Rebel of Antares

by Alan Burt Akers

  The news he brought from home reassured me. Delia and my comrades had returned to Vallia successfully after the storm that had separated me, and the empress’s wishes had sufficed to prevent that hairy swarm of rogues from attempting to devastate Hyrklana and all points south. As for Lela, she had a tale to tell. As we rode toward Huringa through the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio, I learned much of my daughter. The odd thing was — and not so odd, when I thought about it — I tended to think of her as Jaezila rather more than as Lela. She had tried to buy airboats in the Dawn Lands of Havilfar, and had not succeeded there. With Prince Tyfar of Hamal as cover, she had tried again here in Hyrklana. As to her true regard for that honorable prince, I asked her, and she told me, and I said, “Then when all this nonsense is over, we will have such a splendid wedding as Hamal and Vallia have never before witnessed.”

  “That presupposes he will have me.”

  “Tyfar is no fool.”

  “Is that an answer?”

  “Yes, daughter, it is.”

  “And love?”

  I laughed. Laughing was easy with Jaezila, as it was with Delia, her mother. “If I have never seen love in a man before, I have seen it in Tyfar when he looks at you.”

  She turned her head away as we rode along, with the rebellion riding along with us. So I went on, “And, talking of love, you have perhaps noticed what is afoot between your brother Jaidur and Princess Lildra?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “It pleases me, as I hope it pleases you.”

  I nodded. Some people in their modern sophistication deny any such force as Mother Nature. They may be right. Here, whatever the force, be it Mother Nature or anything else, the lightnings had struck, the looks had been exchanged, the understandings given and taken. The speed had been breathtaking. Jaidur and Lildra had met and talked, and that was that. It seems I was in for two weddings, when all this nonsense was over.

  As a man, I felt lively affection and sympathy. As a father, I felt concern and hope for the future and desire for happiness. And as a cynical old emperor, I looked at the political aspects, and found they could be worse, could be far worse, by Vox!

  So we rode toward the capital city and gained a little strength day by day and heard the rumors and came upon the realities. Had those diabolical Shanks attacked in southern Hyrklana when we marched, it would have been our duty to march with the army of Hyrklana and all the mercenaries, and fling the damned Shtarkins back into the sea from whence they came. But they had retired, sailing away in their phenomenally fast ships, and the soldiers turned their attention to the rebellion.

  We did not fare well.

  On the day after a nasty skirmish when we had to run for it, Hardur Mortiljid breathed heavily, nursing a wounded arm. He said he had forgiven me for clouting him over the head, and I chose to believe him, and saw that I did not turn by back, just in case. Now he flung himself down by the campfire and seized up a stoup.

  “We cannot break through,” he grumped, and drank, and spat. “They are too strong for us.”

  Lildra looked unhappy. Whether she objected to his manners or his opinion was beside the point. “But,” she said, and her voice faltered, “the rebellion? We must win!”

  “What with? We have not enough real soldiers, and the mercenaries are well-paid and ferocious. How do we fight through?”

  Lildra looked across at Jaezila. She was frowning.

  “The problem is difficult. Fahia is as cunning as a leem.”

  “We need more men.” Nath the Retributor walked across, looking worried. It seemed that all our high hopes had been crushed.

  Much of this dismal feeling had been lost on me, wrapped up in the magic of finding my daughter. We spent hours just talking, finding our way to this new relationship, and all the time joyously aware of our friendship that had grown through the times we had spent together and the dangers we had faced. So we had to make an effort to adjust to the grim reality of the rebellion’s lack of progress.

  A few — not many but enough, damn ’em! — of the lords and ladies who had flocked to Princess Lildra’s standards departed. Those who remained looked worried. The suggestion was bruited that we should contact Orlan Mahmud nal Yrmcelt, for messengers had failed to reach us for the past sennight or so, and find out the true situation and what to plan for the future. This was the euphemism for saying, “Whether or not we will continue the rebellion.” In the end, I, Jaezila, Jaidur and a small party agreed to venture into Huringa to see Orlan. It would be perilous, and Lildra clung to Jaidur before she would let him go.

  I said, “You don’t have to come, Jaezila—”

  She laughed and that was that. But all the same, I now realized that adventuring with my blade comrade Jaezila was to be even more fraught with anxiety for me. If that is a selfish way of putting it, so be it. I understood rather more of what was entailed than previously. I confess I didn’t much care for the idea of my daughter swaggering off into danger swishing her rapier about, magnificent in her leathers and black boots.

  But they would, they would, all of them...

  And I would be the last person on Kregen to be able to deny them, for they were people as was I, and they did what they wanted to do.

  We took the fluttrells and flew into Huringa. The saddle birds with the big ridiculous head vanes are sturdy and willing if not of the highest quality of saddle-flyers of Paz, and soon we circled over the next-but-one villa along from Orlan’s. We spied out the land, and seeing no obvious signs of danger, flew in for a landing in a clump of woods in the gardens. Vad Noran’s villa had been extensive, with his very own arena; Orlan’s was even larger, and without an arena, although he had practice rings, glittering with swept and raked sand under the suns.

  The first question of importance anyone asked about Huringa was whether or not the games were on. As we landed we could hear the roar from the Jikhorkdun. The games were, indeed, on.

  It had rained earlier but now the skies were clear and the suns burned down as we walked cautiously up to the villa. We had a lord with us who was known to Orlan’s servants, and we were assured we could gain an audience without trouble. The place bore the quiet, bored appearance all parts and all peoples of Huringa wore when they were not involved with the games. Our party walked on swiftly under shady trees and along graveled paths to a wicket gate where a dozing Moltingur guard had no time to argue before he was struck down. I said, “Do not slay him, for he may be loyal to Orlan.”

  Strom Hierayn, the lord who knew Orlan and would get us in, pushed on and we followed. A few slaves moved among the outbuildings and children were playing at kaidurs with wooden swords among the chickens as we passed. Before we attracted attention we were inside the main building. Strom Hierayn, a fattish man with too much paunch and too much jowl and not — quite — enough humility, pressed on down a corridor known to him. The place appeared near deserted. A slave told us that the lord rested in the Fountain Room, and thither Strom Hierayn led us. And, I began to get that uncomfortable old itch up my backbone.

  I glanced at Jaezila. She looked at me, and that perfect face drew down into a scowl.

  “You feel it too, Jak?”

  She continued to call me Jak out of common caution. I nodded. “I do. It smells like Makki-Grodno’s left armpit.”

  Jaidur said, “If that fat Hierayn has played us false... By Zogo the Hyrwhip! I’ll have his innards for zorca harness.”

  One or two others of the party looked concerned, and Hierayn led through an ornate doorway — pale blue and seashell with fern fronds all adangling in marble — into a patio where fountains splashed and the rays of the suns lay muted through crystal. A few slaves moved about carrying towels and basins and a party of girls danced and laughed among the fountains. They saw us. With squeals and shrieks they darted away, and I surmised they had no business there. I saw Jaidur’s fist wrap around his sword hilt.

  Orlan Mahmud walked out from the shadows of the colonnade int
o the diffused light among the splashing fountains. He wore a plain blue tunic and he did not wear a sword or dagger. So that, alone, convinced me. He held up his left hand. He was not smiling. Hierayn moved forward quickly, his body wobbling, and called out a greeting. I guessed that fat Strom Hierayn was no part of the plot. But plot there was, by Krun!

  “Into cover!” I shouted. “Run!”

  Even as I shouted, Orlan threw himself sideways, and he shouted too. A high desperate call. “We are betrayed!”

  The javelin that would have destroyed him for his refusal to betray us darted from the colonnade’s shadows and barely missed. He was on a knee, stumbling, and then he was half up and staggering. The party with us was fleeing madly away, trying to find shelter. Jaezila, Jaidur and I remained — but only for a moment. Together, the three of us hurtled toward Orlan. Jaidur hoisted him up; Jaezila snapped up her bow and let fly into the colonnade shadows. She is a superb mistress of the bow, deadly with the fletched shaft. I went headlong, with her arrows cutting beside me, slap bang into whatever skulked in the shadows.

  Queen Fahia’s mercenaries were there, ready to snap us up. In that tricky half-light our blades flickered like quicksilver, erratic, and dreadfully quickly my brand fouled with blood. Jaidur roared into action at my side. Four of the paktuns were down with shafts skewering them, and a fifth, and the fight was too hot and close and Jaezila put her bow away and ripped into the fray with her sword. I truly believe we three would have done the business ourselves. The mercenaries were good, a mix of diff and apim, and we had the beating of them. But others of our party joined in, and Strom Hierayn laid about him with his sword, and after a space we stopped, for there were no foemen left.

  Orlan came across. He looked distraught. “Thank Opaz, you are here! But — as you see — I have been betrayed.”

  “They were waiting for us!” said Jaidur. He spoke accusingly.

  Orlan nodded and swallowed; he was sweating. “You were seen flying in. The games may be on, but the queen’s paktuns do not sleep because of that.”

  “We suspected it was too easy,” said Jaezila.

  “It was that new damned spymaster from Hamal. He ferreted it out. I am finished in Huringa now.” Orlan looked at his villa, the fountains, the colonnades, the glowing flowers. He shook his head. “It seems we are all finished.”

  “There will be more guards.” I spoke in a nasty fashion, to brace them up. “And we are not finished yet. You will fly back to the camp, Orlan. With your family and whomever—”

  “I have no saddle flyers. They have all been taken.”

  “Then we must all make room on ours.”

  “But—”

  “Help Pallan Orlan,” I said. “And be quick. We must be off and flying before anybody turns up to find out the cause of the disturbance here.” And then I said, “Bratch!” in a most unlovely way, and some of them abruptly realized that they were being commanded by an emperor, so they bratched.

  When we had it all sorted out, I had the opportunity for enough words with Orlan to have grasped the situation. He was very down. The queen’s new mercenaries were her trump card, and we had nothing to pit against them. The army was divided. The people wanted the games in the Jikhorkdun, and excitement, and bread and wine, and whoever could give them those could be queen for all they cared. It was not quite like that, but Orlan’s words conveyed those sentiments. The Hyrklese are a tough old lot, having survived on their isolated island for five thousand years or so against all who sought to subject them. The Shanks in their raiding had made of the Hyrklese a hard lot. I nodded when Orlan finished. Jaidur came up and said all was ready for departure.

  “Good. Jaidur, you will have to look out for Jaezila — for Lela—”

  He snorted derisive amusement. “She can look out for herself, as you well know.”

  “Good. I will not be flying back with you.”

  They stared. Then they started protesting. I quieted them.

  “We need fighting men. We need a force inside the city to rise and strike when we attack from outside. By Vox! We did it with Vondium, we can do it with Huringa.”

  “But there is no great force in the city loyal to Lildra!” Orlan protested wearily, almost beaten. “There is no one in the city who will strike a blow for Lildra against Fahia.”

  “Oh yes there is,” I said.

  Jaidur perked up. “I will come with you—”

  I glared at him. I own I glared in hot and frenzied fury.

  “You will not! You will not come with me! You’ve been an imp of a son, hating me—”

  He protested at this, shouting that he’d never hated me, only that his discovery of his parentage had been a shock.

  “All right, Vax Neemusbane!” I bellowed at him. “But you’ve always been disrespectful and sullen and cheeky — and I don’t care, for that is your right, now you are a grown man. But in this you will do as you are told, and lump it! You will not come with me!” I was shaking. By Zair! The idea of my lad Jaidur in the Jikhorkdun! “Hasn’t your mother told you about the Arena and what goes on there? Don’t you know what they did to her with their silver chains and that damned great boloth? Haven’t you listened to Balass the Hawk, and Oby, and Naghan the Gnat? Well? They’d start you as a coy, greener than Havil, and you’d not last—”

  “I’m as good a swordsman as you, any day!”

  “Maybe. But they’d chuck you onto the silver sand with a little dagger to face a strigicaw, or a chavonth. Or maybe a hulking great Chulik in full armor would have a go at you with all his weapons and you with a short spear—”

  “I can use a short spear—”

  “And you’d have your insides all over the sand; they’d have the iron hook in your ankle and your mother would say what to that, hey? You perverse, ungrateful child!”

  He was scarlet. He was bursting. He was a man, a great warrior, a Krozair of Zy, and he worked in secret for Vallia through the Sisters of the Rose, and here he was being talked to as though he were a child. Well, by Zair, and wasn’t that what I should have done when I was flung back to Earth instead?

  All the same, I added, “You have the right to throw your life away in the Jikhorkdun. You have the right to do as you see fit. I can only advise you and try to guide you, and your honor is your own concern. My view of your honor in this pickle is for you to work for the rebellion and lead on what forces you can against the city as I get the kaidurs to rise inside. I think you would impugn your own honor if you did otherwise. But it is for you to decide. And listen to me, Jaidur, I respect you as my son too much to order you about.”

  Jaezila said, “Respect!” She did not laugh but her eyes were brilliant on me. And I think she understood even if my own stumbling unhappy words could only convey a tiny fraction of what I felt.

  “Well, you’ve changed your tune,” said Jaidur. “First it’s ‘You must not go,’ like a weeping mother as her son goes off to war, and now it’s ‘You must do as you see fit,’ like a Jikaidast mockingly advising an opponent on his next move. Well? You are supposed to be my father, and I your son, and this is Lela my sister, and what do we know of you—”

  “Vax Neemusbane.[3] Jaezila.”

  “Yes, very well, I grant you — but to skulk outside while you have all the fun in the Jikhorkdun—”

  That did it.

  “Fun? I lifted a fist. “In the Arena? Fun!”

  “Well...”

  “If I catch you so much as sniffing at the Arena, young Jaidur, I’ll tan your backside so you won’t ride a zorca for a month! What would your mother say? Think of her, for Zair’s sake! Kregen is dangerous enough without asking for it.”

  Now Jaezila did laugh, and stepped forward, and in her own authoritative way said, “You are changing your tune once again, Jak. Jaidur sees which way lies his duty. We will bring all the forces we can against the city when we receive the signal that you are ready to rise. Sooner rather than later.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And father, may Opaz
through the Invisible Twins guide your sword and strengthen your arm—” Jaezila looked woefully at me. “I don’t like this at all, by Vox, not one little bit!”

  “Well—” began Jaidur.

  I settled it.

  “Get flying. Keep up your spirits. When the signal comes, you must be ready, or we will all be chopped.”

  The woeful look on Jaezila’s face, lightened only sporadically by her laughter, depressed me. She was a girl, although of strong mind and iron will, fashioned for sunshine and laughter. When Lela got down, the reasons were hard and cruel. Of course, I felt guilty about causing her unhappiness yet again.

  Orlan confirmed that he had been arrested and confined in his own villa in order to trap messengers and visitors. He had not been put to the Question, although, no doubt, that would have followed when enough of the rebels had been captured. Fahia was alternating between confidence and doubt, and no man was safe in her presence. Her pet neemus, black as hell, fed to repletion.

  The remberees were said softly and then the fluttrells lifted away. I stared up anxiously. If a Hyrklanian air patrol came sniffing around, or a skein of aerial cavalry investigated, my people up there would be in trouble. But on a day of the games, the games were the thing, and Huringa dozed outside the Arena. So, not without a premonitory shiver, I started off for the Jikhorkdun.

  Foolish to run my head into fresh horror? Of course. But what else was there to do? It is easy enough now to think of a dozen different courses of action I might have taken, but of them all, none, I venture to think, would be as swift and efficacious as the course I was now embarked on. Through the level rays of jade and ruby I strode toward the lifting pile of the Jikhorkdun, with the high fortress of the Hakal rising alongside. The beast roars swelled and grew enormous as I approached.

  How, I was already wondering, fared the ruby drang?

  Chapter eighteen

  The Queen’s Kaidur

  “Not so well, Chaadur,” said Cheldur Adria. “Not so well, by Kaidun!”