Allies of Antares

by Alan Burt Akers

  “I wonder!” Her head was up, her chin in the air, and her eyes held a look of haughty imperiousness — and, also, of doubt?

  “You know what happened to the Hyr Notor, Jak?” Lobur hauled his zorca along to keep up, for the beast wanted to have a quiet crop at the sparse grass. “Down the Moder we met Ariane nal Amklana, of Hyrklana. She came to the Empress Thyllis for help, we saw her again, and she was with the Hyr Notor when he died.”

  “I did not know that.”

  “It was some devilish trick of Dray Prescot’s that did that mischief. Now we must resist with all our willpower.”

  “We must resist the Shanks, the leem-lovers.” I spoke firmly, and Lobur jumped, and looked mean.

  “You—”

  “There is no time left for me to explain it all again. Hamal and Vallia are now in alliance. Did you know, Thefi, that Prince Tyfar and the Princess Majestrix of Vallia are—”

  “No!”

  Her cry broke forth as an anguished wail. “No, no. That cannot be so!”

  In these matters of the convoluted affairs of state and the heart there is no need to spell it all out for a princess. Thefi understood at once, and was horrified, shattered, degraded in her own eyes.

  And I’d had enough.

  “You misunderstood me, princess. This is no state-arranged marriage. Tyfar and the Princess Majestrix love each other dearly — although they somehow manage to skirt around the subject. It was thought you would help in this.”

  She put a hand on my arm and looked up into my face.

  “Jak, you bring such strange news. And Tyfar... Why, he and this horrible Vallian princess have never met. How could they love each other so soon?” She shook her head, and her hair gleamed. “We must resist the Vallians. King Telmont says so—”

  “Old Hot end Cold? Surely you mean Vad Garnath?”

  “Maybe.” She looked away, “I do not like him. But, Jak — you are strange — and Tyfar and father — it is all—”

  “It is all very simple,” cut in Lobur. “If we are not to lose everything, we fight the damned Vallians and their allies.”

  “You, Lobur, were Nedfar’s aide-de-camp. Would you obey him if he told you?”

  All the forthright candor fled from Lobur’s eyes.

  “Treachery—?”

  As I say, I’d had enough.

  “I must leave you to think this over. I repeat, Hamal no longer stands in enmity with Vallia. We have great enemies, greater foes even after the Shanks have been dealt with. Now I must see to my animals and eat and bathe. I shall see you when the suns have gone.”

  Before they had time to remonstrate, I turned away and marched off. I was fuming. But, then, how else had I expected them to react?

  Chapter fourteen

  Chained Like a Leem

  The eating and the bathing were accomplished easily enough on payment of a suitable sum; the nonexistent animals no doubt took care of themselves. My voller waited in her clump of trees. I spent the rest of the day moving about and discovering all I could. Telmont had a formidable little army, not over-large but of high quality, and he even had under command a number of regiments of the old Hamalian army, all of whom believed they were acting in the best interests of Hamal. It was those regiments who had allied with Vallia that were the renegades and treacherous werstings.

  Try as I might, I could find no other solution to this pretty problem than simply taking Thefi to see her father and letting her see the truth for herself. As for Lobur, he might not wish to face Prince Nedfar, now the Emperor of Hamal. I would not drag the Dagger along by the scruff of the neck, but he ought to be given the chance of making up his own mind about coming with us.

  That was it, then.

  There were four regiments of swarthmen in whom I took an interest, for the swarth, a dinosaur-like saddle animal of great power and lumbering strength, was often regarded as a mere appendage to the cavalry arm or as the battle-winning strike force, depending on the viewpoint of the riders. These fellows in their harsh scaled armor and blazoned blue and gold looked useful. Also, Telmont had a fine corps of crossbowmen. His churgurs, the solid heavy sword and shield men looked to me to be somewhat thin on the ground. But this army would prove a tough nut to crack.

  So I wandered about, spying away in the best cloak and dagger fashion, until the suns set and the first of the night’s moons rose. She of the Veils shone refulgently down, all rose and gold, and I took heart. Although claiming to have no favorites among the seven moons of Kregen, I rather fancy I take to She of the Veils just a trifle more than the others...

  This was not unimportant, as you shall hear.

  By the time the Maiden with the Many Smiles rose over the horizon, I wanted this frustrating business with Lobur and Thefi over and done with.

  They had been given a tent of some magnificence by King Telmont, and rather to my surprise I discovered that Lobur was no gilded appendage to the king’s retinue, having taken command of a totrix regiment which he strove to improve and turn into the best in the army. With gold and rose moonlight dropping over the lines of tents and animals, I nodded to the sentries at the tent flap and went inside. The information that would have been startling to anyone here, that Jak the Shot was in reality Dray Prescot, had not reached the camp and Nedfar had kept that business on the quiet side. Very few were privy to that item of hot gossip. I wondered, as I watched Thefi approach in the lamplight over the carpets, whether I should tell her.

  She looked pale. Her eyes were brilliant.

  “Jak! I have been thinking over what you said. It is terrible, terrible—”

  “Agreed, princess. Everyone is heartily sick of wars and fighting. But we must brace ourselves. We have to face the Shanks, for they will destroy us if we do not.”

  “I did not mean that. Everyone knows that. I mean about my brother and that awful princess of Vallia.”

  I just couldn’t help myself. “Oh,” I said. “So you’ve met her then.”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “Then, princess, how do you know she is awful?”

  Stupid and petty vindictivenesses like that can be quickly and firmly put down. She stared at me. “She is Vallian, isn’t she?” That, of course in her eyes, was explanation enough. I, clever Dray Prescot, was quickly and firmly put down.

  “Where’s Lobur, princess?”

  “Seeing to his regiment. And I have made my mind up. I will not — I cannot — return to Ruathytu. My father would be — would be unkind to Lobur. And I could not bear that.”

  I studied her. She breathed passion and fire and all the delightful and worthwhile things of dreams, and I could not ask her again to think a second time and, perhaps, to betray her lover. As always, my thoughts of Delia gave me what I hoped was a better understanding in delicate affairs. How would Delia react in these circumstances? That is a touchstone that never fails me.

  “Very well — but Telmont bears your father no good will.”

  “Oh, Jak! Telmont is fighting for Hamal. Once we throw off the yoke of oppression—”

  “Vallia does not—”

  She half-turned away and her frown pained me. We still stood. She had offered no seat, no refreshments.

  “We are taking a big swing down into the south and east, to gather more men. Just north of He of the Commendable Countenance, Telmont has good friends.”

  The river marking the southern boundary of Hamal, the River Os, divided before it reached the sea on the east coast and the two arms enclosed the independent country of Ifilion. Much of the river and deltas were called the Land of Shining Mud. You could scrape up thousands of levies there, who might fight if they were chained and stapled to the ground. There were other troops to be had. Chido’s estates were in that part of Hamal. And, so Thefi said, some of the realms south of the river in the northern sections of the Dawn Lands still would fight for Hamal, since they had been in thrall for so long. I thought of our abject performances in the Peace Conference. This was one result of shilly-sh
allying when we should have been making decisions and implementing them.

  Lobur walked in with a swing and a swagger, shouting that he could only stop for a stoup of ale — no wine for him tonight on guard duty — before he saw me. He halted, his helmet swinging by its straps from his fist, and his face congested. He wore a smartly ornate uniform, but he was a fighting man.

  “Lahal, Lobur.”

  “You are not welcome, Jak. It pains me to say that, after all you have done for us. But—”

  I interrupted and made a last attempt to persuade them to see that Telmont might protest his honest intentions but that Vad Garnath pulled the strings. “Between them, and Rosil, the Kataki Strom, they will try to destroy your father, princess. It was Rosil who shot Thyllis.”

  But they would not listen, and Lobur, flinging an impatient glance at the clepsydra, said he had to be off or those lazy good-for-nothings would be snoring instead of standing watch. He left, with a warning look at Thefi which I ignored. He did not say the remberees.

  “Princess—”

  “No, Jak. My father is held by the Vallians and we must fight them to free him. My mind is made up.”

  Seeing I had failed, I hitched up my sword belt — which is a useful if redundant preliminary to action — and started to walk quietly toward Thefi. I picked her up and bundled her under my arm and walked out of there.

  Ha!

  The only real bit of luck I had was that Vad Garnath and Strom Rosil were not in the camp — oh, and that the guards didn’t knock my brains out there and then. They flung iron nets over me in the evilly efficient way Kataki slavers have, and iron nets will hold a leem. I fell to the ground, tangled up, cursing away, struggling to draw a sword and break free. The nets enfolded me. Katakis with their tails swishing bladed steel hauled me out. Nasty are Katakis, a race of diffs with habits that set them apart from the normal run of humanity. Low-browed, dark, snaggle-toothed, and with those sinuous whip tails to which they strap six inches of bladed steel, Katakis are man-managers. Thefi screamed and I cursed and rolled over, and a Kataki hit me on the head and the night of Notor Zan enfolded me in darkness.

  I woke up, chained and stapled to the ground like some poor devil of a levy swept up into an army for which he had no desire whatsoever to fight.

  The stars sparkled above, the Maiden with the Many Smiles performed her serene pink smile, the night breeze rustled the bushes, and I struggled and was chained like a wild beast.

  Two guards stood watch over me.

  One said, “You’re awake, then?”

  His companion said, “When the king sees you, you’ll—”

  The first one laughed. “You mean Vad Garnath, don’t you, Thafnal? King Telmont is—” He stopped, and looked swiftly about.

  “Aye, Ortyg. Best watch your mouth.”

  All the notorious Bells of Beng Kishi rang and collided in my skull. I licked my lips and swallowed. I could move about half an inch. The chains were thick and strong and of iron.

  The fancy dandy little Hikdar trotted up, managing not to trip over his own sword. He put on a big frown, bending his brows down, and I guessed he had caught this guard duty and was not too pleased about it, no doubt having other and more pleasant occupations planned for the night. The two swods looked across as he appeared in the moons light and stood at attention — casually.

  “No trouble?” squeaked the little fellow.

  “No trouble, Hik.”

  “Good, good.”

  I’d given no trouble because I’d been enveloped in the black folds of Notor Zan’s cloak. I strained at the chains and could not break them or budge the stakes to which they were stapled. The Hikdar jumped.

  “Watch him! There are express orders from Jiktar Nairn. He is to wait judgment from the king himself.”

  “Very good, Hik.”

  With a careful flick at his sword to clear it away from his legs, he trotted off.

  “Who’s he?” I said, in my conversational voice. I didn’t give a damn who he was; I wanted to get the conversation flowing easily.

  “Hikdar Naghan ham Halahan, and you mind your mouth.”

  “D’you have a mouth-wet around here?”

  The one called Thafnal hoicked forward a bottle. His face was scarred and dark, seamed with seasons of campaigning. “Open your black-fanged winespout, dom, and I’ll pour you a draught.”

  I did as he bid and took in a sloshing mouthful of cheap wine. It was refreshing, tangy though it might be.

  “My thanks, dom.”

  As the stars and moons wheeled across the sky I crouched there, chained like a wild animal, and cogitated. My thoughts were as cloudy as the sky, where dark masses erratically obscured the moons, and then blew free in wispy streamers until the following clouds cast their shadows upon the land.

  Just a little of this famous cogitation convinced me that out of a hundred chances, ninety-nine would say that Lobur the Dagger had betrayed me. He was frightened that I would convince Thefi to return, and Lobur would not face her father. This saddened me. It showed how little he understood the depth of her feelings for him.

  Also, the unwelcome thought occurred to me that Lobur knew more than he said — certainly not that I was who I was, for in that case my head would be rolling away over the ground — but was probably aware of the true situation in Ruathytu through his contact with Garnath. He had not told Thefi. I felt my faith in Lobur slipping away depressingly.

  If I hadn’t saved him from falling off a rooftop in Jikaida City — and he did not know that Drax, Gray Mask, was me — he wouldn’t be alive now and a whole train of incidents that had followed would not have taken place.

  In the confusing lights of the moons Hikdar Naghan ham Halahan came mincing back. He looked different, and was trying to strut along with all the pomp his position demanded, and making a strange hash of it. He’d be more dangerous to his own men in a fight, I was thinking, as he wheeled up toward the two guards, Thafnal and Ortyg, who barely took enough notice of him save to come to their sloppy attention. They were so long in the tooth as extended-service swods they could get away with murder among the forest of Hamalian regulations.

  “A prowler in the zorca lines,” squeaked ham Halahan, his voice higher and yet struggling to sound hoarse. “Get off there at once. I’ll stand guard here. Bratch!”

  That hard word of command made them move. Thafnal said: “He won’t get away, Hik—”

  Ham Halahan pointed, his helmet casting deep shadows over his face, his cloak wrapped about his uniform. The two swods picked up their spears and marched off, whistling. They knew to a nicety how far to go in baiting jumped-up young officers.

  The Hikdar watched them go. He was trembling. They disappeared beyond the corner of the nearest tent toward the zorca lines as clouds threw down shadows.

  “Jak! We must be quick!”

  In a single heartbeat I stopped my stupid “Wha—?” and instead said, “I thank you, princess. The chains are of iron.”

  “I have the key. I stole it from Lobur. Here...”

  She bent over me and I sensed her perfume. The uniform showed under the cloak, impressive, far too impressive to be that of a Hikdar, however important he thought himself, and it fitted ill. One of Lobur’s, of course. The key clinked. The lock made a sound like a wersting savaged by a leem. The chains fell away. I rubbed my wrists, my ankles, but the shackles had not been tight enough to restrict circulation.

  “Why?”

  She would not look at me. Strands of hair wisped free of the harsh helmet brim.

  “You were a good friend to us. I couldn’t see you—”

  “Is that all?”

  Now she looked at me as I stood up, her eyes dark and pained, and I felt for her pain.

  “No. Lobur — he was talking to Garnath—”

  “That great devil is here?”

  “They said — I overheard and I couldn’t believe — and yet I still love Lobur—”

  “What did they say?” I looked about, and I
know my face was as savage as faces may ever become. “We must move away from here.” We moved off into the shadows and I held her arm.

  “Garnath and my Lobur — what you said is true, Jak. And Lobur knew all the time. He knew! My father is the emperor and they plan to destroy him and use me... Use me to...

  She trembled under my touch.

  “It isn’t pretty, Thefi. Will you stay with Lobur?”

  “I want to... But how can I? I do not know what to do!”

  She wore a sword, a straight cut and thruster used all over Havilfar. The thraxter looked to be a quality blade as I drew it from the scabbard, quickly, before she could move.

  “Jak! You will not kill me?”

  “Hold still, princess. No — run for the nearest voller if you wish to escape. I will follow.”

  She turned her head to look where I stared and saw the advancing forms of soldiers, weapons bared.

  “Oh, Jak! They will surely kill you—”

  “And you too, and still make your father dance to Garnath’s tune. Now, run — run for the nearest voller. And, my girl, run fast!”

  Then I swung about and switched up the sword, ready to take on the yelling guards who ran in with weapons brandished.

  Chapter fifteen

  Hometruths

  Thefi had saved me from almost certain death, and now in order to save her I had to face another round with almost certain death. Well, that is life on Kregen. The guards ran on yelling. One or two screeched the chilling Hamalese war cry “Hanitch! Hanitch!” — a sound that has risen in triumph over very many battlefields.

  My blade slithered across the first guard’s sword, turned, thrust, retrieved — all, it seemed, of its own volition. He staggered back, arms upflung, and already the dark blood spouted.

  Three more came on, hard, panting, and I foined around and cut and pierced them, and danced away, risking a quick glance over one shoulder. Thefi had reached the voller lines and — by Krun, she was the daughter of her father and sister to her brother! — she pointed imperiously at me and as the guard obediently ran past to join the fray, she took off her helmet and hit him over the head with it. He collapsed in a smother of cloak and his dinted helmet fell off and as Thefi bent with a glitter of steel in her fist I swiveled back to my own fight.