Prince of Scorpio

by Alan Burt Akers

  “Hurry, Strom Drak!” called Katrin, putting her head out between the curtains of her palanquin. “Just a moment, Kovneva,” I said. I turned to go. I had seen enough. I turned to go and saw at the head of the struggling knot of figures of the next barge in line a tall man leaning into the rope and hauling and hauling. I stopped turning to go. I swung back, very sharply.

  I knew that I grew perilously close to callousness over the Emperor’s slaves. A single man, Strom or not, could not affect that issue at a blow; abolition would take time and immense effort over many years. But, that being so, I must do what appeared to me the right thing to do. Nepotism, if correctly used, can be a worthwhile tool, as witness Nelson and Collingwood, among others. So, feeling shame that I could do nothing for those other poor struggling devils, I ran quickly down off the bridge and onto the towpath.

  A guard brought his lash down again and again onto the thin naked back of the tall man, striking with a passion of ferocity unwholesome to witness.

  “Get on, you stinking cramph! Get on, you kleesh.”

  The next act of mine was all over before I had fairly realized it had begun. I struck the guard full on the jaw. He dropped, senseless. Other guards had seen. They came running, up. I looked at the tall man. Seven feet tall, he was, extraordinarily thin of arm and leg, but with a bunching of muscles there that showed the lean sinewy strength of him. From his head a long silky mass of yellow hair fell to his waist. Now that hair was filthy and befouled. And he’d been uncovered when the Maiden of the Many Smiles floated alone in the sky!

  “What in the name of Opaz do you think you’re doing, rast?”

  The guards hesitated for a moment, as I did not draw but faced them. I glared at them and I know they saw the hatred in my face.

  “If you do not instantly release this man, your barges will foul and choke the cut. The Emperor will not like that.”

  “Who in the name of Opaz are you to—” I drew the rapier. I drew slowly. “I am Drak, the Strom of Valka.” All the time the haulers had been blindly hauling on, and I had backed to pace them. “I can kill you all, and will do so with pleasure. Release that man. I am seeing the Emperor now; I have been summoned to talk with him.” They stared at me, their faces lumps in that eerie streaming light.

  I jumped back and with a single blow sliced through the tow rope. The leading man, that incredibly tall and thin man with the silky mane of yellow hair, lurched forward. Relieved of the horrendous weight of the barge he hauled forward at nothing and collapsed into the bloody froth of the towpath.

  A guard — he was a Deldar — yelled his anger and charged full on me, his rapier held correctly for an instant thrust.

  I met him, twisted, and sank my blade in his belly. I withdrew. “If any more of you want the same, come on!”

  The thin man rolled over. He lay on his back, looking up, and I saw his face go through a whole spectrum of expressions, from dumb animal wonder to a glorious sunrise of hope.

  “I am Drak, Strom of Valka!” I shouted.

  Katrin’s voice lifted from the bridge. “What is going on, Strom Drak? The Emperor is waiting to speak with you!”

  The guards checked at this. They looked at their comrade, coughing his guts out. They looked at my rapier. They looked — and longest — at my face.

  “I will pay the necessary fees, indemnities, but this man is manumitted as of this moment,” I said. I turned and looked down. “I am Drak,” I said again, hammering it home. “I shall find you a long-hafted ax, for I think that will please you. Now, by Ngrangi the all-powerful, get up and let us go to the Emperor.”

  “With all my heart!” said Inch.

  “And don’t think of working off your taboos until I can find you a suitable place in which to do so.”

  “I don’t believe, Dray — Drak. But I must. Now all praise to Ngrangi!” Inch of Ng’groga leaped up, his long arms and legs pinwheels against the sunset’s glow. He looked wonderful in that moment. Inch — old Inch, of Ng’groga, my good comrade in many a fight, many a carouse.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Inch flies to High Zorcady

  The Emperor and Delia, with their courtiers, nobles, retainers, and guards, had not stayed at Delka Ob but had flown immediately to Delka Dwa. I fumed at this news in a way I believe you will understand. Prepared instantly to take to the air again I was met by the captain of Katrin’s airboat. His air of uneasiness persisted. This, I quickly discovered, was caused by the sunset and the storm out there to the west.

  Even as we spoke, myself intemperately, the captain apologetically and half dead with fright, and Katrin soothingly, the outriders of the wind swooped howling over the rooftops of the city. The palace shook under the hammer-blows of the elements. Much damage was caused in the city that night; it was clear we could not fly in this weather. The rain sluiced down and the gutters ran red. The town lay smothered in the ocher and brick-red dust swept up from the Ocher Limits and blown hurtling across the land, leaving a trail of blood.

  I cursed.

  “The storm will blow itself out in a day, two at most,” Katrin said. “No zorca will get you there quicker if you start now — and travel in this is well-nigh impossible. My flier will span the distance rapidly as soon as the storm drops.”

  With that, perforce, I had to be content.

  How the fates and the elements conspired to cheat me of what I most desired in two worlds!

  In an inner chamber I set about putting Inch back together again. With all the solemnity which the occasion required he set about purging himself of all his broken taboos. The process took time. He stood on his head for burs at a time. He sat on his haunches and howled like a ponsho-trag. A fire was laid and he solemnly jumped in and out of it. He performed some amazing acts which left me either stupefied with wonder or helpless with laughter — me, Dray Prescot. By the time he had finished the night had passed, I had slept, and Inch could be kitted out and tell me all his news.

  My first words were: “What of Tilda and Pando?”

  Inch sat and ate crisp fluffy Kregan bread and honey, and wondered aloud if he should take another dish of lig eggs. The lig egg comes in various shapes and sizes, of which the one with the points at each end and the fat round body between is perhaps the most popular. A few of those and a layer of grilled vosk rashers provided a breakfast fit for an emperor.

  “Pando needs your horny hand on his rear,” said Inch. “Tilda is more beautiful than ever, a true Kovneva. Tomboram thrives, but Pando will have to take over as king before he grows much older. He needs responsibility to hold him down. He’s like a nit in a ponsho skin.”

  I nodded. These were problems I had not forgotten. “And you?”

  He made a face and drank wine, a whole glass, down in one swallow.

  “That Ngrangi-forsaken canalwater! All the haulers who were not canalfolk were scared to death of it.”

  “So they should be. What of yourself?”

  “The argenter was taken by a swordship. The swordship was taken by a Vallian. I was simply packed off along with the rest of the prisoners; they laughed at my suggestion of a ransom.”

  “The Vallians would. They are an exceedingly proud and rich people. They covet slaves, for they do not have the numbers that other countries possess.”

  “However that may be, I hauled barges for this rast of an Emperor.”

  “To whose presence we go as soon as the storm drops.”

  Inch, of course, was staggered to find me here. He wanted to know how I had left the inner room of the palace of King Nemo in Pomdermam. I could not tell him that in that triumphant moment of victory, with the renders shouting “Jikai! Dray Prescot! Jikai,” I had seen the scorpion scuttle, and had looked up and seen that greater scorpion blue and dazzling, and so had been hurled back across four hundred light-years to the planet of my birth. So I made up a story that explained it, and he, knowing of my desire to go to Vallia, understood what he chose to understand. He was loyal, was Inch of Ng’groga, a good comrade.


  A couple of Katrin’s seamstresses ran up a buff Vallian tunic for Inch, extraordinarily long as to body and sleeves, and although they did it rapidly the stitching was of far finer quality than my own. Katrin, like a true Kovneva, employed only the best, and took them with her on her travels. A pair of tall black boots and a rakish hat with the two slots and a mass of red and white feathers made Inch look something like a Valkan. He found an ax, long-hafted and keen-bitted. Fit, clothed, fed, Inch was ready to march and fight at my side as we had before.

  I own I felt him a great comfort to me.

  Seg Segutorio had gone with the Bowmen of Loh with the Emperor. I knew he and Inch would get along together — by Zair! They would! Or I would know the reason why!

  The wind blew savagely from the west for all of three days, and at times must have gusted up to a hundred miles an hour. There were many slates and tiles strewing the flags of the city. I prowled, restless as a caged leem. Katrin wanted to talk about the problems of her Kovnate of Rahartdrin, but I was in no mood for that, and kept out of her way. Most of the time I spent drinking and talking with Inch.

  On the morning of the fourth day Katrin’s captain reported the weather fit for us to fly. The wind had veered and dropped and the clouds were piling back into the sky from which the twin suns put in a watery appearance. We went to the airboat, climbed aboard, and took flight for Delka Dwa. I was not in a happy mood. For some reason I did not wish to fathom I felt cut off, isolated, marooned from events.

  I had made up my mind what I was going to do, and the elements were merely holding me back. They could not change my mind.

  I would fly to Delka Dwa, take Delia and whoever she wanted to accompany her aboard this airboat. Seg would join us. I would place my hands on this calsany of a captain’s throat and he would fly Katrin’s airboat to Vondium. We would pick up Thelda and little Dray, and then we would take flight for Strombor.

  Yes. That was the plan. Simple, direct, and brutal.

  The plan did not work out like that. You must remember that Kregen is not Earth. Oh, yes, most of its geography, customs, and people are like some of those of the Earth; but much there is strange and awe-inspiring and as different from Earth as an Eskimo is different from an Amazonian Indian.

  We slanted down to a landing where green fields of cabbage ended, their rows wide-spread beneath the suns. On the other side of the landing field rose the craggy pile of Delka Dwa, a dun-colored mass of stone, roofed with pointed witches hats, moated, a triple-gate opened ready to receive us. I had the impression the gates would be slammed shut the instant we were inside over the drawbridge. Across the town hung shadows of high clouds. Beyond lay a rising stretch of land, mostly of a yellow dust-rock in which the glimpses of gray-green vegetation served only to emphasize the barrenness of that land, the emptiness of it, as it rose and became drier and gradually turned into the true Ocher Limits.

  All was in turmoil.

  The blood was still being scrubbed from the cobbles and the flagstones, scraped from the walls, washed from the costly tapestries and carpets.

  The bodies had been collected and lay in rows beneath the walls, hurriedly wrapped in makeshift shrouds fashioned from sheeting.

  Delka Dwa had been attacked four days ago, just before the great storm. Savage men and beast-men wearing colors of green and purple, their badge a hangman’s noose, had ravaged the place searching for the Emperor.

  I forced myself to hold on to my sanity.

  Pallan Eling, with a bloody bandage around his head, lay in a long chair, and his scrawny frame shook. I asked him the questions torturing me.

  “I do not know where the Princess is, Strom,” he said. His voice quavered. I thought he shook no more than did I. “Now we know the colors and the badge of the third party! By Vox, I hope their bones rot and slime on the Ice Floes of Sicce.”

  In the corridors bowmen lay mingled with mercenaries, all wounded, all the Emperor’s men who had fought. They had been overwhelmed.

  A Hikdar told me, a Hikdar with a broken left arm strapped across his chest and acupuncture needles in him, dulling the pain. At his side lay his great longbow.

  “Pallan Eling should go back to caring for the canals,” the Hikdar said. “And leave fighting to warriors.”

  “Yes,” I said, in a voice I did not recognize. “What happened?”

  I was aware of Inch busily taking in what had happened and talking to the survivors. The Hikdar’s head lolled.

  “I was told to wait here. As soon as we arrived from Delka Ob the Emperor must have heard news, for he took to the air again at once. Half his force he took with him. We who stayed here received the attack designed to kill him. That is sure.”

  The real fear took me then and gripped my guts with a pain that made me cry out and rush upon the shrunken form of the Pallan Eling, the man responsible for canals. His face looked like an old potato left out in the sun for a week. He whimpered when I gripped him.

  “You must tell me, Pallan Eling. Where is the Princess Majestrix?”

  He cried out, and gazed on the scene about him as though reliving the scenes of horror. Then he closed his eyes and a shudder racked through his body. “Gone.” He moaned, barely audible, and his old lips fluttered. “They came wearing the white and black, and said they were my friends, and asked for the Emperor — and I told them! I told them!”

  “What did you tell them, old man?”

  “Vomanus of Vindelka, it was; he knew. He warned the Emperor! They fled to The Dragon’s Bones. There, Vomanus said, they would be safe.” Eling abruptly sat up, gripped what was left of his hair, and tore at it like a madman. “And I told them where Vomanus had gone!”

  I tried to calm myself, to think clearly, and, Zair knows, that was nigh impossible with the blood roaring in my head.

  “And the Princess? Where is she?”

  “She took an airboat with the others — with the Emperor—”

  “Inch!”I bellowed.

  He came running, swinging his ax.

  “We go to The Dragon’s Bones.”

  “Aye, Drak. Where may that be, then?”

  I stared at him like a loon. I had no idea.

  A Chulik sat with his back against a wall. One eye had been gouged out and the tusk on that side broken off. His chest was broken and a girl was trying clumsily to ease his pain. He stared up at me with that stoic calmness the Chuliks boast against pain. “The Dragon’s Bones,” he said, in a whisper. He wore sleeves of white and ocher, so he was of Vindelka.

  I bent down. “By Likshu the Treacherous! Tell me where lies The Dragon’s Bones, Chulik.”

  “Into the Ocher Limits — northwest — twenty, twenty-five dwaburs, more. There are bones there, millions of bones.”

  A Chuktar whose once-brilliant uniform was now mere rags, bloody and ripped, leaned up on an arm and coughed out: “There is no hope for the Emperor now. The third party has suborned good men. We stayed loyal to the Emperor, and this is our thanks. There is no one in the whole of Vallia who will fight for him now.”

  “No, no!” shrieked the Pallan Eling, and then he looked around furtively. “But it is true. I should have joined Trylon Larghos! I was asked — I was asked! All have turned against the Emperor!” He rocked to and fro in his agony. “Why did I not do so? My loyalty has destroyed me!”

  Well, the whole sorry story was out in the open now.

  And yet Vomanus had warned the Emperor, and they had fled. Yet Vomanus was Trylon Larghos’ candidate for Delia’s hand! There was treachery and double-treachery here.

  The confounded roaring and shrieking persisted in my head. I couldn’t think straight. Trylon Larghos. Building his third party, double-dealing the racters — I felt a jolt of surprise. If Vomanus had found out about that, and realized his hopes for Delia as the candidate of the racters meant nothing, he would have turned against the men of the white and black. He had warned the Emperor, but his motives may simply have been pure self-interest. But — Vomanus? I had to get to The
Dragon’s Bones and confront him — and Trylon Larghos.

  I snatched up the bowman’s great longbow, and half a dozen filled quivers. They told the story. The third party had come in the guise of racters, as friends, and then had struck with steel; the crimson Bowmen of Loh had gone down with their bows unstrung, the arrows still snugged in their quivers.

  I took Katrin’s airboat captain’s neck between my fingers.

  “You will take us instantly to The Dragon’s Bones.”

  He cringed. He had no time to argue, to say a word. He was run outside, and I shouted at the men standing limply by the drawbridge in the gatehouse in such a way that the drawbridge smoked down, and bounced, spouting dust. Inch and I ran across with the flier captain propelled before us. Katrin’s despairing cry followed.

  “Strom Drak! You would not leave me?”

  “Where I must go there is no place for you, Katrin! I will try to send your airboat back for you.” I gave the captain a buffet to make him run faster. “You might get it back if you’re lucky.”

  The captain yelped at this. I kicked him aboard his craft and he fell onto the deck. Rearing up, he saw my face and so gave his orders in a scared husky croak to his crew. We took to the air.

  “Captain,” I said. “I do not know your name. But you will obey me in all things. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, my lord Strom. I am Hikdar Arkhebi. I will do as you order.”

  “Get us to The Dragon’s Bones as though your life depended on it — for, believe you me, it does.”

  He took himself off to oversee his steersman, down in the engine compartment where were situated the two silver boxes which, with my limited knowledge then, I understood to control height, speed, and direction of the flier.

  Inch said, “The raiders got in treacherously by wearing white and black. The Bowmen were very bitter about that.”

  “I just hope Seg is all right.”