The Spectre Cycle

Chapter one

Chapter oneRumors of the activities of slavers had brought us flying to Djasra Island and now as we sat our mounts and looked through a thin screen of trees onto the beach we saw that rumor had not lied.

“By the Veiled Froyvil, my old dom! We can’t have this!”

My blade comrade Seg’s strong handsome face glowered with loathing upon the scene on the beach where coffles of men, women and children shuffled in their chains down to the waiting boats. Offshore, three fat-bellied argenters rode at anchor with furled sails, already low in the water from their ghastly freight.

“We shall,” said my blade comrade Inch, freeing his long-handled axe, “have to teach a lesson here as well as freeing the people.”

There was no way I could disagree with that sentiment. Yet — there were but a score of us and the slavers down there numbered at least fifty. The Suns of Scorpio blazed in molten ruby and jade overhead, the scents of flowers filled the bright air with heady perfumes, birds sang and cavorted, and we chosen brethren of the Kroveres of Iztar must ride down and risk all to follow the precepts of our self-imposed duty.

“Benighted Whiptails!” quoth Nath Javed, quietening the zorca between his knees. “Hack ’n’ Slay ’em all!”

For, yes, indeed, the slavers were Katakis, as unpleasant a race of diffs as you’d ever wish to cross swords with on a wet and murky night.

The captured people down there were ordinary normal folk, farmers mostly, earning an honest living from the land. And now these Opaz-forsaken Katakis had swooped and swept them up in iron chains. Already the dismal moaning floated mournfully into the bright suns-shine of the morning. Oh, yes, by Vox, twenty against fifty or a hundred or even more — we Kroveres of Iztar knew well what was required of us.

No use lollygagging about then. Beyond the screen of trees the beach trended away in a slope that began steeply enough and evened out as the sand was washed by the waves. This was going to be a full-blooded charge, a whoop and holler helter-skelter, by Krun!

The smells of oiled leather and steel, the warm friendly animal scent of the zorcas, surrounded us. Sober reflection showed me instantly that this was not a holler and a whoop attack. Oh, no.

Seg unslung his Great Lohvian Longbow. “When you reach the bottom of the slope.” He selected a shaft with finicky precision.

Feeling the pressures of the moment, I said: “What d’you think? Four? Five? A talen apiece?”

“Done, my old dom, and you’ll be poorer tonight. Ha!”

I lifted in my stirrups and looked left and right. The lads were as bonny a bunch as you could hope to meet. Naturally, Korero the Shield drew a sword and pushed the two shields higher, and started to speak. I interrupted him with a: “And mind you don’t get killed.”

In a line we moved forward between the trees. A little breeze kicked up sandy dust from the crest as we passed. I said one more word. “Silence!” Then, free of the trees and with the beach ahead, we rode carefully down the slope. At the foot I sensed the tensing up, the gathering together, of the lads. Side by side, comrades in arms, we charged.

Spiral horns thrusting onward, polished hooves kicking sand, all the passionate animate beauty of the zorcas expressed itself as sublime poetry in that headlong charge. Lance heads with their brave scarlet and yellow pennons fluttering lowered into a wicked hedge. Onwards we rushed over the beach, nearer and nearer the damned Whiptails.

Clearly, just like an image seen through a telescope, circumscribed, I saw a Kataki lifting his heavy whip to bring the lash down across the naked back of a woman stumbling to her knees under her chains. Abruptly, the Kataki stood up, stiff, rigid. The whip dropped from his hand. He turned like a marionette, and fell face-first into the sand. From his back sprouted the long Lohvian arrow.

The first one to Seg, then.

There is no archer in all of Kregen — or all of Earth, come to that — who can compare with the incomparable Seg Segutorio. A second Kataki spun around with the smashing force of the shaft through his neck above the corselet rim. Two down. By this time the slavers, preoccupied with their favorite pastime of hitting poor people with whips, sluggishly became aware of our presence. A third Whiptail dropped and this wight let out a screech. Three to Seg.

Now our straining zorcas fleeting over the sand dragged shouts of alarm from the slavers. Katakis began to run and draw weapons and try to form some kind of defense. Katakis — so-called Jibrfarils — do have courage of a dark variety and we did not think they would just run away. They’d fight, particularly when they saw how few we were, and even more particularly in defense of their human spoils.

We hit a bunch of them as they scrambled to form up and the lances struck and swung and withdrew. The bright pennons now stained a darker red.

My lance did not break, although some did, and I went bald-headed for the next rast of a Whiptail as he flailed a sword above his miserable head. Almost he deflected the small keen lance head. The steel went in, anyway, and this time the lance snapped. I threw the stump at the next Kataki and whipped out my Krozair Longsword.

He went down screeching and an arrow snicked off my saddle and caromed away with a most unpleasant sound. In the next instant in the hubbub I spotted the shooter who was busily nocking the next shaft. Before I could urge faithful Baldik across I saw that was unnecessary so I swung the zorca the other way. A Lohvian shaft with the red fletchings from the Zim-korf had done the fellow’s business for him.

Thinking that was number four to Seg I realized it was five as the zorca nimbly avoided a sprawled Whiptail with one of Seg’s messages through his eye.

One more and I’d be paying out gold to my comrade.

And, by Krun, that’d please me mightily!

The fight had settled into a scrambling, slashing, up and down affair now. The screeching sound of blade on blade rasped the nerves. The Katakis had recovered from their initial surprise under the silence and ferocity of our attack. Now we had a battle royal on our hands.

Swirling the Krozair blade in a cunning underhand I hoicked a damned Whiptail up and over and so dispatched him down to the Ice Floes of Sicce. Recovering and looking the other way I saw a zorca standing still with head down and reins dangling. By his front hooves a man lay prostrate. His insignia were red and yellow. A welling sadness suffused through me, sadness and anger and futile remorse.

That was young Nath Arumsted ti Volsover, a new and enthusiastic member of the Kroveres of Iztar. Rather, that had been young Nath.

Three more Whiptails went down to their personal hells before I had myself fully under control. I shook blood drops from the Krozair brand. I breathed in gulps, the smell of the sea and the stink of blood coiling like a miasma. All the time the people who had been doomed to be slaves were screaming and caterwauling away in a most distressing fashion.

One or two of them tried to help, using chains or what weapons they could pick up from fallen Jibrfarils. The suddenness of our onslaught had served us well. Now we had the long slog as numbers began to tell. If more people joined us — but then, ordinary folk, even on Kregen, which is barbaric enough, Opaz knows, aren’t in the habit of snatching up swords and fighting. Although, mind you, sometimes it does seem as though battles and combats flower all the hours Opaz gives to the world.

A swift glance back to the dune crest showed a hurtling figure already at the foot of the slope and haring across the sand towards us. Good old Seg!

A fleeting glimpse of an incredibly tall fellow swinging a long-handled axe in lethal circles showed Inch was in action. Good old Inch! And, as was to be expected, the battering yells of: “Hack ’n’ Slay!” reverberated over the clangor of the combat. Good old Nath Javed, known as Old Hack ’n’ Slay.

All the brothers of the KRVI were in violent action, smiting the ungodly. The pathetic coffles of slaves lay in their chains, their eyes like curdled milk, shaking. All save those hardy few who lapped a bight of iron around a Whiptail’s throat, risking the lethal stab of the blade strapped to his tail.

I looked around for the next antagonist. Seg reined up, sword in fist.

“Any left?”

Other brothers were looking about, weapons bloodied. The slaves keened their dolorous dirge. The only Katakis we could see lay sprawled on the sand in their own blood.

I thought, but did not voice the thought, that perhaps the rightness of our purpose had conferred a victory beyond normal expectations. Certainly, we had won this battle. We had suffered two dead, Nath Arumsted, and Ornol the Firm. Sundry cuts and bruises adorned our skins; yet we still possessed our hides. Opaz be thanked!

Seg hitched his zorca around. “The boats.”

“Aye.”

Across the gap of water the three argenters were setting sail. The canvas came down and was sheeted home smartly enough; yet my old sailorman’s eye detected an odd hesitancy in the operation. Strange.

The boats in which the slaves had been transferred to the fat-bellied merchant ships lay hauled up along the shore. We’d never catch the slave ships if we pulled out. The brisk little breeze would see to that.

“Damned Whiptails,” said Inch, methodically cleaning his axe. “Don’t even bother to see if any of their friends are alive.”

“Oh, I expect they’ve had a spyglass trained on us,” Rolan Ledwidge said, starting to turn his zorca about. Rolan, a spry, useful old barnacle, had served many seasons in the Vallian Navy. “They may be Opaz confounded slavers. They ain’t stupid, no, by Corg!”

“Aye.” Seg turned his zorca. “Best get back to the flier.”

Before we returned to our voller we freed some of the slaves with keys discovered upon the bloodied bodies of Katakis. The rest of the people, overjoyed, thankful, would be released in turn.

Proper arrangements for our dead would be made later. Now we had pressing business to conclude.

The voller nestled safely among trees where we’d landed. Rollo the Runner, who was, by Krun! not so young any more, had remained aboard to maintain contact. Mind you, as a Wizard of Loh, he still was not totally happy about going into lupu and scrying out. When he heard our report, he nodded in his fresh determined way and told us that he’d go into lupu at once. His preparations included spinning about, contemplation, the concentration of all his energies, so that he could reach out through that weird other dimension frequented by mages. Everybody politely took no notice of Rollo as he brought all his faculties into a single piercing thrust of thaumaturgical power. A line of sweat glistened on his smooth forehead.

Yes, I did look covertly at him, just to make sure.

Presently he returned to the mundane world. He’d got through and the main body was on its way.

Although a natural sense of urgency gripped me, I knew we had plenty of time. Those plump argenters with their square sails and bluff bows could never outsail fliers. The problem would be to deal with the damned Katakis without harming the innocent folk.

Katakis are an unpleasant lot, to be sure. Their thick black hair is habitually oiled and curled. Their faces are a snarl of low brow, flaring nostrils, jagged snaggly teeth in a wide cruel mouth, and eyes as narrow and cold as the Ice Caves of Gundarlo. The steel blades strapped to their long whiplike tails make them dangerous foes.

Opaz-forsaken slavers!

Now we brothers of the KRVI are a hard-bitten bunch. We’ve seen, if not all, then most of it. We understand the pressures on men and women. But do not run away with the notion that we do not care, that we do not react to situations. The horrific scenes on the beach had not left us unaffected. Callousness had not overcome all human feeling. All the same, we had a task set to our hands and until that task was fulfilled and seen to be fulfilled there was no room to shake and quiver and feel sick.

As the voller soared into the bright air of Kregen, guided by the piloting skills of young Oby — who, again, by Vox, was no longer a youngster! — we could not rest until our duty was accomplished.

Somberly, I reflected that the miserable maggot-begotten Katakis might hurl the slaves over into the sea. The chains would quickly drag them down. That tactic to escape pursuit had been well-known on Earth when slavers to the Americas were being chased by the Royal Navy. Even Whiptails, who were notorious for not wishing to give up their merchandise, might do that dreadful thing.

We’d have to be ready for that and have airboats on standby to lower down to the water and snatch up the poor wretches before they sank.

Inch’s acid comment about the Whiptails not bothering to see if any of their comrades were still alive made me think on, as they say. The slavers must, as Rolan Ledwidge said, have watched us through a telescope. So they’d see how few we were. Still they hadn’t come roaring ashore brandishing weapons. With the ships laden down they were prepared to leave the last of their merchandise on the beach.

From these facts and the clumsy although reasonably rapid fashion in which they’d got under way I deduced that they were short-handed. Possibly our small force actually would outnumber the crew of each individual vessel.

By Zair! That was a mighty fine thought!

The invigorating air of Kregen blustered past as the voller sped on. The streaming mingled rays of the Suns of Scorpio shone down splendidly in a riot of reds and greens. We flew on, soaring above the countryside at no great altitude heading for the coast.

The voller’s speed would carry us swiftly to our destination; but in the time we’d taken to ride from the beach back to the flier the three argenters, despite their sluggish sailing qualities, had dropped the coast astern and were now well out to sea.

“Keep her low, Oby.” His face intent, his hands on the controls sure, Oby nodded, and in the same instant we spotted our quarry he dropped us down again out of sight.

Three ships and one voller did not add up, did not balance. We would just have to wait for the main body to reach us.

Now this did not square with my impatience. We all could visualize the conditions of horror in which the slaves were held cramped and chained below decks. The quicker we could start the quicker they’d be freed.

Yet if my optimistic deductions about the strength of the crews proved correct the two we didn’t attack could deal with their cargos before we could finish the first and get stuck into them.

Really and truly I ought not to have been surprised by the suddenness and completeness of our victory over the slavers. Truth to tell, the Brotherhood of the Kroveres of Iztar was not idly named. The Order owed allegiance to Zena Iztar, that mysterious supernatural woman of awe-inspiring powers. She bestowed ability upon us over and above that of normal men when we were engaged on the duties of the Order. Yes, we were bound by notions of honor and chivalry. We championed the weak against the strong. But our achievements for the Brotherhood could only be reached through the mystic support of Zena Iztar.

Each member of the Order could use the honor title of Ver, particular to the Brotherhood. We carried the memories of our martyrs as bright guiding lights. The first martyr for the KRVI, Dredd Pyvorr, had died on the tiny island of Nikzm, off the coast of my home island stromnate of Valka. That island was now called Drayzm, and Seg had remarked in all seriousness that we of the Order could call ourselves the Kroveres of Drayzm.

Needless to say, I shrugged that off, more than a trifle embarrassed.

After all, Seg Segutorio was the Grand Archbold of the KRVI.

As I thus ruminated these unsettling thoughts, Oby kept the voller discreetly low, occasionally lifting and dropping to continue our observation of the damned Katakis.

And — that brought to my attention the unwelcome fact that I’d given the orders, both to Oby to fly low and to the others. My blade comrade Seg was the Grand Archbold. As a comrade and true friend he’d let me have my head in my old intemperate way. This, also, was a result of the charisma, rather, the super charisma foisted off on me by a hardhearted fate, this so-called yrium that curses and blesses.

I favored Seg with a wary glance. His dark mop of hair emphasized the handsomeness of his face. His fey blue eyes, usually so merry, now stared bleakly ahead. Seven-feet tall Inch shuffled up at our backs to stare out over our heads. I felt a chill, as of a sudden blast from the Snowfields of Sandora-feyl.

Speaking carefully, each word pronounced with the utmost precision, I suggested we might drop a third of our strength upon each of the argenters.

A great meanness of spirit descended upon me at what I almost added; thankfully, I snapped my old black-fanged winespout shut in time.

For I’d almost gone on to say that Seg was the Grand Archbold of the Order and should make the decision.

The enormity of that betrayal of friendship made me brace up, I can tell you! By the barnacle on Beng Thrax’s backside! What a miserable specimen of humanity I must be even to contemplate such cowardly and dastardly an act!

Seg said: “So let’s do it.”

“Aye,” said Inch.

A muted chorus of approval and agreement rose from the brothers clustered for’ard on the deck.

Below us the sea glittered blue, above us the Suns of Scorpio slanted across a high blue sky. Yes, this was a bright bonny day on which to die.

Flags snapped against their staffs as the little breeze played with the bright colors. There were two flags there whose owners now lay sprawled in their own blood back on the beach awaiting a decent interment. Brave flags, a brave day, a brave time to go down through the encircling mists to the Ice Floes of Sicce.

This enterprise was strictly harebrained. Any emperor and leader of armies ought to be most reluctant to split his forces except in the most urgent circumstances. That, the general feeling agreed, was the case here.

Rollo would stay to fly the airboat, whose name was Pink Lily. There is no accounting for taste in these matters. I gripped the rail, staring ahead over that blue glittering sea. On Kregen eighteen divided by three comes to six, just as it does on this Earth.

Six of us to drop onto each deck where we would encounter — how many Katakis? Seg was always one for a little wager in the most fraught of circumstances. So I put forward the opinion that we might face odds of three to one, at which Seg immediately fired up and declared roundly that there’d only be two to one. Gold was wagered.

Then — with a curve to his lips indicating joy in my approaching discomfiture — Seg said: “As the Grand Archbold I shall, naturally—”

“What!” I exclaimed. “You’re pulling rank!”

“Oh, aye, my old dom. So that’s settled.”

Do not forget, Seg Segutorio was the Emperor of Pandahem, which really existed. I was supposed to be the Emperor of All Paz, which remained more of a dream than a reality.

Inch would take his five men down onto the first argenter. Then I’d assault the second and Seg would attack last. This meant, as even the most simple swod with a spear in the ranks could see, that the Katakis would be ready and waiting to hit him as he touched down.

Fret though I might over my comrade, I could do nothing in honor to change that decision.

“Ready?”

“Aye, ready.”

With that, Rollo, who’d taken over from Oby at the controls, swung Pink Lily round ready for the mad dash low over the sea. We popped up and a screeching yell erupted at our backs.

We turned sharply to look back. Engar Valmin stood tall, left arm pointing rigidly back, sword in fist, yelling: “They’re here!”

Here they came, like a handful of flung pebbles, hurtling on over the heave of the sea, their flags streaming in their onrush. Thank Zair! I said to myself. The main body had arrived to save us from an all too probable fate.

Among the fliers soared two vast skyships, many-decked and tiered, bristling with weapons. The suns struck sparks of fire from their flanks. They looked absolutely marvelous.

Not all the warriors crowding those decks were members of the KRVI. There were elements of the bodyguards owing allegiance to Seg and Inch, and others of the brotherhood’s guard formations. The guards of my own Emperor’s Sword Watch and Emperor’s Yellow Jackets, stout fellows all, would be craning overside to get a first glimpse of their quarry. Oh, yes, by Vox! I felt a warm glow of pleasure at that gorgeous sight, I can tell you!

Looking ahead again we could see the argenters lolloping along with the spray bursting around their plump sides. Not long now, and we’d be pouncing upon them, stooping with steel in our fists.

Black specks appeared in the sky beyond the ships.

Staring up as the spots drew closer and grew larger and took on recognizable outlines, I felt an enormous weight fall upon my shoulders. A sense of despair shocked all through me.

Those fliers up there with their sleek black hulls and squared-off upperworks, brightly-painted, had voyaged from the other side of Kregen. They were here over the curve of the world to slay and pillage and burn. They came from Schan. They were the scourge of every living person in Paz.

Someone said the word, the dread name.

“Shanks!”