The Lohvian Cycle II

Chapter two

Chapter twoHeld 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 r******w 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]

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]

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. Someday, 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.