Scorpio Invasion [Dray Prescot #40]

by Alan Burt Akers

  I stole a look at my companions in the gloom of the cellar. There were thirty or so of us packed in. Their faces showed a tightness of lip and a drawing down of eyebrows revealing tension. I did not think I detected fear. Turning back to look out through the crack again, I saw Deb-Lu-Quienyin sitting comfortably with his back against the angle of wall, staring directly into my face. I could see him; the others could not.

  “Lahal, Jak. Are you enjoying yourself?"

  I smiled and both shook and nodded my head. I didn't fancy what my people would say if Prince Chaadur started talking to thin air. Deb-Lu saw that at once. He pushed his turban straight and said: “There have been delays. As you are aware, the Law of Beng Frust states that when you urgently require an article you cannot find it. In this case it seems the silver boxes chose to go black in droves.” He saw the expression on my face. “I agree, Jak. This is Most Distressing News."

  He went on: “Farris is moving mountains to re-equip with new silver boxes. The news is not good from Hamal—” Again he saw my face, and hurried on: “Princess Lela and Prince Tyfar are both well.” I felt the drain of emotion then. By Zair! What it is to love your children!

  He went on to say the Air Service was using vorlcas, the Vallian sailing ships of the air. “Also, Farris has negotiated with Nedfar for some of their famblehoys. We are putting an Armada together; it is taking time and it is not of the quality we at first imagined."

  All the same, whatever the ships, if they carried Vallian fighting men and women, and my lads of the Guard Corps—why, then, we'd smash the Shanks!

  Deb-Lu said in his wheezy old voice: “Everyone thrives here in Vallia."

  His image began to fade. Expecting him to vanish I gave a tiny nod to indicate the remberee. He thickened, momentarily, for time enough to say: “Your jurukkers are so restive, Farris may have to let them off the leash soon. That young scamp, Rollo the Runner, keeps demanding troops so that he can both follow your instructions and follow you physically."

  With that, Deb-Lu winked out and I was staring across the dusty flagstones of the kyro.

  As I thus looked, seeing nothing but the image of Deb-Lu in my retinas, I heard the gasps at my back.

  My eyes cleared.

  Touching down with elephantine grace the black hulls of two Shank flying ships settled in the centre of the kyro.

  Moglin hissed: “Someone has been seen!"

  “They know we're here, now,” snapped Fan-Si. “That's for sure."

  Larghos said: “And here they come!"

  From the black hulls like ants from an anthill the Shanks disembarked and formed ranks. Trumpets pealed. They began to march straight for us, weapons glittering, scaled armor glinting, tridents all aligned and their damned fishy shouts lifting: “Ishti! Ishti!"

  * * *

  Chapter sixteen

  This was a moment when I'd have welcomed with the utmost fervor the sight of a couple of juruks of my lads of the Guard Corps, yes, by Vox!

  As it was, we must hold to the plan and do what we could.

  “Bows!” I snapped it out, harsh and flat.

  One inestimable advantage we had. Our shootists were Bowmen and Bowmaids of Loh. Naturally, not every inhabitant of Loh is a Bowman. And not all Bowmen approach even remotely the superb skills of someone like Seg—well, that is a stupidly superfluous remark. There is, in my opinion, and a not so humble opinion at that, no archer in two worlds to rival Seg Segutorio.

  These rabbity old thoughts went whirling through my brain as our archers stood up and drew and loosed.

  From heaps of rubble, from broken walls, from gap-toothed house fronts, the dustrectium poured in.[8]

  [8 Dustrectium: As Kregen has no gunpowder, this is the word used for firepower, from bows, ballistae, catapults, etc. A.B.A.]

  Shafts, as they say in Clishdrin, blackened the sky.

  I was up there, shooting in my bow, aiming at the serried ranks of Fish Heads as they trampled forward ready to break into the final charge.

  Shanks were screeching and falling, toppling into the dust shafted clear through. Gaps were torn in their ranks. But still they came on. Extraordinarily hardy and tough are Shanks, fierce, merciless, determined to kill or enslave us all.

  “Loose! Loose!” I bellowed, plying my bow with that steady flowing rhythm so beautifully exemplified in Seg. I could match my comrade—sometimes, not often—and on this day of such a scrappy affray I shot in such wise as I think might have pleased Seg.

  The smell of blood would be rising from the bodies left in the rear of the charge, the stink of raw green ichor, the blood flowing in the veins of the Fish Heads. Their noise increased as they rushed on.

  Larghos the Throstle put down his bow. He reached for his strangdja.

  I agreed. I let rip one last shot that pierced a Fish Head waving a banner all green and gold, and as he pitched over onto his fishy face I snatched up the trident placed ready to hand.

  The two flying ships that had landed to disgorge this bunch lifted off.

  There had been, I estimated, something like a hundred and fifty Shank soldiers landed. We had wreaked fearful destruction in them. The survivors screeched on, undeterred, and in the next instant we were at hand strokes.

  They tried to clamber over the rubble, to poke their tridents through the gaps through which we had shot. The stinking effluvium of rotten fish gusted over us. We held that first rush. They did not have the strength to overwhelm us in a single impetuous onslaught. We held them and drove them back, and corpses piled up before our defenses.

  The instant they fell back I roared: “Bows!"

  Once more the sleeting rain of death poured into them.

  A swift glance up confirmed my suspicions of their next obvious step—or, rather, next two steps.

  Two more flying ships were coasting in for a landing, and two more were curving overhead to pass directly above us. From those black hulls the fire pots would tumble down to burn us out.

  Well, that last would not be all that easy. The ruins we had chosen were pretty well destroyed, burned shells. We had to hold this next frontal attack. After that, well, I decided to wait to see if we did hold the Fish Heads—or if they swamped us.

  Fresh troops disembarked. They formed their rigid lines. The wink and glitter of weapons, the flutter of green and gold flags, the racket of their trumpets—huge conch shells banded in gold—all were calculated to drive us witless with fear. I thought it apt for us to make our presence felt in other ways besides simply killing Shanks.

  I roared it out, forcefully, shouting at the enemy.

  “Paz! Paz!"

  Others took up the cry. We hurled our defiance back in their fishy faces. Then I heard another word being yelled out, a word spurting above the noise, shafting like an arrow at the foe.

  “Paz! Chaadur! Paz! Chaadur!"

  Well, now...

  We shot them as they stormed in again. We cut them down as they tried to get at us. We held them. Good red blood ran to mingle with the green. But we held them.

  From around the Kyro arrows fleeted into their ranks. The two fliers lifted off and another two touched down. This time I judged the Shanks put out only fifty men from the two. Maybe that was it. Maybe the other four fliers were fighting ships and not troop carriers. If so, then our chances had been immeasurably increased. Surely, we eight hundred in cover ought to see off four hundred charging across the open?

  But, then, these were Shanks doing the charging.

  I said to Larghos and Moglin: “We have held them twice. They will come in again, probably two or three times. But they are weaker and growing ever weaker still. You will hold them. I am off to put the final part of the plan into operation."

  “Quidang, prince!"

  The leaders of the other gangs forming the army knew of the plan. In their heaps of rubble and their barricaded cellars they would fight and kill Shanks whilst I got on with it.

  “Fan-Si!” I was brisk. “Bring your half dozen girls and follow me."
<
br />   Eight of us, we climbed back through the ruined buildings. At the rear a small party under Deldar Tongo the Lash kept lookout. They reported no single sign of an enemy to our rear. I sent them all but two back to reinforce the front.

  “That is one thing I've noticed about Schtarkins,” I told Fan-Si and her girls as we hauled the branches and leaves away. “They tend to stick to a frontal attack, and to what they've decided. I've an idea the Shants, who are not quite like the Shanks, are more flexible."

  Quickly we had the camouflage removed and I jumped up into the voller with a most abbreviated observation of the fantamyrrh. The girls followed smartly. I'd gone through the drills with them a number of times and they knew what to do.

  A most careful look up was necessary. I didn't want to rise out of the ruins slap bang under a Shank flier.

  Feeling the significance of the occasion I pushed the controls over and we floated up steadily until I could hold her level with the shattered top of the wall. A Shank was just flying past, going towards the Kyro, about two hundred feet above us. I let him go. There were two more being busy dropping fire pots over on the other side. We were in the clear.

  Instantly I shoved the levers over to full lift and speed and up we soared into the mingled streaming lights of the Suns of Scorpio.

  To breathe clean sweet air again! The stink of the battle blew away from my nostrils. The noise from below flowered up obscenely; but we flew high and fast above in the pure air.

  So rapidly we rose, I was able to soar up above that Shank who'd been heading into the square. Fan-Si, very commanding, very strict, hurled the first fire pot.

  “Smack in the Heart!” she exclaimed in glee. The Heart is the word often employed in archery-conscious Loh to designate the Chunkrah's Eye.

  The Shanks down there were smart. Our fire pot went up and over the side; but Fan-Si's girls were hurling down more and as I drove on towards the other fliers the fellow below us began to burn.

  Greasy black smoke wafted away as he turned, trying to find a place to land.

  I banged the coaming. “Come on! Come on!” We sprang on, the air buffeting us, and I the only one whose hair rippled in the breeze.

  Trust Fan-Si to choose all Fristle fifis for this task!

  The Shanks had seen us. They began to rise. Well, now was the time to see if Farris had given me a splendid craft, or only a good one. I knew she was not of the fastest; but in a game like this, maneuver and lift were the key factors, unlike a normal airplane, more like a Harrier.

  Hurtling headlong on through thin air I brought the voller across the nearest Shank as he rose. Arrows flicked up and fell away. The short Shank bows were of little use in these conditions, no matter how effective they might be from the Shank sailing ships of the oceans. The fifis dropped firepots. The second Fish Face burned.

  Now we were over the kyro. Down there Shank bodies strewed the flagstone everywhere. The quick decision made, I turned slightly to get at the third Shank aloft; the two on the ground would have to wait.

  I yelled: “Look around for the other ships. There should be five."

  Fan-Si shrieked: “I cannot see them!"

  “Well, we'll have this shint before us first.” With that our voller crossed clear along the Shank from stern to stem and the fire pots burned down.

  Back we turned, a slewing broadside turn in the air, and went haring back across the kyro.

  The fliers down there attempted to get off. They did not succeed.

  They burned.

  Now we could give our full attention to the search for the remaining five Shank flying ships.

  Fan-Si spotted three of them, at last, going fast and low over the ground some way off, heading away from the city.

  “What in a Herrelldrin Hell are they up to?” I growled.

  Then I saw. Beneath the Shanks tiny dots ran and stumbled, and fell.

  One of the gangs had broken and fled. I did not know who commanded, nor did I really wish to know, not then.

  “The last two!” I roared. “Where the hell are they?"

  This time Finsi the Silver cried out, pointing. Yes, there they were, flying high and fast, heading northeast.

  “They're running!” I exclaimed in wonder.

  All I could do now was drive as fast as possible after the three fliers tormenting the Pazzians on the ground as they fled.

  Many dots lay on the grass and did not move.

  We soared on and I climbed up for altitude.

  “Report fire pot situation."

  Fan-Si, instantly, said: “We have twenty left."

  Good girl! She was a capital first lieutenant!

  The three Shanks ahead were rising. They circled once, and I tensed as their prows pointed towards us. They continued their swing until their sterns showed. Then they flew away.

  The only explanation I could find for this odd conduct was that they'd lost their landing force entirely, and suspected there were more aerial forces on our side about to be committed. After all, we'd popped up out of nowhere, giving them an almighty shock. They'd weighed their chances. They'd lost their landing force and half their aerial force. They might be rigid and might blindly follow through a plan once committed; in this situation they had the sense to know when to pull out.

  I stood at the controls, easing the speed down, and watched the Fish Heads as they flew off. I know my face bore a brooding malevolent look of intolerant determination. They might have gone for now; they'd be back!

  When they did, we'd either have to be a long way away, or be ready for them.

  Gently I swung the voller back to the ruined city of Clovangjin.

  A lot of clearing up would be necessary. There would be pain at good folk dead. Dulled though that pain might be by our undeniable victory, the agony would remain.

  Somberly I brought the voller to earth at the side of the kyro. Larghos, Moglin, a whole crowd of people flooded out, flocking about us, cheering and waving their weapons. Someone yelled: “Hai, Jikai!” and that great cry was taken up until the square rang with sound. That jubilant noise rose above the stink of blood, both red and green, over the strewn bodies, Shanks and Pazzians, soared up like a benediction.

  Hai Jikai!

  * * *

  Chapter seventeen

  “Shank ships lie shattered, fly scattered, over the burning land:

  Fish Faces fall fear-filled as Chaadur our Chief has planned."

  Thus sang Larghos the Throstle, warbling a spritely tune for so doggerel a verse. Still, I felt his stanzas might improve with time and polishing. The most important factor was simply that these people were able to sing about their exploits. A legend was in the making.

  All the same, even if this little gang calling itself an army was in the legend-fabricating business, we couldn't hang around Clovangjin much longer. If I knew my Shanks—as I did, I did, to my sorrow!—they'd be back mob-handed.

  The survivors of the gang that had broken were rounded up and parceled out among the other gangs. I took pains to impress upon these folk the example thus set: “Turn your back on an enemy and you're done for.” I was now deliberately bringing down the inflated image of Prince Chaadur, deflating the pompousness. I spoke hard. “You have proved you can beat Shanks. Next time you fight ‘em, remember that."

  So, now, we marched in the blaze of the suns, singing of our victory.

  Clovangjin lay to our rear; our faces were turned towards the mountains. Had we hung around the ruined city the Shanks would surely have discovered us. This time they'd arrive in overwhelming numbers. Quite apart from the little fact that we'd all be dead or slaves, a defeat for this army now would set back my plans. To clear the entire mountain and valley area out I saw, belatedly, was for the moment beyond our strength. Patience, growing strength, more patience and then the time to strike—all very well and laudable in guerrillas.

  That whole process was going to be far too slow for me.

  Having got the show on the road, I turned back to the city where the
voller nestled hidden in the rubble. Flying on over the column I looked down to see my little army trudging along, waving up to me, very blasé about airboats now. I smiled. Scouting ahead and keeping a most wary eye open for the first sight of tiny dots in the sky in any direction, I soon picked a likely spot for our first camp. Setting the flier down between bushes I trusted she'd be safe until I returned, then I started back for the army.

  Fan-Si wanted to mock me for slogging along in the dust with them when I could have waited for them to turn up and guided them the last few ulms. Moglin tut-tutted. Larghos had stopped singing, and now he said: “My throat is drier than the Glarkie Dunes.” This was one of the names given to the desert to the east over She of the Sundering. Larghos went on: “If anyone should ride in the boat of the air it should be the musical artist."

  Someone threw a small pebble at him, and we all laughed.

  Still, Larghos had a point.

  I said: “I would gladly ferry you all in relays. But there are two reasons against that. One is that continuous flying is going to attract unwelcome attention.” I stared back at the people following; none of them offered a comment. “The other is that you'll get fat and lazy if you fly everywhere. You must toughen your muscles and learn endurance."

  Fan-Si's comment, I suppose, could be rendered in a very weak terrestrial play on words, so that I could report she said: “Endurance, yeah, en-durance vile."

  No one threw a stone at the Fristle fifi.

  We made camp just as the twin suns sank, illuminating the rocks and gulleys with a medley of greens and reds, streaming long shadows, and concealed our cook fires with slabs of rock. Sentries stood watch and watch as normal. By the morning when we breakfasted cold, everyone lay in good hidden positions. No one spoke. As the morning wore on so the tension grew. Luz and Walig scaled the Kregen sky. A few wisps of vapor coiled and disappeared. Beetles and insects scuttled over the ground.