“You should have.”
“But it offends you.”
“It offends me more now, but what can I say?”
Little Bird wept. He clutched his waddly wazzoo, which he had managed to retain.
“I have lost gasohisgi.”
“Tony’s in the shitter too, but . . .” He touched his Columbincus again. “I don’t know why they didn’t take this.”
“They would not dare,” Yustichisqua whispered. “Perhaps you can kill us before they can.”
“What are you nuts? If I get to use it, it won’t be on us, but . . .”
“Keep silent,” Villamorticus shouted. “There will be time enough to talk when General Tarhippus arrives. Until then, I do not want any talking.”
Harris sighed. He gazed at Yustichisqua, who looked both terrified and like a holy terror. Harris winked at him. They untangled their legs and pushed up to peek above the pokiepen’s rim. They were crossing the Gulliwailit.
2
The pokiepen halted and the prisoners were jostled to their feet. Harris squinted in the sunslight as the entourage had stopped just short of the Kalugu’s main entrance — the portcullis. He could see the Deetsuneeli — the Place Where Death Crosses just beyond, the tludachi growling beneath the kaybar plank.
“Out,” Villamorticus commanded, and Harris and Yustichisqua were tossed to the bridge.
A small crowd of Trones gathered to watch the proceeding, mystified, no doubt, that an Ayelli would be treated so roughly, and that he’d be accompanied by one of their own.
“Well,” Harris said, defiantly, “I’ve already broken your fucking treaty, so I won’t stand on ceremony when the triumph is mine.”
Gasps from the crowd gave evidence of the news, which had been rumored, but now confirmed.
“You have broken nothing, Lord Belmundus,” Villamorticus said, gleefully. “I have only witnessed a Zecronisian trader pass through these gates — an Augustii spinctus, who had a warrant to do so. Ayelli can never trespass here, but . . .” He glanced at Yustichisqua. “But it is fitting this low mutt has returned home for chastisement. He shall enter and enter now, only . . .” Villamorticus touched Little Bird’s feet and the borabas disintegrated, leaving Yustichisqua in bare feet. “The tludachi are hungry, and it is feeding time.”
He pushed Yustichisqua forward. Harris tried to bolt, but was held fast by the regulati and the gondercoils. He did manage to move under the portcullis’s overhang.
“Oginali,” Yustichisqua cried. “Must I die like this?”
“No,” Harris cried. “You can’t go like this. This is shit, you know.” He kicked his captors, but they grabbed his legs. “Old man, hold tight.”
“Oginali, think of me. Do not forget your Little Bird.”
Harris trembled, weeping like an infant — unmanly and horribly out of character. He swung his body about, but his restraint was total. He watched as Villamorticus pushed Yustichisqua forward to the Deetsuneeli, the planks buckling as the tludachi sensed flesh and blood. Yustichisqua gazed back at Harris, tears in his eyes, then he smiled — and in that smile Harris knew the undying loyalty and faith of one person for another. The son of Kittowa had accepted his fate and was grateful for the days when he was privileged to be in service to the Didaniyisgi of the Yuyutlu.
Villamorticus pushed and Yustichisqua snarled, and then raised his foot for the plunge into a horrific deat. Harris prayed it would be quick. He knew it wouldn’t be painless. The foot hovered, and then . . .
. . . it never struck the plank. Two hands came from above, snatching Yustichisqua around the waist, suspending him over the plank.
“My lady,” Harris sighed, and wept now for prayers answered.
Littafulchee hovered on her zulus, her arms now snapped across Little Bird’s torso. Beside her, Cosawta outstretched his hands. The air bent and light wavered as the power of the Seneschal of Zacker swept through the portcullis and snatched Tony and gasohisgi from Villamorticus’ Cabriolin. The Warder attempted to catch the sword, but caught the dagger in his chest instead. The brashun blade quickly ripped through the flesh to the neck, and then severed the main artery, a fountain of blood covering the regulati, who tried to save their leader.
Then Harris felt a tug and the gondercoils fell.
“My lord,” came a voice.
“Elypticus?”
“We are all here.” Elypticus clutched Harris in his arms and dumped him into his Cabriolin. “We must flee.”
Harris glanced through the portcullis. Yustichisqua was safe and Cosawta wielded both brashun blades.
“No, Elypticus,” Harris said. “We must storm this place.”
“Impossible, my lord.”
Cosawta raised Tony and shot a beam to the Deetsuneeli, the planks bursting into a thousand kaybar splinters. The tludachi escaped — three Tyggers, mad with hunger, plunging their claws into the regulati and sending the Trone crowd fleeing back over the bridge — screams, howls and panic. Harris still urged Elypticus to enter, but Littafulchee, hovering, stared at him — her head ornament flashing gold — a bolt as rampant as the tludachi. It struck Harris’ Columbincus. He held his chest.
Flee my love. Flee.
Elypticus needed no further prompting. He turned the Cabriolin around, regulatis trying to stop him, probably seeking a way out before the tludachi reached them. Harris saw Melonius on the right flank and Parnasus on the left. They had been firing their Sticks at regulati on the parapet, covering Elypticus in the rescue. As the Cabriolin raced over the bridge, all three Danuwa gathered to protect their lord. Melonius shouted to Elypticus.
“The Taleenay?”
“Saved by his own kind,” Elypticus replied.
“My poor Little Bird,” Harris wept, but grasped Elypticus’ shoulders and hugged him tightly. “My dear, faithful Danuwa.”
Buhippus met them on the other side.
3
“Thank you,” Harris said to Captain Buhippus as he joined the race.
“Do not thank me, Lord Belmundus. You are not safe. Every regulati in the Yuganawu has been alerted to your capture at the Kalugu and has been mustered to escort you to your prison cell. Now that all hell has broken loose, the orders will be changed. My brother has been known to shoot to kill and to investigate after the fact.”
The Seegoniga were on their last ride together. They sped through the narrow lanes and alleys of Montjoy, uncaring who was blown over by their jets. Many minorins cursed as they passed. Many majorins shook fists. Praeters snapped their windows shut, most likely expecting a revolution, preparing to sweep their kaleezos clean of vermin.
“Where do we go?” Harris shouted across to Buhippus.
“We must split up.”
“Split up?” Parnasus asked. “There is safety in numbers.”
“That makes sense,” Melonius agreed.
“I will not argue with you, young sirs,” Buhippus growled. “If you wish to make a stand against a Yunocker army, you are welcomed to do so. I will depart your company now and seek the seclusion that a cabin grants.”
“No,” Harris said.
“But, my lord,” Elypticus protested. “We are likened to family.”
“And like family,” Harris replied, “we must assure something of us remains.” He looked to Buhippus. “We are at your mercy, captain.”
“Not so. There will be no mercy here, especially if we are caught. By separating, our target is widened and harder to hit.” He pointed to the next intersection. “Parnasus, you turn left there.” They approached. Parnasus shook his head, but when they crossed the street, he veered away, and immediately disappeared down another lane to avoid an approaching regulati squad.
“Greary Gree watch over him,” Harris said, and thought of the sacred Zacker who was interred in the temple.
“Melonius,” Buhippus shouted. “You are next. East for you, and then north to the Yuyutlu. They will seek him at the Myrkpykyn, but they must find you.”
Melonius shrugged, and when the i
ntersection approached, he nodded to Harris.
“It has been my honor, my lord.”
Harris choked back a tear, and then nodded. Melonius was gone, and Harris hoped not forever.
“I shall lead you to the boundary,” Buhippus said. “Elypticus, ride true. We will make for the invisible gate and retreat up the hill.”
“They will not let us pass,” Elypticus stated.
“We may not ask them,” Buhippus said.
Elypticus bucked, and then accelerated. Buhippus turned up the wide avenue, which led to the Ayelli. Harris braced himself for a rugged crossing. There was no question of security at this gate. It would have been alerted to events from the start and the patrols would not be fooled by fancy talk or trickery.
“We are about to die, my lord,” Elypticus said. “But remember, I have flown through the jaws of the misancorpus and survived. Perhaps we shall try the same game with the Zinbear.”
Harris shuddered at the thought of the abyss that separated the Great Hill of Greary Gree from the cetronus morbicus. It was the world of Zin — Grimakadarian’s dark beast.
“May Hedonacaria be with us,” he murmured.
“Who?” Elypticus asked.
“Someday, lad. Someday.”
“I hope we see the end of this day, my lord.”
“So do I.”
Buhippus slowed as they reached the abyss and the invisible gate. Two patrols of Yunockers approached from both flanks, like a vise to catch any fly who tried to penetrate the swatter. Suddenly, the two patrols surrounded Behippus and crew.
“Your business,” shouted the squad leader.
“To the Ayelli,” Buhippus replied. “I know you. You are Fyndicapus of the Seventh Legion.”
“Yes, sir. And I know you.”
“Then let me pass.”
“I wish I could oblige, but . . .”
“But if he did,” came a booming voice, “I would have his balls bronzed and displayed in my library as a reminder of the price of disobeying orders.”
Fyndicapus nodded.
Buhippus sighed, but bucked up.
“Brother,” he said.
Tarhippus approached, his fiery Cabriolin as ominous as certain death. He whipped his gwasdi toward Elypticus, the lash coming near the Thirdling’s hand.
“Yes, brother, and I see you have captured the fugitive, or . . . I hope I do not misconstrue your efforts here. You were bringing this cargo home to me?”
“No, brother,” Buhippus said. “My orders are for Lord Belmundus’ safety. That is my prime directive. He could cut your head off and I still would need to protect him.”
“Commendable, but misplaced in this instance. But you were always a follower of orders and never an interpreter. Now, we all respect the Ayelli for what they are, but this renegade from their tribe has broken treaties and cultural laws. How Kuriakis maintains that this one should live and still maintain the peace of Montjoy is beyond me? However, he is my prisoner now, brother, so . . . whisk aside.”
Buhippus did not. But filial piety was also a hallmark of Yunocker courage and Harris did not expect Buhippus to raise a Stick to his brother. Buhippus did not clear the way, but he did not resist beyond that. Tarhippus lashed his gwasdi at his brother, the tip piercing Buhippus’ ear. The captain winced and stopped the blood flow with his palm.
“That is punishment enough for you, brother,” Tarhippus said. “When you decide to defy me again, look in the glass and recall your pierced ear. You may want to dangle a bauble from it as a constant reminder.”
Tarhippus reached Elypticus’ Cabriolin. He glared at the Thirdling, and then at Harris. He made a mock bow.
“Didaniyisgi,” Tarhippus said, laughing. “You are out in strange company after allegedly breaking the Treaty of Parazell.”
“I broke your fucking treaty,” Harris said.
“I know no such thing. We must investigate the claim. But until then, you and this misguided Thirdling shall be my guests in the best that my worst can afford at the Katorias.”
“My father shall know of this, sir,” Elypticus protested.
Tarhippus came close, his brutal face pushed into Elypticus’.
“I am sure he knows. If you were not Ayelli, I would lift your young ass out of your vehicle and let you fall . . . down, down, down . . . into the Zinbear’s jaws.” He snorted. “I might still do it. I mean, what is an upstart Thirdling who tried to attack me with his Stick to a General of the Yuganawu? What would Lord Arquebus say to me?” Tarhippus leaned back and howled. “He would require two baskets of mongerhide and a dozen Zecronisian wenches, an event that would be overcompensation for satisfying the Zinbear’s appetite.”
“Please,” Harris said. “Take us to the Katorias, if that’s your plan. Don’t browbeat us with you comic-opera humor.”
Tarhippus snarled, and looked back at his brother.
“You are a poor judge of heroes, brother. This one is a tosser.”
“My Lord Belmundus,” Buhippus said. “Forgive me for failing in my duty to protect you. I shall report to your Scepta and supplicate at the feet of the Memer to intercede.”
“Thank you, captain. I regret my plight has cost you your ear and soured relationships within your family.”
“I do regret the loss of my ear.”
Tarhippus trembled with rage. He started after Buhippus.
“Off with you, sad offspring of a noble line. That you did not die at birth will always be my regret.”
Buhippus nodded, and then departed up the hill. Tarhippus ranted, flailing his gwasdis in all directions, occasionally striking members of the patrols. Then, he stopped and pointed at Harris.
“You are mine and when I have finished with you, you will wish your were raped by every consort in Farn. You shall find no pleasure in it.” He looked to Fyndicapus. “Take them to the Katorias.”
Harris squeezed Elypticus’ waist.
“I am sorry for this, sweet Elypticus.”
“So am I, my lord.”
Fyndicapus bumped the Cabriolin, now surrounded by the patrol. They left Tarhippus still ranting under the invisible gate, cursing his brother and all creatures who audaciously embrace defiance.
Chapter Ten
The Katorias
1
It was built with malice — the ultimate dark place for Yunockers who broke the rules and Zecronisians who disregarded their warrants and Gurts who proved vexatious. Never had the place contained Cetrone, because the walls were built sturdy — of kaybar. A special place girded by phitron was reserved for Cetrone — the Porias, both detention area and crematorium. Compared to the Porias, the Katorias was an easier place. The prison was never meant to hold a lawbreaker beyond interrogation and punishment. It was a means to an end, not the end itself. And only once before in the history of the Katorias had an Ayelli been incarcerated in its bowels. Now there were two — another proud rule-breaking consort and a misguided Thirdling. It was the talk of Montjoy — rumors abounding. But a political crisis set on the outcome. Discussion went apace and strategy was discussed. Still, in the dark hold, uncaring and above it all, sat Lord Belmundus and his faithful Danuwa, Elypticus the Good, seventh son of Lord Arquebus.
Harris shivered in the dark dampness of his cell, Elypticus cowering beside him. Light streamed down from a distant port several stories above them, but was too faint to do much good at ground level. Beyond their iron bars, other prisoners moaned, mostly from hunger, but Harris suspected a few had been through the interrogation process, because Yunocker guards, the Fantin, had swooped in, banging on grates and dragging detainees in gondercoils over the crosswalk. It would be only a matter of time when the guards would rattle Harris’ cage for a similar exercise.
He was saddened by Elypticus’ state. The lad had been spoiled by good food and fresh air. This atmosphere was stale, reeking of urine from the slop bucket provided for the purpose. Food consisted of stale bupka soaked in sour bolingara, so putrid Harris could barely get it past his nose, mu
ch less his lips. Still they had retained their cloaks, which provided warmth, and the Fantin hadn’t taken their Columbincus’, although the brooches dimmed, as if ineffectual when dejected and spurned. Harris recalled the notion that Columbincus power resided in the heart of the wearer. If so, his should be dead, because his heart was broken, leveled by ignominy. Mostly, he missed Yustichisqua — and not the constant servant in waiting. It was true. Despite Harris’ distaste for being served, he had become accustomed to Little Bird’s constant attention to the details of wardrobe and toilet. Perhaps this was an adjunct to acting. But it went beyond that. Yustichisqua’s devotion was like air to Harris and, now removed, he found it difficult to breathe without him.
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