Rebel of Antares
Page 8
“When? Oh, I do not — I do not know—”
I said, “As soon as the sale is made, Avec, we will need the cage voller. Can you see that she is properly surveyed and then provisioned? You know the gold is available.”
He nodded. Then he screwed up his eyes. “Unmok has told me of Vad Noran. You walk perilously, Horter Jak.”
“I thank you for your concern. Tell me, does the plot against the queen prosper? Or is it all a phantom, a Drig’s Lantern?”
We walked along the north boulevard and the streets were hot under the suns and few people were abroad. The beast roar from the Arena told where the citizens of Huringa were spending the day.
“The plot is real. I will have nothing of it. But as for Vad Noran — he is a man led by the nose.”
“And who does the leading? Gochert?”
“Gochert? No.” Parlin looked surprised. “My informant says that Gochert warned Noran most seriously. The one-eyed man refused to have anything to do with such a harebrained scheme.”
That did not square with the impression I had received, but I let it pass. Gochert struck me as an antagonist worth ten Norans.
“Who, then?”
Parlin hitched up his shoulders and lifted his hands, palms up. “You are abrupt, Horter Jak. Such knowledge could bring a man to the Arena.”
With the civility that was not altogether feigned, I said, “I crave your pardon, Horter Parlin, but the matter is of moment, as you understand.”
“Assuredly. The fact is, I do not know. I have heard rumors that a great noble presses to take over the throne from Queen Fahia—”
“Someone with a legitimate claim? That would narrow the field.”
“When the queen came to the throne she was severe with her family. Many died. Her husband is a nonentity.”
I drew in my breath. “There is her twin sister, Princess Lilah.”
In the long ago I had saved Princess Lilah of Hyrklana from the Manhounds. She had disappeared and no one I had spoken to had heard of her fate. Could she still be alive, and plotting against her sister? I devoutly hoped so, by Vox!
Again Parlin spread his hands. “It could not be. Princess Lilah disappeared seasons ago. Whoever plots against the queen and employs Noran as his tool is a man in the limelight who wishes to cloak his designs. That seems sure.”
At another time and place in the long ago I had, because I was at first bored and then because I saw it was my duty, made myself King of Djanduin. Djanduin lay in the far southwest of the continent of Havilfar. The fearsome four-armed Djangs were among the most superb fighting men of all Kregen. They were fanatically loyal to me, as loyal as the ferocious Clansmen of the Great Plains of Segesthes. I did not toy with the notion that I, Dray Prescot, Krozair of Zy, Lord of Strombor, might make myself King of Hyrklana. I had done with titles. Now I would seek to exert my influence in uniting all of Paz against the Leem-Loving Shanks who raided our coasts, from the shadows and through emperors and kings and queens who saw the true path that the peoples of Paz must follow. Megalomania? If you wish. I did not care about that. All I knew was that if the Star Lords, who could fling me about Kregen on a whim or dispatch me back to Earth out of spite, left me alone to get on with the work which fate or destiny had set to my hands, I would carry on that good work with all the skill and dedication in me.
By Zair! The task was colossal and I a mere mortal man. But I could see no other reason for all the things that had happened to me. Well, as you will hear, I could see only a tithe, and a dark tithe at that, of what destiny had in store for me.
If uniting this great grouping of islands and continents in friendship was a fool’s dream, then I was the fool, the onker, I have so many times been dubbed. I did not want a uniform grayness, a drabness. Havilfar was Havilfar, as Segesthes was Segesthes. Loh would remain a mysterious continent. The islands of Pandahem and Vallia would retain their identities. But we would cease from fighting among ourselves. We would turn all our energies toward ridding ourselves of the slavers and the aragorn, slavemasters and scum, and toward freeing ourselves of the grip of the Shanks. If that is idealistic nonsense, so be it.
At the time of which I speak, it was the guiding principle of everything I did and attempted on Kregen. Everything save one thing. And that was the happiness and well-being of Delia, Empress of Vallia. The welfare of Delia, Delia of Delphond, Delia of the Blue Mountains, and of our family and friends, for this I would see the rest go hang.
Such is the crumbling of high-minded principle when personal desires supervene!
As for all this not-really-but-almost nonsense of holding responsibilities in faraway lands by being the king or lord of them, as you will readily perceive, I was usually in constant communication by flier-borne letters and messengers with my folk in Djanduin, in Zenicce, among the Clans of the Great Plains. I knew what went on there, and the men and women charged with running those places to the standards we agreed knew my thoughts and carried out my wishes, as I confirmed my pleasure in their own ambitions and labors. On Kregen, with fliers to whisk you from one end of Paz to another, handling a widely flung empire was not anywhere near the enormously difficult undertaking the Romans had faced, or the Mongols, or Charlemagne. Napoleon would have relished instant news from Spain when he was in Poland — or, given that situation, perhaps not. The point is that although the image does not please me, I was like a spider at the center of a web, and I could feel the vibrations from all sides. Of course, when I went off adventuring, as I loved to do, the situation was more difficult. But now, with Unmok shattered by the death of Froshak, with my decision to send him to Vallia, and with a fine cage-voller to provide transport, I took full advantage of those assets.
A whole day was consumed in writing letters. I sent one of Unmok’s slaves with a letter around to The Silver Fluttrell pleading that unexpectedly I had been detained. I would join Tyfar and Jaezila as soon as my duties were honorably discharged. I made no bones about it with Unmok. He continued in his dazed state, and I seriously considered flying with him back to Vallia myself. But that would be ducking what I had to do here in Hyrklana. Lackadaisically he agreed to go. He could hardly take in what I was saying, but I told him to go and see Enevon Ob-Eye. Enevon, as my Chief Stylor, would take care of everything. I fancied Unmok would get on better with him.
“And Unmok, fly directly there and do not land at all. Here is a satchel. Give it to Enevon. And guard it well.”
“All right, Jak. But—”
The satchel bulged with a day’s letters. Missives to my folk scattered across the breadth of Paz — but no letter addressed to Paline Valley, for that place lay in Hamal.
“Enevon is a good friend. The Lord Farris, too.” I handed Unmok a separate, smaller letter folded and securely sealed. “If you cannot find anyone there — then take this letter to the empress or one of her handmaids. Otherwise — burn it!”
“Yes, Jak.”
He shook his head. This was beyond him. But he would fly to Vallia in the new voller and there, as I devoutly hoped, he would begin a new life. As for me, I had plots and ploys to work here in Huringa.
As I looked ahead, the future appalled me. There was so much to do. The tasks to which I had set myself were enormous. And yet: “Sink me!” I burst out to myself. “It’s got to be done! We have to scupper mad Empress Thyllis and smash Hamal so that we can turn to the more important tasks ahead.” I could feel my fingernails gripping into my palms. I forced myself to relax those constricting fists. Hamal under the imperious sway of Thyllis was again growing stronger, and with sorcerous help could smash up Vallia. If Queen Fahia of Huringa was one of the keys to help unlock the torrent of opposition to Hamal, then Queen Fahia would have to turn, like it or not.
Much though I detest fighting and warfare, I admit that the thought of a powerful army from Hyrklana landing on the coast of Hamal and marching inland to Ruathytu filled me with what I see to be an unholy glee.
“You are — feeling all right, Jak?”
The cage-voller had been a splendid flyer; she was still sound but worn. The cages gaped emptily. Unmok’s slaves would spell him on the flight. “You’ll have to manumit your slaves in Vallia. But that will be no hardship.”
“Agreed. And you are not coming?” Unmok cradled his middle left stump with his middle right, and wiped his upper left over his forehead. His upper right was extended toward me. “I don’t know why I’m going off and leaving you, anyway. What am I doing?” He would have gone on.
There was no time for him to indulge in deep personal philosophy and inquiry. I bundled him aboard, saw that the slaves were all there, stood back, waving.
“Remberee, Unmok the Nets!”
“Remberee, Jak the Shot!”
The cage-voller lifted off, fleeted into the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio.
Chapter eight
We Plot Against the Queen
We threw ourselves into the business of plotting against Queen Fahia with tremendous zest.
We did go to see Vad Noran, and Tyfar convinced the nobleman that I was not a queen’s man, that I worked for Prince Tyfar of Hamal, and that we ardently wished to assist Vad Noran in any way we could. He preened and primped and, because it was the easiest course, accepted our proposals. Money lay near the heart, of course, but the promise of swords tipped the balance.
No wonder Noran had been flustered when I’d suggested I worked for Queen Fahia! No wonder he’d tried to have me assassinated! Now he was revealed in his true colors, his attitude changed. We were all conspirators together.
I had given Tyfar and Jaezila the impression I worked for their mad Empress Thyllis; at the time the ploy had seemed clever enough and had served, as I judged, to ease my position. Later, when I gauged more accurately Tyfar’s own tortured doubts of his empress and the course his country was set on, my own supposed cleverness was revealed as being too damned clever by half. I did not think that Tyfar or Jaezila would swallow any story I might try to sell them, that I had renounced allegiance to Thyllis, in the same way that Vad Noran had swallowed the story I spun him.
Another side of Noran’s character was revealed on the day when Jaezila and I went up to see him at his villa, Tyfar being obliged to inspect the latest progress on the airboats being built at another yard. Dorval, one of Noran’s cronies and a man who did not recognize me, called me into the armory where he made a fuss over showing me some brand-new rapiers just arrived from Zenicce. I admired them. I whisked them about, feeling the balance. When, at last, we left the armory, I saw Jaezila marching along the covered gallery toward us. She was pulling her tunic up; its latches were broken. Her color was high, very high.
Going forward, careful not to appear overexcited, I said, “Yes, Jaezila?”
“That man!” Then, seeing Dorval going past toward the door from which Vad Noran was just emerging, Jaezila said, quickly and in a low voice, “Nothing. It is nothing, Jak. For the sake of Tyfar, leave it.”
Vad Noran sported the beginnings of a fruity black eye.
Jaezila saw my hand twitch uncontrollably toward my rapier.
“Jak! Nothing happened! For all our sakes — please!”
Noran passed the matter off — something about a door being ajar — and since Tyfar’s reactions would be well understood by Jaezila and me if he got into this, I, perforce, acquiesced, and let it lie.
To have made an issue of the incident would have impugned Jaezila’s honor. She had requested me to do nothing. There was Tyfar to consider. So, even though it may seem strange conduct for Dray Prescot, nothing was what I did. All the same, Jaezila was relieved to be out of Noran’s villa for that day.
“Do take the scowl off your face, Jak! Noran will—”
“Very well.”
My old beak-head of a face can assume so ferocious an expression, so I am told, that it will stop a dinosaur in its tracks. So I am told. My comrade, Deb-Lu-Quienyin, who was now one of the two resident Wizards of Loh in Vallia, had given me the secret of altering my facial appearance. I say given and secret. By Vox! It was a most painful experience at first, like having a swarm of bees stinging me. But I had practiced and could now hold a new face for a goodly length of time, so that I could pass unrecognized. So now I assumed a face of docility that was still me, still Dray Prescot, in a mood of sweetness and light. Ha!
“Anyway,” said Jaezila, “there is good news. Noran has arranged a meeting for the day after tomorrow. It does really seem as though we are getting somewhere.”
Tyfar fired up at the news.
“At last!” Then his expression grew grim. “A new spymaster has been appointed. He flew in from Hamal. It seems that our operations here have been penetrated by those Vallian devils. They were probably responsible for the attack on us in Malab’s Temple.”
“Then,” I said, desperately wanting to keep my Vallians and my Hamalese comrades away from one another’s neck, “we had best keep our plotting to ourselves.”
“By Krun! Yes!”
The situation in which I found myself was not an impossible one, although near enough to being impossible; it was most certainly a false position. This whole thing could explode around my ears, as the Quern of Gramarye had exploded the Souk of Trifles. I could be left surrounded by blood and dead bodies — and those corpses would be my comrades and my countrymen.
“This new spymaster has other disturbing news.”
“Yes?” said Jaezila. She spoke casually. “What does he call himself?”
“Oh, Nath the Eye.”
The name Nath on Kregen is like John on Earth. A pseudonym, without doubt. Jaezila nodded and Tyfar went on.
“There is something called Spikatur Hunting Sword.”
I held myself still. I listened.
“Nath the Eye knows little. Some Hamalese nobles have been murdered, foully done to death. A man was caught. Under the Question he confessed to this Spikatur Hunting Sword. But he knew little, being a mere villainous hired stikitche, murdering innocent people for pay.”
“I dislike assassins,” said Jaezila.
“So do I.” Tyfar looked angry and ashamed. “Yet, also, I dislike torturing people. Who can say that the answers are true, or shrieked in fear and agony, the poor wight saying anything he is led to say by his interrogators?”
I knew Tyfar well enough by now to know that his dislike of torture was not occasioned merely because the truth might not be extracted. He hated torture for the foul thing it was.
The reason for Prince Tyfar’s mission to Hyrklana was to buy vollers and this was no fake assignment, for Hamal desperately needed fliers. Well, so did we all, by Krun. His involvement with the plot to topple the queen was a bonus on that. So, the next day, we went along to the voller yards where a ship had, at last, been completed. She was a fine large craft, with two decks and a high forecastle and poop, equipped with fighting tops and galleries. She could carry two hundred or so aerial soldiers, voswods, as well as her crew. Tyfar beamed on her proudly as the handing-over ceremonies were concluded. She fluttered a myriad flags from her staffs; those flags mocked me with the purple and gold of the Empress Thyllis. Had they been the new Union flag of Vallia, the yellow cross and saltire on the red field, I would have jumped for joy.
“A splendid craft,” said Jaezila. She looked up expectantly.
The crew from Hamal who were to fly her back stood in a neat blue line. The shipyard workers, including many slaves, looked more sullen than Tyfar liked. But they could do nothing. Bands played. The breeze blew. All around the yard stood guards. Alongside the landing ramp the solid mass of a formed regiment of men from Hamal obtruded — brutally — the power of that empire here. They were here on the express invitation of Queen Fahia, so it was given out. As always, the swods
of the iron legions of Hamal looked splendid, compact, formed and dressed, professionals to a man. They’d have short shrift with any disturbance. And, too, Fahia probably did not realize, these were some of the swords promised by Tyfar to Noran and his principals...
The crew stood in their neat line, but the voller began to lift.
People cried out. They pointed up, yelling. A man fell from the ship, his arms and legs spread-eagled. She rose slowly into the air. I saw Tyfar look aghast, and then furious, and then determined. At his side Jaezila gazed up with a ferocious expression I found difficult to decipher.
“She is being stolen!” Tyfar shouted. “Under our very noses!”
The band stopped playing. More bodies fell from the ship. We could hear the strife of combat aboard her, ringing out along her decks. I stared aloft, controlling myself, quivering with joy. I knew! Those gallant secret spies from Vallia had a hand in this! Perhaps Valona herself was up there, taking this splendid airboat for Vallia!
The ship hovered some fifty feet overhead. “If they don’t get away soon,” I said, aloud, wrought up, “they never will!”
Patrol vollers were shooting across. Soon the decks of the new ship would fill with fighting men and the handful of secret agents from Vallia would be slain.
“You sound—” said Jaezila.
“They’re done for,” said the owner of the yard, fat and ubiquitous Kov Naghan na Hanak. He was puffed up and proud with himself. “If a job has to be done, willy-nilly, then do it right, is what I say, by Harg, yes!”
“What, notor, did you do?” I spoke normally.
“Why, stuffed her with guards, hidden. I had an idea something would happen. Look — there they come atumbling down!”
I turned away, feeling sick. Those bodies falling to earth were Vallians — people who had thought to take away a precious airboat from hated Hamal. Now they were flung callously to the ground. The ship began to descend. I hoped, I prayed, that there had been few Vallians aboard. And, a treacherous and demeaning thought, I hoped Valona had not been among them.