'I mean, it's just like that myth about the man who sowed dragons' teeth and terrible fighting skeletons came up!'
'I don't believe that,' said Caleb, as they jogged after Cohen. 'Why not?'
'If you sow dragons' teeth, you should get dragons. Noot fighting skeletons. What did it say on the packet?'
'I don't know! The myth never said anything about them coming in a packet!'
'Should've said “Comes up Dragons” on the packet.'
'You can't believe myths,' said Cohen. 'I should know. Right . . . there he is . . .' he added, pointing to a distant horseman. The whole plain was in turmoil now. The red warriors were only the start. The alliance of the five warlords was glass fragile in any case, and panicky flight was instantly interpreted as sneak attack. No-one paid any attention to the Horde. They didn't have any coloured pennants or gongs. They weren't traditional enemies. And, besides, the soil was now mud, and the mud flew, and everyone from the waist down was the same colour and this was rising. 'What're we doing, Ghenghiz?' said Mr Saveloy. 'We're heading back for the palace.'
'Why?'
' 'Cos that's where Hong's gone.'
'But there's this astonishing—'
'Look, Teach, I've seen walking trees and spider gods and big green things with teeth,' said Cohen. 'It's no good goin' around saying “astonishing” all the time, ain't that so, Truckle?'
'Right. D'you know, when I went after that Five-Headed Vampire Goat over in Skund they said I shouldn't on account of it being an endangered species? I said, yes, that was down to me. Were they grateful?'
'Huh,' said Caleb. 'Should've thanked you, giving them all those endangered species to worry about. Turn around and go home right now, soldier boy!' A group of soldiers, fighting to get away from the red warriors, skidded in the mud, stared in terror at the Horde, and headed off in a new direction. Truckle stopped for breath, rain streaming off his beard. 'I can't be having with this running, though,' he said. 'Not and push Hamish's wheelchair in all this mud. Let's have a breather.'
'Whut?'
'Stopping for a breather?' said Cohen. 'My gods! I never thought I'd see the day! A hero having a rest? Did Voltan the Indestructible have a bit of a rest?'
'He's having one now. He's dead, Ghenghiz,' said Caleb. Cohen hesitated.
'What, old Voltan?'
'Didn't you know? And the Immortal Jenkins.'
'Jenkins isn't dead, I saw him only last year.'
'But he's dead now. All the heroes are dead, 'cept us. And I ain't too sure about me, too.' Cohen splashed forward and snatched Caleb upright by his shirt. 'What about Hrun? He can't be dead. He's half our age!'
'Last I heard he got a job. Sergeant of the Guard somewhere.'
'Sergeant of the Guard?' said Cohen. 'What, for pay?'
'Yep.'
'But . . . what, like, for pay?'
'He told me he might make Captain next year. He said . . . he said it's a job with a pension.' Cohen released his grip. 'There's not many of us now, Cohen,' said Truckle. Cohen spun around. 'All right, but there's never been many of us! And I ain't dyin'! Not if it means the world's taken over by bastards like Hong, who don't know what a chieftain is. Scum. That's what he called his soldiers. Scum. It's like that bloody civilized game you showed us, Teach!'
'Chess?'
'Right. The prawns are just there to be slaughtered by the other side! While the king just hangs around at the back.'
'Yeah, but the other side's you, Cohen.'
'Right! Right . . . well, yes, that's fine when I'm the enemy. But I don't shove men in front of me to get killed instead of me. And I never use bows and them dog things. When I kill someone it's up close and personal. Armies? Bloody tactics? There's only one way to fight, and that's everyone charging all at once, waving their swords and shouting! Now on your feet and let's get after him!'
'It's been a long morning, Ghenghiz,' said Boy Willie. 'Don't give me that!'
'I could do with the lavatory. It's all this rain.'
'Let's get Hong first.'
'If he's hiding in the privy that's fine by me.' They reached the city gates. They had been shut. Hundreds of people, citizens as well as guards, watched them from the walls. Cohen waved a finger at them. 'Now I ain't gonna say this twice,' he said. 'I'm coming in, OK? It can be the easy way, or it can be the hard way.' Impassive faces looked down at the skinny old man, and up at the plain, where the armies of the warlords fought one another and, in terror, the terracotta warriors. Down. Up. Down. Up. 'Right,' said Cohen. 'Don't say afterwards I didn't warn youse.' He raised his sword and prepared to charge. 'Wait,' said Mr Saveloy. 'Listen . . .' There was shouting behind the walls, and some confused orders, and then more shouting. And then a couple of screams. The gates swung open, pulled by dozens of citizens. Cohen lowered his sword. 'Ah,' he said, 'they've seen reason, have they?' Wheezing a little, the Horde limped through the gates. The crowd watched them in silence. Several guards lay dead. Rather more had removed their helmets and decided to opt for a bright new future in Civvy Street, where you were less likely to get beaten to death by an angry mob. Every face watched Cohen, turning to follow him as flowers follow the sun. He ignored them. 'Crowdie the Strong?' he said to Caleb. 'Dead.'
'Can't be. He was a picture of health when I saw him a coupla months ago. Going on a new quest and everything.'
'Dead.'
'What happened?'
'You know the Terrible Man-eating Sloth of Clup?'
'The one they say guards the giant ruby of the mad snake god?'
'The very same. Well . . . it was.' The crowd parted to let the Horde through. One or two people tried a cheer, but were shushed into silence. It was a silence that Mr Saveloy had only heard before in the most devout of temples.[24] There was a whispering, though, growing out of that watchful silence like bubbles in a pot of water on a hot fire. It went like this. The Red Army. The Red Army. 'How about Organdy Sloggo? Still going strong down in Howondaland, last I heard.'
'Dead. Metal poisoning.'
'How?'
'Three swords through the stomach.' The Red Army! 'Slasher Mungo?'
'Presumed dead in Skund.'
'Presumed?'
'Well, they only found his head.' The Red Army! The Horde approached the inner gates of the Forbidden City. The crowd followed them at a distance. These gates were shut, too. A couple of heavy-set guards were standing in front of them. They wore the expressions of men who'd been told to guard the gates and were going to guard the gates come what may. The military depends on people who will guard gates or bridges or passes come what may and there are often heroic poems written in their honour, invariably posthumously. 'Gosbar the Wake?'
'Died in bed, I heard.'
'Not old Gosbar!'
'Everyone's got to sleep some time.'
'That's not the only thing they've got to do, mister,' said Boy Willie. 'I really need the wossname.'
'Well, there's the Wall.'
'Not with everyone watching! That ain't . . . civilized.' Cohen strode up to the guards. 'I'm not mucking about,' he said. 'OK? Would you rather die than betray your Emperor?' The guards stared ahead. 'Right, fair enough.' Cohen drew his sword. A thought seemed to strike him. 'Nurker?' he said. 'Big Nurker? Tough as old boots, him.'
'Fishbone,' said Caleb. 'Nurker? He once killed six trolls with a—'
'Choked on a fishbone in his gruel. I thought you knew. Sorry.' Cohen stared at him. And then at his sword. And then at the guards. For a moment there was silence, broken only by the sound of the rain. 'Y'know, lads,' he said, in a voice so suddenly full of weariness that Mr Saveloy felt a pit opening up, here, at the moment of triumph, 'I was goin' to chop your heads off. But . . . what's the point, eh? I mean, when you get right down to it, why bother? What sort of difference does it make?' The guards still stared straight ahead. But their eyes were widening. Mr Saveloy turned. 'You'll end up dead anyway, sooner or later,' Cohen went on. 'Well, that's about it. You live your life best way you can and then it don't actually matter, 'cos you're dead—'
'Er. Cohen?' said Mr Saveloy. 'I mean, look at me. Been chopping heads off my whole life and what've I got to show for it?'
'Cohen . . . ' The guards weren't just staring now. Their faces were dragging themselves into very creditable grimaces of fear. 'Cohen?'
'Yeah, what?'
'I think you should look round, Cohen.' Cohen turned. Half a dozen red warriors were advancing up the street. The crowd had pulled right back and were watching in silent terror. Then a voice shouted: 'Extended Duration To The Red Army!' Cries rose up here and there in the crowd. A young woman raised her hand in a clenched fist. 'Advance Necessarily With The People While Retaining Due Regard For Traditions!' Others joined her. 'Deserved Correction To Enemies!'
'I've lost Mr Bunny!' The red giants clonked to a halt. 'Look at them!' said Mr Saveloy. 'They're not trolls! They move like some kind of engine! Doesn't that interest you?'
'No,' said Cohen, vacantly. 'Abstract thinking is not a major aspect of the barbarian mental process. Now then, where was I?' He sighed. 'Oh, yes. You two . . . you'd rather die than betray your Emperor, would you? The two men were rigid with fear now. Cohen raised his sword. Mr Saveloy took a deep breath, grabbed Cohen's sword arm and shouted: 'Then open the gates and let him through!' There was a moment of utter silence. Mr Saveloy nudged Cohen. 'Go on,' he hissed. 'Act like an Emperor!'
'What . . . you mean giggle, have people tortured, that sort of thing? Blow that!'
'No! Act like an Emperor ought to act!' Cohen glared at Saveloy. Then he turned to the guards.
'Well done,' he said. 'Your loyalty does you . . . wossname . . . credit. Keep on like this and I can see it's promotion for both of you. Now let us all go inside or I will have my flowerpot men chop off your feet so you'll have to kneel in the gutter while you're looking for your head.' The men looked at one another, threw down their swords and tried to kowtow. 'And you can bloody well get up, too,' said Cohen, in a slightly nicer tone of voice. 'Mr Saveloy?'
'Yes?'
'I'm Emperor now, am I?'
'The . . . earth soldiers seem to be on our side. The people think you've won. We're all alive. I'd say we've won, yes.'
'If I'm Emperor, I can tell everyone what to do, right?'
'Oh, indeed.'
'Properly. You know. Scrolls and stuff. Buggers in uniform blowing trumpets and saying. “This is what he wants you to do.” '
'Ah. You want to make a proclamation.'
'Yeah. No more of this bloody kowtowing. It makes me squirm. No kowtowing by anyone to anyone, all right? If anyone sees me they can salute, or maybe give me some money. But none of this banging your head on the ground stuff. It gives me the willies. Now, dress that up in proper writing.'
'Right away. And—'
'Hang on, haven't finished yet,' Cohen bit his lip in unaccustomed cogitation, as the red warriors lurched to a stop. 'Yeah. You can add that I'm letting all prisoners go free, unless they've done something really bad. Like attempted poisoning, for a start. You can work out the details. All torturers to have their heads cut off. And every, peasant can have a free pig, something like that. I'll leave you to put in all the proper curly bits about “by order” and stuff.' Cohen looked down at the guards. 'Get up, I said. I swear, the next bastard that kisses the ground in front of me is gonna get kicked in the antique chicken coops. OK? Now open the gates.' The crowd cheered. As the Horde stepped inside the Forbidden City they followed, in a sort of cross between a revolutionary charge and a respectful walk. The red warriors stood outside. One of them raised a terracotta foot, which groaned a little, and walked towards the Wall until it bumped into it.
