'Just as well,' said Glambrax, 'for dead dwarves are the worst of luck at a wedding feast. As it is, the omens are not the best.' 'What do you mean?' said Sarazin.
In answer, Glambrax waddled to the shutters and threw them open. The sky was bruised black and orange. It was raining blood.
'Call off the marriage,' said Sarazin. 'We'll try again tomorrow.'
The next day brought another sodden dawn. But at least this time the rain was water and not blood. 'Today's the day,' said Sarazin.
Since the Great Hall of the House of Chenameg had been burnt by anarchists, Amantha and Sarazin were married in a barn. The roof leaked, but strategically placed buckets caught the worst of the drips. First the wedding guests gathered in the barn, then Sarazin and Amantha entered.
Sarazin wore his battle-leathers. Thanks to his upbring- ing in the Rice Empire, he still thought of leather as an ugly, uncouth, obscene material – but nothing better was to be had in Shin. So, though uneasy, he made do with what he had.
Amantha, for her part, arrived at the barn dressed in a bright-hued sontag, which was comely enough, but did not match his imaginings, for he had dreamed of her arrayed in silks and gorgeous with diamonds. She looked somewhat sullen, which made him uncomfortably aware that she was not marrying him for the glamour of his cock, but as a matter of pure survival.
As Sarazin entered the barn with Amantha, the guests cried: Ave Amantha! Ave Sarazin!'
He could not help resenting the fact that they called Amantha's name before they called his.
The wedding ceremony then commenced, but they had got no further than sacrificing a chicken to the Household Gods When there was a crash of thunder and the door to the barn split asunder.
Then into the barn walked a heavy figure, bringing to the shocked assembly a reek most foul. It was King Lyra! His scalp dangled from his skull, there was mud in the sockets of his eyes, yet he was on his feet, walking, pointing, trying to speak. 'Og-gorog,' said King Lyra.
Upon which Thodric Jarl hurled a hatchet. It took the dead king in the head. The skull exploded in a spray of dirt, stench, pulp and shattered bone. King Lyra's corpse swayed on its feet then crashed to the ground. Amantha screamed hysterically. She did not stop until Jarl slapped her across the face. Once. Twice. Three times. Then: 'Get that thing out of here!' said Jarl.
Two of his men each grabbed a leg of the corpse and dragged it outside into the rain. Jarl turned to face the silent audience.
'A corpse walking,' said Jarl. That's no great trick. I've seen it done often enough before. It takes but little power – any tenth-rate necromancer can arrange as much. Such a one must have chosen to play a practical joke on these young lovers here. But that tells us nothing of the king's opinion, for the corpse is not the king himself.' But one of the stable hands spoke up and said:
'The king is angry because Sean Sarazin has never made the quest.'
And others, muttering, said as much themselves. Where- upon Sarazin, realising what he was talking about, said:
'I take upon myself the duties of the heirs of Chenameg as well as their rights. I will make the quest. Ten days hence I will set forth just as Tarkal in his day set forth. I will quest beyond Drangsturm to the terror-lands of the Deep South. I will dare the dangers of the Swarms until I find the tectonic lever and throw the same.'
He meant what he said. He felt drunk with his own heroism, and Jarl's frown did not dampen his exultation. Certainly Sean Sarazin had said the right thing as far as the audience was concerned, for cheers greeted his proclamation.
The rites proceeded without further interruption, and Sean Sarazin was duly married to Amantha of Chenameg. Since he had wed the only surviving daughter of the ruling house of Chenameg, and since there was no male heir in evidence, he was, of course, now king of Chenameg himself. It was true!
Yes, Lord Regan was right. You can have whatever you want. You can get whatever you wish for. You can be whatever you want to be. The will is free, so all things are possible. All that you need is ambition.
With ceremony done, feasting began, the slaughter of sick horses having provided plentiful meat for the same. After feasting came dancing to the tune of various in- struments musicking. Then, finally, late in the evening, Sarazin and Amantha were bundled through the rain to the Great House, there to take their nuptial rites to their logical conclusion.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
love lovingly enchants (delicious) your eloquence of perfumes as i (more moth than butterfly, more dream than silk) strip (elegance by elegance) these petals till quite (my sweet) your weather can embrace and all infoldings clasp us to their task. -n. n. nooth, 'love loving lovingly'
Amantha and Sarazin, wet from the rain, dripped their way to their, nuptial chamber deep within the Great House. Servants went before them, bearing candles. When they reached the Great Bedroom which used to be King Lyra's, Amantha supervised the disposition of the candles, then dismissed the servants. Sean Sarazin was alone at last with his true love.
'This,' said Amantha, unnecessarily, 'was my father's room. Do you like it?'
'I love it,' said Sarazin, with enthusiasm. For it was a part of a royal palace, and therefore much to be admired. Still, it was not exactly what he had expected.
For a start, it stank of dogs. Scarcely surprising, since there were a great many dogs in attendance. Large dogs. The way they looked at Sarazin made him uncomfortable. It suggested they had large appetites, and were not fussy about how they satisfied those appetites.
The room was huge. Overhead were bare rafters. Some- where beyond, lost in the shadows above, there must be a ceiling, but Sarazin, who could not see it, felt as if he was standing in an enormous cave. He waited for Amantha to embrace him in rapture. But she was busying herself with the job of trimming the candles. 'Amantha, darling,' said Sarazin, stealing up on her.
He slid an encircling arm round her waist. But she shook him off. 'Can't you see I'm busy?' she said.
Somewhat taken aback by her brusque reaction, he backed off and sat down on the bed, which was massive. The yellowed skulls of ancestral enemies were perched on the finials at each of its corners.
On the walls of the room were the glowering heads of wild animals slaughtered by King Lyra, by King Lyra's father, and by his father's father before him. Triumphs of taxidermy they were: the heads of stag, wolf and bear. Sarazin was acutely conscious of the fact that in all his hunting he had never personally killed any animal so noble. Why are there so many dogs in here?' said Sarazin. These are the king's dogs,' said Amantha. 'Couldn't they sleep outside? At least for tonight, I mean.' Who are you to change a royal custom?' said Amantha.
Sarazin, who did not want to begin their night of bliss with an argument, declined to answer. Instead, he stripped off his clothes, threw them on to a chair – which was made entirely from interwoven antlers – then began to dry himself vigorously with a towel which had been laid out on the bed.
Then Amantha, having finished trimming the candles, began to take off her clothes. A huge moth with wings the colour of copper and bronze danced dizzy around the candles. A muscular mastiff watched the two humans. Waiting for what? An order? As Sarazin was wondering, a monstrous hound of uncertain breed jumped on to the bed. 'Hey! You!' said Sarazin. 'Get off the bed!'
He grabbed the dog's collar and hauled on it. The brute did not budge by so much as a fingerlength. Instead, it bared its teeth and growled. Sarazin hastily let go and stepped back. 'Sheebal' said Amantha, sharply. And clapped her hands twice, in anger.
The hound hastily decamped from the bed and slunk into a comer, where it lay sulking as Amantha towelled herself.
'Don't watch!' she said, catching Sarazin in the act. You embarrass me.'
So Sarazin turned away, humming to himself, trying to pretend he felt gay and jaunty. Rain drummed against the shutters. It was cold. He wanted. Warmth, yes. Amantha was warm, surely. What did Lod say? Slippery when wet…
Sarazin turned to Amantha, who had swaddled herself in her towel. He tried, gently, to remove it. She
