'Yes – or something which could get its teeth into you. Anyway, to continue. There's also a box in the Secret Store in Tormstarj Castle in the Ironband Mountains. That's south of Estar, as you know.'
'Yes,' said Togura, who didn't, but didn't like to say.
'There may possibly be a third box in the Castle of Controlling Power. There is definitely one in the possession of the Silver Emperor in Dalar ken Halvar. But that, of course, is a step and a way.'
'Yes,' said Togura, from habit.
'Galsh Ebrek may hold another box.'
'Who?'
'It is not a who, it's a where. It's the High City in Yestron. You know where Yestron is, of course.'
'Yes,' said Togura. 'It's west of here.'
'No! East! Beyond Argan. Beyond Ashmolea. Beyond Quilth. The west has nothing of interest, not to us. Unless there's a box in Chi'ash-lan, which is problematical. You know where Chi'ash-lan is, I hope.'
'Yes,' said Togura, who had a vague inkling.
He feared he had disappointed Brother Troop already, and that he would shortly have to disappoint the wordmaster again. For he suspected that he was about to be offered a job fit for a hero, and he had no intention whatsoever of accepting. He would rather stay alive.
'Well, boy,' said Brother Troop, beaming. 'I expect you know by now precisely what we want of you.'
'Yes,' said Togura. 'You want me to go to Estar to get the bottle which holds the box which holds the index.'
'Excellent!' said Brother Troop, slapping him on the back. 'I thought you'd accept. Let's celebrate with some bread and wine, hey?'
'Tai-ho!' said Togura, using a local idiom which meant something similar to 'whoa!' or 'wait' or 'stop.'
'What is it?' said Brother Troop. 'You're not going to decline the honour of questing for the index, are you?'
Togura hesitated. He meant to say 'yes,' but did not want to leave without indulging in the bread and wine that he had been offered. With a swiftly-developing survivor's cunning, he equivocated:
'The question of payment arises.'
'Payment? But, my boy – the glory! Isn't that enough? No? If not… no, this is neither the time nor the place. Come, let us eat and drink. The dinner table, my lad, is the civilised place for prolonged discussion.'
Togura was gratified by the success of his stratagem. Over their meal, he rewarded Brother Troop for his hospitality by showing an eager interest in the odex, the index and related matters.
Precisely what markings identified the box which held the index? Brother Troop sketched the heart and the hand for him.
What was the Word which opened the box? Brother Troop gave him the Word once again, and he memorised it: Sholabarakosh.
What did the index inside look like?
'Ahaha,' said Brother Troop. 'An astute question, truly. When you open the box, you'll know. Remember, it speaks the Universal Language.'
'Whatever that is.'
'Yes,' said Brother Troop, with an unfamiliar hint of sadness and defeat in his voice. 'Whatever that is.' Then, brightening: 'Ah, the chicken! They've brought us the chicken! Beautiful. Come on, eat, eat. You're not full already, are you?'
'No,' said Togura, who was, but thought it wise to stock up a little. He started on a chicken wing. 'What,' he said, 'happened to everyone else who went questing for the odex?'
'An intersting question.'
'Interesting indeed, as the chicken said to the chopper. Come on, I'll know the truth sooner or later. It might as well be now.'
'Then, young man, since you insist, I must tell you that the truth is that we don't know. Five have been sent out so far. None have returned.'
'Hmmm,' said Togura, thinking.
He was trying to calculate how many more meals he could get out of the Wordmiths before they forced him to make a decision to commit himself.
'I see the quest takes your fancy, hey?' said Brother Troop. 'Your young blood boils with hot excitement! Horizons call you! Oh, you'll be a hit with the girls when you come back, young man. Every damsel loves a hero.'
'Give me a day to think it over,' said Togura.
And, after some further discussion, the good Brother did.
However, Togura did not get the chance to spend that day in rest, relfection and decision-making. Events were moving swiftly now; unbeknownst to him, he was well and truly embroiled in the world's turmoil. As he would soon find out.
Chapter 7
Disturbed by the manifestation of the monster which had escaped from the odex, the City Council of Keep met in an emergency session at noon that very same day, and passed a Resolution Regarding Care and Confinement Appertainint to Monsters. Subsection 5(c) of Schedule 9 of Annex 5 attached to the Resolution stated that: Any organisation which does or can or may or might buy breed produce summon forth unearth uncover tempt call attract or otherwise obtain any demon fiend bog-crawler crocodile griffin dragon death-lizzard creature of the Swarms or related being or any similar or unsimilar scarth jinn brute beat or monster MUST protect the public security by obtaining the services of a suitably qualified and experienced hero sword-master death-dealer dragon killer or similar.
Aware that the manifestation of the monster had excited a certain groundswell of public disfavour, the Wordsmiths sought to comply. They offered Togura the job on a temporary basis, while he decided whether he would quest for the index. He accepted, fully aware that only one real monster had emerged from the odex in more than three decades of operation.
The Wordsmiths then announced that they had recruited the young monster-slaughterer Togura Poulaan, who had proved himself by killing a monaster for them earlier in the day, in full view of the public. This announcement was met with derision by the citizenry, who were by now fully aware that the monster had been killed by Barak the Battleman, assassin and swordfighter, previously a gladiator in the murk pits of Chi'ash-lan.
'How many people in Keep know your face?' asked Brother Troops.
'A couple of dozen,' said Togura.
'Two dozen people can scarcely overturn the world's belief. From now on, till further notice, you're Barak the Battleman.'
'Agreed,' said Togura.
Armed with his new name, he stood taller and felt stronger; he began to walk with something of a swagger. The Wordsmiths equipped him with a sword, a stabbing knife and a helmet, and made an announcement correcting the name of their resident hero.
Togura, remembering his encounter earlier in the day with the swordmaster-assassin who had prior claim to the name of Barak the Battleman, wondered with some trepidation what would happen if that rough, burly swordsman of middle years heard that his name had been usurped.
The swordsman did hear.
And he shrugged, for it was nothing to him. He should have changed his name leagues ago in any case. That evening, as he set off east, his business with King Skan Askander completed, he decided that henceforth he would call himself Genu Vay Chanay. He would identify himself as a free-lance executioner.
Genu Van Chanay gave no further thought to Keep or to its people or to the theft of his last roadname; he had plenty of things to worry about without troubling himself over trivialities like the use and abuse of his former name.
