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Scorpio Ablaze [Dray Prescot #41]
by Alan Burt Akers
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Science Fiction/Fantasy

Mushroom eBooks
www.mushroom-ebooks.com

Copyright ©1992 by Kenneth Bulmer

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

Scorpio Ablaze

Alan Burt Akers

Mushroom eBooks

CONTENTS

Dray Prescot

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

About the author

The Dray Prescot Series

* * * *

Copyright © 1992, Kenneth Bulmer

Alan Burt Akers has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.

First published in Germany in 1992 by Heyne Verlag in German.

First English eBook edition by Savanti Press in 1998

This Edition published in 2008 by Mushroom eBooks, an imprint of Mushroom Publishing, Bath, BA1 4EB, United Kingdom www.mushroom-ebooks.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

eISBN 1843197081

Dray Prescot

Dray Prescot tells us in muted tones of remembered horror of the time he spent as a slave of the Shanks and Katakis in the port town of Taranjin. Taranjin is the capital of Tarankar, a country on the west coast of South Loh. Here, Prescot has been sent by the Star Lords to drive the Shanks out. He has been forced to leave his new Companions from Loh—Mevancy nal Chardaz, a most spirited young lady, and Trylon Kuong, a young nobleman of honorable and romantic notions, and Llodi, a loyal fighting man and ex caravan guard. These folk are trying to follow Prescot, whom they know as Drajak the Sudden.

Prescot has had limited success in organizing the guerilla gangs in Tarankar, and his hopes are centered on a coalition of forces from allied Hamal, from his home, Vallia, and from Tsungfaril. Tsungfaril, a country across the desert to the east, has a new queen, Queen Kirsty with her consort Rodders. The Star Lords ordered Kirsty to be made queen of Tsungfaril. Now Prescot in Taranjin, employed to clean a Shank lord's armor aboard his flagship, is beginning to sense that he faces utter failure. He tries a last throw and places incendiary devices aboard Shank ships, and then is told to clean weapons—including a great Krozair longsword.

Prescot has been described as a man above middle height, with brown hair and level brown eyes, oddly brooding and dominating, with enormously broad shoulders and powerful physique. He has an unmistakable aura about him, a charisma known in Kregish as the yrium. He moves like a savage hunting animal, swift, quiet and lethal.

Under the twin sun, Antares, the planet Kregen is a world of wonder and terror, of beauty and horror. Now, in the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio, Prescot takes up the Krozair brand. He hears a commotion on the deck outside and sees Pazzian slaves about to be killed by the Shank lord using his trident.

He looks along the deck hearing the shrieks of pain and fear and sees the totally unexpected. He acts at once.

Alan Burt Akers

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Chapter one

The Glitch Riders swept out of the dawn in a whirling welter of pounding hooves and spurting sand. Their furious onset billowing their desert robes laced with dust made them ghostly apparitions bursting from the half-light and shadows. Flashing blades swinging in lethal arcs and long slender lances stabbing mercilessly tumbled the sleepy caravan guards into instant ruin.

The first shrieks brought Mevancy to the flap of the tent in three lissom strides. She looked out with a caution ingrained in her. Directly before her a screaming guard running between the lines of tents threw up his arms and collapsed as the sharp narrow lance head pierced past his backbone.

The Glitch Rider reined up, withdrawing his lance, and his animal reared and his hooves pawed the dust-laden air. Mevancy saw that picture of primeval violence and mannish domination. The lance slanted down towards her, its head darkly stained. Under the brim of the turban-wrapped helmet and above the sand scarf, fierce dark eyes caught the radiance of the early suns and glittered upon her.

The Glitch Rider must have seen a defenseless woman's figure in the tent opening, a fine shapely woman clad in a single sheer yellow nightgown. He forced his animal's head around, hooves splaying sand, thrust the lance into its stirrup bucket and dismounted in a single smooth movement. A word into his mount's ear quietened the beast immediately. Beyond the opposite row of tents screams blistered into the dawn air. The Glitch Rider started for the tent in pleasurable anticipation. This was the kind of loot for which he and his companions attacked the desert caravans.

Mevancy nal Chardaz lifted her left arm and held it horizontally outstretched straight in front of her breast. Her arm pointed at the advancing warrior. Her clenched fist curled below the line of the horizontal. Blood suffused Mevancy's face. Her left fist twitched and there followed a glinting twinkle in the air. The Glitch Rider emitted just the one scream. His hands flew up to the red pudding that had been his face. The sand scarf flapped uselessly, shredded into pieces, blood stained. He doubled up, writhing, staggering, choking.

Mevancy went quickly back into the tent and snatched up her sword.

“What is it, Mevancy? What is that terrible noise?"

The girl in the other desert camp bed lifted her head and stared in understanding horror. The sounds were self-explanatory.

“Make yourself as small as possible, Bella. Make yourself look like a part of the tent. For an actress of your gifts...” and here Mevancy recognized her own cruelty. Still, she was feeling particularly aggravated and annoyed at the stupidity of the guards who had fallen down on their job, so she finished: “That should not be difficult."

Bella Chuan-Hsei gave a tiny shriek. Her hands pulled the sheet up tightly. Her arms were pink and smooth and firmly fleshed, glowing. Mevancy swung back to the tent opening. Her own forearms were granulated with a fine honeycomb of sunken points, the deadly bindles, some of which had destroyed the desert raider's face. What Mevancy did not say was that no Glitch Rider was going to enter this tent whilst she still swung a sword or could shoot off her bindles. She didn't say it because she felt that kind of fustian best left to Bella's orations upon the stage.

When she stepped out onto the sand the Glitch Rider was rolling about and greasy blood splattered between his fingers. She used her sword efficiently and gave him his quietus. She breathed deeply and almost steadily.

Noise racketed on in the camp and now the sliding screech of steel upon steel told that the caravan was coming awake and resisting the raiders. Because she had learned more of the tricks of the trade from Drajak the Sudden in their journeys, she caught the bridle of the Glitch Rider's mount and tied the reins to a tent peg. Booty, after all, was booty.

Around the corner of the next tent along a man ran swiftly into view. He cast a swift glance back. By the cut of his desert robes, the turban-wrapped helmet, the style of his sword, he could be nothing other than a Glitch Rider. Mevancy lifted her own blade.

He saw her and momentarily checked and then came on furiously.

She lifted her left arm before her, held straight with the fist tucked down. A shadow fleeted past the corner of the tent and there were Trylon Kuong and Llodi the Voice running swiftly after the raider.

The dust kicked into the air slicked on her tongue flatly, dry, and her nostrils stung. She faced the Glitcher, a slender handsome figure of defiance.

“Keep away, my lady!” yelled Llodi. His strangdja glittered as the twin suns pierced their mingled streaming light over the tops of the tents. Light began to illuminate the world.

“Not until I've bindled the shint!"

The Glitcher swung up his sword expecting to cut down this girl and get clear of his pursuers. For him, at least, the raid had gone wrong. He saw the tethered animal, a narrow-flanked, spiky-headed, six-legged wegener. He saw the sprawled body of his tribesman. Unhesitatingly he sprang for the wegener.

That sideways movement took him at an angle so that Mevancy's shot for his face splattered against the side of his helmet and shoulder. One or two of the little darts, her bindles, smacked into his cheek. He ignored the sudden and unexpected pain, reaching for the reins tied around the tent peg. Inflamed, Mevancy started for him, sword uplifted.

Kuong—young, limber, alive with a reckless passion in which honor and glory were all muddled up in his head—shouted in alarm.

“Mevancy!"

Llodi let rip a low growl of animal anger and fairly hurled himself on.

The glittering holly-leaf-shaped head of his strangdja, a killing instrument of cold steel, thrust forward as he charged. Llodi the Voice, a rough tough caravan guard who, had he been on watch, would never have been caught sleeping, put great store by his new friends, Trylon Kuong and the lady Mevancy—and, too, that hard and ferocious devil, Drajak the Sudden, who had so mysteriously disappeared. Oh, no, Llodi was not going to let anything nasty happen to the lady Mevancy.

The Glitcher reached the tethered wegener as Kuong leaped upon him and as Llodi thrust his strangdja forward past Kuong's hurtling body.

Sword and strangdja slashed and pierced the desert raider. He let rip a screech of agony, trying to swing about, trying to get his own sword into action, and Mevancy delivered a last cunning stroke that smashed him to his knees into the churned-up sand.

The three friends stood, together, over the body, and looked about for any more of these pestiferous Glitchers. They had no need to speak. They acted as a team.

A galloping wegener in his lolloping six-legged gait crashed past with his rider dangling from the saddle, his chest a mass of red under the crushed mail. Others appeared, running, and following them a vengeful mob of Kuong's personal guards mixed with caravan guards and mercenaries of other nobles and merchants traveling with the caravan.

“Bad cess to ‘em,” growled Llodi, grounding his strangdja. “What with murdering and thieving an’ all."

“That's their way of life,” observed Kuong. He glanced at Mevancy and the tiniest dent appeared in his forehead between his brows. “You are—well, Mevancy?"

“By Spurl!” She tossed back her dark hair, impatient with herself. “It was just that first sight of the Gahamond-forsaken bastard that startled me. He looked so—so—” She did not repeat the thought that had slammed through her brain at sight of the Glitcher—so mannish. Instead, she finished: “His damned evil eyes flashed like those of a risslaca."

“He was meat ripe for the chopping, my lady.” Llodi sounded positive.

“Yes."

“Then,” said Kuong briskly, in his best manner of young nobility, “it is time we had the first breakfast."

Not for the first time Mevancy saw with pleasure that briskness in Kuong, an attitude to life vastly different from the majority of his countrymen and women down here in Tsungfaril in Southern Loh. Of course, he was a Paol-ur-bliem, a man sentenced to the punishment of being reincarnated over and over again until he had purged himself of his own crime against the god Tsung-Tan seasons upon seasons ago.

Those who were not the Accursed, not paol-ur-bliem, lived only so that they might after death enter the paradise of Gilium. Their lackadaisical way of existing infuriated strangers who did not share their religious beliefs. Kuong had a goodly number of lifetimes to live before he could dream of entering Gilium and living in paradise for eternity.

Because Kuong was a trylon, the third highest rank of nobility, he could sit at the folding table with his friends and grandly eat the first breakfast whilst others cleaned up the camp. The Glitchers’ bodies were stripped of everything useful and then taken out and dumped.

The caravan master, Nath the Horizons, a man whose face bore the creases of seeing vast distances across the desert, walked up to the table. He looked troubled. Gracefully, Kuong invited him to sit down and partake of the first breakfast.

“Thank you, lord. I bring grave news.” He sat down but did not eat.

Levelly, Kuong said: “Tell me."

“Those shints. May Tsung-Tan in his infinite wisdom consign each one individually to the Death Jungles of Sichaz.” The words were heavy, flat on the dusty air. “They slashed the water skins."

“Oh, no!” burst out Mevancy before she could stop herself.

“Aye, my lady. It is serious—"

“Water must be rationed at once.” Kuong stood up. “We must gather up every last drop. We must know how much we have left."

Llodi stood up instantly and Nath the Horizons also rose, more slowly. He was an important man in the desert, and knew it; also he was not a lord.

“There may be just enough to see us all back to Makilorn. There is no question of going on our way farther west."

“Just so that we all arrive alive,” breathed Kuong.

Mevancy threw him a quizzical glance. The young trylon, when he died, would be reincarnated into the chosen body of a newborn baby. It could well be thought he would welcome the chance of a genuine death so as to get his punishment over with as soon as possible. Yet Kuong did not, as far as Mevancy could see, appear to share that common ambition of all the Accursed, the paol-ur-bliem.

About to throw the dregs of her cup into the sand, an unthinking action, she hauled herself up. “Every last drop,” she said.

“Aye."

“Reminds me of the time when old Perlandi got caught in that dratted sandstorm. We were short of water, then. But we survived."

“We will, my lady,” said Llodi with gravity, “survive now."

She was about to agree in a rolling oath or two with Llodi when Nath the Horizons said in his heavy way: “If it is the will of Tsung-Tan, I shall accept that with joy, if he calls me up to Gilium at last."

Llodi and Mevancy exchanged impatient, annoyed glances. Still, neither wanted to question the fanatically held religious beliefs of these people.

Mevancy contented herself with: “Well, by Spurl, I have a great deal to do. I intend to return to Makilorn in one piece."

“And,” said Kuong, looking into her flushed face, “so do I."

The caravan wrapped up and set off, heading east, and by agreement the second breakfast was omitted.

There was water, just, to get them through on savagely reduced rations.

When Mevancy suggested to Kuong, and he passed on the idea to Nath, that they should dump unnecessary impedimenta, thus lightening the load and increasing their speed, the reaction of most nobles was one of rejection.

“If we leave our tents and personal goods here in the desert,” protested Laygon Fariang, a stout lord with a stutter, “they will be lost! The Glitchers may come back, there are bandits—oh, no, my slaves will carry their burdens."

“Quite right!” confirmed Stromni Yriang, purple-faced, jewel-bedecked.

“Well,” temporized Kuong, “we will see."

In the event, when the caravan staggered with only half their animals left into the city of Makilorn, they left a trail of abandoned goods in their wake. No one sweated. Dust and sand caked them. They were a procession of ghosts stumbling to the banks of the River of Drifting Leaves.

Kuong's people had not suffered as badly as the slaves of the other nobles. By the same token, most of his possessions now lay dumped back in the wastes of sand. Going up to his villa, he said: “I'll send out for the gear. If it is still there."

“Which it won't be if those rackety Umblers stumble across it."

Even in their exhausted condition they had to smile at the thought of Umblers—erratic, incompetent diffs. Llodi finished: “They are a funny old lot, an’ all, an’ no mistake."

In Kuong's villa, Mevancy said decisively: “A bath. A long long soak."

Kuong's people bustled about. After bathing, a meal and then rest brought Mevancy, Llodi and Kuong back to normalcy. The experience had turned out not too badly in the end; it could easily have killed them all. They decided to walk across to the Mishuro villa early the next day to see Lunky and as Llodi said: “Find out if he's seen Drajak, an’ all."

“Strange business,” observed Kuong. “Oh, I know Drajak is a bit weird; but it's not like him to go off like that."

Mevancy opened her mouth, and closed it. She was a kregoinya as Drajak was a kregoinye and they worked for the Everoinye. Drajak could have been snatched up by the Star Lords and sent somewhere else on Kregen. Mevancy knew all about that. That was how she and Drajak had met, in a burning building.

The guards stiffened up to attention as Kuong Vang Talin, the Trylon of Taranik, entered the Mishuro villa. Lunky greeted them with outstretched hands, puzzled at their return. When he'd heard the story he gave thanks to Tsung-Tan for their safe deliverance and then startled them.

“Drajak? Yes, he was here. But he's flown off again."

A light quick step brought their attention to a young man who bore a face remarkable for its clash of emotions. His forehead was broad and his features well formed with a rebellious set to his jaw. His red Lohvian hair was neatly trimmed. That young unlined face expressed baffled fury, scorn, self-pity and a growing rebellious determination.

Lunky introduced the young man as Rollo the Runner.

The moment the lahals were done with, Rollo burst out: “And damned ungrateful he is! By Chuzto! Just flew off and left me here to rot!"

“What is all this about flying?” demanded Kuong, not quite sure how to take this emphatic young man.

“Drajak had a boat that flew through the air,” said Lunky.

“Yes!” Rollo waved his arms about. “He calls it a voller. Flew away and left me here.” Only then was it borne in on Rollo just how his passionate words could be interpreted. Instantly he swung towards Lunky. “I beg your forgiveness, San Lunky. I did not mean—I am sure you realize—"

Not too long ago Lunky had been just such a young man; now with the death of his master he had become a most powerful Diviner. His face had filled out. He carried himself with poise and assurance. His marriage to Mistress Telsi would soon take place. And, since the discomfiture of the opposition party led by Shang-Li-Po, the party of which he and his friends formed the heart had come to power.

He said: “That is perfectly all right, Rollo. I do understand. I am doomed to lead an inactive life now. You may stride out to adventures—"

“Ha!” Rollo's fury burst out anew. “I may? When Drajak the Sudden sees fit, you mean. Where are the men he promised?"

“As to that, they will arrive in Tsung-Tan's good time."

“Did he,” said Kuong, “explain where he'd been and why he didn't join us after we had—ah—rescued queen Leone?"

Mevancy remained silent. She could not be sure; but she felt fairly confident that the Everoinye had, indeed, taken Drajak up.

“No, trylon, not a word. But he had this wonderful flying boat.” Talk of airboats aroused conflicting emotions in Loh. Lack of fliers was often given as one reason for the decline and collapse of the Empire of Loh. Conversation became general as Lunky led the party in for a splendid Kregan meal.

At one point, in answer to Rollo, Kuong said: “Our journey has merely been interrupted. We shall start west again with the first caravan."

“In that case, trylon,” quoth Rollo the Runner, “I would ask leave to accompany you. I am doing no good here. Drajak has gone to Tarankar, so that is where I must go."

Looking at Rollo's determined young face, Mevancy saw clearly what an impression Drajak had made on this young man. Could other people see in her face the impression Drajak had made on her?

The episode with Leotes she had now firmly put away from her thoughts. He was paol-ur-bliem like Kuong. The new Repositers would be appointed by the college to collect every scrap of information about the lives of the Accursed in their care, thus ensuring continuity. Now, before Kuong could rush off again, he had to wait for his new Repositer. Lunky threw up his hands in regret, but, as he said: “This is your fate."

In the event Trylon Kuong received a small, sedate man with a nose more pointed than round, and a chin more round than pointed. He habitually put his hands into the opposite sleeves, and smiled. This was San Cheng.

Mevancy decided to reserve her opinion of him.

Some time elapsed in fresh preparations. Some of Kuong's gear was retrieved from the desert. A caravan formed and, at last, they could set off west for Taranik and Tarankar. The days in the desert passed as desert days do as the twin suns rose and set. The patient animals plodded on, and, eventually, via Orphasmot and the oases of Claransmot and Hanjhin, took the party to Taranik. Here, in this large and splendid oasis and its imposing lake, they were greeted by the Crebent left in charge by Kuong. T'sien-Fu was able to tell them that the flying boat had flown in and off and that Drajak the Sudden had asked after the very people with the trylon now.

“Well, at least we are following him,” said Mevancy.

Whilst Kuong was in a hurry, it was needful for him to spend some time in his estates of Taranik. No further troubles had been experienced from the Glitch Riders, and the bandits were lying low. T'sien-Fu's mop of black hair quivered as he spoke to his lord. “But, lord, to go to Tarankar!"

Speaking with heavy gravity, Kuong said: “I have been ordered to go by the queen. Queen Kirsty is forming an army. It is necessary to find out all that we can."

“But, lord, the man Drajak in his flying boat has gone."

“It was our agreement to go together. Queyd-arn-tung!"[1]

[1 Queyd-arn-tung—No more need be said. A.B.A.]

With considerable reluctance, despite the urgency of their mission, the party left the peace and plenty of Kuong's estates of Taranik. The groves of trees, the cultivated fields, the herds of fine animals and the wonderful scent of Kregan flowers all called to the wanderer to pitch his tents and settle down here. The glitter of the twin suns off the lake was the last sight of water before She of the Sundering, the river marking the eastern boundary of Tarankar. Kuong took a last deep draught of the perfumed oasis air and then swung resolutely away into the desert.

The wasteland here was real desert, mile after mile of shifting sand. Known as the Glarkie Dunes, the barrier it formed was formidable.

Husbanding water and supplies, keeping steadily on, the party could only speculate what the future held for them.

At last came the day when Llodi, in the lead, hauled up and shaded his eyes, peering intently ahead. Kuong reined in beside him.

“Yes, Llodi. I think those are clouds."

“And mountains under ‘em. That'll be the river, an’ everything."

“I trust,” said Mevancy, her sand scarf trailed across the lower half of her face, “I sincerely trust we may swim in the river."

“That is something to be discovered."

Although they did not urge their animals to a faster gait, the beasts soon snuffed water ahead and speeded up. San Cheng, his yellow robe flapping, held onto his saddle in a most awkward fashion. He carried a sword and Llodi, for one, promised himself not to stand too close to the Repositer if it came to a fight.

San Cheng had no need to give his history. He had been chosen early on showing signs of promise, had been trained up by the college, and would spend the rest of his life recording Kuong's doings and sayings. When this body inhabited by Kuong died the Diviners, now led by Lunky, would discover Kuong in the body of a new born baby. By that time it was highly probable that San Cheng's successor would be the trylon's Repositer.

Mevancy cried out and pointed.

“Look! That must be Drajak!"

Fleeting swiftly from the distant smudge of cloud and skimming over the desert towards them a dot rapidly grew in size and turned into a flying boat.

Mevancy started to wave and Rollo, after a single look, shouted: “No! No, my lady. We must hide!"

“Hide!” exclaimed Kuong. “Where, by Lohrhiang of the Springing Branch, can we hide in this hellish place?"

“What is it, Rollo?” Mevancy was appalled by Rollo's panic-stricken vehemence.

“Shanks!"

The flying vessel swooped down. Her brightly-painted squared-off upperworks glinted with gilding above the sleek black hull. Quite clearly her crew had seen the party below. Llodi clapped his heels in and started a blind rush off to the left, Rollo went galloping off to the right, San Cheng was carried off willy-nilly. Kuong cast a glance at Mevancy and ripped out his sword.

“From all I have heard about these Shanks,” she said, speaking as evenly as she could, feeling her heart thudding, “we do not have much chance."

“Nevertheless—"

“Oh, yes, I agree. Your company has been pleasant, Kuong, and much appreciated.” She drew her sword.

The Shanks flew with precision. Circling, they dropped nets, parties of fish-faced soldiers alighted. All Kuong's people were rounded up and of them all only two servants were killed. Everyone else was taken.

They resisted. They fought. Of course, they fought.

They were ruthlessly smashed down entangled in the nets, clubbed senseless.

Some awful time later, thrown down into a dark wooden-walled space deep within that black hull, they huddled together, nursing their cuts and bruises. The sight of these fishy people, these Shanks, affected Mevancy profoundly.

Used as any inhabitant of Kregen must be to the wonderful array of diffs, people who are not built as Homo sapiens sapiens is built, she still recoiled in revulsion. These Fish Faces repelled in a fashion at once nauseating, hideous and terrifying.

San Cheng simply sat with his hands thrust into the sleeves of his robe, head sunk on breast. Llodi was trying to prise a splinter of wood away from the wall. Some of Kuong's servants were crooning a slave dirge as old as slavery itself. Kuong said: “When we are taken out. There are no nets on us now."

Mevancy, on a breath, said: “Oh, yes!"

They all felt the bump shiver through the room and only then realized they had been flying through the air.

Rollo said: “You'll get used to it. Now, I do not stop fighting."

He, and the others, did not stop fighting as they were dragged out. Indifferently, the Shanks clubbed them down, hauling their kicking protesting bodies by ankles or wrists or hair. Mevancy had a chance to let fly with her bindles. Sensing this was the end, she did not husband her biological arsenal but let rip with both forearms.

Three Shanks screamed, dropping their weapons and clasping their ruined fishy faces. Others beat her to the deck and hauled on her hair, dragging her up to the top deck. Even then, in pain, half blind, she did not fail to note the callous treatment living Shanks afforded dead Fish Heads.

Repeatedly struck, dazed, Kuong and his party staggered from the flying ship, still attempting to struggle. Other ships lay on the landing field and the suns shone.

Now black-browed Katakis appeared to take over. These were slavers of Paz, man managers, utterly indifferent to other peoples’ pains. They flashed their tails, to which were strapped six inches of daggered steel, and their whips rose and fell.

The slave coffle under the whips staggered on. Shouting and screaming, the line of slaves was hauled aboard another of the black hulled flying ships and thrust against the bulkhead. Mevancy lifted her head. On the deck a group of Shank officers glittered in scaled armor, glinting with gold, surrounding one who shone more magnificently than his aides. He, then, was the chief. He held a trident. Mevancy stiffened in fresh horror.

Perfectly clearly the whole situation was at once apparent. The Shanks had grown tired of the slaves’ antics, annoyed and aggravated. The Shank lord would go along the line and thrust his trident deeply into each person's guts, twist and pull. That would be a dreadful object lesson to the rest.

Rollo surged forward and was beaten back by the smash of a trident butt.

The Fish Face lord thrust his trident into a Mionch who went down screaming to snap one of his long tusks against the deck.

The trident lifted. In the next heartbeat it would degut Mevancy.

A heavy throwing spear with red feathers flaunting where head joined shaft abruptly sprouted between the fish lord's shoulder blades. He went down at once. The other Shanks shrieked in uncomprehending rage, and ripped out their swords, lifted their tridents. They turned to stare down the deck.

Mevancy, sick with the horror and the stink of rotten fish, looked.

She did not really believe.

A voice of power and passion bellowed: “Hai Jikai! Hai Jikai, you murdering torturing kleeshes of Fish Faces! Hai Jikai!"

A bronzed and lithely muscular figure clad in a flaring scarlet breechclout leaped down the deck straight for the Shanks. A great two-handed longsword flamed under the Suns of Kregen.

“Hai Jikai!"

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Chapter two

Held in the cunning two-handed Krozair grip the glittering longsword slashed left and right. Two Shanks had no time to scream, collapsing in green gore. Most of the length of the Krozair brand still glittered in the lights of the twin suns.

As more of the surprised Fish Faces fell under the merciless blows, the glitter changed to an ominous green patina. It was absolutely vital to keep moving, to strike economically despite the red roaring passion of revengeful blood. The Katakis shouted confused orders and the Whiptail Chuktar tried to thrust with his bladed tail. The tail was severed by a slicing cut which went straight on to sunder his armor in a welter of blood.

“Come on! Come on! Grab weapons! Bratch!"

Llodi was the first to react. He snatched up a fallen trident and with a whooping shriek thrust a Shank clean through the guts.

Kuong and Mevancy retrieved swords and went to work.

Rollo got his fists around a trident and joined them.

The suddenness of it all, the shock, the abrupt death of the lord, tumbled the Fish Faces back in confusion. More died. The fight raged across the filthy deck.

Even then, we might not have done it—probably would not have done it—against this formidable opposition that swiftly threw more Shank soldiers into the fray. But acid was eating, eating at six membranes. The acid did not bite through evenly, so that the incendiary devices planted aboard six of the Shank flying ships ignited in sequence. With a great whoosh flames burst up from the ship next along the line. A bedlam of yells and shrieks broke from this vessel, the lord's flagship, as the incendiary device I'd planted in the magazine at last took fire.

Half a dozen Fish Faces leaped over the side. Others hesitated.

Striking with the Krozair brand I cleared a space.

“Rollo! I'll hold ‘em. Get up to the controls!"

“But—Drajak—"

“Mevancy, go with Rollo! Come on. Runner, you know how to fly one of these contraptions! Move!"

Without another word Rollo started for the ladder to the next deck. The position of the controls was plain enough, in the armored box just for'ard of midships. Mevancy stuck a Kataki through and stepped on his tail as she ran with Rollo. She did not stop to cut his tail off. Normally one would cut off a Kataki's tail if the opportunity offered; but she'd stuck him good. She and Rollo vanished above.

Now other slaves were coming alive, were seeing salvation.

I knew none of the others, apart from my four friends. The killing frenzy that had given me impetus enough to break free from the slave mentality had to be channeled, organized, used. This fight was not over yet.

Flames roared over the after part of the flagship. Fire was sweeping through all six ships in which the fire eggs had been planted.

This ship, the lord's flagship, was a fine vessel. I had no compunction, in these latter days, in burning her. I just hoped we'd get her airborne before she was totally consumed.

Spouting flames, with Katakis and Shanks leaping over the side, the ship lurched. She lifted off and then fell back.

“Come on, Rollo, my lad. Come on!"

He took her up with a savage burst of power that threw many people to the deck. She nosed ahead and the flames streamed away aft. With Shanks and Katakis stumbling about, tripping over one another, falling to the deck, this was a splendid opportunity not to be wasted. There was not a shred of mercy in me as I raced on, striking with the green and red slimed longsword.

Mevancy's head appeared over the upper deck as I chopped a Fish Face and swung to degut a Whiptail.

“Cabbage! There's no one up here!"

She started to descend the ladder.

“Watch yourself, pigeon. There are a few of the shints down here."

Now the ship lifting up and moving forward faster and faster sent a tail of flame streaming back. The slaves—who were slaves no more—fought on. In a burning ship we leaped for the sky.

“Hunt ‘em all down!” I bellowed. “Leave not one of the cramphs."

As you can see, I was in a right old paddy.

But, then, I'd been slave and had seen atrocities too dreadful to recount. My friends had been about to be murdered. And the scarlet breechclout and the Krozair brand had changed that, had altered fate.

With that swift onward rush of the flying ship through thin air the breeze swept in clean and sweet. The perennial stink of rotten fish diminished.

We went around the forward parts hunting slavers.

All the stern was now a single roaring mass of flames. When we were quite certain not a single Whiptail or Fish Face remained alive, we fell silent. Only the crackling roar of the flames and the windrush broke the silence.

Ripping a length of cloth from a Kataki face down in his own blood I cleaned the Krozair blade.

Mevancy's soft voice, full of questioning, said: “Cabbage?"

I tried to find a smile for her.

“Thank you, pigeon."

“What? You thank me? But—"

“I had failed here in Taranjin. All the land of Tarankar was lost, I thought. Then the Shanks and Katakis brought you and the others aboard."

Even as I spoke I recognized my own loquaciousness. All the same, by Krun, it had been a near run thing. I was recovering rapidly now.

She nodded. “Oh, yes, I see."

I think she did, at that.

Rollo walked up. He'd found a Lohvian longbow and was adjusting the quiver over his shoulder. He gave me a most peculiar look.

“I've read the stories, as I told you—Drajak."

“You looped the cords around the controls as I showed you?"

I sounded sharp.

“Of course.” He sounded hurt. “I'm not that much of a fambly, am I?"

We were going along splendidly, burning and breaking up. How long the vessel would stay in one piece I couldn't say. Either that, and a sudden plunge to the earth, or we'd all crisp. Neither prospect pleased.

Kuong and Llodi were both looking queasy. That was not from the fight. That was because they were Lohvians and they had no experience here of flying ships. In an effort to reassure them, I said: “These flying contraptions are wonderful. We'll be all right.” In the aftermath of a fight few people can react with complete normalcy. Our conversation was strained and unnatural. We'd get over that, too.

“I'm going below and aft. I want to see if we are being pursued."

Instantly, Mevancy snapped out: “You'll get singed."

His mind still on this marvelous experience of flying through thin air, Llodi said: “It's been a funny old day, what with this flying an’ all."

That broke some dam of expression in us all. We all laughed.

Kuong said: “I'll come aft with you, Drajak."

So far, not one of them had commented on my appearance, except Rollo's oblique reference. He, alone of them all, knew my true identity. Yet the others had read the lurid tales of Dray Prescot, how he swung about the world of Kregen righting wrongs, rescuing damsels in distress, fighting oppression.

What you might call the trademarks of Dray Prescot were his scarlet breechcloth and the great Krozair longsword. Would they, I wondered futilely, then, would they connect up the clues? Could Rollo remain silent?

Well, that didn't matter much any more. I had the task, handed to me by the Star Lords, of clearing all the damned Shanks out of Tarankar and then of all Paz.

From the lower rear balcony, with the heat pulsing down over our heads, we could stare aft and see the armada of Shank flying ships in grim pursuit.

“How many?"

After a short space, Rollo said: “I make it twenty nine."

Wishing to be hard on the young hellion, I said: “Count again."

Whilst he did so I reflected that he'd overlooked one vessel flying immediately astern of another, and had counted the two as one.

Rollo grumped: “Oh, aye. Thirty."

“I suppose I needn't explain that the odd one out could be your death?"

“No, you needn't.” He sounded most sharp.

“Let's get back on deck. It's unhealthily warm here."

Our streamer of smoke and flame trailing aft smudged across the sky. Truth to tell, there could be another thirty enemy hidden above that smoky tail, although I did not think so. We'd gained height in that first hectic escape and the Fish Faces were pressing on levelly and gaining height slowly so as not to fall back. From what now seemed only a few seasons ago when the Shanks had no vollers at all they had developed into competent aviators.

Back on deck Mevancy greeted me with: “You understand these flying boats. Surely you know a way to put out that fire?"

“Hell's Bells and Buckets of Blood, woman,” I growled back at her. “I could spit on it, I suppose."

“Oh, you!"

Rollo, very brightly, said: “I'll check the controls."

I said: “I have an itch. Kuong—I fancy there is a Kataki or a Fish Face hiding still."

Instead of looking alarmed, Kuong brightened. “I agree with you, Drajak. I'll get some of these people organized. We'll smoke ‘em out!"

“If we don't get smoked out first,” sniffed Mevancy, very put out.

“Look, pigeon, in a wooden vessel like this all you can do is hope and pray. There isn't even the sea to bucket up. We can press the flames back by the speed we go. But, eventually, they will eat forward."

“Well, don't expect me to pull you out again."

Before I could stop myself, I'd rapped out: “No, thanks. I don't want another crack on the skull that paralyses me."

“What,” she said in a voice of ice, “do you mean?"

Oh, well, Dray Prescot has a mouth large enough—at times—to accommodate a king size foot.

I said: “Nothing, pigeon. I'm going to the armory."

I didn't mean the armory but the lord's trophy room. If I didn't get there soon the place would burn.

As I stepped through the door past the bodies of the two Whiptails, I turned to call back to Mevancy, standing there with her hands on her hips, her head thrust forward and a most diabolical expression on her face.

“Get some people into chucking the bodies overside, will you?"

If I was in command then this vessel, burning or not, was going to be cleaned up as best we could.

The trophy room held a few objects I felt would be useful. The matched set of rapier and main gauche had come from Hamal and were ornately fancy.

We'd worked the etching trick on the Shank blades and although I'd seen none snap in the fight on the deck, I trusted the Fish Faces’ weapons would break come the day. Just how long this fancy rapier set would last in a fight remained to be seen. A true Krozair brother or a Zeniccean Bladesman will allow only the most minimal of markings on his blade; the brudstern, a few secret marks and that is all. I don't trust fancy etched blades.

The lestenhide scabbard in the krosturr fashion could now be rehitched to its belt lockets. Now I needn't strut about with the brand naked in my fist. The coat of mesh mail was by a hand's-breadth too narrow for my shoulders, which was a pity. The legends may tell of Dray Prescot rushing about naked save for a scarlet breechclout, the truth is I like a spot of armor between my shoulder blades. The powerful Canopian crossbow would come in handy, though, by Vox.

As for the torn half of a flag from a Vallian Green Coat regiment of spearmen, well, now, that ought to be saved if possible. If we got out of this scrape whole I'd have immense pleasure in ceremoniously presenting the tresh to its owner regiment. By Vox, what a stroke that would be!

By the same token, then, I ought to take the lance pennon from Hyrklana. My lad Jaidur, Vax Neemusjid, was the King of Hyrklana. He'd like the lance pennon back for its parent regiment, too.

A shadow appeared at the door and in the same instant I was across the trophy room, the longsword out and snouting.

Mevancy said: “You are twitchy, cabbage."

I thrust the sword back into the scabbard.

“You'd better help yourself to what you want. This will all burn soon."

“Yes. Very well. Look, Drajak, we're both working for the Everoinye and you know I am in command. So just let me do the ordering about, right?"

There was absolutely nothing of sense I could say in reply.

Instead: “Decks all cleared?"

Her full and mobile mouth tightened. “There you go again. Just because you dress up like the Emperor of Vallia and have a large sword doesn't make you Dray Prescot, does it? I've read the books. I told you. Dray Prescot is far too much of a gentleman to act in the uncouth way you do. You can play act all you like, Drajak, you'll never be a Dray Prescot."

Well now!

“Sink me!” I burst out. “Whoever told you Dray Prescot was a gentleman was a double-dyed—"

“Now, now, cabbage! I know what I read. Now call some of the freed slaves for these weapons. They look useful."

“Very well. Oh—take this coat of mesh. It'll fit you. You'll find it useful.” I held out the beautiful coat of links.

“Oh, you!” But she took it. Then she said: “Ask San Cheng to step in."

“San Cheng? Who's he?"

“Kuong's new Repositer. An odd little creature. Now, pigeon, move."

Feeling half satisfied and half dissatisfied with that minor confrontation with my lady spitfire I took myself off. San Cheng was pointed out to me and I told him to cut along to the Lady Mevancy in the trophy room.

He drew himself up, sharp nose and round chin high, hands in the sleeves of his robe. He said: “Whoever you are, you address me as san. Do I make myself clear?” He smiled. “I shall see the lady when I am ready."

This perked me up and a spot of deviltry entered my brain.

“You are not in Makilorn now. You are aboard a burning vessel under my command. You will obey the Lady Mevancy instantly, or I shall pick you up by the scruff of your grubby little neck and run you there. Dernun?"[2]

[2 dernun? An imperative demand: ‘Do you understand?’ Not very polite. A.B.A.]

He flinched back. The old hateful Dray Prescot Devil Glare must have flashed across my face. He licked his lips. “Well, perhaps—"

“No perhaps about it, sunshine! Bratch!"[3]

[3 bratch! Move, jump, get on with it. Not as ferocious as the infamous grak! A.B.A.]

Just then a shrieking started up and Kuong appeared along the deck with a crowd of the freed slaves. They were carrying something in a net.

They dumped their burden down, and it thrashed about with two arms and two legs and a daggered tail.

“You were right, Drajak! See!"

“I don't exactly smell ‘em. But it's something like that."

The Kataki was hauled upright still enmeshed in the net. No bookmaker would take odds that this fellow hadn't used this very net to entrap and enslave ordinary decent people of Paz. And, now, the jibrfarils had sold their evil services to the Shanks. I stared upon this Whiptail with great disfavor. The fellow actually spoke and tried to bargain for his life.

“Look, doms—the Shanks made me do it—I'm a Pazzian like you—"

A shrieking chorus of hate burst from the slaves. I was pleased to note that Kuong had them under enough control that they hadn't torn the Whiptail limb from limb already. And, by my referring to them all collectively as slaves betrays something of what Kregen can do to a fellow's brains. Yes, some of these poor folk had been slaves before the Katakis took them up. Others had not. In my book they were all ex-slaves. But my book was not read down here in Tarankar. Some day, I trusted, it would.

Incidentally, I do not mean the books and plays and puppet shows regarding Dray Prescot of legend and song. Oh, no, I refer to the book with which we in Vallia were hoping to educate the rest of Paz.

Attracted by the commotion, Mevancy joined us. She carried the mesh coat over an arm, for the cunning of the armorers of the Dawn Lands with mesh iron has to be weighed to be believed. “Well, what's amiss now—ah!” She saw the Whiptail and instantly understood.

In an aside, I said: “This is where Caspar the Peaker could shine."

“Caspar? Oh, the Everoinye sent him off again."

“Busy fellow.” Caspar was a kaogoinye, a licensed assassin for the Star Lords, and a remarkable artist into the bargain. “Where to?"

“He was warned and told me. Boromir of the Ashes."

“By the Black Chunkrah!” I didn't laugh aloud. But I felt the mirth. “That means either old Strom Irvil didn't make it, or that Caspar will have that charming numim aristo to contend with. I wish him luck of it, by Krun!"

Mevancy didn't know where away lay this Boromir of the Ashes.

The Kataki was trying to saw through the strands of the net with the dagger strapped to his tail. One of the ex-slaves, a hulking Brokelsh whose black body hair bristled vindictively, calmly leaned over and slashed the tail off.

“Now, now, Tuco!” exclaimed Kuong. “Plenty of time for that."

“Yes, lord. The shint deserves more than he'll get."

The Whiptail had the stump of his tail gripped in both hands and did not scream but stood staring in utter horror at the bloody end.

“Kill! Kill!” The people were becoming restless to the point where Kuong might not be able to hold them.

“The shint can tell us a few things if we ask him,” suggested Mevancy.

“Such as?” I looked around. If something positive was not done at once then our authority was gone.

“Please!” the Kataki managed to gabble out. “Please. Spare me—"

This was a scene that I misliked intensely. There was, in reason, only one course of action left open to us. I said: “Whiptail. We shall show you the same mercy you showed Pazzian slaves."

He screamed.

“Over with him!” I bellowed. I used a powerful ordering tone, bullying these vengeful people into instant obedience. Yelling and laughing, screaming with delight, they lifted the Whiptail on a forest of upraised arms. He was run to the side, shrieking.

I didn't bother to step to the bulwarks to watch his long fall to the ground beneath.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter three

Cleaning up the world of Kregen by disposing of one Kataki was all very well. It did not solve any of our pressing problems.

Our pursuers neither gained on us nor fell back. As the Shanks habitually built their flying ships to a single pattern this was not surprising. There had been two or three different designs on view lately; but if they differed in speed as well as layout it was not apparent yet. In addition we were all feeling hungry and thirsty.

Provisions and water from the fore parts of the vessel were broken out. There seemed little reason at this time to impose severe rationing and the cooks appointed themselves and we all ate and drank reasonably well. When the twin suns set, which would be in short order, our pursuers could still follow us, a burning torch scorching the sky.

The fire crept forward only slowly for we were making a good clip and the breeze blew back splendidly.

Thus our progress south was measured by our pursuers and by the fire.

Here in Loh the Suns of Scorpio are called Luz and Walig. They duly set in bands of crimson and viridian across the western sky and only a single lesser moon of Kregen hurtled low across the heavens. Tuco, who had been volunteered by Kuong to stand lookout, came forward in haste.

“They've put lights in them flying things—and they're going away!"

Kuong, Mevancy and I went carefully down and aft to check and it was true. The Shanks had given up the chase. Clearly, they believed we would burn.

Back on deck I felt I had to be as tactful as possible in dealing with the susceptibilities of Mevancy, as well as Kuong. I said: “There is a plan—"

Mevancy snorted. “We all know about your plans, cabbage!"

“All the same, I think it will work. If you give it a try."

“Speak on, Drajak,” said Kuong in his best trylonish manner.

“First of all, you'll have to understand a little of how the flying ships work. Rollo will have to play a major part. And we will all have to act very smartly, very smartly indeed, by Chozputz!"

When I outlined the plan there were some long faces, some grim faces, and one or two blank faces.

“I'm for giving it a try,” quoth Rollo, stoutly.

“Very well. The fire will burn through before the night is out. So we must begin at once."

Selecting personnel to perform the various tasks demanded by my so-wonderful plan was not too difficult. One absolutely vital factor was to determine the exact wind direction. If we fouled up on that we'd crisp.

Taking Rollo, Kuong, Llodi, Mevancy and Tuco below to where in a Pazzian craft the silver boxes of lift and motion would be located, we found no silver boxes. Instead, in the small armored space reposed bronze boxes. They were mounted in brass and balass orbits in a fashion almost identical to the mountings with which I was familiar. I explained succinctly.

“When the boxes move closer we rise. When they are pulled apart we go down. When they revolve in their orbits we go forward or turn to the side. Here are the control wires leading down from the levers in the conning tower."

They digested this.

“Each one of you will be assigned a single task. You will have enough of the ex-slaves to help in carrying. The vital need is utmost speed. But that does not mean you drop a single item!"

“We'll run, what with the fire at our heels, an’ all,” commented Llodi.

“The whole operation will be carried out in strict sequence so that nobody gets in anybody else's way."

Tuco in his uncouth Brokelsh manner said: “I'll go last."

“I appreciate your offer, Tuco.” Kuong was very much the grand noble. “But, as everyone realizes, that is a task devolving on me."

Talk about noblesse oblige! Mind you, from Kuong's point of view, if he did get himself killed he'd be born again in a new baby body.

That might be all right for him and his weird beliefs; if he dropped a vital element he'd shaft the rest of us. Shaft us rotten.

We sorted out the duties. Everyone was told twice what to do.

Then I had them recite what they had to do back to me.

Rollo was taking the control levers. He commented casually that he was becoming addicted to flying through thin air.

Each of the principals selected their assistants.

I said to Kuong: “Oh, trylon. Would you mind telling that Cheng fellow to get some people to carry out all the weapons they can?"

“Assuredly, Drajak. Still, he's not altogether a lost cause."

“I am heartened to hear it. Now. A few last words."

They heard me out in a waiting silence. We were risking much; no one had a better suggestion. At last we were ready. Everyone went to their posts and I went up with Rollo to the conning tower.

Just as we reached the armored box the aft fighting tower, eaten away by flames, fell by the board with an almighty crash and spewing fountains of sparks. A tall Gon girl, her long silver hair wrapped about her bare waist, looked in one of the slits of the tower to say: “Master. The sparks all blew that way.” She pointed a few points off to larboard.

“Your name?"

“Glima, an’ it please you, master."

“Thank you, Glima. That was smart work. I congratulate you."

Her drawn face broke into a smile that I couldn't see without a pang.

A glance through a top scuttle at the stars—those splendid stars of Kregen—located the wind direction for me. Now we had to find the right spot.

“Head her into the breeze, Rollo, my lad. I'll go for'ard and see what I can find. Glima, you will relay messages to Master Rollo."

“Yes, master."

Glima and I went forward into the eyes of the ship. In less than half a bur the Maiden with the Many Smiles would be up and by her fuzzy pinkish moonlight I ought to be able to scan the land. When that radiance broke across the land I saw we were flying over scrubland similar to much to the south. By heading those few points to larboard we were trending south eastward, which was not the direction in which I wished eventually to go.

Carefully studying the ground as it fleeted past, for we could not slow down, I waited as patiently as I could until a small river hove into view bordered by trees. Beyond it the ground looked flat. To try to touch down in the water would be of little use; the fire would rage contemptuous of the stream's waters to extinguish it. And we'd have to wade or swim ashore.

A few last meticulous observations ahead to check that there were no obstructions, then: “Run, Glima. Tell Rollo. Now!"

She was gone on bare flashing legs.

More quickly than I'd expected the flier's speed slackened and she nosed down with that reckless impetuosity I was coming to recognize as Rollo's special way of expressing his addiction to flying through thin air.

Still, he did it cleverly. When we hit we were barely moving forward. Now, below, my friends and their assistants should be hard at work. I rushed off to make sure no one got in anyone else's way. I gave a stentorian bellow as I hit the forward deck on my way to the conning tower.

“Cheng! Get your people moving! Bratch!"

The Repositer was standing staring at the roaring mass of flames engulfing the whole of the after part of the vessel. He jumped at my bellow. He had a sack of weapons slung over his shoulders and the people with other sacks were pushing past. He flung me a look compounded of hatred and fear and hurried to the side. He flung the sack over before following himself, which annoyed me. You don't treat weapons as thoughtlessly as that, not on Kregen.

The ex-slaves tended to jostle as they rushed for safety. You could hardly blame them for that, for now the heat was appreciable. The breeze was not all that strong, and whilst the flames were being blown aft, tongues and evil creeping streamers were eating their way forward.

Here came Kuong and the others, all carrying their appointed pieces. Rollo scrambled down from the conning tower with the control levers. The wires were dragged out and Llodi hauled them along with a will. Mevancy and Tuco were carrying the bronze boxes. All in all, as we scuttled like rats from the burning vessel, we must have presented a macabre sight.

Flames crackled and hissed. Smoke blackened the stars. The Maiden with the Many Smiles shone down refulgently, and fuzzy pink moonlight washed over men and women, over the doomed vessel. We ran and panted away until the heat was such that we could haul up and catch our breaths and watch the end.

Those people ordered to hack away as much as was practical of the forward parts of the flier had the heaviest burdens. One strapping Khibil was hauling a whole huge baulk of timber. I marked him.

I shouted: “Well done, all. It's no good gawping at the fire. Cooks! Get our own fires going and cook!"

This was a calculated risk; but a necessary one. My thoughts were that the Fish Faces might send a patrol out in the morning in curiosity to find out what had become of us. By that time, we'd be gone.

In the event we all ate and drank and then taking up our burdens trudged back to the stream where we could conceal ourselves among the trees.

Now even on Kregen, which is a truly remarkable world, everybody is not superhuman. Men and women react in unpredictable ways under unusual circumstances. So, all right. We had with us folk who were used to being slaves and their reactions to combat were thus modified. We had with us warriors, and their reactions to being made slave were unprintable. I decided we all needed a rest. The suggestion being made to Kuong and Mevancy resulted in immediate agreement. Some people had been injured by the Katakis as to need careful nursing. With our slender resources, this we provided.

Two days, I felt, would be sufficient for all but the worst cases. We had to bury one poor devil of a Fristle who'd been badly beaten. We carried out the necessary rites with due solemnity, commending him to his god, Tsung-Tan, and trusting he went up there in glory to Gilium rather than wandering hopelessly through the Death Jungles of Sichaz.

As the people rested and ate through the next two days I went along between the trees marking those I wanted. We were extremely cautious with fires, using them only for cooking. On the afternoon of the second day the lookouts raised the alarm and we all held still and silent as the Shank flying patrol passed overhead.

On the morning of the third day, as Luz and Walig rose into a marvelous Kregan dawn, Kuong and Mevancy, needing little prompting, set the folk to work.

In the fetching and carrying of tree trunks the big Khibil proved a most satisfactory substitute for a beast of burden. I didn't think of him in exactly that light, until the fact was pointed out, somewhat stuffily, by Kuong's Repositer. The Khibil's name was Quando the Iarvin.

I admit it. I stand guilty and condemned. I laughed.

Well, and why not, after all? My good companion and fellow kregoinye, Pompino the Iarvin, had once had a pretty little run in with a thief wearing the cognomen of Iarvin. A smart fellow, a lad who knows what's what, that's what Iarvin more or less means. Like all Khibils, this Quando knew his own worth and was well aware in his supercilious way he was a cut above the rest.

At least, he was a godsend when it came to lifting the trunks into place. Nothing fancy. That had to be my watchword. We built a raft-like platform and, perforce, had to plait ropes to tie the lot together. The bronze boxes were positioned and the control wires had to be drastically reduced in length as the levers were situated so close to them. Rollo took a deal of interest in all the technical aspects. I fancied he'd be turning into a second Oby, who'd started out desperate to be a kaidur in the Arena, and had wound up as an expert voller pilot and captain.

The body of the raft-like structure took shape. Rails were added and a light structure for shelter along the centre line. The controls were placed in front. I'd had experience building small personal vollers in Sumbakir in Hamal and that knowledge came in useful now.

When all was done I decreed another single day's holiday. Hunters had brought in game, we had the stream for water, and supplies of garsun flour were holding up. Palines, of course, grew freely along the stream.

On the day which Kuong and Mevancy had, between themselves, decided we should leave, the trylon said: “Do you have any special direction, Drajak?"

“Yes, Kuong. I'd like to go to the area just north of Clovang. I left some friends there I'd like to see are all right."

“That is away from the capital, Taranjin."

“Aye."

Mevancy said crisply: “We should be trying to link up with Queen Kirsty's army."

“If it's even formed yet, let alone started."

“Well, cabbage—"

“Also,” I said, “we have some poor folk with us who ought to be dropped off in as safe a place as we can. There is fighting ahead."

“That is true, by Spurl!” flashed Mevancy.

“We will,” said Kuong, “pick up Drajak's friends, drop off those who we feel are not capable. Then we can see how Queen Kirsty is doing."

Rollo insisted on handling the controls. With everyone packed aboard we soared away and up into the streaming mingled radiance of the Suns of Scorpio.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter four

Fan-Si couldn't stop laughing. She'd started the moment after she and the rest had crawled out of cover and she'd taken in me and the disreputable craft in which we flew.

“A witch did it,” she declared, in between whooping in breaths to laugh some more. “Your wonderful voller was changed by a witch into this heap!"

“It certainly is—crude,” observed Moglin. He stared at Fan-Si. “If you don't control yourself not only will you do yourself an injury, the prince may well decide to do it for himself. Fan-Si!"

I could see the Fristle fifi's reaction was only triggered by her amusement at the change from the smart voller in which she'd served as my Ship Hikdar, or first lieutenant, to this lashed up heap. The continuance of her excited reaction, expressed as uncontrollable laughter, had other causes. These, I surmised, had to do with her feelings that she'd never expected to see me alive again.

Her man, Moglin the Flatch, an experienced Fristle Bowman of Loh, put his arm about Fan-Si's delectable waist, whereat she tried to flick him with her tail. He tugged her and, with a glance more than a trifle uneasy at me, kissed her. This stopped her laughing. When they broke away she was sobbing.

Larghos the Throstle shook his head. “Moggers always did have a way with women."

Around us stretched a respectable woodland, threaded by watercourses, with clearings in which flowers grew and struggled between themselves for the mastery of the suns lights. The air scented with Kregan sweetness. The little army I'd managed to scrape together out of various gangs remained still in being. They were upwards of eight hundred souls now, and they continued to carry out the tasks I had set them. They had suffered casualties.

These three were my Jiktars, my commanders of regiments, Moglin the Flatch, Larghos the Throstle, and Fan-Si, who loved to ride through the air aboard the voller. Well, where that was now only the Star Lords knew, for they had hoicked me up out of her and dumped me down in Taranjin—after an argument.

Mevancy, crisply, through thinned lips, said: “These are your friends."

With due respect for protocol, I made the pappattu. When the introductions were over, and Kuong had been particularly gracious, Mevancy rounded on me. Her always highly-colored face positively glowed.

“Well, now, cabbage. And what is all this prince nonsense?"

As they say in Clishdrin, sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. I'd been going around Kregen sowing many different names, and now here was my comeuppance. These three new comrades and the little army we ran knew me as Prince Chaadur na Dorfu, the Striker, Kurinfaril, their chief. Also, they knew this was not my real name. This had been done in my expectations of gaining a significant victory over the Shanks and the Schtarkins and chucking them out of Tarankar. As my plans had gone awry I was now stuck with two different names to be accounted for.

Kuong and Rollo were listening with great interest.

“Come on, cabbage. Prince?"

“The thing is,” I began, most shiftily, and, what was worse, hearing that shiftiness in my voice. I sounded positively guilty as charged.

Kuong said: “You have always struck me as a man of great position, Drajak. One can tell these things. I, for one, would readily accept your assurances that you were a prince."

Now I know Kuong was a young noble, full of noble ideas. But, give it to him—you couldn't say fairer than he had, by Vox!

I said: “One of my names is Drajak. It is more than a simple use name. I chose to use my name of Prince Chaadur here to replace the leaders lost by these people when the Shanks overcame them. I do assure you, strange though it seems, I am a prince."

That was the truth, of course.

Mevancy shook her head. Not a beautiful woman, our Mevancy, but strong featured, well-built, radiant when animated, her beauty came all from deep inside her, an essential part of her spirit. “I—I always thought—suspected—there was something odd and special about you, cabbage—"

“Oh, aye, Most odd. Now can we get on? We have a lot to do."

Llodi stepped forward. His face looked troubled.

“What do I call you now, Drajak, what with you being a prince an'everything?"

“You call me Drajak as you have always done. It does not always suit me to be known as a prince."

“Oh, I see that an’ all."

Rollo suddenly sneezed, largely and loudly. I ignored him. I knew damn well what he was about, the scamp.

He must be having a good laugh at these antics of names, knowing as he did that I was Dray Prescot. He was enjoying me wriggling on the hook of my own duplicity, laughing so hard inside he had to sneeze, by Krun!

During this fascinating period of name calling Fan-Si had recovered.

She approached me with her tail decorously looped at her rear. She was not wearing armor, against my express command, and I'd have a word with Moglin about that.

“Prince,” she started, and rubbed her nose. “Prince—my girls—"

There were ten of them now, ten Fristle fifis, armed and armored—well, some of them—standing in an expectant line. These were the Jikai Vuvushis of our little army who had flown with me and hurled fire pots down on Shank flying ships.

I turned to Kuong. “Kuong—they have proved useful and brave and are grand fighting Jikai Vuvushis. I'd very much like to take them.” I added, more grimly, for this revealed a darker side of the affair: “Also, I would not relish leaving them here."

At once he said: “The decision must now be yours, prince.” He used that word prince unaffectedly. He was nowhere near as surprised or discomfited as I'd anticipated at my sudden elevation, and in that, as I saw later, I did him a grave injustice. A fine lad, Trylon Kuong of Taranik.

Not wanting to get into a maudlin or sentimental argument over rankings, I nodded. “Thank you. Very well, Fan-Si, get your girls aboard."

As was to be expected, the rest of the army being left behind started up their caterwauling. I raised my arms and they quietened down. There were not the whole eight hundred here, of course; there were enough to listen and repeat the message. That message was the same old fustian, elaborated on by a brief account of what had occurred in the capital city, Taranjin. I finished by assuring them that the Day would Dawn when the Freedom Armies would burst into the city to join the risen slaves, and the Armadas from Hamal and Vallia would arrive.

“In that great Day, all the Fish Faces will be driven out of Tarankar, and men and women can go back to living decent lives once again!"

They cheered; but the applause sounded thin.

We shouted the remberees and our crazily strung-together craft lifted off. She'd been given the name Deliverance. The name fitted, for she had saved us. Those of the freed slaves who wished to remain with the Freedom Army did so. Now Deliverance carried fighting men and women.

The interesting development of our relationships I noticed now was interesting, all right. By Makki Grodno's disgusting diseased nose and infected inner ear! It was fascinating, intriguing—and positively eerie.

No one—not Mevancy, not Kuong, not anybody—asked me what our plans were or what we were going to do. They didn't even ask where we were heading.

My initial intentions were to make the rounds of the scattered groups of Freedom Fighters. They had to be ready. Now that the Opaz-forsaken Shanks had brought in hired Katakis to take effective control of the slaves the anticipated slave revolt had become enormously more difficult. There were those who said, openly, that a slave uprising was now impossible.

The next thing was to make contact with the armadas flying here. Their arrival was problematical at the moment. Many mischances had contrived to hold them up. Rollo the Runner had been charged by me to stay in Makilorn to make contact and liaise with my Guard Corps. I couldn't really find it in my heart to blame him for joining Kuong and Mevancy and following me. All the same, at the moment I had no idea how the armadas were progressing.

Our shambling tree trunk raft of a flying boat sailed on serenely enough. The Shanks had copied the Hamalese way of organizing the power boxes in their orbits. I wondered just what was in those two bronze boxes. I'd had a few fraught excitements trying to find out what mix of minerals was placed in the Hamalese silver boxes. Without the correct mix you'd come up with a silver box that would lift a ship and grip her onto the ethereal-magnetic lines but would not give her any forward motion. We'd used those sub-silver boxes in Vallia because we'd had to. We'd built what we called vorlcas, box-like constructions that passed as ships. One bonus derived from the ships not having to sail the sea was that we did not need compass timber. We built the vorlcas with straight lines and slab sides, deck on deck. Because Vallian galleons were the best sailing ships of the outer oceans—apart from the Shanks’ remarkable ocean going vessels—we could rig our sailing ships of the air with centuries old skills.

The armada from Vallia had consisted of vorlcas. They had been blown off course, involved in a fight, and were now down somewhere repairing. Where the armada from Hamal had got to I didn't know. They had sailing ships of the air, also, and these they called famblehoys.

I'd relieved Rollo at the controls and was standing up forward contemplating the multitude of problems confronting me. In order to save Paz an inordinate amount of back-breaking work had to be put in. I don't believe in feeling sorry for myself; but if ever I had, then I ought to have been feeling sorry for myself then, by Krun!

Mevancy came up and stood at my side, looking ahead, saying nothing.

There was no gainsaying she was a funny girl. She was not beautiful, as I have said; but she radiated an inner strength and beauty I found admirable. She had heard me speak of my lady—and I meant Delia—and had sniffed and been sarcastic. Mevancy had tacitly agreed a compact with Leotes before he'd given his life for her. Although, mind you, he was still alive in the body of a newborn baby. If you believed that. Now Mevancy had received the distinct, direct and definite answer from me that she was not and never could be my lady. Was Kuong next in line?

Presently, to break the silence that had become oppressive, I said:

“Mevancy. You'll have to learn piloting, like Rollo. Would you care to start now?"

She didn't turn to face me.

“In some things, I suppose, as you are a prince, you will give the orders. And I suppose flying this contraption would come under that.” Now she turned to face me. Her splendid eyes fixed me with a direct and challenging gaze. “But in matters for the Everoinye, cabbage, remember. I am still in charge."

“Of course, pigeon."

“What did you mean, you know, about hitting your head when I was dragging you out of the burning building?"

“Do you remember how you got where you were after you'd collapsed trying to pull poor old Rafael out? I mean, got to the outside?"

“Rafael,” she said, and looked down at her boots. Presently, she said: “Well—vaguely, not really—it was all so confused and hot—"

“Oh, aye. It was hot. Worse than back aboard the Shanks’ flier."

She cocked an eye at me. “So?"

“So you don't remember. Well, it's not worth remembering."

“Now look here, Drajak, or prince, or whatever your name is. You set about those Katakis and Fish Heads smartly enough. I know you're no Dray Prescot; but I will admit you put up a very good imitation. So you were supposed to be a weakling—"

I shouldn't have said it. But: “So I was after I hit my head."

Her lips clamped into a demanding line. “There you go again. It's—"

“Look, Mevancy. That's all over with now. I don't forget how you came back for me in the desert and the way you dealt with the vulture and the bandits. Now I suggest you allow me to teach you how to fly."

Her spirit was bold enough to rise to that challenge. She saw that she'd get no more out of me. By Krun! The poor girl had been dragged out of the burning building by me at the commands of the Star Lords. At the last minute I'd been temporarily knocked down by a falling beam and Mevancy had awoken and dragged me the last few yards. In that dragging she'd contrived to hit my head hard enough to paralyze me. Now she had to learn to fly.

Rollo the Runner walked up. He stood looking as Mevancy got the hang of keeping the airboat on a steady and level course. He didn't exactly smile condescendingly. I still had to fathom out his relationship with Kuong and Mevancy.

So, being a devious devil at heart, I said: “Rollo. Why don't you help Mevancy?"

I walked off down the treetrunk deck. Let ‘em sort that one out!

Whatever agreement they reached the next couple of days as we reached the group led by Kov Nath the Ron and his kovneva, Layla, they did not come to blows nor did I see any argument. They were both forthright people, and one comment brought forth another. They'd gone through adventures together and that often, not always, tends to bind folk one to another.

Kuong had expressed his desire to learn to fly and I'd asked Rollo if he would oblige. He could scarcely refuse.

Needing to take myself off to think, I was about to leave the camp where the cooking fires had already been doused. I got past the last fire and Rollo cut across my path. He seemed to me to be walking in a jerky fashion and I frowned. I'd never seen him drunk. If anybody in my circle became drunk he had one more chance. The second drunken episode resulted in ejection. Drunks are not funny. Oh, sure, you laugh at their antics when cleverly reproduced on stage; real drunkenness is disgusting.

He said: “Lahal, Dray."

I stopped and remained silent, staring at him in the Moons’ glow.

“There is not much time. Can you fly right away?"

“Of course, Deb-Lu. Where and what has happened?"

Rollo's voice changed from his own to the friendly wheezy tones of Deb-Lu-Quienyin. Deb-Lu was dwaburs away in Vallia, using his kharrna to project not his image but his vision and voice. As a most potent Wizard of Loh, Deb-Lu was a valued comrade. He spoke succinctly.

“An airboat is down north of you, outskirts of Chem. Most unhealthy. When you near the exact spot I'll guide you in."

“Right. A northerly course it is. Who's aboard?"

“Better ask me who isn't aboard."

My heart both sank and rose. By Zair! It would be like them all, like her, like—Rollo said: “Deb-Lu has gone."

“Break camp. All aboard. We're flying north!"

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter five

From Tarankar the west coast of Loh bulged out to the west in a great arc of coastline until, just south of the equator, it curved in again and then was drawn in a subtle sweep up to the northern point of the continent, the land of mountains and valleys, called Erthyrdrin, from whence hailed Seg. Chem sprawled all across the equator. There was no dividend for us in flying due north. We had no wish to tangle with the Fish Faces and their flying ships again. We could take the westerly route over the sea or the easterly over the desert. In deciding to go via the eastern route I was guided by a strong desire not to fall into the water if the bronze boxes failed. We took many pots of water, just in case we came down in the desert. Then we flew.

Pouring on the power, ferociously impatient, I took the controls and willed the little tree trunk craft onward.

People took one look at me and then kept out of my way.

Of them all it was Fan-Si who came forward, diffidently, tail flicking over one shoulder and then the other, to request that I allow someone else to pilot and took my rest.

That made sense, of course. The trouble is, when Delia is in danger, sense and I part company. I looked at the little Fristle fifi in a fashion that did not make her flinch back. Rather, I think she saw the dazed expression on my face and understood I was in the grip of a powerful emotion.

“Rest?” I said, stupidly.

“You'll fall down, else—prince."

Mevancy hove up then, tight-lipped. She gave me a look.

“Very well.” They were right, of course. I'd be of no use if we arrived in the middle of trouble and I kept falling asleep. “We will fly through the night. Rollo will have to take the controls then."

Now, mark this. We were supposed to be engaged in freeing Tarankar from the Schtarkins. We were to have flown to arrange the Day of Uprising, to contact Queen Kirsty's army, to synchronize all the elements that should fuse to chuck the Fish Faces out. Yet no one questioned why we thus flew so madly north, away from Tarankar.

Interestingly enough, and I didn't believe it, with my brain whirling with fear and concern for Delia and the others, I slept. I closed my eyes and Mevancy was shaking my shoulder and saying: “It's morning, cabbage."

I sat up, blinking.

The truth of the matter was I'd been pushing myself too hard lately—although that is normal for me on Kregen, by Vox! Nature had done what she could to patch me up. I felt refreshed.

Mevancy's eyes were red.

“Did you sleep, pigeon?"

“A little. Over there—” and she pointed to the west “—is Sinnalix."

The early morning suns filled the sky with apple green and peach pink. The air breezed past like the bubbles in sparkling fresh spring water. This was a day to be up and doing, to be about great affairs on Kregen.

“Sinnalix,” I said, deliberately repeating the name of her home country. “You are a kregoinya. I suppose the Everoinye wouldn't mind if you made a trip home. When we're done here."

“Oh, I'm not homesick, fambly!"

“It's no business of mine, then. Now, pigeon, breakfast!"

As we roared on over the rolling grasslands below, the desert far astern, the jungles ahead, we ate the first breakfast. Toilet facilities were arranged behind a canvas screen, and I allowed only wetted cloths—there was no pouring of pots of water over anybody. Llodi, who had found himself a strangdja, kept guard on the water supply. Any sensible person looking at the strangdja and seeing that wicked steel holly-leaf-shaped head would decide not to attempt to steal more than their fair share of water.

Something was bothering Mevancy.

An unnatural calm had fallen on me. We were going as fast as we could. We would reach the downed voller when we did. Only then would I know the true gravity of the situation, for Deb-Lu, probably quite rightly, had not put in another appearance.

Munching the last of my handful of palines and relishing the yellow berries as every single person of Kregen relishes them, I came across Mevancy sitting on the edge of the raft flier, her legs dangling overside. She was looking out to the west.

I said: “If you fall off, cabbage, I shall not stop to pick you up."

“She means so much to you, then?"

I was startled.

Mevancy went on in a low voice: “The lady of whom you have spoken."

“Yes."

Mevancy lifted up her shoulders and let them slump. She had one arm wrapped around a rail support. If she let go and tried to do anything foolish I would stop and catch her first.

The enormity of that thought suddenly made me feel insignificant. She'd thought she'd been in love with Leotes, and now she knew she had not been. I had the funny old thought that she and Kuong might make a go of it. Mevancy, although she had forearms covered with bindles with which she could destroy a man's face, was a different form of apim. She was a sport, a mutation, peculiar to her country. Kuong was apim. The match would be a good one.

Still, that was a subject I could not mention to her.

When Deb-Lu showed up to guide us in he did so in a lupal projection. You could not see through his body. There was no blue nimbus about his figure or halo about his head. He stood on the tree trunks smiling at me in his old familiar way—and his damned turban toppled almost over one ear until he shoved it straight.

“Jak! You have made good time."

He often called me Jak in remembrance of past and fraught times of mutual adventure. Also he knew my fad for aliases. Rollo came up and was most polite. A number of Kuong's people tended to congregate as far away from the sorcerer as they could get. There was no undue muttering. The existence of mages is a mere matter of fact upon Kregen.

Mevancy and Kuong stood silently at the side as I said: “Deb-Lu, perhaps you would be good enough to instruct Rollo in our course."

Rollo gave me a leery look. “You will allow me to fly?"

“Carry on."

Giving them no more time to talk I went as far forward as I could and stretched out on a projecting trunk. I clung on as a monkey clings to his mother as they swing through the trees. I looked down.

The trees were down there, all right. They were not brellam trees. The smells of the jungle wafting upwards in the hot air brought a spicy tickle to my nostrils. There was a sense of the whole body being bathed in exotic perfumes. The trees grew in great folds and swathes of ground, following the contours, and yet they did not form an unbroken canopy. Narrow watercourses threaded in what appeared haphazard directions and here the trees left the sky open. The ground was extremely stony, the streams being littered with boulders, and I guessed the topsoil lay only thinly over the rocks. The trees were not the incredibly tall giants of many of Kregen's jungles; they might be shorter of stature, they formed a massive living organism in which animal life flourished.

There was no need for that dramatic—and, if the truth be told, ostentatious—gesture on my part of going right forward so that I should be the first to spot the downed voller. We fleeted in over the treetops as Rollo held her in sure control and there was a wide-spaced clearing ahead, ringed by trees, shooting into view as we cleared the last branches.

The situation was at once plain and at once horrible.

The voller was of a type I did not recognize. She was barely visible for the multitude of ropelike lines stretching from the encircling trees across her decks and upperworks. These web-like structures were white and sticky and as I stared down more lashed out from the tree tops to fasten about the vessel. They were trying to pull her up so the cruel spined flowers about the trunks could devour their prey. The voller lurched up and to the accompaniment of a gust of foul-stinking air and a belching sucking sound, sagged back to her former position. The grass all about the clearing was of a bright brilliant green.

That ominous bright green lapped up all along the hull of the voller, like a thousand mouths trying to suck her down.

Rollo called down: “I do not need to tell you what that is!"

He'd saved us from one of these deadly shuckerchuns on our way south.

I pulled myself back from that ungainly perch and stood up. I was not feeling happy. I was feeling rather as though I'd like to poke out the eyes of whatever devils had a hand in this infernal affair.

“The shuckerchun is trying to pull the voller down. The trees are trying to pull her up. What are the damned things?"

“They're a kind of syatra,” responded Rollo at once. “Some change in their environment changed them, too. They're called flitchlaks. They can whip a sticky tendril about you and whip you up to their flower in no time at all. Unholy things."

“The ground sucks down and the trees pull up,” said Kuong with a voice heavy with concern. “They are in balance."

“If we cut the lines,” observed Mevancy. “The voller will be sucked down."

Rollo swung our little craft in a circle about the clearing. Everybody looked down. Not a single sign of movement was visible on that tendril-infested vessel below.

I said: “Deb-Lu—can you let them know—?"

He nodded so that his turban almost tumbled off onto the floor of his chamber back home in Vallia. “Khe-Hi is already there, Jak. Just to hearten them, you understand."

As I turned back from the Wizard of Loh to stare sickly down at that frightful scene below, I caught a glimpse of Fan-Si creeping up to join the party in the bows. I heard her say in her sibilant Fristle whisper:

“But what can we do?"

The voller was held in suspension between the sucking shuckerchun and the lifting flitchlaks. The shuckerchun had evidently worked its way along under the ground. It moved slowly and the process would have taken a deal of time so that the trees had grown up again after their ancestors had been pulled under. My guess was that the shuckerchun was looking for a richer ground than that afforded by the thin topsoil and stony land here. As for the flitchlaks, perhaps they welcomed a clearing there, even a clearing which vied with them for food. I could imagine the race between the two to snare game wandering into the lethal clearing.

But, as Fan-Si had said, what could we do?

The first and obvious solution I had immediately discarded. The danger to the people aboard the flying raft was unacceptable. But as I struggled and twisted my brains for a better solution I kept coming back to the obvious. I always enjoy an elegant solution to a problem. If the people kept steady aboard the raft, their peril could be controlled to a level that was acceptable. The elegance came in using the lethality of the problem for its own solution.

If I landed them somewhere nearby they might well be in as much peril, from flitchlaks, syatras, hungry reptiles or any of a hundred jungle dangers, as risking it with me aboard the flying raft. Anyway, I was in no mood to shilly-shally. I wanted this thing done, and done quickly.

So, seeing nothing else for it, I made up my mind.

“Llodi, Moggers, Larghos, Tuco—help me rip up these end timbers. Don't cut the lines, we'll need them to tie the trunks again."

With that I was off to the stern of the raft where I started in ripping up the end trunks. They stared at me somewhat blankly—only for a moment, though, by Krun! Only for a moment.

“Get stuck into it, you lollygagging bunch of hulus! Bratch!"

They jumped.

Following my impatient lead they carried the released timbers to the bows where they were placed from the front rail slanting down to the deck. Other shorter timber was placed across the front, and enough of a gap was left for me to see through. In short order we'd built a sloping triangular shelter over the controls.

“Now wrap those lines around. Tie ‘em fast! That's the style."

Rollo said: “I can fit in there nicely enough. But to what purpose?"

I said: “You don't fit. I do."

“But—"

“You help to get everyone in the deck shelter and don't let ‘em out."

“I see!” He snapped it out at me. “It's a crazy scheme! The flitchlaks will rip that flimsy shelter to pieces and snatch you out for lunch!"

I wasn't prepared to argue. I could have said the tendrils would not find it easy to get at me. If they did I happened to have a sword. All the same, elegant though my solution to the problem was, it remained a crazy scheme.

Inevitably, as I knew and accepted with a resignation I tried not to make too hasty, I had trouble with Trylon Kuong.

In his open, free way, he said: “I do not quite see what you seek to accomplish here. All the same, I shall stand with you."

Here was where the tomfoolery of being a prince paid off.

I said: “Your offer is befitting your courage, trylon. However, I'm the prince here, and I'm the one to do the job."

His face showed genuine disappointment. “Of course, prince."

We were pulling the last lines tight around the lash-up of logs. Just what these damned flitchlaks could do or no I just didn't know. Ominously enough, Rollo, who did know, kept up a gloomy, hurt silence. Mevancy looked nervous. “We can only take a few people at a time, cabbage. And while we're waiting the tendrils will grab us."

“I want the tendrils to grab us. As many as possible."

“What?"

“You keep your head inside the deck shelter. If a flitchlak's tendril grabs your head it won't remain between your shoulders."

“And, cabbage, what about yours?"

There was nothing to say to that. Just before I squeezed into the tiny triangular space abaft the controls I wondered if I ought to have found a spot to dump these people down. I was running them into hideous danger. My mind was decided in a most unpleasant—not to say frightening—way by the movements of the voller down there in the clearing.

The flitchlaks were bending over and all the time they had been bending further and further. They continued to shoot out fresh lines. The earlier ones were breaking under the strain. Whilst this scared me, it also heartened me, reinforcing the correctness of my decision. The balance we had at first discerned between sucking and pulling was now becoming an imbalance. Time had suddenly become vital.

Speed, of course, had always been essential.

If the confounded tendrils or tentacles or lianas fastened about the little flying raft before I'd conned her where I wanted her to be then the whole scheme would be in ruins. Into the bargain, we'd all be trapped.

A single yell back: “Everybody inside?” and Kuong's answering shout: “All in!” and I set myself. The controls felt slick and warm under my fingers. The air held a close mugginess in that confined space. There was one chance and one chance only. A single mistake and it'd be the Ice Floes of Sicce for us all, or, down here in Loh, the Death Jungles of Sichaz. I shoved the controls over to full speed and swung the little craft in a swinging sweep into the clearing.

Instantly the snaking white lines hissed past. They crisscrossed in a dazzling pattern. I swung and swerved about, feeling the momentary checks on speed as a line whipped across and held for an instant. Then the raft would lurch and the tendril snap and curl away and on we'd hurtle.

Straight down for the stranded voller I plunged. The white mass of tendrils festooning decks and superstructure looked as though a giant chef had gone mad with an icing bag and piped in maniac abandon. A clotted solid mass of the things clothed the ship. I aimed for my target and jinked and sideslipped and so in a wind-rushing storm slapped down hard.

The moment I touched the voller and sank some way into the clustered white tendrils line after line hissed past, wrapping the raft in a sticky cocoon.

Almost at once all vision ahead was lost. Only a faint gray light seeped past the flitchlaks’ tentacles across the forward observation slit.

There was no need to see. I could feel it all. The lash and thump across my fragile shelter, the way the raft jumped. I waited.

I waited.

By the stinking putrescent nostrils and dangling eyeballs of Makki Grodno! I waited.

Apart from the thud of lines slamming across the logs I could feel the steady and deadly sinking beneath my feet. There was no doubt about it. The shuckerchun was winning the contest. Before long the voller would be sucked down, all the lines broken, and nothing would remain on the surface of Kregen of all my friends here.

This was it. I could wait no longer. I was gambling, yes; but I was not gambling entirely blind. If the shuckerchun sucked the voller down far enough, dragged her deeply enough below the surface, my fine gamble might not pay off. Now was the time!

Gently—oh, so gently!—I eased the control lever over.

If I had miscalculated...

At first, nothing happened. We did not rise. I moved the lever a fraction more. The raft lurched. I could feel the heavier touch to her, the sense of weight. Another fraction. We lifted. I could still see nothing ahead. A vast tearing ripping sound was followed at once by a slobbering sucking noise. A filthy stench gusted up.

I felt the elation.

We were lifting! We were rising! The sucking sound and the stench confirmed the feel of the controls. The handling told me we were rising up with the voller stuck to us by the flitchlaks’ own tendrils.

Slowly we rose and then with a monstrous gush of effluvium we shot up into the air.

I took the combined crafts up and up and then thrust the levers over to take us away from that cursed clearing.

The first person to break out of the deck shelter and, sword in hand, slash away the white tendrils from my triangular haven was Kuong. With him were Mevancy and Llodi, and the others crowded up after. Suns shine broke across my face. I looked out at my new friends.

Then I simply ran for the raft's side and dropped over onto the confused mass of white tendrils, sword in fist.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter six

“Well, my grizzly graint. You do look a sight!"

So powerful were my emotions that after I'd hacked and hewed a way through the clinging sticky lines I'd simply burst into the control top and clasped her in my arms. I could feel her heart beating against mine. We trembled together, heart to heart, and nothing else mattered in all of Earth or Kregen.

Her face—radiant, radiant!—upturned to mine, that delicious half-smile, so mocking, so tender, so gut-rending, telling me that here she was, in my arms, all meant so much, so much—I managed to steady myself and become half aware of my surroundings.

“By Zair! All this sticky mess—and now it's all over you!"

She laughed, that laugh that sends razor blades up and down my spine, that makes my knees like bananas. Her brown hair with those outrageous chestnut tints, her eyes—her eyes!—her mouth of so soft and rich a red, smiling at me—by Vox, but what it is to be loved!

“We know about that sticky mess, dear heart, never worry."

She wore her russets, trim and compact about that superb figure. Rapier and main gauche swung from her belts, and her long Vallian dagger nestled in its own sheath. Her sandals were very plain and practical. A little jewelry, a little perfume, oh, no, she has no need to gild the lily.

There were other people in the control top. The armored box, round and warlike, housed the control levers. She gently disengaged herself, and said: “We tried to cut the lines and poor Nol the Arm was snatched up."

“Nol the Arm—a good lad, a Deldar in 1ESW—what a tragedy."

“Too right, my old dom,” said a strong familiar wonderful voice. “We had to haul Inch in, for he was flailing away with his axe like a—"

I swung about, blindly, choked with emotion.

“Seg! Inch!"

“Oh, aye, my old dom. We're here."

“As Ngrangi is my witness!"

I stared at them, my splendid blade comrades. Seg, with his fey ways, his wild black hair and blue eyes, the finest bowman in two worlds, and Inch of Ng'groga, thin as a lath, seven feet tall, absolutely lethal with his two-handed Saxon pattern axe. They knew me. We'd had wild adventures in the old days—and more to come, by Krun!—and without the need for words we knew we'd all die for the others. And here came Korero the Shield, four-armed and tail-handed, magnificent and golden, a Kildoi of remarkable powers who carried two shields at my back in battle. And Balass the Hawk, his superb black face shining with joy, the best sword and shield man in the business. And—would you believe—young Oby who was not so young these days, a lad who'd been a mischievous sprite desperate to enter the Arena, and now a voller pilot and captain of this vessel. And the others, many of whom you have met in my narrative—the lads of First Emperor's Sword Watch, who are a mighty independent set of rascals, who arrange their own hierarchy, day by day, so that all are, in my eyes, chiefs.

Seg said: “Turko was coming but at the last minute he couldn't make it. There were a lot of other folk pixilated they didn't come."

“They've missed this little lot,” said Inch. “My taboos—"

That broke the artificial situation. We all laughed. Dear old Inch and his taboos! He'd be standing on his head, or banging his head against a wall, to expiate his crime in breaking whatever taboo it was this time.

Seg said: “Milsi's below—"

“And so is Sasha,” added Inch.

These two comrades had sent their ladies below to a greater safety than here. I looked at Delia.

“Well!” she flashed.

Seg said: “Milsi and Sasha agreed to do what was sensible and as their husbands asked them. But who can tell the empress?"

“Seg, dear. I'm not the empress any more. Your daughter Silda is the Empress of Vallia now."

Seg made such a comical face that we all laughed again. Yes, all right. This laughter was reaction, a fearful danger was past and now we had to recover. All the same, it was hard to remember that we were not the Emperor and Empress of Vallia. But Seg's next remark showed a deeper understanding. “I mean, Delia dear, that you are the Empress of Empresses, the Empress of Paz. And I was thinking how all mighty puffed up we are with titles these days, when only a short time ago we didn't have a copper ob between us and were often chained up as slaves—"

“I don't forget those days,” said Inch, and his voice was, on a sudden, remarkably grim. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will be off to see about my taboos."

Now it is perfectly clear that all the people aboard were not in the control top. My memory may be perfect through the influence of the Savanti; all the same, in that moment emotion tended to make me jumble up the order of events. Most of the 1ESW lads and the other bright sparks who'd managed to wangle passage aboard were below. A head looked in the open door and a cutting voice said: “Cabbage! Rollo would rather like to know the course to steer. If you're not too busy, of course."

Everybody turned to look at the newcomer in the doorway.

The next instant and before anyone could say anything, a tall figure appeared alongside Mevancy and—somehow—Mevancy was no longer in the doorway. Another figure appeared and both rushed at me. I was engulfed by two beautiful women, both of whom totally ignored the sticky gunk smeared over me. Now Sasha is nearly as tall as Inch, and although slender is not as thin as a lath. And Milsi is warm and wonderful and every inch a queen. I kissed them both and then said: “I am glad my comrades have sensible wives. Unlike some people—"

Now Delia might have interrupted in some wise as: “If you think, Dray Prescot, I'm going to skulk below then you've another think coming.” She did not. She was sensitive enough to the feelings of Milsi and Sasha, good comrades all. And that shows how stupid I can be—sensitive to feelings! My Delia, my Delia of Delphond, my Delia of the Blue Mountains, has so much of pure humanity I give thanks every day that she just is.

Well, we sorted ourselves out.

Making the pappattu took time. As you will easily comprehend, introducing so many people did take time; and I enjoyed it all. I had most certainly changed from the grizzly old graint of the Dray Prescot who had landed on Kregen all those seasons ago.

Eventually, I managed to say to Mevancy: “Pigeon—Rollo. Ask him to find a nice clearing by a stream. We all need to clean up."

Mevancy gave Delia a long long look. I think she realized now just what I had been trying to tell her. She maintained a nice cheery spirit and was pleasant all round. I found a great affection for her in those moments when she saw reality.

What she was really thinking and feeling I dreaded to know.

Rollo took us down into a clearing where the grass was not a bright and lethal green. We all went out to inspect the voller and the raft.

The tendrils had done their job. My elegant solution had worked. The flitchlaks had secured us to the flier safely. The lifting power in the Shank's bronze boxes had been more than ample to tear us free of the shuckerchun. Looking at some of the white tendrils, though, I saw how close a thing it had been. Many had broken and the rest were badly strained and ready to part.

Seg put his lips together, and puffed, and then he tut-tutted. He nodded to the serpentine weavings binding raft to voller. “That was a long chance, my old dom."

“A chance. Not too long. I'd already seen a voller haul herself out of a shuckerchun, a smallish ten-placer, and the Shank's bronze boxes are more powerful than that—more powerful than I'd thought."

Inch, over on my other side, was facing away and as Seg and I walked on in our tour of inspection, Inch walked backwards with us.

Now he said, lightly: “And we all know the story of that smallish ten place airboat! Your Guard Corps people are abrupt, to say the least."

Seg cut in: “They're a good-hearted bunch if you don't rub ‘em up the wrong way. But, look at the keel, here. I don't like that."

No more did I. Between sinuous tree-tendrils and greedy ground a chunk of the hull by the keel had been torn away. We could look up into the interior of the vessel when she flew. It was an important enough point for us to go back aboard and down the ladders to the orlop. Here the extent of the damage was plain. One of the four massive baulks on which the armored box containing the silver boxes was located had been strained and splintered. The miracle was the timber hadn't fallen out through the hole in the bottom. The armored box had been built up out of iron plates riveted together. Two of these plates had popped their rivets when the whole box had twisted. I looked inside.

Dim though it was, I could see the silver boxes were still silver. They had not gone black. I pulled my head out and said: “Anyway, what in a Herrelldrin Hell were you doing down there? You had no power."

Inch said in his sad-funny way: “The silver boxes let us down, like they used to do, and no one knew why.” His voice took on a defiant almost comic-bluster tone as he said: “Anyway, that clearing looked nice."

Seg said: “I thought you were expiating a taboo bust by walking backwards—"

“So?"

“So how did you get down the ladders?"

I knew what Seg meant. You can descend a ladder frontways or backwards; but if you have to walk backwards, what is the opposite of that in the ladder sense? Trust Seg and Inch to get themselves into a ludicrously trifling philosophical debate!

Inch looked shifty. “I cheated. That taboo bust will cost me a whole dish of palines at dinner."

“Oh, no!” I said. “Is there a crime bad enough to warrant the denial of palines after dinner?"

Inch said: “You come from Taboo Ng'groga and you'd better believe it."

The most wonderful voice in two worlds spoke from the hole in the hull: “Just how did you cheat, Inch, dear?"

“I slid down the ladders."

Seg roared his mirth and then broke out: “Frontwards or backwards?” whereat Inch made a cutting remark anent axes and bows, and they were off again, joyously slanging each other and teasingly refusing to be serious as is our custom in good times and bad. I turned to the rent in the hull.

“Where'd you get this voller? I've not seen her like before."

She pointed up. “Since neither you nor I can wriggle through the part of the hole visible, I will meet you on the deck. The cleaning goes on."

One does not need a second hint when Delia of Delphond hints. I grabbed a stick and pitched in with the rest in scraping and cleaning and getting the white sticky tendrils off. A deal of water and scrubbing would have to go on. Holystoning, well, that was a task of my boyhood and one I had myself ordered as the first luff of a ship of the line. I've remarked about cleanliness of decks apropos of the Fish Faces’ filthy habits. I am well aware I'm prejudiced in this matter; but early training sears the brain.

An interesting glimpse was afforded me of Llodi and Tuco working alongside a couple of my lads of 1ESW with Moglin and Larghos on the other and I had the sudden and enlightening conviction that all those rascals would get on one with another in friendly fashion. If they didn't then I'd have to knock a few heads together.

By the time the voller was cleaned up I was able to gain an appreciation of her lines and build. She was a surprise, all right.

“We had a visit from the ambassador of Tomecdrin in Balintol.” Delia brought out a dish of palines and we all dug in—all save poor Inch. She went on: “They'd heard we were over the Times of Troubles and wished to set up trading links. I must say, Drak and Silda received them in fine style."

“It was a good little shindig,” observed Seg.

“You didn't—” I said. “You didn't ... No. Of course not. Farris would have negotiated the purchase for the Air Service. No. Silly of me to imagine you needed to—"

“Farris is getting very old these days.” Delia spoke gravely.

“He refuses the solution,” said Inch. “In a funny way I can understand that. I don't blame him."

“But,” I persisted. “You didn't actually—"

“Not,” said Seg, “actually."

“A kind of loan before purchase,” said Delia.

They all smiled sweetly upon me.

I started to groan in despair of my comrades and the problems I'd have with the ambassador from Tomecdrin. Then, in a blaze of glory, I realized. “By the Black Chunkrah! It's not up to me! It's all Drak and Silda's!” I beamed upon them. “A loan before purchase!"

“And the dratted thing broke down,” said Delia, cuttingly.

“We will fix the Shanks’ bronze boxes in the orbits in place of the Tomecdrin silver boxes. The bronze ones are very efficient."

“Pity we can't open ‘em and find out how they differ."

“We'll do that, Seg, when we get home,” said Delia.

“The damned Shanks,” said Inch, with feeling. “Their ocean-going ships are superior to ours. Have the rotten Leem-Lovers better fliers, too?"

I gave him a quick glance. One did not hear that old expression ‘Leem-Lovers’ for the Shanks very much these days. It was still used. But in our circle Leem-Lover now really meant a degraded follower of the evil cult of Lem the Silver Leem—which remained still to be defeated.

“By the Veiled Froyvil! Even if they have, we'll still lick ‘em!"

Seg was not boasting; he was stating a fact in which he believed.

“Oh, aye, by Ngrozyan the Axe!” said Inch. “That's true. All the same, it's a pity we can't build ships and fliers as good.” As he spoke he made a dismissive gesture with his right hand, a movement at once violent and contemptuous. In the next instant his mass of long yellow hair tumbled free from its restraints and fell flowing about his shoulders. He gave an instinctive and rapid glance upwards. He needn't have bothered: the Maiden with the Many Smiles was not in the sky. Dear old Inch had not broken another of his unaccountable and inscrutable taboos.

After we'd done our bit in the cleaning exercise we'd gone down to the stream to wash. A kind of small pool had formed here above a raggedy tumble of boulders. The water looked most inviting. Across on the opposite bank the trees clustered, on this side we could see a tangle of fallen logs and the looseness of the stony soil. I heard a cheery call and Milsi and Sasha came walking down to us. As they passed some of my fellows of 1ESW the lads straightened up to attention. That was as much a tough old swod's tribute to beauty as to mere rank.

Milsi said: “And I suppose a swim is quite out of the question?"

There did not seem to be any danger in the water. None of us was deceived. Milsi was queen of lands along the River of Bloody Jaws. She understood only too well the terrors lurking beneath the placid surface.

“It's not worth the risk,” said Seg, giving Milsi a light kiss on the cheek. “But if you wish, why, then I'll—"

“You, you great oaf, will not!” said Milsi instantly. I hid my smile. Milsi had picked up our harum-scarum ways in fine style.

“Yes, dear,” said rough tough he-man Seg Segutorio.

There was a prodigious quantity of news to be learned. I gave them a quick run-down on my activities since, as Delia said in her sweetest and most cutting way: “Since you went out to fly a kite with Inky."

Now we blade comrades had been re-united and we'd talked and laughed and jabbed fun at one another, and every now and then others of our circle would join us—Balass the Hawk, Oby, Korero, any of the Chuktars of the regiment. The twin Suns of Scorpio passed across the heavens, and still we talked and laughed. We made, as I can attest, a brilliant company. I own it; I had become completely selfish. That I had every excuse does not really excuse me. I make no excuses for anything I may do that furthers the well-being of Delia, that goes without question. All the same, slowly—too slowly, really—I began to feel that little itch of unease.

Looking back from the stream to the voller showed me a casual grouping of my lads from the regiment. They did not form what you could call a line. Yet they were there, and they were a barrier.

To understand the mentality of my rascals of the First Emperor's Sword Watch you have to realize how they created themselves in the Times of Troubles specifically to protect the person of their emperor. They'd come from an amazing variety of sources. They had fought in many battles. Now they lived for their regiment, for their emperor, for themselves and for their honor. They had no private home lives—or very very few, a mere handful, who had acquired wives and children. They called their emperor their Kendur. No one outside the Guard Corps was—by their decree, not mine—allowed to call me that.

Given these facts, then, my constant absences from the lads of the Guard Corps was a source of intense frustration to them. They had dedicated their lives to my service, and I kept on slipping away from them. They understood some of the reasons why—after all, they could read the lurid accounts of Dray Prescot leaping around Kregen—and had fashioned a toleration to make their days worthwhile and livable. But, now, you couldn't blame them for assiduously carrying out their duties as they saw them.

Casually, I said: “I'm going to have a look at the voller. What d'you call her?"

Seg said: “She had some folderol name or other. Delia—"

“Shankjid,” said Delia, firmly.

“H'm,” I said, walking on slowly. “A mighty boastful name, that; but one I rather care for.” Jid means bane. The name had to be true.

Directly before me stood two Fristle swods. A swod is the soldier in the ranks, the fellow on whose shoulders everything else rests. In the Guard regiments, although a guard is a juruk and therefore the lads could call themselves jurukkers, and often did, mostly they called themselves swods.

The two Fristles had magnificent cat-men's whiskers. They wore the red of the regiment, and armor, with weaponry girded about them. They held halberds horizontally. Standing against this barrier, Moglin the Flatch stared at the Fristles balefully. His bow slanted over his shoulder. Fan-Si stood as it were to his rear and side, and his arm was about her.

Moglin was saying: “...anybody at all messes with Fan-Si gets a shaft through the guts. Quick, by the barbed shafts of the True Trog Himself!"

Flarvil the Nose, the left hand Fristle, said: “You're fretting over nothing. The girl is safer here than anywhere else on Kregen."

“That's right,” amplified Ortyghan the Dagger. “The Kendur don't allow anything like that.” Then he said in a most indignant tone: “You are forgetting you're dealing with One ESW."

Then, because they were 1ESW and were romantic Fristles, despite being ferocious swods, Flarvil added, slyly: “Unless, in course, that sweet little Fan-Si prefers a fine upstanding guardsman."

Fan-Si did not exactly giggle; but her tail switched about delightfully.

Ortyghan the Dagger was given that cognomen because he often strapped a dagger to his tail. Fristles were taking up the habit. If the Opaz-forsaken Katakis could blade daggered steel, so could Fristles!

Seg and Delia walked alongside me, with Inch and Milsi and Sasha.

“By Odifor!” quoth Ortyghan, and his daggered tail flashed up over his shoulder. “Any fine girl with any sense would prefer a gallant fellow out of the Kendur's One ESW!” His laugh and that of Flarvil perfectly expressed their playfulness; I could see they teased poor Moglin.

Fan-Si saw that, too. She tugged Moglin. “Come on, Moggers. If they won't let us past to see the prince, then they won't."

“They call Prince Chaadur, Drajak the Sudden, an emperor.” Moglin sounded disbelieving, uneasy. Fan-Si kept silent and pulled him away.

Three figures cut off the Fristles from my sight and three of the highest chiefs of 1ESW walked up to me, smiling yet grave. Dorgo the Clis, Naghan ti Lodkwara and Targon the Tapster, good comrades all, wanted to know if we were camping here for the night.

“I hadn't thought,” I said, dragging my mind back to this minor decision and away from the dreadful mess I'd made with my new friends.

“Why not?” demanded Delia. “There is water, and the clearing is safe."

“We could all do with some sweet ibroi and the ship with some pungent ibroi,” said Milsi, mentioning cleaning materials.

“That's true, by the Veiled Froyvil."

“So we will camp,” I said.

“Quidang, jis,” said Targon. “We're well equipped."

They'd see to that, all right. Kampeons all, old campaigners, able to look after themselves in the Furnace Fires of Inshurfraz. They'd set up watches and organize everything down to the last detail.

I looked about the clearing. People were already busy setting up the firepits and bringing food out of the voller. There'd be a right old shebang tonight. Over in a little group by themselves I spotted Kuong, Mevancy and Rollo. With a measure of guilt, I supposed they'd tried to walk over to see me, and the lads had politely stopped them, and turned them back. Llodi and Tuco, with Larghos, were joined by Moglin and Fan-Si.

Truly, I'd been remiss!

I said to Delia: “I've made rather a leem's nest of them."

She understood at once. “Well, no harm done if we smooth all now."

When Delia decides to be charming I seriously believe she could make a savage and malignant leem lap milk from her fingers.

Kuong was immediately overwhelmed. Rollo left off being supercilious. And Mevancy—ah, Mevancy! She flowered as Delia in the most natural way admitted her to a personal friendship. There was nothing supercilious about Delia, no hidden mockery. She understood with an intuition that never fails to astound me. Well, as I never tire of saying, there is no single lady of Earth or of Kregen to equal my Delia, my Delia of Delphond, my Delia of the Blue Mountain's.

After a bit, I said: “Before we start the party I must get the bronze boxes fitted into their orbits."

Milsi, half-pouting, said: “Must you, Dray, right away?"

Mevancy gave an enormous start. I suppose she'd understood from the moment we'd all met up. I suppose, understanding, she had not accepted that belief into her conscious mind. Now she had to face it.

Oddly enough, it was Llodi who said: “I was just getting used to calling you Prince Chaadur, Drajak. And now you're Dray Prescot an’ all. Fair muddles a fellow up, it does, an’ everything."

“Call me what you feel comfortable with,” I said. “What you like.” Then, very quickly, I added: “Only, not Kendur. The lads have a lien on that."

Mevancy's face was the color of the setting Zim. Slowly, she said: “I said you were never as good as the real Dray Prescot.” For a dreadful moment I thought she was going to cry. Her voice was choked. “It's a funny old world, isn't it, cab—I mean, majister."

Sternly, I said: “If you do not call me cabbage, pigeon, I shall be most hurt."

“But—"

Delia took her arm in the most friendly fashion. “I have some nice clothes in a cedar trunk with crushed flowers. You must choose what you like. There are far too many for me."

In something of a daze, Mevancy went off with the divine Delia.

Well, we had the most enormous party that night, singing and dancing by the lights of the Moons. It was a high old time. There was ample to eat and enough to drink and no one was boorish enough to get drunk.

The night passed and although I could have wished that the Suns of Scorpio would wait before they rose into the dawn sky, rise they did and it was another day. Delia said: “Out, Emperor of Emperors,” and one dainty foot delightfully joined to a rounded rosy limb gave me a right old thump and out I went, tumbling onto the cabin deck.

I sat up and a great smashing knocking on the cabin door was followed at once by Seg's bellow.

“Hai! Up and out! There's a confounded Shank airboat just flying over us!"

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter seven

Oby's dreams of becoming a famous voller kampeon had become true. He was, as I could testify, if not the very best then one of the very best of pilots of Vallia. He held honorary rank of Chuktar in the Vallian Air Service; but he was employed as the emperor's personal pilot—that is, my personal pilot. Now he had no need to be told what to do.

He took Shankjid up with that smooth easy ascending curve that is the mark of the superb pilot. There was nothing left of the rapid jerky recklessness with which, say, Rollo, took up a flier. Rollo was a green novice beside Oby, yet Oby, once, had been just such a tearaway.

Clinging onto the companionway rail I managed to prevent myself from being hurled bodily back to the deck. Delia, on the step above me, swung back like a graceful willow leaning under the wind. With a smooth movement she regained her balance and was up the companionway ahead of me.

We burst out on deck to find a scene of busy and orderly uproar.

My lads of 1ESW are variously cavalry, infantry of any sort, artillerymen and engineers. They can turn their hand to any of the dark arts of war. Now they were preparing the varters along the bulwarks. Others were ascending to the fighting tops, while others laid out sand and water buckets. Contingents of bowmen were distributing themselves in coigns of vantage about the ship. In short, Shankjid was Clearing for Action.

Lifting up swiftly into the fresh morning air, I caught the last whiff of fragrance from the flowers and shrubs below. Now all the aromas about me were of battle and of a ship preparing for action.

Still, and despite all the years between, in these moments I missed the sights and sounds and scents of a ship of the line—the matches in their tubs, the rumble of guns on the hollow decks, the quick patter of the powder monkeys, and, above all, the move and tang of the sea.

Drums thundered through the ship and everyone fell silent.

Everyone nearby was looking at me.

I drew a breath and then pointed at the Shank vessel which was curving away and still above us.

“There is your enemy!” I shouted it out, big and bluff and strong. “Let us go and blatter the rast!"

“Hai!” they screeched in a savage chorus.

The Hai Jikais would come after we'd nobbled this cramph.

Oby's flying skill continued to prevent the Shank from doing as he wished and flying directly over us. When the firepots rained down our fire parties would spring into action. These aerial sailors would hurl firepots from their catapults; but they were very very careful over the procedure, and not too happy about it. Petard hoisting—what Kregans call snizzing—is catastrophic aboard a wooden vessel up in thin air.

Well, we survivors of the Shank lord's flagship knew that, by Vox!

Seg, clad in war harness and girded with swords, carried his great Lohvian longbow in his bronzed fist. He cocked his handsome head up.

“He's a good flier up there; but I think Oby's got him by the short and curlies."

I looked at my blade comrade and, deliberately, I drew my eyebrows down. “You look out for yourself today, Seg. No stupid heroics."

My eyebrow antics, I could clearly see, made Seg want to burst out into delighted laughter. Still, he understood my feelings, for he growled: “I'd say the same to you, my old dom, if it would do any good.” He gave me his funny quizzical look. “But it'd make no difference."

“You forget, I have Korero to shield me."

“Yes, and I have Tim Timutorio."

I gave Seg a sideways glance, taking my gaze from the Shank ship. Tim Timutorio, a Bowman of Loh from Seg's country of Erthyrdrin, had lost the use of three of the fingers of his right hand. How that bestiality had occurred no one had asked. Now he lifted a shield at Seg's back in battle.

“I am diffident in this—I wish you could get a Kildoi."

“Oh, old Tim will do. Perhaps Korero might know of a friend."

At that moment Inch rolled up. He had a bright red scarf wrapped tightly around his hair and his helmet perched somewhat. He carried a bow.

Seg said: “You don't actually hit anybody with that, Inch. You have to pull it back and let the stick thing in the middle fly off and hit your enemy. I thought you might care to know."

“I thank you most sincerely for your information, Seg. Why, I was wondering what had happened to the head off this haft—which is a skinny and puny little thing, to be sure."

“You wait ‘til you try to pull it."

The bow happened to be strung, so we were spared the pantomime these two would have gone through over that. Inch was a good shot, anyway. He just preferred to charge and get stuck in with his axe.

I thought I'd give good old Seg a jolt.

The enemy ship had given up trying to fly over us and was now clawing for height. Height, in one sense, corresponded to the weather gage in sailing ships of the sea. Oby was going up, too, and beginning to crowd the Shank. Now it is a fact that until great guns and steel ships were used on Earth's oceans, few ships were sunk by gunfire. Flame and explosion destroyed ships. Gunfire dismasted them, knocked out guns and killed crew, all in preparation for the final act—boarding. So the far less powerful ballistae and catapults could not even do the damage guns could do. A thirty-two pound roundshot driven by gunpowder, smashing into solid oak would make a hell of a mess; a chunk of rock from a catapult hitting the same solid oak would dong a nasty dint, the damage would be far less. So it was that everyone aboard knew we'd shoot it out, and try to extinguish any fires that were started, and perhaps set a few blazes going aboard the Fish Head, but that in the end it would have to be a boarding action that would settle the issue.

So, as I said, just to tickle old Seg up, I said: “I found a capital crossbow in the trophy room. I'll give it a shot."

Seg gave me a withering look, whereat I smiled.

Delia joined us carrying a splendid longbow. Well, she can shoot it out with the best. I heard a scuffle at my back and half turned as a hoarse voice said: “That Larghos is all puffed up on account of being a Bowman of Loh, an’ all, Drajak. C'n I span that crossbow for you, Drajak?"

I held the weapon out. “Certainly."

He hitched his strangdja over his shoulder and grasped the crossbow. He looked pleased. I said: “You'll need your strangdja when we board, so don't get yourself killed before then."

“That's all right,” he said in a cheerful way. “I'll be standing at your back, an’ all, won't I?"

Seg and Inch both burst into delighted guffaws. Delia favored me with a look that said, quite clearly: “And you'd better not get yourself killed, either, Dray Prescot!"

The day's radiance shone down in mingled tints of jade and ruby. The air tasted like wine. The two ships circled, gaining height, acting like two contestants in the ring, seeking openings and weakness in the other. With a quick in-turn the Fish Face tried to cross our bows. The maneuver was carried out smartly. Even if the ensuing rake would not have the smashing impact of a gunfire rake, it would still be unhealthy. Oby was having none of that. Deftly he swung Shankjid in a tighter turn than the Shank's and the two vessels raced along parallel. Here was where the shooting would search out marksmanship and courage. Arrows rose from the Shank and shafts sped from us in reply. A massive chunk of rock went hurtling and skipping across the deck, carrying away two crewmen in a red splodge. As always, I felt the anger and the despair. Good folk being cruelly cut down by those damned reiving Shanks!

Our dustrectium smashed into the Fish Face.

We could see chunks of his bulwarks splintering and collapsing under the impact of our flung stones. Mind you, our bulwarks began to take on a chewed look. Korero hovered close. No arrow would pierce Delia whilst Korero stood watch and ward, for he knew my standing instruction in situations like this. He might be my shield bearer; his orders were to protect Delia. Powerful though Korero the Kildoi was, even he wouldn't be able to stop a flying granite boulder on his shields.

Seg said: “She's not like any Shank I've seen before."

I said: “They're building different patterns these days. She has a fighting top, when their first ships only had lower galleries."

Seg grunted. “Well, we have two fighting tops.” He shot in his bow and reached for another arrow. “See that fellow bending to the varter on their quarterdeck? He has a damned red scarf—"

“I see him. What, a gold talen?"

“Done."

I knew I'd lose the wager. Seg seldom misses. Still, if we couldn't have a friendly shooting wager or two, just like the old days, what was Kregen coming to?

He said: “That's one gold you owe me. What about that monstrous mechanical object you laughingly refer to as a bow?"

Llodi stretched out and slapped the crossbow into my hands.

“All right. You're on. And you can choose."

“The next fellow on the same varter. He's already done too much damage as it is."

When I had duly reduced the crew of the ballista by one more, Seg sniffed and made no comment. Even he recognized that a crossbow was of more use in certain special circumstances. Llodi busily wound up his windlass. I stared about. The decks were beginning to take on that look of a shambles. There was no doubt that the Fish Face was pressing in. Clearly, he was getting the worst of this long range duel and wanted to come to close quarters, to board and so come to hand strokes.

Now whilst that was comforting in one way, it left a dilemma to the commander of Shankjid. The voller, a product of Tomecdrin in Balintol, was strange to me. She was a bit of a fantastical craft, with fighting tops rather like tiered wedding cakes, all angles and spikes and balconies. She was some thirty-five feet in breadth and about three times that in length, with two decks pierced for varters, twenty a side in two tiers. Now these were ordinary or common varters, not the superior gros-varters of Vallia. This was where the comforting bit came in, for we were out-shooting the Fish Head with our normal weapons.

The dilemma was whether to go on pounding the Schtarkin or to close and board. In other circumstances boarding was the final and decisive act. This was turning into a classical single ship encounter. Both vessels were of two decks, so they did not really fall into the category of frigates; but in everything else this was like one of the great frigate engagements of Earth.

The odd thing was, as the ships circled and swung about and ran parallel for a space, and as we shot and loosed, I was under the strongest illusion that as a passenger I was not in command. Oby was the captain. If Seg or Inch had exercised strategic or planning control, that was proper.

So the dilemma was not mine. I rather fancied I'd shoot the cramph up a little more before boarding. If you have an edge, use it.

Certainly, our shafts were taking a heavy toll of the Fish Faces.

Larghos the Throstle, who usually employed a strangdja, was a Bowman of Loh. He and Moglin the Flatch were shooting well and fluently. I caught a glimpse of Fan-Si lifting her bow.

I shouted, viciously: “Fan-Si! C'mere! Bratch!"

She walked up, swinging her tail, well-knowing what I wanted.

“I shall not be patient with you for very long! Go below and do not come back on deck without your armor! Dernun!"

She started to give me a saucy look, saw I was not joking, and scuttled off, her tail very much down.

Seg said: “They don't learn."

“No, because they're dead."

“Quite."

“Have a look at young Rollo. He wants to go off adventuring as a Bowman of Loh. I would value your opinion."

There was every indication that Rollo was in an inflated frame of mind. So far I hadn't told Seg that Rollo was in reality an apprentice Wizard of Loh. I'd told Delia last night and she'd laughed and whistled and said: “Dear Deb-Lu has a handful, there."

Now Rollo the Runner, as he called himself, shot with a neat delicacy that brought a grunt of approval from Seg. “Perhaps a little more extension,” he said, his head a little on one side, studying technique. “He can be made into a fine bowman—if he'll listen, of course."

I said: “As to that, Seg, I'd rather he trains up to be what he is, a Wizard of Loh. Oh, and keep that close."

Inch said: “Can't he chuck a spell across there?"

“He's a novice. You'll have to wait until Deb-Lu is through with him."

A damned great chunk of stone blistered into the bulwark before our little group and as the splinters flew Korero and Tim slapped their shields across. The stone rebounded and fell away below. The Shank was hitting us well enough, and every now and then we could feel and hear a particularly shrewd knock echo and tremble through the vessel.

As often happened in single ship actions, there was going to be little left of either ship at the end.

We continued to shoot well. Fan-Si crept back on deck wearing armor. I ignored her. Milsi and Sasha, as befitted them, were shooting when the ranges came down. Everyone at the varters labored to shoot as rapidly as possible. And still Oby kept up his intricate maneuvers to baffle the Fish Face. By now, I began to think, we ought to be considering closing and boarding.

Kuong's Repositer, San Cheng, stuck closely by the trylon. He was doing his own particular duty in recording everything Kuong did. Later, this would be placed into the records so that Kuong, when he came back to Kregen as a newborn baby after his death, would know what he had done in this battle.

I said to Seg: “About time Oby closed, d'you think?"

“The notion had flitted through my skull. It's up to you."

“Do what?"

Inch said: “Get on with it, Dray. My shooting arm is tiring before I've swung my axe."

“But—Oby is the captain!"

At that moment, the coincidence perfectly explainable by the necessity of the next few moments, Glima turned up with a message from Oby.

“Majister—Captain Master Oby would like to know—"

“Thank you, Glima. Ask him to take her in, will you?"

“Quidang!” She was off, bare legs flashing, her long silver hair a shining girdle about her bare waist.

Llodi handed me the freshly-spanned crossbow.

The thought occurred to me that if I could be so sharp with Fan-Si, a fighting Jikai Vuvushi, over the wearing of armor, then surely Glima in her humbler yet essential role as messenger ought to merit the same consideration? Fan-Si detested armor because it restricted her, and in that I agreed yet felt the advantages in most circumstances outweighed the disadvantages. As a messenger, Glima would want to run as fast as she could. This, as they say in Clishdrin, would have to be taken under advisement.

With the crossbow in my hands I lined up against the most convenient target aboard the Fish Face. “This'll be the penultimate shot, Llodi. After that, we must clamber aboard somehow."

I loosed and handed the crossbow to Llodi.

Shankjid swerved sweetly in mid air. Oby had her in perfect control. We could see the bright colored upperworks of the Fish Head as his black hull slimed away out of sight below. Oby had him. We were ready to smash into him and our boarders go leaping across in a red roaring tide of destruction. Oh, yes, with a good ship under him there was no holding Oby. He had brought us into the perfect position to strike.

Inch said: “Time I went for'ard. Good hunting!” He vanished down the companionway heading for the forward fighting galleries.

Seg said: “I'll tell you somebody who'll say a few choice words when he hears what he's missed."

“Yeh,” I said.

“Too right. Old Hack ‘n’ Slay will be livid."

Nath Javed, old Hack ‘n’ Slay, was away as a Chuktar in command of the 43rd Mixed Infantry Brigade. This consisted of a regiment of archers, one of churgurs and one of spearmen. This kind of formation had been found useful to bolster a sag in the line or to add impetus to a thrust. Well, he couldn't be an army commander and at the same time go adventuring with Seg and me. And, truth to tell, I somewhat missed him then.

“I'd better get down and for'ard myself."

“I'll shoot out a few more of ‘em first."

“Can you keep the girls—?"

“I'll try."

There was little hope of stopping Delia from joining the boarding party. I'd mention it to her, in a forlorn hope she'd listen.

Seg lifted his bow and I started off and a distinct and sharp check jolted through the ship. Seg missed his shot. I caught the rail. Other folk had been staggered. The idea that we'd hit the Shank ship lasted only a moment; the check was not of that order of violence.

“What in a Herrelldrin Hell happened?” Seg was furious.

Ahead where only a moment ago the bright upperworks of the Shank had been slipping away so that our boarders lining the lower galleries could leap aboard, now they were rising up into view. Either we were going down or the Fish Head was climbing above us. Seg had his balance and calmly loosed into a pack of Fish Faces clustered on their sloping deck.

Glima ran up, and there was a trace of blood mingled with that silver hair at her waist. She panted.

“Captain Master Oby mentioned the glass eye and brass sword of Beng Thrax. Also he said by Kaidun. There is something wrong with the bronze boxes."

The Shank vessel was lifting, was turning. In only moments the Schtarkins would come raving down among us on our decks instead of us going roaring down on theirs. Again the voller jerked under my feet and her speed fell off. There was no other course for me, now.

“Hold ‘em!” I yelled to the people on the deck. “I'll see what's the matter with these Opaz-confounded bronze boxes!"

I leaped for the companionway.

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Chapter eight

The cause of the trouble was instantly obvious.

What was to be done to rectify the problem was not as readily obvious.

Where that confounded shuckerchun had sucked off some of the strakes, the hole had been roughly patched with timber. The new wood was much lighter than the original scantlings. By the immutable laws of fate, the vaol-paol, two strikes had been scored in almost the same area.

I thought of that Shank varter crew Seg and I had reduced. Maybe their ballista had been the very one, keeping its aim true, to send two chunks of rock into this very spot. The patchings lay in splinters. The baulk of timber supporting the armored power box had been knocked all skew-whiff. The two iron plates with popped rivets had fallen off. So that the second strike had come whistling in and fair smashed into the bronze boxes.

No doubt that had been one of the gut hits I'd felt in the ship.

The bronze and balass orbits looked to be functioning reasonably well. The trouble was trickling from a corner of a bronze box. Tiny granules were trickling away from a crumpled corner. Now the exact mixture of minerals and other substances in the box was a most profound secret. Even though I'd been instrumental in seating Nedfar as Emperor of Hamal, I still didn't know the full composition of the silver boxes. A group variously known as the Faceless Nine kept that secret, and death was the reward for failed attempts to penetrate the mystery. That secret cabal had other names. Yet the damned Shanks had found ways to duplicate the powers of the silver boxes in their bronze boxes.

Well, it was no use crying over that now. Something had to be done, and done instanter.

As I watched, the orbits revolved as Oby tried to get Shankjid to rise and fly forward. I felt the ship lift a trifle; there was no detectable forward movement.

As is my custom I do not wear folderols and flying tassels and scarves and bullion and gold lace, particularly when going into battle. Any swod of mine is trim for action. So the only spare piece of cloth I had that I could get to quickly was—the brave old scarlet breechclout.

That came off as quick as thought and I wrapped it about the leaking bronze box.

The incongruousness of the action and the look of the thing was perfectly apparent to me—and perfectly unimportant.

Glima leaned down from the ladder and shouted: “The Fish Faces are aboard!"

So it was a case of us trying to resist them as they leaped on us, rather than us ravening down on them.

“Mind you keep out of the way, Glima! Or take armor from a dead Fish Face. D'you hear, girl?"

“I hear master. You have no breechclout—master."

“No. And I'll have yours if you don't get yourself to safety!"

At this she did give a giggle, which heartened me immensely.

The grimness of the situation was thrust viciously upon me in the next instant as a body came tumbling head over heels down the ladder. Glima gave a squeal and jumped out of the way. The dead swod—and I didn't know his name!—was young, heartbreakingly young. He still clutched the trident through his throat. I said: “To Opaz, my lad,” and ripped his red breechclout off and wrapped it about my own nakedness. Then I went up on deck.

That classical single ship action had turned nasty.

The Shank flying ship hovered just off our bows and was pouring in shot after shot deep into Shankjid's hull. Our deck was covered by a sprawling mass of struggling fighters. The Shanks were aboard with a vengeance.

Balass the Hawk, shield high, sword low, was cutting a swathe through shrieking Fish Faces. Inch had reappeared on the upper deck and no one lived within the sweep of his axe. With all the superb skill of the master Bowman he truly is, Seg was shooting at selected targets. Very sensibly he had taken himself up to a vantage point and as I looked he shafted a Shank in the act of stabbing a trident into Chandarlie the Montro's back. Others of our company suddenly found their opponent reeling back with a long red-fletched arrow clear through them.

Kuong was fighting with that dedicated young man's application that worried me for his safety. Llodi's strangdja ran green. Tuco, also, was using a strangdja and laying about him. Larghos the Throstle and Moglin the Flatch, likewise, were employing strangdjas to deadly effect. There was no sign of Fan-Si, Mevancy, Milsi or Sasha. I looked for Delia and could not see her. The girls were Up To Something. I could smell it.

So I unlimbered the great Krozair longsword and rumbled down into the fight.

Shouts lifted, screeching. The Shanks were shrieking: “Ishti! Ishti!” Some of our folk felt inclined to waste breath in shouting back: “Vallia! Valka!” Most saved their efforts for fighting Shanks.

If what Rollo had said was true about his meeting with my lads of the Guard Corps, that they were thirsting for a good fight, then their wishes had been vouchsafed them. Now with every reason the fighting prowess of the various races of Shanks was greatly feared. Everyone knew the Fish Faces were violent and lethal in battle. Still, and if there is a twisted pride in this then for that I beg forgiveness, some folk of Paz are just as violently lethal—if not more so. Among that select company must be placed my Djangs of Djanduin, the Clansmen of Segesthes and the lads of the various regiments of my Guard Corps. The Bladesmen and rufflers of Ruathytu's Sacred Quarter, the Bladesmen—called Bravo Fighters—of Zenicce, do not have quite that same wild and untamed savageness. The Iron Legions of Hamal are drilled soldiers through and through, like the Canops. There is a world of difference between a soldier and a warrior. The wonder of it is, the jurukkers of my Guard Corps are warriors and soldiers.

Many of their names you know, far more you do not, for to weigh everyone's worth is impossible in so small a compass, and chance dictates who gets a mention and who does not. Also, there were quite a few newer men I did not know, for the Chiefs kept the regiments well filled up.

Seg saw me and left off that smooth flowing shooting rhythm to point off to starboard. Over there a gang of Fish Faces were trying to overwhelm a varter crew who resisted not only with sword and spear, but with spike and windlass handle. Soundlessly I rushed across the small space of open deck and the longsword twitched left and slashed right and two Fish Heads were no longer in possession of those fishy heads. I dragged in a breath. I had to control that mad passion to slay all these bastards who so mercilessly oppressed the ordinary people of Paz.

The next three Shanks went down smartly enough and the varter crew disposed of the remainder of that bunch. The raw stink of spilled green blood smoked into the air. There was no time to waste; more Fish Faces raced towards us, brandishing their tridents. If they thought to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies by this ferocious appearance, then in the normal course of normal battles for them they'd think correctly. Unfortunately for this particular Shank flying ship's crew, they were up against fellows who didn't go in for showiness and boasting and weapons brandishing. The proper place for weapons in the fists of my lads of the Guard Corps was not brandishing about in thin air but stuck into the guts of damned Opaz-forsaken Shanks.

Korero appeared beside me, two enormous shields upraised, a sword in his tail hand. He glowed golden in the light.

“You fambly!” he yelled at me. He was in a right old paddy. “I've been looking for you—"

I yelled back, at once alarmed, apprehensive—no, speak the truth—I was scared clean through. “Delia?"

The onrushing Shanks were almost upon us.

“She went with the rest of the ladies and that mad bunch of Fristle Jikai Vuvushis—"

Then we were at handstrokes. Korero, with four arm hands and a tail hand, could protect my back, protect his side, and attack on the other side. He was most comforting to have at my back, yet I wanted him with Delia, protecting her. We slashed that bunch of Fish Heads away and glared about for more.

“Well, Korero?"

“All the women went below."

They most definitely were Up To Something. I'd find out about it in due time—if they lived.

Some of the Schtarkins were trying to form a slender line along the deck. They could see the cumbering corpses of their own people, and, thank Zair, precious few of ours. They were forming up for a proper disciplined charge. They came on when they were ready, menacing, shrilling: “Ishti! Ishti!” Their scales coruscated in the morning light, their weapons glittered.

The leader fell down. The Fish Face next to him also fell down. Both had long red-fletched arrows through their eyeballs.

Now I know Seg has experimented with loosing two shafts from a bow at the same time. I doubted he'd be doing that right now. I took a heartbeat to glance away from the advancing Shanks. Seg was there, already bending a new shaft. In an adjoining coign of advantage stood Rollo in the act of drawing an arrow from his quiver. My lips thinned. If Rollo thought he could stand and shoot shot for shot with Seg Segutorio, then he was sadly mistaken. All the same, the lad was doing well, and I hoped he would survive this fight.

I wasn't prepared to hang about waiting for damned Shanks to charge me. I gave the briefest of forward jerks with my sword, snapped out, “Charge!” and went crashing off down the deck smack into the Fish Faces.

The lads were up with me, and a solid wall we smashed into the solid wall of Shanks. We hacked and thrust and parried and ducked and overthrew that neat Schtarkin line. We cut them down in their own blood.

When that little dust-up was over we'd cleared the after portion of the decks. We held our own voller from the stern forward to the front fighting top. Arrows were spouting down from there like bees buzzing from a hive. Forward of that the control top was isolated and the fighting was taking place in an attempt to push on forward up the deck. For the moment, Oby was up there in the control top separated from us.

Seg and Rollo jumped down from their positions halfway up the after fighting top and joined me. I was looking forward.

“There has to be a better way,” I said, fretfully.

Rollo panted out: “Can't we go down a deck and run along and then jump up behind ‘em?"

Korero said: “They're fighting down there just as we are up here."

I had to push my desperate fears for Delia out of my head. That I could not merely meant I had to live with my terrors for her and try to carry on, get this thing over with, so that she might be safe.

“We'd better go up there and get stuck in, give Inch and Balass a hand. And look out for young Kuong. He's all go."

“From what you say he believes in, my old dom, he don't care if he does get the chop."

“True."

“By the Veiled Froyvil! You can really find some weird ones in Loh!"

“Oh, aye,” I said. “Particularly from the northernmost tip."

We were advancing on the enemy as we spoke, and we had a few more of our little personal licks in before we would come to handstrokes.

Rollo was looking from Seg to me and back, and shaking his head. He must have thought we were a right couple of nutters.

In a wild melee of clashing steel and the screech and slide of steel against iron we pressed forward. Men screamed and died. Others screamed and dragged themselves out of the thick of the conflict, nursing hideous wounds. Blood fouled the decks and ran greasily across the planking. This madness proves that human beings are all mad, for surely only mad people would countenance such insane behavior? True. But, as you know to your cost, there are times when madness is the only answer.

Seg fought with silent and applied magnificence. He shared my views. We barged our way through the press and soon saw Inch, as it were, enclosed in a ring of Schturgin dead.

The enemy flying ship hovered just above our bows. Dark and agile figures were clambering up the ropes and nets from our deck to hers.

For a single and stupid instant I imagined those frantic figures to be our lads boarding the Shank.

Seg rapped out: “The cramphs are pulling back."

“Aye."

The Fish Faces were leaving the fight and climbing back to their own vessel.

This was not the final victory. Some single ship actions have seen ship's companies boarding, being driven off, been boarded, thrusting the enemy back, and boarding again. A real ding-dong knock-out fight can last.

I said: “Now it's our turn to board."

“Indu,” said Seg with great gravity, “bitably."

“Yes,” I said. “Old Hack ‘n’ Slay'll be livid he missed this little lot. And I'll tell you another—"

“Nath na Kochwold. Surely."

As Kapt of the Phalanx Corps, Nath na Kochwold had to make the decision to relinquish his beloved brumbytes, the pikemen in the files, if he wished to become the governor of a province. What he really wanted to do was come adventuring with us, and no one in Vallia would take bets on what his final decision would be.

As I stared up at the Shank I fancied she was drifting down our starboard side. That movement was not ours; I didn't think Oby would get us to move again until we had repaired the leaking bronze box. Seg, looking up, said: “What now?"

“We can't reach her from the deck, that is certain. We might get aboard from our forward fighting top—"

“Whoever's up there has been shooting well."

Inch, wiping the blade of his axe, came up just then. He said: “The girls are up there. Didn't you know?"

Korero burst out: “So that was it!"

Well, I'd known the girls had been brewing something. They'd slipped below and then crept out and up to the top to have a fine view of the proceedings. They'd done good work, too.

The Shank was now drifting perilously close. If he could get only a little nearer he'd be chucking firepots down on us.

Fretfully, I said: “Can't Oby get us to lift, for the sweet sake of Opaz?"

Rollo snapped out: “I'll go and see.” He was off like a hare.

Inch said: “I haven't got that one fathomed out yet."

Seg said: “He hasn't got himself fathomed out, either."

I said: “He's been learning a few things today."

Shankjid hung motionlessly. The Shank was turning and moving towards our starboard bow. Already the Chiefs of 1ESW were harrying out their fire fighting parties. Some of them had tried to follow up the retreating Shanks, hanging to the nets; but shouted orders caused them to drop back onto our deck before they dropped off into space.

Inexorably the Shank flying ship swerved in towards us.

So far neither combatant had thrown fire pots.

Seg turned that fey blue gaze of his on me. “They want to take us!” He jabbed his bow upwards. “That's why they haven't chucked any firepots."

“I agree.” Inch was still finickily cleaning his axe. “They haven't seen a voller like this before. So they want to capture us."

There were good men dead scattered across the decks. The stink of blood smoked into the air. The suns shone. I felt the futility.

Balass said: “We gave them a bloody nose. They're coming back.” His shield described a circle in the air. “Will they try again, or will they try to burn us?"

“Board or burn,” said Korero. “We'll stuff their fishy faces where—"

“Korero!"

This was most unlike our reticent Kildoi, whose personal life remained a mystery to his comrades.

The Schtarkin swung on through the air above us. I felt at least three separate and distinct lurchings of Shankjid, a sluggish rise followed by an abrupt fall back to the original position. Oby was trying. No doubt Rollo was attempting to give advice.

Our fire parties stood by. We were as ready as we could be to resist whatever the Fish Face up there sprang on us.

Closer and closer he came. Seg grunted and leaned into his bow. There were Fish Heads lining the ship's lower fighting gallery, and that kind of target could not be resisted by Seg Segutorio.

Other archers took up the challenge, and return shots spat onto our decks. Up there the Shank's keel slid in over our deck perhaps two or three man heights above the fighting top. We all looked up.

There was no deadly flicker of flame I could see, linstocks held in fishy fists to light the pots. No flaming bundles of death tumbled down on us from above.

A Shank with an arrow through him did fall down onto our deck. He was speedily disposed of overside as Hikdar Larghos the Trevoilyan spoke and Deldar Nath the Veins said: “You heard the officer,” and Swods Mangarl the Sofirst and Oglin Vandar jumped to scoop up wrists and ankles and with a swing fling the offal over the side. I didn't smile. But I thought of these lads of mine of the Guard Corps. Then I returned my attention to the enemy vessel.

I saw it all, saw it all in a heartbeat, and my own heart seemed to jump into my throat.

With an abrupt and vicious swoop the Shank dropped down. The Fish Face pilot didn't judge it perfectly. The keel crashed into our forward fighting top. Struts splintered and snapped. The Shank lifted for another try. Our forward fighting top leaned over, straining against the remaining struts. As I looked another strut parted. The top was now almost on its side, visibly moving further and further over and out to hang over the ship's gunwale.

A narrow door flapped open in the side of the top, the side that was now becoming the floor. A bundle flailing arms and legs tumbled out, screaming, to spin over and over and fall and fall down and down past the ship, down out of our sight into the ground below.

An arm reached out and after a struggle pulled the door closed.

The Shank ship was dropping down again for another attack.

In that top balanced on breaking struts over nothingness was all that mattered to me on Earth or Kregen.

On a sudden all I could see was redness. Half blind I raced for the ladder leading up to the toppling wreckage.

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Chapter nine

As I clambered up I could hear a savage snarling, growling noise, unutterably menacing, enough to send a shiver down your spine. Only after another three or four upward lunges was it borne in on me that the dreadful sound was coming from me. Instantly, I forced my mouth shut. Because Delia was in peril I had reverted to bestial primeval savagery. And I knew why. Had the danger come from some ferocious wild animal, or cruel barbarian, I'd have sailed in and chopped them indifferently, knowing they but obeyed their instincts. But this was different. The hand of blind fate threatened Delia and I felt helpless to influence with my sword the course of events.

The voller lurched and the toppling fighting top twisted and sank lower. I half-turned and screamed back.

“Tell Oby to keep her steady!"

“Get on, get on!” came a voice from just beneath me.

A single fleeting glance down showed me Seg and Inch clawing up the ladder. Inch's phenomenally long arms and legs swirled him up like a spider.

I'd served aboard sailing ships where you laid out along the yard arm in gales to turn your hair white. In no time at all Seg, Inch and I clung onto the broken top of the ladder, surrounded by a mess of splintered struts and snapped supports.

Below us the spiked and balconied tower now looked like a wedding cake that has been half consumed by ravenous wedding guests. I'd no memory of clawing up the ladder past the galleries. Men crowded them, ready to repel the imminent boarding.

The Shank hesitated—Opaz alone knew why—and swung up and around. Rocks and arrows spat from his lower fighting gallery.

“We're just targets, perched up here,” observed Inch.

The round top trembled as another strut buckled. Had the Tomecdrin voller builders gone in for tripods or pole masts the whole lot might well have snapped clean off by now. The multi-strutted construction gave us a slender chance.

I started to crawl along the tangled raffle out towards the top.

Seg grasped my shoulder.

“That's no good! Get a rope over to them!"

I had to think, I had to get rid of this red roaring madness in my old vosk skull, I had to calm down. With a tremendous effort, I said: “Quidang, Seg! We can rip a line free from this raffle."

The bottom of the pillbox shaped top faced towards us, with the broken-off end of the ladder leading to the trapdoor. As we pulled a line free a face appeared at the trapdoor opening. She must have been standing on something to reach the trap—even on the shoulders of her comrades.

“Hurry up and throw,” she said in a clear controlled voice.

There was no din of gunfire to drown out shouted words. I heard her perfectly clearly. I saw her only through a red haze.

I gathered up the line into a coil. This was down to me.

An arrow spat against the wood at my side.

The coil of rope swung backwards and forwards. I'd throw this underhand, unlike my days out West when I'd used a lariat. Seg moved at my back. Inch said: “You got the cramph."

Where my crossbow was I hadn't the faintest idea. Probably Llodi had stowed it somewhere safe before surging into combat. But Seg still had his bow. Trust Seg Segutorio not to abandon that! Now he was shooting back at Fish Faces loosing at us.

The rope felt hard and hairy yet greasy in my fingers. I swung with a last vicious jerk and hurled.

The line snapped across, uncoiling, sinuous as a serpent.

The end flicked across the opening and an arm grabbed—and missed.

Keeping my breathing as steady as I could, a great ragged gasping for air, I hauled the line in. “No good,” I said. I saw the jagged end of a timber and I reached out and snapped that wood off as though it was a stick of sugar candy from a banje shop. With sure practiced speed the chunk of wood was lashed to the end of the line. I coiled again, swung again, and loosed again.

The wood went slap bang into the hole and Delia just had time to duck her head out of the way.

They hauled in and I waited feverishly, knowing they were tying the line around one of the ladies trapped in there. A Fristle climbed through the trap door and then another. They were trying to cross two at a time.

Inch grunted. “I've got the end lashed tight, Dray. If they fall we can pull them in."

“Aye. But this is going to take time, time!"

The Fristles began to crawl along the swaying perilous raffle of splintered struts. I hauled in pacing them. I watched, hardly able to breathe. Perhaps it might be better to tie off the line inside the top and have the girls grip onto it as they struggled across the gap. But, then, if they fell, they'd fall all the way down to the ground beneath or the hard deck of Shankjid. Time—it would take time and the damned Shank was up there, circling and preparing to come in again—and I knew with anger just who would be the last to cross. Anger, yes—and pride.

Also Milsi as a queen would claim priority over Sasha, a kovneva, and come across as the penultimate survivor. As I waited the thought crossed my mind that a kingdom ought to be found for Inch and Sasha. Something had to occupy my frenzied brain. The uselessness I felt then is a dark and horrible period I do not wish to dwell upon. The Fristle fifis reached safety and were assisted down by Moglin and Llodi who had climbed after us. The line was coiled and hurled back. Two more girls crossed.

Delia and Milsi could cross together. That would reduce the time. Sasha and Mevancy would then be the penultimate pair. I felt something wet drop onto my wrists, extended before me on the line. It was sweat from my forehead and face.

Oh, no, I do not wish to remember that black hell through which I passed as the girls crawled across the swaying mess of wreckage.

Twin shadows fell across us and I looked up to see the Shank dropping down. He'd evidently decided that he couldn't get his lower gallery close enough to our decks if he came down on top of the crushed tower and so was trying to land further aft. A single fleeting glance showed me men gathering to repel boarders.

The shadows passed away aft and I looked back as two more Fristle fifis clambered across the gap. When the wood-weighted rope flew back and the next two girls appeared I saw I had miscalculated. There was an horrendous clamor of mad thoughts clawing at me. The top had contained an odd number of women. Fan-Si and Mevancy started to cross.

When they were safe it was the turn of Sasha and Milsi.

I half turned.

“You'd better get them all down safely. And pitch in to help the lads.” The senseless din of combat burst up from the after deck of the voller where Fish Face and jurukker clashed and smote and died.

Seg said: “I'll hang on—"

“Get Milsi down. Inch, get Sasha safe."

The others had already climbed down the rickety structure.

Mevancy had given me such a look as she passed. I do not know what she thought of the look on my face; but she went down without a word.

Seg and Inch and their ladies tried to argue. I shook my head and persuaded them to descend. Perched up here we remained mere targets.

Delia appeared at the trap door opening. She must have arranged a way to reach that from the side of the top that was not its floor. She gave me a cheeky wave and then laid into the line. All the time the top had been making doleful screeching noises as wood pressed against wood and splintered and parted. It sank lower, turning inwards now so that Delia had to climb upwards at an angle. I could see her movements, controlled as ever, as she climbed with neat and economical precision. Carefully, I kept enough slack on the line so as not to hinder her movements, and yet ready instantly to haul in if she fell.

She did not fall.

The whole damned top fell off.

The hollow round structure hit the bulwarks with a rending gonging sound. I set my teeth. That gong note was not a Passing Bell—never! The whole lot vanished over the side and Delia clinging like a monkey to the line swung pendulum fashion. She was not wearing one of the flying safety belts. Delia swirled in towards the tower.

I remember more falling than clambering down the ladder among the wreckage. I do recall my fists pained. I did not notice that at the time.

With a heartbeat to spare I reached the tangle directly opposite Delia's swinging form. Everything hazed about me into a ghastly blur. Now I have mentioned before, mention now, and will undoubtedly continue to mention, Delia of Delphond is no simpering weak shemale, no screaming blonde of fiction. Delia is resolute, quick, sharp-witted—apart from being the most beautiful woman in two worlds, of course—and now she saw what was going to happen. Everything took place in mere fragments of time. She would cannon into me with rib-crunching force and we'd both be hurled spinning sideways, seriously injured. So Delia in the tiny moment of time left to her worked her gorgeous body around in a sinuous series of swings so that she would pass just clear. With calm, precise and elegant movements she used herself as the bob of a pendulum and so swung past.

On her return swing I gathered her up in my arms and held her to my breast, close, close!

She said: “The Shanks are inconvenient, my love. They keep shooting at us."

Even as she spoke an arrow sprouted from the shattered wood beside us.

I had no need to ask fatuously: “Are you all right?” Anyway, there was no time for that. Headlong we tumbled down the ladder to the deck. The world of the voller, of noise of shouting and screaming, of the raw stink of blood, of violent action, smashed back into my consciousness.

“Oby's lost control—except for lift—"

“Can nothing be done about the bronze boxes?"

“I wrapped my breechclout around the break. It'll stop the damage getting worse—but that's all."

“Then we must take the Shank!"

Amid all the noise and confusion of battle she made that simple declaration without bombast or boasting but as a simple comment on our sole course of action remaining.

The enemy flier had managed to position himself so that his lower gallery overhung our stern. Screeching their hideous war cries the Shanks leaped aboard.

“Ishti! Ishti!” In a howling frenzied mob the Fish Faces charged.

We met them with a wall of steel and smashed them back with a charge more wild and savage than theirs. Inch swathed them away. Seg shot them to pieces. Balass surged forward as though through a corridor of toppling scaly forms. Korero remained with Delia, for she would not be denied. Everyone did his or her part, everyone fought as best they could.

We were all uplifted on the rush of blood in the head, nerved past the ordinary, driven to do extraordinary deeds. The Schtarkins either ran back to their ship or were cut down where they stood.

Our fellows started to clamber aboard her lower gallery, battling all the way. I had my fists around a black wooden stanchion and was about to haul myself aboard, the Krozair brand dangling by the sword knot, and a dagger between my teeth just in case of necessity.

A shrill voice lanced through the hubbub.

“Get off the Shank! Get off the Shank! He's afire!"

That was Rollo's voice, shrieking a desperate warning.

At the word so dreaded by sailors of wooden ships there was an immediate evacuation of the Schtarkin's lower gallery. We jumped back to our own deck where Seg was still methodically picking off Fish Heads.

A flicker of flame wavered like a flower in the breeze high on the enemy flier's poop. At first the gossamer strands were lost in the radiance of the suns. Swiftly the flames thickened into a crackling blaze and the black smoke blew down over us.

Oby's reaction came immediately the last of our people dropped back to the deck. That happened to be Sandar Na-Ku, a Pachak with a touch more of the calculated berserker in him to cause him to fight to the last. The moment Sandar hit the deck Oby dropped Shankjid and the voller plummeted.

Everyone lifted up on their toes, so swift was the descent.

Seg held onto his arrow and then let the string slowly forward. “We're drifting with the wind, my old dom. If that rast up there falls straight down he ought to miss us."

“But he's not falling,” observed Inch, already thoughtfully wiping his axe. These two knew how to control the after passions of the madness of combat. This was not callousness on our part, just an acceptance of one unpalatable face of life in a turbulent age. Truth to tell, we had been fighting Shanks, and so the reactions were all of a different kind from those we experienced after fighting with warriors of Paz.

“He's burning, though,” observed Sasha with great satisfaction.

Oby held us low above the ground. We were drifting aimlessly, pushed by the breeze. Up there the Shank began to move. He turned into the breeze and increased speed, clearly trying to keep the fire blazing away aft in a fiery streamer. Well, we knew all about that.

He stayed in sight for some time, a blazing meteor high against the sky slowly sinking to the horizon and finally disappearing beyond a cloud bank.

Often enough in my life on Kregen I've felt like saying, as you know: “Well, now what?” I said it to myself, then, aboard a crippled voller drifting over the forgotten jungles of Chem.

My comrades were acting in the ways I expected of them, thankful we were still alive after the fight, speaking mostly in low tones, sometimes breaking into a boisterous—and not altogether incongruous—laugh. Rollo stepped down the deck to us, looking a trifle wild. His shout about the fire had saved some of our fellows, no doubt of that. Mevancy appeared, looking flushed, her color high. People began to drift over so that soon most of them were looking down from various vantage points. I felt a most peculiar sense of Theatre in the air. Most odd.

What the hell was I going to do now, what say to them? What did they expect of their famous and puissant Dray Prescot now?

Mevancy said in a clear voice: “Well, cabbage. What happens now?"

“That's simple,” I said, making it brisk, making it brusque. “Now we can get on with doing the job we're all down here for."

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Chapter ten

In pursuance of that policy—to use an amusingly pompous phrase beloved of the verbose governments of two worlds—we needed an army, a navy and an air force. We had one crippled flying ship.

“Once Deb-Lu or Khe-Hi regain contact,” said Seg in his big confident way, “we'll soon have it all settled."

A few of us were gathered in the aft cabin of Shankjid. This was not a Council of War, for, as you know, I have little faith in them. This was a meeting where we might take a breath and plan. As always, the final decisions would have to be taken by me. Had I ever, I remember thinking as we sat around talking and drinking there in the paneled after cabin of this strange voller, had I ever really got used to making Emperor's decisions? Oh, I made them smartly enough, as this narrative will testify. All the same, running a King's Ship is one thing, running an empire is quite another—or, is it? Do not the same imperatives apply? I half-turned to Seg and said: “You're right. And we badly need to know where the armada from Vallia has gone."

Delia said: “They are subject to the wind, just as we are now."

Inch nodded quickly. “True; but the lads are busy at work on the sails and spars. If Dray has anything to do with it, we'll be sailing soon."

“Thank Opaz for small mercies,” I said. “The split in the bronze box—"

“But it didn't, you old worrier, so think forward!” Delia sounded quite sharp, by Krun!

Milsi, quite calmly, said: “I've always maintained that one day some use would be found for Dray Prescot's scarlet breechclout."

“That does seem a more suitable function for it,” added Sasha with immense dignity.

We mere mortal men did not have the courage to exchange glances but stared busily at the ceiling or the floor. Eventually, Delia said: “If the prevailing wind has taken the Vallian fleet away then we can follow."

A trifle uneasily, I said: “With Khe-Hi's help, that is so. But I rather feel we ought to think about Queen Kirsty and her army, and about the rebellion in Tarankar, and about—"

“What, my old dom, do you think one sailing flying ship will avail against the Shank fleets?” Then, very very quickly, Seg added: “Of course, if we decide to go down there, I'll—"

“Quite,” I said.

“Well?” demanded Delia.

“Precious little—except—"

“Except what?” demanded Inch. He had to sit a trifle crouched, for spacious as the cabin was, the overhead was too low for Inch and Sasha.

“Oh,” I said, making an irritable gesture with my fingers. “We could go around the different gangs, help ‘em, train ‘em, give ‘em heart."

“No.” Delia shook that delightful head so the chestnut tints in her gorgeous hair caught the light and put a golden bronze halo about her. “Oh, no. Utter waste. When the time is ripe the gangs can close in on Taranjin. They will no doubt do their best; they may turn out to be most useful although I have my doubts on that score.” Her voice hardened. “The Fish Faces have to be put down by armies and fleets trained to a better standard than theirs.” Then with a tiny sigh, a puff of sound almost inaudible, so typical of her, she said: “I do wish Deb-Lu was here!"

I knew—and the knowledge was at once uplifting and shaming—that Delia wished the powerful Wizard of Loh here so that he could protect me. Deb-Lu protected us all at a distance; Delia's concern for me was matched only by my concern for her. And, yet! And, yet I allowed her to go off on hair-brained adventures for the Sisters of the Rose and I knew she risked her life over and over again. What a fool I was! Yet because I loved her I could not stop her doing what she wished. Deb-Lu's distant protection was far more vital over Delia than anyone else. I agreed with Delia; I wished Deb-Lu-Quienyin, toppling turban and all, was here with us.

Following Delia's earlier remark, Inch said: “The Hamalese at least are well trained."

“And where in a Herrelldrin Hell have they gone to?” demanded Seg.

Milsi said: “Better to find them first. Then the vollers can tow the sailing fliers."

That was sensible. From my personal point of view, no matter how well-trained the Hamalese might be, their ships did not have the ferocious lads of my Guard Corps aboard.

“Where the blazes is Deb-Lu!” I stood up restlessly. “Sink me!” I burst out. “I won't be put down by a pack of Fish Faces!"

Delia looked at me with that special crinkle along her eyebrows, so I sat down and kept silent.

Each of us, in our way, knew what the other was thinking.

Balass the Hawk put his head in at the door, his powerful black face just sheened with sweat—it took a great deal to make Balass sweat. He said: “By the brass sword and glass eye of Beng Thrax! I might have known it. Here I am hauling ropes and lifting spars, and you lot are lolling about drinking parclear.” He licked his lips. “By Kaidun! I'm parched!"

Sasha said: “Here, Balass, a fine sazz.” She held up the goblet.

After Balass had drunk, he said: “Almost done. Want you to have a look at it, Dray. Oby isn't too sure of the exact pitch of the yards."

I smiled. “Young Oby feels degraded not having a voller's power under his feet. Handling a sailer will be good for him."

“He's come a long way,” said Balass, “since the Jikhorkdun."

“Aye,” I said. I didn't like the note of heaviness in my voice.

We all went out onto the deck into an immense bustle as the lads erected the masts we'd cut from tree trunks and crossed the yards. Oby was standing with his hands on his hips, his head thrown back, yelling at the hands tailing onto the braces as the yard swayed up. The fellows on the halyards eased the yard up carefully. They'd done this kind of work before, of course, as so often in the past the Emperor's Guard Corps had been forced to fly in sailing flying ships. Mistakes might be made; they'd get it right in the end.

Oby caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye, and in between shouts, called across: “Say when, Dray!"

I nodded. At the moment I considered appropriate, I yelled and the yard was snugged down. With only two masts and main course and fore course, the vessel would be a pig to steer. It was necessary, therefore, to rig fore sails and a funny little mizzen to carry a spanker.

Whilst all this was going on I went down to see if the emergency repairs done to the bronze box were holding. The minerals spilled had been carefully swept up and put in an empty jewel box for safety. My red breechclout had gone for laundry and the split had been thoroughly bound up with canvas and lashings. I shook my head. One day I'd figure out what all the minerals’ sources were. What we had now in this vessel was the ability to lift up in the air. We had no forward power. Because the boxes gave us the ability to reach down into the aetheric-magnetic lines of force about the planet we could, as it were, extend a keel and so use that as the very necessary resistance to enable us to make boards and tack against the breeze. The skills of the sailor were required now.

All the deck activity cheered me up. Something I understood was happening, and we were creating a living ship out of a crippled hulk.

My new friends from Tsungfaril and Tarankar had been assigned quarters and they tended to keep to themselves, no doubt feeling somewhat out of it in the general bustle. Only Rollo—who was, of course, from Whonban and a Wizard of Walfarg—joined in. He was clearly intent on striking up a friendship with Oby in connection with vollers. And he dearly would love to strike up a friendship with Seg Segutorio in connection with Bowmen of Loh.

Everyone in two worlds has ambitions and motives, drives and needs. Maybe many folk don't even know what it is they want. When hope seems senseless in view of the current conditions, ambitions may shrivel; deep down in every person the needs crave on.

In the aftermath of that traumatic fight with the Shank voller we needed time to recuperate, to bring ourselves back to being ourselves. Rigging Shankjid as a sailing flying ship gave us something to do whilst we resumed normalcy. Or—as normal as anyone can be on that dreadful yet wonderful world of Kregen.

Yet that remark, too, is untrue. As you know, there are many many simple ordinary folk living on Kregen and leading ordinary simple lives. Not everyone is a rollicking adventuring hero swinging a sword. Sometimes, when I looked at Delia and saw her afresh and drank in her beauty and aliveness and sheer wonderful gloriousness, I could wish that I, too, was not who and what I was. But those dreams were foolish. The Star Lords would see to that. And, too, as you will readily perceive, these remarks indicate perfectly clearly that no matter who or what I or Delia might be, we would continue to love each other natheless.

Because Shankjid was—or had been—a voller flying under her own power she did not carry a vast quantity of spare rope so that my people had cut vines and lianas from the forest to twine and plait into substitute ropes and cables. I went off towards the stream to find a suitable source of lianas to make up for the spanker rigging.

Stepping away from the clearing it seemed to me that the forest closed in with uncanny rapidity. Our noise and activity had probably driven almost all the animal life away; anything not frightened off would prove unhealthy but would succumb to the varters. Moglin the Flatch with Larghos the Throstle walked towards me carrying a raffle of loose vines and Fan-Si trailed along lifting dangling ends. They passed me with a few short words, as one would hail good morning to an acquaintance across the street, and trudged on. I half turned, starting to sigh, and then I swung back as a voice at my shoulder said: “Drajak—Mevancy—she's not herself at all, what with what's been going on an’ everything."

I was aware of two reactions. One, pleasure that Llodi had accepted the situation and continued to treat me as a friend, and second, a twinge of alarm over Mevancy. Unpredictable as she was, she could do just about anything as the situation that Llodi had accepted worked on her unstable emotions. There was concern in Llodi's voice as he said:

“She's down by the stream an’ all, and she's not cutting vines."

“I'll see."

Llodi moved on with his bundle of lianas and a long trailing vine slithered after him through the clutter of the forest floor, hissing.

When I reached Mevancy sitting slumped under a tree by the bank, I did, indeed, see. She sat in that withdrawn almost fetal position that denotes intense misery. At my approach she started up in terror, as though I were a jungle monster after her blood.

Not quite sure of the best tack to take I opened my mouth and she said: “What a mess I'm in!"

I sat down beside her, comfortably stretching out my legs. Somewhere a little upstream and masked by low bushes someone was cutting vines. Other voices could be heard echoing. It would rain the tropical rain shortly, in the eternal recycling of rain forest water.

For a space of time neither of us spoke. Then she leaned sideways and put her head on my shoulder. She was not crying. In a voice like a child's lisp, she said: “If only I wasn't a Sinnalix!"

“Then you wouldn't have your bindles—"

“My bindles!” The venom with which she spat this out startled me.

“Your nasty little darts have proved more than useful in the past—"

“Oh, aye, cabbage, aye! And what they will cost me—"

“Cost you?"

“Yes, yes!” She was no longer speaking as a child but as a mature woman filled with spite and venom and frustration. “Don't you know?"

“Rumors—"

“Well, they're not rumors. I want to have children like any normal woman and if I have a girl I want her to have bindles to protect herself. But if I marry—Kuong, say—my daughters will be born as apims, without bindles studding their arms."

“I see—"

“No you don't, cabbage! If I want a daughter with bindles, as I do, of course, I must mate with a man of Sinnalix."

“I see the problem if it is Kuong now—"

“What do you mean, now?"

“Ah—well—"

She gave me a look and then in a gush of words blurted out: “The males of Sinnalix are brutish, misshapen and ugly. They are hideous in the sight of any woman. Their touch disgusts. Yet I must mate with one of them—"

I felt for her, of course. That prospect would chill the heart of the bravest girl, particularly as Mevancy went on to explain further that the Sinnalix males were vicious of temperament and delighted in dominating their beautiful women. The men were cruel to their wives.

“And if we shoot them with a burst of bindles, our punishment is—"

Well, it was highly unpleasant, not fatal, and prolonged.

I said: “And I suppose it is the same with the sons?"

“Yes. A Sinnalix male will produce a monstrosity like himself."

“But, pigeon, you told me your father was a good man who tried to enlighten the barbarism darkening Sinnalix—"

“Yes. I always think of him as my father, but, of course, he was my stepfather. My real father, so mother told me, was a typical Sinnalix male. He was killed in a raid and my father married my mother, who was wealthy.” Her voice carried no animation as she spoke of her childhood. She spoke in a dull, hopeless way. “If I'd married Vad Leotes, or if I wed Kuong, we will produce beautiful boys and lovely girls—without bindles."

She did have a problem. Perhaps just talking about it helped to calm her down. She explained more details, although given the situation was self-evident, they were hardly necessary.

There was a chance here to clear up the further situation of Mevancy and Kuong. I fancied she was in the after-the-storm mood to confide her secret thoughts and desires. Delia—and I felt sorry for Mevancy—had come as a shattering shock to the girl from Sinnalix. About to widen the conversation so as to ask if she wanted Kuong and would marry him, my first words were interrupted by a shriek from upstream. Instantly, Mevancy and I sprang up.

A splashing and bubbling located the source of the scream. A mass of silver hair swirled in the current.

“Glima!” I shouted. “She's fallen in the water!"

Flinging myself flat on the bank I reached out desperately. Into my fists I gathered a bunching double handful of Glima's silver hair. I felt myself roughly jerked forward and my chest went into the water, my arms outstretched before me and my head up. “Mevancy!"

At once I felt her grip my ankles as I was dragged further forward. She held me. I started to swing Glima in to the bank and her head broke the surface. Her face turned to me, terrified, eyes closed, wet as a seal. I hauled in as gently as I could and called reassuringly to her.

“Glima. Open your eyes. Grab the root."

Just below me a tree root protruded from the soil of the bank. Glima, splashing and gasping, managed to grip the root. Mevancy started to pull me in. Glima's mouth contorted as she tried to breathe and scream at the same time. I let go of her hair with my left hand and took her right arm and pulled her in. Then I shouted: “Pigeon! Hold on!” and hauled Glima up.

Between me, Glima and the root, we hauled her out. Mevancy held onto me, Glima clung to her root until the last second, and I twisted and pulled.

Gasping water, Glima fell forward on the bank beside me.

Head down and held by Mevancy, I couldn't see Glima on the bank, and I was in no position to wriggle myself back up. I put my hand on the root to get a purchase. At that moment, Mevancy, concerned for Glima and thinking her rescued and me about to haul myself out, let go of my ankles.

There was no longer any danger. All I had to do was push myself up with my hands on the root. No problem.

The root snapped.

Headfirst I toppled into the stream. Instantly the current swept me away. White water spumed each side and shining black boulders shot past. The force of the current held me locked as though in a vice. A thumping great smash on the back of my head half dazed me. It began to rain in a solid downpour. A chip in a millrace, I was swept helplessly downstream.

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Chapter eleven

Smashed and pummeled by the water, bashed by black boulders, charged by drifting logs and lashed by overhanging branches—yes, I can say that unknown river in darkest Chem gave me one of the roughest rides of my career, a career, as you who have listened to my narrative can testify, not without its full freight of rough rides.

Away I went, hurly-burly, scattering foam as I tried, damn feebly, too, to claw a way to the bank and out of this maelstrom.

Rolling over and over like one of those confounded logs that kept battering at me, I saw streaming black and white water and then a whisk of a green-leaved bank and then the black branch-laced sky. The current possessed the power of a thousand leems. The boulders were positioned with the cunning animosity of Mak Grancesi the Malignant himself. I could feel the bruises starting up already. If I didn't hoick myself up out of this tout de suite I'd run my head full tilt into a rock, and as what there might be of brains oozed into the water, that would be the end of Dray Prescot.

One of those Opaz-forsaken branches that kept on whipping me as I thundered past proved the saving of my carcass. The thing took a vicious swipe at my head as I was rolling, all splashing and flailing arms and legs, and turning face uppermost. I reached up with arms and fists seeking life.

The grip I took was the grip of death. I felt the shock of the sudden check in my helter-skelter progress. I hung on, panting, and after a bit, gritting my teeth, started to haul myself up. By the time I'd got my legs up out of the clutching jaws of the stream and gripping the branch, I felt as though I'd been beaten with laths. When I got my breath back I swung leg over leg and fist over fist to the bank.

I wasn't fool enough to imagine my troubles were over. No, by Vox!

Here I was, dumped into a hostile jungle, pelted by rain so that visibility was practically nil, isolated, with only my wits and weapons to save me from becoming some predator's lunch. Well, as you know, this is no novel situation for Dray Prescot even if each situation is different one from the other. Previous experiences would be invaluable; the unexpected will always turn up and must therefore be expected.

Because this was Kregen, where you take your weapons for even the shortest trip, I was not unarmed. There were spare strings for the Lohvian longbow in the waterproof pouch on my belt. I had the Krozair longsword and the rapier and main gauche. My old sailor knife snugged over my right hip. And, inevitably and correctly, I wore the brave old scarlet breechclout.

Well, now...

As abruptly as it had begun, the rain stopped and the incessant hissing drumming was replaced by the steady drip drip drip as the leaves shed the surplus water. Everything began to steam like the hot rooms of the Baths of the Nine.

One fact was absolutely certain in this infuriating situation.

I must stay by the stream. Already it was beginning to broaden out into what might be called a river and although it still spumed and roared, and unpleasant rocks spouted white water along its course, the top cover concealed only the stretches close to the banks. There was no doubt whatsoever in my mind that Delia and my comrades would fly Shankjid down the river in search of me.

“A fire!” I exclaimed aloud. “By the disgusting diseased left kidney and the blighted liver of Makki Grodno! A fire!” And, for good measure, I added: “A goodly waft of smoke, by the black armpit hairs and leering squint of the Divine Lady of Belschutz! A fire and billow on billow of smoke!"

The river took a bend in its course a couple of hundred paces ahead and widened further. A jumble of boulders across the width formed a dam of sorts and the water smashed and spumed high sending rainbow colors glinting. The noise of the rapids beat steadily between the trees. In this section of the rain forest there would be no easy traveling by boat or canoe along the rivers. Among the pleasant scents wafting in the air one or two atrocious stinks told of vegetable life attracting animal life of a different order. I prowled along warily.

Sure enough, at the bend there was quite an expanse of blue sky above. Luz and Walig, the twin suns, sent opaline beams to cheer me up with the reflection that the whole wide world of Kregen was not one confounded jungle.

Among the dripping branches finding dry wood was a mere matter of stripping off the wet bark and digging out the soft and dry inside. If my flint and steel refused to work it would be the work of moments to fashion a fire-maker's bow and then of skillfully twirling until the tump caught. The tinder caught on the third strike and I blew gently.

A flicker of gossamer flame danced into life.

Well, I'd had just about enough of fires lately. Building the fire into a blaze had to be done carefully; but it was not long before I could pile on dampish wood and start the smoke roiling upwards.

As I straightened up ready to bring across a fresh branch, I saw a man standing among the trees about twenty paces off. He stood absolutely motionlessly, staring at me.

I stopped my movement. I stared back. The noises of the jungle screeched and howled about us.

There was something deuced odd about this fellow.

He was six or seven inches taller than I am and although his face in the shadows of the leaves looked shiny and plump there was a gauntness about his frame. He wore only a loincloth of a drab beige color and appeared to have no weapons. That, by Vox, in a hostile jungle of Kregen, was distinctly odd!

He moved forward and a shaft of mingled light fell across his face. The plumpness was emphasized by the shine; his face looked as shiny as the shell of a crab. I couldn't make out with any distinctness the morphology of his body. He had two legs all right; but of arms I could see none. Across his chest were crisscrossed shadows.

I called out: “Llahal, dom!"

I made no move to draw a weapon.

He moved further forward, leaving the shadows, stepping into the full rays of the suns. What were those crisscrossing ridges on his torso? He had two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth, and no sign of body hair. He advanced silently three or four more paces.

The situation grew odder by the minute. Now, I did not want to take my eyes off his, yet it was imperative that I looked carefully all around to see if he had any comrades ready to jump on my back.

I threw the branch onto the fire and in a continuation of the same movement looked left, right and rearwards. In that flashing surveillance I saw only jungle, river and sky.

He took advantage of the interruption to move swiftly forward so that when I looked at him again he was no more than five paces off. If he essayed a rush from there I could unlimber a weapon before he reached me. The jumble of shadows across his torso looked like a bundle of sticks. His head was fuller than I'd at first thought. I had not seen him blink once.

Again, I called: “Llahal, dom!” This time my voice was sharper and harder, demanding an answer—always assuming, of course, that he could speak.

He did speak. He made a gargling, hissing noise that closely resembled: “Schahal, schdom."

I opened my mouth to attempt a conversation. You must always be alert on Kregen if you wish to survive. I saw the bundle of sticks across his chest stir. They were not a bundle of sticks. They were his arms. From the shoulder they were jointed like a folding rule so that he had three elbows to each arm. Instead of hands he had serrated claws like those of a lobster or crab and I did not need to be told they were razor sharp. The arms straightened and slashed like flails. The fellow had a reach of five paces easily. He'd have had me if I hadn't given a convulsive leap backwards.

“Schnarra! Schnarra!” he screeched and rushed, those enormously long arms swinging and slashing before him. I dodged away. You know my views on wanton killing and its abhorrence. You also know my views on people who try to kill me. In this situation I judged the longsword to be the correct weapon in preference to the rapier.

The Krozair brand hissed free of the scabbard. The blade glittered once as it cut. A claw and the first elbow span away trailing blood. The thing screeched and the other arm flailed scythingly towards my head. The sword switched up and the second claw and forearm dropped.

Holding the stained blade up, I stood my ground, waiting to see what he would do, not wanting this grotesque encounter to continue.

He was hissing and shrilling, keening higher than the roar of the rapids. For a moment he swung his shortened arms before him and then, recognizing the futility of any further attacks, folded them up across his chest. He turned about and ran off into the jungle.

I felt, I admit, by the sweet name of Opaz, only regret for him. He had sought this encounter and initiated violence. Because of that he suffered. I walked a little way after him. There was no sign of him so I went back to the fire shaking my head at man's folly.

The severed limbs looked only pathetic. When I tested the claws they were, indeed, razor sharp. The forearm and claw would make a capital weapon. The creature reminded me of a Praying Mantis. The marvels and mysteries of Kregen under the Suns of Scorpio! I would have to ask Rollo or Mevancy for information on this fellow. If he lived with his kind in the jungle I just hoped he was a solitary.

You may well imagine I kept a sharp lookout after that, by Krun!

One or two animals blundered up from the trees but the fire discomfited them. I was not troubled by animal life and I kept well away from those vegetable predators I recognized—and well away from anything not like a simple ordinary forest tree.

Dark smoke wafted into the bright air.

A pang from my inward parts reminded me that I could do with a solid Kregen meal. If I was not found in the very near future I'd have to go hunting for my lunch.

As you may well imagine, just feeding a fire and trying to make white and black smoke waft high into the air took little intellectual capacity. I was left to ponder on all the multifarious problems facing me.

“By the Blade of Kurin!” I said to myself as I cleaned and polished up the Krozair brand. “I thought it was a truly smart move to get out from under the job of being Emperor of Vallia. And now everyone wants me to be the Emperor of Paz."

The divine Delia was being supportive and understanding but I felt it to be absolutely imperative that I knew without any misunderstanding her true feelings on this awkward matter. What the Star Lords wanted must also be taken into consideration. They considered I had the yrium, that blessed and cursed charisma, to organize all the lands of Paz against the Shanks. And there were others ... Truly it was all a moil!

Of one thing I was passionately certain. I must do nothing to cause the Everoinye to hurl me contemptuously back to Earth.

Worrying over what might happen in the future can be highly unhealthy if your current actions cannot influence the course of events. Forward planning to meet contingencies, though, is highly rewarding. What ought to happen in the future seemed planned out well enough. What might happen, of course, was a zorca of a different horn. It was no good fretting. I stoked up the fire so that the suns paled and then hauled out the Krozair longsword.

Any fighting man must keep in trim. A spot of practice every day is required. So, there in that lost jungle clearing by the rapids in the bend of the river, I went through the Krozair manual of arms. Naturally, there was time only for the basic techniques but I chose to go through the routine from the Fifth Circle of the Artifices of the Sword. San Zefan, Krzy, had written down his Artifices some two and a half thousand seasons ago on the Island of Zy in the Eye of the World. Later artists of the sword had amplified and improved the basic work. Some had merely decorated it, so that these practitioners gave a showy performance. Only by continual practice and hard work does a swordsman stay alive—on Kregen.

Towards the end of the session I felt much calmer.

A voice much distorted and muffled said: “Do you thus fight phantoms, Dray?"

I swung about. Half visible in the sunslight on the bank of the river the figure of Deb-Lu-Quienyin wavered. His turban appeared to topple off his head and then in the heat distortions flow back again.

“Deb-Lu! Lahal and Lahal!"

As I spoke the ghostly figure shimmered, thickened and darkened. I thought the Wizard of Loh was putting more of his kharrna into his lupal projection. Then I saw this was not so. The face of Khe-Hi-Bjanching appeared in place of Deb-Lu's wise old visage, and then disappeared as Deb-Lu once more showed. They were both projecting into the same space.

“Khe-Hi! What is going on?"

“We face tremendous interference. I am in Whonban and Deb-Lu is in Vallia. The planes distort—” The fluttering voice keened into incoherence. A most unpleasant feeling of unease possessed me.

They both spoke together in a weird double-echo.

“We are maintaining our Observations. But the load is crippling. When we know more we will—” With a guttural gargling as of water running down a plughole the voices tailed off. The lupal projection flickered and died. I was alone.

These two comrades were powerful Wizards of Loh, well-versed in their arcane arts. Their thaumaturgy protected my comrades and myself. Yet here they were being baulked of a simple lupal communication by what must be an enormous and hostile force.

A snickering wheezing laugh sounded from the trees and I swung about, the sword snouting. Then I knew who that hostile force was.

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Chapter twelve

This time the bastard was surrounded by a bevy of half-naked girls. They were Bowmaids of Loh. They had sweet round faces and soft pouting lips and were sharp as barracudas and tough as old boots. There were eight of them, four each side of his damned throne chair. Their great Lohvian longbows were half drawn in that practiced archer's grip. They could lift, draw, let fly, in the flicker of an eyelid.

He sat in that chair leaning slightly forward, bearded chin cupped in his left hand, looking broodingly at me. He wore robes of a smoky sullen red sweeping away from artificially widened shoulders over a scale shirt. He was studded with golden adornments. His right hand, bone white like the left, rested lightly on the haft of a double-headed axe between his booted feet. All this was as I had seen him before. He wore his helmet. To look at him you couldn't rightly say if he was a man wearing a fish-face helmet, or a fish-face with a man's face as neck adornment.

Scraped chalk white, that face out of nightmare. Paper-thin skin stretched over and revealed his facial bone structure. The open lipless mouth showed a double row of jagged fang-like teeth pressing outwards from wide jaws. His thin nostril slits pulsed. I looked at his eyes. The eyes of a devil, I'd said, blue-black yet filled with the mad red glow of rhodopsin, eerie, repellent, dominating.

The little scaled creature with the silver collar still crouched against his right leg. Now he had two naked girls, one with flowing yellow hair, one with short dark hair, twined against his booted left leg.

The snickering wheezing laugh sounded again.

Among the dark greens and rusty blacks of skin and scale drapings and the redness of his robes, a patch of white glimmered. Low down at the left side of the throne, a patch of dirty white, like a fish's belly, moved forward, and a red-black gash opened across it. From that slit the mocking laugh wheezed again. This was the face of an obscenity, neither apim nor true fish, a miscegenation that had been procreated with the worst of both sides. I stared, feeling slightly sick. But then, of course, the wonderful wise men and savants of Kregen, those scientists of the ancient times, who had wrought so playfully with the flora and fauna of Kregen, might also have created this corpse white, leech-like, horror.

The throne chair hung suspended three feet in the air. The Bowmaids of Loh stood on the same level.

From the slant of the twin shadows from the girls and the throne you could tell they were not here in this jungle clearing.

I breathed in hard, and breathed out, and said nothing and waited for what he might have to say. I kept a sharp lookout for his pet Arzuriel. I'd already disposed of Arzuriel once; but I'd learned he was a multi-dimensional creature and so could be expected to turn up again.

He saw me looking.

“Do not concern yourself, Dray Prescot. Arzuriel will come when I call."

I took another hard look at him, his throne, his clothes, his companions. They made a tableau of evil. You could feel the gust of depravity reeking from them. Opaz alone knew how many more of them there were in whatever foul den they hailed from. One thing was certain sure about that place—it stank.

Was it because I hadn't bothered to answer him that made him mad? The deep red of the rhodopsin in his eyes glared to match the sullen smoky red of his robes. He lifted his head. His left hand jutted forward, forefinger pointed directly at me. His nails were long and curved and sharp, like claws.

“You think you are so important, puny little apim! I tell you, you are less than nothing in my scheme of things."

The last time he'd appeared to me like this he'd been instrumental in stopping me from getting to where I ought to have been in time. What was he stopping me from doing this time?

As far as I could see, I was waiting for my friends to pick me up in Shankjid. The thought did occur to me that perhaps they wouldn't be able to see this tableau. I just stood there, poised, alert, the Krozair sword in my fists, ready.

“Fear has this effect, very often,” he went on, lowering his pointing finger. “Like the risslaca and the woflo. I had heard you were a false jikai, Prescot, and found it hard to believe. Perhaps it is true?"

I looked at the Bowmaids. They were a toothsome bunch. All they wore in the way of uniform was a scale triangle in front and a few wisps of feathers here and there. The heftiest of them had three red feathers in a headband. She said something in a voice like a spoon hitting a glass. Two girls each side lowered and eased off their bows.

He saw me looking at the beauty parade and when I turned back I thought there was a dull flush of red along his cheekbones.

“We could have worked in concert, you and I, Dray Prescot. My plans call for a strong man to rule in Loh. I thought I had such a man; but he decided his own powers gave him strength to do as he wished.” His voice took on something of the keening whine he'd used when he first spoke to me. He clearly felt deeply on this point. “My plans have not gone as I would have wished.” Now the bright malice showed in that monstrous face. “But all that interference is ended."

He paused there. If he was puzzled I hadn't spoken he covered that well. All the time he sat in his chair and jabbered, he was destroying the picture of horror he presented. Familiarity might not, in this instance, breed contempt. He was an apparition, using his kharrna to project his image in lupu to this spot. And he brought his retinue along into the bargain. He had power all right. Enough power, as I surmised, to choke off the combined powers of Deb-Lu and Khe-Hi.

The little corpse-white thing half hidden in the shadows wriggled up. The massive head and crown inclined as the thing whispered into an ear. He straightened up. Those fearsome eyes, all blue-black and red, fixed me.

“N'gil suggests your fear is feigned."

I said nothing.

“N'gil wants to know if, even at this late hour, you would join us."

In a short time my friends should be along. The black and gray smoke from my fire was dying. But it ought to be enough. I wanted to get rid of this unnatural sorcerer and his gang before Shankjid arrived.

All the time he talked and I didn't I was watching the edge of the forest in case Arzuriel showed up. With his four tentacles, each with a head with jaws at its tip, he'd make a likely candidate for the monster gallery in the jungle. There was no sign of him.

“Well, Dray Prescot?"

“No thanks, Carazaar. Your kind of existence is too unhealthy for me."

N'gil drew in a hissing breath.

“I have told you you are a prince of fools, Dray Prescot, an onker of onkers, a get onker—"

I interrupted.

“I've been told that—many times—by people who could slow fry you in your own sorcery."

His ghastly face twisted. “I do not believe you."

“That's your privilege, Carazaar. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Stretching to the rear and slightly to the sides of the throne the air was hazy, vague with half-seen moving shapes. No doubt that was some kind of reflection through the planes of Carazaar's hang out. From just above the throne a gasp sounded, clear and sharp, between my remark and Carazaar's immediate snarling retort.

I guessed that to be the woman with the plump white arms who carried Carazaar's fish-faced crown about for him. Would she like him?

Now from my previous experience I knew that a sword slash would go clean through this apparition. Of them all, so far, only Arzuriel had been solid, and he'd drifted through a brick wall to get at me. Could I rely, then, on the Bowmaids’ shafts not going solidly through me?

Using the Krozair Disciplines I could knock the arrows out of the air. But, suppose they contained thaumaturgy of a superior order? Then the sword would go through the shaft without deflecting it, and the charmed arrow could penetrate me and stick me clear through. That was not a happy thought, no, by the Crooked Shaft of Hork the Squint!

Perhaps he saw the intention on my face, black thoughts giving me that old Dray Prescot Devil Look. I own I scowled.

His right fist gripped the double-headed axe. He lifted it high and shook it. It was pure Theatre.

“There is yet time, Dray Prescot, for you to change your mind."

The chair, the Bowmaids, the naked girls, the chained things, N'gil and Carazaar himself began to fade. I spoke up.

“Remberee, Carazaar. Don't call us, we'll call you."

The apparition blinked and was gone.

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Chapter thirteen

For too long a moment I just stood there. The vision of that reekingly evil character persisted. Two shadows, one red, the other green, drifted across the clearing before me, each suffused by a wash of color from the other sun. The Suns were sinking now and the rays slanted into the forest. I looked up.

Instantly I was running like a maniac—running into the nearest of the trees.

I'd expected to see Shankjid up there, sailing to my rescue.

The hull of the flier up there was midnight black.

So that's why that bastard Carazaar held me still!

If I could make the treeline I stood a chance of shaking off pursuit. Any fancy notion of standing stock still so I wouldn't be noticed was like hoping a hunk of red meat wouldn't be noticed by a hungry leem. Any idea of slipping over the bank and hiding in the river was just as foolish. Even if the Shanks up there didn't have Katakis with them, they wouldn't miss a trick like that.

If the Fish Faces did have Katakis with them, and the Whiptails had a pack of werstings, then I was in deep deep trouble.

Those black and white striped hunting dogs can run down a scent like a toddler can scent a banje shop two streets off.

The Fish Heads up there were on the ball. A rock flew past my head, gouged a chunk of dirt, rebounded on to slam into a trunk with force enough to spray chips of bark. I put my head down and ran. If they shot arrows off after me they missed. Probably their short bows weren't up to the job. By the time they got their varter reloaded I dived in between the trees. This time the rock mangled the head of a bush just out from the shadows.

Back in the clearing the flier had touched down. Shanks were jumping out, screeching their warcries, brandishing tridents. They glittered, sharp and cruel, in the declining suns light.

They started off towards me.

Now wandering about at night in a jungle is not a particularly healthy pastime, and not something I would recommend for light entertainment. Mind you, I've done it. Seg and I have had our share of nighttime jungles.

Here, though, there would be dangers of a different kind from those of the forests of South Pandahem. The vegetable carnivores would be just as lethal as the animal—more so, given certain circumstances.

With the utmost caution afforded by the need to travel fast, I headed deeper between the trees.

The obvious plan occurred to me. If I circled around I could hope to shake off the Fish Faces and then, when they gave up the chase and took off, I could sneak back into the clearing.

There'd been no sign of Katakis or werstings. As far as we knew, the Shanks did not have a tame form of bloodhound. The shadows dropped, deep black-green and a red as sullen as the red of Carazaar's robes.

I started to circle to my left.

Again, if what we believed of the Shanks was true, they disliked much foot activity far from the sea. There was the river. If I could cross that in some way—say by jumping along the boulders, or swinging on a liana—they might not believe I'd do that. They'd search out the section where I'd vanished into the trees as best they could, and then they'd give up. It wasn't much of a plan; it was the best I had.

There was no chance I'd venture deeper into the forest.

Now it was dark under the branches. Mist coiled promisingly. I slowed down to a quick walk, still searching every step, and listened out.

The sounds of men crashing along floated in the still, misty air. They appeared to be going straight on along the direction I'd first taken. Slowing right down, I continued to listen and scan all about. The odd thing was that I could still see remarkably well in a situation I knew must be murky. The mist cut off vision far more than the darkness.

And another thing—the stillness of the air. That was not nice at all. That meant my friends couldn't sail Shankjid. She was stuck wherever she'd reached when the breeze died.

With an abrupt crescendo of sound, a shrill screaming broke out off to my right and rear. I didn't exactly smile; but I felt a grim and ugly amusement. The Shanks had run into a denizen of the nighted jungle.

The uproar swelled and then died and went away. Presently the sounds drifted in again. The Fish Faces were on their way back to their ship.

I reached the river. Already a few stars glittered, high and remote from man's foolishness.

The smells of the jungle changed with the fall of night. Exotic blooms opened to drink of moons light sifting down between the branches, and other exotic blooms closed their petals to wait for the rise of the Suns. Something exceedingly nasty coughed way off to the right.

A few steps along the bank showed me a way to cross.

The outcrop of rock here, which caused the river to bend in its course and opened out the clearing, had tumbled boulders haphazardly. I jumped nimbly across as though playing hopscotch. I became no wetter than I already was.

Night sounds of the forest screeched and grunted and laughed all about. I went along the bank a little way looking towards the Shank ship. My fire had gone out but in the open there was enough light to pick out details. Some of the Fish Faces congregated about the voller and there was a quantity of arm waving and trident brandishing. The noise they made surged in hisses and splashes like a racing tide.

Settling down in the concealment of a rock I waited and watched. By this time I was ravenously hungry. The moment the Schtarkins took off I'd have to go hunting.

A number of unpleasant thoughts rose to collide in my old vosk skull of a head. Had Carazaar held me here after summoning the Shank voller? Or was she simply flying nearby and thus convenient for the task? Also, how did Carazaar know exactly where to find me? There was a most disturbing answer to that important question.

He had interfered with the lupal projections of Khe-Hi and Deb-Lu. As they worked their way through the planes so as to talk to me down here in Chem, could Carazaar track them? Had my two comrade Wizards of Loh actually brought Carazaar here?

Just who or what Carazaar was no one seemed to know. I say ‘seemed’ because our Wizards of Loh had not yet reported their investigations. Could it be that in investigating Carazaar they had summoned up greater powers? Powers able to do what Carazaar had done, and able for the future to harm us all most profoundly?

Of one thing I remained tenaciously sure. The cauls of protection afforded me and my family and friends remained operative. They must be. Otherwise, Carazaar would have dealt with us long ago.

A group of Shanks approached from the far side of the ship, making a deal of noise. I guessed they were reporting in their failure to find me. Did they know who they were hunting? I'd no way of telling. Maybe it was pure chance they'd drifted down and spotted me. Maybe they had nothing whatsoever to do with Carazaar. I could only make a guess, a judgment based on a cynical disbelief in too many coincidences, either happy or unfortunate. Carazaar's connection with the Shanks appeared to me to be indisputable. All those fishy symbols, for instance. This was a sad reflection. Here was another ally, along with the damned Katakis, taking sides with the Shanks against the folk of Paz.

The ensuing and obvious thought did occur to me. This clever sorcerer Carazaar, and his minions Arzuriel and N'gil—and how many other monstrous associates he had—might not hail from Paz at all. They might, as did the Shanks, come from over the curve of the world.

The nighttime insects were up and flying and attempting to bite and sting and suck. The crushed herb juice we smeared on ourselves to keep the insects off was wearing too thin after my immersion in the river so I spent a bur or two collecting the correct leaves and rubbing the juice over my body. I'd always felt that the scent gave a human some kind of camouflage in the forest against predators hunting primarily by smell. I'd no idea if I was right.

What were my people in Shankjid doing now? Probably going mad with frustration that the breeze had died. Still, the rising of the Suns should whistle up a wind, and if it wasn't too foul, they'd be here. If the Shank voller had not departed by then—I refused to contemplate what might happen then. I'd put money on my lads, though, by Krun!

I caught and skinned my supper, and going into the verge of the forest found a boulder to act as shield and so was able to build a tiny fire which kebabed the meat reasonably enough with a root or two. This was not a sumptuous Kregan meal and to follow there was only water from the stream. But I found some tropical palines and so assuaged the demands of the inner man.

The Shanks had not lit any fires so they were continuing to cook their fishy meals aboard their vessel. The ship hulked there in the clearing, bulky and dark and a damned nuisance. I collected up a number of sticks about a palm or so long and started to whittle them into points at both ends. The tree I selected stood just within the rim of the jungle yet not so far in as to be overnear another. It had a decent trunk with a crotch about twenty feet up. There was no difficulty climbing to the branch junction. With my old sailor knife I made holes in the trunk beneath me, circumferentially, so to speak, and stuck the sharp spikes in slanting down. If anything tried to get at me up the trunk he'd make enough noise negotiating the spikes to rouse me. I repeated the exercise on the two upper branches, this time with the points sticking upwards. Then I composed myself in the crotch and went to sleep.

Rather to my surprise I woke up with the dawn.

As a habitually light sleeper—well, as you know, drunken sleep on Kregen is often never awoken from—I'd expected some nocturnal incident. I awoke fresh and clear-eyed, and taking in deep draughts of that superb early morning air of Kregen, even in a rain forest, I looked about.

The Shanks were still there but from the activity going on looked as though they were about to depart. The naughty notion of sending a shaft after them, to help them on their way, did cross my mind, to be immediately rejected. I'd had enough trouble getting rid of ‘em, I most certainly didn't want the cramphs chasing me again, no, by Vox!

Before the twin Suns of Scorpio had risen above the tree tops the voller lifted off. Her brightly painted upperworks foreshortened as she rose and that evil black hull turned with supple ease. She cleared off to the south west, going fast.

I let out a breath, said a few inhospitable words re all the different brands of Fish Faces, and climbed down from my night's lodging.

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Chapter fourteen

After a vigorous wash in the stream I enjoyed a breakfast that was a simple repetition of last night's supper. The dilemma in which I found myself was obvious.

Whilst it was needful to light a smoking fire to let my friends know where I was, the smoke might well bring the same Shank or another on patrol.

Also, and this dismayed me more than the smoke problem, the breeze that got up shifted around to the north. The brilliance of the suns and the freshness of the air suddenly seemed more chill. The sounds of the forest echoed with a greater menace. Even the scents soured.

There was one bright spot. Carazaar did not put in another appearance. Maybe his kharrna was limited, so that he used great chunks of it to accomplish his deeds, and was then incapable of action for some time. Maybe.

All the time I kept up a lookout for anything flying over, and for my Praying Mantis friend of the previous day.

After a bur or so of this futile shilly-shallying I saw there was nothing else for it. Shankjid could make her way north by a long and tedious succession of boards, tacking against that diabolical north wind. My lads ought to be able to deal with a single Shank voller, although from our recent experiences I harbored dark and shadowed doubts I would not share with a single soul. If they could not then we'd all be stuck down here in the jungles of Chem.

The fire lighting business had been underway for only a few moments before I stopped striking the flint and steel. Yesterday I'd decided that I had to be out in the open for my friends in Shankjid to spot me. That had been the reason I hadn't immediately made my way back upstream along the bank. They'd never see me under the tree cover.

But—Shankjid had not put in an appearance. This confounded foul breeze meant they could be anywhere trying to tack up north. I remained totally undecided on my best course of action.

The good night's sleep had freshened me up physically. It had done nothing to sharpen up the brain cells.

Reluctantly I came to the unpalatable conclusion that I had no other option. I had to light my fire and waft the smoke and trust in Opaz and hope that Five-handed Eos-Bakchi would smile on my endeavors.

With some frustrated savagery I struck flint and steel and the tump caught first time and a trifle of careful blowing brought a blaze. Soon smoke drifted into the air, blown southwards.

With some forethought I'd sited the fire near the northern edge of the clearing. If Carazaar put in an appearance, or some damned Shank voller, I could fade into the trees pronto.

The suns crept across the sky. I began to feel peckish.

This time I spotted the flier early. He sailed in from the south going steadily on a dead level course. One look—"By Makki Grodno's false wig and clotted nose! A stinking Fish Face!"

Instantly I dived into the shelter of the forest.

The voller was the same one. He'd come sniffing back, and no doubt this time meant to finish the job. I scowled.

Did the Schtarkins up there realize they were hunting a man who meant them mischief? They were keeping me from getting on with the task of slinging them out of Tarankar and out of Loh and eventually of all Paz. Even one day could be vital. I fumed—quite futilely.

The ship settled in the clearing. Fish Faces alighted. They fanned out and a mean looking bunch came over to inspect the fire.

Now if that miserable hunk of evil called Carazaar put in an appearance now...

Confident they hadn't seen me I hung around on the skirts of the forest, moving slowly and cautiously so as to keep the parties that ventured in some distance off. They were hunting methodically; but they still refused to go very far in among the trees. That was, of course, most sensible of them. Presently the voller lifted gently and slid into a narrow slot among the foliage on the southern edge of the clearing. She halted and lowered to the ground. Shanks started to cut branches, selecting those with plenty of leaves, and began to cover the voller. Pretty soon the vessel was camouflaged so as not to be visible from the air.

This was distinctly not good.

Whether or not they knew who I was, they were well aware the smoke was intended to attract my friends. They were waiting quietly in ambush.

The heat grew and the humidity closed clammily all about.

I made a brief lunch of suitable roots, not wishing to chance a fire. At its precise time the rain cannon-balled down, slashing into the leaves, bouncing in solid sheets in the clearing, drumming heavily, splashing into the river. When it ceased and everything steamed I looked with a deal of apprehension to the southward, hoping not to see Shankjid under a press of canvas sailing grandly into view.

The clearing sky revealed only clouds moving away.

The suns burned off the moisture. I gave Zim and Genodras ample time to dry things off. I collected a big leaf full of dry twigs. I set off around the clearing and I know my face bore a look of the utmost malevolence.

Perhaps Five-handed Eos-Bakchi, the Vallian spirit of fortune and good luck, did smile benignly upon me.

Crouched in the twinned shadows of a bush less than ten paces from the camouflaged vessel I looked across the clearing to its northern edge and saw movement there among the trees. The Shanks reacted instantly. As they tumbled down from the voller and raced across the clearing half a dozen gangling figures broke cover from the north and then halted, staring at the Fish Faces. There were six of the weird Praying Mantis creatures.

They appeared to have no fear of the Shanks. Probably they had never seen a Fish Face before. One of them was minus two forearms. So he'd gone for help.

Moving forward silently I found a fleeting moment of pity for the strange jungle creatures. I hoped they'd have the sense to run off—but not before they'd served their purpose. I lost sight of them as the lower gallery of the voller cut them off. Now they would have to take their chances. Once they were in among the trees they'd be safe.

The familiar fishy reek stung my nostrils as I swung up into the gallery. The long narrow expanse was deserted. Working now with precision and speed I built a little pile of dry twigs, got the flint and steel going, puffed the fire alight. Underneath the voller the lower fighting gallery had been protected from the rain. Like any painted wooden ship of the air, she was dry—tinder dry. Swiftly the fire took hold.

I believe an unpleasant smile disfigured my mouth.

Eos-Bakchi smiled again. In a rope bower all neatly racked stood a line of fire pots. These were intended to be dropped upon the Shanks’ victims from above. My good humor increased. A little snicking sound attracted my attention. A door was just sliding open at the end of the gallery.

I did not want the fire discovered just yet. With almost the speed of Seg Segutorio the Lohvian longbow was off my shoulder, an arrow was nocked and the stave lifted and bent. I believe it unnecessary to remark that during the rain the bow had been unstrung and restrung afterwards with a dry string. A Shank in a scale shirt walked through the open door and then looked stupidly at the rose-fletched shaft protruding from his chest. The pile had gone clean through the scale and through him.

He fell down with an odd wheezing sigh.

Waiting for a handful of heartbeats I saw no more. Probably he'd been off trying to get into the party chasing across the clearing after the strangers and had thus neglected his sentry duty here. Letting him lie I fired up the flame pots and hurled them with great satisfaction in a slew along the gallery. Everything began to burn. Time to go.

A wall of flame and smoke cut me off from the sliding door and the sprawled Fish Head. The stink of marine life mounted nauseatingly as fishy oils began to bubble. Lowering myself off the gallery back into the jungle at least brought the familiar raw, menacing, throat-choking stink of the rain forest to clear my nostrils of fish.

Shrill yells bounced about the clearing. The Praying Mantis people had gone and I could only hope they'd run off and not been shafted. The Shanks were running back towards their burning vessel like crazy men. I faded into the skirts of the trees and circled around. The spit and crackle of flames and the crashing of burned-through beams sounded as pleasant music in my ears. They couldn't have spotted me for no one chased after me.

The smoke blew at an angle across the clearing. I took notice. The wind had shifted, was now from the east. That should make life easier for Oby tacking Shankjid up northerly.

From the cover of leaves I peered out at the blazing vessel.

This summary justice was no more than they deserved. Oh, yes, they were consummate seamen, and were now proving themselves to be fine airmen. Perhaps there were overriding reasons why they had to come ravening around the curve of the world to raid our lands. But because they did, our imperative was to stop them. Burning ships is no business I take joy in, as you know. If it has to be done, do it with some dignity. I could take little delight in the sorry business, and certainly could not gloat over the destruction of any ship. Except, perhaps, well there have been occasions in my turbulent career when I tended to send up a little cheer when a ship burned. Once, I recall, they threw me overside with my pants alight ... Still, she'd burned, she'd burned.

There was no way the Fish Faces were going to extinguish that fire. It had taken hold now, and spat and spluttered and had begun shooting out fat sparks all around like fireworks of Earth. The Shanks were now marooned here in the jungles of lost Chem. Could I feel sorry for them? Well, yes. In a remote way that detached me from petty animosity and allowed me to view the situation from the point of view of a man vis-à-vis another man, I could feel for them. But—one must harden the heart, summon up the blood, make strong the sinews when adversaries insist on knocking you over the head and stealing your land and property. Oh, yes, I could feel sorry for ‘em; but they'd got what they deserved.

When a fresh shadow drifted across the clearing and the Shanks looked up as I did to see a voller flying over, I realized instantly that we were in a nip and tuck situation. The voller was from Hamal. She was of a small medium size, double decked with fighting galleries and two fighting tops. She looked hard and professional. I remembered Mathdi. She circled as her complement studied the situation below them.

If her captain had any sense, seeing the burning Shank ship and the castaway Fish Faces, he'd up sticks and sail off. The jungle would take care of Schtarkins who hated to venture far from the sea.

The Hamalese flier circled again.

If I was going to get myself rescued from this jungle then it behooved me to clip stirrup and slap leather as they say in Segesthes.

The trouble was, as soon as I made myself known the Shanks would take a most unhealthy interest in my welfare.

No use shilly-shallying about, no use hesitating. Saddle up!

I sprinted out into the clearing and started waving my arms like semaphores.

Up there they could see I was apim and not a Fish Head. The voller remained in her circling pattern. I waved crazily and looked over towards the fire. Shanks were screeching and starting to run across towards me.

“Get down here!” I bellowed up. “Drop a ladder, or by Hanitcha the Harrower, I'll never see the Sacred Quarter of Ruathytu again!"

That galvanized them into activity. The voller swooped down and a rope ladder unrolled and swung like a trapeze artist's nightmare.

There would be the one chance to grab that. Arrows began to fly from the voller and a few of the leading Shanks went down. So vengeful and lusting after my hide, so great was their fury for revenge, they didn't shoot at all but simply rushed in a shrieking mob.

The ladder swirled towards me, twisting. And it was just above the full stretch of my upflung arms. I braced myself, got set and felt all the glory of Kregen surging about me and infusing my veins with a beat of passionate blood. I wasn't going to be beaten by a pack of measly Fish Heads, no, nor by a giddily swinging rope ladder, no by Vox!

At the precise instant I judged correct, I felt a sharp nick along my upper left arm. As I put everything into a wild leap upwards I said to myself: “So the bastards have thought to shoot at me at last!"

The penultimate rung slapped hard into my fists, stingingly.

I was whipped away like a slinger's bullet.

I held on as a monkey holds on to his mother. I didn't intend to be cast off like that slinger's bullet.

A couple of tridents flashed past my twisting body. I hauled up. Climbing undulating rope ladders is a difficult art which had been mastered very quickly after I'd joined the Royal Navy. I went hand over hand like a monkey and I didn't bother to use my feet.

When I stuck my head over the rail a whole line of heads along the bulwarks regarded me as though I was a devil springing up through a stage trapdoor.

“Lahal!” I called. “Permission to come aboard?” Before anyone on deck had time to reply I took a look down. The Fish Faces were hopping up and down like jumping beans. Tridents flashed in the light of the suns. Oh, yes, by Krun! They were good and mad! We swept away from them over the treetops and the last I saw of that ship's crew was their vessel still merrily burning and sending up coils of smoke.

A metallic voice above me said: “Lahal, majister. You are most welcome aboard.” I didn't need to see the speaker to know he didn't mean what he'd just said. Twisting my head back up I sized up this fellow. He was a Khibil and his foxy face fairly bristled with arrogant whiskers. Supercilious, Khibils, and condescending with it. As far as they are concerned, every other race of diffs on Kregen is of far less consequence. He looked to be a smart spry specimen of his race, brisk and competent. But he didn't like me, and he had difficulty concealing that animosity.

With a last heave at the ladder and a lithe vault I was over the bulwark and braced on the deck. This Khibil was Hamalese. Hamal and Vallia had been mortal blood enemies for a long long time. Only recently had Emperor Nedfar and I patched up the differences and declared alliance. Old wounds smarted still. Old enmities had not been eradicated by the stroke of a pen or a handclasp. It was going to be back-watching time now.

“Lahal, majister,” he said again. He was being punctilious. “Allow me to present myself. I am Jiktar Taranto ham Armit, Rango of Firthlad.” He gestured gracefully to the woman who walked quietly to stand at his side. Her features glowed with Khibil health, foxy and shrewd, animate with self assurance. “My sister, the Rangicha Taranta."

“Majister,” she said in a full voice. “Lahal.” She might have been speaking over her shoulder to a casual acquaintance in the street.

“Lahal, Rangicha."

Her eyebrows came together. I was being polite, true. But she'd have much preferred me to have addressed her as my lady Taranta. Of such petty nuances in etiquette are sore subjects made.

To ease that subtle tension I looked about and then, unable to resist riling him some more, told the Ranga: “You run a tidy ship."

“Thank you, majister. I have been detailed to take you to Fleet Admiral Harulf ham Hilzim."

“Detailed?"

“Yes. I came looking for you. There was sorcery in it."

“Ah. I see.” And I did. Deb-Lu had contacted his opposite number in Hamal who'd contacted the Hamalese fleet. The admiral had ordered this uppity Khibil to nip across and pick me up. I said: “Is a battle imminent?"

“Yes, majister. The Schturgins are in great force."

If that was the reason for his dislike then I could feel relief. We'd be back with the fleet in time for the fight, I did not doubt. What I did doubt, though, was that explanation for his malice. He'd probably fought hard for mad Empress Thyllis and resisted everyone until the end of the campaign. Then, with any other option far less attractive, he'd come over and joined Nedfar. And he still hated Vallians.

The thought did occur to wonder why old Harulf ham Hilzim had picked this Khibil Taranto ham Armit. I'd had little contact with Hilzim during my times in Ruathytu; but I knew him by sight.

As far as I could tell he was loyal to Nedfar. But, it could well be, he was not. There might be plots afoot to oust Nedfar and put in some puppet of a group of diehard Hamalese nationalists. That would put Nedfar's son Tyfar at risk, and with him my daughter Lela. This contemptuous Khibil Taranto would merit watching.

I didn't forget how damned fast and high he'd swung the rope ladder.

So, you see, even in the midst of all the problems confronting me down here in Loh, problems enough to last a sage man for a long time, fresh problems stemming from old troubles were rearing monstrously ugly heads of doubt and suspicion. All would have to be dealt with in the fullness of time.

As the voller fled across the dwaburs—her name was Dovad Daisy—Rango Taranto forced himself to the amenities.

No doubt he wouldn't quickly forget the time in Hamal when apim and diff forgot their old friendships, when diffs were regarded askance and excluded from positions of power. My blade comrade Rees had suffered from that disgusting chauvinism. The situation had been saved through the sheer necessity for Hamal to use all her resources in the war. Tolerance of diffs of whatever race and from whatever race seems to me a mark of the culture and civilization of any peoples. And, of course, the very word tolerance in itself expresses those things that are hurtful.

Well, they made me reasonably comfortable, showing me to a small cabin where I could wash and where some welcome food was provided. A hulking great fellow came in, knocking the door all sideways with his bulk, his huge face awash with whiskers. His eyes were all but invisible among the creases and the hair. His mouth was very red-lipped.

“Lahal, majister!” he roared out in a voice like a hailing trumpet.

I gave him a narrow stare, munching my palines.

“Lahal, Hikdar."

His face grew even more suffused. His hair fairly bristled.

“I am Ship Hikdar Sternum Hamparz, majister!"

I shook my head. “Sternum Hamparz is a slender young fellow without a beard with whom I had the honor to share bread at breakfast—oh—many many seasons ago in Ruathytu. I'll give you that Sternum served in the Hamalian Air Service; but he had not yet reached the dizzy heights of a Deldar, let alone a Hikdar, and a Ship Hikdar at that."

“Yes, majister. It was many many seasons ago. And you spilled the slursh over the fristle fifi serving us—"

“By Krun! It is you! Lahal and Lahal, Sternum!"

I jumped up and took his hand. He'd always been a rough and tumble fellow, even back then, and now look at him! And, too, this explained somewhat why Hilzim had sent the uppity Khibil. His First Lieutenant, Sternum Hamparz, would keep an eye on him.

We cracked a bur or two on news, and I was pleased to know Sternum had supported Nedfar from the first, although not meeting up with me in those campaigns. He told me that the fleet now were seeking the Shanks in high confidence. There were upwards of fifty vollers, and the Hamalese had even condescended to bring along some of the unpowered fliers they called famblehoys, towed by powered vollers. “Oh, yes, majister. We'll whack ‘em. By Kuerden the Merciless! We'll give ‘em a bloody nose!"

“They are—uh—competent opponents. Tough."

“Surely. But, by Krun, we have the beating of them!"

There was no sign of a crack in Sternum's confidence. After a time I was able to quiz him on the Khibil Taranto.

“Shrewd and deep, shrewd and deep. Managed to keep his head after the battle when he offered up his sword. He pretends to serve the emperor loyally. His thoughts stray in other directions, by Krun!

I nodded. “As I suspected. And you—?"

“The emperor asked me—personally, mind, personally!—to sail with the Rango. I was called back to Ruathytu specially for this task. I was sorry to leave Prince Tyfar ... Majister?"

He'd seen my face and he stopped speaking abruptly.

I said: “Sternum. You saw Prince Tyfar? And the Princess Lela?"

He licked those red lips buried among the hair. “Why, yes, majister. She and the prince were fighting the wild men over the mountains.” I felt my heart go flip-flop. What it is to worry and fret over a loved one when they are far away and doing God knows what and running all manner of risks. Sometimes they get in touch, and they are so casual it stings. They say they visit crocodile farms. They say they canoe up a river filled with Head Hunters. They say they dive for pearls on coral reefs. And all the time you yourself sit at home and sweat blood.

All Sternum could confirm was that Lela and Tyfar were still alive when he'd reluctantly left them. The problems of the production of the minerals and powders for the silver boxes remained unsolved.

It would be trite to comment that this news once more reinforced the global extent of our commitments, that every action everywhere tied up with every action everywhere else—so to speak.

Sternum added that he had changed and grown up and went on to say that all those seasons ago when he had no idea I was Dray Prescot, arch enemy of Hamal, he still saw greatness in me. I stopped him then, knowing he referred to this damned yrium with which I am cursed—or blessed—and well understanding his initial confusion when my identity became known. This bluff red-faced fighting man was the perfect exemplar why Hamal and Vallia ought to remain firm friends against the outer foes. There were plenty of warriors just like him in Vallia.

A Fristle wearing a leather helmet with a green feather put his head in the door. “Hik! Fleet's in sight."

“Very good,” said Hikdar Sternum Hamparz. He turned to me. “Shall we go on deck, majister?"

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter fifteen

Despite everything else my first and overriding thought when we signaled the fleet was to ask information of my friends in Shankjid.

The flags fluttered to yards slung out from the fighting tops. The yeoman wrote on his slate and the young cadet brought the slate to Sternum.

He cocked a bushy eyebrow at me.

“No news, majister."

I kept my face stony.

“Thank you, Sternum. And you can knock off the majister bit. Just use jis. Like we do in Vallia."

“Quidang, jis!"

Written perfectly plainly on that hairy red visage and in his words and bearing was the message that he bore no animosity in my thus flaunting Vallia before him. Rather, he felt elation and pride that he was permitted to call an emperor jis. I didn't sigh. But I admit I felt a cheap kind of cheat. Then I chucked that stupid idea out of my old vosk skull of a head. To run an empire you need to be an emperor. The kind of emperor that is Dray Prescot I hope you have some inkling of by now.

Sternum pointed. “There's Skull Charger, nearest. Just past her is Havil Resplendent. Then—” he screwed up the hair about his eyes. “Yes, that's Hirrume Warrior and as usual with her Pride of Hanitcha.” He made a small gesture. “Newish ships, both."

Well, that figured. I'd had a passing acquaintance with both those ship names before. Quite possibly there had been two other ships built between these two over there and those I'd destroyed. As far as I knew, King Doghamrei, who'd owned the old Hirrume Warrior, had disappeared.

The streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio threw long beams athwart the lines of ships. The vessels rode the level air. Line after line of them, proud, glittering, tall of castle and fighting top, crested with a host of fluttering flags. Yes, they made a splendid sight.

All were of Hamal.

They radiated confidence. You could feel the sheer zest for the coming battle as an aura about them. As for Dovad Daisy whose deck I trod, the crew were already back in various low dives in the lowest portions of Ruathytu spending their prize money.

Jiktar Taranto walked up with a swagger. He gave me a perfunctory salute.

“It is going to be a day, majister."

“Aye."

To Sternum, curtly: “See about finding our position in the line."

“Quidang, Jiktar,” said Sternum. I did not miss the fact that he had not shortened Jiktar to the familiar Jik.

The old-fashioned courtesies in naval observances and orders to which I had been accustomed in the Royal Navy were paralleled to a considerable degree in the navy of Vallia. One could quite see why. Vallia had possessed a great sea going navy and custom and tradition would follow the ways of the sea. Hamal had no great sea-going navy. Her power flew. Even so, I didn't like Taranto's manner with his Ship Hikdar.

To ease whatever tension there might be, I walked to the rail, and leaned comfortably, and studied the armada spread between land and clouds.

Well, yes, they were an impressive lot. There were fifty-three of them. Many were skyships like Hirrume Warrior and Pride of Hanitcha, vast vessels of many decks and fighting tops and galleries. They were tiered fortresses of the sky. They carried batteries of varters and catapults. They carried regiments of marines. They were colossal machines of destruction floating through thin air.

Among the shoals of large ships flashed the smaller pinnaces, long boats, tiny two-place fliers, carrying messages, performing the multifarious tasks needful in any fleet.

The flagship, Pride of Ruathytu, was a veritable monster.

She was not towing a famblehoy and it was noticeable that that demeaning duty had been allocated to the smaller vessels.

Well, I supposed it made sense.

Flags broke from her yard arm. The yeoman screwed his telescope into his eye and the lad wrote on the slate as the yeoman called. The signal informed Jiktar Rango Taranto na Firthlad of his position, tucked in at the tail of the Sixteenth Wing at the rear of the larboard column.

Since the days of the great conflicts, now thankfully past, finding crewmen for fliers was easy enough, for the huge fleets of yesterday were no more. Likewise, the Hamalese Wing now consisted of nine vollers instead of twelve. The grand skyships, of course, tended to act in small squadrons or individually. Dovad Daisy turned in mid-air and sailed carefully below the fleet until she reached her place when her helmsman lifted and turned her into her slot. We rode at the very end of the fleet.

The Ship Deldar (sometimes written ship-Deldar) went forward supervising a painting party. His position equates with that of boatswain on Earth. He was short, rotund, built of muscle, hight Hondar the Frogan. The hands with their paint pots were going to smarten up the eyes in the bows of the vessel. It was vital that in the coming battle Dovad Daisy could see where she was going.

Whilst all this activity went on—and still no sign of the Shanks—I fretted over Shankjid. No, that is a lie. Delia was aboard that ship. I sweated blood.

A brightly painted pinnace darted down the column and swerved up to Dovad Daisy's quarterdeck rail. A most natty young Hikdar stepped aboard. He was smothered in gold lace, feathers festooned his hat, his face was a pink chinless round. He spoke up in a kind of chirrup.

“Hikdar Nath ham Homath. Lahal."

The ham Homaths were a family well known in Hamal, of power, wealth and influence. Even if the old vad had sided so heavily with Thyllis.

This young whippersnapper went chirruping on. “The c-in-c, Fleet Admiral, Harulf ham Hilzim, Vad of Quinvarn, requests the pleasure of the company of Dray Prescot—” here the youngster floundered, and, I thought, with design to embarrass. Then he chirruped on. “Dray Prescot, emperor, aboard the flagship, Pride of Ruathytu."

By this time they all knew damn well I'd abdicated the throne of Vallia. Yet the idea that I was supposed to be an Emperor of Paz over them all would be a hard nut to swallow. Still, I was a kind of emperor still.

“I shall be delighted,” I said, curtly.

Sternum looked disappointed. Taranto didn't look as pleased as I would expect him to look.

No, I said to myself. No, by Vox! That devious one has designs on my person.

Much as I might have joyed in staying aboard his ship and playing him as one plays a giant fish on the end of a line knowing he is your supper and you'll starve if he gets away, I needed to be at the center. The flagship was obviously the place to be. I looked at Sternum and winked. He contorted all his features so that it appeared all the whiskers disappeared into some other dimension centered on his nose. Then he managed to splutter out: “We are all mightily sorry to see you go, jis! By Krun, yes!"

Taranto snapped out: “Majister."

Hikdar ham Homath was half bending and indicating with an elegant arm that I should step aboard his pinnace.

I said: “Thank you, all aboard Dovad Daisy. I shall not forget.” Then I crossed to the rail and stepped aboard the admiral's pinnace.

As we whirled away with the breeze rushing past I saw Sternum at the rail, gazing after me, his whiskers fairly blowing everywhere.

The flagship, Pride of Ruathytu, was the largest skyship I'd seen up to that time. She was just simply immense. You could get lost aboard and not find your way back to your quarters in a sennight.

Homath knew his way to officers’ country in the center castles.

The fore castles were given over to the marine officers. The ship bustled with activity. I surmised that the control tower would be a veritable fortress, sheathed in thick iron and protected by grilles it would take heat cutters to break through. As we went towards the admiral's quarters, the smells of tar and resin faded to be replaced by lavender water. This, I confess, made me grin a wicked grin. A whiff of boiling cabbage broke through the lavender scent, and Homath put a lace kerchief to his nose. I didn't blame him. Only idiots boil cabbages limp.

After various doors and sentries, we eventually arrived at the admiral's quarters and the admiral himself. Like anyone on Kregen who does not change much once they reach maturity until a few years before their death at two hundred or so, he looked just the same. He greeted me kindly and waved me to a chair and sent for wine. His face was burnt brown by suns and wind, his hair was Hamalese dark and his jaws were like those of a shark.

After some pleasantries, he said: “I, for one, will support your candidacy. I have the utmost regard for Nedfar. I know what you did for him. I am your man. The quicker we can unite all of Paz the better. There is no better man for the job than Dray Prescot.” Before I could make any sensible reply, he added: “And I thank Havil the Green that I have not been picked for the job. No, by Kaerlan the Merciful!"

He wore a plain blue shirt and gray trousers. His belt was hard worn leather and the lockets of his thraxter were solid steel. He was, I sensed at once, a man after my own heart. I stood up and extended my hand.

“Welcome aboard, Harulf."

He smiled and we shook hands after the Hamalese fashion.

When we had reseated ourselves and he had poured more wine, he said: “All the same, majister, the task is daunting."

“Aye. Call me jis. Aye, the task is daunting. Still we have advantages the Shanks do not. They are dwaburs from home. We are down here in Loh, true; it is not too difficult to find our way home to Hamal."

“They are consummate sailors."

“That is indisputable. We just have to be better."

“The confidence of the fleet is high. I have pumped that up. But, privately, I have doubts."

“All I can say is I am impressed by your fleet, Harulf. I cannot say I have seen a better."

He glowed at that, briefly, and then said: “Aye, aye, jis. I've done what I can. But—and to be brutally frank—after we Hamalese fought one another, and the rifts remain, there are elements in the fleet of which I remain dubious. I am disquieted. There is a growing adherence to a creed of which I know nothing but am investigating."

I came alert at this. I stared at Harulf. I could feel heat on my temples. I said: “Tell me, Harulf, you do not mean Lem the Silver Leem?"

It seemed to me to be a whole parcel of lifetimes before he slowly nodded. His face was grim. “Aye, jis. That is their name."

I braced up. “Very good! Root and branch, Harulf, tear them up and burn their temples. Lem the Silver Leem is an evil creed."

“That I had gathered. My own pantryman's daughter went missing. By a pure fluke some ceremony or other was stumbled upon in the skyship Havil Resurgent. The little girl was—” He stopped then.

Very quickly, I said: “You need not amplify. I know. I have seen what they do to little girls. Lem must be put down. They will have it no other way."

“Put down and obliterated, by Krun!"

“Aye. Now—I am not sure if this evil cult of Lem the Silver Leem is in any way connected to the Shanks."

He looked at me, stricken. “You mean—jis—you mean, there are those of Paz who would ally with the Schtarkins?"

In a voice like shifting gravel I said: “Down in Tarankar the Katakis work for the Shanks."

“Katakis.” He dismissed them. “Scum."

“Agreed, Harulf, agreed. But they are of Paz and they ought to work with us and not against us."

“If we can contrive that, jis, we will do so. If not, then..."

The edge of the sword is supposed to settle so many arguments!

The day was now waning and Harulf had duties to perform. He was clearly a man I could do business with. That he supported me as Emperor of Paz came as a surprise and a pleasure. We went up to the central top and the view of the armada spread about us was a breathtaking sight.

This central top was well armored; just below and for'ard the control top was the heavily armored box I'd anticipated.

You could certainly have put at least a half dozen, if not more, Shankjid's aboard this flying mammoth.

Harulf was proud of his fleet. He had every right to be. When the hails came in: “Sail ho!” and we all looked, there was only tense and brilliant anticipation of action and a great victory.

Out there, black against the glows of the twin suns, the Shanks hovered, waiting.

They looked like flecks of darkness hurled against the sky glow. I started to count. The shifting and treacherous light made accuracy difficult and I made a total of sixty. I felt that was probably an undercount.

“Fifty-eight,” said Hikdar Nath ham Homath and he snapped his telescope shut with a grandiloquent air of finality.

Others in the fighting top voiced their opinions.

“Fifty-five or sixty-five,” said Harulf, silencing the babble. “We will smash them. We have to."

The two fleets surged together.

There is no pleasure in recounting disaster.

The Hamalese fought. They fought like maddened leems. They fought like wounded graints. They fought like chavonths or strigicaws, cunning and lethal. The Hamalese fought. And the Shanks fought harder.

Ships burned. In the failing light, ships roared with flame, strewing the evening sky with lurid streamers of death. Ships fell. Men fell. Red roaring madness scorched across deck after deck.

Pride of Ruathytu burned.

The wonderful skyship, queen of the air, burned.

All about Shank vollers were swooping and darting and Hamalese vollers were dying.

Nath ham Homath, white to the lips, chattered away to himself in the fighting top as flames licked up from the deck. Harulf had gone for'ard some time ago to sort out a problem. A Shank veered away from us as our flames belched up.

I grabbed Nath ham Homath and hauled him up.

“Come on, sunshine. Time to leave."

“Fire,” he babbled. “All on fire."

“Let's find that pinnace of yours."

“Shouldn't play with flint and steel—"

“Come on!” I took him by the arm and fairly hurled him down the ladder.

We didn't find his pinnace. We did come across a group of crazed men trying to launch a small flier and fighting over her possession. Homath appeared to regain a semblance of sanity and wanted to take the flier from the men by right of rank. I hauled him on. He'd have wound up with a slit throat, for sure. Now all the gigantic vessel above us burned. We crawled out onto the lower fighting gallery. Men were toppling off into the shadowed void beneath. The shrieks were pitiful in their intense abandonment to fate and destruction. A dark shadow drifted in below us.

I shook Homath.

“That's a voller down there. We must jump."

He looked down, and drew back, shuddering. “I can't!"

The voller below us looked familiar. She eased up, closer, and I was sure. Dovad Daisy. Now there was a turn up for the book.

Nearer and nearer the voller rose towards us. Bits and pieces of Pride of Ruathytu were falling all about, spitting flame.

At last I judged the flier could close no nearer. I took hold of Homath's fancy collar and dragged him over the edge of the fighting gallery. Judging the moment, I shoved him and myself, let go my hold, and we fell through thin air.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter sixteen

Other men were toppling from the fighting gallery.

Nath ham Homath broke a wrist and two ribs when he hit the deck. He'd not made any attempt to break his fall. With my habitual agility I managed to land catlike and escape serious injury, although I did feel as though some giant had trodden on me with seven league boots.

For that reason I was out of action in the subsequent moments. I was aware that the voller was swinging and moving. The burning bulk of Pride of Ruathytu above drifted away, sparking flame and burning debris.

By the time I'd got my breath back and my wits about me we were pulling away from the debacle.

I clambered up. The lights of the Suns struck slantingly in across the deck. I turned and looked back. The sky burned.

Ships were blazing like torches. Ships were falling wrapped in shrouds of fire. And through that whole incredible panorama the dark febrile shapes of the Shanks darted like piranha stripping the Hamalese to the bone.

A voice said: “I thank you, Taranto. I owe you my life."

The voice was mellifluous, full bodied, assured. I took a look. The speaker was burned about his clothes, which had been fancy like those of Nath ham Homath's. His rank was that of Jiktar and I judged him to be a nobleman. Taranto's twin sister, Taranta, was there, fussing.

“Oh, Naghan, you did frighten me so! I thought you would never jump!"

“It was a confounded long way! By Flem, Taranta, I thought the voller would rise closer!"

“We rose as high as we could, Naghan.” Taranto spoke icily.

“I'm sure, I'm sure, my dear Taranto. Just that the void looked remarkably unhealthy, by Krun, remarkably unhealthy!"

A hand reached under my armpit as I listened to this interesting conversation and I was hoisted to my feet. Sternum's hoarse voice said in my ear: “Any busted bones, jis?"

“Nary a one, thank you, Sternum. Who is this Naghan fellow then?"

“Him? Why, he's Naghan ham Newsat, Strom of Livhavil. He's just gone through the bokkertu to marry the lady Taranta. She carried on something dreadful. Made her brother fly to the flagship to get Naghan off."

I glanced about. The suns were just about gone. Whether by chance or good airmanship Dovad Daisy escaped any further Shank attentions. She bore on through the air, heading north. North did not suit me. There was work to be done down south. There was Shankjid to find.

After a disaster of this magnitude, the people involved would be in shock. You couldn't expect the Hamalese, for all their reputed toughness, to carry on regardless. The survivors would need time to recuperate. I wasn't about to give them that time. There just wasn't time for that kind of time wasting.

I said to Sternum: “We must head south. There are things I must do down there. Important things for Paz."

“The Jiktar Rango Taranto is heading home for Hamal, jis."

“Yeh, I guessed that was where he was headed."

“The lads are a bit shaken—by Krun! I'm shaken!"

“Your fleet's been beaten. So you've been whacked. So all right. You come out fighting and smash up the Shanks next time. It's no use scuttling back to Hamal—"

“But we don't have a fleet any more, jis!"

“There are other fleets around here to take over."

“We-ell—"

“This is a set-back, Sternum. That's obvious. But that's all it is. It isn't the end. Now go round and have a word with your lads. Make them see we have to carry on down south.” I gave him an eyeball to eyeball look. “I'll compromise if I have to. Just get the lads to take me down south to link up with my friends, and then you can scuttle off to Hamal like a whipped rark."

“What about the Jiktar Taranto?"

“I'll deal with him. If you and your lads agree to take Dovad Daisy down south, then down south we'll go. Dernun?"

“Quidang!"

Then he added. “And we won't scuttle off like a whipped rark, jis! No, by Havil the Green! We'll see what we'll do."

“What we can do for Paz."

“Aye, jis."

About this time I began to feel that I needed to catch up on all the sleep I'd been missing. You can drive the body so far—and if you've been educated in the navy of Nelson's day, then you can drive yourself well past any sane limits—but in the end nature catches up. The confrontation with Taranto and this Naghan and Taranta must come right away or be left until morning. I said: “How long will it take you to sound out the hands?"

“Two burs, three at the most."

“Then I'll come with you. Otherwise we'll all be asleep."

We made the rounds. I repeated the words I'd used on Sternum, pointing out our duty to Paz, that everything was not lost, and in the end coming down to the simple task of taking me to find my friends. You may well believe I promised rewards. I'd have given the kingdom to find Delia. I promised enough gold to keep them happy, and the odd thing was, because of the reputation I'd acquired through the lurid books and plays about Dray Prescot, they believed absolutely in my word.

When all was ready we went up to the quarterdeck.

Taranto and Taranta were astounded to see me.

Nath ham Homath had been carted off unconscious to have his ribs and wrist attended to. I'd been completely missed in the shadows, with Sternum to assist me.

This Naghan ham Newsat, Strom of Livhavil, said in his assured tones: “Who is this fellow, then? Who gave him leave to come onto the quarterdeck?” And, to me: “Clear off, yetch, before I call the marines!"

I stepped forward from Sternum. The quarterdeck was well-lighted by the Maiden with the Many Smiles and the bunch of nobles stood erect like cut flowers in a vase. Naghan drew his sword.

I said: “You can put your sword away, strom.” I turned to Taranto. “We are sailing south, Jiktar. Will you give the order, or shall I?"

He gobbled at that. “But we have been defeated! The Shanks!"

He would have gone on; but I silenced him.

“We have had a setback. Nothing more. Hurry up, Jiktar. Every moment you delay carries us further away from Tarankar."

“Tarankar!” shouted Strom Naghan. “Ho, guards! Clear this fellow away! Clap him in irons!"

There was no sign of guards or of irons.

Taranto, nervous now, spluttered out: “But, majister! Tarankar—that is a death trap now."

Strom Naghan caught that majister. He fixed me with a jowly look.

“Majister? Majister? You are Dray Prescot?” The sword in his hand trembled. It switched down into line. “I ought to chop you here and now, by Clem, here and now!"

The Krozair brand whipped free, it described a graceful evolution and Strom Naghan's thraxter flew up into the air, buried its point in the deck ten paces off and quivered like a tuning fork.

I put the point of the longsword against the fancy gold lacework collar. I said: “Jiktar Taranto. Give the order to turn this vessel to the south. This strom has no authority here."

Taranta let out a distressed little squeak and I suppose I felt a twinge of pity for her at seeing her affianced with a brutal longsword digging into his throat. Strom Naghan, for his part, had sense enough not to move a muscle. Taranto spluttered some more, then in his metallic voice snapped out: “Very well, majister. By Flem, it suits me ill, though.” He turned to see Sternum close by. “Steer southerly, curse you!” he snarled out. Not, I considered, a seemly way to address your First Lieutenant.

The helmsman turned Dovad Daisy under the stars. Those constellations which had grown familiar to me since I'd first arrived in Loh revolved and we were heading south.

The longsword revolved itself and snicked back into the scabbard.

Strom Naghan let out a breath. Then he said: “We should have destroyed you when we had the chance. When you were dragged at the tail of a calsany through Ruathytu."

“You were there too, were you, strom."

“Aye! By Flem, I was there, and I joyed in every heartbeat of it!"

“That is all over now, strom. Now we fight Shanks."

“I fight Schtarkins well enough. But you have flipped my sword away. I cannot fight without a sword."

“Take your thraxter, strom, and fight Shanks. For if you cross me again you will fight nobody thereafter."

So, on that idiotic boast, the affair was concluded.

This had been one of the quickest and most peaceful mutinies I'd ever been involved in, by Vox. We fled southwards under the stars of Kregen. Delia! She was all that really mattered now.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter seventeen

Was this somewhat pathetic little mutiny one of the earliest examples of the power of an Emperor of Paz? I surmised that perhaps the idea of Paz could be projected to receptive minds. It had been in the past in a vague fashion. As the word spread, more and more like-minded people would take up the cause. If they didn't, they'd be doomed. The Shanks would see to that.

In this fabulous world of Kregen very often what the heart desires is achieved, and very often not, and it is what is done with the achievement that counts and the reaction to disappointment that matters.

We saw no signs of any other ships, either friendly or hostile, as we sped south. Sternum set watches; they saw nothing of Shank or survivor. There were good chances that some of the Hamalese had escaped as had Dovad Daisy. To destroy an entire fleet remains a difficult task and one very seldom ever accomplished, even in the greatest of sea victories.

I managed to catch a few winks of sleep, enough to keep me going, and stoked up the inner man. Along towards dawn Sternum, who, although not appearing to do so, must have had some sleep, came up looking grim. His jaw was set just so. He spread hairy hands in a gesture of utter disgust.

“Hai, Sternum, have you lost a zorca and found a calsany?"

“That Rangicha.” He breathed in and out a few times, blowing his whiskers. “I've never understood why some folk of good breeding act like they do when they needn't. Young cadet Nalgre ti Mornlad told me. A smart lad. Going to be admiral of the fleet one day, if he survives."

“Sternum,” I said, and he stopped speaking. “Told you what?"

“Oh—uh—yes, jis. This noble lady is trying to buy someone of the crew, anyone, to assassinate you."

“I suppose her fancy man Strom Naghan doesn't fancy his chances."

Sternum laughed. We were up in the bows, waiting for the dawn, and I still had a handful of palines to munch.

“All the same, jis, by Krun, it is a serious matter."

“I suppose so. I'll have a word with her."

Then Sternum surprised me again. He shifted his bulk about, for he had grown enormously from the stripling I'd known back in Ruathytu. He more blurted out than spoke coherently. “Jis. I have read the stories and seen the plays now they are freely available in Hamal after the censorship. What I would most like—"

I held up a hand. “If you have read, then you know the difficulty of taking very many folk on adventures."

“Oh, yes, jis, that I understand. No. What I would most like to do is join your Guard Corps. As a Hamalese, would that be possible for me?” His face screwed up into a hairy whirlpool.

As I say, he surprised me.

I thought for a moment. Then I said: “I don't see why not. Mind you, Sternum, I don't run the Guard. They're a damned independent lot and make up their own rules and regulations—"

“Which you have to ratify!"

“Sometimes I stop ‘em doing something, that is true. Not often."

“Well—?"

“I'll have a word with one or two of my lads at the first opportunity."

“Thank you, jis, may Havil the Green smile on you."

“Um,” I said.

After Sternum had taken himself off, mightily pleased, I decided on a course of action which did not please me but which I fancied might do the business quickly and cleanly. One of the crew approached by the Rangicha, a varterist hight Hoban the Brows, was sent to me by Sternum.

He stood uneasily as the Suns of Scorpio came up and flooded the world with their mingled streaming lights. His eyebrows were, indeed, of a profusion. “Hoban,” I said, speaking easily. “Do you believe in Paz?"

He didn't rattle back a quick reply. He shifted on his bare feet again, looking at the deck between his toes. “Well, majister—"

“It is a simple question. It does not have a simple answer. I know you want to go home to Hamal. We all want to go home, by Krun! But we can't really run off home and leave the Shanks to smash everything up here, now can we?"

“I suppose not."

“You suppose correctly. Fighting against the Shanks and for all of Paz—including Hamal—means you believe in Paz."

“Yes, majister."

“Even if you're fighting for some folk who are not Hamalese."

“Yes, majister."

“Because we are all of Paz."

“Yes—"

“So when do you think you will assassinate me, Hoban?"

He shook all over. He couldn't lift his head to look me in the eye. A dribble of spittle trickled down his slanted chin.

“All right, Hoban. I am going to assume you never intended to assassinate me at the pleasure of Rangicha Taranta."

“No, no, majister!” He was spluttering and blubbering. “No, for I told the lady I would not! I said ask someone else!"

“Come with me.” I started off down the deck.

Sternum was waiting with a small party, all heavily armed. With myself at their head and Hoban the Brows in the centre, we marched to the aftercastle where Jiktar Rango Taranto had quartered his sister. I knocked on the door and then, without waiting for a reply, pushed it open and barged into the cabin.

She was half-dressed and at once she snatched up a robe and held it to herself. Her Khibil face flooded painfully with blood. A man's voice from further back behind the bed curtains said: “What is it, by Glem?"

“Leave my cabin at once!” she said. Her chin lifted. She pointed and then grabbed for the slipping robe. “How dare you! My brother—"

“You are being placed under arrest for plotting to murder the Emperor of Paz. Can you say anything in your defense?"

“Arrest? Murder? What nonsense!” But her breathing gusted unsteadily, and she put out a hand to steady herself, ignoring the robe.

“You will be placed in the cells until a court is assembled."

“You cannot! I am a Rangicha—my brother is the Rango!"

“There are many more important nobles than you or your brother where you are going. A court can be formed.” I spoke briskly. “Of course, I can always pass judgment on you myself. That is something that emperors can do. I shall find you guilty of attempting to murder the emperor.” I lifted my hand. “As for your punishment, I suppose the easiest way will be to throw you overboard. Good riddance to bad rubbish."

She was panting now, half-crouched, her face and hair wild.

Strom Naghan appeared from beyond the bed curtain. He'd used the time to dress himself, more or less, and now he stalked forward ready to add all his habitual authority. I stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Hand over your sword, strom. You are an accomplice in this and equally guilty with the lady. You will suffer the same fate. I did warn you."

His dark foxy face clouded into a thunderhead. Some Khibils have this dark hair; some, like my kregoinye comrade Pompino, tend to the auburn, red or ginger. He looked now as savage as a wild animal about to spring. His fist gripped his sword hilt.

I held out my hand. “Well, strom? Or do you wish to die here and now?"

What effort it cost him to unbuckle the sword belt and hurl it down on deck between us I couldn't know. It must have hurt.

“Also,” I said, going on remorselessly with the business, for I wanted to end it as quickly as possible. “It is quite clear that Rango Taranto was in league with the would-be murderers. He must be taken up at once.” I half turned. “Jiktar Sternum Hamparz! You are now in command. Take up the treacherous Rango and clap the three conspirators in irons. Dernun?"

After a single gulp, he was himself. He roared it out, joyfully.

“Quidang, Majister!"

The sorry affair was thus far concluded. Three highly indignant and upset nobles—not to say frightened nobles—were clapped in irons. A smooth-faced, light-haired lad dressed as a cadet stood nervously by the door as I went out. I gave him a look.

“Cadet Nalgre ti Mornlad?"

“Yes, majister—I mean, aye aye, majister."

“You did well, cadet. I shall not forget."

He flushed up at this. “Thank you, majister.” Then, unable to hold back, he burst out: “Will you really throw them overboard?"

“Of course not! What an idea! No, no, Nalgre, they have to learn their lesson. We are about the business of fighting Shanks, and we need everyone we can."

“So you'll let them off, majister?"

“I certainly do not intend to have them executed. No, they'll be a little frightened, learn their lesson, and then they'll have to behave."

He looked up at me, clear-eyed. “They have not treated me well, they have abused me. But it is not for that I speak."

“Speak what?"

His smooth young face expressed perfect innocence. He said: “They say that with age comes wisdom. If it were me, I know they will continue to try to harm me. They will continue to hate you, majister, and try to kill you. I'd execute the three of them."

I stared at him, at that frail young face, and marveled. Of course, he spoke the way of wisdom common to kings and emperors. Of course. Once a man or woman has betrayed you, you can never trust them again. To be on the safe side, it is better to put them out of the way permanently. Maybe, after all, I was no good as an emperor.

Cadet Nalgre ti Mornlad's fresh young face abruptly went as blank as that of a codfish. His forehead glistened and his eyes dulled and then, shockingly, opened to their full width and glared upon me.

“Jak!” he said in a febrile voice. “It is Highly Difficult. There is Not Much Time Left."

“Go on, Deb Lu."

“This great devil Carazaar has the planes sealed. Difficult. Delia has gone to Taran—” The voice faltered and Nalgre swayed as though about to fall. I grasped his arm and stared into his eyes. His lips moved sluggishly. “The fleet—"

Nalgre moved in my grip and said: “Majister?"

“It is all right, Nalgre."

“But—"

“Quite. I thank you for your advice. Now go about your duties."

“Quidang, majister!"

He went off, somewhat puzzled, I fear, at the sudden lapse in his memory and concentration. He promised well, as Sternum had prophesied.

'Taran', Deb-Lu-Quienyin had said. That had to mean Tarankar. It was not likely to be Taranik. I frowned. It might be Taranjin, and in that case it meant Delia and my friends were running their heads into the leem's jaws.

It was easy enough to guess that Deb-Lu had managed to get the news of my rescue through to Delia. Now she was pushing ahead with the plan, confident I'd soon join her.

Deb-Lu had also said ‘the fleet.’ As far as I could see, he could only mean the fleet from Vallia if he spoke of our forces. If he spoke of the enemy—well, they probably must have more than one fleet operating over Loh.

A twinned shadow fleeted across the deck and I looked up, squinting against the blaze of the Suns.

I expected to see the shape of the raptor from the Star Lords, the Gdoinye, circling up there ready to hurl down mockery and contempt upon my head, calling me a get onker, chastising me in the name of the Everoinye. It was not so.

Up there, planing in gentle circles, sailed the white dove of the Savanti.

I felt surprise rush all through me.

Why should those mortal but superhuman folk of Aphrasöe the Swinging City send their dove to spy on me? They might be taking a fresh hand in the game. I gravely doubted that they were. But if they were, by the disgusting diseased liver and lights of Makki Grodno, what were they up to now?

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter eighteen

“Despite all the difficulties, Deb-Lu is managing to maintain communications. We are in contact, even if tenuously."

“Highly tenuously, my old dom."

“But still in contact,” said Delia, firmly, in her no-nonsense voice.

“We're all here,” observed Inch.

“All!” I said, grumpily. “All!"

Well, I was being unfair. As we sat in the cabin of Shankjid deciding what to do next—although we all knew that well enough—about us rested the vorlcas of my Guard Corps. The lads, at least, were all here.

Maintaining her previous thought, Milsi said: “I do wish we had the fliers with us.” She drew in a breath. “Those poor people of Hamal—"

“We may not have heard the last of them.” Seg spoke with an abrupt shake of his shoulders, as though shaking off rain. We all looked sharply at him. In his native hills and valleys of Erthyrdrin they breed fey folk, folk with the Eye. Nobody spoke for a moment or two.

Then Sasha said: “Inch, dear. Surely we can get some warriors from Ng'groga to help?"

“Since I left home I have very little influence in Ng'groga, if any at all. It's the same with Seg. We're Vallians now."

“Aye, by the Veiled Froyvil. Vallians and Pazzians."

“Or Pazish,” I said in a neutral voice.

“Or,” said Delia in her cutting voice, “Pazese."

“Oh. Quite."

“And,” she went on briskly. “I just hope Deb-Lu tells that son of ours to unglue his wings."

“I'm sure Drak will do all he can.” Milsi spoke with tact and affection. “He knows his own mind."

I stood up. “We're doing no good going over and over the problems. I made a mess last time with these new friends of Loh. I don't want to make it worse. They all have their points."

“Some more than others.” Seg spoke on a breath. “I wouldn't like Mevancy's bindles in my face, no by Vox!"

“That young Rollo,” said Inch, shaking his bent head. “Deb-Lu is going to have a handful there, by Ngrangi."

“He seems very nice,” said Milsi, somewhat primly.

We all laughed.

When we went out on deck the day was bright and breezy with layered clouds scudding overhead. Around us the fleet rested in a wide valley among hills. We'd met up, thankfully enough, about a hundred miles or so from the capital of Tarankar, Taranjin. That city was our objective.

How to take it, with the forces at our disposal, was the problem.

Whenever a fleet makes port of call, or in the case of a flying fleet, touches down, there are always multifarious tasks to perform. Patching, mending, carpentering, painting, there is no end to maintenance. The scene on that bright and breezy morning sparkled with activity.

As you may well imagine, there were a thousand and one calls on my time. Useless to list them all. Just take it from me, if there had been another couple of dozen burs in the Kregan day there still wouldn't have been time to see all those who wanted to see me or deal with all the questions hurled at my dizzied head. In the end, of course, as happened routinely when I was away, delegates dealt with the vast majority of importuning folk, those with grievances, those with ambitions, those with plans. We had, I may mention, no thomplods with us. We'd used those impressive animals with six legs each side and looking like haystacks in a so-called battle-winning plan. Their smell so offended most other saddle animals that they'd run off. It would have worked, too, had not the Shanks adopted the disgusting idea of smearing vosks with tar and setting them alight to charge madly at our thomplods and rout them first. They might employ that obnoxious trick again when we went up against them.

Mileon Ristemer, whose thomplod plan it was, remained with us today still with his regiment.

Delia had been delighted to see Nath Karidge again, the Beau Sabreur, the commander of her first personal regiment, EDLG, the Empress’ Devoted Life Guard.

As for me, I'd spent a delirious time with my swods, my old sweats, my Guard—each one of them dear to me, each one of them a match for Vikatu the Dodger, the Old Sweat, the old hare, the archetypal old soldier of Vallia and of Paz on Kregen, paragon of military virtues and vices, a legendary figure of myth and romance. Oh, yes, we'd ripped up the night all the way to dawn.

Naghan ti Lodkwara, one of the chiefs of 1ESW, confided a clever plan to me during that time of carousing. “Kendur! We fly over them and land and blatter them into the sea!"

“A sound plan, Naghan."

Targon the Tapster, a chief of 1ESW, leaned towards us, and not slopping a drop from his winecup. “Sounder still, jis, if 1ESW land and line the waterfront. We'll catch ‘em between two walls, then."

Solemnly, I nodded. No good pooh-poohing these notions. My lads believed they could carry out stratagems such as this, and they'd all get themselves killed trying.

Turning the conversation was not too difficult. All I had to do was say: “That reminds me of how the Phalanx stood at Kochwold—?” and they were off, refighting and reliving old battles.

I had not risen too early on the following day.

This enforced waiting grated on the nerves and frayed tempers short. All the same, stubborn as a graint as I am, I would not move until I considered we were ready.

Do not take the wrong idea from this report of the plans of my chiefs of 1ESW. That little fragment of conversation more aptly belonged to my Djangs. The initial members of the Emperor's Sword Watch had formed the unit themselves. That had been their own idea to protect me. They had learned their craft in the field. They were not novices. It was just that, like Nath na Kochwold and his Phalanx, they believed themselves invincible.

Just before an intriguing incident occurred in the air I took thought regarding Jiktar Sternum Hamparz and his request. There was no use dreaming that he'd get into 1ESW. The Emperor's Yellow Jackets, the second corps in seniority in the Guard, would take him. Probably they'd start him off in 4EYJ, possibly 3EYJ, and then see how he did. 2EYJ had retained its training function as a fighting unit, and I fancied Sternum had learned his battlecraft. Although there was no doubt that anyone at all could learn from my Guard Corps.

When the agreement came through that he could join 4EYJ, Sternum's hairy face positively sprouted with pleasure and pride. He started to thank me: “By Krun, jis—well, I don't know—by Havil the Green—"

I stopped him in his tracks.

“Krun is accepted because I use it. Havil the Green may well not be. No man in Vallia is forced to follow any religious creed he does not wish to follow and no man or woman is persecuted for their religion. All the same, a trifle of tact would be sensible."

“Quidang, jis!"

“If you must apostrophize some supernatural deity try Chusto, or Chozputz. I have found them most comforting."

“I have never heard of them—"

“No. I made them up. They have proved most useful."

His barely visible eye among the hair closed in a massive conspiratorial wink. “I fly your course, jis!"

He shifted his kit out of Dovad Daisy. Unsure what to do with her and her confounded hoity-toity Khibil lords and ladies, I felt it best to send her back. She'd be a liability in any fight and—she was Hamalese and not Vallian. It was a hard decision; but, I thought, the right one.

Delia and my friends said nothing about that; I had some gyp from some of the others about losing a ship we needed.

Mevancy, of course, was cutting.

“I am concerned over the reactions of the Everoinye, cabbage. By Spurl! If they start thinking we are not doing all we can against—"

“I know it seems to me the Star Lords may be superhuman and possess all these wonderful powers, it also seems to me they are idiots from time to time. I just hope they're not cretinous enough now to imagine what you suggest."

She drew in a breath and her flushed face paled a trifle. “Oh, you! If they take exception to your words—"

“By Vox! They have done and no doubt will again, pigeon."

Then Kuong and Rollo joined us as we talked in the shade of a fine broad-leaved tree at the edge of the landing area where the fleet was moored. We'd resumed a little of our old intimacy; there was still some way to go yet before we were back to the old friendships.

Just across the way in the blaze of the suns, Splendor of Opaz was exercising her flutduin squadrons. The magnificent birds soared aloft from their perching poles jutting from the sides of the ship. They were flown by Valkans and they were superb. Down here in flierless Loh the sight of these gorgeous birds spreading wide wings and carrying people through thin air smacked of miracles akin to those of their own Wizards of Loh.

Mevancy heaved up a sigh.

“I'd love to do that—but—"

“If you fasten up the straps of your clerketer, you're safe enough."

“And they fight up there?"

Now it was my turn to heave up a sigh; I did not. If you have to fight then you have to fight with all you've got.

“Yes."

Rollo in his enthusiastic way said: “I'm confident I could still hit the mark from the back of one of those birds."

Kuong's brown fist gripped the hilt of his lynxter. “A sword will be of little use up there, Drajak."

“True. You need a lance, a toonon, perhaps a lengthened strangdja."

Just then a flutduin swooped down over our heads and volplaned neatly up to avoid the tree. A bulky man waved down.

A voice bellowed through the windrush: “Hai! Groundlings! It's wonderful up here an’ all! You can see for dwaburs and dwaburs an’ everything!"

We all gaped up.

Then Rollo, in a determined voice snapped out: “That settles it!” He started off with a purposeful stride towards Splendor of Opaz.

Kuong hurried to march at his side and after a momentary hesitation, Mevancy ran to catch up. They shouted back over their shoulders: “Just watch us!"

So, then, I did heave up that sigh. Scatterbrained, the lot of ‘em, by Krun!

In addition, this little incident indicated to me that perhaps they were really over the shock of discovering their new friend Drajak was an emperor—well, an emperor of sorts—and were feeling their way back to our old comradeship. There was some way to go yet, though.

You will understand that I cannot at this moment mention all the old comrades and friends who had flown in with the fleet and were now my companions in the adventures ahead. You do not live a life on Kregen and travel widely without making a vast number of acquaintances as well as friends. And, of course, enemies also. Take it from me, the days were filled from suns-up to suns-down with activity.

News of Queen Kirsty's impending arrival reached us. She'd driven her forces across the desert and into Tarankar. She'd avoided aerial observation. This, I confess, had been the one great stumbling block to our plan. Now that Kirsty was actually in the country and approaching, we could form our final plans for the onslaught.

Our ships and people were spread out and camouflaged. A few times we saw Schtarkins flying over patrolling. Stopping the lads taking off in our lone voller and tackling them proved a task too, by Vox!

As the Fish Faces had been lavish of late with their distribution of fire pots, I had a large number made up and stowed carefully. Misuse of fire pots is a hazardous and lethal business.

Now—for Queen Kirsty.

I'd given orders for her army to be quartered some way off from the Guard Corps’ fleet. This seemed a merely sensible precaution.

Determined to put as brave a face as possible on it, I went over to see her and Rodders. I'd put on a simple white tunic for the occasion—well, I must admit, the tunic had a fancy gold-stitched hem—and wore my usual arsenal of weapons. To Delia, I'd said—not at all sure—"It's probably best if I see them by myself to start off with—yes?” To which the divine Delia had replied, with a typical little tilt to her delicious chin: “Yes. If the woman is as cutting as you say she is.” Delia laughed. “That will spare me the enjoyment of watching you squirm.” To which I had replied: “If I know Kirsty, squirm is the word, my heart."

And Delia said, very sharply: “Take care, my heart. You will take a squadron of 1ESW."

“I'd thought to—"

“Good!"

So, there I was, being ushered into Queen Kirsty's tent which was of a size and luxuriously furnished. Rodders sat at her side. She looked not quite just the same. There was even more maturity in the set of her jaw. There was, I remember, a strong scent of jasmine on the air within the colored tent.

“Drajak,” she said in her sharp way, yet I felt she was being as gracious as she could. “We missed you. Where have you been?"

And Rodders, big and vigorous and a fighting man after my own heart, chimed in: “Lahal and welcome, Drajak. We have need of men like you for the battles ahead."

So—they didn't know. No one had told them.

Carefully, I said: “I came here to scout the Shanks. Kuong is here, too. We face a formidable task."

Rodders in his professional paktun way started to make an observation. Kirsty held up her hand and Rodders stopped speaking. She said: “I understand this Dray Prescot will bring powerful forces to assist us. He comes from Vallia. Also, I think Hamal will help."

Gravely, I told them about the Hamalese debacle.

Rodders looked angry. I thought I detected the merest whiff of a white tinge along Kirsty's stubborn jaw.

“I had heard tales of these Hamalese,” Queen Kirsty spoke with some acerbity, “which I could not fully credit. Now I can understand their veracity. They appear less than dogs."

“Our army—” began Rodders.

All the intensity in Kirsty's face concentrated and came together. Her high square shoulders lifted. “Our army will fight!"

Rodders put a hand through that brilliant red Lohvian hair of his. His eyes met mine in a swift fleeting glance, a man to man look of understanding. Oh, yes, with Rodders to command, Queen Kirsty's army would fight.

The trouble was, I was convinced that Kirsty had no idea of the magnitude of the problem, and I doubted if Rodders was fully aware.

I went on to explain that the gangs who were hiding out in the countryside around Taranjin were divided. They were continually hunted from the air by Shank patrols. They could handle that as we did and as I'd trained up the combined bands of the Kov and Kovneva of Borrakesh. The political divisions were a more serious threat to our success. Just who, the question was asked, just who would form the government of Tarankar after the Shanks had been expelled? The old usurpers, the Riffims, who had taken control of Tarankar and subjugated the native inhabitants, were now all gone, destroyed by the Fish Faces. Who would rule Tarankar?

I'd made a vow that, by Vox, Krun and Djan, it wasn't going to be me!

For reasons of state it might prove necessary that I, in an official capacity, should take part in any negotiations to appoint any new ruler or rulers of Tarankar. The thought may have occurred to Kuong Vang Talin, the Trylon of Taranik, that he might well become chief of the government here. I couldn't say if it had. It may have done and it might not have done. If the squabbling guerilla gangs were left to their own devices, the country would never settle down and the Shanks would find easy pickings when they returned.

Kirsty was never slow on the uptake.

“So they squabble amongst themselves.” She put that determined jaw into her fist, leaning forward, her intense gaze bent on me as though I were a specimen in a jar. “Good! Divided they will never be able to oppose—” She stopped herself speaking with a clearly visible effort. She would not deign to disclose, let alone discuss, her plans with the lower orders.

I said: “Divided they pose little threat to the Fish Faces.” I gave her a mean look. “If you wish to place the crown of Tarankar upon your head alongside that of Tsungfaril, you will meet opposition."

She drew in a sharp little breath just short of a gasp.

“You presume on our graciousness, Drajak!"

Rodders shifted in his seat, and his great Lohvian longbow, perched against the arm, slipped forward. He retrieved with instinctive reflex, smooth and easy, like any master Bowman of Loh.

“You would find,” I went on with heavy emphasis, “the problems of ruling these two countries well nigh insuperable—"

“Drajak!” she flamed out. “Hold your tongue lest—lest—"

“Kirsty,” breathed Rodders in her ear.

Her breast rose and fell within the silken sheath. She put a hand to her throat. Then: “You had best leave us for now, Drajak, for we are not unmindful of your services. We do not wish you to incur our displeasure.” She made a graceful gesture, recovering her composure. “Rodders will find a place for you in my army."

I gave them both a brief nod apiece and took myself off. What a hoity-toity madam! The Star Lords had insisted that she be made queen of Tsungfaril. You could quite see some of their reasons, by Krun!

That they didn't yet know the fellow they knew as Drajak was really Dray Prescot, potential Emperor of Paz, meant only that they'd find out in due time when the gods smiled. They did so by chance, as Delia delighted in telling me. “Kuong made his courtesy call, and—"

“Of course. Well, I'm glad I wasn't there to witness it."

“A very prickly lady, your friend Kirsty. Queen of Tsungfaril and wants to be Queen of Tarankar."

“Yes. I think she has little hope."

“Yet, according to you, your precious Everoinye picked her to be queen and there was a great deal of trouble making her so."

“Trouble and a half!” We were walking out in the rays of the suns with some lads of 1EYJ pacing us. The ships lay all about hidden under trees and camouflage netting. The flutduins were exercising, flying in swooping circles, letting their wings taste the air. I felt some concern that they might be spotted by a Shank aerial patrol; but flutduins need to spread their wings. A handful of beautiful and tough girls followed us along, clad in russet leathers and armed with whip, claw and rapier. They were Sisters of the Rose, and they were Jikai Vuvushis, Battle Maidens. Delia had taken them onto her staff and was considering forming a full sized regiment, bearing in mind the squeamishness I still had not thrown off after all these seasons on Kregen. Walking and chatting with them were a brilliant group of cavaliers from 1EDLG. They'd vote the Jikai Vuvushis in, as Lasal the Vakka was their witness! The air rang with the sounds of carpenters and smiths and riggers working in the ships. The fragrant scent of tar smoked up, for although these ships might never ride the waves, tar is a beneficial substance aboard ship. A zorca troop cantered past, weapons gleaming, followed by a nikvove troop. All in all, the whole scene was one of activity and brightness and life.

Soon, horribly soon, these people must be flung headlong into a battle they had slim chances of winning.

If they were not, then quite apart from the further spread of the Fish Faces, the Star Lords would summon me for judgment—and punishment.

When at last Kirsty and Rodders paid their courtesy call on me, I deliberately pitched the whole thing into a low key. I was just as simply dressed. I waited for them at the gangplank of Shankjid and I welcomed them aboard in a natural way—at least, I hoped it was natural—giving them the Lahal and watching as they observed the fantamyrrh.

During the brief conversation over miscils and palines and sazz, Kirsty did say in her sharp way: “You deceived me, majister. Did you consider the embarrassment I would suffer when I found out your trick?"

“There is no need for that."

I didn't add that by acting correctly at the time any backward look could not make her feel embarrassed.

Rodders said: “Now I wonder about that wager, majister. From all I read of Dray Prescot and his friend Seg Segutorio, they are bowmen to test the best in Erthyrdrin."

“Seg don't test ‘em,” I said, dryly. “He beats ‘em."

The reception finished on a more friendly note as Delia set to work in her subtle, devious and downright cunning way to make Kirsty regain some composure. I suppose she'd gone back over her memories, searching for some horrible faux pas she'd made, and hoping desperately not to find a single one. We sent them off more cheerful than when they'd arrived.

Delia said in a voice like the cat that has supped the cream: “They accepted tacitly, without question, the fact that you are emperor."

“Oh, aye, my heart. I'm some kind of emperor. As, indeed, you are more than some kind of empress. But of what? I cannot believe that anyone of Paz is going to swallow that without—"

“Hush! Tsleetha-tsleethi. Softly-softly. We've made a start."

In these later passages I realize I must sound puffed with self-importance, bloated with self-esteem, stupid with self-glory and power.

This is not so. It has been said that respect equals power. Sometimes I caught a little dent between Delia's eyebrows when Mevancy called me cabbage, say, or Llodi addressed me as Drajak. Yet she knew the reasons for these ways of going on. If I was going wrong in my handling of the emperor's slot, Delia would put me right. If the people didn't want me to be their leader, then, by Djan-kadjiryon, I'd be only too happy to leave!

Delia walked with her graceful litheness to stand at the opening of the tent, holding to a rope. I caught my breath. Blood-thumping and heart-stopping is Delia, empress of majesty. Khe-Hi-Bjanching walked into the tent past Delia, turning to smile at her and nod respectfully. He wore a simple saffron robe with a silver hem and a flat hat of some obscure provenance, girdled with little golden hearts.

“Delia!” he said. “Dray! Good news!"

He wasn't actually there in the tent with us. As far as we knew he was still in Whonban to the north. His unlined face and lively expression summed up a fellow whose much-loved wife had recently had twins.

Delia turned back and crossed to me as I moved towards her. We touched hands as the Wizard of Loh went on.

“Fleet Admiral Harulf ham Hilzim has gathered some survivors of that dreadful battle. He's on his way. Better to wait for him—"

The figure of Khe-Hi wavered. His saffron robe suffused with a bloody red. His voice trailed off. Just before he disappeared the last we heard was: “The interference—Deb-Lu will—Remberee!"

“Remberee, Khe-Hi,” said Delia, gravely, speaking to the air.

This item of news livened us up. With a handful of vollers we could materially improve the chances of the unpowered vorlcas. Kirsty's army moved out, traveling by night, hiding by day. They were well-provisioned. When they were set, the Vallian fleet would fly. The gangs would close in, no doubt still wrangling about the power sharing to come after the victory.

On the morning of the day specified for the fleet to move, I stepped outside the tent and scanned the early sky. A few clouds, the brilliance of the suns, a scattering of birds.

Delia said: “Where in a Herrelldrin Hell are they?"

Seg ambled over from his tent, screwing his face up to the sky.

“Well, my old dom, we didn't expect ‘em, so we'll do without ‘em."

“I suppose we'll have to,” I grumped.

Although Inch is a head taller than us it gave him no advantage in seeing now. He stuck his head out of his own tent and looked up. “What are you moaning about?” he demanded. A hand thrust through the opening and a rigid finger pointed up. “Look!"

We swung about. Drifting low above the trees a voller flew into sight, and another, and then more.

Yells broke from the camps. “The Hamalese! By Vox, the Hamalese!"

To say this reminded me of our gallant Prussian allies after Ligny arriving at Waterloo is probably unnecessary. But the thought was there.

The vollers looked knocked about. They flew their flags bravely. They swung in good formation to make touch downs in open areas. Just how it happened was never ascertained, even at the Court of Inquiry. Two fliers touched. They collided with considerable force and in the contrary and frighteningly vicious way of these things, they both burst into flames.

Smoking and spewing flames they fell to the ground.

A shocked silence constrained everyone. Not for some time did normalcy return to the camp as we set about the breakfasts and then the final preparations for departure. I gave Hilzim a great welcome; but I saw the shadows in his face. The accident had shaken us all. As we flew off for the grand attack on Taranjin, was this a portent for the future?

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter nineteen

The maps of Taranjin were pored over again and again until we knew every back street and alley. Like many cities of Kregen at this time, Taranjin was a higgledy-piggledy mess. Well, when a cornered rat fights he or she likes to have a tortuous corkscrewy maze of alleys in which to surprise the adversary.

Our advance was materially assisted in that the Shank aerial fleet had gone north to deal with the Hamalese. They flew patrols; they could be avoided. There were only a couple of quick flare-ups and in both the Fish Face went down, burning. Below us spread the outskirts of the city and the tiny dots of the gangs of Freedom Fighters closing in.

I spoke to Balass the Hawk as he stood at the rail, impassive in armor, shield resting on the deck, his black face intent on the scene below. “That Fan-Si, Balass."

“Oh, aye. A pretty enough little Fristle fifi. Wild, though."

“Too wild at times. By Kaidun! She willfully won't wear her armor, even when the consequences are spelled out to her."

Balass cocked an eye at me. “It gets in the way at times."

Even for folk who spend a very great deal of time in armor, still, it can get in the way at times. I sighed. “See if you can make sure she wears her armor, Balass. All her friends are with us here."

“I can but tell her. If she takes it off I can't buckle it on."

Then Targon the Tapster came up with a query and Balass and I left the topic of willful little Fristle fifis.

Balass would take command of a group of folk who were associated with us in a loose kind of way—auxiliaries, almost. I'd told Llodi that I didn't want him in that group, and detailed Korero the Shield to take Llodi under his wing as a supernumerary to help out in that department.

Delia said: “And I'll look out for Mevancy."

“She's good; she's not a Jikai Vuvushi—"

“I've told her to reserve her bindles for emergencies. She'll do all right, and my girls will chip in."

Seg laughed. “I'm saddled with that young rip Rollo."

“He did well when we saw that Shank off—"

“Oh, aye. By the Veiled Froyvil! We've all got to do well now!"

Well, that was true enough—hurtfully true.

Seg favored me with one of his sideways looks that always seem to sum me up complete. “You using that unmentionable again?"

“Llodi is with Korero; but he'll span for me."

“Um."

“I'll keep my own longbow, though. Don't fret."

“I trust Erthanfydd the Meticulous has cast his intolerant eye—?"

“Of a surety."

“Remember,” said Seg, and he half lifted a fist, “remember the Battle of Jholaix?"

“Aye."

“I was working it out. This coming fight may seem the same, apart from the town element. But it's different."

I knew exactly what he meant. At Jholaix our vorlcas had acted like a fleet, a single organism under sail. Anyway, we'd been fighting against the Hamalese, then. Jholaix had been fought before the creation of the Vallian Phalanx Force, before Delia and I were empress and emperor. Looking back, did it seem to me the days were freer then, more sunny, more open and careless? Maybe. Ahead and below the sea sparkled and the city of Taranjin lay spread before us. The time for action had arrived, the time for dreaming had passed.

One last single pang hit me then. Jholaix had been fought whilst we were waiting for Velia, who was now dead, to be born.

“Sail ho!"

The shout scythed through the air, shrill and excited.

We all looked up.

At first sight it appeared the sky was filled with ships.

We saw the banners. Those treshes flew back bravely as this fleet circled us. Red and yellow. A yellow saltire and cross on a scarlet field—the Union Flag of Vallia!

I cocked an eye up at my own flag, Old Superb, flying above, the yellow cross on the scarlet field. There were many other treshes, flags of the provinces of Vallia, flags of nobles, a brilliant field of color over the fleet.

Seg said: “I make it fifty, and Drak isn't with ‘em."

Delia said, on a breath: “He'll be far too busy running Vallia."

“Look there,” I said, sharply, pointing. “Hyrklana. And if I'm not mistaken that's Jaidur's flag."

“Yes,” said his mother at my side. “Oh, yes!"

A couple of two-place fliers span up and headed towards us.

The Admiral of the Vallian Fleet, Vangar ti Valkanium, stepped aboard with a quick salute and then he stepped smartly aside as a brisk bustling figure jumped down, shouting.

“Dray! I am here!” Then: “Delia! My most humble respects!"

“Good grief!” I said. “What's got into you?” For this was Nath na Kochwold, the stern disciplinarian, the Kapt of the Phalanx Force.

“Out into the field at last, out adventuring, that's what!"

Vangar ti Valkanium was just as upright and scrubbed and filled with the same integrity as when I'd first met him, all those seasons ago in The Rose of Valka by the Great Northern Cut of Vondium. “Nath has been like a child on his birthday all the trip, Dray. He won't sit still."

“Well, there's work for him.” I looked meaningfully at Vangar. “How is the Lord Farris?"

Vangar scowled. “He is not well, and he won't stop working.” Vangar's scowl deepened. “He knows I don't want his damned job until—well, until there is nothing else. If only he'd rest!"

“He scraped up this force for us down here? What of the emperor?"

Vangar nodded. “Farris has found these ships from somewhere—well, I know how he did it, of course. The emperor concurred, although he is in dire need of ships himself."

Delia said, sharply: “Tell me, Vangar!"

“Those idiots of the Bloody Menahem."

At that moment the second flier touched down and Jaidur leaped out. He looked fit, bronzed, active; but there was an odd look to him I didn't like. That almost sullen and resigned look only partially lifted as he greeted his mother. Over his shoulder she looked at me, our gazes locked. We both understood there was trouble at home in Hyrklana.

Seg said: “Welcome all. The Shank fleet must have been following you—"

“For,” chimed in Inch, “there they are!"

Up over the horizon rim floated the Shank fleet, dark against the suns’ glitter.

Nath na Kochwold burst out: “Put me and the lads down, and you can have your aerial battle, Vangar. Keep ‘em off our necks."

I said to Nath: “Which Phalanx?” for I knew Drak would be able to spare only one.

“Fifth."

“Ah,” I said. “Ninth and Tenth Kerchuris. I have fond memories of the Tenth. Very prickly."

We had been going through a profound alteration of the Phalanx organization before I'd been wrenched away from Valka by the Star Lords. Drak had given that task to me as something to do, and Nath and I had worked hard on tables and command charts to rig the Phalanx Force for its role in the new reduced army needed after the Times of Troubles.

Nath was looking at me expectantly. So was Vangar. So was Oby. So, by Zair, were a lot of folk!

The usual dilemma confronted me.

I could not be in two places at once—not unless the Everoinye willed it, as they had done on a number of notable occasions. Where I chose to fight would have considerable weight in the battle.

The Shank fleet fleeting on so swiftly towards us presented now a much less formidable menace. This newly arrived Vallia fleet might consist of ancient vollers, patched fliers, a rabble of the air; they were true vollers, with their own power. My place was with the lads of my Guard Corps.

The moment I told them my decision, Vangar rapped out: “As I guessed. I'll be off back to my flagship. Opaz fly with you—"

“And with you, Vangar."

Jaidur barely looked at us as he kissed Delia and then flew off to his Hyrklanian flagship. He must have traveled hard and fast to get here and join in. Delia looked at me. But we said nothing for now.

We knew the coming battle was going to be a messy fight. All the disparate elements would combine in an untidy way. To try to bring some kind of order—very difficult beforehand and practically impossible once contact was joined—I'd organized some of the flutduin troops into a messenger service. Normally one used fluttcleppers or volcleppers for merkers; our messengers would use the superb flutduins.

One such messenger group had been placed at Kuong's disposal. I told him he would be our liaison with Queen Kirsty and her army. When they burst in with the Freedom Fighters, the slaves must rise. The Vallians would be landing inside the city by then. Vangar, we all trusted, would hold off the Shanks’ aerial attack.

I said to Nath na Kochwold: “I trust you have other troops besides the Fifth Phalanx?"

“Oh, yes,” he said, not quite off-handedly, but almost. He prized the pike-wielding brumbytes of his Phalanx above rubies, did Nath! “Churgurs, kreutzin, archers, spearmen, artillery, cavalry—although not much of that, by Vox! A brigade of totrixmen, lance and bow, and a brigade of swarths."

“Zorcas? Nikvoves?"

He shook his head so the bright red feathers in his pikeman's helmet fluttered. “No. I had Drig's own trouble finding zorcas for my commanders—and myself. Some regimental infantry Jiktars are riding the poor man's zorca and old Jik Ortyg nov Thandin is riding a preysany."

“A preysany! A Vallian regimental commander riding an animal only a whisker removed from a calsany! We must be scraping the barrel!” Delia pulled her rapier around in an irritable gesture. She and I, we both knew the intolerable costs of blasphemous wars.

Nath agreed and then, with a smile that was almost a leer, said: “You might be interested to know I have the Forty Third Mixed Infantry Brigade with me.” He saw the way Seg and I brightened up. “Yes, I thought so! Well, by Vox, I'm out having some fun this time!"

He added that to balance the brigade a regiment of kreutzin had been detailed to cover the heavy infantry, spearmen and archers.

Whilst all these very necessary preliminaries had been taking place Kirsty had moved her army up into the open and together with the gangs of Freedom Fighters was advancing at a smart trot.

Overhead the aerial fights began as the Shanks tried to break through Vangar and disrupt the ground attack. Hilzim's Hamalese vollers played a full part, and already ships were burning.

Nath cocked an eye at me.

His voller-towed vorlcas were dropping down into the city. If the slaves rose at sight of these fighting men chasing Fish Faces we ought to have Taranjin sewed up. My Guard Corps might not even be engaged—a development that would please me and displease the lads.

Everything was going swimmingly. The air battle was swinging in our favor. The ground battle had already seen Kirsty's army breaking through and the streets awash with Shank blood as Vallians cut swathes through their fishy ranks. And, uncommitted, we retained a powerful reserve.

“I must join—” began Nath.

“Of course. Opaz be with you."

He was off at once, streaking down to his beloved Phalanx. Not, I fancied, that they'd do much more than hold the wider streets and avenues this day, and let the other fighting men clear the alleys.

Our Flutduin squadrons worried the Fish Faces. The superb birds cavorted above the Shank vollers, swirling and tormenting, and their riders—young men and women of Valka—flung firepots with savage abandon. Many a fine Shank flier burned at the hands of the flutduin squadrons. And there were more than one or two of those brave youngsters brought down with a shaft skewering through them, or their flyer badly wounded.

But the day was going well.

We'd held the vorlcas of the Guard Corps to windward of the city so as to be able to sail down to any spot we selected. I was beginning to consider actually landing to hold our position instead of continually tacking back and forth, which can be a wearying exercise.

A merker flew up from the city where already smoke was fanning out in palls and concealing much of what went forward down there. It seemed to me that the battling fleets were nearer than they had been. I pointed this out to Seg and Inch.

“You're right, my old dom."

“Our fleet is being pushed back! By Ngrangi—we're losing!"

A boil of figures spewed from the city, animated manikins running and falling—and the ferocious forms of Fish Faces following with deadly tridents stabbing, stabbing...

“What, in the name of the Heavenly Twins, is going on?” demanded Delia.

I kept silent. Milsi said: “It's going wrong."

“It certainly is not going well,” spat Sasha.

Targon, Lodkwara, the other chiefs, crowded in silently. They were all staring at me with hungry eyes. There was no doubt now.

I opened my mouth to give the orders that would send my lads of my Guard Corps down to blood and death, when Deb-Lu-Quienyin walked across from the companionway. He was not smiling. He pushed his turban straight with an irritable gesture. He looked firm and solid.

“Delia! Jak! Lahal all. The interference has ceased. Khe-Hi is off to perform our very necessary functions. But I Fear Mischief Here."

I said: “We were winning. Now we are losing."

The hush about the deck allowed the awful noises of the battle to racket in nauseatingly. Deb-Lu spread his fingers. “I see. Then he has placed all his kharrna into this single effort."

“Which,” growled out Seg, “looks like succeeding unless we nip him in the bud damn quick."

What the ordinary crewman, the ordinary swod, thought of sorcerers suddenly appearing might remain conjectural; I knew that if our mages failed us now, the arch demon Carazaar would triumph.

Clearly, now, without a single doubt, he worked with or for the Shanks. Maybe, even, he controlled the Fish Faces.

The merker from Kuong confirmed that Kirsty's forces were being thrust back. Everywhere, on the ground, in the air, we were being beaten.

“What can be done, Deb-Lu?"

“Khe-Hi and I have formed a plan which—” He looked uneasy. “It is not certain. There is great danger.” He wouldn't look at me, so I guessed that whatever he and Khe-Hi had hatched up demanded my presence. “The planes,” he went on. “They cannot be controlled by any single person."

“Something must be done,” rapped out Delia. “And done right now!"

A shout ripped through the air from a lookout. What he screamed was incoherent. Everybody felt the force of terror in that wild shriek and we all looked up into the brightness of the sky.

He sailed up there, the arch demon, sitting in his throne and peering down at us mortals below. The throne was as I had last seen it with its chained naked girls and savage beasts, with the glitter of gems and gold. A cloud suffused with yellow light swam beneath the throne and shards and sparks of fire, blue, green, yellow, spat like lightnings all about. The picture he presented was one of terror and of glory, of power and of punishment. A light shone from that awesome apparition and spread to encompass the city and the battling armies. Sparks spat from the chair in bolts of living flame. Everywhere the forces of the Shanks pressed on victoriously.

Calmly, firm among all the terror, Seg lifted his bow.

“Useless, Seg,” said Deb-Lu. “There is only one way.” He swung about and now he looked at me, long and low beneath his eyebrows.

Delia abruptly clutched my arm and I felt her tremble against me. “Dray—are you prepared for the gamble?"

“If it's the only way,” I said, “then let's do it!"

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter twenty

“Right,” said Seg. “Let us do it!"

“Aye,” said Inch, very sharply.

“Aye!” roared out from the lads gathered about.

Deb-Lu shook his head and his turban fell off and rolled—and instantly vanished. Deb-Lu's right side was illuminated by a samphron oil lamp. We were bathed in the rays of Luz and Walig.

“No, no. Khe-Hi and I—One Only. We can manage only one."

“Me! Let me! No, me!” The cacophony burst up as everyone yelled their demands to be allowed to go to almost certain death.

I didn't want to go to death, certain, almost certain or otherwise. I glanced swiftly at Delia. She stood straight and lissom, holding herself erect, a faint flush along her cheekbones. She stared back at me, solemnly, her lustrous brown eyes full on me, weighing me, weighing the idiot who is Dray Prescot, knowing already, as I knew, the only outcome of this situation.

I held up my hand.

Instantly, stillness and quietness fell over the babble.

“I am ready, san."

Deb-Lu glanced back, tilting his turbanless head so the red Lohvian hair gleamed in the samphron oil lamp's beam. He said something we could not hear to someone further back in his room. When he turned back I sensed a freshness in him, a lightening to his spirit.

“Jak! Khe-Hi has hit upon a Capital Scheme. Ling-Li also ... It Will Work, I am Assured of it ... Capital—"

Still speaking, the phantom image of Deb-Lu-Quienyin vanished.

I waited. We all waited, hushed, expectant. We stood motionlessly, held by the thrall of our beliefs.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened, that is, on the decks of Shankjid. But a very great deal was happening down there in and around Taranjin.

Kirsty's forces were now just about on the verge of breaking and that would be followed by a full scale rout. Masses of black smoke swept across the city obscuring buildings and streets. The noise spurted up as though a cavern of maniacal giants forged weapons for the gods. Whatever the Vallian forces were doing, they were certainly not putting pressure on the Shanks driving forward against Kirsty. In the air Shank vollers span and twisted and Hamalese and Vallian vollers fought back stubbornly. For a moment—a moment only and not a heartbeat longer—I fancied our aerial fleet would hold the Schtarkins. They still had not yet fathomed a way of countering the flutduins who tormented them so, even with the thaumaturgical assistance of Carazaar.

And that arch demon?

His cloud-supported throne hung above the town. Sparks and bolts of light flamed from it. Scintillant dots of fire broke away like molten gold, dripping and dropping in curtains of flame.

Whatever he was up to, he was swinging the battle in favor of the Fish Faces. Unless our Wizards of Loh could counter Carazaar's thaumaturgy very quickly, the battle was lost.

The stink and taste of the conflict gagged in my throat. The flat raw stench of burning clogged nostrils and coated tongues. And my Guard Corps stood there, and now they were shifting from foot to foot impatiently, and the coughing to attract attention broke like waves upon a rocky shore.

They would not be held much longer.

Yet if I gave the word and sent them joyously down into the battle, the slaughter and the carnage, how could they triumph against sorcery of so potent a power as that against which we now strove?

Where in a Herrelldrin Hell were Deb-Lu and Khe-Hi?

Delia still held my arm, and I felt her firm grip as a solid comfort. Seg breathed evenly and lightly and Inch was running his fingers up and down the haft of his great Saxon pattern axe. Just to the rear of Delia stood some of her Jikai Vuvushis, and these Battle Maidens, as she had told me, were not all from the Sisters of the Rose. As I turned my head to look back to follow Carazaar's hectic career across the heavens, his cloud-supported, flame-encrusted throne swooped down and out of sight below. My gaze, following him, was arrested by the group of women.

Clad in fighting gear, lissom and strong, firm of feature, they presented a picture that could only be described as noble. About to turn back I halted as one Jikai Vuvushi spoke to her companion. She was a Hikdar, and although I was a mere man, I knew she was a member of the Sisters of Voxyra. Her face was very pale under the tan and two globules of sweat trickled down her temples from under her helmet. She leaned closer to the Hikdar at her side, and although she intended a whisper, I did not doubt, her words reached me clearly.

“I knew ill would come of it, Scanda, when the prayer-idol of Our Lady Zunida the Laudable was stolen—"

“Hush, Merle,” whispered back Hikdar Scanda. “Our Lady will still protect us."

“Oh, yes. But I still wish I knew who had stolen her prayer-idol."

This tiny fragment of conversation, caught and held like a stray fish in a net, lasted only for a heartbeat or so, and then I was back with the pressing disasters of the moment. There was time for me to wonder who would wish to steal a prayer-idol of a minor and semi-secret religious sect of whom I had heard no ill word.

Seg growled out: “We'll have to go down, my old dom."

“Aye,” said Inch, meaningfully.

The chiefs of my Guard Corps, assembled on the deck of Shankjid, clearly shared that pragmatic view.

Stonily, I spoke in a loud voice so that all might hear. “Give San Quienyin and San Bjanching a little more time."

A little sigh like a summer breeze across a cornfield rippled across the crowded deck. The barrage of coughing lessened. I said, speaking curtly: “Go see where that devil in his flying throne has got to."

I was surprised to see Cadet Nalgre ti Mornlad come racing back with the information. He must have smuggled himself aboard from Dovad Daisy, probably with Sternum's help. He yelped: “He's going up again!"

With that the coruscating throne skittered into view on the other beam and swung in a wide arc over us. Carazaar was watching us, ready to counter any move we might make.

“By Ngrozyan the Axe!” snarled Inch. “I'd like to—"

“Quite, dear,” said Sasha, staring venomously at the glittering glory of evil flying high over us.

“Is there nothing we can do?” demanded Milsi, furiously.

Seg lifted and lowered that famous Lohvian longbow. “It's wizard's work now, my heart."

“And have they migrated to Cottmer's Caverns?” Delia fairly ripped it out. “By Vox! We must do something!"

Yet we all knew there was nothing sensible we could do until our comrade Wizards of Loh had completed their thaumaturgy.

Nalgre the Erkensator walked across with a pewter tray loaded with goblets of sazz. Delia snapped out: “See that everyone has a drink, Nalgre, please. It's going to be thirsty work soon."

“Quidang, jes."

The sazz was flavored with blackcurrant and tickled my throat going down. Carazaar carried out another circle, flaming like a comet across the heavens. The lads shifted from foot to foot, and managed to remain steady. What was going on aboard the other ships of the fleet I hated to imagine. They were all flying flags that implored action.

Without any rush of displaced air—for he was not really there at all—Deb-Lu appeared once more on the deck before me.

His wise old face looked haggard. “It Is Accomplished, Jak.” He swallowed. “Khe-Hi calls down the blessings and the protection of the Seven Arcades upon your head. Go with Opaz."

I was standing on a yellow soft surface that undulated like a cranky boat in a seaway. Tall twisting smoke pillars rose ahead and the sky was a mere yellow shell of fire. A breeze blew into my face bringing the stinks of the charnel house, yet the wind did not disturb my hair or bend the rising columns of smoke. All about me hung a yellow luminosity.

Out from the opening between the smoke columns waddled a creature of nightmare. Two scaled and stunted legs supported a torso and a flat squamous head, its eyes filled with malice below naked bone ridges. Four tentacular arms weaved patterns in the air before the thing, and each arm bore a round head with twin eyes alongside a wide and fang-filled mouth. I'd had a mouthful of arm scrunched off by one of those heads, and I'd lopped the four of them, and thrust my sword into the thing's guts. But it had not been killed. Oh, no. For this was Arzuriel, Carazaar's pet horror.

Arzuriel waddled directly towards me and I leaped forward.

Before, he and his master had delayed me long enough to prevent me saving the life of San Tuong Mishuro. Now they were trying to delay me so that the Fish Faces could complete their victory over us.

The Krozair brand switched up and sideways and down and across four times. Four round furiously snapping heads rolled upon the yellow cloud.

Hurdling the collapsing body I recognized well enough that this was not the end of Arzuriel, for he was a multi-dimensional creature.

The ground swayed and I judged it to be a cloud, the same damned cloud Carazaar and his confounded throne chair were riding upon!

Through the pillars of smoke I leaped and heat smote me. Just ahead a wall of smoke and flame broke up, blindingly, streaking all my vision with black tears. I didn't think. I just put my head down and went blindly hurtling on. I crashed through the wall of fire. Scorching heat stung my body. I felt the breath burning my lungs. Then I was through and there he was, there he was, the arch devil himself!

Instantly a long Lohvian black-fletched arrow spat viciously past my left ear.

The keening hissing voice said: “Stand, Dray Prescot. Stand still!"

That was N'gil, the little leech-like miscegenation of fish and some other unholy offspring. The red gash of his mouth opened across the corpse-gray of his face. “Your forces suffer destruction!"

Now was this little unhealthy lot still an apparition? I did not think so. I realized then as I plunged on just what Deb-Lu and Khe-Hi had accomplished.

Another arrow zinged in and this time it was aimed to strike. Remembering my previous doleful thoughts concerning these Bowmaids of Loh's possible ability to shoot magical shafts that I could not deflect, I dodged aside and ran on. Another arrow flew.

This time I had to knock it aside with the longsword. The feel and sound as the brand struck the shaft aside came most sweetly to me.

“Stop, Dray Prescot!” The wheezing voice of Carazaar came like a freezing breath from the Ice Floes of Sicce. “You do ill here!"

The footing across the yellow cloud might be treacherous. I'd learned to hold a balance running out along the yardarm on a dirty night. I fairly flew along, and now I was knocking shafts out of the air with contemptuous ease. I was wrought up. I admit that. This stinking devil in his throne stood for all the things I and my friends were combating in Paz on Kregen. He would drag us all down and see us all slain or enslaved just so his friends the Shanks could ride triumphant over us. Well, I'd have him! Oh, yes, I admit it, I admit it, I, Dray Prescot, went plunging headlong on, in as furious a frame a mind as I'd ever been in.

That demonic frame of mind would easily encompass the destruction of the Bowmaids of Loh. They worked for this devil; ergo, they must be obliterated with him, along with his pets.

He was no apparition. My Krozair brand would slice through his body and bring the blood spurting out. The sharp point would burst his heart. The keen edge would slit his throat. I knew if I once hit him I would not stop until he was ripped and torn into tiny pieces.

Carazaar's devilish face, scraped white, pinched, reflected a sudden, new and shocking concept. His eyes of that elusive blue-black hue with the mad glare of rhodopsin, smoky red, glared hotly upon me. Over the yellow cloud I raced on. I was nearer now, nearer than he could ever have expected. A hissing snarl of warning spat from N'gil.

I quite expected Carazaar to lift the double-handed axe, double-bitted, and step down from his throne to challenge me.

Some hope!

He cursed at the Bowmaids, and their leader answered tartly. I braced myself. His sorcery was very great. It is a nonsense to imagine a simple fighting man with his sword can take on and successfully defeat a wizard in full possession of his magical skills. All this now was taking place only because sorcery was acting against sorcery.

From the figure of Carazaar in the throne a figure of Carazaar picked up the axe and stepped down onto the yellow cloud. Carazaar sat in his throne surrounded by his pets, his chail sheom, his creatures, and Carazaar strutted before me, axe cocked over his shoulder, smoldering eyes boring into mine, ready to fight!

Had, I wondered, Deb-Lu and Khe-Hi foreseen this?

Which of these two devils was real, which was the apparition?

With a snarl as vicious as his own I hurtled on. There was only one way to find out now!

Abruptly, shockingly, just before I reached him—there were two Carazaars before me, and the third laughing in the throne!

A two-handed axe against a two-handed sword.

It all depends on skill.

Perhaps this bastard for all his cleverness and sorcery was not aware of what a Krozair longsword was capable of. He pressed on—both of him pressed on—confidently. I used a neat and subtle twin-attack devised by Pur Zanath na Zenrik three hundred seasons ago. The Krozair brand sliced left and spilled one set of guts through the scale mail, then, without halting, checked the sweep of the second axe and so drove the point into the second set of guts.

I stepped back.

The two bodies vanished before they hit the yellow cloud.

There was no sign of the Bowmaids.

N'gil was shrieking unintelligibly.

The little scaled creature by his right boot jumped up and down in a frenzy against his chains.

The two naked girls, one with streaming yellow hair, the other with short dark hair, stirred, and turned, and looked at me. I saw the entreaty in their eyes. I leaned forward with a snarl.

The Krozair blade, darkly stained, lifted. It slashed down.

That superb sword sliced empty air.

Carazaar and his minions were gone. The smoke wafted away. The yellow cloud thinned and dissipated. I was falling.

Clutching with the grip of death onto the hilt of my sword I fell. Down and down I plummeted and all about me the bright air rang and resounded with the awful din of battle.

That hell-spawned hell-hound of evil had escaped!

I turned over slowly in the air and saw below me the city spread out and the smoke and flame, the battling hordes caught in the frenzy of combat. The ships carrying my Guard Corps were landing, row after row. A change had overtaken the fight. No longer were Kirsty's people running. No longer were the forces of Paz reeling back. Now they were advancing, pressing on, grimly determined to clinch the victory.

Carazaar's baleful influence had been banished.

That was most satisfactory. As for me—well, I was like to hit the ground so hard I'd drill a personal hole right down to Cottmer's Caverns.

A feather-light touch held me. I was still descending. But now I was going down slowly, gently, and when I hit the ground I'd feel no more than if I'd jumped off the back of a zorca.

“Good old Deb-Lu and Khe-Hi!” I said aloud.

They had successfully placed me on the same plane as that occupied by Carazaar. Rightly, they had foreseen dangers. As I saw it, Carazaar's nerve had failed. There was no doubt at all in my mind that he could have summoned up demons, monsters of unspeakable horror. He had chosen to test me himself—even if he'd cheated and used two facsimiles. The very swiftness of my Krozair attack and the sudden double destruction in the midst of his own self-assurance had undone him. And bad cess to him!

Also, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that we hadn't seen the last of Carazaar.

As I drifted feather-light into the conflict, the strongest conviction was borne in on me that Carazaar had too much invested in all that had gone before, all his schemes, all his dreams of impossible dominion, to fade from the scene now.

Oh, no, that rast would be back.

Then all that dire speculation was washed away in the sight of what was going on in one of the town's squares. A mass of struggling Fish Faces and Katakis surged like stampeding cattle. Many ran and fell to be trampled by their fellows. Many threw away their weapons. A few, a very few, trapped at the tail of the rout, attempted to strike back at what pursued them. At what pursued them! What a sight they made, the brumbytes of the Fifth Phalanx, helmets low, shields high, pikes all in line and thrusting remorselessly on! Nothing could stand in the way of that headlong charge. Over the din of battle rang the chanted paeans of the brumbytes, fierce, devoted pikemen, grim in their dedication to their corps, to their leader and to Vallia.

Slanting in my fall, I saw I would pass over that square and touch down in a cross street a few blocks further on.

Here I landed with a spring in my legs, instantly ready for action. A group of Schtarkins rushed crazily down the street pursued by a bunch of my lads from 3EYJ. There was no mistaking their yellow jackets and the ferocity of their onslaught. All over the city brilliant little cameos like this were being enacted as our forces mopped up the enemy.

They hullabalooed on and vanished past the corner. Directly across the side street the swift stumbling forms of Katakis burst into view. The whiptails were now clearly ruing their alliance with the Shanks. The magnificently uniformed troopers of Karidge's EDLG galloped after them and great was the execution thereof. Then I looked again, and blinked and smiled. Amidst all the clamor of battle there was no mistaking the stentorian bellow of the massive figure astride a zorca urging on a running group of swordsmen. Nath Javed, Old Hack ‘n’ Slay, was in there with the best, hurling his brigade on to the utter destruction of the foe.

In the momentum of the pursuit he did not spot me in the shadows of the buildings. I did not call out. He had his duty to perform and he would carry out that duty whilst breath persisted in his body.

Now there was no doubt we had the upper hand in Taranjin. The baleful influence of Carazaar had been removed. If the Shanks did not take to their ships and escape then none would survive.

I cut through an alley and came out unexpectedly onto a scene I had no wish to see. Four Katakis surrounded the lissom form of a girl. She fought them magnificently with rapier and Claw, striking and dancing as though limned in light. I recognized Deldar Paline Asatha and in the instant I dashed forward a cruel trident thrust past her defense and stabbed her in the body. She did not fall and her Claw sliced the face from the whiptail. But she had been sorely hurt. She stumbled. Then I took the head off the nearest Kataki in a spouting welter of blood. The other two span about and the Krozair brand lunged between corselet rim and helmet of the first, withdrew and twitched across to slice the right arm from the other. He screamed incredulously and Paline put her rapier neatly into his eye.

The Jikai Vuvushi looked at me with wide, drugged eyes.

I caught her in the crook of my left arm. “It is all right, Paline. You've done for them."

“Majister!” Blood welled up between her lips. Gently I placed her on the ground and stripped clothes from the Katakis to cover her, keep her warm. “The Puncture Ladies will be here directly."

“Majister.” She reached up a blood-dabbled hand, trying to form words. “The Empress! The Katakis—"

I felt all my blood rush to my head so that I thought my skull would explode.

Then I felt deathly cold.

“Paline! Where—?"

She pointed across the street into the continuation of the alley.

I remember the coldness of the alley and the stroke of the Suns across my head as I burst into the avenue beyond. They must have recognized the worth of their prisoner, and slavers to their cores determined to gain some merchandise from this debacle. They were just mounting up. Their zorcas looked a mettlesome bunch, and there were more zorcas than Katakis after the battle. They saw me. Delia was lying unconscious across a zorca and the Kataki's snaggle-fanged mouth split into a derisive and hating grin. He gave his animal a thwack and he bounded off. There were six others and they galloped off after their leader.

The zorca didn't particularly want me to mount up. He tried to curvet away, and I had absolutely no remorse as, zorca-man though I am, I gave him a belt to make him behave. He quietened and I flung myself on his back. The whiptails carrying Delia off were now spurring down the street. I could see no one else in view. I gave the zorca the flat of my blade and he started and neighed and then went hell for leather after the others.

I'd catch them. I'd catch all seven of them and I'd slay all seven of them. No one was going to take my Delia from me, my Delia of Delphond, my Delia of the Blue Mountains.

The zorca ran because he understood a demon sat on his back and would unhesitatingly lash him without mercy. I hit him again. We were catching the Katakis. One looked back and yelled.

The stench of battle, the noise, the sights, all flowed away into a hollow silence between my ears. I could see only Delia and the Katakis. A blue mist hovered before my eyes. I felt cold.

At first I didn't understand, so wrapped up in agony and fury and determination. Then I did understand.

I did not want to believe.

“No!” I screamed it up as I'd never shrieked at the Star Lords before. “No! Give me time, give me time!"

The blue mist thickened. I lost sight of the whiptails and Delia. All around me the blueness grew. The shape of the phantom Scorpion hovered above, gigantic, absolute, not to be ignored.

Up I went. Up and up, drawn into the blueness of the Scorpion of the Everoinye. There was no arbitration. The Star Lords wanted me.

Screaming incoherently, I felt myself flung into the gulfs of nothingness, bathed in cold, destroyed to my heart, whilst my Delia was hurried off into a captivity I could not contemplate in reason.

Delia! Delia! Delia! Ahead of me lay only a black nothingness.

[Back to Table of Contents]

About the author

Alan Burt Akers was a pen name of the prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer, who died in December 2005 aged eighty-four.

Bulmer wrote over 160 novels and countless short stories, predominantly science fiction, both under his real name and numerous pseudonyms, including Alan Burt Akers, Frank Brandon, Rupert Clinton, Ernest Corley, Peter Green, Adam Hardy, Philip Kent, Bruno Krauss, Karl Maras, Manning Norvil, Chesman Scot, Nelson Sherwood, Richard Silver, H. Philip Stratford, and Tully Zetford. Kenneth Johns was a collective pseudonym used for a collaboration with author John Newman. Some of Bulmer's works were published along with the works of other authors under “house names” (collective pseudonyms) such as Ken Blake (for a series of tie-ins with the 1970s television programme The Professionals), Arthur Frazier, Neil Langholm, Charles R. Pike, and Andrew Quiller.

Bulmer was also active in science fiction fandom, and in the 1970s he edited nine issues of the New Writings in Science Fiction anthology series in succession to John Carnell, who originated the series.

More details about the author, and current links to other sources of information, can be found at www.mushroom-ebooks.com, and at wikipedia.org.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Dray Prescot Series

The Delian Cycle:

1. Transit to Scorpio

2. The Suns of Scorpio

3. Warrior of Scorpio

4. Swordships of Scorpio

5. Prince of Scorpio

Havilfar Cycle:

6. Manhounds of Antares

7. Arena of Antares

8. Fliers of Antares

9. Bladesman of Antares

10. Avenger of Antares

11. Armada of Antares

The Krozair Cycle:

12. The Tides of Kregen

13. Renegade of Kregen

14. Krozair of Kregen

Vallian cycle:

15. Secret Scorpio

16. Savage Scorpio

17. Captive Scorpio

18. Golden Scorpio

Jikaida cycle:

19. A Life for Kregen

20. A Sword for Kregen

21. A Fortune for Kregen

22. A Victory for Kregen

Spikatur cycle:

23. Beasts of Antares

24. Rebel of Antares

25. Legions of Antares

26. Allies of Antares

Pandahem cycle:

27. Mazes of Scorpio

28. Delia of Vallia

29. Fires of Scorpio

30. Talons of Scorpio

31. Masks of Scorpio

32. Seg the Bowman

Witch War cycle:

33. Werewolves of Kregen

34. Witches of Kregen

35. Storm over Vallia

36. Omens of Kregen

37. Warlord of Antares

Lohvian cycle:

38. Scorpio Reborn

39. Scorpio Assassin

40. Scorpio Invasion

41. Scorpio Ablaze

42. Scorpio Drums

43. Scorpio Triumph

Balintol cycle:

44. Intrigue of Antares

45. Gangs of Antares

46. Demons of Antares

47. Scourge of Antares

48. Challenge of Antares

49. Wrath of Antares

50. Shadows over Kregen

Phantom cycle:

51. Murder on Kregen

52. Turmoil on Kregen

Visit www.mushroom-ebooks.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.