Omens of Kregen

by Alan Burt Akers

  K. Kholin Dora was perfectly convinced that a four-armed Djang would be perfectly at home in the mazes of the hill. Vomanus, Delia’s half-brother, having recovered from his illness, said in his lazy reckless way that he was going too. And the feckless fellow still had rust spots on his sword.

  “By Krun!” I said to Delia. “The wedding has made it worse. Now we’re inundated with folk all clamoring to go.”

  “Aye,” she said in her practical, devious way: “And that might be a good thing, too.”

  Seeing what she meant, I agreed. All the same...!

  Farris said: “I have been having a quiet word with Emperor Nedfar. There are genuine troubles which cause this lamentable lapse in the supply of airboats.”

  I made a face. After only a short stay, Tyfar and Lela had returned to western Hamal. They’d spoken a little of what they were up to out there. Nedfar expressed concern for their safety, and added: “But you cannot muzzle these young people for ever.”

  “They see their duty as bringing the production of fliers back to normal,” said Delia. She spoke bravely; but I could see her concern and suffered with her.

  Just because Drak and Silda were safely married and off enjoying themselves did not mean that the rest of us gave up celebrating. No chance of that yet, by Krun!

  During this time of a continuous whirl of pleasure, of dances and routs and balls, all in the best traditions of Kregen, we began to assemble forces for the expedition to visit Csitra.

  Farris intimated that he could put what was a considerable force of airboats at our disposal. The armed forces of Vallia were being reduced. We had won the wars and re-united all the islands of the empire; now was a time for consolidation on all the other fronts of civilization crying out for attention; agriculture, building, canals, education, trade and commerce of every description. So, with the soldiers and airmen returning home, we could take our pick of fliers, flyers and swods.

  In the end I made the sensible decision of taking just about everyone who clamored to go along. Drak had said that he would release from his service in Vallia anyone we asked for.

  So I told the lads of the guard corps to work out a system by which half of them went to the Coup Blag and the other half stayed with their duty to the emperor.

  Nath Karidge, commanding EDLG, in a pitiable state, came up to me and poured out his woes.

  I said, “The fact is, Nath, you command the Empress’s Devoted Life Guard. The empress is now Silda.”

  “I have no desire to affront her, or Seg, or you or Delia. But I feel I must resign.”

  I nodded. “And you will form a regiment? Devoted to Delia?”

  “Aye.”

  “There is no need to tell you of my feelings, Nath. I thank you. This thing can be arranged with tact and discretion. Just make sure EDLG remains the elite and splendid regiment it has always been.”

  “There will be no problem with that.”

  There were many details involved in the handing over of power. Naghan Vanki, the emperor’s chief spymaster, waxed surprisingly effusive when I thanked him for his work. He had always been cold and distant. He was devoted to Delia, and he swore to carry on his work for Drak and Silda.

  The fleet prepared and the names were chosen. I will not list them all; as they appear in this my narrative so shall you meet them.

  The two Wizards and one Witch of Loh — whom I hesitate to call “ours” seeing these sorcerers are their own magical people — worked hard and cunningly on fashioning defenses against Csitra’s sorcerous spite. One day they told me that they had perfected devices of power sufficient to deflect a considerable amount of her thaumaturgical wrath.

  “Ling-Li and I will be flying with you,” said Khe-Hi with a smile at his new wife. “Deb-Lu will cooperate at a distance.”

  “If we can nullify Csitra’s power,” confirmed Deb-Lu, “the result will lie in the hands of the folk with you.”

  “I have every confidence,” I said, meaning it.

  A great many events took place and numbers of important decisions were taken at this time with which I will not burden you; suffice it to say that life rattled along with not a moment to waste or to spare. And, then, finally, we were off.

  The Armada against Csitra took off.

  The ships were there, many of whose names you are acquainted with. We had no vorlcas, all were vollers, whose two silver boxes controlled speed and height by maneuvering them in their bronze and balass orbits. Toward the end of life the silver boxes would dull and turn black. Sometimes there was no period of grace whatsoever. Generally speaking, though, the silver boxes lasted through many a season of flying.

  Great the cheering when we took off, great the uproar, and great the moaning and lamentations of those left behind. Deb-Lu waved us off, assuring us that Csitra and her uhu child, Phunik, could not observe our departure.

  “Remberee!” we called down, and the answering remberees floated up, dwindling and fading as we gained height and set course for Pandahem.

  “Well, my old dom, we’ve done it.”

  “Aye,” I said. “I hope the return is as happy as the departure.”

  “Cheer up, you hairy old graint,” said Delia.

  “Yes, Dray,” added Milsi. “When this is all over you and Delia are to visit us in Croxdrin.”

  “I look forward to that,” I said. I was thinking of what lay between; had I known — well, I suppose I would still have gone on; but I’d have been in an even worse mood than I was.

  Due south from Vondium we flew, across the coast and out over the Sea of Opaz, glinting and glistening in the light of the twin suns. Presently we angled our course south southeastward so as to cross the Pandahem coast on the Bay of Panderk. Straight across Tomboram we flew, cutting sharply east out to sea again to fly around the Central Mountains of Pandahem via the Koroles.

  Looking down on those twisted alleys of water between the islands, seeing those lush green mountains rising from the sea, brought back the memories, I can tell you!

  Out to our left stretched the Southern Ocean, and as we followed the curve of the coast around through south to southwest we could spy ahead of us the Sea of Chem.

  Along that coast I had sailed aboard Pompino’s Tuscurs Maiden. That splendid argenter had been burned by me. I could not regret the act for it had helped to gain a victory; I looked back without relish. Below us the coastline wended its way as we flew on. Soon we would reach far enough for us to turn north. We’d vetoed the idea of flying up the River of Bloody Jaws. On that river lay Milsi’s realms. We did not want to attract attention and alert the bush telegraph, although all below was jungle by now.

  The voller in which we sailed, Pride of Vondium, was large, splendid, immensely powerful, a skyship of Hamal. Delia said: “Milsi and I have to fly across to Rose of Valka. There is a meeting we must attend.”

  There was plenty of time before nightfall and our change of course. I grumped up, though, and said: “And you need not tell me what your precious meeting is about, wife. You will be back before the suns set?”

  “Long before, you aptly named Jak the Sturr!”

  When they’d flown off in a small voller, I said to Seg: “You know what that’s all about?”

  “Aye. Sisters of the Rose. But I own I am glad Milsi has joined. She is changed, yes; but I think for the better. She is lucky Delia—”

  “And Delia is fortunate that you found a girl like Milsi.” I did not speak of Thelda.

  “We’ll show you a time in Croxdrin, my old dom.” Seg waxed enthusiastic. “Only — don’t fall in the river again.”

  “I can still hear those jaws snapping at my heels.”

  Seg laughed, throwing that handsome head of his back, his wild black hair rippling in the breeze. His fey blue eyes regarded me with enjoyment. “We had a few wagers, though.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m for a wet.”

  Down in the cabin with the ale before us, for it was too early for wine, we sat talking of this and that. T
he lookout’s hail reached us, screeching like a broken violin string.

  “Sail ho!”

  We went up on deck; we did not hurry.

  Sweeping in from the sea swarmed a fleet of fliers.

  Jiktar Nogad ti Thorndax, the captain of Pride of Vondium, a stout experienced Air Service officer, rubbed his chin.

  “Don’t recognize ’em, jis.”

  Nobody did. As the approaching airboats swept in toward us we counted them to find they were fifty to our thirty-eight.

  The odd thing that struck us was that they appeared all exactly alike. They could all have been stamped from the same pattern.

  “Deuced odd,” said Vangar ti Valkanium, who had flown with us despite the fact he was slated to take over the Vallian Air Service. “Never seen a fleet with every ship identical before.”

  And still no quiver of alarm crossed my idiot mind.

  Those ships out there were garishly painted and all were of the small-to-middle size of voller, with but two decks. Their upperworks were square, chopped-off, brutal constructions. They didn’t go in for fighting tops as did we; but they had fighting galleries below. They came on at a fair speed.

  “What of their flags?”

  Telescopes were training on those fifty ships. No one volunteered to recognize the flags.

  Garishly though those awkward-looking upperworks were painted, the lower hulls were all a uniform black.

  Ortyg Thingol, brown curls and bright eyes dancing with excitement, handed me a telescope. Into the circle I centered the lead ship.

  So I saw and I knew.

  How in the name of Opaz this monstrous thing had occurred I did not know. But I knew what I was looking at, and I knew what must follow.

  In a calm, firm voice, I said: “Comrades, we have a fight on our hands. Those devils are Shanks.”

  Chapter ten

  Nath the Impenitent

  When I recall that aerial battle I am filled with horror and revulsion, and scathing self-contempt, and also a foolish fatuous pride.

  Our thirty-eight had the beating of their fifty, there was no doubt of that.

  Supreme though they might be on the seas, the Fish Heads had nothing like our experience in the air. Their ships were very good; most — not all — of ours were better.

  We could see the Shanks crowding their upper decks, helmets and tridents arrayed in ranks. Their catapults hurled. They were far more reckless with fire than they were at sea. I saw one black-bottomed ship in the midst of the melee sling a blazing firepot at one of our vessels, and miss, and the missile smashed full into one of their own. She burned.

  We lost ships. But for every one of ours lost they lost four. And, it was clear, they did not like the outcome. They were used arrogantly to winning all their sea battles. So now they fought as only Shanks can fight, vicious and deadly and without mercy. Well, and Opaz forgive us, we fought back in the same way.

  To interpolate now what I afterwards discovered, as is not my wont in this narrative, I will say that the silver boxes powering the Shank vollers contained a different mix of minerals from those supplied by Hamal and Hyrklana and other nations of Paz. The Shanks used up the power of some of the minerals, and they therefore had to carry spare silver boxes to replace those exhausted. They had, in fact, to operate their power source with a fuel supply backup.

  So, as I say, we were doing all right. Seg and I kept shooting anxious glances at Rose of Valka. Delia and Milsi were aboard her. She lashed out all around her and saw off her four Shanks. Then, just as we were congratulating ourselves on a smashing victory, one of the Shank vessels, ablaze from stem to stern, flew full tilt into Pride of Vondium.

  I saw that awful flame-spitting mass hurtling down on us. There was absolutely no time to drag our ship out of the way.

  Wearing their aerial safety belts, men and women threw themselves overboard.

  Seg hitched his bow up his back and yelled to me: “Overboard with you!”

  Pride of Vondium, enveloped in flame, was falling headlong through the air. The flames had burned through some control ropes, and the silver boxes must have been jolted apart. We were dropping at a frightful speed, and the flames and heat blew blisteringly about us.

  I saw Ortyg Thingol sprawled on the deck in the line of the advancing flames. Blood smeared his brown curls. Seg yelled again, leaping forward: “I’ll grab young Ortyg! Over with you, Dray!”

  Flames spouted up from the deck around our feet.

  “And leave you!” I jumped forward to assist Seg with our young cadet.

  A wall of fire burgeoned directly before me. Beyond that hellish heat Seg and the lad must be trying to fight their way back to the bulwarks. I put my head down and an arm over my face and, thus looking down through slitted eyes, half-blinded, I saw a shiny scorpion clicking his feelers on that flame-reeking deck.

  Through the infernal racket of the fire, his voice reached me thinly and clearly.

  “We always said you were an onker, Dray Prescot. You must jump and save yourself. The Star Lords wish it.”

  “To hell with the Star Lords! I’m not leaving Seg—”

  “Jump, Dray Prescot, or risk the wrath of the Everoinye!”

  Cunning entered my soul.

  “You need me, Star Lords. You have said as much. I will not leave without Seg and the boy. If you can — save us all!”

  The blueness whirled up so smartly I had no time to gasp. The Everoinye could strike with appalling swiftness when they had to.

  I was hanging upside down in the branches of a spiny tree and all about me squeaked and chirruped and screamed the noises of the jungle.

  I shook my head and it stayed on my shoulders. With a convulsive twist I was right side up and ready to confront whatever grisly predator of the jungle might regard me as an afternoon snack.

  Seg’s voice called: “Ortyg’s safe, Dray. What happened?”

  He might well ask!

  Looking carefully around, I spotted Seg on a lower branch of the tree with Ortyg in his arms.

  “We must have fallen through the burned deck,” I said with some caution.

  “Yes. I suppose. It was hot, my old dom, deuced hot. There was a flash of blue — curious.”

  “Well, we made it safely down. We’ll have to try to signal the fleet. They must have won the victory by now.”

  “Sure to.”

  “So it’s up rather than down?”

  “You recall this jungle? Up, I’d say.”

  “What about the boy?”

  Ortyg’s high voice rang out. “I’m no boy, majister. I am a full-grown man. I can manage to climb a tree!”

  “By the Veiled Froyvil, my old dom, we have a leemcub here!”

  So we started to climb up. The trees were stout enough to afford us ample support until we could reach along one of the lower laterals of the crown and so gaze up through a gap at the brilliance of the sky above.

  There was not a single airboat in sight.

  “This,” said Seg, digesting this new information, “alters things somewhat.”

  “Aye.”

  A black dot floated into view over the trees.

  “Hai!” roared Seg. “Down here!”

  The man suspended in air on his belt looked down and then he slowly pulled the control levers apart so that the silver boxes lowered him gently. He would, we saw, land in the next tree along. There was no way he could gain forward motion from the belt.

  “So,” I said. “It’s down, now.”

  “Aye, my old dom. Down it is.”

  “Meet us at the tree here!” I bellowed.

  The man hollered back: “Quidang!”

  “A swod, is my guess,” offered Seg. “Anyway, you have a damned intemperate way with you. He recognized—”

  “The voice of command? And thank you!”

  “Well, it’s true, as Erthyr the Bowis my witness.”

  Clinging to the branch, I said: “Let’s have a look at that cut in your head, Ortyg.”

  “Y
es, majister.”

  I gave him a hard look, and his brown eyes widened. “Not majister, Ortyg. Not majis; not even jis. You call me Jak. Is that clear? Jak!”

  “Yes, majis — Jak. Clear.”

  “And if you forget, Ortyg,” said Seg with deep menace, “you will be left here in this jungle alone to fend for yourself.”

  “Your head’s all right,” I said. “We’ll dress it when we reach the ground.”

  The climb down was arduous enough, Krun knew; but we touched the mould of the jungle floor at last.

  Then we saw to Ortyg’s head with the medicaments in our belt pouches. I gave Seg an inquiring look.

  “You’re known around these parts. King of Croxdrin. Might Seg not be a little, well—”

  “I’m not that well known. But I won’t be Seg the Horkandur. And—” here he fixed me with a baleful stare. “And not the Fearless, either, or any other of your so-called funny names.”

  “All right. We’ll think of Seg the Something.”

  “Tell me, please,” put in Ortyg, a hand to his head. “Why are you not to be called majister, Jak?”

  “Because there are plenty of evil folk around only too ready to take advantage of ransom.”

  Seg bore down on the lad. “That’s why. We are simple koters, us.”

  “Very well, Seg, Jak.”

  A man’s hoarse voice reached us. “That you, doms?”

  “Hai, dom. Over here.”

  He joined us as we stepped away from the twined bole of our tree. His uniform was a shredded black mess, his hair was singed, his face was a scarlet blot. But that hair was good Vallian brown, and those ferocious eyes were level and Vallian brown. He looked to be an old kampeon, tough as old boots, in service for seasons.

  Smoothly, Seg said, “Lahal. I am Seg, this is Jak and this is Ortyg. We are lucky to be alive.”

  “Lahal. I am Nath.”

  There are very many Naths on Kregen, seeing that the legendary Nath equates with the terrestrial Hercules, more or less. I sighed, and this Nath, seeing that reaction, managed a ferocious grimace and said, “Nath, called the Impenitent.”