must tell you the whole of my terrible past history. Then you may decide whether I am worthy to spend the rest of my days sharing your bed, your waking hours, your life. You are the queen of Zamerkand and must ask no less. What rubbish you speak! she cried. I know what I feel in my heart. Zamerkand needs a healthy queen, to put it back on its feet, to restore it to its former greatness as a trading nation. They argued thus the whole night long and finally Soldier won, for there was something in him which drew him forth, to the region of the damned and damnable. There was the sense that he might discover more about himself as well as about his wife. And of course, he was a knight, and what is the raison detre of a knight but to go on a quest for a Holy Grail, or Wonderful Sword, or an otherwise unattainable Truth. Such marshy, mountainous, treacherous unknown territories were the princesse lointaine to knights, drawing them into their cobwebbed regions. And the knight must go. He must. There is the traditional arming of the hero, carried out with great ceremony, with the squire handing the knight those items of armour which must be put on reverently and with solemnity in the right order. Once the knight is armed, cap-a-pie, he says farewell to his lady love, who gives him a favour a chiffon scarf or a velvet glove and then his newly groomed charger is brought to him, hoofs clattering on the cobbles of the courtyard, sparks flying from the iron shoes. The saddle is polished and the sheeps fleece that covers it is as soft and pure as the first white rose of spring. High noon sees the knight riding forth, his horse prancing to a chaconne that lives in its head, the pair of them bent on creating mayhem amongst evil and bringing home the desired object. Thus the vertical sun of the third day saw Soldier attired in his travelling armour, the raven on his shoulder. Half the city was at the walls to watch him go, friends, enemies and neutrals. He struck out north-west, towards the Kermer Pass, which would lead him through Falyum and to the Scalash River. There he would enter the marshes, flanked by two enormous sheer cliff faces, which guarded the border of the Unknown Region. The pass the crack between the unclimbable cliffs - went from half a mile wide at the outset to just a yard wide at its exit on the other side of the marshes. It was as if a wedge had been taken out of the mountain and had left a soggy triangular stretch of ground covered in quickmud. They reached the Kermer Pass, an ordinary passage between the first range of mountains, in several days. There they were seen by beast-heads, who dipped and dived behind rocks, but did not attack. Soldier had heard some disturbing reports that Wo had been banished for assisting the enemy of the beast-people in gaining a deadly sword. He hoped this was not true, for the dog-headed Wo did not deserve such punishment. When he returned from his quest Soldier planned to find out for sure what had happened and if at all possible reverse any wrongs. You know what you are doing, I suppose? said the raven, bobbing with the motion of the horse. This is certain death. So far every quest Ive been on has been certain death to you. Well, this one definitely is. So be it, we all have to die sometime. My only regret will be that my wife will be alone in her bed at nights. Maybe not, said the bird. Perhaps Captain Kaff will go on a quest for her and find success where youve found failure. Soldiers jaw set grimly. In that case, I shall make sure I do not die. Eventually they reached the marshy passage which would lead them into the Unknown Region. Soldier walked his charger through very carefully, testing the marish with his lance as they went. As with other border bogs there were stunted figures seen only at twilight which bobbed up suddenly in front of the horse, screeching and shrieking, trying to frighten it. But Soldiers old faithful was not to be intimidated by such wilful creatures, nor by the
Similar Books
