Kim Hunter - Red Pavillions 02 - Wizard's Funeral(1).pdf - Kim Hunter - margozap

Chapter One

Those who have not seen the dazzling towers, the obsidian turrets, the domes,

the green-glass cupolas of Zamerkand, have surely missed the greater part of

earth’s splendour. The morning sun is quick to find high, golden porches

bright enough to blind a traveller many leagues from the city. Polished lapis

lazuli tiles bordering lofty battlements shine with a penetrating blueness.

Silver gutters glint with points of light that might come from the divine

weaponry of a warrior-deity. The city is a great geometrical flower opening to

the morning, the light running and leaping from spire to column to belfry to

campanile to fleche, like sacred fire racing from one heavenly petal-point to

the next.

On the battlements stand the Imperial Guardsmen, their helmets flashing, their

spearpoints glinting. Around the walls of the city, almost completing the

circle but for a man-made tunnel of stone, there to protect the canal all the

way down to the sea, stand the red-ochre pavilions of the mercenary army of

Carthagans. Their weapons gleam with a duller light. Unlike those of the

Imperial guardsmen, which are taken out only to polish before parades and

drills, the Carthagan weapons are frequently used in anger. They are tarnished

with constant employment: their surfaces scratched; their edges sharp, but

wavy with honing; the flaws in their blades stained with the blackened blood

of enemies.

Five miles long and five miles wide, the city stands in the South of Guthrum,

rich and powerful, and ripe with wealth.

On one of the green turrets which looked out over the surrounding countryside

stood a man who had slept very little during the long and ponderous night. He

called himself Soldier and he was married to the queen’s younger sister,

Layana. Soldier saw the rider come from the West, from the Seven Peaks where

the gods lived, and the wizards ruled. The rider looked exhausted, swaying in

his saddle, his feet frequently slipping from the stirrups. Garthagans on

their way to fetch early-morning water parted for him, allowing him a path,

and the great wooden gates of the city, bold with brass and bronze, swung open

as if this horseman had been expected for a very long time.

‘Drissila?’ called Soldier, not moving from the turret’s balcony, ‘is your

mistress in the real world this morning?’‘I fear she is unhappy,’ came the

answer. ‘The demons visited her during the night and are now within her.’

Soldier sighed deeply. He loved his wife with a deepness that is found only by

a man who has lost a former love to dark fingers of death. She was his future,

past and present. He would kill for her, he would die for her.

‘Is Ofao tending to her needs?’‘Ofao and myself.’‘Thank you.’

The rider, now in the market square, almost fell from his horse onto the

cobbles. Captain Kaff, of the Imperial Guard, was hurrying onto the scene.

Others were scurrying forth, gathering their robes about them — officials of

the court — keeping their hemlines clear of horse and donkey shit: Chancellor

Humbold; Quidquod, Lord of the Royal Purse; Maldrake, Lord of the Locks;

Qintara, Lady of the Ladders; Marshal Crushklte, Warlord of Guthrum. Even the

ruler of Guthrum, Queen Vanda, had quit her boudoir to appear on the balcony

of her tower on the Palace of Birds.

A raven landed near to Soldier’s elbow as he surveyed this scene in the

streets below.

‘I’ll wager a dozen the King Magus is dead,’ said the raven. ‘Pancakes, that

is, fried in lovely hot corn oil.’‘You won’t find a taker here,’ replied

Soldier.

‘The King Magus is dead!’ cried the rider in a ragged voice. ‘Where is the

wizard to take his place?’‘There you are,’ said the raven. ‘Pancakes for

breakfast.’‘You didn’t get a taker,’ Soldier reminded him. ‘Anyway, how did

you know?’‘Oh, you know me. I fly here, I fly there. I talk with the

wind.’‘But you’ve been outside my window all night.’‘Idiot, you’ve only got to

look at the world this morning to see how it’s changed. See how the sun shines

brightly? Look how blue the mountains seem now, where once they were gloomy

and oppressive. Listen to the sparkle in the cock’s voice as he crows! The

whole kingdom of the living and the dead has changed its aspect.’

And the bird was right. It had. Soldier had been too rapt in his own troubles

to notice how much better this day appeared than yesterday, or the day before,

or a thousand days before that.

The raven took to the air, settling some distance away on the pommel of a

flagpole.

The rider in the square below was being questioned further now.

‘Who inherits?’ cried Humbold. ‘Who is the new King Magus?’‘Why, I am

instructed - instructed ...’ the rider was visibly wilting, but Captain Kaff

shook him to keep him awake. ‘Instructed to tell you that he is the son of a

woman called Uthellen, of this city.’‘Of this city?’ shouted the mob, now

flowing from their shanties and hovels. Zamerkand might have had a shining

coat, but it also had a rotten heart.

Humbold shouted, ‘Who knows this Uthellen?’

There was a buzz and a rumble from the crowd.

Marshal Crushkite yelled, ‘Someone must know her.’

Silence now fell upon the cobbled square.

‘Anyone?’ cried Captain Kaff.

The silence deepened.

Finally. ‘I know her.’

All eyes looked up to where the voice had come from.

Kaff nodded his head slowly and grimaced. Humbold sighed. A trader called

Spagg, seller of hanged men’s hands, spat in the gutter.

It was Soldier who had spoken.

‘You?’ said Marshall Crushkite, who almost alone among the watchers was not an

enemy of the man in the high tower. ‘Is she in Zamerkand, Soldier? Where is

she?’‘She used to reside in the sewers, along with her child, amongst the poor

and destitute.’

There was a shuffling from the officials. The King Magus did not usually

intervene in petty human affairs, being concerned with higher things, but he

was invested with great power; enough to destroy any city, even whole

countries. Only an innate sense of justness and Tightness curbed the hand of

the King Magus when it came to levelling those who had displeased him.

This, indeed, was a new King Magus. Would he have the same integrity as the

last? Or would he settle a few scores, beginning his new reign with the slate

wiped clean of any bitterness?

Queen Vanda spoke now, from the balcony of the Palace of Birds. ‘Soldier, you

know the order of things. There must always be the poor, the rich and varying

degrees between. That he was raised amongst the wretched people of this city

is the fault of social order, not of our government.’

Soldier did not necessarily agree with this point of view, but he saw that

there was nothing to be served by arguing.

‘The boy, when I last\ knew him, did not see himself as a victim of the state.

There, was no bitterness in his heart. But who knows the mind of a wizard?’

The queen sighed, her small, heart-shaped face pale with the effort of finding

solutions. ‘Can you find him?’‘I think so. He is outside the city, that I do

know.’‘Then here is your task. You see your work before you. Chancellor, give

Soldier all that he needs to form an expedition to find the new King Magus, so

that he may be informed of his predecessor’s death. He must take up his

exalted post as quickly as possible.’

With that the queen left her balcony and swept into her chambers in a cloud of

purple chiffons and silks.

Soldier was informed that he was to report to Captain Kaff within the hour.

He went to his wife’s chambers, to see if she recognised him.

She did.

‘You bastard,’ she spat. ‘Come to gloat over me in my madness, have you?’

She was hunched up in one corner of her great bed — a bed he seldom shared

these days - the sheets knotted round her frail, diminutive form. His heart

bled for her in her distress. Her face — normally animated and quite beautiful

since the scars had gone — was screwed into a malevolent expression that

filled him with disquiet. Soldier knew it was useless to argue with her. He

simply bade her farewell.

‘I must go away on the queen’s business,’ he said. ‘I’ll return as soon as I

can.’

Ofao, also in the room, had to restrain his mistress as she leapt towards

Soldier with her hands like claws, her nails ready to rake his face.

‘Yes, go! You can’t wait to get away from me, can you? Are you bedding my

sister? Does the queen demand your body between her sheets? You must be

laughing at me, the pair of you. The foolish Princess Layana, whose husband

fucks the queen.’‘Your sister is as concerned for your welfare as I am,’ said

Soldier. ‘There is nothing between us. In your heart you know that. I am going

away to fetch the new King Magus and install him in his mountain palace. I

will return as soon as possible.’‘Why come back?’ she cried, savagely,

struggling with Ofao’s firm grip. ‘Why bother to return?’ Her face was a

vicious mask. ‘You know I hate you. Why would you want to come back to a wife

who thinks you are dirt?’

He made the usual mistake of trying to reason with her, when rationality had

already flown like escaping birds.

‘You say that now, but when — when you are normal, you tell me you love me.’

She smiled, nastily. ‘I only tell you that to unsettle you, to give you false

confidence. This is my normal self. This is how I really feel. How could I

love a man like you? You’re a freak,-a creature with blue eyes. No other

creature - man, beast, bird - has blue eyes. And who are you? You do not know

your name, you have no memory of your past, and you arrived here with nothing

but a few scraps of armour. You can’t possibly believe that I, a princess,

could love a nobody ...’

Soldier left the room quickly, before she could go on. Layana in her madness

had the power to agitate him to the very roots of his soul. Seven times in the

past year she had tried to murder him in the night. His scabbard, which sang

out a warning when he was being attacked, was the only thing which had kept

him alive. Sintra was the gold-thread name on his scabbard and it sheathed a

sword named Kutrama, though he had arrived in this world with only the former,

the latter having been lost somewhere on the way.

Soldier went now to his own chambers and dressed himself in light armour, not

forgetting the warhammer he had wrested from an attacking Hannack. The last

time he had sgen Uthellen and her son they were hiding in a forest to the

north. On his journey there Soldier might be attacked by Hannacks, or any

other bands of brigands roaming the wastelands and countryside.

One thing he had discovered about himself was a deepseated rage which erupted

during moments of battle, so that he was known as one of the most savage

lighters this world had ever encountered. He was appalled by his own barbarity

at such times. The overwhelming feeling of vicious hatred which surged through

him was as frightening to him as it was to his enemies and watchers. He

wondered where it came from, what had happened to him for it to be there in

the first place.

‘One of these days I shall find myself,’ he thought, ‘and I have no doubt I

won’t like who lies within.’

Armed, he went forth to Captain Kaff’s quarters, where the Imperial Guardsman

awaited him.

Kaff was one of Soldier’s greatest enemies. Soldier had cut off one of the

captain’s hands in a duel. Now the captain fitted live creatures onto the

stump that was his wrist. Today it was a sparrow-hawk. The effect was

alarming. The raptor remained still on the silver-banded stump, with folded

wings, unless Kaff reached forward, whereupon it spread its wings, flashed its

talons, and raked the air with its hooked beak.

‘There is a horse waiting for you at the gates,’ Kaff explained. ‘I have

arranged that myself and a company of men will ride with you. You will need

protection in open country. There are Hannacks about.’‘I’ll go alone,’ said

Soldier.

Kaff stared at him, the hawk fluttering. ‘You are a fool — as usual.’

Soldier ignored the insult. ‘I’ll take Spagg with me.’

There was a snorting sound from Kaff. ‘A lot that idiot can do to help if

you’re attacked by wolves, or worse.’‘Nevertheless.’

A shrug from the other. ‘Suit yourself.’‘And stay away from my wife.’

It was well known that Kaff was in love with Layana — had been even before the

arrival of Soldier — and visited her often as a friend and advisor. In the old

days Kaff had done nothing about his feelings of devotion for the princess

because he had deemed himself unworthy. Then this nobody, this riff-raff from

some war in an unknown place, had arrived and married her within a few short

weeks. Kaff had been more than incensed. He was almost prepared to sacrifice

the life of the new King Magus - wars, pestilence and famine come if they had

to — if it meant that Soldier would die too.

Kaff said, stiffly, ‘The Princess Layana has need of my services from time to

time.’‘If you try to seduce her, I’ll kill you. Captain of the Imperial Guard

or not.’

Kaff smiled. ‘You are assuming that this is possible, of course.’‘It’ll be a

great deal easier now I’ve taken one of your hands,’ snapped Soldier.

The smile instantly evaporated and Kaff’s lips curled.

‘One of these days . . .’he muttered, gripping his sword-hilt.

‘Just keep to your own bedroom, Kaff, and respect the rights of a husband.’

With that, Soldier left the captain’s quarters and made his way to the market

square.

A raven landed on Soldier’s shoulder as he strode along.

‘Well, well, still causing mayhem with the Guthrum army, are we?’ said the

raven. ‘Still managing to volunteer for these suicidal missions? Got a

death-wish, have we?’‘You can shut up, too,’ muttered Soldier, worried that

someone would hear him talking to a bird and think him mad.

‘Oh, I can shut up - or I can chatter to my heart’s content. I think that’s up

to me, isn’t it? I’m entitled to my opinion of you, which is as low as it

always has been. Soldier the hero? Soldier the moron. You could get killed out

there, you know. Why didn’t you take up the offer of an escort?’‘Where were

you hiding?’ muttered Soldier. ‘Up the chimney?’‘Just outside the window,

actually.’‘You want to be careful you don’t finish up on the end of Raff’s

wrist one of thfese days. And as to the escort — I’ve more to fear from them

than I have from a bunch of rogue dragons. There’d be a danger of waking up

every morning with my throat cut. I prefer to go with just Spagg. He has his

faults but at least he’s scared stiff of me. Kaff has nothing but contempt for

my skills as a warrior. He thinks he’s better. What are you going to do? Will

you trail along?’

If the raven could have wrinkled his beak in distaste, he would have done.

‘With that stinking bag of dung, Spagg? Not on your life. Think I’ll stay here

and pick a few locks with my beak. There’s no larders out in open country.

I’ve got my stomach to think of, I have.’

The bird flew off.

At this time of day the market-place was thriving. In one corner of the

square, vegetables. In another, meat. On the north-east corner, livestock —

shuffling, snuffling, dropping today’s wet turds onto yesterday’s dried turds.

The last corner was where frauds and gullible buyers met, along with

eccentrics and those struck by lunar rays: fortune-tellers, physicians (as if

anybody could cure anyone of anything!), gem-sellers, ivory-dealers, sellers

of curios and carvings, and Spagg.

Spagg was a purveyor of dead men’s hands. Not just men either, but women kill

mostly for love and men mostly for money, and there is more money than love in

the world. Once the murderers were hanged Spagg had a licence to cut off their

hands and sell them as hands-of-glory: hands with magical properties, such as

the power of invisibility. There were many unsatisfied customers, but Spagg

always told them magic required belief and it was their lack of faith that was

the cause of the failure, not the hands-of-glory themselves.

‘What?’ cried the short, hairy man as Soldier approached. Spagg saw the look

in Soldier’s eyes. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘No, no, no. I went with you once before,

but I ain’t goin’ again. I was lucky to get back with my skin and good eye

intact. I ain’t goin’ to risk it a second time.’‘You haven’t got any choice,’

replied Soldier, firmly. ‘Unless you’d rather explain your reluctance to the

Queen’s Torturer?’

Spagg picked up a rather blue hand with swollen knuckles and threw it down

hard on the table.

‘It’s not fair,’ he whined. ‘I was just goin’ to the temple, for the

winter.’‘They won’t have you this year. I told them you laughed at the gods

when we were on our journeys. I told them you cursed the priests and swore at

the deities.’

That ain’t true!’‘Yes, it is.’‘Well - you shouldn’t be a tattle-tale, you

snitch. I was under stress. Anyone would swear and curse with a bunch of

bloodthirsty dwarves after ‘em. I bet even the priests would let out a few

oaths.’

Soldier shook his head sadly. ‘You see, it’s that kind of remark that gets you

into trouble.’

Slowly and reluctantly, Spagg covered his stall and wheeled it from the

market-place.

‘I don’t understand you,’ he said to Soldier. ‘You don’t like me at all.

Whyd’you want me with you, on these treks of yourn.’‘I find your company

stimulating.’‘Liar.’‘Well, let’s put it this way, there’s not many people in

Zamerkand I would want with me, so there’s not much choice. I know you. I can

judge your stamina, your courage - or lack of it — and every aspect of your

character. Why would I take someone who is a mystery to me? I’d never know

when to run and when to stand and fight.’‘But with me, you always have to

run.’‘Exactly, I know where I stand — that is to say - run.’‘Funny beggar,

ain’t you,’ grumbled Spagg. ‘I’m splittin’ my sides, I am.’

The barrow was locked in a stable.

They’ll all be rotten by the time I get back,’ grumbled the hand-seller.

‘They’ll fall to bits.’‘You could pickle them.’‘Nah. There’s one or two of ‘em

got leprosy, and I can’t remember which. Puttin’ them in vinegar only hastens

the rot’.

The pair collected their horses outside the gates. They rode through the

Carthagan red tents, Soldier collecting one or two greetings on the way. He

was well thought of by the mercenaries. Not just because he was one of them,

and a captain at that, but because also he was not a Guthrumite. The

Carthagans were loyal to the country they protected, but they thought its

citizens weak and pathetic. The Carthagans were short, dark and stocky, like

small bulls. The Guthrumites were taller, pale and tended towards the lean.

The Carthagans were soldiers from the womb. The Guthrumites had to be moulded

into fighters like Captain Kaff- they had to be taught skills which came to

their mercenaries naturally.

Soldier stood somewhere between these two types. What he had that neither of

them possessed was an intrinsic fighting skill, learned in some other place.

His moves could not be anticipated, because he was unorthodox. Somewhere he

had learned to kill men without compassion, in ways that were new to this

world.

Watching Soldier and Spagg leave, from a high position on the battlements of

Zamerkand, was Captain Kaff.

Once the two men were out of sight, Kaff wasted no time. He changed from his

uniform into a silk shirt, breeches and a flamboyant hat. He fitted a dove to

his wrist and put a sprig of myrtle in his buttonhole. Then he hurried off

towards the Palace of Wildflowers - the home of Princess Layana and her absent

husband.

Forcing his way past the servants, he demanded audience with the princess.

They told him she was not in a fit state.

‘She’ll see me,’ he said. ‘She always sees me.’‘Not today. Not in her

Kim Hunter - Red Pavillions 02 - Wizard's Funeral(1).pdf

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