Werewolves of Kregen

by Alan Burt Akers

  With a final look, a look I swear was a startled look of self-revealed astonishment, she ran off. I went back to bed and gave her harp a kick on the way.

  Just before I dropped off and thought of Delia, as I do on every single night of my life, I remembered my puzzlement over Khe-Hi’s attitude when he talked of Ling-Li-Lwingling. Maybe romance was the cause of that, too?

  Wizards and Witches of Loh spell their names as they please, and sometimes capitalize all three parts, sometimes not. There was no set rule. Capital letters at the beginning of words are highly erratic on Kregen. But, then, that mysterious and terrible world four hundred light-years from Earth is an erratic enigma at the best of times...

  Perhaps only in the great word jikai are Capital Initial Letters of exact meaning.

  Catching Khe-Hi at breakfast I tackled him directly.

  “When I was down in LionardDen, known as Jikaida City, and fought in Kazz Jikaida, the game was controlled by Ling-Li-Lwingling as the Jikaidasta.”

  “Yes, Dray. She is very good at Jikaida. The game has not, however, become an obsession.”

  I stared him in the eye, sternly. “She knew that I was from Vallia, and although I was called Jak I feel sure she knew who I was. Now I understand why.”

  He started to say something; but I went on, still fixing him with that baleful eye. “I believe you know that I bear you considerable good will, Khe-Hi. If there is anything I can do to further your — ah — relationship? romance? with Ling-Li — then for the sweet sake of Honeyed Soothe Herself, tell me!”

  He did not exactly go cross-eyed; but he colored up — and he a renowned Wizard of Loh!

  “I will tell you. Ling-Li traveled to escape the unwelcome attentions of Phu-Si-Yantong. One port of call was Jikaida City where you met her. She was, I can tell you, far more surprised to see you than you can imagine. She detested Yantong, and was happy to help circumvent his evil plans.”

  “So you knew I was there and just about alive?”

  “More or less. We lost you for a space after that. Ling-Li went off to Balintol.”

  “And you? Look, Khe-Hi, I do not wish to interfere. But if you Wizards and Witches wish to remain a force in the world, it follows you must have families. So?”

  “All right, Dray. Yes. I wish to marry Ling-Li, and I have high hopes she reciprocates.”

  “Well — go into lupu and see her and tell her to come to Vallia! By Krun! You know how welcome we’ll make her.”

  “She has told me you were as hard as the granite of the mountains. That you did not bow the neck to her as any quivering frightened mortal man must before a Witch of Loh.”

  A sound that might have been a laugh burst from me. “By the suppurating armpits and vermin-riddled hair of Makki-Grodno!” I was very amused. “So your lady was offended by my uncouth ways. Well, I was in a fight—” I refused to think of the fight and of Mefto the Kazzur. “If she travels to Vallia she will be received with all the honor and respect due her. But, as you know, Khe-Hi, we do not keep slaves any more in Vallia.”

  “I will see what she says, Dray. And — I thank you.”

  Andrinos wrinkled up his foxy Khibil face. “My adorable wife, Saenci, has just presented me, as they say, with twins. Werewolves or no werewolves, San, I am glad to leave the horrific scenes of the night when feeding is due.”

  Turko finished swallowing a slice of roast bosk and remarked feelingly: “You may rail against the married state, Andrinos, my wrestling dom; but in me you see a pitiful object. A kov without a kovneva. A man without a helpmeet, a wifely companion, a warm snuggle at night. Well, then?”

  Andrinos in the Khibil’s superior way handled that with great aplomb.

  “There are so many maidens, Turko, you cannot keep count. And now we have these Jikai Vuvushis, even on the battlefield you’re at it, I know.”

  At Turko’s astounded face we all broke into roars of laughter that, I fancied, were triggered as much by the desperateness of our situation as by true humor at Turko’s amorous proclivities.

  I said, “I had a visit last night from Floring Mecrilli who plays the harp and sings. I fear, pour soul, she is in great need, as dry as the Ocher Limits.”

  Turko quizzed up at this. “Plays the harp? Floring Mecrilli?” He reached for the first of the after-breakfast palines. “I wonder if the Sisters of the Sword have taught her aught of the martial arts? H’mm — I wonder, does she wrestle?”

  Chapter twenty

  An Occult Romance

  Turko’s Ninth Army of Vallia poised to strike directly at our foemen’s capital city, Vendalume.

  We were not a particularly strong army; but our formations were hardened, seared by the fire, still invigorated by victory. Layco Jhansi, renegade, would-be imperacide, murderer, traitor, was growing increasingly nervous and apprehensive at our attacks. No longer could he send with impunity columns to burn and sack the towns and villages of Turko’s Falinur. He lost men in numbers to hurt him. He must have suffered desertions.

  For our part when we captured a town or village, we did not burn it. Of course not. The place was Vallian.

  Of the people who came into our protection, those who were out-and-out mercenaries, paktuns who made a living hiring out as fighting men, were shepherded off to the coast and passages out and away from Vallia arranged for them. We kept no slaves; we hired no mercenaries. The code was harsh in Vallia on those subjects.

  Of those who were civilians, we told them that they were first and foremost Vallians. They had mistakenly sided with Layco Jhansi because he was their lord. He was no longer the Kov of Vennar. He was outcast, leemshead. As Vallians, we must create the island of Vallia whole once again. In view of my decision of the fate of Vennar, they would swear allegiance to Kov Turko as their new lord. Well, human nature is human nature; there were very few folk who felt that they ought still to cling to Layco Jhansi.

  The knowledge that he had conspired against the old emperor, had willfully slain Ashti Melekhi, was a proven traitor, moved many of these folk. And, too, Turko’s name bruited abroad as a kov at once firm but just gave them confidence in the future.

  Good old Tom Tomor at home in Valka contrived to send to me another splendid regiment of Valkan Archers. He also said that he’d like to fly across and join me, whereat I had to be cruel and forbid him, saying that he ran Valka and that was his most important post.

  Nath na Kochwold again raised the concept of bringing a Kerchuri down from the Second Phalanx in Hawkwa country. We were discussing this in a desultory way when the sky filled with wingbeats. We all looked up, standing outside the tents, shading our eyes, exclaiming in wonder and delight.

  The two commanding officers of the two Valkan Archer regiments, Jiktars Fangar Emiltur and Nalgre Ephanion, laughed with the release of their hoarded secret.

  “Tom Tomor bid us not to tell you, strom, for it was to be a wonderful surprise.”

  “It is,” I shouted, elated. “It is.”

  Tom had sent across no less than five beautiful squadrons of flutduins, ridden by Valkans, highly trained, fiery of spirit, kings of the air. With these priceless reinforcements we could look forward to secure flanks as we advanced on Vendalume.

  Khe-Hi cornered me later on that morning. Everywhere the camp resounded with the tinkering noises of men preparing for the great advance. The air misted with the campfires. The smells of cooking wafted on the breeze. And, over all, the Suns of Scorpio threw down their mingled streaming lights.

  “Well, Khe-Hi?”

  “Well, Dray. I have spoken to Ling-Li. I cannot repeat how it happened—”

  I interrupted. “I assume she said something to the effect that she accepted my apology for my boorish behavior?”

  “You know us too well, Dray!”

  “Not quite. Not a Wizard or a Witch of Loh. Go on.”

  “She will come to Vallia.” He looked down and while he did not shuffle his feet, for he was, after all, a very great sorcerer, he did wear the appearance of a wight in lo
ve. “And I hope, I have every hope, that she will, she will come to — that is—”

  “Khe-Hi. You have my blessing and that of the Empress Delia. All that we can do, we will do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How fared Ling-Li-Lwingling in Balintol?”

  “Not well. They are indeed a strange people, all of them in that vast subcontinent. She has been in Pandahem.”

  I was not more or less just making polite conversation, for the welfare of all my people, including the Wizards of Loh, ranks high on my list and one is polite. In all our troubles the happiness of two people, a man and a woman, is and remains of supreme importance.

  “Interesting, for I was there recently, as you know. North or South?”

  “South.”

  I stared at Khe-Hi.

  “You are working up to saying something, San. Spit it out.”

  “It is something you will not like to hear.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve heard a lot of that in my time.”

  “Ling-Li was not aware of it all; she warns me that she could be totally inaccurate. But she feels—”

  “My dear San. If a Witch of Loh feels something, then, by Krun, that something usually is!”

  “By Hlo-Hli, you are right.”

  “So?”

  His red hair gleamed in the grateful lights of Zim and Genodras, his white gown, cinctured by the crimson cord, was spotless. His metallic voice took on a harsher ring as he spoke.

  “What I propose must be done in secrecy. We must gather the Jikai Vuvushis, the Sisters of the Sword, who came back from Hamal with Marion and Strom Nango—”

  I held up a hand. I felt a distinct pang.

  “If what you are saying is sooth — and I see no reason to disbelieve you — we are, indeed, in evil waters.”

  “The Witch Csitra has planned well and cunningly.”

  “By Zair!” I felt awful. “I can only guess at what she has wrought. But she is in good case to destroy us.”

  “With the help of Ling-Li, of Deb-Lu, and of my own small powers, we can unravel the mystery. Then we may take steps to defeat her and her hermaphrodite child.”

  “Do what you have to do, Khe-Hi. I’ll tell Targon the Tapster and Naghan ti Lodkwara to afford you every assistance. Who else must know — apart from Turko and Seg?”

  “It matters not who knows apart from Marion and her girls. It is sad, but—”

  “Sad! It’s heinous, diabolical, outrageous!”

  “Yes.”

  “And this Hamalese, this Strom Nango ham Hofnar?”

  “It remains to be seen how he will come out of this affair.”

  “You of all men, Khe-Hi, know how disastrous it is to attempt to fight thaumaturgy with a sword!”

  “You can cut off a Wizard of Loh’s head as easily as any man’s if you catch the right moment.” Khe-Hi lifted his upper lip. “I say this only because you already know it and because most people disbelieve it.”

  It would have been mawkish to have remarked on the other reason Khe-Hi could mention the fact.

  Looking back at these events across one of the great watersheds of my life on Kregen, I must endeavor to place the alarums and excursions in their correct running order. These events formed links in a chain. If one was removed or misplaced the causality of the whole would fail. Already, from what Khe-Hi had told me, from my own observations here, my knowledge of Csitra and her hermaphrodite offspring, and the unpleasant results of all this occult scheming, I was partially able to grasp at the grand evil design.

  That design was grand and it was evil; it was also simple. I didn’t know it all yet; with the help of the sorcerers we would unravel all the twisted strands...

  Of the survivors of the pastang from Marion’s regiment cut-off in Hamal there remained only fifteen.

  The others had fallen in battle, to our grief. One, Wincie ti Fhronheim, had returned to Vondium to have her baby in peace and quiet. The girls gathered in the tent put aside for that purpose. The canvas was surrounded at a discreet distance by a strong guard of 1ESW, 1EYJ, and by Sisters of the Rose, the Grand Ladies and other sororities in the Jikai Vuvushi regiment which, as yet, had no name.

  “Where is Floring Mecrilli?” demanded Marion, who had — rightly — insisted on being present.

  No one knew.

  Khe-Hi pursed up his lips.

  “No matter. We may proceed with those gathered here. Jurukker Mecrilli will be found when necessary.”

  So that meant there were thirteen Sisters of the Sword gathered to bear the scrutiny of a Wizard of Loh.

  There was no doubt at all about it. Khe-Hi-Bjanching looked imposing, awe-inspiring, dominating the proceedings. About him clung that mystical aura of thaumaturgy that can shrivel the heart in the breast of the bravest.

  He placed us in the positions he required us to take up.

  The girls sat on folding camp stools in a semicircle. At the center Khe-Hi stood facing them. Each Jikai Vuvushi could see his face and look into his eyes. I stood at the back of the semicircle so that I, too, could look into his eyes. I knew what might follow if a mortal man looked into the eyes of a Wizard of Loh...

  Slowly, Khe-Hi raised his arms. There was no mumbo-jumbo about a Wizard of Loh. He needed no arcane objects, no skulls, no morntarchs, no rattle of bones. He needed no fire stinking with incense. He had no requirement for Books of Power. Totally from within his own sorcerous resources, using the arcane knowledge painfully learned over the seasons and stored in his brain, he could draw forth the Powers he required and use them to awful effect.

  Close at my elbow I could hear Seg breathing. This was unusual, hearing the hunter betray his presence. Seg was just as powerfully affected as I. Turko had flown off to inspect a churgur regiment, and on my other side Nath na Kochwold and Kapt Erndor stood, gripped like us all by the import of the moment.

  Looking over the heads of the seated girls I became aware of a movement beside Khe-Hi. It was as though the air shimmered with heat. A second narrow column of disturbance grew into life at his other side.

  I knew what this portended. The phantom shapes coalesced, thickened into the semblances of real live human beings. They were, indeed, real live human beings; but they were not physically present in the tent. They were miles away and by use of their kharrna they had gone into lupu and projected phantasms of themselves to join us in this weird interrogation.

  At Khe-Hi’s right appeared the familiar form of Deb-Lu-Quienyin. He could have been there in person, half-smiling at me, pushing his turban straight. I felt a great comfort at sight of his projected image.

  At Khe-Hi’s left shone the shape of a woman I had not seen since Jikaida City. She seemed to look the same, but her lupal projection was not as strong or as firm as that of Deb-Lu. Her red hair burned in the light from some source not confined within the tent. Her small face still looked as though it had been carved from finest ivory of Chem, unlined, smooth, with a firm compactness of flesh and distinct delineation of the lines of lip and jaw. Her blue eyes regarded me for a single glance only, still with that direct and challenging look. Then she devoted herself, as did the two Wizards of Loh, to the reasons she had projected her image here.

  And yet — and yet in those fraught moments of high tension when everyone present knew that catastrophic events were to be unfolded, I caught the tiny interplay between Khe-Hi and Ling-Li. They were aware of each other. I saw that. Truly, this was an amazing circumstance for a plain sailorman like me! These two had carried out the rituals of courtship, they had plunged into romance separated by mile after mile of nothingness and yet still sundered by the truly vast distances of the world that separated them. They were involved in an Occult Romance — and I wished them joy of it.

  Slowly, Khe-Hi brought his extended arms down. His hands passed through the phantom presences at his side. Now I could only look at his eyes. I was aware of nothing else.

  From the eyes and brains of the Jikai Vuvushis, into the conjoined eyes and brains of the three t
haumaturges, the pictures flowed, and so out again and into my eyes.

  I saw.

  The preliminaries had been done away with. We began in medias res. A party of warriors huddled behind boulders, crouched low to the dusty ground. Spearing into the sky about them the jagged peaks of the Mountains of the West of Hamal leered down upon that desolate scene.

  The wildmen crept closer, and shot and laughed, and dropped flat, taunting the Jikai Vuvushis.

  The end was not far off.

  The girls were hungry, thirsty, bloodshot of eye, and many bore wounds. Yet their spirit did not falter. They were Sisters of the Sword, and they would fight to the death.

  Weirdly, to me, I recognized their faces. I knew them all, for in the present time they served as jurukkers within the guard corps. Jinia ti Follendorf stared around a boulder, her bow gripped, the last shaft notched. Hikdar Noni Thostan, the pastang commander, positioned at the center of that pathetic ring of defense, held herself ready to plunge to any threatened point, her sword clenched in a brown and dirty fist. Minci Farndion, not yet a Deldar, crouched low, ready to degut the first moorkrim to leap over her boulder. Floring Mecrilli was there, with two arrows left, and as I watched that scene she handed one of them to a companion whose quiver was empty.

  Noni was the first to react to the eerie phenomenon. The viewpoint swiveled sickeningly and I was looking out across the scattered boulders, away over the evil slinking forms of the wildmen, up to a buttress of rock jagging from a sheer mountainside.

  On that rocky shelf a light grew and blossomed.

  I heard — or thought I heard — Seg gasp at my side.

  The light expanded. The radiance soared from the cliff edge and sailed out over the rocks below. Now I could see a throne-like chair moving through thin air shimmering with uncanny power. Silks trailed from that throne and did not flutter in the wind of passage. Chavonth pelts and ling furs smothered the throne and steps in luxury. Rearing above the throne the jeweled canopy fashioned into the likeness of a dinosaur’s wedge-shaped head seemed to glare down in demonic fury. The jaws gaped, the fangs glittered silver, and each eye was a vivid ruby furnace. Overpowering in effect, the throne and the risslaca canopy, sailing silently through the air.