plan.
Jarl made some prefatory remarks about duty, courage, heroism and such – he was speaking, perhaps, with the history books in mind. Then he mentioned sacrifice.
'You want a sacrifice?' yelled someone from the rear ranks. I'd give you my mother-in-law to sacrifice, only the bitch is dead already.'
There followed laughter – which had nothing nice about it.
'Who said that?' demanded Sarazin. 'What's that man's name?' 'His name is legion,' said a shout. 'Legion, legion,' roared half a hundred throats.
Upon which all two hundred took up the nonsensical one-word slogan. This was the battle-cry of outright mutiny.
'Never mind who said it,' declared Jarl, as the noise died down. 'Let's talk survival. Westward, this arm of the Willow Vale narrows further. Eventually we run into a cliff. But there is a gate in that cliff. The gate opens into a tunnel. The tunnel leads to safety.'
An anonymous unhero declared that nobody was in any mood for fairytales.
This is no fairytale,' said Jarl. The secrets of gate and tunnel were researched by old Epelthin Elkin in Narba. He-'
But Jarl was shouted down by the men, who thought he was bluffing, and meant to march them on hoping to chance upon a path over the mountains. None of the cat- bath-bedraggled foot sloggers were prepared to go another step on such an offchance. Finally, Sarazin appealed for silence.
There are two ways we can handle this,' said he. You can mutiny here and now, which means you'll be tried for high treason if you ever get back to Selzirk.'
That provoked some rock-throwing. Some of the rocks were quite large – but Sarazin ducked efficiently. When permitted to speak again he said:
'Alternatively, I can order you to surrender. Not now, but tomorrow morning. Then you'd be safe on your return to Selzirk. What's more, as prisoners you'll get one day's pay for every ten you spend in captivity. Not a fortune – but money in your pockets all the same. So what do you want? Mutiny now, and exile from Selzirk forever? Or surrender tomorrow and take prisoners' pay if you ever get back home?' What's the catch?' cried a man.
'No catch,' said Sarazin. 'Just hold this ground till dawn while I race for the west. With me will go Thodric Jarl – and any other man who lusts for freedom.'
You've got a deal,' declared one of the soldiers, and this sentiment was duly seconded, voted on and confirmed.
Thus Sarazin and Jarl escaped to the west by night, taking with them Heth – their most valuable prisoner. Their only other companions were Epelthin Elkin and the dwarf Glambrax.
Sarazin was shocked by the speed of events. He had gone from being a victorious commander to a hunted fugitive in scarcely no time at all. Anxiously, he asked Jarl: 'This gate, this tunnel – do they really exist?' 'Ask Elkin,' said Jarl. 'He's the scholar.'
Was Elkin's scholarship accurate? It must bel Otherwise,
Sean Sarazin might shortly die. He said as much to Elkin when they halted about midnight to rest their horses. 'Your life?' said Elkin. 'My life is at stake here too.'
Then drew Sarazin away from the others and said to him, in an urgent whisper:
'Remember, Jarl thinks me a scholar. Only you know me as a wizard. If Jarl learns as much it will prove my death for certain. Whatever we find to the west, remember – never speak to me as a wizard. To do so would be to slay me.' You can trust me,' said Sarazin.
Thoroughly bewildered by this. What would they find to the west? Something other than a gate and a tunnel? And why would their discovery spark talk of wizardry? And why would Jarl kill Elkin if he knew him for a wizard?
Towards dawn – a miserable dawn of driving rain and rising wind – Sarazin finally remembered Jarl's first audience with Farfalla. The Rovac warrior, offered the position of Master of Combat for the Watch, had taken umbrage because the salary was denominated in wizard coinage. He had spoken of a feud of long standing between wizards and the Rovac.
Great! Not only was Sarazin running for his life, but he was also embroiled in a mysterious feud between the ruthless wizards of the Confederation and the homicidal mercenaries of Rovac!
Through dawn's grey rainlight they roughed on over rain- slide rocks until their mounts broke down entirely and had to be turned loose. On they went by foot.
'Cut me loose,' said Heth, whose hands were tied behind his back. 'I need my hands to steady myself.' 'AH right,' said Jarl, cutting Heth free. Immediately, the peasant sprinted for freedom. 'Stop!' shouted Sarazin. But Heth ran on. Thwap!!
A bolt from Glambrax's crossbow slammed into a sapling just to the left of Heth's ear. Waterdrops thick- splattered down from the sapling's leaves. Heth glanced back, saw Glambrax already recocking his crossbow – and halted. 'I give up,' said Heth. Jarl advanced on him looking grim. 'Don't kill him!' said Sarazin.
'I will, unless he swears himself to our escape,' said Jarl. 'By all means!' said Heth hastily.
And duly swore to do all in his power to help the fugitives escape alive and uninjured (and, for Jarl was thorough when it came to formulating oaths, unhexed, unfrightened and in the best possible state of health and wealth), and not to try to escape himself no matter what the temptation or provocation.
'IJnth!' said Glambrax, cursing in an uncouth tongue unknown to any of the others. 'A hunting party comes! For us, I warrant!'
Indeed, looking back they saw a full three dozen soldiers in the distance. Friends or enemies? Probably Glambrax was right and they were enemies.
'So our men betrayed us,' said Sarazin bitterly. 'They surrendered as soon as we were gone.'
'Don't be so quick to judge,' said Jarl. 'Mayhap one crept away from the rest to betray us. Or the enemy attacked once we had left. Or perhaps among our enemies there are wizards or witches who read our thoughts and acted accordingly.'
'Friend Jarl has a mind with analytical powers formid- able,' said Elkin. 'But-' 'Save it,' said Sarazin. 'We know the rest.'
And he set off for the west, thinking to set a crack- ing pace. But geography conspired against speed. They shouldered through thickets, fought brambles and dared uprearing rocks. Were they still being pursued? Was the enemy gaining on them? It was impossible to say.
They marched till old man Elkin was utterly exhausted, and the others not much better. Even though life and liberty were at stake, they could go no further. Jarl led them into the thickest undergrowth available, and there they huddled like so many pigs.
The daylight faltered as the rain worsened. The ground ran wet with water. The wind came sluicing and slicing from all directions, swirling away all chance of dreams with gusts and buffets of water-slap. The dullsky day darkened at length to night – a night of sleepless misery which beggars description.
By dawn, Sarazin felt a good half century older. But roused himself to his feet, helped eat the last of their food, then bravely led the march onward. It was march or perish: for unless they reached sanctuary soon they would die on their feet. He was sure of it. He was right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The fugitives: Sean Sarazin (the man who would be king); Thodric Jarl (Rovac warrior and military policeman); Epelthin Elkin (scholar and wizard of Ebber); Glambrax (Sarazin's dwarf servant and son of the witch Zelafona); Heth (blond peasant from Stokos, a commander loyal to the ogre Tor and now Sarazin's hostage). These five are heading west up a steadily narrowing arm of the Willow Vale, hoping to find escape through a gate known to Elkin through scholarly research.
Through pelting rain they stumbled, harried by the rough-fingered wind. The skies above, near black with the burden of cloud, birthed thunder. The thunder at first was distant. Then near at hand it spoke: THUMBLUMABLOM.
