Krozair of Kregen [Dray Prescot #14]

by Alan Burt Akers

  I gave him a brief—a very brief—résumé of what had happened to me after we'd parted. He expressed a desire to twist Gafard's neck a little. We had both been employed by Gafard, the King's Striker, the Sea Zhantil, who was the hateful King Genod's right-hand man, when we'd been renegades, as Gafard himself was a renegade. When I told Duhrra that the Lady of the Stars had, at last, been kidnapped by King Genod's men, he thumped his left fist against the dirt and swore. When I told him that the Lady of the Stars was dead, callously hurled from the back of a fluttrell by the king when the saddle-bird had been injured, and Genod thought himself about to die, Duhrra simply sat on the ground. He ran a little dust through his fingers onto the dust of the ground. His head was bowed.

  At last, he said, “I shall not forget."

  I did not tell Duhrra of the Days that this great and wonderful lady, who had been called his Heart, his Pearl, by Gafard, and who had loved him in return, was my own daughter Velia, princess of Vallia.

  My Delia, my Delia of Delphond, my Delia of the Blue Mountains, waited for me in my island Stromnate of Valka, that beautiful island off the main island of Vallia. I yearned to return to her. Yet I was under an interdiction. Until I had once more made myself a member of the Order of Krozairs of Zy I would not be allowed to leave the Eye of the World. Whether or not it was the Star Lords or the Savanti who chained me here, I did not know, although Zena Iztar had indicated it was not the work of the Star Lords. Well, I would become a Krozair of Zy once more and escape from the inner sea and return to Valka. Before I did that I fancied I would bring this evil king Genod to justice. So, having done all these marvelous and wonderful feats and proved just how great a man I was, I would go home. I would go home and race up the long flight of stairs in the rock from the Kyro of the Tridents, leap triumphantly onto the high terrace of my palace of Esser Rarioch overlooking the bay and Valkanium and I would clasp my Delia in my arms again. Oh, yes. I would do all this. And then—and then I would have to tell her that her daughter Velia was dead.

  It is no wonder that on this dreadful occasion I found less thrusting desire to go back to Valka and Delia than I'd ever experienced before. I must return. I must tell my Delia and then comfort her as she would comfort me. It was not just a duty, it was what love prompted. But it was hard, abominably hard.

  Duhrra was telling me about his new hand and I roused myself. I had to plan and think. My thoughts had run ahead. Here we were, still chained oar-slaves in a swifter of Magdag.

  “...locks with a twist so cunning you'd never know. Look."

  I looked. Duhrra's right stump had been covered with a flesh-colored extension that looked just like a wrist and the hard mechanical hand looked not unlike a real hand. He could press the fingers into different positions with his left hand. He kept it hooked so that he could haul on the manette of the oar loom. I felt it and the hardness was unmistakable.

  “That's a steel hand, Duhrra—or iron."

  The doctors of the inner sea are not, in general, quite as skilled as those of the lands of the Outer Oceans. They are good at relieving pain and can amputate with dexterity. But I did not think they were capable of producing prosthetics of this quality. Duhrra had seen Molyz the Hook Maker and this kind of work would have been quite beyond him. Duhrra had been attended to by the doctors attached to the Todalpheme of the Akhram, the mathematical astronomers who predicted the tides of Kregen, and they had fitted his stump with a socket and an assortment of hooks and blades to be slotted in. But this work here was beyond them, also. Duhrra waxed eloquent for him.

  “In Zandikar, it was, Dak. Right out of the blue. This lady says she can fix me up properly. Wonderful woman—wonderful. Gentle and charming and—well, you can see what she did."

  “You saw her do it?"

  “No. Somehow—duh, master—I do not know! She looked into my eyes and then she laughed and told me I might leave and I looked down—and it was all done."

  “And her name, this wonderful woman?"

  “She said she was the lady Iztar."

  I did not answer. What was Zena Iztar—whose role so far had been enigmatic in my life although I felt I owed her a very great deal—doing in thus helping Duhrra? Her machinations, I suspected, might not jibe with those of the Star Lords or those of the Savanti. She it was who had told me I might never leave the Eye of the World until I was once more a Krzy. I believed her implicitly, had not thought to question her. She, I felt, I hoped, wished me well. That would make a remarkable change here on Kregen, where I had been knocked about cruelly by Savanti and Star Lords moving behind the scenes and exerting superhuman forces. So I admired Duhrra's new hand and thought on.

  Then the selfishness of my thoughts mocked me. It was all “I"—Zena Iztar could have helped Duhrra because he was Duhrra.

  Tame-slaves threw in malsidges and we ate them, for they are a quality anti-scorbutic. We settled down to sleep and I had a deal to think about; but, all the same, I slept.

  Sleep became a rare and precious commodity during the next couple of sennights, for we were employed pulling at night as well as day. The swifters called at islands for short periods and then weighed again, and once again we threw our tortured bodies against the looms of the oars. Food was short and we hungered. Men began to die. I fancied Duhrra would last this kind of punishment well, and the Kataki had reserves of strength on which to call. For Fazhan ti Rozilloi the work became harder and harder; but with all the gallantry of a true crimson-faril he struggled on, refusing to be beaten. The young man Vax stuck to his work with stoical fury, sullen, with a smoldering anger in him hurtful to me. We were not flogged more than any other set on any other loom. But we lost Lorgad the Rapa. One day he could not pull any more, and the flogging lash merely made his dead body jump. He was unchained and heaved overboard, and a fresh man took his place.

  He was short, and he took the apostis seat, chunky, and with a black bar look about the eyebrows, and a pug nose that was of the Mountains of Ilkenesk south of the inner sea. Yet he was a Zairian, an apim, and he contrived to give Rukker the Kataki a cunning slash with his chains as the whip-Deldars bundled him across.

  Rukker bellowed and shook his chains.

  I saw the chain between him and Duhrra pull taut. The chain between Duhrra and me began to pull. The link on which we had been working bent. It began to open. I cursed foully, loudly, unable to get at Rukker past Duhrra.

  “Sit back, you stinking Kataki cramph! You tailed abomination! Sit down or I'll cave your onkerish head in!"

  He swung back to glare with murderous fury at me. The whip-Deldars bashed away at the new man's chains. Duhrra tried to sit back as well, to release the pressure on the chains. It was a moment when all hell might have broken loose.

  One whip-Deldar flicked his lash—almost idly—at me and I endured it. I bellowed again, something about Katakis and rasts and tails, and whispered to Duhrra, “Tell him, Duhrra! Get the gerblish onker to sit down!"

  Duhrra leaned across and his rumble would have told the whole bank if I had not started yelling with the pain of the lash. It was not altogether a fake. Vax looked at me in surprise. I yelled some more. And then Duhrra must have got the message across, for Rukker slapped himself back on the bench, whipping his tail up out of the way, and the strain came off the chain.

  When the whip-Deldars had gone, he started to rumble at me, “You called me many things, Dak, and I shall not forget them—"

  “You would have ruined all, Rukker. You must think and plan if you wish to escape the overlords of Magdag and their slave-masters. Onker! I did what I did to make you sit down."

  Duhrra said, “Had you ruined our chances, Rukker, I would not have been pleased—duh—I would have been angry."

  Rukker glared at me again. Duhrra lifted the chain between us. Rukker looked.

  Duhrra's metal hand had worked hard and well. The bent link was on the point of parting. Rukker whistled.

  “Well, you onker! Now do you see your foolishness?"

  He did no
t like my tone. But he was a Kataki.

  Rukker said, “I understand. I will not speak of it again."

  That was Rukker the Kataki. He had this knack of putting his own mistakes and unpleasant experiences into a limbo where he chose not to speak of them. The idea of apology never entered his ferocious Kataki head.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Of Duhrra's steel hand

  “Well, Dak, apim, when is it to be?"

  Rukker's words whispered in his growly voice in the darkness. Green Magodont lay anchored somewhere or other—we oar-slaves had no idea where we were after all the comings and goings of the past days. We knew only that if we searched for a ship we had not found her.

  I said, “There is the question of this Nath the Slinger."

  “I shall break his neck the moment I am free,” said Rukker, in a comfortable way, perfectly confident.

  Nath the Slinger turned his pug-nosed face our way, looking up from the apostis seat, and scowled. He looked an independent sort of fellow, who would as soon knock your teeth out as pass the time of day. Rukker had not liked the slash from his chains.

  “We can free the link tomorrow. But we shall not let you go, Rukker, if you—"

  He bellowed at that, raising a chorus of curses from the oar-slaves about us in the darkness, weary men trying to sleep.

  “You are a nurdling onker, Rukker—why not shout out and tell the captain? I am sure he will be happy to know."

  In the starlight and the golden glow of She of the Veils the zygite bank showed enough light for me to catch the look of venomous evil on Rukker's face. But it was dark and shadowy and I could have been mistaken; I did not think I was.

  “I do not wish to discuss that, Dak. If it is tomorrow night, then—"

  “We will release you only if you swear to fight with us. Your quarrel with Nath the Slinger must wait."

  “I'll rip his tail out and choke him with it!” said Nath the Slinger, in his snarly voice.

  I sighed.

  Anger and enmity—well, they are common enough on Kregen, to be sure. But when they interfere with my own plans I am prepared to be more angry and be a better enemy than most.

  “When we have taken the swifter, you two may kill each other,” I said, pretty sharply. “And curse you for a pair of idiots."

  A voice from the bench in front whispered back.

  “If you all shout a little louder—"

  “We already said that,” said Fazhan nastily.

  “Then we will join you. The oar-master has the keys."

  Duhrra rolled his eyes at me.

  “They must think we don't know what we're about."

  “They are slaves like us. Now the word will be all over the slave benches. If there are white mice among the slaves we may be prevented before we strike."

  “White mice” is an expression from my own eighteenth-century Terrestrial Navy, meaning men among the hands who will inform to the ship's corporals and the master-at-arms. On Kregen these men are called maktikos and may sometimes be discovered among slaves who appear and disappear without apparent reason on a tier of oars, moving from bench to bench. I had wondered if Nath the Slinger might be an informer. There were plans to insure his silence once we had begun the escape. The only way to insure our safety before that was to note if he spoke to the overseers or the whip-Deldars. I fancied an apostis-seat man would experience difficulty in that.

  “Why not tonight?” rumbled Rukker. “Now?"

  “The link must be further bent."

  “I would snap it with one wrench."

  “You may try—but for the sake of Zair, do it quietly."

  Rukker leaned over Duhrra. He took the chain in his right hand and tail and heaved. The link strained open, as it had when he'd surged up before; it did not break.

  The veins stood out on that low forehead, his face grew black, his eyes glaring. He slackened his effort and panted. “Onker, Duhrra! Help me! You too, Dak!"

  So we all pulled.

  The link would not part.

  “Tomorrow,” I said.

  Duhrra said, “You were told, Rukker. Now do you believe?"

  Rukker said, “I will not speak of that."

  I did not laugh. We were going to escape, I was certain; but I could not laugh—not yet. There would be time, later...

  The next day during those periods in which we were not called on to fling every ounce of weight against the looms, Duhrra used that marvelous hand given to him by Zena Iztar. The steel fingers prised against the link like a vise. Even a steel hand that gave the hard pressure necessary would not have accomplished the bending without the superb muscles that Duhrra could bring to the task. I helped as best I could, taking the strain. We had to work surreptitiously. The bent link was camouflaged by a mixture of odoriferous compounds I will not detail and it passed the daily inspection, for a strong pull on it resulted merely in the usual melancholy clang. The whip-Deldars suspected nothing. They were always on the watch, for slavery makes a man either dully stupid or viciously frenzied.

  I said to Rukker, “Once we are free, everything must be done at top speed. The slaves will yell and cry out and demand to be freed. You will not be able to silence them. They have no idea at all, in moments like that, beyond the hunger to strike off their chains. So we must be quick."

  “I'll silence—"

  “You will not. You will take the whip-Deldars. We need weapons. I will see to the oar-master."

  “I give the orders, Dak. This is my escape."

  “I don't give a damn whose escape it is. But if you foul it up I'll pull your tail off myself."

  I had warned him, earlier, not to be too free with his tail. He could have upended a whip-Deldar easily enough. They did not carry the keys, as the onker of a slave in front of us had said. If a Kataki used his tail too much in a swifter the overlords would simply chop it off. I had told Rukker this. He had heeded my advice.

  So we planned out our moves exactly, each man assigned his part. I listened as Nath the Slinger spoke, in short harsh sentences. I came to the conclusion that he was not a maktiko, that he might be trusted.

  The day seemed endless. Green Magodont pulled frenziedly in one direction for a bur; then we rested on our oars for another. Then we set off at slow cruise in a different direction and suddenly we were called on for every effort, and as suddenly relieved and sent back to slow cruise. I fancied we were dodging about among islands and shooting out past a headland in a surprise attack that resulted always in nothing. If the Grodnims sought a ship, as I suspected, her captain played them well in this game of hide-and-seek. Duhrra told me he had come from the swifter Vengeance Mortil, where he and Vax had been the two slaves chained together to push against the loom. I did wonder if Gafard's Volgodont's Fang led this squadron, for our swifter was not the flagship.

  One item I should mention here, for it would affect our manner of escape, showed how either development was taking place in the swifters of the inner sea, or the overlords of Magdag were running short of iron; or, very likely, were conscious of the need to lighten their galleys. There was no great chain that connected all the chains of the inboard slaves. We would have to release the locks of each set separately. This would take time. There would be no release of the locks of the great chain thus freeing all the slaves the moment the great chain had been passed through their chains. It was a factor to be figured into my calculations.

  “By Zinter the Afflicted!” rasped Nath. “Is the work finished?” We lay on our oars as the gloom deepened about us and Green Magodont rocked gently with the evening sounds from an island nearby reaching us mutedly—the cries of birds, mostly, with occasionally the coughing roar of a beast of prey, and then, sometimes, the shrill scream of its quarry, telling us we were anchored well into the island up a river mouth. The chinks of light that streamed their opaz radiance into our prison waned as the suns sank.

  “We will escape,” said Vax. He spoke seldom and he was, as we all could see, obsessed by s
ome consuming inner torment.

  “Then praise Zair,” said Fazhan. “I do not think I could last another day.” He coughed, too weakly for my liking. “My old father would weep to see me now."

  Vax let rip with a rude sound, and a coarse observation about fathers in general and his devil cramph of a father in particular. The venom in his voice gave me hope that he would fling some of that diabolic energy into the coming fight.

  “I do not care to hear you talk thus of your father—” began Fazhan. It was clear to me that Fazhan had been brought up in the best circles of Rozilloi and was, in the terminology of Earth, a gentleman, although the peoples of the inner sea have a trifle different set of gentlemen from the horters of Havilfar and the koters of Vallia.

  “You did not know my rast of a sire,” said Vax, most evilly. “And neither did I, for he died just before I was born."

  This did not accord with what Duhrra believed; but it was of no moment then as the whip-Deldars ran screeching among us, lashing with their whips, and the whistles blew and the drum-Deldar crashed out his double-beat. In the gathering gloom the swifter made a last try to trap the elusive vessel that caused the Grodnims so much trouble and us oar-slaves so much agony.

  Green Magodont did not catch the quarry.

  “I do not know,” Vax had said as we bent to our loom, “if I wish my foul father was here with me now. I would not know if I should slay him at once and thus purge his evil crimes, or if I should allow him to live so that he might suffer as I suffer."