Scorpio Drums [Dray Prescot #42]

by Alan Burt Akers

  “Lahal, Nath Wa-Te. I think I shall continue to call you Wa-Te.”

  He smiled, there in that place of horrors. “Yes, there are very many Naths in the world.”

  Pachaks form their names from the first syllables of their parent's names; if a daughter the mother's first, if a son the father's. When Nath Wa-Te had a son he would be called a first name, and then Na- and the first syllable of Wa-Te's wife's first name.

  Now I faced a dilemma. Was it fair to allow Wa-Te to accompany me? He was cheerful now he had won back his freedom and supremely confident he could march and fight his way out of the labyrinth. If he went off on his own he would face only traps, apart from any monsters already awoken. If he stayed with me, I'd keep bringing perils alive which he otherwise would not encounter. He solved the problem for me by saying: “We must stick together, Drajak. It is the only sensible course of action.”

  He was right as he saw it, of course. In the end, weakly, I felt we would stand a better chance together.

  Just as I'd reached that dubious conclusion, a reverberation echoed through the chamber. It seemed to emanate from the walls. The plates and jars upon the tables rattled. The sound continued, hollow, echoing, rumbling on for a long time.

  “By Hlo-Hli! It must be—”

  “Aye.The Drums.”

  The booming vibrations of the Drums echoed away to silence. We stared at each other. What did that ominous sound portend?

  Well, whatever that menacing beat of drums did or did not portend, my way ahead was plain enough.

  Actually reaching that destination was an entirely different kettle of fish. We went on when we'd rested. We encountered various monsters of the smaller kind and either avoided or finished them. Avoidance was by far the better plan. Here we were venturing into chambers with cut walls, draped in tapestries—mostly torn and in poor condition—with increasing signs of human occupation. The light continued evenly beaming upon us. After the slave column we were slowly recovering a proper sense of smell, and the scents that I brought in mingled with those of people long gone these many seasons. The conviction grew upon me that the People of the Drums must number very few. Every now and again the booming roar of the Drums battered at our ears. After a time it was clear they were growing louder.

  Although the whole place was drenched in sorcery, as Rollo had said, we so far had encountered only material monsters and traps. Magic had been non-existent. Again, this was a puzzle.

  Wa-Te, a few steps in front of me as we pressed on along a passage, abruptly halted opposite an open door. I stopped. He very very cautiously put his head around the doorjamb, ready on the instant to jump back.

  He motioned with his tail hand. Silently I joined him.

  The room was of reasonable size. Down the centre stood a long table. The walls were tapestry-covered. At the table men sat, frozen in the act of eating and drinking. They were all Chuliks.

  Their arms and armor gleamed bright and slightly oiled. There were a couple of dozen of them, their pigtails dyed red and yellow, their tusks banded in gold and silver, and they looked a mean bunch.

  “What is the matter with them?” breathed Wa-Te. “Are they all dead?”

  “They're well-preserved, if that is the case.”

  We went on quietly. Evidently, those Chuliks did not possess enough kharrna for me to awaken them atthat range.

  After a way, the Pachak said: “Well, for good or ill, they're in our rear now.”

  “Aye.”

  Neither of us had volunteered to go in and check, probably to take some of the fine weapons and armor. Caution becomes ingrained when you go delving.

  We prowled on and reached an intersection. One arm of the passage stretched ahead, the other to our right, and both were well lighted.

  “Toss a blade?” suggested Wa-Te.

  The sword came down indicating we should continue ahead.

  This passage went on and on in almost a straight line. The cut walls gave way to rough rock and soon we were walking through a tunnel.

  “I have an idea, Drajak, the sword lied.”

  “I think you are right.” To be honest, I thought the sword had indicated the truth. It looked to me as though this tunnel might lead to an exit some distance from the City of Eternal Twilight. “There is a corner ahead. Let us—”

  “I'll lead on.”

  At the corner we discovered a large irregular cavern, poorly lit. Nothing moved. “Not a copper ob here. We'd better go back.”

  “Right,” I said. Then I checked. “Hold on a whick.”

  Wa-Te didn't ask a fatuous question like: “What is it?” He stood silently, waiting, as I peered intently at the far end of the cavern.

  The far wall rose sheer. Before it bits and pieces of yellow strewed the ground. Nearer to us the vague forms of men stood, motionlessly. And, nearer still, the crouched shape of a vorlind indicated why those men had halted, and formed a line. Many had bows lifted. Quietness and death brooded over the macabre scene.

  What had transpired here was obvious enough.

  I took another step forward and the vorlind, lethal, sprang to life. He didn't care there were a dozen men there, with bows. His feral hunger drove him on relentlessly. Now I had started him moving I had to push on quickly so that the line of men would unfreeze and so save the lives already pawned to death.

  The archers stirred. Muscles unused for a long time creaked as the bowstrings drew back. A couple of men tottered, taking unsteady steps, and one fell. The others discharged their shafts and the vorlind, riddled, collapsed.

  An uproar began, men shouting, women shouting, and a voice above all, bellowing: “By Sasco! Silence!”

  Now we were in for it. I advanced boldly, holding up my hand. As I passed the dead vorlind, I saw a fellow scrambling up from the ground where he'd been crouching, in mortal terror of his life. He wore a long black robe and sandals and a jeweled fillet confined dark hair. His face expressed terror to the utmost degree, a face pale and thin, with downdrooping whiskers and a small and too-red mouth. He squeaked when he saw me.

  “Where—?”

  The big voice battered again. “Silence! By Spikatur Hunting Sword! Must I have you all whipped, guard and slave alike?”

  I'd got him spotted now. He stood in the forefront, hand on the pommel of one of his swords, glaring about with his one good eye. His left eye was covered by a diamond and emerald studded patch. Thin he was, thin as a lath with a ferret face and dark hair cropped short. Quick, active, he moved with controlled spasmodic effort. The last time I'd seen him he'd been sitting in an armchair stripping leaves from a plant and scaring Vad Noran half to death merely by his presence. That had been in Huringa, capital city of the island of Hyrklana—before my lad Jaidur became king.

  The man in black at my side moved with an odd sliding gait. He ran off, away from the confusion ahead, vanishing past a buttress of rock.

  Obviously in answer to a question, the big voice battered again: “I do not know! By Sasco, it is past understanding!”

  He must have been wrought up to a frenzied pitch to speak like that. He was a swordfighter, a Bladesman as I surmised, and his quiet icy manner chilled those he encountered. I walked on and called out in a firm voice: “Llahal, doms!”

  With Wa-Te at my side I marched up and halted. Beyond him guards and slaves were running back to the bits and pieces of yellow. Now I could see they were skeletons. The uproar continued but in a lower key after the lord's harsh words concerning whipping.

  He gave me a look as though he were lunging the rapier at his waist into my guts. “Llahal. You do not address me as dom. I am Vad Gochert, and you call me notor.”

  I knew his name was Gochert. That he was a vad, next step down in the nobility from a kov, was intriguing.

  I said: “This is Kyr Nath Wa-Te, I am Drajak the Sudden—notor.”

  His one eye sized up the Pachak, and then me. The diamond and emerald eye-patch glittered in that poor light as he turned his head.

  “Can you e
xplain what has happened? We entered a shaft and the wall closed at our back. The vorlind was about to attack a man in a black robe. We advanced, ready—and the vorlind is dead, the man in black is gone, and many of my party are now skeletons. By Sasco! It is unbelievable!”

  “We have been wandering for some time, notor.”

  “So you are of no help in unriddling this puzzle. My men are dead!”

  I had enough puzzles of my own to keep me busy; the answer to this one was easy enough. After what Gochert had described had taken place his neat line of men had stepped forward into the aura of the stasis spell. Some slaves had been up with them. The rest had seen what happened to them. It seemed to me the edge of the spell was not a sharply defined line, so that a number of people had stepped into the aura. The ones left behind had no idea what it was about. Some had run forward and become frozen. The rest had cowered back, quite unable to force themselves forward to what they must have considered certain death. So they'd waited and waited and so died one by one and were now skeletons.

  “You have my condolences, notor. You are sure there is now no way out there?”

  “None. I told you. The shaft's wall closed up.”

  His guards were clustering round now, listening avidly. He had a fair proportion of Khibils in his party, and Hytaks, all solid professional fighting men and women. He had no Rapas and only a few Fristles. One of the Hytaks, bulky in banded kax, stepped up.

  “Notor. All the provisions with the skeletons are spoiled. Yet those with the slaves with us are still fresh.”

  By this time I was looking about among this gaggle of people for a person I assumed he must have brought with him on his expedition.

  When a couple of hefty Hytaks walked up carefully carrying the slender form of a girl on their crossed arms, their other arms supporting her back, I saw the answer to that also explained Gochert's fragmented responses to the situation. She wore a long blue gown girdled in silver, with soft slippers on tiny feet. Her pale brown hair was drawn tightly back in a bun to reveal a round innocent face, devoid of makeup. Her eyes were closed. She breathed shallowly. She looked as though the Hytaks could have carried a dozen of her and still not felt the weight.

  “Merlee!” said Gochert, anxiously. All his icy manner fled.

  She opened her eyes. They were gray-green. She tried to smile, her pallid lips soft and trembling.

  “It is all about, notor, all about. So much, so very much!”

  A fat high-busted woman bustled up and between them they put the girl safely down on a pile of rugs. She leaned back and licked her lips. Gochert looked down at her. His hand fondled the hilt of his rapier as though seeking the answer there.

  Now girls like this Merlee do not like being called witches.

  That is their proper name, of course; but it has fallen into disrepute. She was a Witch of the Demaskar Persuasion, and Deb-Lu had told me they had some very real powers. Now the sorcery drenching the Realm of the Drums had overcome her. Once she had come to terms with her surroundings and recovered her powers, she was the one very important person any party needs when they go delving.

  “Bring wine!” ordered Gochert. He was making visible efforts to control himself. Once he had recovered, he'd be ice and steel.

  Fristles were going around bashing the slaves back in line. Gochert, at least, did not employ Katakis for that disgusting occupation.

  I couldn't see Gochert playing any part in the Star Lords’ plans; but then, by Krun! you never could tell with them. He'd be useful to Wa-Te and me in providing us the protection of his party. I would have to find out why he had come down here to the Realm of the Drums. If his reasons were merely those of plunder then he could be discounted. Often in the past I'd wondered what had happened to him and why he hadn't crossed my path again, as I had felt so strongly he was fated to do. He'd come down here and stood frozen, waiting through all those seasons to be released.

  A minor puzzle was why there were any provisions to spoil left among those poor people who had not dared venture ahead to stand, as they thought, in death. What a horrible predicament that had been! At least Merlee had stepped in to escape death then. The trapped and doomed wretches could all have committed suicide, I supposed. As for Gochert, he must have flown here aboard a Hyrklese voller. He must have a map. Now, where had he obtained that map?

  Gochert took a long swig of wine. His one eye fixed Wa-Te and me. “Since you have been down here, you had better lead on. We must find the Drums.”

  “You'll hear them, notor, from time to time,” said Wa-Te.

  “Well, by Havil! Get on with it!”

  So he was regaining his composure. I gave the Pachak a glance and we started off, followed by Gochert and some guards. Merlee was carried in her litter, the slaves trailed on, and guards brought up the rear.

  Up ahead, Wa-Te said: “That was a strange business. I could not see clearly, but I could swear by Papachak the All-Powerful they were all standing like statues.”

  “Aye.”

  He gave me a puzzled look. Then he said: “You called me Kyr.”

  Kyr and Tyr are honorific titles, like ‘sir’ and carry some weight. He went on: “Kyr can only be given by a king or emperor. Tyr may be given by kovs or high nobles. So, Drajak the Sudden?”

  As I say, I have always liked Pachaks. I said: “Believe me, Kyr Nath, that is in my power. But I would prefer to say no more.”

  “By Hlo-Hli Herself! This is indeed a—”

  “Now, Wa-Te. Please.”

  “Very well. But you must promise to tell me some day.”

  “When we are safely out of this.”

  “Done. And this party—they are Hyrklese. One can tell by their weapons and gear. Although some is strange.”

  The rapier and main gauche were newish imports to Hamal and Hyrklana. They were now known in some parts of Loh; but that must have occurred after Wa-Te's time.

  We reached the intersection where we had tossed a blade.

  Wa-Te said: “The sword did not really lie. That was the way out.”

  I made a noise halfway between a grunt and a snort. “Yeh. But it was a way in only, by Chusto!”

  Here we turned left and went on cautiously. A clanking at our backs brought Gochert's Khibil captain of his guard. He wore the insignia of a Jiktar, well enough, with armor and swords and a shield. He was a Khibil, understand, and he wasn't going to let us forget that. That, to him, was more important than being the vad's cadade. He shouldered up.

  “You two know what you're doing?”

  They are so damned cocksure, these foxy-faced Khibils.

  I said: “If you wish to take the lead, pray do so.”

  “You call me Jiktar, yetch!”

  I stopped. “Quidang!”

  Anyway, we went on and this Khibil cadade, hight Romano the Sharp, assigned a couple of his men to go with us. We were lucky we came across no traps, for the guards marched on with very few precautions.

  Debouching onto a ledge along a vast and eroded wall, we saw we'd reached a cavern of considerable size. The ledge stopped halfway and a narrow rope bridge extended before us at right angles, strung across the cavern to a ledge and an opening on the other side. Below us spumed and boiled a river, the water rushing along in streaks and lines of green fire.

  The two Khibils started across the bridge at once. Wa-Te said: “That won't take much weight.”

  “No. Few of ‘em at a time.”

  “Yeh.”

  We halted at the edge and stopped the traffic, allowing groups of guards across. Almost at once Gochert was up with us, icy with fury.

  “What is the hold up?”

  The litter containing Merlee swayed and was set down on its legs. Four Brokelsh stood at the carrying poles. The cadade, Romano, bustled up.

  “Go across now! There is trouble in the rear.”

  Gochert snapped out: “Go on!”

  If there was trouble at the back then Wa-Te and I were ready to cross right away and get out of it. We started
over. The bridge swayed.

  Halfway across I felt the bridge swinging even more. I looked back. Gochert and Merlee's litter were following, and a crowd of people were pressing on after with the cadade urging them on.

  Wa-Te yelled: “There's too many of ‘em!”

  “Make it sharpish!” I said.

  We started to move as fast as we could over the rotting wooden slats between the rope supports. I suppose I guessed from the wild movements of the bridge that we wouldn't make it.

  The ropes parted with brittle twangs. Everybody on the bridge was flung helplessly, end over end, into that rushing boiling water far below.

  The thunderous boom of the Drums beat above the roar of the river, their sonorous tones quickening into a rataplan of mocking triumph.

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  * * *

  Chapter eighteen

  Swirled away with eyes and nostrils and mouths filled with water we shot helter-skelter downstream to plunge into the green gloom of a tunnel. Wa-Te had his tail hand wrapped about my waist and I gripped him so that we clung together in the millrace. Bright light smote down and we sluiced out into water that gradually lost its speed. Around us stretched a lake under an unseen roof, with exotic plants growing and birds flying everywhere.

  Those birds flying and chirruping away up there made me think.

  Usually it is not healthy to linger in unknown waters on Kregen. There are jaws that bite. So we swam for a little pinkish beach where already some of the survivors werecrawling out onto the sand. We joined them.

  The cadade was nowhere to be seen. That would probably have been fortunate for him if Gochert was there; the icy swordfighter was not present. Nor was the Witch of the Demaskar Persuasion. I felt a pang for Lady Merlee and hoped she would fare well and survive among the terrors.

  The people were running about dazed, not sure what to do. I saw one slave, a hefty Rapa, creep up at the back of a guard Rapa and give him a right tasty smack over the ear. The guard fell down and the slave started to kick his rib cage in. I said to Wa-Te: “Do you wish to remain with this rabble, my friend, or shall we seek sweeter pastures?”