Warlord of Antares

by Alan Burt Akers

His speech was still slurred, his eyes clouded. There was nothing I could do to bring him out of his tranced state. In matters that did not touch upon Csitra, he appeared to be himself. He announced his intention of going hunting on the morrow. First thing. The woman, Lady Lara, and the blue-gowned mage, San Urfenger, joined in the conversation. The sheer matter-of-factness of these people’s conduct might have amazed me but for the malignancy now plain in Mergondon. During the talk of this evening’s banquet and the hunt tomorrow his caustic interjections obtruded the reality of what passed here.

  A silver gong note sounded muffled. The chamberlain skipped off toward the wall of silver mirrors and one swiveled open. He went through the opening and a moment or so later returned in a hurry bearing a sheet of paper.

  “Yes, Hursey?” said Loriman, extending his hand.

  “Bad news, pantor, very bad news.”

  Loriman took the paper, read and then looked up with a deal of his old bash-on regardless temper flaring.

  “It is from the Emperor Pelleham. The capital is attacked by a swarm of airboats. He commands our instant assistance. This changes all.”

  “Those devils the Bloody Menahem are attacking us already?” exclaimed the Lady Lara.

  Loriman crackled the paper in his fist.

  “The emperor does not mention the Bloody Menahem.”

  They started up a babble of talk amongst themselves.

  I said: “It is not the Bloody Menahem. These vollers are Shanks.”

  Mergondon ground out: “It is of no concern to us.”

  “But yes, san,” said Urfenger, turning those white crescents of eyes upon the Lohvian sorcerer. “It touches us deeply. We must assist the emperor.”

  “If they are Shanks or devils from Menaham, we must hunt them all down!” roared Loriman.

  I said: “A Vallian air fleet has been hunting these Shanks. If a message can be got to them...”

  “That is beyond my powers,” said Urfenger.

  Loriman, Lady Lara and I looked at Mergondon.

  He said: “I do nothing without the authority of the sana.”

  “But—” I began.

  “Queyd-arn-tung!”[5]

  “Hursey,” rapped out Loriman. “Carry this news to the Sana Csitra. Hurry!”

  “At once, pantor.”

  So, there we all waited like patients outside a dentist’s door until the great sorceress made her entrance.

  She had changed into a gown of crimson and gold, all glitter and sliding ruby gleams. Her hair was coiffed up and smothered with gems. She did, indeed, look magnificent with her golden eyelids and golden fingernails; I did not care for her at all but had I done so I would have preferred her as she’d looked earlier.

  The situation was plain enough and she nodded her head and pursed up her lips. She gave an excellent portrayal of a great princess deciding upon the destinies of nations, and well aware that an audience studied her every move.

  “This is, sana, after all,” spluttered Mergondon into the argument, “no concern of ours.”

  “But, sana,” protested Loriman, almost as vitally alive as he used to be. “These villains of the air will destroy our city and—”

  “I agree it is no concern of ours.” Her voice like cut glass chiming, silenced the babble. She turned that queenly head to regard me. Her eyes — they were green at the moment — veiled as the golden eyelids descended. She knew exactly what she was doing.

  “And you, dearest Dray. What do you say?”

  I said: “If a message may be sent to the Vallian air fleet they will put down these dratted Shanks.”

  “A message?”

  “Mergondon can do it. So, too, can you. You have proved it often enough in the past.”

  “Yes, I did, did I not? I once spoke to you, I recall, through the lips of a corpse.”

  “Yes.”

  “Should I do it? Why should I do it?”

  “The Shanks are enemies to us all.”

  “They have not harmed me.”

  “Yet.”

  “You are then so sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She pursed up her lips again, very coquettish, very undecided, a maiden unable to choose between two pretty hats.

  “I can easily send a message to your aerial fleet, my love. I can do so at once.”

  “Then I give you my thanks—”

  “Oh, dear heart! I want much more than that!”

  So, then, I saw it all and the pit and the way I had fallen headlong down upon the stakes.

  Slowly, she nodded, and her little finger touched the corner of her mouth, and dragged down the lower lip.

  “That is right, Dray. I will do what you ask when you promise me you will do what I want.”

  I closed my eyes.

  The capital city of Yumapan, wonderful and splendid as it no doubt was, the safety of Emperor Pelleham’s domains, were not the issue at stake here. If we could smash or disperse that Shank fleet that had been plaguing Pandahem we would have struck a powerful blow and given ourselves another valuable breathing space for the greater battles ahead. Politics and love, well, they mix at times like oil and water and at others are inseparably intertwined.

  I could deny this woman what she wanted and allow the Leem Lovers to devastate a city, a country. I could. I did not think the latter action was that of a man.

  The obvious thought occurred to me. Any promise made under duress is not binding. Poor Harold of England was hooked on that one by William the Bastard. I could promise this woman anything and then repudiate my word. I could.

  I most certainly would not — could not — repudiate Delia.

  “Very well,” I said, speaking as evenly as I could. Her head went up. Her hands half-lifted. Her nostrils flared. She must have heard that constricting choke in my voice.

  “You swear?”

  If my hands shook now I was done for.

  I answered very smartly. Any shilly-shallying now, any words like: “Is swearing necessary between us?” and prevarication, and this woman would know I lied.

  “I swear.”

  It meant nothing.

  She smiled now and it was as though honey dripped from her mouth. “I will send the message myself. I know how to find your grand fleet well enough, and to direct them to Yumakrell. This fellow Pelleham should be relieved.”

  San Urfenger fairly jumped forward. “Thank you, sana, thank you. And we must all ride to join the fight.”

  She looked at him with the vacant air of one who discovers an itch on the back of the neck during an important affair. “Ride? Ah, yes. And you, kov, will wish to ride to the rescue, also?”

  “Yes, sana.”

  “I shall retire to the private rooms you have placed at my disposal. When I have done as the emperor of emperors, Dray Prescot, requires of me, we shall take the voller and fly away to mutual happiness. Dernun?”

  “Understood, sana. And I thank you.”

  The whole thing, this whole business, from the moment she’d made her entrance to now, had been conducted on a passionless plane of logic, of bowing to the inevitable. I sensed that any display of emotion would smudge the effect as of mud upon a bright canvas. There were other ways of chicanery, I’d discovered, to deal with this pitiless progress.

  Her departure was as grand as her entrance. We all stood to watch her go, and I did not doubt that she would contact the Vallian air fleet and direct them to their quarry.

  After that we two were to fly off in the voller to everlasting happiness. Ha!

  I said: “Kov, I gather this Eye of Imladiel is your hunting lodge?”

  “It is.”

  I walked to the table and sat down. “Then perhaps you would be good enough to order food. I think we must all be starving.”

  “At once, majister, at once.” He was properly subservient as a kov to a great and puissant emperor of emperors. Anyway, how the hell had Csitra got hold of that?

  The serving wenches brought in food, and splendid though it was I rammed it down
and quaffed without taking notice of the viands at all. Mergondon remained sullen. Csitra had said he did not possess the power to harm her; I assumed she was right but was not prepared to risk much on it.

  I’d thrown off the grand golden cape and was in the act of raising a goblet to my lips when Loriman stood up. His face bore all the old look of intemperate authority, scarlet and glowing, and the scales had fallen from his eyes. I knew then that Csitra had done as she had promised.

  “Jak the Bogandur!” ground out Loriman. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I am glad to see you still alive, kov.”

  “Of course I’m alive, you rast! And now we may settle the differences between us.”

  My first reaction was one of amusement. Then I felt annoyance. Loriman had vowed not to fight me until we were both safe out of the Coup Blag. He suffered from feelings of loss of dignity, he fancied I had slighted him, and he thirsted after redress. Well, now we were both safely out of the Coup Blag. He drew his rapier and glared at me.

  “On guard, you cramph, and by Hito the Hunter, I shall spit you through.”

  “Lord!” croaked out Urfenger. “Please—”

  “Silence, san! This is a matter of honor.”

  “Look, Loriman,” I said, and I still sat and I did not draw my sword. “You have to go fight the Shanks—”

  “They will still be there when I have taught you the lesson you so richly—”

  “—deserve,” I said, thoroughly fed-up. “All right, you onker, so be it. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I drew my rapier and main gauche and we set to. He was a fine swordsman, as I knew; but I’d already seen him in action and knew his mettle and standard. His tricks were cunning and used with power; my counters were just that sufficient fraction more diabolical and more powerful. We circled and the blades clashed and rang and I cut the leather straps holding his armor and then the tunic and so, carefully, ribboned his clothes. He sweated and roared and grew sweatily more and more scarlet and then I disarmed him with a turn and a flick and placed the point of the rapier at his breast.

  “Do you bare the throat, Loriman?”

  His idea of honor was perfectly sufficient for him to bellow defiance and allow me to slay him. I knew that.

  I said: “I told you, Loriman, that our mutual enemies are the Shanks. I shall not kill you, for you have much fighting ahead against the Fishheads.”

  “You shame, me, you — you—”

  “Not so.”

  San Urfenger appeared, a blue-robed shadow in the corners of our eyes.

  “Majister, your pardon.” He moved closer to Loriman. “Pantor, you do ill to cross the will of the emperor of emperors, the emperor of all Paz.”

  Loriman’s eyes rolled whitely. He licked ineffectively at spittle drooling from his lip. “The emperor...?”

  It was clear to me, although not to Urfenger, that the lifting of the spell on Loriman had canceled out his recent memories of me. He started to shake. He began to stand up and pull away from my rapier point.

  “At this moment,” said Urfenger, “the Shanks attack Yumakrell and the life of the Emperor Pelleham is in danger. It is there our duty lies, kov.”

  “Emperor of Paz?” said Loriman. He looked wild, enraged, as though monstrously cheated. “Jak the Bogandur — Dray Prescot?”

  “Aye,” I said, and flicked the rapier away and held out my hand. “And a friend.”

  We were held by this pretty drama, locked into a circle of desires and dying hatreds and burgeoning new horizons. A crimson and golden movement heralded Csitra’s entrance. She glowed with vitality and beauty and the inner ecstasy of ultimate victory. Sweet the triumph in her breast!

  The Lady Lara gave a squeal of alarm.

  My gaze switched around. Mergondon stood with legs braced wide, a look of demoniac hatred upon his face and a crossbow leveled full on me. His finger tightened upon the latch.

  “No!”

  The scream of a tormented soul burst from Csitra.

  She flung herself forward, arms wide, red hair flowing, flung herself full before me.

  The crossbow bolt entered her breast, pierced her through.

  Loriman’s voice smashed out above the screams.

  “Guards! Feather him, and feather the Chulik whose bow he took! Bratch!”

  Instantly a score of bolts ripped Mergondon and the poor stupefied Chulik guard to shreds.

  Loriman swung back to face me, face engorged, brilliant with anger and resolve.

  “You see, Dray Prescot, how I dealt with you in all honor?”

  “Aye.”

  “For the future — give me time.”

  “Until the Shanks arrive in full force. Until then only. Dernun?”

  “Quidang!”

  So, then, I bent to Csitra, the Witch of Loh, who had given her life for me out of misguided love.

  Blood dribbled from her mouth. She moved a hand, the fingers curling like petals. I took her hand, and pressed, and so stared down upon her.

  “You see, Dray my dearest, how it was? All my arts could not prevent it. The Seven Arcades call.”

  “Csitra,” I said, and could not go on.

  “Oh, yes. You will live. You are the Emperor of Emperors, the Emperor of Paz—”

  “That is nothing.”

  “It is. And there is — the empress...”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes dulled over. She gripped my hand and the strength passed from her fingers. Her head lolled lower.

  “You did love me, Dray, didn’t you?”

  I looked down on her and I knew, even then, even in that charged moment, that I could not lie where the lie touched my Delia, my Delia of Delphond, my Delia of the Blue Mountains.

  I opened my mouth and saw that there was no need for an answer.

  She was gone, gone down to the Ice Floes of Sicce to be met by the Gray Ones and to make her way through the mists and so seek the pathway to the sunny uplands beyond. I hoped her journey through the Seven Arcades would be accomplished without pain. She had suffered pain in her mortal life and now she was gone I wished her well.

  So died Csitra, the Witch of Loh.

  Thus ended the Witch War.

  Epilogue

  “Thus ended the Witch War.”

  With these words the tape from Dray Prescot whispered to silence.

  I just sat, half slumped forward in the wing armchair, and stared at the cassette player; but I saw — oh, I saw the rolling plains of Segesthes, the treacherous jungles of Pandahem, the glitter and rush of swifters upon the Eye of the World in Turismond, the riotous confusion of the Sacred Quarter in Ruathytu, the glisten along the canals and boulevards of Vondium, the Bravo Fighters swaggering in the enclave city of Zenicce.

  And, too, I saw Aphrasöe the Swinging City and a simple leaf boat with a Scorpion for crew sailing down the River Aph where Dray Prescot’s adventures on the fascinating world of Kregen began.

  From that beginning until now there have been over two and a half million words in Dray Prescot’s narrative.

  Many people have passed before us limned in the magic fire of imagination, men and women of forms unknown to this Earth, people of heroic stature and trembling cowards, rogues and fools, ordinary folk trying to live ordinary decent lives, adventurers and swashbucklers, men and women of a diversity to make up a whole planet.

  We have tried to discover the mysteries of the Savanti and the Star Lords and with Prescot have abused their spy and messenger the Gdoinye knowing that the blue fire of the Scorpion hovers, close and menacing...

  For the moment I have received no more tapes from Dray Prescot.

  There is not a shadow of doubt in my mind that he is upon Kregen now deeply involved with the many projects under his hand, still defying the Shanks, still attempting to reach an understanding with the Star Lords, still trying to complete all the manifold tasks besetting him.

  Oh, no; Dray Prescot with Delia — Delia of Delphond, Delia of the Blue Mountains
— and his family and friends still battles on, undefeated and defiant under the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio.

  Alan Burt Akers

  A Glossary to the Witch War Cycle

  Compiled by Els Withers.

  References to the five books of the cycle are given as:

  WWK Werewolves of Kregen

  WOK Witches of Kregen

  SOV Storm over Vallia

  OOK Omens of Kregen

  WOA Warlord of Antares

  NB: Previous glossaries covering items not included here can be found in Volume 5: Prince of Scorpio, Volume 7: Arena of Antares, Volume 11: Armada of Antares, Volume 14: Krozair of Kregen, Volume 18: Golden Scorpio, Volume 22: A Victory for Kregen, Volume 26: Allies of Antares, and Volume 32: Seg the Bowman.

  A

  agio: a custom practiced by mercenaries of putting their wealth into a common pot before a battle, those sharing it out being fewer than those contributing.

  Alexeyim’s trakir: a hefty sliver of iron sharpened at both ends and hurled in battle by the Alexeyim to deadly effect.

  Alloran, Kov Vodun of Kaldi: Sent by Prescot to liberate southwest Vallia. Became a traitor and tried to usurp the throne of Vallia under the influence of Arachna, but upon her death became once again loyal. SOV

  Applica the Bounteous, Temple of: a temple in Rashumsmot. WWK

  Arachna: a sorceress of mixed Kataki and Kildoi ancestry who suborned Vodun Alloran; was killed by Lon the Knees. Prescot says that this is not her real name, which is too long and complex to be used conveniently. SOV

  Aramplo, San: a wizard, an adept of the Thaumaturges of Thagramond; a member of the second expedition to the Coup Blag; died on that expedition. OOK

  Ava: an island off the northwest coast of Vallia.

  Azure Strigicaw: a voller in the fleet meeting the invasion of the King of North Vallia. OOK

  B

  bacra area: a strange region of house-sized metal boxes and giant metal-eating caterpillars visited by Prescot; it holds some unknown significance for the Star Lords. WOA

  Bakan: an old name for the province of Balkan.

  Barange Fairshum: a palace in Falkerium.

  Battle of Bengarl’s Blight: the final battle in the reunification of Vallia. OOK