Scorpio Invasion [Dray Prescot #40]

by Alan Burt Akers

  Quonling stared at me. He ought now to be coming out of it, having sent the message. He began to shake. I frowned. This, I did not remember. He opened his mouth.

  A harsh rattling voice, deep in the bass register, issued from the lad's mouth. “I see him. So that is the fellow.” The boy's eyes were fixed burningly upon me. “After you treat your instructors with contempt you have the impudence to attempt to utilize your imperfect learning! You should know by now the way back for you is hard, very hard. Now go—"

  All Quonling's young features writhed and his tongue darted out to lick his lips and I realized he was trying to speak to the owner of that harsh and merciless voice.

  “I am a Whonbim!” His own voice gasped the words. “I am merely trying to do a favor for San Khe-Hi-Bjanching. He will vouch for me!"

  “San Khe-Hi does not know of your existence, outcast!"

  So I saw what had happened. My Val! Young Quonling was doing his best in lupu to contact Khe-Hi and his message had been intercepted by this interfering, officious, overbearing jumped up Wizard of Loh teacher!

  “Please—san—San Khe-Hi-Bjanching will—"

  “Enough! By the Seven Arcades! Am I to waste my time prattling to a rebellious youngster who has no respect! You—"

  I stepped forward and grasped the lad's shoulders. I stared deeply into his eyes. On my face, quite without my own volition, that Devil Mask flamed out, that evil domineering look that has quelled many a proud spirit. Do not think I take any pride from that, quite the contrary; but the demon look of Dray Prescot has proved useful from time to time. As now.

  “You do not give me a Llahal,” I said in that gravelly menacing voice of Dray Prescot. “You are a teacher who has failed with Quonling. I think it will go ill with you if you fail to pass my message to Khe-Hi."

  There was no immediate response from the harsh rattling voice. I was prepared to wait only for a certain number of heartbeats for a reply.

  He clearly couldn't know that; but he timed it so there were but three heartbeats to go.

  “If you are who we believe you to be, your message will be passed."

  I said: “It is not for you to quibble. I am not in the habit of repeating myself, even for Wizards of Walfarg. I will say to you, you without a Llahal between us, you know what is said about teachers. Now contact Khe-Hi and send my message!"

  The gasp from Quonling's mouth could have come from the lad himself or his officious damned teacher. Either way, my words must have had some effect. Quonling pitched forward and put his young face into a patch of the more liquid mud we had tried to avoid. I caught his tunic and heaved him back. He was shaking all over now, and that was pure physical fear and reaction and not magical. By Krun! The poor lad had had a time of it!

  He gargled a bit and I wiped the mud off. I wanted to know if that idiot teacher had sent the message.

  At last he said: “I know what happened. I heard. But I do not believe. No, by Hlo-Hli herself, I do not credit it!"

  “Has he sent the message, boy?"

  “How should I know? I was disrespectful and disobedient, I know that. But I never went around uttering threats—"

  “I seldom threaten. If it has to be done, I do it. Anyway, if you don't know we can only find out by waiting. Who was that onker, anyway?"

  “That? Oh, that was Gal-ag-Foroming, one of the head tutors. He has the heaviest and springiest cane in all Whonban."

  “Sometimes,” I said, “sometimes, I suppose, that is necessary. If he was any good as a tutor you'd pass your exams without the need of a cane."

  Although I told the lad this, I am well aware there are exceptions in the case of the genuinely thick. Not the cane, of course, but the passing.

  “Oh, he's clever, no doubt of that. Just that, well—"

  “Some do, and some don't,” I said. “In that game trying hard is generally not good enough. What is accomplished is far too important to have people who fall down on the job.” I looked at him, and saw he had regained his color. He was pulling bits of mud out of his red hair. “I thank you for going into lupu, Ra-Lu. You were taking a risk I did not appreciate. I shall not forget that."

  “Yes, well. I am more concerned about those plug-uglies who threw me in the water. They are aware my powers are strictly limited; yet they know I was to have been a Wizard of Walfarg and therefore they can punish me."

  “What for?"

  “Many people, not all, pile the blame for the loss of empire upon the sorcerers of Whonban. That and the lack of airboats and saddle birds."

  “I'd have thought a Wizard of Loh could take care of himself. They strike mortal fear into the hearts of folk outside Loh, believe me."

  “Why do you think we always seek to practice overseas?"

  “That makes sense. And if you're half-trained, then—"

  “Oh, I'm more than half-trained. The interim exam I failed was a mere trail-blazer for the finals. Those, I could have sailed through."

  “Says you."

  “I cut classes, yes, chasing that fickle Pynsi, and my frustration made me disrespectful. But I studied hard to catch up when Pynsi betrayed me."

  “H'm,” I said, using that old quarterdeck procrastination. “We'd better decide what we're going to do with you, hadn't we?"

  I unbuckled one of the swords I'd taken from those two dozy guards, Lin and Hwang, after I'd disposed of the lily pad on my head. Both weapons were lynxters, the straight cut and thruster of Loh, and there was nothing to choose between them. I handed the sword to the lad.

  “Here, Ra-Lu. It does not do to go unarmed on Kregen."

  “That is true.” He took the lynxter. “Still, I'm more of a dagger man. Although the bow is the prime weapon of all."

  You can't argue with the Bowmen of Loh over that question.

  He buckled the sword on and suddenly looked up.

  “All right, then, Dray Prescot, Drajak the Sudden. I shall call myself Rollo. From Ra-Lu—see?"

  I nodded. “A fine name. I knew a splendid artist, Rollo the Circle. He could draw a—"

  “I know. So could our art master, Tun-du-Haffyien. Perfect."

  I was taking to this young scamp. He knew who I was, and had read those outrageous romances about the Dray Prescot in the scarlet breechclout and ferocious Krozair longsword who went swinging about the world of Kregen righting wrongs, defending the weak and rescuing damsels in distress. Yet he treated me with indifferent ease as an equal. I liked that. Also, he may have dodged classes; he was almost a fully-fledged Wizard of Loh. He still had a very great deal to learn and master in his arcane arts. Even Deb-Lu and Khe-Hi and Ling-Li developed their skills as time went by. But he was not the loutish ignoramus deserving of being thrown out of Whonban.

  “All right,” I said. “Rollo what?"

  “Oh, I'll think about that later."

  Maybe that was one of his problems. That he put things off.

  “I have,” I said, changing the subject to one of vital importance. “I have just one gold piece, two silvers and seven coppers. You, I take it, have no cash.” This was what was left of the guards’ purses.

  He shook his head. “You take it aright, Drajak."

  “If the message got through to Khe-Hi and if Deb-Lu gets it, and if so when the Lord Farris sends the two vollers—well by a Herrelldrin Hell! We may have a long wait ahead of us, Rollo my lad!"

  He nodded, suddenly glum. In truth, the prospect was not pleasing.

  “Anyway,” I said, voicing an itch that had been worriting away at me. “How did that lot find out you were a Wizard of Loh?"

  He looked resentful. “I had a bad dream and started up, yelling damn fool things that branded me. There was no denying it."

  “Well, don't have any bad dreams around me, sunshine!"

  “Not if I can help it, Sudden."

  As I say, a sprightly young spark.

  The plan I concocted was simple. Keeping out of the way we found cheap lodgings. I'd have preferred to have found another boat and gone on d
ownriver; but we had to stay here to await the airboats. The nightly charge was one short silver. One of the silvers I had was short, the other broad, so that was three nights at least. We'd have to eat on the coppers and use the gold, changed into silvers, to keep a roof over our heads. “We will have to pull our belts in, my lad."

  “I've been hungry before."

  One scheme I'd immediately thought of and then reluctantly discarded was to march out into the country and camp rough. Decadent and decayed though Walfarg was, they continued a strong patrol and watch force and vagrants were harshly dealt with. This is not uncommon. I did not wish to spend the time waiting in the local lockup, which looked unhealthy.

  If it came to it, mind you, we'd have to do that. We'd be fed. And we'd have to break out when the vollers arrived.

  If they did.

  The time it would take for a voller to fly down from Vallia would depend on her speed. I felt I could rely on Farris to send the fastest he could spare. The problem lay in what he could spare. There continued to be trouble in voller manufacture. Emperor Nedfar of Hamal was doing what he could, and his son Tyfar, and Delia and my Lela were out there by the viciously hostile Mountains of the West of Hamal trying to sort out the problem. I fretted over their welfare.

  So Farris might not be able to send of the best. Our money was down to four silvers, only one of which was broad, and we were using the silvers to feed ourselves as well as pay for the lodgings. If nothing arrived soon, I'd have to think again.

  The lodging house, not a real inn at all, was known simply as Mother Molly's. The smell of cooking permeated the place. The stairs were a greasy death trap. Still, this was far cheaper than an inn or tavern.

  We had to get out for a breath of fresh air. Well, who could blame us for that? Inevitably, one day someone from the crew spotted Ra-Lu-Quonling. We started off running up the street and immediately there was a pack of them howling on our heels. Ra-Lu ran. As we skidded around a corner and headed past the fish market, he panted out: “I know what I shall call myself. By the Seven Arcades! I shall be Rollo the Runner!"

  “Save your breath, Runner, for honoring your name."

  A whole screaming foaming pack of them were streaming along after us and another bunch appeared ahead. No one drew a weapon. The mobs from the fish market joined and now a ring formed about us. The catcalls centered on one subject: “A Wizard of Walfarg! Blatter him into the ground! He's only a novice and knows nothing!"

  “And his companion, the shint!"

  “Can you do nothing, then, Rollo the Runner?"

  “Nothing."

  I looked about at the taunting crowds ready to beat us to a pulp. We could expect no mercy. There was no way out. I looked about—and then I looked up.

  “Thank Opaz the Punctual!” I said, and waved my arms delightedly.

  * * *

  Chapter seven

  They do not mess about, my lads of the Guard Corps.

  Directly before the mobs advancing on us a massive burst of fire and smoke blossomed. Almost immediately another fire pot dropped over on the other side of the ring. The crowds halted, open-mouthed. A fishmonger ripped off his scale-coated apron which had caught alight. He flung it from him with a yelp, and two more bursts of fire and smoke smashed the crowds back. Even then, even then, so unaccustomed were Lohvians to fliers that many did not think to look up.

  Perhaps they put the gouts of flame and smoke down to the wizardry of the sorcerer of Whonban. I looked up again in great relief. Rollo the Runner, as I will now call him, looked up with me. He said: “Oh!"

  Two airboats circled, and with delicate precision dropped a few more fire pots to keep the crowds at bay. I did not think these folk cared to dare the perils of having combustibles flung down on them from above.

  Whilst one voller kept the ring, the other touched down delicately. She was a clean-lined craft possessing that sweet petal shape of all good quality small and medium sized airboats. She was, I judged, a smallish ten seater, as was her companion aloft. A voice hailed.

  “This way, jis! Step aboard!"

  A hulking fellow in a bright yellow uniform appeared clambering down the short ladder, turning on the last step to wave me on. I said: “Go on, Rollo. Run."

  He started off at once for the voller and the large fellow in the yellow uniform clambered back over the side. He fairly hoicked Rollo up off the ground and hurled him over the gunwale. I followed smartly and clambered aboard. The crowds were yelling now, in anger more than fear.

  “Take her up, Loptyg!” bellowed the giant in the bright yellow uniform. He turned to me and bashed his right fist over his heart with force enough to make his kax vibrate. “Majister!"

  “Lahal, Ornol Skobog. And am I going to have trouble with you?"

  “Me, jis?"

  “Aye, you rascal.You."

  He looked down and his face was as red as my breechclout. “You know the chickens were strays and would have wandered off, jis, had I not saved them."

  Very gravely, I said: “That is undeniably true; but Opaz preserve me from their fate.” Then I held out my hand and we shook Vallian fashion.

  The voller climbed steadily and took up station with the other. Faces were staring over the gunwales. Now Sko means left and Bog is the name given to a fellow handy at bashing evildoers. This Ornol Skobog was an old kampeon in the Emperor's Yellow Jackets. I guessed that the Loptyg at the controls would be a rascally fellow called Loptyg the Muncible, serving in the Emperor's Sword Watch. Trust the two premier guards regiments to send men matched, one for one. I said: “This is Rollo the Runner."

  Thus briefly we made the pappattu. Rollo was gripping onto the gunwale not looking over the side, and his face was the color of moldy cheese.

  Ornol roared out: “Queasy in the gut, youngster? Haw!"

  Rollo said in a faint voice: “I am perfectly well, thank you.” His voice quavered. “Are these contraptions safe?"

  Now he didn't know it; but a few seasons ago that would have been a question of the utmost significance. These days we could buy reliable vollers from Hamal. “Safe?” bellowed Ornol, his whiskery, leathery face creasing in enjoyment. “If she breaks down you can always get out and push."

  Rollo closed his eyes and clung on.

  I said: “Who's in the other voller?"

  He told me their names and I groaned. A bunch of hulus all right, tough, hard kampeons, fanatically loyal to me. Somehow or other enough of a word had got out so that these lads had flown down here. I'd have the devil of a job to persuade them not to fly with me but to go home.

  “Where are we going, jis?” demanded Loptyg from the controls.

  “For a start, Loptyg you fambly, you and all the rest are going home to Vallia. You belong in ESW and EYJ and not lollygagging about Loh."

  An uncanny silence followed.

  They were up to a scheme, no doubt of it. The jurukkers in my Guard Corps, guardsmen of superlative worth, toughened by seasons of campaigns and a score of battles won, formed a corps d'elite I had not wished into existence. They had formed themselves to protect me, the Emperor of Vallia. Now I'd shuffled off that job onto Drak he had his own guards. Whatever titles might be used, the units that formed the old ESW and EYJ now considered they served me, personally, and not Drak as emperor. And, by Vox, there was nothing sensible I could do about the situation.

  They'd have to go home; I couldn't have even this handful traipsing about Tsungfaril. Later, probably inevitably, they would be called on.

  Ornol coughed and said: “You will take us, jis? When you go adventuring?"

  I fixed him with my eye. “You know I can't, Ornol. What are you now?” I glanced at his rank badges which are different in the emperor's juruk from those in use in the general army. That was my attempt not to have lower ranks in a guard corps counting as higher than those in the line, a system of some dubiety. “A ley Hikdar?H'm, you've flown high lately."

  “But—"

  “You are a ley Hikdar serving in the Emperor's Ye
llow Jackets. Your duty lies to the emperor—the Emperor Drak. I am no longer the Emperor of Vallia.” I spoke firmly but as kindly as I could. “And how did you find out I was here?"

  “As to the second point, majister,"—suddenly very formal—"you know I cannot break faith. I can say the word slipped out as a new born babe slips into the world. As to the first point, the Emperor Drak, may Opaz have him in his keeping, has his own faithful juruk. We are your juruk. We guard you. We are EYJ—oh, and ESW, of course—and you are an emperor still, for all know the truth of the matter. You are the Emperor of Emperors, the Emperor of Paz."

  There it was again, the idea spreading that some idiot had to take the responsibility of welding Paz together to resist the Shanks, inter alia.

  “And how do ELC and EFB feel about this?"

  “They and the other regiments may be new in the guard; they are with us."

  “And I suppose the Empress's Devoted Life Guard is of the same mind?"

  “With Chuktar Karidge in command, who can doubt it, jis?"

  “Well, I agree with that arrangement, at the least."

  “So we can come with you—?"

  I breathed in and I breathed out. If this great rascal of a faithful guardsman thought I was caught in my own spring trap—for they can't be hoist by their own petards on gunpowderless Kregen—he'd have to be proved wrong.

  “Didn't the Lord Farris assign pilots from the Vallian Air Service?"

  Ornol suddenly looked shifty at this. I said: “By Vox! Don't tell me you chucked ‘em over the side!"

  “We wasn't very high up, jis.” Ornol spoke defensively, and Loptyg chipped in: “Not high up at all, jis."

  I groaned. What would Farris say about my crusty guardsmen throwing his smart young fliers over the side?

  Now I could see most of the way of it. After all, it is human nature to boast if you are confronted with comrades of a different service. Human nature, yes; but boasting and Dray Prescot parted company before they were acquainted. Farris, on receipt of the message from Deb-Lu, had quietly detailed a couple of his young Air Service fellows. And they couldn't help talking, boasting, over a wet in the local tavern—probably the Taylyne and Flea—and a few of my rascals had been in there too, slaking their thirsts. So the inevitable had happened. This little lot, led by Ornol Skobog, had kept their own silence successfully. They must have done. Otherwise I'd have had a sky full of vollers carrying ESW, EYJ, ELC, EFB, EZB and probably one or two more of the newer formations in the Guard Corps.