Beasts of Antares

by Alan Burt Akers

  So we went down the steps and the furor continued as the guards hunted the fugitive. The wildest of rumors flew about.

  As we walked together, Jaezila smiled. “You, I suppose, Jak the Sturr?”

  “Aye, my lady, me. And my thanks—”

  Prince Tyfar half turned, the epitome of a handsome young prince.

  “You observed the skyship, Jak. Your opinion?”

  “A fine craft, Prince.” I’d heard the others address him thusly, so that was one hurdle out of the way. He was here with the delegation officially from Hamal buying fliers. “She will serve admirably once she is completed.”

  “My thought, exactly, except—”

  I chanced a shaft. “The varter positions on the upper deck?”

  “Precisely.”

  A little technical discussion ensued, in which I was able to insert my oar from time to time. Tyfar was a right tearaway in that he’d chanced dropping me in it. But, I fancy, he had taken the measure of my mettle as I’d taken the measure of his down in the Moder, among other fraught places.

  The big fellow with the hair and the plans appeared anxious to please. He was the manager, Nalgre Orndalt, and he heaved up a sigh just before we said the remberees.

  “The ship will be only two weeks behind schedule, Prince. You can’t get the quality of workmanship like you used to. And I’d as lief be in the stands of the Jikhorkdun as working this afternoon.”

  Rather sharply, Tyfar said, “You perhaps object to working for Hamalese paymasters?”

  Nalgre Orndalt’s thick fingers clenched on the plans. The paper ridged and creased. Then, slowly, he said, “No, Prince. There are some, as you know, who... No, I do my work and take my wages, and leave politics to the queen.”

  With her brilliant smile, Jaezila said, “Well, Nalgre, perhaps you could hasten the work. Improve on the two weeks?”

  “I will try.” He did not say, “For you, my lady.” But the impression of his having said that remained. I did not wonder. Many men would move mountains for Jaezila. I did not think she would treat them like dirt beneath her sandals, but if she did they’d be grateful for the attention.

  When we were safely outside the gates and walking slowly toward the lines where the zorcas were stabled, Tyfar said to the officials in his delegation, “I believe you expressed the desire to witness the games? There will still be some games left. Of the more barbarous kind.” His face expressed his distaste. He had told me he did not care for the Jikhorkdun in his native Hamal.

  “Thank you, Prince.” The officials and their aides mounted up and rode off. We looked after them, waiting for them to leave. Kaldu, big-boned and powerful, his brown beard trimmed to a point, kept away from me. He would not look at me.

  I moved to stand at his side. “Do not blame yourself, Kaldu. You did right—”

  “But we left you to certain death—”

  “The death was not certain. For I am here. Now, for the sake of Havil, cheer up! Your duty was to the lady Jaezila. You did right, and you would do the same again.”

  He had forcibly taken Jaezila aboard the voller and lifted away to safety as I had been ringed with steel.

  “Aye, Jak. Aye. I would do the same again.”

  “Queyd-arn-tung!” I said, which means no more need be said on the subject.

  And Kaldu passed a broad hand across his beard and smiled.

  Then it was Tyfar’s turn to attempt to apologize for leaving me. In all the kafuffle of the attack he had not been in any position to contribute. I told him so, and added, “And now that you are here and I am here, in Hyrklana, we have a lot to do.”

  “And Deb-Lu? And Hunch and Nodgen?”

  I moved my hands. “I assume they are safe. They lifted away in good time.”

  “I pray they are safe. I set much store by Deb-Lu-Quienyin. And as for Hunch and Nodgen—”

  “Hunch, at least,” put in Jaezila, with her laugh, “would have trembled in his shoes up there.”

  We all laughed. Even I laughed, for that seems the right thing to do when Hunch the Tryfant comes into the conversation. And he had been a good companion to us, with his comrade Nodgen...

  I was not going to tell Tyfar or Jaezila that Quienyin and Hunch and Nodgen, and the Pachak twins, Fre-Da, had reached Vallia. Tyfar and Jaezila were Hamalese and thought I was working for mad Empress Thyllis as were they.

  That was the explanation I gave them for my presence. As I expected, it worked like a charm. If you understand that I felt a twinge of guilt at telling that kind of untruth to two people for whom I entertained the highest respect, admiration and affection, you understand aright. But as with Rees and Chido, personal friendship beclouds the supposedly greater issues of patriotism. And I had already vowed that patriotism, for all the demeaning postures now understood by that word, would not be allowed to harm Tyfar or Jaezila.

  Not while I lived, by Vox!

  As we mounted up — I’ve no idea to whom the zorca I so airily made use of belonged — I thought if only these two were not Hamalese!

  We had a deal of mileage to make up. Through downright cunning use of my supposed secret assignment from Empress Thyllis I was able to bypass most of the awkward questions. I let them understand I’d got out of that scrape back there in Absordur with the Vajikry-mad trylon by telling the truth. When I mentioned that infuriating game of Vajikry, Tyfar threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

  “You, Jak! Vajikry! But you’re a Jikaida man.”

  “Surely. I was hard put to it to survive.” Then I told them of the gambit I’d used to win free, whereat they laughed the louder.

  I could see the funny side of it well enough, but I said, “It was a good laugh afterward. But at the time, and what with that oaf singing his damned dismal song, the “March of the Skeletons,” well, it wasn’t so—”

  Jaezila interrupted swiftly, turning to me from her saddle. “Jak! We are thoughtless and cruel to laugh so!” And then she couldn’t stop bursting out with a snorting laugh she tried to stop and only made worse.

  Comrades. Blade comrades! I warmed to them.

  And their adventures had been a trifle fraught, also. They’d had a few fights and helter-skelterings of that kind winning free and reaching Hamal. Kregen offers unbounded opportunities for skull-bashing if you have a mind to that kind of frolic, which I have not. Then it was my turn to laugh as they described Jaezila’s surprise — her consternation — when she discovered the ninny she so put upon was a prince, a real live prince of Hamal.

  “Ah, but Jaezila,” I said, “you should have seen him down the Moder. He was like a zhantil.”

  “Oh, now, come, Jak, really—” protested Tyfar. But he gave a glance at the girl — the woman — who rode so straight and proudly at his side. And I, nodding to myself, fancied the future held prospects there that would have astonished just absolutely everybody when we were crossing the Dawn Lands.

  “And the quest for vollers proved negative there,” they told me. “And we were ordered to speed up production in Hyrklana.”

  I made a face. “But can you order another country like that? You know they do not like the Hamalese.”

  Now it was Tyfar’s face which changed. He looked at once savage and dismayed. “I know. I deplore what we are doing with our army and air service. We attack, it seems, at the whim of the Empress Thyllis — may Havil forgive me if I speak out of turn, Jak. But I cannot much longer remain still. My father keeps his own counsel. But—”

  “You know my opinion of Prince Nedfar,” I said. “He is a great man. He will always strive to walk the path of righteousness.” I did not use those exact and somewhat mawkish words; the sentiment remained true.

  “Aye.” Tyfar’s eyebrows drew down and his forehead wrinkled. “Aye. I pray he does not run into trouble.”

  “If the iron legions of Hamal are stopped,” said Jaezila, and she spoke on a breath, “what will Thyllis do then, d’you think?”

  We didn’t know. But we all felt it would be somethi
ng exceedingly dire.

  I forbore to inquire who was going to do the stopping. Up in Vallia we had made a good beginning in that direction...

  They asked me where I was staying, preparatory, I guessed, to inviting me to stay with them. I said I was living outside the walls, and doing very well. I did not particularize.

  There were three or four small townships, not quite suburbs, outside the walls, and all at least two varter shots from the walls. This was a common-sense precaution. They assumed I was staying in one of these suburbs.

  “We have been put up in regal fashion with Pallan Mahmud nal Yrmcelt,” said Tyfar. “He is the queen’s chief pallan.”

  “Ord Mahmud,” I said, thinking.

  Tyfar looked surprised. “Why, no. Orlan Mahmud. You have his name wrong. Beware, he is high in the queen’s favor.”

  “I believe I have heard.” said Jaezila offhandedly, “that Orlan’s father’s name was Ord.”

  I nodded and let it pass. Time flows, time flows...

  It seemed to me he would not remember the descent of a slate slab and a scarlet breechclout. He might. If he did I fancied he would wish to forget. After all, at the time he had been involved with a group plotting the downfall of Queen Fahia. Perhaps, I surmised as we jogged along, perhaps Orlan Mahmud nal Yrmcelt was still opposed to the queen, and taking over his father’s position as chief pallan, sought-to work from within the establishment. It was a possibility.

  Also, it was quite likely to be mere wishful thinking. Men as they grow older, on Kregen as on Earth, often change from being red-hot revolutionaries to straitlaced pillars of the community. The thought, the fact, is not new.

  The games still proceeded and the beast roar of the crowd swelled over Huringa. Tyfar declared his throat was as dry as that infernal desert we had marched through together and so we reined in at a convenient hostelry and, dismounting, saw that the zorcas were led off by slaves. Then we sat around a table, with the retainers at a respectful distance.

  This was nonsense for us, for we were all comrades-in-arms. But we had no wish, for our various reasons, to attract undue and unfavorable notice.

  As we sipped the wine, for it was just time, I reflected that this was all very fine and wonderful; it brought me no nearer to securing a voller for the escape I planned.

  Overjoyed though I was to meet up with Tyfar and Jaezila, I could not, must not, allow them to deflect me from my purpose in Huringa.

  We had a deal to talk over. Prince Nedfar, Tyfar’s father, had reached Ruathytu safely. I was relieved to hear this. Tyfar, again, expressed his unease over the policies being followed by his country. Jaezila, her color up, her splendid eyes fierce, observed that, by Krun! Hamal trod a dangerous path. But she, like Tyfar, would not commit herself to any definite statement. They worked for Hamal, as I worked for Vallia. The thought saddened me.

  My explanations, although lame in my ears, satisfied them when I said I would have to return to my quarters. We enjoyed a slap-up meal before the Jikhorkdun turned out and the taverns became choked with excited patrons discussing the details of the games. I gathered that the yellows had lost their place of preeminence, and the blues had, as I had told that guard, achieved the highest position.

  Mentioning the lady Ariane nal Amklana, Tyfar said he had not seen or heard of her since entering Hyrklana. The lady Ariane had not, in our opinion, biased though we might be, turned out too well in the Moder. Much might be forgiven her, but Tyfar was too much the gentleman, the true noble, to dwell on that. She was, he said he had discovered, well-known in Huringa, visiting there from time to time. She was a vadni, the Vadni of Amklana, and her husband, like Queen Fahia’s husband, King Rogan, was a nonentity.

  “I heard once — oh, a mere whisper — that King Rogan might seek to take the reins of government into his own hands.” I said this in the quiet expectancy of immediate and incredulous disbelief. My expectations were not disappointed.

  “He is a nothing,” declared Tyfar. “Poor fellow.”

  “It is true. I do not know where your whisper came from, Jak,” said Jaezila. “But it is surely false.”

  “Aye. It was probably a pious hope. A wish that he might prove a better sovereign than fat Queen Fahia.”

  No one outside our circle heard me, which was just as well.

  Pleasant though it was to sit in the radiance of the declining suns and eat and drink and talk with my comrades, I had work to do. I stood up. Tyfar instantly stopped my attempts to pay the reckoning, with princely grace quietly insisting he would settle. I made an arrangement to meet them on the morrow, expressed my regrets I was called away and walked off. My twin shadows preceded me as I walked along, heading for the Jikhorkdun.

  In that warren of evil and horror and high courage three other friends awaited — all unknowing — the chance of escape I trusted fervently I was bringing them.

  Chapter fifteen

  Of Questions and Reminders

  “No. Never heard of him.”

  “A little fellow. Very cheery. The best armorer you could hope to find.”

  “Sorry, dom.”

  I turned away. This was the fifth dead end. Around me the familiar — hatefully familiar — sounds of the practice rings rose into the evening sky. The bulk of the amphitheater cast deep and imposing shadows. The smaller courts blocked off the last rays of Zim and Genodras, which in Havilfar are known as Far and Havil. The clink of steel on steel, the swift stamp and scrape of foot, the hoarse intake of breath, all these blood-quickening sounds served on this evening only to depress me. The Jikhorkdun was vast. It was a labyrinth.

  This maze might not be quite as dangerous as that labyrinth within the Moder, down which we had ventured, braving monsters and sorceries; it held its own evil brand of danger. There had, it seemed to me, been nothing else for it but to ask for Naghan the Gnat by name. Yes, there was inherent peril in this. He might be using another name. Strangers who asked around for one particular person would be looked at most carefully. But — how else was I to find Naghan?

  Deb-Lu-Quienyin had assured me my friends, although of the Jikhorkdun, were not involved in the arena. Tilly, that beautiful golden-haired Fristle fifi, might be anywhere in the immense barrack blocks. Oby, who was no longer a young tearaway and who might now prefer his name in full — Obfaril — had given up all desires to be a kaidur. In Valka he had become obsessed with fliers. He was an expert in vollers. Now, I trusted he had not been given the chance to fulfill his youthful ambitions.

  As for Balass the Hawk, that doughty fighting man would have been sent back to his native land of Xuntal. I did not expect to find Balass here.

  The promenades were crowded with folk come to see the kaidurs at close quarters. Even a day of surfeit in the arena could not satisfy many of the aficionados. Time would never dull for me the impression, the emotion, the passions of the arena. I’d been through the mill. I thought I knew.

  Partisan devotees would come to admire and to shower gifts on the kaidurs who had been victorious. Wagers were arranged, and the bets were enormous. The trainers would display their new men; the backers would look and whisper behind their hands, pomanders well in evidence. It was a flesh market, of course, but at the same time the young sprigs of the gentry and nobility would take up a sword and set to with a renowned kaidur. The steel rang and scraped. I knew no kaidur was going to use all his skill to show up some popinjay. All the same, nasty knocks could be taken — aye, and given! — in these pretty little private matches.

  The Jikhorkdun has its four color corners, plus the area reserved for the queen’s kaidurs, and I went first and naturally to the reds. And, again naturally, I sought the armorers and made my inquiries. After the fifth dead end I changed my tune about Naghan being the best armorer you could find. It was true. I have mentioned other armorers who had worked for me and who were comrades, and there were many — particularly in Valka — who were superb. Naghan the Gnat took his place among the finest. But my questions would be met with scowls and bl
ack brows.

  So that little man with the great heart became just Naghan the Gnat, an armorer.

  And still I found no trace at all, not even a memory. Well, that is passing foolish on my part, for by the nature of its trade, being a kaidur means you do not make friends. They tend to die off quickly, and you take your turn in that dismal procession.

  About to chuck the reds and try my luck with the blues, for unless you volunteer to walk into the arena you do not often have the chance of choosing what color you fight under, I saw Cleitar Adria talking to a pot-bellied man loaded with gold chains. I thought it was Cleitar Adria. I stopped, looking without appearing to stare.

  By Kaidun! It was Cleitar.

  We’d been captured as slaves together, and given the opportunity to fight in the arena, and taken it. Cleitar had prospered as a kaidur as though wedded to it. It had become his life — and I own I was glad to see he was still alive. He had the marks of the Jikhorkdun upon him.

  The dead tissues of the scar bisecting the left half of his face glistened like white ceramic from Loh. That scar started at his hairline and finished at his chin. His left eye socket was simply dead scar tissue.

  I fancied no one called him Ob-Eye Adria.

  He had not been a particularly close comrade. I had rubbed along with him out of pure self-interest, to avoid a fracas, and cheered his victories because he fought for the ruby drang.

  It seemed to me he would not recognize me. But, just in case, I moved to one side and began to compose my features as Deb-Lu had instructed me and started to put on a new face.

  Something soft and padded, and containing something hard and edged, thumped me in the middle of the back. I did not fall. Balance is important to a fighting man, even when he is in the middle of half bending over to change his face. I straightened as a bull roar broke out, a bellowing, hectoring, vicious torrent of words.