The War Hound and The World

Chapter XII

WE RODE NOW across comparatively flat country which was broken by the low white buildings of farms and vineyards, yellow and light green under the heavy sun.

At the first good-sized town we came to I sought a doctor for our wounds. I had Satan's elixir, but preferred to keep it for more urgent purposes. By dint, however, of a little of Satan's silver we were able to get the doctor to tend to our horses as well. The man made a fuss but I argued that he had probably killed more men than horses in his career and that here was his opportunity to try to even up his score. He saw no humour in my jest, but he did his work skilfully enough.

We took the road to Milan, falling in with a mixed group of pilgrims, most of whom were returning to France and some to England. These men and women had visited the Holy City, bought all sorts of benefices, observed all the wonders, both ancient and modem, and seemed thoroughly satisfied that they had gained much from the hardships of travel. They had stories of maguses, of miracle-working priests, of visions and revelations. Many displayed the usual sorts of gimcrackery still sold as the bones of this or that saint, the feather of an angel, pieces of the True Cross and so on. At least three separate people I met had the real Holy Grail but considered themselves too sinful, still, either to perceive its actual beauty (these things were pewter got up to look like silver, mostly) or to be allowed to witness its magical properties. Naturally, I neither informed them of my Quest nor attempted to persuade them that the artefacts they had purchased were false.

When we got to that lovely city of Verona, we found the place in a bustle. Some Catholic knight, doubtless tired of the War in Germany and believing the Cause without much worth anyway, had aroused a group of zealous young men to join him in a Crusade. The object of the Crusade, it seemed, was to attack Constantinople and free it from the Turks. This idea appealed greatly to Sedenko, whose people lived to take the city they called "Tsargrad" out of Islam's chains. When he saw the leader of the Crusaders, however, a near-senile baron evidently eaten with syphilis, and the tiny force he had gathered, Sedenko decided to wait "until all the Kazak hosts can ride at once to Saint Sophia and destroy the crescent which profanes her altar."

Near Brescia we witnessed the trial and burning of a self-professed Anti-Christ: a gigantic man with wild black hair and a black beard, wearing a red robe and a crown of roses. He called upon the people to give up their false pride, their presumption that they were the children of Christ, and admit that as sinners they were followers of his. The Final War must come, he preached, and those who were with him would be triumphant. The Bible, he said, lied. It was plain that he believed every word he spoke and that his concern for others was sincere. He died at the stake, pleading with them to save themselves by following him. During his burning a thunderstorm began some miles away. The priests chose to see this as a sign of God's pleasure. The people, however, plainly expected the beginning of Armageddon and knelt to pray. In the main they prayed to Christ, though I believe I heard several praying to the charred bones of the Anti-Christ. And in Crema I was taken to meet another mad creature, some hermaphroditic monster, who claimed that it was an angel, fallen to Earth and, having lost its wings, unable to return to Heaven. The angel lived on what it could beg from the people of Crema. They were kind to it. Some of them half-believed it. However, I had met an Angel, albeit a Dark One, and I knew what they were like. But when this angel of Crema begged me, as a holy traveller and a Goodly Knight, to confirm that he had truly plummeted from Heaven, I told all those who would listen that, to the best of my limited knowledge, this was what an angel looked like and that it was quite possible that this one had lost its wings. I suggested it be given all possible comfort during its stay on Earth.

Five miles past Crema we saw an entire village destroyed by brigands clad in the hoods of the Holy Inquisition of Spain. They went off with the contents of the church, with all goods of value, with women and with children whom they plainly intended to sell as staves. And those who survived believed, many of them, that they had been visited by Christ's servants and that what had been given up by them had been given up in support of Christ's Cause.

I met few good men on that road. I met many whose honour had turned to pride yet who were contemptuous of me for what they saw as my cynical pragmatism. Bit by bit I had told Sedenko most of my story, for I thought it fair to let him know whom he served. He had shrugged. After what he had witnessed of late, he said, he did not think it mattered a great deal. At least the Quest was holy, even if the men upon it were not.

Beyond Crema we passed again into the Mittelmarch. Save that the seasons were, of course, reversed, the landscape was not greatly different. We were in a kingdom, we discovered, which was the vestige of a Carthaginian Empire which had beaten Rome during Hannibal's famous campaign, conquered all of Europe and parts of Asia and had converted to the Jewish religion, so that the whole world had been ruled by Rabbinical Knights. It was a land so horrifying to Sedenko that he believed he was being punished for his sins and was already in Hell. We were treated hospitably and my engineering experience was called into play when the Chief Judge of this Carthaginian land pronounced a sentence of death upon a Titan. A gallows had to be built for him. In return for aid and some extra gold, I was able to design a suitable scaffold. The Titan was hanged and I received the gratitude of those people forever.

Shortly after this we entered a great, complicated city maintained by an infinite series of balances and relationships whose acute harmony was such that I could not then tolerate it. It was a place of divine abstractions and the citizens were scarcely aware of us at all. Sedenko was not as badly affected as was I, but we were both glad to leave and find ourselves soon in a familiar France near Saint-Etienne where, for some weeks, we were imprisoned as suspected murderers and heretics, released only through the intercession of a priest who had discovered several eyewitnesses. The priest was paid with the Carthaginian gold and we went on our way gladly. Both our own world and the world of the Mittelmarch seemed to have increased in peril, but we moved steadily westward through both, crossing the sea, at last, to England, where we did not fare particularly well.

In England we were regarded by almost everyone with deep suspicion. The nation was full of discontent and any stranger was considered either a Puritan traitor or a Catholic agitator, so we were pleased to leave that country and set sail for Ireland, where there were various small wars afoot. We found ourselves drawn into two such campaigns, once on the side of the Irish and once on the side of the English; Sedenko fell in love and killed the woman's husband when discovered. Thus we left Ireland in some haste and from there set foot, once more, in the Mittelmarch.

We had been on the Quest for almost a year and seemed no closer to the blue-green Forest at the Edge of Heaven, while I had seen much of the world but learned little, I thought, that I had not known already. I longed for my Lady Sabrina, whom I had in no way forgotten. My love for her was as strong as it had ever been.

Sometimes I believed I had caught sight of Klosterheim or that he had revealed his hand in several attacks on our persons, but I could not be sure. It did seem that his warning had been accurate. Fewer and fewer of the lands we visited would welcome us. We began to feel like criminals. The hospitality of even common folk declined. The struggle between Heaven and Hell, the struggle which was taking place in Hell alone, the wars which shook the lands of the Mittelmarch, were all reflected in the strife which tore Europe. There was no end to it. Death and Plague continued to spread. We wondered, should we continue our way west and come at last to the New World, if we should discover any better there. Young Sedenko had taken on a haggard look and seemed ten years older than when we had met. I, apparently, had not much changed in my appearance. I had become familiar with many of the spells in the grimoires and had on occasions used them. Of late, their use had become more frequent. And of late, also, they seemed to have become less effective. I wondered if Hell's Dukes were massing and gaining strength over their Master. In which case, I thought, my Quest and all my efforts were absolutely without meaning.

It was raining in the Mittelmarch, one spring day, at noon. Sedenko and I were drenched and our horses were beginning to steam. We were crossing a wide plain of cracked earth. At intervals on the plain we saw tall pyres burning, sending black smoke low into the sky. The rain pattered on our cloaks and made puddles in the mud. We had encountered and defeated four or five misshapen men who I suspected were Klosterheim's, and I was following my compass which directed us to the way out of Mittelmarch. I was beginning to know a deeper despair than any I had known before, for I suspected my journey had no ending, that a terrible trick had been played upon me.

The pyres were closer together. No mourners stood near them, but upon each one was a heavily wrapped corpse. I wondered if the occupants of those pyres had died of disease. Then I saw a moving figure which was obscured by the smoke and I pointed it out to Sedenko, but the Muscovite could see nothing.

So long had it been since our last encounter with Klosterheim that we had begun to think him gone directly from our sphere, but now I was almost certain that the shadow hi the smoke was the witch-seeker himself. I drew up, raising a cautionary hand to Sedenko, who followed my example. The rain and the smoke continued to make it all but impossible to see any distance.

Eventually we decided to ride on as the rain began to lift and the sun emerged, dark red and huge in the eastern sky.

The smoke gave way to mist rising from the broken earth and we left the pyres behind us, though the plain continued to stretch for miles in all directions.

Sedenko saw the village first. He gestured. Distant metal glittered in the heavy evening light. The houses seemed to be rounded, topped by tittle spires. Coming closer, I saw that they were in actuality leather tents mounted on wheels and decorated with all manner of symbols. The glitter came from their roof-spikes, of gold, bronze and silver inlay.

Sedenko drew in his breath. "Those yurts are a familiar sight!" His hand went to the hilt of his sabre.

"What?" said I. "Are they Tatars?"

"By all the signs, aye."

"Then perhaps we should skirt that camp?" I suggested.

"And lose the chance of killing some of them!" he said, as if I were insane.

"There are likely to be rather more of them, friend Sedenko, than there are of us. I do not think my Master would be pleased if I diverted my time to the cause of genocide…"

Sedenko scowled and muttered. He was like a hound restrained from hunting its natural game.

"Besides," I added, "they are showing a keen interest in ourselves."

A score of horsemen were riding towards us. I spurred my steed into a trot, but Sedenko did not follow me. "I cannot run from a Tatar," he wailed.

I went about and got hold of his reins, dragging him and his horse after me. But the Tatars were moving with astonishing speed and within minutes we were surrounded, staring at their mounts, which were not creatures of flesh at all, but were fashioned from brass. They had dead, staring eyes and creaked a little as they moved. The Tatars, however, were evidently flesh and blood.

"Those horses are mechanical," I said. "I have never heard of such a wonder!"

One of the Asiatics pulled at his long moustache and stared at me for several moments before speaking. "Yours is the tongue of Philander Groot."

"It is German," I said. "What do you know of Groot?"

"Our friend." The Tatar chief looked suspiciously at the glaring Sedenko. "Why is your companion so angry?"

"Because you chased us, I suppose," I told him. "He is also a friend of Philander Groot. We saw him less than a year hence, in the Valley of the Golden Cloud."

"It was said that he would go there." The Tatar made a sign to his men. Pressing on either side of us, they began to steer us towards their village. "It was Groot who made our horses for us, when the Plague came, which destroyed all mares and lost us our herds."

"Is that what burns yonder?" I asked him, pointing back at the pyres.

He shook his head. "Those are not ours." He would say no more on the subject.

My opinion of Groot was even higher now that I had seen an example of his skill. I found it difficult to understand, why the dandy had chosen to live the life of a hermit when he was capable of so much.

The mechanical horses clattered as we moved. Sedenko said to me: "They are not true Tatars, of course, but are creatures of the Mittelmarch, and so I suppose are not necessarily my natural blood-enemies."

"I think it would be politic, if nothing else, Sedenko," said I, "if you held to that line of reasoning. At least for the next little while."

He looked suspiciously at me, but then nodded, as if to say he would bide his time for my sake.

The village was full of dogs, goats, women and children and it stank. The Tatars brought their mechanical mounts to a halt and the creatures stopped, still as statues, where they stood. Fires and cooking pots, half-cured skins, wizened elders: all at odds with the sophistication of Groot's inventions.

We were led into one of the larger yurts and here the stench was more intense than anything we had experienced outside. I was almost driven out by it, but Sedenko took it for granted. I gathered that his own people had borrowed many Tatar customs and that, to a stranger, Kazaks would not be easily distinguishable from their ancient enemies.

"We are the Guardians of the Genie," said the Tatar chief as he bade us sit upon piles of exotic but unclean cushions. "You must eat with us, if you are Groot's friends. We shall kill a dog and a goat."

"Please," said I, "your hospitality is too much. A simple bowl of rice is all we need to eat."

"You must eat meat." The chief was firm. "We have few guests and would hear your news."

I was amused, wondering what he would make of our real story. I had teamed in such circumstances to be a little vague, since oftentimes we had not even journeyed from any neighbouring kingdom, and thus could be unfamiliar with geography, customs and politics which might be the only experience of our hosts. We had become used to saying that we were upon a pilgrimage, hi quest of a holy thing; that we were vowed not to mention it, nor the name of the Deity we worshipped. This way I, at least, was able to identify this fictitious god of mine with the gods of those we met. Sedenko, being still somewhat more pious than myself, preferred to say nothing.

As best J could, I described some of my adventures in the Mittelmarch and some of our experiences in our journey across Europe. There was quite enough for the Tatar chief to hear, and by the time we were setting to about the dog and the goat (both of which were stewed in the same pot, with a few vegetables) I think we had paid more than amply for our food and it was time for me to ask the chief:

"And what is this Genie which you guard?"

"A powerful creature," he said soberly, "which resides in a jar. It has been imprisoned there for aeons. Philander Groot gave it to us. In return for the gift of horses, we guard the Genie."

"And what did you do before you became Guardians of the Genie?" I asked.

"We made war on other tribes. We conquered them and took away their horses, their livestock, their women."

"You no longer make war on them?"

The Tatar shook his head. "We cannot. Even by the time Philander Groot came to us we had destroyed everyone but ourselves."

"You wiped out every other tribe?"

"The Plague weakened them. We considered attacking Bakinax, but we are too few. Philander Groot said that with the power of the Genie we should not have to fear the Plague. And this seems to be so."

"And what is Bakinax?" asked Sedenko.

"The City of the Plague," said the Tatar chief, "It is where the Plague came from in the first place. It is created by a demon the citizens have with them. I have heard that they try to destroy the demon but that it feeds on the souls of men and beasts and that is why it sends the Plague to them. It sits in a sphere at the centre of Bakinax, eating its fill."

"Yet your souls are untouched."

"Quite. We have the Genie."

"Of course."

After we had eaten, the Tatar chief caused a brand to be lit and he took us to the outskirts of the camp where a little wooden scaffolding had been erected. From it, hanging by plaited horsehair, was a decorated jar of dark yellow glass. The Tatar held the brand close and I thought I saw something stirring within, but it might have been nothing more than reflected light.

"If the jar is broken," said the chief, "and the Genie is released, it will grow to immense proportions and wreak a horrible destruction throughout Mittelmarch. The demon knows this and the folk of Bakinax know this and that is why we are left untroubled."

He took a woven blanket and with some reverence draped it over the scaffolding, hiding the jar from our sight. "We cover it at night," he said. "Now I will show you to our guest yurt. Do you require women?"

I shook my head. I had known no other woman since I had taken the Lady Sabrina's ring. Sedenko considered the offer a little longer than did I. But then he also decided not to accept. As he murmured to me: "To sleep with a Tatar woman would be tantamount to heresy amongst the Kazak people."

The yurt in which we were to sleep was relatively clean and had sweet straw upon the floor. We stretched out on mats and were soon asleep, although not before Sedenko had grumbled that he had lost considerable pride by missing the opportunity to kill a Tatar or two. "At very least I should have stolen something from them."

When I awoke at dawn Sedenko had already been out, to relieve himself, he said. "It's stopped raining, captain. One of the children said that it is only about a day's ride to Bakinax, due west. It lies directly on our way. What do you think? We're low on provisions."

"Are you anxious to visit a place known as the City of the Plague?"

"I am anxious to eat something other than dog or goat," he said feelingly.

I laughed at this. "Very well. We shall take the risk."

I arose and washed myself in the bowl of water provided us, breakfasted off the rice brought by a shy Tatar maiden and stepped out of the yurt. The camp was only just beginning to wake. I strode through it to the yurt of the chieftain. He greeted me civilly.

"Should you come upon our friend Philander Groot," he said, "tell him that we long to see him again, to do him honour for the honour he does us."

"It is unlikely," said I, "but I will remember your message."

We departed on good terms. Sedenko seemed overeager to reach Bakinax and I suggested, after about half an hour, that he slow his pace. "Do the fleshpots become so attractive to you, my friend?"

"I would feel more comfortable with a city wall between myself and the Tatars," he admitted.

"They plainly mean us no harm."

"They might wish us harm now," he said. He looked back in the direction of the camp. It was no longer visible. Then he reached behind him into a saddlebag and withdrew something which he displayed in his gloved hand.

It was the jar containing the Tatars' Genie.

"You are a fool, Sedenko," I said grimly. "That was a treacherous action to perform upon those who treated us so kindly. You must return it."

"Return it!" He was amazed. "It is a question of honour, captain. No Kazak could leave a Tatar village without something they value!"

"Our friend Philander Groot gave that to them, and they gave us their hospitality in the name of Groot. You must take it back!" I drew rein and reached out for the jar.

Sedenko cursed me and pulled on his horse's head to move out of range. "It is mine!"

I sprang from my horse and ran towards him. "Take it back or let me!"

"No!"

I jumped for the jar. His horse reared. He tried to control it and the jar slipped from his hand. I flew forward in an effort to save the thing, but it had already fallen to the hard earth. Sedenko was yelling something at me in his own barbaric tongue. I stopped to pick the jar up, noticing that the stopper had come loose, and then Sedenko had struck me from behind with the flat of his sword and I momentarily lost my senses, waking to see him clasping the jar to his chest as he ran back for his horse.

"Sedenko! You have gone mad!"

He turned, glaring at me. "They were Tatars!" he cried, as if reasoning with a fool. "They were Tatars, captain!"

"Take the jar back to them!" I clambered to my feet.

He stood his ground defiantly. Then he shouted wildly, as I came up: "They can have their damned jar, but they shall not have their Genie!" He dragged forth the stopper of the jar.

I stopped in horror, expecting the creature to emerge.

Sedenko began to laugh. He tossed the jar at me. "It's empty! It was all a deception. Groot tricked them!"

This seemed to please him. "Let them have it, if you wish, captain." He laughed harder. "What a splendid joke. I knew Philander Groot was a fellow after my own heart."

Now, as I held the jar, I saw tiny, pale hands clutching at the rim. I looked down into it. There was a small, helpless, fading thing. As the air reached it, it was evidently dying. It was manlike in form, but naked and thin. A tiny, mewling noise escaped its wizened lips and I thought I detected a word or two. Then the miniature hands slipped from the rim and the creature fell to the bottom of the jar where it began to shiver.

There was nothing for it but to replace the stopper. I looked at Sedenko in disgust.

"Empty!" He guffawed. "Empty, captain. Oh, let me take it back to them. I threatened to ruin Groot's joke."

I forced the stopper down into the jar and held the thing out to Sedenko. "Empty," said I. "Take it back then, Kazak."

He dropped the jar into his saddlebag, mounted his horse and rode away at that breakneck pace he and his kind preferred.

I waited for some forty minutes, then I continued on westward, towards Bakinax, not much caring at that moment if Sedenko survived or not. I had consulted my maps. Bakinax lay not much more than a week's ride from the Forest at the Edge of Heaven.

My foreboding grew, however, as I came closer to the city.

Sedenko, grinning all over his face, soon caught me up.

"They had not noticed its disappearance," he said. "Is not Philander Groot a wily fellow, captain?"

"Oh, indeed," said I. It seemed to me that Groot had had his own reasons for deceiving the Tatars. By means of that Genie, alive or dead, they survived and the people of Bakinax dared not attack them. Groot had given the Tatars life and a reason, of sorts, for living. My admiration for the dandy, as well as my curiosity about him, continued to increase.

The vast plain was behind us at long last when we came to a land of dry grass and hillocks and thousands of tiny streams. It had begun to rain again.

I reflected that the Mittelmarch appeared to have become bleaker in the year of our journey. It was as if less could grow here, as if the soul of the Realm were being sucked from it. I told myself that all I witnessed was a difference of geography, but I was not in my bones content with that at all.

In the evening we saw a city ahead of us and knew that it must be Bakinax.

We rode through the streets in the moonlight. The place seemed very still. We stopped a man who, with a burning torch in each hand, went drunkenly homeward. He spoke a language we could not understand, but by means of signs we got directions from him and found for ourselves a lodging for the night: a small, ill-smelling inn.

In the morning, as we breakfasted from strange cheeses and mysterious meats, we were interrupted by the entrance of five or six men in identical surcoats, bearing halberds, with morion helmets decorated by feathers, their hands and feet both mailed. They made it plain that we were to go with them.

Sedenko was for fighting, but I saw no point. Our horses had been stabled while we slept and we had no knowledge of their exact whereabouts. Moreover, this whole country was alien to us. I had, as had become my habit, all Lucifer's gifts about my person and my sword was at my side, so that I did not feel entirely vulnerable as I rose, wiped my lips and bowed to the soldiers as an indication that we were ready to accompany them.

The streets of Bakinax, seen in daylight, were narrow and none too clean. Ragged children with thin, hungry faces stopped to look at us as we passed and old people, in rags for the most part, gaped. It was not an unusually despondent place, this city, compared to many I had seen in Europe, but neither did it seem a cheerful one. There was an atmosphere of gloom hanging over it and I thought it well-named the City of the Plague.

We were escorted through the main square where, upon a great wooden dais, stood a huge globe of dull, unpleasant metal, guarded by soldiers in the same uniform as those who now surrounded us. The square was otherwise empty of citizens.

"That must be the house of the devil the Tatar mentioned," whispered Sedenko to me. "Do you really think it lives on the souls of the people hereabouts, captain?"

"I do not know," said I, "but I would cheerfully feed it yours, Sedenko." I was not yet prepared to forgive him for his foolishness concerning the stolen jar. He, for his part, was absolutely unrepentant. He took my remark, as he had taken others, as a joke, craning his head to look again at the sphere as we were marched up stone steps and through the portal of what was evidently some important public building.

We were taken into a room lined on both sides with pews. Not one of the pews, however, was occupied. At the far end of the room was a lectern and behind the lectern, where a priest might stand, was a tall, thin man with a bright red wig, dressed in a gown of black and gold.

Said he in the Latin language: "Speak you Latin, men?"

"I speak a little," I told him. "Why have we been brought here so roughly, Your Honour? We are honest travellers."

"Not so honest. You seek to avoid the tolls. You have ridden through our sacred Burning Grounds and desecrated them. You have entered Bakinax by the East Gate and placed no gold in the plate. And those are only your main crimes. Do not offer me your hypocrisy, sir, as well as your offences! I am the Great Magistrate of Bakinax and it was I who ordered you arrested. Will you speak?"

"We cannot know your laws," I said, "for we are strangers here. If we had been aware that your Burning Grounds were sacred we should have ridden clear of them, I assure you. As for the gold which must be placed in the plate, we will willingly pay it now. None challenged us as we entered."

"Too late to pay in gold," said the Great Magistrate. He cleared his nose and glared at us. "You cannot claim that nobody told you of Bakinax as you journeyed here, for it is a famous place, this City of the Plague. Did no one mention our demon?"

"A demon was mentioned, aye." I shrugged. "But nothing was said of tolls, Your Honour."

"Why come here?"

"For fresh supplies."

"To the City of the Plague?" He sneered. "To this awful City of the Demon? No! You came to cause us distress!"

"But, sir, how can we two cause a whole city distress?" I asked. The man was mad. I believed, reluctantly, that probably all Bakinax was mad. I regretted my decision to come here and felt in agreement with the Great Magistrate when he suggested that only a fool would seek out Bakinax.

"By being what you are. By seeing what you see!" replied the Magistrate. "We shall not be mocked, travellers! We shall not be mocked."

"We do not mock," I told him. "We promise that we shall not ever mention Bakinax again. Only, good sir, let us continue on our way, for we have a holy mission to perform."

"Aye, indeed you have," said the old man with some relish. "You must pay for your stupidity and your contempt for us with your souls. You will be given to our demon. Two of us shall thus be saved for a little longer and you will receive fitting punishment for your crimes. Your souls will go to Hell."

At this I laughed. Sedenko had no idea what had passed between us. I told him roughly what had been said.

He was not as amused as!. Perhaps he did not really believe that his soul was already destined for Lucifer's Realm.