CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ebber: an order of wizards with powers over human minds. Has bad reputation in the Harvest Plains, once ruled by the evil Ebonair of that order.
When approached by Sarazin, Thodric Jarl refused to dare go to Shin in the face of Farfalla's displeasure. 'My duty forbids such madcap adventures,' said Jarl.
'Not if you make the trip a part of your duty,' said Sarazin. Impossible!'
'But no. I disappear. Terrorists from Chenamag claim responsibility. You volunteer to pursue the villains. Thus job and duty take you to Chenameg.' 'Dream on,' said Jarl.
It's a good scheme,' protested Sarazin. We'd meet on Chenameg's border then ride to Shin. I'd attend Lod's trial as a character witness then home we'd come, with you as a hero. We'd spin a wonderful story about you fighting hundreds of Chenameg terrorists to rescue me.'
So Sarazin spoke, though he actually planned to stay in Shin after Lod's trial, to win the hand of his true love Amantha and encompass the death of his arch-enemy Tarkal.
'Chasing terrorists is the army's job,' said Jarl. 'I work for the Watch, which only works within the cities.'
'What matters that?' said Sarazin. 'Surely the army would welcome help from the Watch.'
What a witless thing to say!' said Jarl. 'Armies lust for war because wars make careers. Failing war, manhunts, bandit-fighting and such are the next best thing.' 'You sound very sure of yourself.'
With near half a century of war behind me I should be sure. Now get out! Before I lose patience and kick you out!' 'Just one thing.' 'Out!'
'One moment! If I got you sent to Chenameg to hunt me, would you-' 'Away with your nonsense!' 'Very well then,' said Sarazin. 'But I leave you this.'
So saying, he gave Jarl a large-scale map of Chenameg's western border plus a note giving details of when and where the pair could meet after Sarazin faked his own kidnapping.
'You're mad!' said Jarl. 'This note alone could be the death of you.' 'But I trust you,' said Sarazin. 'Don't!' said Jarl. 'Trust nobody.'
'But you've proved your loyalty by leaving a rich living in Voice to follow me here. Thus I trust you with my life.'
'Then trust less,' said Jarl. 'for if you linger here longer I'll gut you.'
All this left Sarazin undismayed, for he had expected something of the sort. He had already planned his next move: to blackmail Epelthin Elkin. After a stiff drink to help nerve himself to the task, he took himself off to the
Voat Library in Libernek Square, and there bearded the elderly Archivist in his private office.
Sean Kelebes Sarazin, though not one of the wise, had nevertheless drawn the logical conclusions from his experi- ences. It was thanks to Elkin, surely, that he had imagined himself riding with Benthorn to Smork while he actually lay unconscious in Selzirk. Elkin must be a wizard of Ebber, the dark order, with powers over human minds.
In Selzirk, wizards of Ebber were feared and hated on account of the tyrannical rule once exercised by a member of that order. Consequently, Elkin would be in great danger if he were to be denounced as such a wizard. Sarazin therefore thought it would be easy enough to persuade Elkin to do him just one small favour.
When Sarazin was admitted into Elkin's presence, the old scholar immediately saw his fear, tension and excitement.
Welcome, Sean Sarazin,' said Elkin, in tones distinctly unwelcoming. What can I do for you? Well? What is it? Insects eating your brain? Or what? Out with it, boy!'
There's something – something I have to do,' said Sarazin, stumbling over his words as his courage began to fail him. 'And I need some help. There's this prophecy, see, and-'
'Oh no,' groaned Elkin. Not that. Not prophecy. Let me guess. You've met a fortune teller. An old hag with dirty claws who says-'
You haven't heard what it's all about yet!' protested Sarazin. 'I can guess,' said Elkin.
But, nevertheless, let Sarazin tell him all about the prophetic book stashed in the Sosostris lair.
'… so,' said Sarazin, in conclusion, 'the prophecy makes everthing clear, doesn't it? I'm back from exile, my father's doomed to an outlaw's death, it's all set to happen. I'm the one! The prince fated, to rise to power. To rule. To conquer.' Trash,' said Elkin. 'I beg your pardon?' said Sarazin. Trash. Nonsense. Rubbish. Piffle. Suloshamaniqik.'
You mean,' said Sarazin, 'you're not yet quite convinced by this prophecy.'
Tsfot yet?' said Elkin. 'I never will be! I know these fortune tellers. Their whole business is telling people exactly what they want to hear.'
'But this prophecy wasn't invented on the spot for my benefit,' said Sarazin. 'It's an old, old book, old as-'
'Old as the story of human sin. Are you the first boy in your situation? Hardly! An old king rules. His son longs to kill his father, to seize power. So a prophecy conveniently- 'But Fox doesn't rule! The prophecy-' 'Bollocks,' said Elkin.
While Elkin was capable of elegant eloquence on occasion a trifling bit of nonsense like Sarazin's prophecy failed to inspire him with forensic genius.
You must admit,' said Sarazin, 'I fit the prophecy neatly. For a start, I'm Farfalla's son, so I'm of the Favoured Blood.'
'Oh, come on!' said Elkin. You don't believe that nonsense, do you?'
The Noble Families of the Favoured Blood saved Argan from the tyranny of the Empire of Wizards,' said Sarazin coldly. 'All know their line must rule lest chaos come upon Argan.'
Twaddle!' said Elkin. The Empire of Wizards fell to pieces because of internal power struggles. All scholars know that.' You, doubtless,' said Sarazin, 'have cause to know.' 'Because I am a scholar, yes,' said Elkin. 'Because you were there!' said Sarazin.
Elkin's response was silence. Sarazin realised he was frightened of Elkin. Very frightened. Yet he pushed on regardless.
You were there,' said Sarazin. 'Because you – you're more than you seem. So you'll help me. Or else. Or else I'll – I'll-' Sarazin's lips were trembling. His throat was dry. He wished he had never started this. The room had darkened while he spoke. Elkin, a malign and ominous Force, loomed huge in that darkness.
Sarazin tried to run, but his legs failed, flesh quivering uselessly. He fell. The last light fled. Through the dark, Elkin swaggered towards Sean Sarazin with gigantic footsteps, oncoming like an idol of earth-crushing basalt animated by a blood-dread Power from the Unseen Realm. His breathing harsh, rasping, rising to a roar. His hand gripped Sarazin's head.
Sarazin felt as if his skull were being squeezed in a vice. He tried to scream. Could not. Tried to breathe. Could not. Tried to move. Could not. Felt his heart trip, stumble, stall. Knew he was dying. And fainted. Endured a long dark…
But surfaced, at length, to find himself lying on a bed in a room crowded with books, scrolls, papers and parch- ments. He guessed it was Elkin's private bedroom. And there was Elkin himself, sitting in a chair, reading. Looking much as he always did. A sharp-eyed, grey-bearded old man with mahogany skin, his hair drawn back and plaited into a pigtail. 'Some wine?' said Elkin, in a pleasant voice. 'Please,' said Sarazin.
I'm no fortune-teller,' said Elkin, handing him some wine, 'but I'll give you this prophecy for free: your lunatic foray to Chenameg will see you killed. But I'll do what you want. This once. But don't try to blackmail me again!'
Thank you,' said Sarazin, who at that moment truly only wished to escape from there, to get away from the wizard, to get out to the sunlight. 'Now,' said Elkin, let's get down to details…' And, together, they began to plan.
Thus it came to pass that in the autumn of the year Alliance 4325 Sean Kelebes Sarazin was kidnapped by terrorists. There were a dozen eyewitnesses to the kid- napping: that was Epelthin Elkin's first contribution to Sarazin's schemes.
Shortly, the city learnt that terrorists had dragged Sean Sarazin away to Chenameg, and were threatening to kill him unless all slaves in Selzirk were released. Then Elkin exercised his occult powers again: and the army
