And you can bet all the gold in your pockets, and bet your favorite slave as well, and your wife, and your mother-in-law's walking stick, that Zozimus went on to name that weed, and to mention five or six occasions on which the cookery of that weed had been well received, and to state a dozen recipes for its preparation – for when the show-off mood was upon Zozimus there was no stopping him.
'So far, so good,' said Lord Onosh, when he had absorbed great quantities of this advice. 'Snails and water weed. Very well. But I warrant it would still make a thin meal.'
'True, my lord,' said Zozimus, grabbing Glambrax by the ear,
'but it would go very well with some dwarf.'
At that, the dwarf kicked and struggled so much that Zozimus had to let him go. But such was the cunning of the slug-chef's timing that the dwarf, impelled by the violence of his own efforts to escape, rolled over and over and plunged into the crackle-ice sweetwaters of the Swelaway Sea. He struggled out, cursing, and immediately went on the attack with tinder and flint, striving to make himself a fire.
'As you can see,' said Zozimus, observing the dwarf's prompt success, 'we have fire already. We will shortly also have fish.'
Then Zozimus produced from his robes a vial of something he claimed to be fish poison.
'Do you always travel with such?' said Lord Onosh in astonishment.
'But of course, my lord,' said Zozimus blandly.
And poured the stuff upon the waters, where it worked as smoothly as a miracle, for very shortly there were any number of dead fish belly-up and gaping.
Thus the Witchlord Onosh came to the shores of the Swelaway Sea with the ragtag remnants of his army, and the sea provided for him fish, and waterweed, and the snails to flesh out the meal, and so a banquet was had.
When the banqueting was done, talk turned to the future.
'The question now,' said Thodric Jarl, 'is how we conquer the Safrak Islands.'
'Pardon?' said Lord Onosh.
'My lord means conquest, does he not?' said Jarl. 'Surely he did not bring us all this way just for the pleasure of poisoning a few fish and watching a dwarf make vomit of them.'
So spoke Jarl, casually dismissing their dead, their defeats, their retreats, the pangs being suffered by Glambrax (who had grossly over-indulged himself by eating the eyes from the head of each and every fish which had gone toward the feeding of an entire army) and all the sundry embroilments of the catastrophic nightmare which they had so recently and so strenuously lived through.
'One considers,' said Lord Onosh, choosing his words carefully, 'one considers that the wetness of the Swelaway Sea has certain implications for our future actions. I scarcely think to ride to battle across the waves, nor do I think the seizure of a few boats would do us much good beneath the invincible cliffs of Alozay.'
'My father has spoken well,' said Guest Gulkan. 'The Safrak
Islands are defended beyond all possibility of conquest.'
'Then what does my lord intend?' said Jarl. 'Are we to retreat to Port Domax, as was earlier suggested? Or what?'
'It is said that the Safrak Islands are but scantily populated,' said Lord Onosh, 'and that Molothair is a city largely deserted. I will treat with the lords of Alozay, and will seek to hold one of the minor islands in fief, paying for the privilege.
There we will house our people and make our future.'
'I think,' said Thodric Jarl, with a suggestion of a growl giving a hard edge to his wisdom, 'that such privileges will not be lightly bought.'
'The wealth of Gendormargensis is with us,' said Lord Onosh.
'We do not come empty handed, and our embassy will say as much.'
Then Lord Onosh despatched scouts to seek along the shores of the lake for a boat, and when the scouts had been successful the Witchlord then sent ambassadors to Safrak, their mission being to negotiate the purchase of an island where the Witchlord might settle with the remnants of his army. The ambassadors were Hostaja Sken- Pitilkin, the witch Zelafona, and Guest Gulkan, for these three had a knowledge of the Galish, which tongue was alien to the Witchlord's lips.
All through the journey to Alozay, Sken-Pitilkin drilled Guest Gulkan ruthlessly in the Galish tongue, seeking to awaken that learning which had been hammered into the boy's head in earlier days. But the task was difficult, for the approach to Alozay saw Guest ever slipping away into dreams of glory.
For Alozay, of course, was the home of Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis, a demon incarnate in a huge block of jade- green stone.
During Guest's earlier exile on Alozay, that demon had tempted the boy, promising that he would be granted the powers of a wizard if he would only consent to quest to the far-distant city of Obooloo, and in Obooloo to liberate the Great God Jocasta from the Temple of Blood.
Thus, while journeying to Safrak's ruling island, Guest Gulkan dreamt mightily of demons, and of Great Gods, and of wizardhood, and of future glory. Sken-Pitilkin, Zelafona and Guest Gulkan were received at Alozay by Banker Sod, the Governor of the Safrak Bank, who allowed them into the mainrock Pinnacle. The pale-skinned iceman chose to interrogate them in his office, which was adorned with the shields of the Toxteth-speaking mercenaries of the Guardians. Upon those shields were painted glowing scenes of bloody decapitations – and worse.
A very miracle of luxury was that office, warmed with braziers and furs, and in their reduced condition the Witchlord's ambassadors were at first hesitant even to seat themselves. But Sod commanded them into chairs; and set mulled wine before them; and had hot chestnuts served to them; and then, seeing the gnawing hunger which obsessed them, saw to it that they were served with hot bread, and soup thick with onions and garlic.
'Well,' said Sod, when his visitors were done with their eating. 'Are we pleasured? Are we sated?'
'My lord has been most hospitable,' said Sken-Pitilkin.
'Yes,' said Sod. 'Particularly considering that you have given me cause for hostility rather than hospitality.' Then the pale-skinned iceman endeavored to skewer Sken-Pitilkin with the bright-staring gaze of his yellow eyes, and bared his yellow teeth in something reminiscent of a dog's aggression, and said:
'Hostility, yes, for when you were last in the precincts of my Bank, you caused considerable distress. You precipitated a fight.
Or was it you?'
With that, Sod turned his skewering attention from Sken-Pitilkin to Guest Gulkan.
'That was no precipitation of mine,' said Guest. 'That was Jarl, Jarl did the fighting, on account of some precipitation between himself and yourself.'
'Yes, well,' said Sod. 'What did he tell you of that?'Guest searched his memory, for it was long since he had discussed that subject with Jarl.
'Jarl says,' said Guest, slowly, 'that he saw you last in Chi'ash-lan. He presumes you to be hiding here with a mighty price upon your head, which would explain the violence of your reaction to his recognition of you.'
'Has it occurred to you,' said Sod, 'that if I do truly wish to keep my presence here a secret, I might do well to encompass your death, and to send out agents to slaughter down Thodric Jarl as well.'
'I think you not so stupid,' said Guest. 'Since last we left this place, why, Jarl and myself, we've been to Ema- urk and the Ibsen-Iktus, the mountains, we've been to Babaroth, to Locontareth, to half the places in between. Even as we sit here, the story of our travels echoes down the roadway. We in our courage have entered into epic, and the sagas will sing us famously a thousand years from hence.'
'The boy speaks in truth,' said the dralkosh Zelafona. 'My sister Bao Gahai herself interrogated the warrior Jarl in depth, and heard from him all that is known of your history. It is a mighty great mystery, you being here, given the vastness of space which separates Chi'ash-lan from Safrak. Still, here you are, and all the world knows it, and if you had hoped to keep the matter a secret then you are far, far too late.'
'If a wizard may agree with a witch,' said Sken-Pitilkin,
'then let me speak in support of Zelafona. For I myself discussed this mystery with Ontario Nol.'
'I know him not,' said Banker Sod.
'Ontario Nol,' said Sken-Pitilkin, slipping effortlessly into his lecturing mode, 'is the abbot of the monastery of Qonsajara.
He dwells in the heights of those mountains known as Ibsen-Iktus, and Guest Gulkan's brother Eljuk dwells
