Witches of Kregen

by Alan Burt Akers

  My left hand grabbed for the spike. My right fist let go — and my right foot at the same time slipped. Dangling by my left arm I looked up as the lantern swiveled to shine downward.

  The chances were that the fellow’s eyes would not yet have adjusted to the gloom outside his lantern-lit guard chamber. I had perhaps half a dozen heartbeats. Then he’d poke a damn great spear down and twitch me off into space as he might dislodge an inconvenient bird’s nest.

  The rope coiled up into my fist. The crack of my muscles as I hurled I was convinced could be heard clear to the Snowy Mountains.

  The rope snapped around his neck, looped down and around.

  I hauled.

  His terrified scream clanging in my ears, I held on like a limpet as his flailing body hurled past. He didn’t stop yelling all the way down.

  The rope unwound, swung free. I hauled it in, staring upward, and all the time my feet scrabbled around for a purchase.

  Another head appeared.

  The darkness smashed back with the fall of the lantern.

  “Fardo?”

  Fardo’s dwindling yell was abruptly chopped off.

  “Fardo, you intestinal disease of calsanys!”

  The rope looped into my hand. It flew up again, coiled around that head outlined against the stars. I hauled and limpet-like clung on. Deldar Nath the Obdurate did not belie his sobriquet. He didn’t come out cleanly. He was holding on with might and main and I heard an odd gargling sound. That was Nath the Obdurate trying to yell with a coil of rope around his neck and throat.

  Impatiently, I yanked again.

  This time he popped out like a cork from a bottle and, true to his nickname he took the rope with him. I had to let go, otherwise he’d have taken me too. Obdurate fellow indeed!

  I whooped up a breath, felt sorrow for those two who had gone all unprepared down to the Ice Floes of Sicce, and then hauled myself up to sit astride the spike. I couldn’t squeeze through; but by a neat trick of acrobatics an agile topman might have used in a frigate thrashing into a stiff northwesterly, I angled myself over. At that I took a triangular rip of cloth from the fancy green uniform.

  After that and with no time wasted to get my breath back, a few moments more saw me jumping lightly down into the tiny guardroom. It had been hewn from the rock, and provided with the mechanism to run out the frieze of spikes. The place was gloomy and stank of dried fish fried up in oil. I padded to the door, listened, and then opened wide. If anyone was going to be standing there, he’d be more surprised than I.

  The corridor stretched to right and left. No doubt there were more doors opening onto other spy holes in the cliff. Well, I have served my time traipsing up and down corridors in palaces on Kregen. I did not intend to shilly-shally about in this particular specimen.

  There are techniques for finding your way around in a Kregan palace, and I knew and had employed a fair old number. But I am always willing to learn new tricks.

  This time I marched briskly along to the end and turned inward toward the spiral stairway leading up. I wasn’t going down to ground level just yet.

  The next floor I assumed to be the basement of the palace sections built at the very apex. My guarding had all been at the lower levels. If I’d been assigned to guard duty up here, things might have been easier. Perhaps not. Climbing that cliff had been an experience; it still could have been easier than bluffing my way here. Now that I was up here, the bluff would be of a different order, for most of the hard work was done.

  At any rate, as I penetrated upward people passed who took no notice of me. Most were slaves. That covered that. The palace flunkeys did not seem put out to pass a guardsman here. One jurukker with a uniform just like mine but wearing a flaunting favor in black and gold with a badge of a chavonth pinned to it stopped me.

  “What are you doing up here—?”

  He went to sleep standing up, far too quickly for him to feel surprise, and I dragged him into a closet and bound and gagged him with his own fancy folderols. I pinned up his gold and black schturval of Falkerdrin, and prowled on.

  If any of the tame slaves witnessed this — and none did — I would not have been too perturbed. Slaves tend to enjoy fights between their so-called betters if the action does not discommode them.

  I chose a charming little Fristle fifi, all pale gold fur and enticing shape, who glided along the carpeted corridor with a linen-covered tray in her hands. She wore the slave gray breechclout. She wore no ornaments.

  “Where away, please, is the bedroom of the dowager kovneva? — for I am newly appointed to guard her.”

  I shouldn’t have said please.

  She did not drop the tray; but the linen quivered like canvas of a ship caught in irons.

  “Master—”

  “Just direct me to the dowager kovneva.”

  “She always sleeps in the Chamber of Solars Gratitude, master...”

  I tried to smile and she flinched back; but she gave me coherent directions in the end. I did not say thank you. That single please had nearly scuppered me.

  What a society it is that uses and abuses slaves!

  A parcel of guards marching all in step along a cross corridor made me hide in the lee of a pillar. I did not think the Deldar in command would easily be bluffed.

  When they’d swung off, I emerged and continued on through halls very sumptuous toward the Chamber of Solars Gratitude. I’d climbed up on the north side and it was quite clear that the Solars Gratitude apartments must lie on the southern side.

  In one hall of considerable extent with the usual mix of night-duty slaves and guards about, a guard said to me as I passed his door: “Hai, zhan, what’s afoot?”

  I stared at him with the arrogance of a zhan-paktun addressing an inferior.

  “Special duty, dom. Best keep your black-fanged winespout shut.”

  “Quidang!”

  I marched on, and I put a fist onto my rapier hilt, and I gave it a little of a tilt, and swaggered more than a trifle.

  Now completely without the shadow of a doubt there were secret passages by which ingress might have been made. I didn’t know the architecture of them and had no time to discover their secret entrances. So, this bold and arrogant bluff would have to suffice.

  It lasted until I reached a bronze-bound door of balass black as a night of Notor Zan. Here four Rapas stood guard, their vulturine heads beaked and fearsome, their feathers variously colored. I marched straight up and made as though to pass between them and so open the door. The handles were entwined risslacas.

  “Llanitch!” cracked out the Hikdar in command.

  Obediently, I halted. That militarily formal demand to “Halt!”, that snapped out “Llanitch!”, is not lightly to be disregarded. Their spears lined up.

  “Your business, zhan, if you please.”

  Although a Hikdar, a rank usually to be found in people who command a company-sized group, he was polite addressing a hyrpaktun. I returned the compliment, and added to it.

  “Why, Hik, you may well ask me. I was summoned from a nice little supper party to proceed at once — at once, mind! — to the Chamber of Solars Gratitude to wait upon the dowager kovneva.” I heaved up a soulful sigh. “I’ve served well since I joined. I pray Havil I have not offended in any way I wot not of.”

  “They are hard taskmasters here,” said the Hikdar. He eyed me with his beaky face on one side. His feathers were a tasteful shade of green, and he wore extra feathers in a lighter color. “But I have not been passed the word.”

  I put the butter thick and heavy upon the slice.

  “That is indeed strange, Hik, for a man in your important position. Maybe the word went before you came on duty? I cannot understand it else.”

  “Yes, you must be right. There is no other explanation. I shall speak to Hikdar Morango about this, for he should have written it upon the slate.”

  “Indeed, Hik. Well, I dare not keep the dowager kovneva waiting...”

  He waved his men aside and a
couple actually opened the door for me. I gave a few last polite words and marched through. The stratagem would never have worked for a mere mercenary, possibly for a mortpaktun. Wearing the golden glitter of the pakzhan at your throat can work miracles — can open doors!

  Once into the labyrinth of the Solar Gratitude apartments the bluff continued to work smoothly. No one walking about these luxurious halls could be other than he seemed, for no one was allowed in here by the guards unless he was entitled to be here, and since I was here, ergo, I was entitled to be. This would last just as long as it took me to reach the final bedchamber. After that...

  Five Jikai Vuvushis stood before the last door. That door was all of beaten gold plate. These were the apartments reserved by the vad, Nalgre Sultant, for his most important guests. The old emperor would have stayed here during his tours of the northwest of his empire.

  “Well?” demanded the Hikdar. She was a fine strapping wench, well-endowed, and with creaking armor. She held her spear in a grip that showed that she not only knew how to use it; but would do so if given the opportunity. I caught the impression in the thick lines of her jaw and the frown between her eyebrows that she’d been longing for the opportunity to stick someone for some time.

  I tried the same story.

  These girls would have none of it.

  “That cannot be so. I have not heard.” She glared at her Deldar, ramrod stiff, almost as bulky. “Have you heard of this, Deldar?”

  “No, Hikdar Saenci.”

  “Well, tikshim. Speak up!”

  The story had to be adhered to now...

  “Have you checked your order slate?”

  “You insolent cramph! I know my duties better than you do, you apology for a hyrpaktun! I’ve had more than you for breakfast, aye, and spat out the pips.”

  I said, “I happen to know the dowager kovneva. If you do not immediately open this door and let me through, your pips will never be spat out, not even into the Ice Floes of Sicce.”

  She blanched up at this. But, give her her due; she stuck by her duties and her responsibilities. And, of course, she was absolutely right.

  She said, “You may very well know the dowager kovneva; but you are a mere man and will not be allowed into her private chambers. You may not know her, as I believe. Therefore I shall hold you and make inquiries.”

  There were five of them, of an Order I could not know. They were not Sisters of the Rose or the Sword; that I could tell. I could not fight and slay them.

  Once I saw Natyzha and she understood the position it would be all right. I might be a foeman, but she and I understood each other. She’d arrange a pass for me, and the Emperor of Vallia had never even visited Tali’s Crown. Her concern for her son, Kov Nath, would dominate her actions.

  So I took another tack.

  “Very well, Hik Saenci. I respect your devotion to duty. I shall find the proper authority. And, believe me, I shall request Natyzha not to punish you too harshly.”

  With that I turned briskly, hitched up the rapier, and marched off along the side of the hall. The girls stared after me — I could sense that. But they did not follow. I guessed the Hikdar was only too glad to have me off her patch. All the same, being the officious girl she was, she’d put in a report. I had to finalize this escapade before that happened, get the thing done with sharpish.

  The door at the end of the hall gave ingress onto a small connecting passageway. Here I was on the south of the palace and a faint luminosity through the windows told that the night was still dark, with only one of the smaller moons frantically flying past above. I took a breath, made sure the coast was clear, and then climbed out of the window onto the ledge. It was broad; but the stonework was treacherous. I inched along gingerly.

  Just how many windows I would have to pass before I reached one opening onto Natyzha’s inner rooms I didn’t know. I found a line of three small windows, then a larger one, a round one with a fancy set of panes inset, and then came to the first of a group of three ornate casements.

  This had to be the right set of windows...

  Useless trying to see in, for thick drapes obscured all beyond. The window was closed and locked. I offered a few choice observations, and tried the next. This center window of the three was open on a latch to let the bedroom beyond breathe fresh air. Kregans are not too superstitious, at least in Vallia, about the bad effects of night air. I was able to turn sideways, adjust the Krozair brand, and so slide through. My feet hit thick carpet without a sound. I stood perfectly still, silent, listening.

  A voice I was confident belonged to Nalgre Sultant was saying: “...should have arrested him! I’ll come. Alert the palace. Search everywhere. And Bratch!”

  “At once, jen!” in the voice of Hikdar Saenci.

  The sound of a heavy door closing... Silence...

  This was it, then...

  I eased the drapes aside and looked in. Samphron-oil lamps burned here and there in the bedchamber. An enormous canopied bed occupied one wall, tables and loungers were scattered about, you’d need a periscope to negotiate the thickness of the carpet. The scent of Moonblooms hung upon the air.

  Just inside the door stood the carrying chair in which Natyzha had made her appearance this afternoon. That was odd. The solid mass of diamonds covering the hood of the gherimcal glittered hard and bright in the lamplight. The legs of the chair were fashioned like chavonths.

  I stepped onto the carpet clear of the window.

  A girl’s voice, clear and hard, snapped out: “You rast! Die, then!”

  She came at me from the side, very quick, very lithe. She had little skill. Well, Nalgre the Point had been kind with her. I parried her blow and the sword whispered past my ribs. I caught her as she fell and eased her to the carpet. She’d slumber peacefully for a time yet.

  I crossed to the shadowed bed, immense among its hangings and looked down. The bed was empty.

  The chair?

  Softly I padded to the gherimcal, rounding the long and thick poles, leather-wrapped, padded, which might be carried by men or animals, and looked into the interior.

  “Well, Natyzha, so I’ve found you at last!”

  She sat there, upright, her wizened face as intent and cunning as ever, the lushness of her pampered body clear through the silks and sensils. She was smothered in gems, and the gold and black of her attire glittered. Her eyes glittered also, like glass.

  She said nothing and her expression did not change.

  “Well, Natyzha — have you no greeting for an adversary? And, anyway, what in a Herrelldrin Hell are you still sitting uncomfortably in your gherimcal for when...”

  My voice trailed off.

  With a movement like that of a striking risslaca I bent down and peered closely at her.

  She was dead.

  Dead as a doorbell. And, what is more, she’d been flayed and stuffed, her eyes of glass glaring fixedly and unseeingly at me, all that gorgeous body a mere covering of skin over straw.

  Chapter fifteen

  Of the Lady Fanti and Nath the Onker

  If the giant blue Scorpion of the Star Lords had whisked me up right there and then I’d have been profoundly grateful — believe me.

  Here I was, at the apex of a hostile palace where guards and dogs searched for me, and the one woman who could have saved my bacon was dead — dead and stuffed and on display as though she were still alive.

  It was enough to make a fellow snatch off his hat and jump on it, by Vox!

  The lady Fanti let a sigh ripple from her lips. She’d wake up in a moment or two, for I’d dealt gently with her, so that it became vitally necessary for me to put on a change of face, suffering as I did so, in the way taught me by Deb-Lu-Quienyin. With my craggy old physiognomy feeling as though a million bees swarmed all over it, I was able to snatch up a glass of water from beside the bed — an artful touch in the deception, that! — and cross to the girl. Putting my arm under her shoulders, I lifted her up to a sitting posture and then held the water under he
r nose.

  “My lady!” I said in as high-pitched a voice as I could reasonably manage. “They have apprehended the monster who did this. Here, my lady, drink and give thanks you are unharmed!”

  I rattled on and shoved the water at her and she, vicious, in the way of young nobility, smacked it out of my hand. The glass went smash and the water sprayed the priceless rugs.

  “You clown! What—”

  “Hush, my lady, please! You must rest — your handmaidens will be here very soon—”

  “What is going on! I was attacked—”

  “Yes, my lady. But that is over. And no one knows the kovneva is dead.”

  “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in this bedchamber—?”

  “I helped apprehend that monster, my lady. I was left to care for you after the others went back and sent for your handmaidens. Please do not over-excite yourself.”

  “Why did not they leave a Jikai Vuvushi — oh, I expect I know why.”

  I didn’t. But I hazarded a guess that the fighting maidens did not get on with this hoity-toity missy who was not one of them, who attempted with little success to emulate their martial prowess, and who was the vad’s granddaughter. She was a handful, that was certain.

  Through all this nonsensical chatter I still could not see a clear escape route for myself. I didn’t want to put her to sleep again; but if the lady Fanti insisted on being her obnoxious self — despite the apparent situation and my explanations — then I’d have to keep her quiet long enough for me to climb out of the window and start the escape.

  She glared up at me. She wore an evening lounge dress of a pale green color, with too many jewels, and her hair was caught up into looped pearls.

  “Did anyone besides you see the kovneva was dead?”

  “I do not know, my lady.”

  “If they did, then they must be killed, too.”

  I didn’t miss, nor did I like, that little “too.”

  “Oh, my lady,” I said, putting braggadocio and confidence into the words. “I am quite confident the secret is safe. No one outside can possibly know the dowager kovneva is dead. Least of all her son Nath.”