Scorpio Triumph [Dray Prescot #43]

by Alan Burt Akers

  The Lohvian longbow and quiver were there, and the Krozair longsword. But they were placed over and half concealed another scabbard, another sword.

  I pushed aside the longbow and longsword. I reached out for the scabbard.

  I did not recognize the hilt. By that I mean, this sword was not one I owned, and I had only one, that of Alex Hunter, back in Esser Rarioch.

  Slowly, reverently—and this is not blasphemous in connection with an instrument of destruction—I drew the blade from the scabbard. A one handed sword, this, fitting the fist and becoming a part of the body. The cunningness—the genius—is this, that when you strike with a Savanti sword which is lightness personified, in the instant of contact the lightness becomes weight, becomes heavy with devastating force. Oh, yes, there is no sword I knew of on Kregen—including the great Krozair longsword—to equal the Savanti Blade.

  Did I hear a murmur of laughter, mingling with the rustle of the leaves?

  “There is much for you to do, Dray Prescot. Even the Savanti, misguided though they are, secluded in far away Aphrasöe, have their uses.”

  I said: “The Savanti sword is used only for good.”

  “In that we would like to concur.”

  Slowly, thoughtfully, I strapped on my gear. I had been thrown out of Aphrasöe by the Savanti, tossed, as I'd believed, out of Paradise. I'd found new paradises in Kregen. I suspected that the Savanti wished for all of Kregen to become the domain of apims like themselves, like me. They saw no future for diffs, the splendid array of folk who were not Homo sapiens sapiens. If the Everoinye meant that the Savanti were misguided in that, then I agreed.

  “You will pursue the search for the Skantiklar and you will resist the Shanks. The two tasks are now intertwined.”

  I opened my mouth and the world drenched itself in blue. The gigantic shape of the phantom Scorpion hovered and drew me up into its embrace. Head over heels, up I went, enveloped in blue coldness. Hurtling I went thumping down onto a damned hard chunk of rock that knocked all the wind out of me. I lay there, and if I mentioned Makki Grodno and the Divine Lady of Belschutz, I fancy I had just about every right in the book.

  “Stop lollygagging around skulking down there, cabbage. Get up here and pitch in!”

  Fighting the dizziness that wanted to turn my head around on my shoulders and twist my inward parts outward, I clawed up and stared about.

  Another damned cavern! A blasted cave with hard rocks and syatras and an omnipresent pearly glow. I was tumbled down a little cleft. On the ledge above me Mevancy was swishing and swirling her sword very prettily against half a dozen fellows in black robes, with red brilliant eyes, all lethally intent on chopping my comrade into bite-sized chunks. One of them screeched and tumbled backward with his face a red pudding, so she had some of her bindles left. I levered myself up, unlimbered the Krozair brand and charged into action.

  Do not ask why I did not draw the superb Savanti Sword. I just whirled up over the ledge and cut the first two down with diagonal slashes that were controlled to a nicety and I whirled to slip a blade that whirred past and then I ducked and came up with my sword snouting and so swirled after the blade thrust and withdrew into a long slicing cut that doubled-up the next. Mevancy had seen off the last and so we two stood there, staring at each other among the tumbled corpses.

  Her color was high and her breast rose and fell under the mail shirt. Her forearms looked nearly empty of bindles. Oh, yes, not a great and stunning beauty, my comrade Mevancy, but splendid and great-hearted with her beauty shining from within. Oh, and, yes, she had a cutting way with her and a sharp tongue that I relished.

  “Well, cabbage, and where have you been?”

  “Round and about. I'll tell you—but you are all right, pigeon? We were whisked off and then you—”

  “You mean you!”

  “Um,” I said. There was so much to say and catch up with. She would see our separation as me leaving her. Selah! “What did—?”

  “Oh, I had to go to assist a kregoinye, Strom Irvil—”

  At this I burst out with a raucous bray of laughter.

  Her eyes widened and she looked thoroughly shocked.

  “Cabbage!”

  “Strom Irvil of Pine Mountain! So he was in it again, was he? And I'll bet he called you Zaydo—”

  “He did, the presumptuous onker!”

  “You're here, so everything went well.”

  “Yes. I arrived to be attacked on the instant and then you fell down that cleft and lay there taking your ease like a—like a—”

  “Back to the old cabbage days, right?”

  “Oh, you!”

  So we were comrades once again and ready to face what might come.

  What did come revealed itself as Mevancy gasped: “The shints!” Advancing towards us among the rocks and clearly illuminated by the pearly light, a whole bunch of men in black robes surged on, weapons glittering.

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  * * *

  Chapter thirteen

  Firmly, she said: “We'll have to run for it, cabbage.”

  Without hesitation or any stupid suicidal heroics, I agreed.

  Mind you, by Zair, that brash young Dray Prescot who'd first landed on Kregen might well have gone whooping down on the black-robed fanatics brandishing his sword. Had I been alone I believe I might well have seriously considered that as an option. Running away from enemies was not a habit of mine. Discretion, as they say in Clishdrin, may be the better part of valor; but Valor, as they say in Valka, is the better part of the Person.

  We hopped and skipped over the rocks and darted aside from the clutching tendrils of that damned unhealthy syatra and so went running helter-skelter into the mouth of a tunnel.

  A foul stench gusted up, as of congested sewers. A partially decomposed corpse deliquesced just inside the tunnel, riddled with darts. In the wall a wooden flap dangled from a dark slot.

  “Poor devil!” rapped out Mevancy and she leaped over. “Thank Gahamond he tripped that trap.”

  “And thank Opaz the people were petrified and so didn't come along and reset the devilish contraption.”

  What, also, this meant was clear. Some of our party had been this way already, resuscitating those held in the stasis spell. We sped on.

  The slapping of leather sandals on the rock at our backs echoed eerily. The walls shone with nitre. The air gradually sweetened. We ran on and debouched into a cavern where a fountain played at the center and a pool lapped almost to the sides. The ledge was wide enough for one.

  “Have a care, cabbage.”

  “Oh, rest assured, pigeon, I shall. But you—I recollect you seem to like—” and then I shut up. What the hell was I thinking about to remind a lady of the time she'd fallen in the water and deadly jaws stuffed with razor-sharp teeth had bitten for her? Onker! I finished: “Two openings up ahead. Left or right?”

  “When I've looked at each I will make the decision.”

  “Quidang!”

  The first opening led onto a featureless tunnel, as did the second.

  I looked back across the pool. The opening through which we had emerged was just visible past the fountain. The fanatics following us would probably split their party here to check each tunnel. I unlimbered the Lohvian longbow, gave the string a few testing pulls and then selected an arrow.

  “What the blue blazes are you up to, cabbage?”

  “A spot of target practice will actively discourage them, and might knock enough off to make them change their minds about pursuit.”

  “We-ell—”

  Over the splashing tinkling of the fountain the sound of hurrying footfalls brought the bow up. The first fellow through the opening halted and then started to edge carefully around. I let him go and the next and the next. Four of them were walking delicately around and others appeared.

  “What are you waiting for, onker? Shoot!”

  “All in good time. Erthanfydd, as Seg would say, demands perfection in target selection as w
ell as speed and accuracy.”

  “Oh, you!”

  The bow drew smoothly and I let fly. The shaft hit the black robe at the mouth of the tunnel. Both he and the man immediately pushing on to his rear fell, the shaft skewering both. The little knot just ahead and to the side along the ledge did not panic until two of their number pitched into the water. They attempted to crowd back, knocking another one in and yelling blue murder to one another. I shafted the rest of that bunch and turned my attention to the four originals on the ledge.

  After our experiences at the hands of these people it was hard to feel sympathy for them. The rearmost one simply turned around and made a wild dash for the safety of the tunnel. He tripped on the bodies of his companions and went screeching into the water. The next one was spitted through. The penultimate black robe glared about, his head turning, and I could see the mad red glitter of his eyes. He took a shaft through his middle so that left the one who'd first emerged into the cavern of the fountain.

  Give him his due. He had courage. He was nearer to us than to his compatriots. He lifted his sword and charged. Well, sympathy has its place; I fancied that here and now any loose sympathy lying about ought by rights to belong to Mevancy and me. He went over screaming.

  “H'm,” sniffed Mevancy. “Very pretty.” She nodded across the pool. “They do not seem keen to follow us.”

  “I wonder,” I said, putting the bow back. “Would they have gone round that ledge so readily if they'd seen me? The fountain hid me pretty well until I shot.”

  “Heroes or cowards, it doesn't matter much now. Come on, cabbage.”

  They could have been heroes or cowards, I said to myself; they were certainly a most unlovely lot.

  We went along the second tunnel and as we walked, looking everywhere about most carefully, we told each other what had befallen us in our latest dealings with the Star Lords. Strom Irvil of Pine Mountain's problems had been straightened out and Mevancy returned. I gave her a greatly bowdlerized version of my escapades. Both of us felt the Everoinye could clearly foresee some vast and confused confrontation. “It's this devil of a Carazaar. By Spurl!” exclaimed Mevancy. “He's in need of a few bindles.”

  She had indeed shot off a lot of the little darts from her forearms and she'd need to eat up well to replace them as quickly as possible. That made me think about food and a wet—and, of course, that was a disastrous thought to occur.

  Around us in the sourceless light the rock walls glittered with nitre and a stream tinkled along under trees and bushes. A couple of syatras, bloated, tendril-waving, waited at the exit to the cave. Among the ordinary vegetation I could see none I recognized as edible.

  I said: “I wonder what those dratted syatras taste like?”

  “Probably like the soles of a calsany herder's sandals.”

  “Aye,” I agreed moodily. “Probably.”

  “You're not hungry, are you? I had a splendid meal just before I returned.”

  That's it! I said to myself. That's bloody it! Those puffed-up Star Lords couldn't even fix me some grub! And they expect me to run about at their beck and call. Well, by the puss infected nostrils and swollen liver of Makki Grodno! Next time I saw ‘em I'd—I'd—Well, then, what would I do? Sure, I was getting back to my raucous old self; the Everoinye remained the aloof powers they had always been.

  A little gasp puffed from Mevancy's lips and she stopped stock-still. I'd been walking a little to the side and rear and now, wrapped up in my complaints anent the Everoinye, I collided with her shoulder. About to blurt out something about standing in people's way, I stopped as Mevancy said: “By Spurl! I don't believe it!”

  A swift glance at the exit from the cave convinced me that if Mevancy didn't believe, I did.

  The vague form of a person stood by the exit and the syatras were going mad. They kept sweeping their tendrils to wrap the person up and transfer the body into the internal organs for leisurely digestion. They kept on doing that. And, each time, the tentacle simply went flailing on through the figure.

  The figure wavered about so much and flickered blue and grey by turn it was impossible to recognize the face. I fancied this was Rollo. By this time I felt that Mevancy knew Rollo was a Wizard of Loh—well, all right, an apprentice sorcerer—all the same I did not call out.

  For a brief instant the phantom shape coalesced into the body of a well set-up young man wearing a yellow veil across his face and nondescript clothes of some hue between fire-ash grey and bruise blue. There followed the briefest of sounds, something like a chicken's headless squawk, and the figure wisped away.

  The syatras were inconsolable.

  “What—?”

  “Those damn plants look edible to me, pigeon.” I was being horrible to her, I suppose, in our comradeship, yet I feel strongly you will understand. Whipping out the old sailor knife I started across.

  “Oh, you!” she yelled. Then: “Come back, you fambly!”

  Stopping and half-turning I called: “All right. Won't be long now before someone comes for us.”

  She nodded, abruptly firm and purposeful. “Yes, exactly what I thought. There are very few people who are entirely at their ease around sorcery. And next time you want to play games, cabbage, I'll play harder.”

  Only moments later, there stood dear old Deb-Lu-Quienyin, leaning on his polished staff, beaming at us. His turban rested on his head exactly level; a spirit level couldn't have lined it up straighter.

  “Lahal and Lahal!” he called, walking up. The syatras at his back flailed a couple of tendrils in his general direction. Then they gave up and flopped back in frustrated disgust.

  “Lahal, san.” Mevancy held herself very upright. “We are most pleased to see you.”

  “Yes, yes, my dear, as I you. Now, this is the way out.”

  He gave us directions that would last for a couple of burs or so and promised to return then. We followed his instructions and just at the moment we were faced with three possible routes, Deb-Lu appeared and told us the correct one. The strongest feeling was born in on me that nothing else was being said and no news exchanged because they must wait until we reached the surface.

  At his next appearance Deb-Lu gave us directions which he explained would last us a considerable time. So long as we went in the same general direction and continually upwards, we'd be well on the way. In addition, he steered us into a cave where fruits grew and tubers and many of the little animals darted about. So we were able to lunch along the way.

  Feeling replete, we went bravely on, ever upwards. Nothing untoward occurred. Time went by. The Realm of the Drums where we'd been lay a damned long way underground, by Vox. Eventually, we entered a cave where idols of a malignant and ferocious appearance clustered around the walls. An altar block bearing familiar and horrible stains stood at the center. Over on the far side Deb-Lu appeared before an idol whose mouth leered with uneven teeth. The thing held a statue of a naked girl in his clawed hands.

  Mevancy said nothing; but she drew in her stomach tautly.

  Deb-Lu pointed to the girl's dangling foot. He had no need to tell us what to do. I went across, aware of Mevancy's feelings, and pulled that pitiful foot.

  The statue revolved. A dim wash of amber and verdigris light spilled into the cave mingling with the omnipresent pearly radiance.

  We went through and the statue revolved and closed at our backs.

  A grotto surrounded us with walls packed with the most amazing clustering of small statues of an incredibly varied number of life forms. Many dead leaves lay blown across the floor. At the far end a low overhang draped with dependent foliage admitted a weak light—but that light was ruby and jade, the streaming mingled radiance of Zim and Genodras, the twin Suns of Scorpio.

  Mevancy started to run across and on the instant I followed.

  I need not have fretted. She was by now an old campaigner. At the mouth of the overhang she paused and stood stock-still, looking out.

  Joining her I peered between the hanging vines. Jungl
e. Well, by Krun, and what else apart from the City of Eternal Twilight did I expect to see?

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  Chapter fourteen

  Delia said: “I am glad to see you are still in one piece, husband.”

  And I said, and I opened my mouth—and I could say nothing. I took her into my arms and felt the powerful grip of her arms about me, a quick passionate convulsion of energy, crushing me to her and then releasing. Oh, yes, Delia is a most fiery lady!

  After a space there in the aft cabin of Vendayha Lady she let me go and, lightly, said: “And I suppose you will tell me some of it?”

  We flew on through thin air and I told her some of it. Mevancy was being looked after and a flushed young subby—a sort of leutnantzurluft—was turned out of his cabin to make room for her. She'd given Delia such a look as the voller picked us up as would have curled me up inside if I hadn't known the exact score. I may say ‘Poor Mevancy!’ from time to time; for all her problems and her despairing hopes, her friendship with Delia dispelled any lingering jealousies—after all, it seems to me perfectly obvious that every woman on Kregen—and on Earth if they knew—would be jealous of Delia. It is to Delia's personality and charm and her supreme tact that she sails serenely above petty jealousies. When the big ones come, as in her dealings with Nyleen Gillois, why, then, my Delia is a lady leem!

  So, as I say, we sailed on and brought ourselves up to date. I wanted to know the reactions of Queen Satra to reality.

  “Her lips tightened up. She made a little sign with her fingers.” Delia made the sign in the air as we sat at ease. “Of course when we emerged into the city all the people came awake—what a sight!”

  “I'd like to have seen it.”

  “Licria fainted clean away. That unpleasant trylon Schian fellow went quite green about the gills. Seg laughed.”

  Delia had waited for me in the admiral's aft cabin. Captain Erlik had welcomed me aboard after Deb-Lu had guided the suspended basket to where Mevancy and I stood by the grotto. Now she held onto my arm as we talked.