Khmar: a warrior of Yarglat birth and breeding who took
advantage of war between Witchlord and Weaponmaster to invade the
Collosnon Empire from the north. Adroit in his timing, Khmar met
no opposition from the capital's garrison, since most Yarglat
feared and hated Bao Gahai, the dralkosh whom Lord Onosh had left
in charge of the city. In the Witchlord's absence, few Yarglat
hesitated before giving their loyalty to Khmar. So Khmar's
conquest was virtually bloodless, whereas his enemies were already
weary with war, their strength exhausted in the sanguinary
encounters of the south.

                                  * * *

        As Witchlord and Weaponmaster settled in to Locontareth, they
gave additional directions to the wizard Sken-Pitilkin, he whom
they had earlier charged with a half-share of the responsibility
for organizing the market in bread and barley. Sken-Pitilkin was
now to exert himself over the winter and build them an airship.
        "For," said Guest Gulkan, "when you tutored me in geography,
you told me of volcanoes, those mountains which spit forth fire,
and which let fall upon the heads of men those massive teardrops
of rock which are known as bombs. It occurs to me that, had we an
airship, we could let fall similar bombs upon the heads of our
enemies."
        "Yes," said Lord Onosh. "Had we such a ship, we could defeat
Khmar easily, by the sheer terror of the device if by no other
means."
        "The terror, my lord," said Sken-Pitilkin solemnly, "is
suffered most greatly by those poor mortals doomed to fly in such
a ship. Having almost killed myself once, I am in no mood to
repeat such an experiment."
        Guest Gulkan was secretly of like opinion, but nevertheless
favored the project, thinking he could easily avoid all personal
involvement with experimental airships. Allied in their desire to
rule the skies, Witchlord and Weaponmaster easily overruled Sken-
Pitilkin's objections.
        "I will give you any ship you want," said Lord Onosh, "and
you will make it fly. You can have a barge, if you want, a barge
taken fresh from the Yolantarath. Or - well, we have men from
Stranagor in our forces, ships, fishing smacks, they build them all
in Stranagor, and we can build likewise here. A ship which is apt
for the fraughts of the Hauma Sea will surely be suitable for the
skies."
        "Give me no ship," said Sken-Pitilkin. "Give me, rather, the
roof of the ruling hall of Locontareth, and I will make a ship out
of that."
        Thus spoke Sken-Pitilkin, hoping Lord Onosh would not want to
sacrifice the roof of the ruling hall of Locontareth - that roof
being a magnificent woodspan spread on which a thousand men could
have been seated. By such stratagem, Sken-Pitilkin hoped to be
spared from experiment.
        "Do it," said the Witchlord, thus proving himself no
connoisseur of woodwork. "Only make sure that it has the firm
capacity to carry all my treasure chests."
        "Your treasure chests, my lord?" said Sken-Pitilkin blankly.
        "Yes, my treasure chests!"
        Sken-Pitilkin was at first at a loss to know what treasure
chests Lord Onosh was speaking of. So the Witchlord explained at
laborious length, for he was proud of his treasure chests, which
in his earlier days had more than once won him a crucial battles.
        "For you see," said Lord Onosh, "when one army can pay its
soldiers and the other cannot, gold will tip the scales when all
else is equal."
        And in satisfaction of Sken-Pitilkin's curiosity, the
Witchlord mapped out the movements of his treasure chests. Laden
with gold, with silver, with massy bronze and trinkets of tin,
the imperial strongboxes had marched from Gendormargensis with the
imperial army - though, needless to say, they had not marched with
any legs of their own, but had borrowed the legs of ponies for the
purpose.
        Traveling always under the personal vigilance of the
emperor, those chests had traveled to Babaroth. In that town, the
chests had waited in loyal expectation of an imperial victory;
and, Lord Onosh having been proved triumphant in his battle over
Guest Gulkan, the strongboxes had joined the methodical pursuit
which had brought them as far as Locontareth.
        The Witchlord had shortly discovered that Guest Gulkan had
slipped round behind him. So, leaving the strongboxes in the city
under guard - for their weight was incompatible with the drama of
a quick pursuit - Lord Onosh had sallied forth treasureless to
smash Guest Gulkan. Thus the treasure had not been in the
Witchlord's possession when his own army had ultimately been
smashed at the high pass of Volvo Marp; and had still been safely
under guard in Locontareth when the Witchlord had returned to that
city in alliance with the Weaponmaster.
        Thus the story of the treasure chests; and if you think it a
long story, and a weary one, and one quite unnecessary for the
performance of this history, why, then blame not the poor
historian. Blame rather a nitpicking tradition of jealous and
intellectually impoverished scholarship which lacks the ability to
appreciate the grandeur of a full-scale historical tapestry, and
therefore devotes itself to picking loose any undefended thread at
the corner of such a tapestry.
        Having thus defended this particular thread, let us return to
the sagacious Sken-Pitilkin.
        We find him hot in dialog.
        "But, my lord," said Sken-Pitilkin, who was reluctant to
guarantee any airship fit to carry a great weight of lead, gold,
silver, bronze and trinketing tin, "why should you want a weapon
of terror to be able to carry your treasure chests?"
        "Because," said Lord Onosh, "this weapon of terror is best to
be a generalized weapon of war. So. Anything a horse can do, an
airship must do likewise. That includes carrying treasure.
Besides, what if Khmar attacked us unexpectedly. What if we had to
flee in haste? What then of our treasure?"
        "My lord jests," said Sken-Pitilkin, who had sufficient
strategic wisdom to know that unexpected attack was out of the
question, given the lateness of the season.
        "I do not seriously expect attack," said Lord Onosh, in frank
confession. "Nevertheless, I am of the Yarglat, hence may know
more of the capacity of the breed than do you. Rule out nothing!
Rather, prepare for all eventualities. Therefore - make ready!"
        As has now been reasoned out at length, Lord Onosh had his
treasure chests with him in Locontareth, and insisted that Sken-
Pitilkin's flying roof be engineered so as to accommodate those
chests. And so, with Lord Onosh having agreed to sacrifice the
roof of the ruling hall of Locontareth to experimental science,
the sagacious Sken-Pitilkin found himself on top of that roof the
very next day, surveying it in the company of carpenters.
        "How," said Sken-Pitilkin, "did I get myself into a mess like
this?"
        And, not for the first time, the sagacious wizard of
Skatzabratzumon wished that he had abandoned the practice of
wizardry to become a slug-chef like Zozimus.
        On inspection, the carpenters concluded that the roof could
easily be disconnected from the walls beneath it, so that Sken-
Pitilkin, at some time of his own choosing, could launch that roof
in the skies.
        Thus Sken-Pitilkin set work upon his airship; Pelagius
Zozimus began a systematic exploration of the culinary
possibilities of barley admixed with fish guts; the dwarf Glambrax
and the dralkosh Zelafona began the great work of sweeping the
streets of Locontareth as public penance for their earlier
commercial predations; and Witchlord and Weaponmaster sat in
counsel with the Rovac warriors Thodric Jarl and Rolf Thelemite,
making preparations for the long winter ahead and the campaigns of
the following spring.
        But -
        The Yarglat barbarian Khmar, the warlord who had swept down
from the north to sweep up Gendormargensis, why, Khmar wasted no
time on dalliance. As Lord Onosh had already half-suspected,
outright war was not long to be avoided. Khmar was a master of
mobility, and was in no mood to let his enemies enjoy the luxury
of a comfortable winter. So, while Witchlord and Weaponmaster
selected out their swansdown duvets, and chose the rosepetal
pillows on which they planned to rest the buttocks of their
concubines, Khmar launched himself upon a great assault.
Despite the lateness of the season, Khmar advanced downriver
from Gendormargensis toward Locontareth, advertising his onslaught
by sending heads floating down the river. Each of these heads was
nailed to a small raft, and was mutilated in a manner suggestive
of the fate which the conqueror Khmar intended to mete out to both
Witchlord and Weaponmaster.
        Now the Witchlord Onosh and his son Guest Gulkan were in a
predicament, for Khmar had won the loyalty of Gendormargensis;
Stranagor's loyalty was uncertain; and, though Locontareth was
temporarily loyal, it was weak in the aftermath of the expensive
campaigning which had accompanied the tax revolt.
        Still, Lord Onosh and Guest Gulkan scraped up what troops
they could, and began to organize their defense. Meanwhile, they
sent patrols far up the river on both the northern bank and the
southern. Thus they had good warning of Khmar's advance, for there
was no way for that Yarglat to outflank a screen spread out so
broadly and organized with such immaculate professionalism.
        The news of Khmar's advance was all bad, at least as far as
Witchlord and Weaponmaster were concerned. Khmar's army was large;
its morale was good; and it gave a good account of itself in
skirmishing with the patrols.
        "There is only one thing for it," said Lord Onosh. "We must
retreat."
        "Very well," said Guest promptly. "Then let us pull back to
Ibsen-Iktus."
        Guest was beginning to have a certain degree of affection for
those mountains, the scene of his notable victory over his father.
Guest hoped to lure Khmar into those frozen rock-realms, and there
to inflict upon the invader a crushing defeat - a literally
crushing rockslide defeat. But he was swiftly disabused of this
notion.
        "The mountains will be too cold this late in the year," said
his father. "The snow will be deep on the heights already, and
those heights impassable by the time he could reach them."
        Whereupon Thodric Jarl came up with a somewhat extravagant
scheme of manoeuver. Jarl suggested that they retreat south toward
Favanosin, and establish winter quarters for themselves; and then,
in the spring, march east to the shores of the Swelaway Sea while
Khmar sought them in the south; and then head down the Pig and
take Gendormargensis before Khmar knew that they had slipped his
clutches.
        "The distances are so great and the communications so slow,"
said Jarl, "that we can be months fortifying Gendormargensis and
recruiting men before Khmar even knows what we are about."
        Furthermore, went on Jarl, once in Gendormargensis they might
be able to send into the northern homelands of the Yarglat to
rouse those wild Yarglat tribes which were the enemies of Khmar.
        "Thus," said Jarl, "when Khmar finally arrives at
Gendormargensis to challenge us, he will have been weakened by
months of fruitless wandering, while we have a city and the
strength to hold it."
        There were a thousand flaws in this plan. Here is one such
flaw: Khmar might have left a substantial army to hold
Gendormargensis. Here is another: the logistic requirements of the
march which Jarl proposed were close to impossible.
But nobody had a better plan.
        "It gives us at least the chance of victory," said the
Witchlord Onosh bravely, drawing on a lifetime's experience to
give his best possible imitation of confidence, "which is better
than running away."
        So the Witchlord Onosh and his son Guest began planning for
the withdrawal to the south, Guest's role in this planning mission
being chiefly to say "yes" and "why not" and "I think that's an
excellent idea". For, as the crisis deepened, Lord Onosh had by
insensible degrees obtained an almost unconscious ascendancy over
his son. This was only natural, for in his early manhood the young
Guest Gulkan as yet lacked the experience to grapple with the full
complexities of such a crisis, and his wizardly advisers were busy
with the control of bread and barley, with the cooking of fish
guts and the building of experimental airships.
        As this planning got underway, Sken-Pitilkin asked permission
to be relieved of his airship labors. But he was told, rather, to
hurry himself and get the roof of the great hall air-mobile.
        "For," said Lord Onosh, "if you can complete and perfect this
terror-weapon, then we may yet defeat Khmar here at Locontareth."
        Sken-Pitilkin was dubious, but he went to work regardless,
and saw to the installation of a great many chairs on the top of
the roof, and saw to it that the roof was detached from the walls
in accordance with the carpenters' earlier advice, and so was
ready to fly.
        "How goes the work?" said Lord Onosh, two days before the
army was scheduled to retreat south toward Favanosin.
        "My lord," said Sken-Pitilkin mournfully, "much as I have
been looking forward to this great experiment, I regret that the
construction of this airship requires another season at a
minimum."
        This was a lie, for the thing was more or less ready to fly.
But, though the airship was ready to fly, Sken-Pitilkin was not:
in fact, every time he thought about it he broke out in a cold
sweat. In proof of his native sagacity, the wizard Sken-Pitilkin
had found himself an amenable donkey, and had loaded the brute
with bags of barley, with a stash of opium and the answering opium
pipes, with bundles of parchments and boxes of books, with a tent,
with warm blankets, with foot-warmers, with sleeping bags, with
spare pillows, with cushions, with a collapsible armchair, and
with other gear of war, and so was ready to foot it toward
Favanosin with the army. Though such a march would be harsh, and
cold, and direly uncomfortable, Sken-Pitilkin would far rather
risk the harsh yet certain dangers of such a withdrawal than
chance the lunatic uncertainties of experimental flight.
        "Another season!" said the Witchlord, scandalized.
        "It is so, my lord," said Sken-Pitilkin mournfully.
        "Then," said the Witchlord Onosh with a heavy heart, "we will
have to abandon the experiment and retreat on foot."
        And he went to supervise the final preparations for his
army's plan to do just that.
        But before Witchlord and Weaponmaster could move south with
their army, Khmar attacked. Like a billion rabid rats assaulting a
sack of sugar, like sharks in their blood-madness assailing a
wounded whale, like a great gang of lawyers falling upon a law
case, so in the rage of their onslaught did Khmar's brutal
barbarians attack the city of Locontareth. Khmar's soldiers came
over the city walls by night, using siege ladders and grappling
hooks, and before the sentries were properly aware the entire city
was filled with shadows which struck with steel and killed.
        Before long, the city was burning, most of the fires being
set by defenders who sought to stir confusion through arson,
hoping to make their escape in that confusion.
        But in the ruling hall of Locontareth there was no confusion,
only a terrible haste, for under the direction of the wizard Sken-
Pitilkin the final preparations for flying the roof were being
made. Carpenters were checking that the roof was entirely severed
from the walls of the hall; mighty warriors were risking the
bursting of blood vessels as they winched the Witchlord's treasure
chests to the heights; and other warriors were likewise trying to
winch upwards Sken-Pitilkin's donkey.
        To this scene came the Witchlord himself, in company with
Pelagius Zozimus. In honor of the crisis, the slug-chef Zozimus
had dressed himself in his famous fish-scale armor, perhaps
hoping that he should at least make a well-dressed corpse. The
armor reflected the fiery blaze of arson-struck buildings, blood-
red and glowering. Padding along behind Zozimus came the dwarf
Glambrax, with the sister-witches Zelafona and Bao Gahai bringing
up the rear.
        When the Witchlord saw Sken-Pitilkin's mightily laden donkey
swinging upwards from a winchrope, he stopped short, as if
hammered to a halt by thunder.
        "What," said Lord Onosh, "is that?"
        "It is a donkey, my lord," said Sken-Pitilkin.
        "I know that!" said the Witchlord wrathfully. "But why in the
name of blood are we wasting time trying to get the beast aboard?"
        "Because, my lord," said Sken-Pitilkin, observing with some
alarm the pendulum-like motion which had begun to affect his free-
swinging donkey, "I have an earnest desire to test the effects of
flight upon the physiology of the beasts of burden."
        "Grief of gods!" said Lord Onosh. "What on earth for?"
        "My lord wishes to employ this airship in war, does he not?"
said Sken-Pitilkin, looking anxiously upward at his much-burdened
donkey.
        "He does," said Lord Onosh, referring to himself in the third
person, which is one of those grammatical idiosyncrasies commonly
allowed to the great.
        "Then," said Sken-Pitilkin, stepping backward from the
possible impact zone into which the donkey might fall should the
winch-rope break, "my lord should share my interest in discovering
whether a horse can survive transport by air, since the
survivability of horses under such circumstances is vital for
determining the degree to which the airship can be fully employed
in war."
        "But," objected Lord Onosh, moving backwards in step with
Sken-Pitilkin, "that is not a horse but a donkey, and, being as
overloaded as it is, it can be expected to expire of unnatural
causes in any case, leaving aside all questions of airflight."
        At which point the rope which had been struggling to sustain
the donkey's weight happened to break, and the beast was
precipitated downwards, miring a certain slug-chef's armor with a
great besplattering of fire-thawed mud. So the donkey died, thus
becoming a martyr to experimental science.
        And Sken-Pitilkin lamented its loss greatly, though the
pressure of events meant that the grieving process did not have
time to run its full course, for the wizard of Skatzabratzumon was
tying himself into his especially designed flightmaster's seat
long before he had had time to absorb the full implications of the
loss of his donkey.
        Others acted in likeminded haste, and so -
        "My lord!" said Sken-Pitilkin. "We are ready to fly!"
        "Ready!" roared Lord Onosh, still checking the chaining of
his treasure chests, the padding of them, the bracing of the great
logs which sustained them, and the torsion of the twisted ropes
provided as back-up for their restraining chains. "We'll be ready
when I'm ready, and not before!"
        But at last the Witchlord was satisfied, and tied himself
into his seat.
        And so -
        When the great Khmar battle-bulked to the door of
Locontareth's ruling hall with a battle-axe in his hand, Witchlord
and Weaponmaster were atop the roof with a complement of half a
thousand assorted wizards, witches, dwarves, bodyguards, scouts,
soldiers, sub-chefs, carpenters, barley-factors and bootmakers.
One and all, they had tied themselves into the flight-seats
with bits of rope and length of old chain, thus preparing
themselves for adventure or death.
        Meanwhile, down below -
        Khmar threw down the door to the ruling hall of Locontareth
and led the charge inside -
        And the roof tore free with a scream of tortured wood. The
roof tore free, and went spinning sideways, sliding over the city
like a gigantic bat from the nether hell of Filch Molchops.
        Upwards it flew, spinning like a woodchip caught by a tornado. In
flight it screamed, and most of its passengers screamed too. One
chair broke free, and the carpenter who was strapped to that chair
went flying away, snatched to his doom.
        He was gone before he could scream.
        Then the airship began wheeling downward as fast as it had
earlier gone upward. Down it came. It slammed into snow, the early
winter snow of Tameran. As the airship slammed, the greatest of
the Witchlord's treasure chests burst asunder, and a full five men
were instantly killed by the lethal catapulting of ingots of gold
and lumps of tarnished silver.
        So the airship slammed
        It slammed, and it bounced.
        Like a stone skipping across water, so the roof bucked across
the snows. Entire trees cracked like toothpicks beneath the down-
slam of that roof. With a howl of incontinent breakage, the roof
smoked through the night like an avalanche. A cottage
unfortunately placed in the path of the experimental terror-weapon
was smashed to smithereens, and all its occupants were reduced in
an instant to so much cannibal jelly.
        Then at last, with one glissading slide, the roof creamed
smoothly across the snows, shuddered once, then halted. There was
no sound but for the night wind, and the upbuck ruckus of vomiting
as dozens of inexperienced air adventurers methodically chucked up
everything they had eaten within living memory.
        "Where are we?" said Lord Onosh, shakily cutting himself free
from his seat.
        "South," said Sken-Pitilkin. "South of Locontareth. I hope."
        In fact, Sken-Pitilkin had grown a trifle disorientated while
trying to navigate his hurling wooden batwing through the wilds of
the night. But the wizard of Skatzabratzumon was nevertheless
firmly of the opinion that they were indeed south of Locontareth,
and probably south by a good few leagues. And in this he was
ultimately proved right, and let this be noted as an additional
proof of his sagacity, his scholarship, and his capacity for
keeping a cool head under conditions of great stress.
        "So we are south," said Lord Onosh. "Very well. Then let us
be going, because I want to be far further south before the dawn."
        Whereupon the rest of the air adventurers cut themselves free
from their chairs. Then they would have fled, only Lord Onosh was
still tender of the security of his treasure chests, thinking to
put his trust in bulk bullion now that he had so few men to his
name. So scouting parties went out into the night to loot from the
peasantry whatever horses, ponies, donkeys, mules, cows, bulls,
pigs, dogs, wheelbarrows and carts could conceivably be used for
the transport of treasure chests; and at last, as dawn broke
bleary eyed over a clownish convoy of raucous disorder, the
Witchlord and his people began their retreat to the south.
        They were hoping, of course, to gain the road to the distant
port of Favanosin, and thus to make a swift escape toward the
sanctuary of foreign lands, and the safety of the southern shores
of the continent of Tameran.