottle. 'The candle!' said Sarazin. 'Give me the candle!'
What do you want with a stub of old candle?' said Glambrax. 'Never you mind about that. Give it!'
The dwarf rummaged in his pockets and yielded up the green candle which Sarazin treasured away. Then Sarazin asked: 'Why did Zelafona make you mine?'
'Oh,' said Glambrax, 'she wouldn't want me alone in the world. I'm her son, you see. Her first born. Her only born.' 'A likely story!' said Sarazin. 'But true,' said Glambrax. 'But true!'
Well,' said Sarazin, 'if you're to be my servant, then start making yourself useful. Make ready my horse.'
With that said, Sarazin sploshed away through the mud to the forest where he relieved his bowels and his bladder. When he returned, he found Glambrax standing atop the barn, looking around in all directions. 'What are you doing up there, clown?' said Sarazin. 'Searching for your horse, master,' said Glambrax. 'It's in the barn, half-wit!' said Sarazin. 'Nay, master. There's no horse within.'
Startled by this intelligence, Sarazin panicked into the barn. He found his noble steed within and led it outside. Glambrax was still on the roof.
'What do you think this is?' demanded Sarazin. 'That?' said Glambrax. "That is a pony, unless I'm mistaken.'
'It's my horse!' said Sarazin. 'Get down from there so I can kick you.'
'Oho!' said Glambrax. 'A tyrant, is it? Will it kick me for not finding cat when it sends me for dog? Will it boot me for not bringing water when it asks after wine? That is no horse you have there. That is but a pony, ill-fed, ill-bred, ill- broken, aye, and dying of the glanders unless I'm mistaken.'
You claim your mother a witch but I think her more likely a lawyer,' said Sarazin in disgust. 'Either that, or you were fathered by a passing solicitor. Come down here this instant!'
So saying, Sarazin pointed at the mud at his feet. Without a moment's hesitation Glambrax jumped. Landing feet together on the precise spot indicated. Sending mud flying in all directions. One of those directions was Sarazin's.
Then Sarazin finally realised, with dismay, that he had acquired the worst kind of servant imaginable: that is, one who will do exactly what he is told.
You and me,' said Sarazin, breathing heavily, 'are going to have to go a long way together. So don't give me any trouble or I'll throttle you.' Yes, master,' said Glambrax, meekly. Then grinned. Then giggled.
Until Sarazin, provoked beyond endurance, kicked him to obtain his silence.
Shortly, with Glambrax saddled up behind him, Sarazin was on his way again. Hoping he could somehow find his way to Shin and to King Lyra's palace. Hoping his long- suffering pony could make the distance before it collapsed and died. He had stolen the horse for this journey; he now made a vow that, next time he played horse thief, he would get himself something more worth the stealing. Where are we making for?' said Glambrax.
'Shin' said Sarazin. 'That's somewhere to the east, I think.'
Whether it is or isn't,' said Glambrax, 'you'll never find it this way. East is a vague direction, is it not? Vague as a quarter of the sky. An unknown city is but a lightless star in that quarter.'
'I don't need your pessimism,' said Sarazin, who found Glambrax's comments uncomfortably accurate.
'I talk not pessimism but sense,' said Glambrax. Head north till you pick up the Velvet River, then follow the river upstream to Shin. Shin is by the river, is it not? So that way we can't get lost, can we?'
This advice was so sound that Sarazin was sure there must be something seriously wrong with it. But, in the end, he turned his horse to the north, thinking it worth a try.