Omens of Kregen [Dray Prescot #36]

by Alan Burt Akers

  “I believe—” he started to say and then Rogarsh yelled: “Kov Hurngal intends to land right outside the rock!"

  “The stupid, stiff-necked cramph!” I burst out. Then I hauled myself up. I pondered. I felt quite certain Csitra would know we were coming, although, from what Deb-Lu had told me, she would not know I was along. So we just landed and got out and went into the entrance. That would make little difference.

  Loriman must have realized I had thought the matter over when I said, in a different voice: “Very well. It is all one.” For he did not make a scathing remark about my weathercock decisions.

  So, as we flew on to land outside the front door to Csitra's maze, Loriman, rubbing neck, and I, exchanged a few more pleasantries. I was not fool enough to think he would not seek revenge for the slight to his honor. So I was able to feel pleasure when he spoke out forcibly.

  “You are the man known as Jak the Horkandur. Very well, Jak the Horkandur. I warn you. We may be allies in what lies ahead; but when it is over, you shall answer to me in the matter of honor."

  “Done,” I said.

  Then he said, “You are a fool of so reckless a rashness, I wonder..."

  What he wondered I did not inquire. I spoke pleasantly, again, quoting from the bard Larghos the Lame, dead these five hundred seasons. Loriman scowled and then, amazingly, his heavy, bristly features broke into what I assumed was a smile.

  “I shall enjoy venturing with you. And even more what will follow."

  “If you get out alive.” I nodded at the Khibil sorcerer who came out onto the deck and stood poised by the rail staring down and forward. “He will have to earn his hire."

  In what the Hunting Kov said then, I heaved up a sigh of relief. He had accepted me, and with me Seg and Ortyg and Nath, as allies in the ordeals ahead. He spoke without condescension, seriously, discussing our prospects and our resources.

  Of the Khibil, he said, “He came to me highly recommended. He has worked miracles in Hamal. His power is great. Also he has a ring which protects him."

  “Two items, kov. One, I put no store by rings of protection, or anything else, come to that. Two, I suspect you are the real leader of this expedition and not that blowhard Hurngal."

  “Oh, I believe in rings of power. But, yes, this expedition occurred as a result of my work."

  The voller slanted down. The suns were declining and their light mingled in a sheening opaline haze. Below us the lake stretched, brown and placid, with the waterfowl quarrelling on the sand spit.

  “There are Spiny Ribcrushers growing there. You'll smell ‘em. Steer well clear of them."

  “Tell me of this maze."

  We leveled out and alighted soft as a feather. I told Loriman something of Csitra's evil handiwork, and felt amusement when he said, “It sounds like a commonplace copy of a Moder. Now, there, Jak, is a maze to destroy the stoutest hearts."

  “It's bad enough. The witch is called Csitra. She has a child, a hermaphrodite called Phunik."

  “Phunik? I have heard whispers that the Hyr Notor who commanded in Pandahem and was beaten in Vallia and destroyed in Ruathytu was named Phu-Si-Yantong."

  I confess, when I heard that name I felt a ticklish old thump of the heart.

  “The father of the uhu Phunik."

  “Then I owe him death, swift and merciless."

  “Excellent!"

  Then Loriman said something that revealed more of his character.

  “When we are with the Lady Hebe, you will speak to me properly, with propriety. If you do not, our compact is broken and I shall kill you instantly."

  I said, “I am never rude to ladies unless they deserve it."

  Loriman put a hand to his mouth. “I must say, despite all, I am beginning to feel regret that when this is all over, you must die."

  “Oh, we'll see, we'll see."

  Seg called across: “We're landing, Jak."

  “Aye. The Hunting Kov here and we are allies."

  “You say sooth? Well, one must sleep in whatever bed one can find. I'm kitting up."

  Loriman stared as Seg strolled off.

  “Another one like you, is he?"

  “Oh, no.” I felt pleasure as I spoke. “Seg is far worse than I am, believe you me!"

  His mouth opened and then shut with a clack. After a space, he said: “I have things to do before we venture inside."

  “And I, too. I will see you there, then."

  He had a mass of heavily armored guards, and slaves, and retainers, and porters, to organize. I had only to strap on my harness, sling a sack of supplies over my shoulder, and I was ready, weapons to hand.

  I said to Ortyg Thingol: “You're not coming into that damned place, young Ortyg."

  “Why ever not?” Since he'd been calling me Jak, the rascal had fallen away in his language. I didn't mind.

  “Because I say so. And you, Nath the Impenitent, are excused the duty if you wish it."

  “Oh,” said Nath in his abrupt and not quite surly way: “I'm going. There's gold. I need gold."

  He would be valuable. I explained a little of what we might expect, enlarging on what Seg and I had already related to him, and he did not change his mind.

  So, in a great straggling mob, we all walked up to the square and hard-cut opening in the rock. The whole face of the cliff above us, entangled with lianas, was sculptured into grotesque and obscene figures. The Lady Hebe took one look, and turned her head away. Loriman was on one side and Hurngal on the other. They vied with each other for her favors in a most pathetic way. But that convoluted rock, the tangled strings of lianas, the screams of the waterfowl, the heat and stink of the mud, the stinging attacks of the pinheads which had to be continually brushed away, all conduced to a somberness of mood no ludicrous shuffling for position by two grown men about a girl could obliterate or alleviate.

  There was no sign of an inscription inviting me to enter. There were the usual ritual curses of doom upon anyone venturing in. We took no notice of them.

  “That, at the least,” said Seg, “is something.” Shouldering our packs, weapons in fists, torches flaring, we entered the maze of the Coup Blag.

  * * *

  Chapter fourteen

  Into the Coup Blag

  Five minutes later I was on my way out of the maze of the Coup Blag.

  Under my arm a kicking, wrestling, screaming bundle of trouble tried to trip me up, to bite me, to do anything to stop me from carrying it outside.

  Brown curls writhing as though they were Medusa's snakes, Ortyg Thingol jackknifed up and down under my arm. Stolidly, I marched out into the last of the suns light.

  “Why can't I go? Why? Why?"

  Drak, willful as he always had been, had never reacted in quite this way. I remembered him climbing the trees in the walled garden of Esser Rarioch.

  I said, “When I say a thing, I mean it. But, Ortyg, there is another reason. A most important reason, and a secret."

  He gasped as I dumped him down on his feet. “What reason, Jak? What secret?"

  I looked around with a highly conspiratorial glance for the voller. “Why, I need someone reliable, someone I can trust, to keep an eye on the airboat. If there's any trouble, you'll have to fly the voller and make sure you come back to rescue us."

  “Me? Fly the airboat? Rescue you!” Watching him I saw the visions of glory exploding in his head. It was all there, Ortyg Thingol, air cadet, rescuing the emperor ... No. How stupid. Well, it was taking time to adjust. But Ortyg was hooked.

  I consigned him into the care of a gentle Relt, with ink stains on his feathers, secretary to Kov Hurngal.

  Then I turned and started back for the entrance and Deb-Lu stepped out from bushes that might have eaten a flesh-and-blood man, and said: “Hai, Dray. Delia and Milsi are safe, praise be to Opaz the Unknown."

  “Thank you, Deb-Lu, thank you. I shall tell Seg. But you are very faint—"

  “I do not wish to alert the witch. But I thought you should know. The fleet had repairs to c
arry out and all that kind of aerial business to attend to. They will sail for the maze as soon as they can."

  Without a remberee, his phantom figure vanished.

  Those of you who have followed my story since those first days of mine on Kregan will understand something of my feelings. Liberation, thanksgiving, a sudden seeing of the world in different colors, the stinks turned to scents, the cacophonies to melodies—all this and more. I fairly ran back into the damned Coup Blag to tell Seg the good news.

  The darkness stretched up, down, and sideways past the entrance, with a lonely spark from a torch waiting to guide me. In the first stone-cut chamber Nath the Impenitent stood leaning up against the wall, the torch in his left fist. The light revealed the two doors at the far end.

  “Hai, Jak,” he said in his gruff way. “Seg is leading on the rabble. I waited to tell you the way they went."

  “The last time,” I said, “Strom Ornol chose the right-hand door, and that leads to passages we know. Also, Nath, my friend, in places like these it is not wise to lean up against the wall."

  He pushed himself erect with some alacrity.

  Then he said, “It is odd, by Vox—by Chusto. In the normal way I would have stood to attention the moment you showed up. But you and Seg are not like the real lords I have had the misfortune to know in the past."

  I could still smell the betraying scent of the Spiny Ribcrushers from outside. This Nath the Impenitent had a real down on the aristocracy, and who was to say he had no right? I'd be interested to hear his story, but he remained reticent on that score. He did say he needed gold. Well, most folk do.

  “Oh,” I said, moving toward the right-hand door, “there are lords and there are lords."

  “Aye. And one of ‘emis this Kov Hurngal. Seg said he'd been down the right-hand door, so—"

  “So the oaf chose the left?"

  “Yes."

  “That is the kind of lord, Nath, we really do not need."

  “I've known some in my time who had a remedy for them."

  “Like the Fegters, or—"

  “We'll have to hurry if we wanta catch ‘em up."

  Without another word on that subject we approached the left-hand door. Although I do not pretend to any vast knowledge on the proper construction of Moders and Mazes of the Coup Blag quality, I felt that I would not be surprised if the routes through the two doors joined up in the near future.

  The corridor beyond the door showed gray walls flecked with striated veins of glitter. The torch cast its orange glow ahead and the walls seemed to jump in and out of focus. I spoke seriously.

  “We do not have a ten-foot pole. We must assume that the party ahead tested the floor for traps. That does not mean there won't be any newly laid for us."

  Nath said, “Hold on, Jak! That must mean that—"

  “Precisely. Also keep a wary eye aloft for the green slime. Or the newer graygunge. That is not pretty."

  From the way I spoke with an intensity of feeling that was out in the open before I realized, anyone would be forgiven for turning a little gray-green themselves. Nath just cocked a suspicious eye around, rolled his shoulders, and started out along the corridor. I brisked up. He was like to prove a good companion.

  We caught up with the rest of the party as they were indulging in the usual, and tiresome, arguments on which way to go. They stood in a large circular chamber.

  Seg was saying, “I really think it doesn't make much difference which way we go."

  “You onker,” rapped out Hurngal. “Of course it matters, otherwise we won't know where we've been or are, will we, voskskull."

  Loriman, face scarlet, wanted to argue with Hurngal, as a matter of principal, yet he couldn't understand what Seg meant, either.

  There was no spiral staircase in the center of this room to lead us down into the depths. There were three doors, all looking exactly the same. The slaves were already sitting on their bundles, or stretched out on the floor—which was free of dust—and the guards were standing about looking ready to earn their hire.

  Eventually, and at pretty short order, too, Kov Loriman blew up.

  “By Hito the Hunter! This place is a maze, is it not? We must keep track.” The look he gave Seg indicated with absolute clarity that he'd lost a lot of faith in my comrade.

  I said nothing.

  Seg spoke in his disconcerting neutral voice.

  “I have given you my opinion.” He spotted me. “You must make the decision between you, if you choose to disregard my advice.” He sauntered across to me, stepping carefully between the resting slaves.

  With a quick word to Nath, I drew Seg aside.

  “I've just had a visit from Deb-Lu. Milsi is safe—"

  “Praise Erthyr the Bow! And Delia?"

  “Also. Now, my master bowman, we may bend all our energies to this blasted place. I look forward to some enjoyment from Kovs Hurngal and Loriman."

  “Aye. And what of the fleet?"

  “Knocked about, refitting, due as soon as they can make it. No idea when that will be."

  A burst of profanity made us turn, to see Hurngal stride to the center door and give it a thumping kick.

  Instinctively, we braced ourselves for whatever horror might leap from that portal.

  The door opened onto a corridor which the torchlights showed to be wide, high, and covered with inscriptions. No one, I ventured to think, would be able to read whatever was inscribed there.

  “There! A capital way in.” Hurngal looked pleased with himself.

  Quietly, Seg said: “These people are taking the whole business far too lightly. By the Veiled Froyvil! Anyone'd think they were out for a gentle stroll and a nice picnic in the light of the suns!"

  “Aye. It's all a trifle unreal at the moment."

  “When they get a few Lurking Terrors gnawing at their throats, they'll find out."

  We all trooped along the corridor. At least they had men up front prodding the floor with ten foot poles. Even the most confident idiot could see the sense of that. A strong yellow light shone from the doorway ahead.

  We debouched into a smallish semi-circular room. At the center the head of a spiral staircase cut a dark and ominous hole in the smooth floor. Just above that poised a slate slab. The shape would exactly fit the hole. The lid was upheld by bronze chains extending to the far wall. Above the chains a little balcony, something like a minstrels’ gallery, projected from the stone wall.

  “Now I don't like the look of that!” exclaimed Loriman. Well, he'd been down the Moder and therefore should be expected to take this place a sight more seriously than did the others.

  “It would be best,” said the Khibil sorcerer in his haughty, distant, way, “if you removed the lid."

  “Exactly what I was about to say,” said Hurngal. He swung on his slaves. “Get on with it! Bratch!"

  The slaves duly bratched, jumping into the work as though their master stood at their backs with his cane.

  The slate lid was manhandled clear of the opening and the slaves jumped aside and allowed it to fall. Instead of shattering into pieces, as would have been expected, it remained intact. It rolled around flatly on its rim, exactly as a coin will squat shuddering onto a table. We all stared and then our attention was riveted by a cackling laugh from the balcony.

  Up there a grotesque figure, all dripping greeny-black robes and tassels, waved its arms at us. Skeletal fingers beckoned mockingly. It cackled. Its hood concealed its face except for its mouth, which leered.

  San Aramplo brushed up his whiskers and said, “I do not know the name of that. But I shall call it a Cackling Leer."

  Loriman's reactions were predictable.

  He snatched his bow from the Brokelsh who carried it, slapped an arrow against the string, drew and let fly. The shot was good. The arrow passed clean through the Cackling Leer and bounced harmlessly off the wall.

  A gasp of astonishment composed of many individual expressions of fear, surprise, disbelief, rippled around the crowd in the ch
amber. Hurngal held up his hand ready to quell the disturbance, and the Cackling Leer glided from the balcony, passing, apparently, through the solid wall.

  “Ah,” said Seg, “now maybe they'll understand a little more."

  “Unhealthy, that thing,” said Nath the Impenitent.

  Torches revealed the spiral stairs to circumnavigate the opening twice before reaching the floor below. Each tread could accommodate two men abreast. Strom Tothor in his bold lionman way roared out that he would go first. Sword in fist, he started down the stairs.

  Seg and I exchanged glances. In places like the Coup Blag, stairs are notorious.

  Seg shoved up to the head of the stairwell, grabbed a ten-foot pole from a guard, and started down to join Tothor. I own I felt jumpy, nervous, and highly wrought up. If a stair tread opened up and swallowed Seg; if one spewed a thicket of darts through his body; if a scimitar-like blade swept up between the joins to slice him—I pushed my way through the throng clustered, hesitating, around the hole. They let me through readily enough. I skipped down after Seg as he stolidly thumped each tread before trusting it.

  “The damned riser, Seg. They can spit nasties."

  “Aye. I'm giving them a thwack as well."

  We reached the foot of the stairs and Tothor, with his numim roar bellowed: “All clear!"

  The torch showed a dressed-stone passage extending in both directions. We stood aside as the people came down, two by two, and together left us to go marching up the right hand passageway flaring his torch.

  At the center of the last group of guards came the Lady Hebe. She was dressed appropriately enough for the expedition, with moccasins upon her feet, the robes discarded and replaced by a chamois-skin tunic.

  She reached the bottom step and went to walk past us. I was sure she intended to say nothing. She did not even look at us.

  The fellow at her back loomed large even for a Chulik, and his shaven head had been coated with gold leaf. His pigtail, likewise, was sheathed in gold leaf. His armor was complete, his weapons many, and his bearing such as to convey to everybody that here was a man not to be contumed. We knew that the Lady Hebe reposed trust in him.

  A laugh drifted down the stairwell.