Chapter four“You call me notor,” said Strom Hangol ham Finral as I wheeled to a halt facing him with guards either side of me and prodding me on from the rear. “You are accused of deserting the caravan you were sworn to protect.”
He sat at a table on which rested a large double-bitted axe and a clepsydra just turned. The water dropping down was stained a pleasant pink color. Around us in the early rays of the twin suns, the caravan breakfasted preparatory to moving off. Smoke and cooking odors wafted. The day would be fine. Also, if this buffoon of a strom sitting in judgment on me couldn’t be made to see sense, it could be the day on Kregen I breathed my last. Or, at the least, suffered some horrendous punishment.
I said: “I did not desert,” and the sounds were like those of a bosk with his snout in the trough.
“The fellow is an i***t as well,” observed the thin-faced ascetic in the blue robe standing just to Strom Hangol’s rear. His face would have served as the model for the chunk of cheese one places in the mousetrap.
“Or he just pretends, San Hargon.”
As Hangol spoke so the early suns light flashed from the silver mask covering the right side of his face. That had not been visible when he’d trotted past below and Mevancy had stood up. The metal might be a mask; equally it could be a replacement skin.
The easy assumption could be made that the disfigurement necessitating the wearing of a mask had scored deeply into Hangol’s sanity, that he would like to serve the rest of the world of Kregen as he had been served. Well, just because easy assumptions are that does not automatically debar them from accuracy. I own I rather wished Vad Leotes had been sitting there in judgment on me; my impressions of him had been cautiously favorable. Whilst I realize the following remark must expose my own overweening self-importance which I deplore and which had been very necessary during my time as Emperor of Vallia, I saw that as an emperor I could have turned Vad Leotes into a useful and loyal noble devoted to the crown. Still, those days were gone. Now I had to manipulate these nobles in other ways.
“Give him a prod, you,” said Hangol to the guard on my left. He obediently thrust the butt end of his spear into my side. I was not bound. My hands were free. I moved to slide the blow and ease the spear away and the butt end thwacked me in the side. I let out a gasp. By the Black Chunkrah! I was abso-zigging-lutely useless!
I opened my mouth and gargled, trying to force coherent words out.
The ascetic in the blue robe spoke primly: “An idiot.”
“It seems you are right, San. No wonder the caravan succumbed with onkers like this to guard it. It is quite clear the fellow is of no use.” He picked up the double-bitted axe. “Take him away and execute him.”
I tried to shout and the guards twitched me around with contemptuous ease. Strom Hangol rose from the table, turning to speak in a perfectly normal voice to the ascetic. “I trust our discourse today will yield sweeter fruit than yesterday’s, San.”
To which San Hargon replied in a smooth and smarmy voice: “It is my intention to take chapter eleven of Beng Loshner’s ‘Active Principles’ as our starting point.” The two walked off, already oblivious to anyone else.
So I tried to struggle and was hoicked up like a chicken and carted off feet first.
How incongruous my megalomaniac thoughts regarding emperors and their handling of lords, and my present position, in which a vad hadn’t even bothered to sit in judgment on me and had left it to his assistant, a strom!
They took me a little way off among thorn bushes. No doubt they did not wish to disturb the stomachs of the breakfasters. This was the first breakfast; the second, if taken at all, would be taken en route. I saw Llodi with Nath and Scrimshi walking up to the guards holding me.
“I’m not surprised.” Scrimshi gave his opinion heavily. “The fool deserves all he gets.”
“Better for him, really,” said Nath. “To be out of the way.”
“I dunno.” Llodi’s magnificent fissured nose shone in light and shadow like a mountain range. His cheeks were leathery, fissured, and shone in a similar if less formidable way. “Pity for him, being an i***t an’ all.”
“You wanta do the job,” snarled one of the guards holding me. “You do it. Otherwise push off, schtump!”
Scrimshi snarled in reply: “I’ll have your liver and lights one day, Nalgre the Pock!”
The guards were no longer holding me. They dropped me onto the dusty ground. As I fell I managed to twist so that I might have a grandstand view of the coming brawl. I quite cheered up.
These caravan mercenaries were sensible enough not to draw weapons one against another. No doubt long held resentments had to break out every now and then. Human nature is petty at times, and as these guards were all apims they could knock one another down with a gusto that had nothing of inter-racial prejudice about it. Dust rose. I managed to stand up and started off for the shelter of the nearest bush. I saw Llodi give a big bull-headed fellow a roundhouse to the jaw and then jump and kick him in the guts and I winced. Scrimshi was down and Nalgre the Pock was sitting on him and bashing his head against the dirt. I nodded sagely.
Once I had the bush fairly between the brawl and me, I paused to try to think what to do next. By Krun! I was in a pretty pickle and no mistake!
The animal lines were busy as the outriders saddled up. Breakfast fires were being doused. Tents that before had risen in considerable numbers were now absent, and the last few were coming down in billows of canvas. Noise and smells and dust and slanting suns shine, all was a flicker and a bedlam to that side; this side lay only the open wasteland.
I had aims in life.
Quite apart from the necessary aim of staying alive, I had grand visions of what might be made of our grouping of continents and islands called Paz upon the surface of Kregen. I wanted diff and apim to live together in harmony in all the lands, and not just in those already with liberal policies. I wanted to make sure the evil cult of Lem the Silver Leem was abolished never to be resurrected to the torture and destruction of little girls. I wanted to make of the Kroveres of Iztar a band of people devoted to furthering these grand aims of making of Kregen a better place — given that better in this context meant what I and my friends considered better. Perhaps above all I was committed to resisting the invasions and wanton slaughter by the Shanks, the fish heads from over the curve of the world. In this last, I knew, I had the blessing of the Everoinye.
Oh, yes, by Zair, there was so very much I had yet to accomplish in this terrible and beautiful world of Kregen, four hundred light years from the planet of my birth.
I stared at that open wasteland.
To venture out there, even if I had health and strength, a fleet zorca and a full water bottle, would be an enterprise fraught with peril. No. Despite all seeming, I had a better chance within the caravan — if I could so arrange matters to my own advantage.
The brawl roared on, blood flowing from noses, eyes closing, fists lashing, knuckles skinning. Nalgre the Pock was down with Llodi sitting on his head as Scrimshi scrambled up, blood flowing from his nose, roaring. Nath gave his fellow a shrewd blow betwixt wind and water and, suddenly, it was all over. Llodi let Nalgre up and he and his two fellows ran off.
“Well,” said Nath, feeling a newly loose tooth. “I quite enjoyed that, by Lohrhiang of the Waters.”
“I’ll do for that Nalgre one of these days,” growled Scrimshi, exploring his nose. “And we’re left with the prisoner.”
“Is that our business?” demanded Nath.
“Fambly! Of course it is. We’ve stopped a detail carrying out a duty and we’ll get it in the neck when Strom Hangol finds out. So—”
“So,” said Llodi, and he spoke heavily. “We must carry out that duty ourselves.” He looked around. “At least, we can send him off to the Death Jungles of Sichaz all clean and tidy. That lot would’ve played with him first, the shints.”
The Death Jungles of Sichaz. That was what folk down here in Loh called the Ice Floes of Sicce.
“Aye,” said Nath. “Unhealthy folk, those.”
“They get pleasure out of it,” said Scrimshi, wincing as he felt his nose. “Well, we’d better get on with it.”
They picked up their strangdjas and walked across to my bush and I realized how ludicrous and pathetic had been my attempt at escape.
So I stood up. In that moment blazing anger was replaced by black amusement. That I, Dray Prescot, with all these resounding titles and all these fabulous deeds to my name, should be chopped in the dust of some forgotten desert somewhere in Southern Loh. Well, wherever death finds you out, that spot does tend to figure large and importantly in your scheme of life.
“I just hope he don’t make a fuss,” mumbled Llodi.
“He’s big and ugly enough for two, anyway,” said Nath. “I’ll hold him.”
Scrimshi took his strangdja in two fists and gave a couple of preparatory swings. The strangdja varies in form, pattern and size; essentially it is like a large holly leaf fashioned from honed steel cunningly sharpened and mounted on a shaft. It is, indeed, in skilled hands, a feared weapon.
The ferocious holly-leaf shaped head glittered blindingly in the light of the suns as Scrimshi swung the weapon up. Beyond his upraised arms I saw a small cavalcade of riders pace into view past the thorn bushes. In the lead rode Vad Leotes deep in conversation with Mevancy. The riders looked disheveled, many no longer had their lances, and some were wounded. They headed towards a marquee that had not so far been pulled down. This would be Leotes’ tent, I surmised. I opened my mouth and croaked garbled sounds.
Nath said, sharply: “Get on with it, Scrimshi! There’s the vad and we want this done before he finds out.”
As he spoke Nath gestured vehemently, releasing me.
For me to try to shout was totally useless. I could not run, for I could barely totter. I just hoped my strength was up to the trick that was all I had left to play. These three would butcher me without thought as a duty that must be performed. I bent down.
There was no time to be fussy. I picked the first stone to hand, stood up as tall and straight as I could, and hurled the stone. It struck Leotes on the side. I gasped. Thank Zair my aim was good! Scrimshi roared in frightened anger and slashed the strangdja down.
With a tiny fragment of my Krozair skills I managed to stagger sideways and the blow missed. Nath jumped for me to pinion me like a chicken for the chop. Scrimshi was making a frightful noise through his squashed nose.
Leaning sideways I surged the other way and had as much chance of avoiding Nath’s clutching arms as a ponsho has of evading the jaws of a leem.
Twisted around and held fast, I saw the glitter of the strangdja. I tried to kick and could not. The leaf-shaped spikes would rip my head off.
“Stand perfectly still, strangdjim!”
The brilliant head wavered, descended, and then held steadily aloft.
I swallowed down.
By Krun!
“Bring him over here.”
Llodi was the first to obey the vad’s orders. He took me by the left bicep and ran me across to Leotes. I say ran, I tottered and Llodi held me up.
Up on his zorca and blazing in the early light of the suns, Leotes looked impossibly tall and resplendent. His red moustaches curled splendidly.
“Is this the man, Mevancy?”
“It is, Leotes.”
Oho! I said to myself. They’re on first name terms already, without the lord and lady. Very cozy!
She leaned from the saddle and looked at me.
“We have been searching for you for a long time, cabbage. I told you not to run off.”
“For your sake I am glad the man is found. Now, by Beng Trunter the Nosher, I am famished! Let us eat both breakfasts in one before we resume our journey. The caravan may proceed ahead of us.” Leotes lifted his gauntleted hand. “Give this man food and drink and clean him up and bring him to me when I rejoin the caravan.”
“Quidang, lynxor! At once, Lynxor!”
Oh, yes, this Leotes ran a tight ship, all right!
Mevancy favored me with a long downdrawn look; but she said nothing further. She looked just a little frazzled around the edges, a mite tired. I own I had to feel genuine gratitude for her actions. Clearly she’d returned with Leotes from their attempt to rescue the captives from our caravan and, not finding me where she’d left me, had persuaded the vad to search. Yes, a resourceful, persuasive and most high and mighty miss, this Mevancy!
There was no difficulty in guessing why the three strangdjims took such good care of me after that. They had been deputed to care, so they did. Also, and with my knowledge of the tricks of a soldier’s or mercenary’s life, best exemplified by the mythical figure of Vikatu the Dodger, I could see by devoting themselves to me — on the vad’s orders! — they got out of other and much more unpleasant duties.
So we all settled down to a splendid feast of the left-overs from the cooks’ tent and when we’d bloated ourselves out I had a dry-wash and my hair was brushed and I began to look presentable.
The last few carts were trundling off and only the beasts and carts that would take the vad’s gear remained. Nath went off, to return shortly with one zorca, one lictrix and two preysanys. Here was revealed a distinction between these three mercenaries. They were all three ordinary mercenaries; none wore the silver pakmort or golden pakzhan at throat, pinned up with silk. Scrimshi mounted up on the zorca and Nath on the lictrix. So that left Llodi and me to straddle the preysanys.
These three might be only ordinary mercenaries, hired caravan guards; they knew the ropes. When the vad at last indicated that he was ready to proceed we trundled gently along with the other riders and carts, and these three hadn’t done a stroke of work in getting the caravan under way.
They’d stick to this duty like glue, keep out of everybody’s way, and hope their lazy life would continue for as long as the journey.
A corpulent, choleric, contuming Deldar rode up astride a zorca and started shouting. Well, of course, that last remark is superfluous. All Deldars shout. It is habitual to them to pass on the orders from the higher officers to the men.
“You three lolly-gagging layabouts! I’ll have you. Where have you been hiding? Get on about outpost. You, Scrimshi, take point! Bratch!”
“Can’t do it, Del.” Scrimshi sounded as though he was in pain, so much was he enjoying himself. “Direct orders from the vad. Gotta take care of this fambly. Daren’t let him outta my sight.”
“Do what?”
“That’s right, Del,” amplified Nath, expansive with good humor. “The vad detailed us special. Can’t leave him.”
The Deldar’s leather harness swelled. His beetroot red face went redder. He took another rib-straining breath. “I’ll give you three heart beats to get on duty. One! Two!”
“Del!” interrupted Llodi, urgently. “Don’t say Three! It’s true. We’ve gotta take this fambly to the vad soon’s we rejoin the caravan.” He gestured. “Well, look at him. He ain’t all there and what with the vad’s new fancy lady looking out for him an’ all—”
“Yeh,” said the Deldar. “I saw her.”
“You see?”
“You’ve got away with it this time. But there’ll be a next time. I’ll have you three, I’ll have your ears toasted for breakfast.”
After the Deldar had taken himself off to rouse out some other unfortunates to ride point and flank, Scrimshi and Nath rolled about in their saddles laughing. Llodi laughed, too.
They were chortling so much they were quite unprepared for the presence and the voice that flayed across like an icicle knife.
“What is this creature doing here, alive, instead of dead and Rippasch meat?”
The change in demeanor of the three strangdjim was remarkable.
Their laughter ceased abruptly. Their faces tautened. They stiffened up in their saddles. They made the rote response.
“Lynxor!”
“I asked a question, shints! You—” he pointed at Llodi. “Speak!”
“Yes, lynxor. We must care for him—”
“I gave orders that he be executed at once.” The voice softened. “Why did you disobey my orders?”
“The vad, lynxor! He told us. We must report to the vad with him.”
The streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio flashed off the silver mask covering the right side of his face. That glorious suns light looked cold as though the reflection drained the color and brilliance.
Strom Hangol ham Finral stared at me. He was arrogance personified, of course, a person who reveled in power over others; now the name of Vad Leotes held him in check. His look would have withered the stoutest heart of the wrongdoers paraded before him for punishment.
“I shall not forget this,” he said, and his voice shook with passion. “I shall remember you, rast, and see you are put where you deserve to be. By Lem, I’ll not be thwarted by the likes of a yetch like you!”
With that he slashed with his riding crop full at my face.
Oh, yes, I was suffering from the effects of the paralysis, I was weak, without strength; all the same, I remained a Krozair of Zy. I still possessed the old Krozair skills, even if my puniness diluted their shattering effectiveness. I moved my head sideways and the blow rattled down on my shoulder. I reached up to take the crop away from this fellow; but he was far too quick and the crop whistled up beyond my reach. Then his zorca reared and he fought the reins and clung on.
Llodi called: “Your pardon, lynxor! We must take him to the vad in good condition!”
Hangol’s nostrils pinched in. His helmet framed the viciousness of his face. Oh, of course, one can see his point of view. His authority, he would think, had been undermined, without thinking beyond his own immediate self-importance. But had he been your proper officer in the first place, this humiliating contretemps would not have arisen.
Without another word he galloped off.
“A nasty one that,” said Llodi, shaking his head. “If he’s your enemy, then may the wise and good Tsung-Tan have you in his keeping.”