Captive Scorpio

by Alan Burt Akers

  They disappeared beyond the jumble of rooftops and another voller leaped up from the palace. Crouching down, I looked up and recognized her as the craft I had stolen from Udo. She swung away, going fast. Before she had time to gain height the Hamalians were back. The three closed in. Bolts flew and arrows crisscrossed the wind-streaming gap. The fliers turned and passed above my head. I saw the Hamalians clear — and saw the way the fleeing voller from the palace turned end over end and fell to a smashing destruction on the stones before the palace.

  Twenty

  Delia of Vallia

  In the ensuing confusion as the soldiery boiled across to gape at the wreckage and the blood-soaked refuse within I was able to slip past. Of one thing I was certain. Whoever may have been in the flier, Delia was not one of that company. A Chulik offered to bash my brains out at the rampart until I rapped out the password. “Zamra!” I had chosen that. The confusion without was matched and overmatched by the confusion within.

  “Dray! You have it?” Delia ran up to me, eager, alive, ready to let me have an earful for endangering myself. I shook the water bottle.

  Together, we went to the small private inner room where Queen Lush lay on a pallet, panting shallowly, withering away. The emperor sat by her side, frightened even to hold her hand in case the brittle bones snapped.

  The men in the fleeing voller were three certain pallans. I will not mention their names. They came to an evil end.

  But they indicated very clearly the deterioration of morale within the palace. And, the means of flight had been snatched from the emperor. Delia bent over Queen Lush as I thought about the implications. Vondium was decidedly unhealthy right now and was like to get worse.

  The fliers we saw did not drop firepots on us. Phu-si-Yantong did not wish to destroy the palace. He coveted its priceless treasures. Of course, he could have razed the lot and built afresh and to a greater scale of grandeur; but that would not have slaked the greed in the man, of that I felt sure.

  “Water?” said the emperor. “Is that all—?”

  “Hush, father,” said Delia, whereat I smiled alarmingly.

  The withered brown lips were somehow coaxed into receiving some of the milky fluid from the Sacred Pool of Baptism of the River Zelph in far Aphrasöe. Delia poured a golden cupful, and we helped Queen Lush to lift herself, and Delia coaxed her gently. The crone moaned and slobbered and much of the priceless fluid ran down that withered witch-like chin.

  “How much, my heart, do you think?”

  “I do not know. But Yantong is a mighty powerful devil of a wizard. Give her plenty. Better more than less.”

  “You are right.” Together we fed the magical fluid, sip by sip.

  The emperor rocked back. He was shaking. His eyes opened wide. “By the sweet sake of Opaz!”

  “Yes, father,” said Delia, impatiently, “and don’t jog the cup. You have wasted two mouthfuls.”

  For Queen Lushfymi changed. The lines and wrinkles sloughed away and her skin took on that smooth peach bloom. Dark tint suffused the stringy white hair; slowly it resumed that lustrous darkness that shone with blue-black light. Her body filled, her shrunken flesh restoring that voluptuous outline, the skeletal claws firming to the shapely hands with which she gestured so gracefully. In not too long a time Queen Lush glowed seductively before us, fully restored to beauty.

  “My love—” She turned those limpid violet eyes on the emperor. Delia blinked and smiled. “How can I thank you? You have made me — made me myself again—”

  “It was not me, my queen. Rather, thank the wild leem Dray Prescot — and my daughter Delia.”

  She took Delia’s hand in hers. The reconciliation would have been most affecting; but the sound of conflict and shouting and the screams of wounded and dying men burst savagely in. I stood up.

  “There is work to be done — but, emperor, we’re finished here. You must discharge the mercenaries in honor and then we must leave.”

  “There is no airboat—”

  “I shall arrange that.”

  He stood up and faced me. We stood looking at each other for a heartbeat. Kov Lykon and the Lord Farris — who was a kov, also — burst in. “The devils are through the Peral Gate! We must pull back—”

  “I am coming,” I said. “We will hold them at the Wall of Larghos Risslaca.” That was dangerously close to the very heart of the palace.

  “Hold!” The emperor spoke thunderously. He bore down on them all, imperious. “I may die soon. I do not know. But this I swear as my testament. Long have I held my son-in-law in contempt as a clansman and, also, regarded highly his skill at arms, his boorishness which he calls integrity. He is a Hyr-Jikai—”

  “Get on with it,” I said. “I’m going out there to bash—”

  “Wait! Should I die, then you, Dray Prescot, will be Emperor of Vallia. Witness this testament of my will, all of you. This thing will be — will be, by my decree.”

  “You won’t die yet, emperor,” I said. And then, in the heat of the moment, burst out: “Sink me! You’ve a thousand years of life yet. Now — let us go and bash a few skulls.”

  Delia ran swiftly out with me and I turned on her and bellowed: “I don’t want you fighting on the walls! Stay with your father and keep him company.”

  “You told him. A thousand years of life — he’ll want to—”

  “Later, my heart—”

  That little fight proved harder than those preceding as we held the Hamalese on the walls, pulling back to the Wall of Larghos Risslaca and shooting down on the rasts as they raced with their scaling ladders. We halted them. It was hard. But the next onslaught would be harder still to halt. I went back to see the emperor. I found him gazing at Queen Lush as though dyspeptic — and realized my ill humor was affecting my judgment. I had to hold up. The emperor would live a thousand years, and with Queen Lush at his side could be kept out of my hair. The future looked promising, if we could escape the here and now.

  “Those cramphs of Hamal have fliers out there,” I said without preamble. “They build them well for themselves. I’ll fetch one. Meantime, arrange to discharge our paktuns and mercenaries. As for the Crimson Bowmen, they are mercenaries, also, and should be discharged. Make the compact that we must leave in safety, all we Vallians. Do this.”

  Queen Lush said: “And — me—?”

  “You’re a Vallian now, by intention of marriage. And we’ll take Lome back for you. There is little time. And, while I am gone, emperor — stay out of trouble.”

  “A thousand — what did you mean?”

  “Delia may explain, if she will. Just make sure you stay alive to enjoy it. With my blessings.” I ran out.

  Kissing Delia, I said as I let her go: “Take care of yourself.”

  In a much lighter frame of mind I took myself off through secret tunnels I had used before. Vondium was a buzzing hive of danger; but there at least I could strike out freely. I felt a keen pleasure that Delia’s father was proving himself more human day by day. He wouldn’t change, of course, so much as actually come to like me. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was Vallia — and the country was in a sorry, blood-soaked state at the moment. Once Phu-si-Yantong got his hooks firmly wedged into the country people would realize they had seen nothing yet.

  Outside the palace I dodged like a grundal from bush to bush of some ornamental gardens, got across a canal, insinuated myself past a group of wounded Hamalese and so, in the guise of an irregular mercenary hired to the Empress Thyllis, set off for the fliers. They were easy enough to spot. Only at the last moment, as we lifted into the air, was there any trouble. Some old oily rags in the voller served to wipe the longsword clean.

  Skimming low over the ground, taking the voller in racing curves around temples and over villa walls, I avoided detection from the air. Ahead the massive bulk of the palace lifted. I looked up.

  Casting down twin shadows onto the white walls, rank after rank of fliers slanted in for the palace. I knew them.

  Try
lon Udo and his Hawkwas smashed in to strike the final blows.

  And then, beyond the armada from the Northeast, another fleet hove into view. They were not as many. They flew the flags of Kov Layco Jhansi. He was the emperor’s chief pallan. I did not give a cheer; but I felt like shouting in glee.

  Among the fliers with Jhansi were many whose flagstaffs flew treshes of checkerboarded ochre and umber, the colors of Falinur. I frowned, suddenly. Layco Jhansi was supposed to be fighting the rebellious Falinurese. It looked as though he was in alliance with them. I sent the voller hurtling flat out for the palace, treachery stinking in my nostrils.

  All was confusion in and around the palace.

  That frowning pile had become the centerpiece for all the vindictive hatred, the scheming, the vengeance, the sheer outright deviltry of all those attacking Vondium and seeking to claw down the emperor. The voller leaped across the sky. Quarrels spat toward me. Varter-driven rocks hissed past my head. Now smoke and flames rose from the bewildering maze of domes and towers of the palace. The unceasing shrilling of fighting men beat a diapason to the bright sky. The suns passed across the heavens, and cast down their mingled streaming light, and an empire went down in flames and blood.

  Into a niche high along a flower-hung balcony I dropped the voller with a precision of handling that would have pleased Delia, who had taught me my flying. I leaped out. Smoke blew chokingly across from a burning roof. In a courtyard below men fought and struggled and died. I saw the colors. I raced away, leaping down well-remembered stairs, haring for Delia.

  Faction against faction — hatreds and jealousies were tearing the heart out of the empire. Those colors down there — Jhansi’s men fought them both, and the Hamalese fought all. It was a madness. Blood clotted the bright tapestries and fouled the priceless carpets. I raced along the corridors and so came, at last, to where Laka Pa-Re and his Pachaks fought the last great fight.

  The longsword flamed, striking this way and that in the vicious yet fully controlled fighting technique of the Krozairs of Zy. Hamalese fell away. A group of Hawkwas surged up, screeching, and together, the Pachaks and I, we bested them and drove them off, running.

  Chuktar Pola Je-Du was wounded, a slashing gash across his shoulder armor, where the plates hung down broken. His face showed only firm resolve.

  “Pola — you have not been discharged from your nikobi?”

  “No, prince. We fight to the end.”

  “No — that is madness. You need not be slain — from me, will you take your discharge, in all honor? Will you save your men?”

  “If I do, I think you will die here.”

  “That is as may be, by Zair. The emperor—”

  “He is sore wounded.”

  I felt the shock. “The get onker! I told him — the moment I leave him to his own devices the idiot gets himself wounded.” Smoke boiled down the ornate passage and the Pachaks braced themselves for the next attack. I bellowed at the Chuktar. ‘Take your nikobi back, in honor, Pola Je-Du. And you, Laka Pa-Re. Take what you will from the palace in payment for your service — and my thanks to you for your devotion, in the name of Papachak the All-Powerful.”

  “Let the compact be unraveled,” said Pola. And then he said: “And you, prince?”

  “By the Black Chunkrah! I’ll have a few words to say to the emperor, believe me! Remberee, Pachaks all.” And I turned and belted along the corridor toward the inner apartments.

  As I ran so I marveled that the Pachaks had consented to be released from the compact by me, who was merely the Prince Majister of Vallia. Their hire had been to the emperor. . .

  At the door of those sumptuous apartments Delia met me. The tears stood brightly in her glorious brown eyes; but she would not weep. Not just yet. . .

  “My father — oh, my heart! My father is dead.”

  I couldn’t believe that.

  I pushed through. Lykon Crimahan and the Lord Farris stood with dripping swords within the doorway, their faces ashen. Queen Lushfymi crouched over the body of the emperor. He had been killed by a slashing blow that had near severed his head from his body. Despite the Baptism in the Sacred Pool, he was dead. No man was going to recover in time from that kind of savagely mortal blow.

  I stood looking down on him. I did not know what I felt.

  Then I took Delia in my arms.

  “He said — he said you are the emperor, Dray.”

  “That is so,” shouted Farris, suddenly. He came to life. “Hai Jikai! Dray Prescot. Emperor of Vallia.”

  “There’s no time for that,” I said, savage, incensed, sullen, vindictive — anything but pleased. “We must get out of here. And bring the emperor with you. We will give him proper burial.”

  Delia shook her head.

  “We cannot carry him and fight as well. He will lie here, and he will burn in his own palace. What more magnificent funeral pyre could an emperor have than that?”

  I bowed to her wishes. He was her father.

  “How—?”

  “Hawkwas. We fought them off; but one did for him.”

  I knew.

  “A bright, nervous, malicious bastard—?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I think so.” We hurried along the corridor past the Pachak dead who had fought to the last. “That sounds like him.”

  A few more words convinced me it had been Zankov. Zankov. He had slain the Emperor of Vallia. I swallowed. Carefully, I said: “Were there women with him? Jikai Vuvushis?”

  “Yes — and very dreadful — renegades from the Sisters—”

  “Was there one who — who fought with a sharp steel claw?”

  “No.”

  Thank Zair, I said, but to myself.

  Delia bore herself like a princess. But I watched her narrowly. The shock of her father’s death would prey on her and I felt the agony for her tearing at me. I had watched my father die, with that damned scorpion scuttling, and I had been only a little lad. Delia had known her father for far longer than ever I had known mine, and the wrench, the agony, the shock must affect her far more profoundly — so I thought.

  Useless to prate on about how I had warned him to keep himself safe and stay out of trouble. He had pushed to the forefront of the battle, convinced, determined. Now he was dead.

  We reached a stairway leading up and a gang of Falinurese sought to stop us and we carved a path through them. Bitterness directed our strokes, anger and vengeance and sorrow. We smashed our way through our foemen and raced up the stairs.

  We cut our way through a confused and struggling melee of Layco Jhansi’s men fighting Hamalese. So Jhansi had sought the supreme power for himself. Ashti Melekhi. . . Some veiled acts came clear. And Jhansi was interfering with the plans of Phu-si-Yantong. There would be no easy path to the throne for Zankov, for all he had slain the emperor, when faced with the dark and secret ambitions of Kov Layco Jhansi.

  Up onto that high balcony we stumbled and so over and down to the niche where the voller nestled.

  Delia stood firmly at the controls. Queen Lush huddled on a bench, wrapping flying silks about her, weeping and weeping. Lykon Crimahan and the Lord Farris stared back and up, viciously, hungering for a head to appear over the balcony and so give them the opportunity to take one more blow at the hated enemies who had ruined all of Vallia for them.

  “Jhansi,” said Delia. “He is proved foresworn. He must have given Ashti Melekhi her orders to poison my father.” She stopped, then, and her mouth trembled. “My father—”

  “Take us up and away from this accursed place, my heart.”

  “Yes, Dray, my heart. We will go. But — one day — we will come back. We must return. . .”

  I put my arm around her waist as she sent the voller slanting up in the declining rays of Zim and Genodras. The Suns of Scorpio flamed along the horizon and bathed the burning city in crimson and emerald fires.

  “Oh, aye, we’ll return. I don’t pretend to be perfect — or even particularly cut out for the job — but all Vallia is captive to Phu-si-
Yantong and the other villains now, and that is something I do not like and must, in conscience, try to alter.” I held my Delia as we shot away over the doomed city. “Anyway, there are the children to consider. What’s to become of them?”

  “Outcasts,” said Lykon Crimahan, his voice faltering. “We are outcasts, unwanted, fated to wander forever—”

  “I do not,” said the Lord Farris, “think so.”

  “But Vondium is fallen. The emperor is dead.”

  Farris pointed at me. “Not so! The Emperor of Vallia stands before you!”

  I warmed to him; but it was nonsense. Crimahan put a trembling hand to his mouth, the realization of what he had seen and heard breaking fully into his consciousness. I saw the expression in his eyes, the shifting of the planes of his face, the dawning of painful emotions.

  “That is of no consequence now,” I said in my rough old sailorman’s voice. “If I am emperor then I am emperor of nothing.”

  Delia moved in my arm and looked up at me, the last of Zim’s glowing light rosy on her face.

  “Vondium is doomed — but there are other places of Vallia.”

  “Aye. We fly to Valka. We will collect Velia and Didi and Aunt Katri, for I am utterly convinced they are still safe. If Valka has been swamped by foemen, we will seek others—”

  “Strombor?”

  “Aye, my heart. Strombor. My enclave of Strombor will welcome us and will love Velia and Didi as they love you.” I looked away from her tear-filled brown eyes. It was in my heart to tell her that I would as lief remain in Strombor. I, Dray Prescot, of Earth and of Kregen, a Lord of Strombor. But — Vallia. That proud and puissant empire was torn and shredded from end to end. Could I, in all honor, turn my back on that agony?

  And, so, I looked up. Against the sulphurous masses of smoke coiling from the burning city floated two wide-winged birds.

  I knew them both.

  Oh, yes, I knew them. That great hunting bird with the scarlet and golden feathers, circling high above me, was the Gdoinye, the messenger and spy of the Star Lords. And the white dove peering watchfully down was from the Savanti. So the two agencies who had directed so much of my life upon Kregen spied on me still in these last cataclysmic moments as a proud city burned and a puissant empire slid down into degradation and ruin.