Scorpio Ablaze [Dray Prescot #41]

by Alan Burt Akers

  “We may not have heard the last of them.” Seg spoke with an abrupt shake of his shoulders, as though shaking off rain. We all looked sharply at him. In his native hills and valleys of Erthyrdrin they breed fey folk, folk with the Eye. Nobody spoke for a moment or two.

  Then Sasha said: “Inch, dear. Surely we can get some warriors from Ng'groga to help?"

  “Since I left home I have very little influence in Ng'groga, if any at all. It's the same with Seg. We're Vallians now."

  “Aye, by the Veiled Froyvil. Vallians and Pazzians."

  “Or Pazish,” I said in a neutral voice.

  “Or,” said Delia in her cutting voice, “Pazese."

  “Oh. Quite."

  “And,” she went on briskly. “I just hope Deb-Lu tells that son of ours to unglue his wings."

  “I'm sure Drak will do all he can.” Milsi spoke with tact and affection. “He knows his own mind."

  I stood up. “We're doing no good going over and over the problems. I made a mess last time with these new friends of Loh. I don't want to make it worse. They all have their points."

  “Some more than others.” Seg spoke on a breath. “I wouldn't like Mevancy's bindles in my face, no by Vox!"

  “That young Rollo,” said Inch, shaking his bent head. “Deb-Lu is going to have a handful there, by Ngrangi."

  “He seems very nice,” said Milsi, somewhat primly.

  We all laughed.

  When we went out on deck the day was bright and breezy with layered clouds scudding overhead. Around us the fleet rested in a wide valley among hills. We'd met up, thankfully enough, about a hundred miles or so from the capital of Tarankar, Taranjin. That city was our objective.

  How to take it, with the forces at our disposal, was the problem.

  Whenever a fleet makes port of call, or in the case of a flying fleet, touches down, there are always multifarious tasks to perform. Patching, mending, carpentering, painting, there is no end to maintenance. The scene on that bright and breezy morning sparkled with activity.

  As you may well imagine, there were a thousand and one calls on my time. Useless to list them all. Just take it from me, if there had been another couple of dozen burs in the Kregan day there still wouldn't have been time to see all those who wanted to see me or deal with all the questions hurled at my dizzied head. In the end, of course, as happened routinely when I was away, delegates dealt with the vast majority of importuning folk, those with grievances, those with ambitions, those with plans. We had, I may mention, no thomplods with us. We'd used those impressive animals with six legs each side and looking like haystacks in a so-called battle-winning plan. Their smell so offended most other saddle animals that they'd run off. It would have worked, too, had not the Shanks adopted the disgusting idea of smearing vosks with tar and setting them alight to charge madly at our thomplods and rout them first. They might employ that obnoxious trick again when we went up against them.

  Mileon Ristemer, whose thomplod plan it was, remained with us today still with his regiment.

  Delia had been delighted to see Nath Karidge again, the Beau Sabreur, the commander of her first personal regiment, EDLG, the Empress’ Devoted Life Guard.

  As for me, I'd spent a delirious time with my swods, my old sweats, my Guard—each one of them dear to me, each one of them a match for Vikatu the Dodger, the Old Sweat, the old hare, the archetypal old soldier of Vallia and of Paz on Kregen, paragon of military virtues and vices, a legendary figure of myth and romance. Oh, yes, we'd ripped up the night all the way to dawn.

  Naghan ti Lodkwara, one of the chiefs of 1ESW, confided a clever plan to me during that time of carousing. “Kendur! We fly over them and land and blatter them into the sea!"

  “A sound plan, Naghan."

  Targon the Tapster, a chief of 1ESW, leaned towards us, and not slopping a drop from his winecup. “Sounder still, jis, if 1ESW land and line the waterfront. We'll catch ‘em between two walls, then."

  Solemnly, I nodded. No good pooh-poohing these notions. My lads believed they could carry out stratagems such as this, and they'd all get themselves killed trying.

  Turning the conversation was not too difficult. All I had to do was say: “That reminds me of how the Phalanx stood at Kochwold—?” and they were off, refighting and reliving old battles.

  I had not risen too early on the following day.

  This enforced waiting grated on the nerves and frayed tempers short. All the same, stubborn as a graint as I am, I would not move until I considered we were ready.

  Do not take the wrong idea from this report of the plans of my chiefs of 1ESW. That little fragment of conversation more aptly belonged to my Djangs. The initial members of the Emperor's Sword Watch had formed the unit themselves. That had been their own idea to protect me. They had learned their craft in the field. They were not novices. It was just that, like Nath na Kochwold and his Phalanx, they believed themselves invincible.

  Just before an intriguing incident occurred in the air I took thought regarding Jiktar Sternum Hamparz and his request. There was no use dreaming that he'd get into 1ESW. The Emperor's Yellow Jackets, the second corps in seniority in the Guard, would take him. Probably they'd start him off in 4EYJ, possibly 3EYJ, and then see how he did. 2EYJ had retained its training function as a fighting unit, and I fancied Sternum had learned his battlecraft. Although there was no doubt that anyone at all could learn from my Guard Corps.

  When the agreement came through that he could join 4EYJ, Sternum's hairy face positively sprouted with pleasure and pride. He started to thank me: “By Krun, jis—well, I don't know—by Havil the Green—"

  I stopped him in his tracks.

  “Krun is accepted because I use it. Havil the Green may well not be. No man in Vallia is forced to follow any religious creed he does not wish to follow and no man or woman is persecuted for their religion. All the same, a trifle of tact would be sensible."

  “Quidang, jis!"

  “If you must apostrophize some supernatural deity try Chusto, or Chozputz. I have found them most comforting."

  “I have never heard of them—"

  “No. I made them up. They have proved most useful."

  His barely visible eye among the hair closed in a massive conspiratorial wink. “I fly your course, jis!"

  He shifted his kit out of Dovad Daisy. Unsure what to do with her and her confounded hoity-toity Khibil lords and ladies, I felt it best to send her back. She'd be a liability in any fight and—she was Hamalese and not Vallian. It was a hard decision; but, I thought, the right one.

  Delia and my friends said nothing about that; I had some gyp from some of the others about losing a ship we needed.

  Mevancy, of course, was cutting.

  “I am concerned over the reactions of the Everoinye, cabbage. By Spurl! If they start thinking we are not doing all we can against—"

  “I know it seems to me the Star Lords may be superhuman and possess all these wonderful powers, it also seems to me they are idiots from time to time. I just hope they're not cretinous enough now to imagine what you suggest."

  She drew in a breath and her flushed face paled a trifle. “Oh, you! If they take exception to your words—"

  “By Vox! They have done and no doubt will again, pigeon."

  Then Kuong and Rollo joined us as we talked in the shade of a fine broad-leaved tree at the edge of the landing area where the fleet was moored. We'd resumed a little of our old intimacy; there was still some way to go yet before we were back to the old friendships.

  Just across the way in the blaze of the suns, Splendor of Opaz was exercising her flutduin squadrons. The magnificent birds soared aloft from their perching poles jutting from the sides of the ship. They were flown by Valkans and they were superb. Down here in flierless Loh the sight of these gorgeous birds spreading wide wings and carrying people through thin air smacked of miracles akin to those of their own Wizards of Loh.

  Mevancy heaved up a sigh.

  “I'd love to do that—but�
��"

  “If you fasten up the straps of your clerketer, you're safe enough."

  “And they fight up there?"

  Now it was my turn to heave up a sigh; I did not. If you have to fight then you have to fight with all you've got.

  “Yes."

  Rollo in his enthusiastic way said: “I'm confident I could still hit the mark from the back of one of those birds."

  Kuong's brown fist gripped the hilt of his lynxter. “A sword will be of little use up there, Drajak."

  “True. You need a lance, a toonon, perhaps a lengthened strangdja."

  Just then a flutduin swooped down over our heads and volplaned neatly up to avoid the tree. A bulky man waved down.

  A voice bellowed through the windrush: “Hai! Groundlings! It's wonderful up here an’ all! You can see for dwaburs and dwaburs an’ everything!"

  We all gaped up.

  Then Rollo, in a determined voice snapped out: “That settles it!” He started off with a purposeful stride towards Splendor of Opaz.

  Kuong hurried to march at his side and after a momentary hesitation, Mevancy ran to catch up. They shouted back over their shoulders: “Just watch us!"

  So, then, I did heave up that sigh. Scatterbrained, the lot of ‘em, by Krun!

  In addition, this little incident indicated to me that perhaps they were really over the shock of discovering their new friend Drajak was an emperor—well, an emperor of sorts—and were feeling their way back to our old comradeship. There was some way to go yet, though.

  You will understand that I cannot at this moment mention all the old comrades and friends who had flown in with the fleet and were now my companions in the adventures ahead. You do not live a life on Kregen and travel widely without making a vast number of acquaintances as well as friends. And, of course, enemies also. Take it from me, the days were filled from suns-up to suns-down with activity.

  News of Queen Kirsty's impending arrival reached us. She'd driven her forces across the desert and into Tarankar. She'd avoided aerial observation. This, I confess, had been the one great stumbling block to our plan. Now that Kirsty was actually in the country and approaching, we could form our final plans for the onslaught.

  Our ships and people were spread out and camouflaged. A few times we saw Schtarkins flying over patrolling. Stopping the lads taking off in our lone voller and tackling them proved a task too, by Vox!

  As the Fish Faces had been lavish of late with their distribution of fire pots, I had a large number made up and stowed carefully. Misuse of fire pots is a hazardous and lethal business.

  Now—for Queen Kirsty.

  I'd given orders for her army to be quartered some way off from the Guard Corps’ fleet. This seemed a merely sensible precaution.

  Determined to put as brave a face as possible on it, I went over to see her and Rodders. I'd put on a simple white tunic for the occasion—well, I must admit, the tunic had a fancy gold-stitched hem—and wore my usual arsenal of weapons. To Delia, I'd said—not at all sure—"It's probably best if I see them by myself to start off with—yes?” To which the divine Delia had replied, with a typical little tilt to her delicious chin: “Yes. If the woman is as cutting as you say she is.” Delia laughed. “That will spare me the enjoyment of watching you squirm.” To which I had replied: “If I know Kirsty, squirm is the word, my heart."

  And Delia said, very sharply: “Take care, my heart. You will take a squadron of 1ESW."

  “I'd thought to—"

  “Good!"

  So, there I was, being ushered into Queen Kirsty's tent which was of a size and luxuriously furnished. Rodders sat at her side. She looked not quite just the same. There was even more maturity in the set of her jaw. There was, I remember, a strong scent of jasmine on the air within the colored tent.

  “Drajak,” she said in her sharp way, yet I felt she was being as gracious as she could. “We missed you. Where have you been?"

  And Rodders, big and vigorous and a fighting man after my own heart, chimed in: “Lahal and welcome, Drajak. We have need of men like you for the battles ahead."

  So—they didn't know. No one had told them.

  Carefully, I said: “I came here to scout the Shanks. Kuong is here, too. We face a formidable task."

  Rodders in his professional paktun way started to make an observation. Kirsty held up her hand and Rodders stopped speaking. She said: “I understand this Dray Prescot will bring powerful forces to assist us. He comes from Vallia. Also, I think Hamal will help."

  Gravely, I told them about the Hamalese debacle.

  Rodders looked angry. I thought I detected the merest whiff of a white tinge along Kirsty's stubborn jaw.

  “I had heard tales of these Hamalese,” Queen Kirsty spoke with some acerbity, “which I could not fully credit. Now I can understand their veracity. They appear less than dogs."

  “Our army—” began Rodders.

  All the intensity in Kirsty's face concentrated and came together. Her high square shoulders lifted. “Our army will fight!"

  Rodders put a hand through that brilliant red Lohvian hair of his. His eyes met mine in a swift fleeting glance, a man to man look of understanding. Oh, yes, with Rodders to command, Queen Kirsty's army would fight.

  The trouble was, I was convinced that Kirsty had no idea of the magnitude of the problem, and I doubted if Rodders was fully aware.

  I went on to explain that the gangs who were hiding out in the countryside around Taranjin were divided. They were continually hunted from the air by Shank patrols. They could handle that as we did and as I'd trained up the combined bands of the Kov and Kovneva of Borrakesh. The political divisions were a more serious threat to our success. Just who, the question was asked, just who would form the government of Tarankar after the Shanks had been expelled? The old usurpers, the Riffims, who had taken control of Tarankar and subjugated the native inhabitants, were now all gone, destroyed by the Fish Faces. Who would rule Tarankar?

  I'd made a vow that, by Vox, Krun and Djan, it wasn't going to be me!

  For reasons of state it might prove necessary that I, in an official capacity, should take part in any negotiations to appoint any new ruler or rulers of Tarankar. The thought may have occurred to Kuong Vang Talin, the Trylon of Taranik, that he might well become chief of the government here. I couldn't say if it had. It may have done and it might not have done. If the squabbling guerilla gangs were left to their own devices, the country would never settle down and the Shanks would find easy pickings when they returned.

  Kirsty was never slow on the uptake.

  “So they squabble amongst themselves.” She put that determined jaw into her fist, leaning forward, her intense gaze bent on me as though I were a specimen in a jar. “Good! Divided they will never be able to oppose—” She stopped herself speaking with a clearly visible effort. She would not deign to disclose, let alone discuss, her plans with the lower orders.

  I said: “Divided they pose little threat to the Fish Faces.” I gave her a mean look. “If you wish to place the crown of Tarankar upon your head alongside that of Tsungfaril, you will meet opposition."

  She drew in a sharp little breath just short of a gasp.

  “You presume on our graciousness, Drajak!"

  Rodders shifted in his seat, and his great Lohvian longbow, perched against the arm, slipped forward. He retrieved with instinctive reflex, smooth and easy, like any master Bowman of Loh.

  “You would find,” I went on with heavy emphasis, “the problems of ruling these two countries well nigh insuperable—"

  “Drajak!” she flamed out. “Hold your tongue lest—lest—"

  “Kirsty,” breathed Rodders in her ear.

  Her breast rose and fell within the silken sheath. She put a hand to her throat. Then: “You had best leave us for now, Drajak, for we are not unmindful of your services. We do not wish you to incur our displeasure.” She made a graceful gesture, recovering her composure. “Rodders will find a place for you in my army."

&nb
sp; I gave them both a brief nod apiece and took myself off. What a hoity-toity madam! The Star Lords had insisted that she be made queen of Tsungfaril. You could quite see some of their reasons, by Krun!

  That they didn't yet know the fellow they knew as Drajak was really Dray Prescot, potential Emperor of Paz, meant only that they'd find out in due time when the gods smiled. They did so by chance, as Delia delighted in telling me. “Kuong made his courtesy call, and—"

  “Of course. Well, I'm glad I wasn't there to witness it."

  “A very prickly lady, your friend Kirsty. Queen of Tsungfaril and wants to be Queen of Tarankar."

  “Yes. I think she has little hope."

  “Yet, according to you, your precious Everoinye picked her to be queen and there was a great deal of trouble making her so."

  “Trouble and a half!” We were walking out in the rays of the suns with some lads of 1EYJ pacing us. The ships lay all about hidden under trees and camouflage netting. The flutduins were exercising, flying in swooping circles, letting their wings taste the air. I felt some concern that they might be spotted by a Shank aerial patrol; but flutduins need to spread their wings. A handful of beautiful and tough girls followed us along, clad in russet leathers and armed with whip, claw and rapier. They were Sisters of the Rose, and they were Jikai Vuvushis, Battle Maidens. Delia had taken them onto her staff and was considering forming a full sized regiment, bearing in mind the squeamishness I still had not thrown off after all these seasons on Kregen. Walking and chatting with them were a brilliant group of cavaliers from 1EDLG. They'd vote the Jikai Vuvushis in, as Lasal the Vakka was their witness! The air rang with the sounds of carpenters and smiths and riggers working in the ships. The fragrant scent of tar smoked up, for although these ships might never ride the waves, tar is a beneficial substance aboard ship. A zorca troop cantered past, weapons gleaming, followed by a nikvove troop. All in all, the whole scene was one of activity and brightness and life.

  Soon, horribly soon, these people must be flung headlong into a battle they had slim chances of winning.