King of Swords (The Starfolk)

by Dave Duncan

  They were in an alley facing the harbor. She could peer out and see along Front Street in both directions. He could smell the sea, with wafts of cinnamon and coffee and tar; he could hear axles and pulleys squealing, sailors and porters and hucksters shouting; but all he could see was the back of her head. He had been sitting astride her too long for his physical comfort.

  “Because the next time one of those stinking chickens insults me, I’m going to put five arrows through its crop.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Harpy!” That command invoked the message stud in his helmet, and a few moments later a female harpy flapped down to perch on a wall beside him.

  “Hey, horsey! You got some shit on your back.”

  “Go and tell Commander Zozma that we’re ready!” Rigel said.

  “You think he’ll care?” the harpy screeched, but it could not refuse the order and took off with a mad tumult of wings.

  It was barely airborne before another landed in the space it had just vacated. “What’s black and has six legs?” it demanded. “I’m talking to you, beetle.”

  “Enif!” the centaur snarled. A strung bow appeared in her left hand, an arrow in her right.

  “Easy, easy!” Rigel said. “Ask it for its message first.”

  “Talk before I kebab you, vulture!” Bellatrix nocked the arrow.

  Either the harpy recognized genuine peril, or it had a high cowardice coefficient. Maybe both. It took off even while screaming its message:

  “Zozmasaystogoandmesseverythingupthewayyoualwaysdo.”

  “Hold on tight!” Bow and arrow vanished. Rigel barely had time to wrap his arms around the centaur’s waist before they were out of the alley and leaning into a sharp left turn in a frenzied clatter of hooves, amidst cries of alarm from passing humans. He buried his head into Bellatrix’s hard-muscled back, while keeping his grip safely below the danger zone she had mentioned earlier. They hurtled by wagons, carts, stalls, laden donkeys, screaming children, and a few outraged starfolk. Then Bellatrix clattered to a halt before an imposing iron-studded timber gate set in a high white-plastered wall.

  “Stars be with you, halfling.”

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  Rigel dropped to the ground, staggered as he adjusted to being a biped again, and mentally crossed his fingers. Would the gate kill him outright or just char his arm? The multicolored Rongo-rongo script on the brass plate probably said something like, Residence of Prince Vildiar, Trespassers will be Liquefied. Rigel reached out his left hand, the one with the ring on it, and turned the handle. The gate opened. As he stepped through into a covered breezeway, he heard the centaur canter away, satisfied that she had played her part.

  His heartbeat stabilized at about eight hundred, his blood pressure around a million. He had done it, and now it was too late to stop or go back, although Saiph was vibrating furiously. He must not hesitate or linger. Five quick steps took him through the archway to the courtyard Talitha had described and holographed in the Dolphin Room. It was bigger than he’d expected and she had left out the staircases on either side of the entrance. The trees were higher, and the courtyard was cluttered with assorted furniture and flowers galore. Black swans floated on one of the pools, while headless pink flamingoes stood asleep in another. But there were no people in sight. Maybe everyone had already left the property after all. His sense of relief was enormous; Rigel Estell was not cut out to be a burglar.

  Saiph was still throbbing, though.

  He continued walking, going fast but not running, keeping his head high as if he had every right to be there. He could see his destination in the center of the wall far ahead, two large double doors painted dark blue. He didn’t look up to see if harpies were circling or perched on the tops of the walls, but Zozma had seemed confident that they would keep him informed of Rigel’s progress. Or death, although he had not said that.

  Talitha had been derogatory about the residence, but it would have made a first-class motel, and to a vagrant earthling minstrel, it seemed like a cozy little palace. Its white stucco walls and red-tile roof gave it a Mexican or Californian air. The portal was set back in an alcove, which might be helpful if Saiph had to hold it against a ravening horde.

  That did seem unlikely now, in spite of the bracelet’s continued warnings. He was halfway there, and no one had challenged him yet. Menkent would be setting out right about now, bringing Prince Kornephoros to de-magic the gate. By the time he arrived and started his work, Rigel should be at the portal, ready to play Horatio holding the bridge.

  There were two men just ahead, on the balcony to his left.

  He hadn’t seen them when he’d first entered because they’d been hidden by hanging flower baskets. They were leaning on the balustrade, watching something below them, something behind the next bush Rigel had to pass. They wore SS riding britches, but were bare to the waist. The huge one was Hadar himself.

  Whatever was holding their attention, they would certainly notice Rigel going past. The helmet hiding his white hair should keep them from recognizing him for a few moments. Even then, their reaction might be guarded until they realized that no starborn could wear a hat that shape. He forced his feet to keep walking, held his gaze straight forward.

  A pair of bare feet came into sight on the grass beyond the bush, then ankles, then calves. Hairy calves, so not elfin. Heels up, toes down. Very little of the person underneath was visible other than her legs and arms, wrapped around her friend. That sort of party! That explained why Talitha had blushed when the queen had asked her if the court was overlooked, and why the two men on the balcony were being so quiet, not disturbing the performance.

  “Who the stars are you?” They had seen him.

  Their cries of outrage alerted the couple on the grass, who disentangled instantly. A real assassin would have killed both of them before they could get up, but Rigel just sprinted for the portal.

  He reached the double doors and spun around. The alcove was too wide and shallow to force the defenders to come at him one at a time, but it would make it harder for them to get behind him. Here he had to make his stand until the sphinxes arrived. Here he had to block the escape route of killers fleeing justice, desperate men with nothing to lose. Here Saiph had to earn its reputation anew, against odds of three to one, and for the first time Rigel Halfling would be facing other swords, not unarmed suckers. They would undoubtedly try to use magic against him too, and he would need to rely on the defenses Wasat had given him.

  No, he had miscounted; it would be four on one. The enraged lovers both came after him, armed from ankles to ears with amulets, wearing nothing except furious expressions. Happily the man was Tarf himself, and killing him would present no problem for Rigel’s still-tender scruples. Naked, he looked more human than he had when clothed, aboard Saidak that morning; only the absence of a navel and nipples marked him as part elf, and that was masked by an abundance of human body hair. His tumescence was fading rapidly.

  The woman was a halfling too—she had an elfin shape, almost-elfin ears, and blue hair, but human teeth and a navel. She was taller than Tarf and looked even more furious. A sword fight with a woman would be a nasty experience. The two of them stopped just out of reach.

  Tarf said, “You!” and showed his sawtooth dentition. “Pretty boy Rigel has decided to change sponsors already? Momma didn’t waste any time.”

  Every second Rigel could delay the battle was more time for the queen’s forces to arrive. “What makes you think so?”

  “Take off your amulets and we’ll talk,” Tarf responded. Every second he could delay the battle would be more time for Hadar to arrive with reinforcements.

  Nevertheless, talking was safer than fighting. Should this moment of confrontation occur, Zozma had suggested, Rigel ought to read out the queen’s warrant. Rigel had explained the problem with that plan. But he produced the scroll he had tucked into the waistband of his wrap and tossed it at Tarf’s feet, where it was ignored.

  “Queen Electra is back,
halfling. That is a warrant for your arrest on a whole pile of charges, with an offer of clemency if you surrender peacefully. You,” he told the woman, Adhil, “keep out of this.”

  “I’ll have your balls for earrings!” A sword appeared in her hand, flashing sunlight.

  Good! The other side had drawn first.

  “Wait!” Tarf laughed. He held up both hands. “Oh, please, Halfling Rigel, don’t hurt us. We were only having a little innocent fun. The lady will be very happy to have you join our party, won’t you my precious? You can go next, and I’m sure we can figure the other matter out before she performs the surgery she has suggested.”

  He was stalling for time, too. That much was obvious because Saiph was quivering harder than ever. The two goons up on the balcony were probably too high up to jump down without injury, and the stairs were at the far end of the courtyard. Reluctant as he was to attack first, Rigel knew he needed to put Tarf out of the fight before the others could join in.

  A harpy swooped overhead. “Hey, pothead! You’re outnumbered, boy! You’re dead meat.” It banked and returned. “Zozma says he’s on his way, but I wouldn’t count on him arriving in time if I were you.”

  Halfway through that speech, and very much to his own astonishment, Rigel leaped at Tarf. Saiph appeared in his hand, of course, and about ten centimeters of steel slid into Tarf’s belly before the halfling could invoke his own magic sword to parry. Saiph slit him open, then flashed around to parry a clumsy stroke from the woman.

  One down. Tarf screamed as he collapsed, clutching his wound and spraying blood through his fingers. That helped pay for the massacre in the Walmart store at least. Rigel went after Adhil, but either his heart wasn’t in it, or she didn’t represent a real threat to him, because Saiph failed to even nick her.

  The two men in the balcony jumped. Rather than risk broken ankles or worse, they leaped into the nearest of the ornamental pools, landing in a huge explosion of water and startled flamingoes.

  Adhil’s retreat had drawn Rigel away from the portal, so he had to back up quickly as Hadar and Muscida came charging into the fight, both soaking wet and bare to the waist, each armed with both a sword and a parrying dagger. Hadar was an oversized gorilla; blond Muscida would have seemed quite starborn had he not been humanly hairy. Metal rang and rang. For a few moments the battle seemed quite equal. Moving in a blur, Saiph held off the two men despite their additional weapons, and Adhil’s efforts to help them just got in their way.

  Suddenly an enormous clanging sound flooded the courtyard, like the sound of a giant shaking an iron foundry. Rigel guessed that it was an alarm to warn those inside that someone was using magic on the gate’s defenses. So Kornephoros had started work at last. It startled him, but it startled his opponents more, because it came from behind them. That was all the advantage Saiph needed to lunge deep into Muscida’s neck and then swing free to parry a haymaker scythe-slash by Hadar. Rigel did not escape unscathed, though, for the giant’s dagger sliced his left shoulder. He registered blood spurting, but he was too fired up by the fight to feel pain.

  Adhil screamed, Muscida toppled to the ground, and the action paused for an instant while both sides assessed the situation. Muscida writhed in his death throes—gurgling, vomiting blood, and pumping out arterial rivers of it. Rigel was wounded, but the magical defenses Wasat had given him had already stemmed the bleeding.

  Tarf, too, must have possessed healing amulets. He should have been dead or dying, but he was on his feet again, bloody and bloody mad. Baring his teeth, he threw a fireball at Rigel. The ball exploded before it hit, giving him a mild, tingling shock and a momentary glimpse of a multicolored glass barrier. He could not retaliate in kind, because Wasat hadn’t had the time to explain how all of his new amulets should be used.

  Tarf caught hold of Muscida’s right ankle and callously hauled him out of the way of the fight. The dying halfling managed a scream that died in a gurgle and a fountain of blood.

  “Adhil, beloved,” Hadar said, “you burn his balls off and we’ll stick him.”

  The woman stood aside and began hurling a stream of fireballs. Rigel’s amulets protected him from them, although he found them distracting. Saiph, fortunately, did not, and their only real effect was to scorch the door behind him, which smoked and gave off a foul smell of burning paint.

  Tarf snarled and stepped back into the fray. For a moment the three combatants stood poised at guard, and then Saiph tried a feint at Hadar. Hadar blocked and lunged high while Tarf came in low. Saiph beat them both off, but they kept coming, and the battle grew fierce. The brothers’ resemblance was more apparent when they fought side by side. They moved smoothly together, as if they’d practiced this way for years. No doubt they had.

  Hadar was very good. Talitha had classed his amulet, Sulfur-something, as being almost as ancestral as Saiph. It was making the big man move even faster than his small brother, and Tarf was no slouch as a swordsman. Rigel was soon gasping for breath and streaming sweat, as his body tried to keep up with Saiph’s inhuman demands.

  Thrust—parry—riposte—counter—engage… on and on, feet and arms in constant motion. Had any of the amulet’s previous owners died of a heart attack? How long could his muscles possibly hold up under this strain? And through it all, he had to stay far enough from the door to leave himself room to retreat, but not so far that the brothers could get behind him.

  Why was the idiot Kornephoros taking so long? Were the sphinxes never going to get here? Would that terrible din never stop? How long could Adhil keep throwing the damnable fireballs?

  Stamina amulet or not, Rigel was close to collapse, but so were the others. Saiph and Sulaphat were the best. Whatever sword Tarf was wielding was no match for either of those, and he had been wounded earlier. Inevitably, he was the one who failed first. He slowed just enough for Saiph to slash him across the face.

  Seconds later, the din came to a sudden stop. With a very different sort of thunder, the gates flew off their hinges, propelled by centaur hooves, and sphinxes poured into the court.

  Rigel tried to lunge at Hadar, but was blocked by Tarf’s collapsing body. Hadar grabbed Adhil and threw her bodily at Rigel. Her sword flashed into her hand, but Saiph impaled her before she could do any damage. Using Rigel’s momentary distraction to full advantage, Hadar dived through the portal. Rigel slumped to the ground exhausted, and the world darkened.

  Chapter 26

  Magnificent!” Menkent yelled, scooping Rigel up in his arms as he would a child. “Incredible! The harpies were telling us all about it.” He clattered over to a pool and waded across to hold Rigel’s face under a stream of water emerging from a marble putto. Rigel gulped it down thirstily. “You got three of them!”

  Rigel spluttered, trying to say that Hadar had escaped.

  “Had enough?” the centaur asked. “Ready to bathe now?” He released the halfling with a big splash.

  Rigel struggled to his feet, cursing. But the cold water felt very good—refreshing, cleansing. His legs were shaking so hard he could barely stand. He drank some more from the cherub’s stream.

  Zozma stood on the edge of the water, his smile not at all inscrutable. “Well done, Rigel Halfling! A great feat of arms.”

  No it wasn’t. It was a great feat of magic, and Rigel had only been a puppet. He staggered to the edge of the pool, heading back to the scene of the fight, but when he tried to climb out, his arms would not obey him. Menkent, following close behind him, obligingly lifted him out. Though the young centaur lacked Bellatrix’s weightlifter build, he had impressive strength. His horse portion was bay, his scalp bore a curly mop of reddish-brown curls, and he had the beginnings of a red-gold beard around what seemed to be a permanent grin.

  Rigel forced himself to inspect the bodies—Muscida already corpse-white, Adhil flat on her back with a seemingly trivial wound over her heart, Tarf with his face cut in half. Yet the great gash was still oozing blood, and Prince Kornephoros was kneeling over him, clutching the
halfling’s head and muttering under his breath. Bellatrix knelt beside him, cutting away Tarf’s bracelets with a dagger. A heap of rings and ear studs glittered on the pavement.

  “He’s alive?” Rigel asked incredulously.

  “His Highness is hoping to revive him.”

  The scorched and blistered portal was closed once more. Only Rigel was invisible to any booby traps it might have. He tottered over to it, and three sphinxes moved in with him to see what he might find. Saiph offered no warning, so he went ahead and turned the handle. He found a closet with a stack of wooden chairs.

  Kornephoros rose to his feet, scowling at the bloodstains on his hands and knees. “Hopeless!”

  “This portal may still be booby-trapped,” Rigel told him. “It should be inspected before you seal it.”

  “If I need advice on magic, boy, you will not be the first person I turn to. The idea was to arrest them. You staged a massacre.”

  “I regret that I did not kill all of them.”

  “That is not how we do things in the Starlands.”

  It was the way Hadar and his brothers did things. Rigel needed rest—he was going to be as stiff as a tombstone after his exertions—but he had more important things to do first. He turned his back on the prince and headed over to Menkent, the only friendly one in the whole bunch.

  “May I ask a favor?”

  The centaur widened his ever-present grin a few notches. “Ask away, hero. I’m not great at climbing trees, but I’m willing to try anything else.”

  “I need to tell the princess something. It’s very urgent.”

  “Always happy to oblige a hero.” Menkent turned his tail on Rigel and sat down, reaching both arms back. Rigel offered his wrists to the centaur and was hauled aboard. “Hold tight!” The centaur folded Rigel’s arms around his waist, but he kept a firm grip on them so that he would not lose his still-shaky passenger. “Next stop, the palace!” He took off at a canter, cornered sharply onto Front Street, and geared up to a gallop. By then Rigel had put himself to sleep.