A racket of footsteps on the ramparts at my back did not halt me. I strode on, feeling the breeze, staring at the dancing sea.
“Jak! What the hell...?"
I took no notice.
Ahead along the stone ramparts by an embrasure stood a woman. Her head was downbent, and her pale blue robe descended in straight folds into a circle around her feet.
She lifted her head and the auburn hair blazed in a light that never came from the twin suns overhead.
Her mouth, small, almost black in that odd lighting, circled. She was speaking. I heard nothing, only the screeching of gulls as they chased tails over the battlements. The breeze blew, the Suns shone and a few high clouds parceled off toward the east.
She spoke to me. There was strain on that face. And I could make out nothing.
“By Horato the Potent! A ghost!” Pompino shoved up beside me, and I could hear his breathing, ragged and hoarse. “A witch, broken from the ib!"
“She is trying to say something—but what?"
The phantasmal form beckoned. A slim white hand lifted from an enveloping sleeve. And the lips writhed in pantomime over words—a word—that I could not grasp.
A high, excited voice at our backs shouted.
“Mindi!"
She spoke now, a torrent of soundless words.
Then, as a feather is consumed in the Furnace Fires of Inshurfraz, she vanished.
I swiveled.
“Framco—if that was Mindi the Mad, what was she trying to tell us?"
The Fristle cadade pulled his whiskers; but he looked fierce, determined.
“I think, horters, I am sure—she was saying Plaxing—"
“That is where the Sybli, Suli, said Tilda wanted to take her, on the evening we arrived."
“This,” said Pompino, “could be some sorcerous trick."
“You said, Framco, that you did not trust Mindi the Mad."
“I do not. But she has been of great use to Kov Pando and his mother the kovneva in the past. I am not sure..."
“It is certain sure we must send to Plaxing. That is the least we can do.” Pompino sounded vexed. “I would offer to go. But time has been wasted, and there is a temple to burn. Framco, you will go?"
“It is my duty."
“Good. Then that is settled."
“There is one concern,” I pointed out. “If we all go haring off we leave the palace open to Murgon's attack. He may guess this is where the lady Dafni is held for her safety..."
Pompino spoke up with the obvious answer; although it was one I disliked muchly.
“The lady Dafni will have to go with one of the parties. And she cannot go with us, therefore..."
Framco nodded heavily. “I agree. For her own safety she will have to ride with me."
I didn't like it. But it made sense.
So it was arranged. Orders were given. I was interested to see the way in which Framco the Fristle, Nath Kemchug the Chulik, and the Rapa, Rondas the Bold, acted, one with the other. I have previously remarked about the Rapas and Chuliks, and even more that this so-called hereditary enmity between Fristles and Chuliks is a matter of particular subdivisions of the races. At the least, these three specimens of their peoples rubbed along.
Rondas the Bold and Nath Kemchug would stay in the Zhantil Palace with the guards Framco would leave. They would deal with any attacks. They promised this in a species of sullen resentment that they were not included in our force to go and blatter the Leem Lovers.
Pompino was all fire and eagerness to start. He just wanted to work for the Everoinye and burn temples to Lem. I wanted to get hold of Murgon and obtain a few answers from him.
As though pointing up that Rapas and Chuliks and Fristles and most of the other splendid array of diffs on Kregen share with apims a divided heritage, Nath Kemchug came in swearing that: “He'd rather spend a sennight in the Cheerless Barracks in Vorcheng.” And that, believe you me, by Chozputz, is a legendary location to set the shivers up anyone's spine.
Rondas the Bold said: “By Rhapaporgolam the Reiver of Souls! If any wight tries to break into the palace tonight, his beak will be bent to inspect his backside!” which is, as you will perceive, a mighty oath for a Rapa.
We took what comfort we could from this manifested fighting spirit of those left on guard.
Nath Kemchug had a clever trick some Chuliks are capable of employing. Always fascinated, I watched as he used the sharp blade of his spear, flat on, to polish up his tusks. He had such control of his weapons that the steel blade kissed up and down the tusk, sweetly. So, this time, I said: “If you'd stuck a few diamonds in your tusk, Nath, or banded them with gold, you'd find that trick more difficult."
“By Likshu the Treacherous, folk who do that are plain mad! I don't hold with the custom, although it is common enough. For one thing, if you don't clean your tusks with extra care you'll get tusk rot for sure."
“I can believe it."
So, we divided our forces into three, and settled down to wait out the hours of daylight, we who were to raid the temple and we who would remain on guard. Framco led his party off to ride for Plaxing. We ate and rested and tried to contain ourselves in patience for the derring-do that lay ahead.
At the least, although we had kept away from most of it, we were now spared the incessant chatter of the lady Dafni.
Pando possessed a fine library and I sought solace there for a bur or so; but was driven out by half a dozen remarkably clean-looking girl children who rolled in with the utmost determination to get themselves as dirty as they could in the shortest possible time. As I scuttled off, one of the under-chamberlains panted in, puffing and sweating, trying to get the girls to come along and behave. It seemed to me that Constanchoin and his underlings were being most severely punished by this juvenile invasion, and I found that of a come-uppance most sweet. Opaz alone knew what we were going to do with the quondam sacrifices; I fancied a good life lay in store for them—if they survived the consequences of their own conduct. On that uncharitable thought I went off to get dressed up for the night's entertainment.
As we gathered in the courtyard I was instructed to learn that the Divine Lady Of Belschutz had, no doubt in some wayward and long-forgotten escapade, contracted a most painful condition affecting certain of her more tender parts. Captain Murkizon was on form, in fine fettle, and his swishing axe was going to be a danger to all his comrades until we got into action.
Larghos the Flatch kept asking people if they'd seen the lady Nalfi. No one had lately. In the general hubbub more jocose remarks were thrown at him than real concern; she had proved a girl of her own mind and spirit and Larghos was not having an easy time with her. Eventually he discovered her, so he told everyone, leading her back and fussing over her, bravely doing up her own armor, trying to buckle the straps over her back. He strutted as he paced beside her, and one could not help feeling both sorry and envious—and a little of some emotion no sane man would give a name to—as one looked at him and the lady Nalfi together.
In the end it was decided that Lisa the Empoin and the lady Nalfi would not go with us.
They protested; they were overruled.
All day there had been no sign of Drak's spy, Naghan Raerdu. Carefully casual inquiries about ale in the pantry brought forth the information that Raerdu was expected tomorrow with a fresh consignment of Amber Spirit, a fine ale of which he could supply the finest quality. This was inconvenient; but I took comfort from the thought that had there been any startling intelligence Naghan would have found a way to convey it to me.
We set off in small groups, walking inconspicuously, riding separately. I'd taken pains to discover what there was to know of the ruined theater, and found that it had been badly damaged in a raid by the Bloody Menahem, repaired and then ruined all over again, only worse, during the time the Hyr Notor ruled in Pandahem. Its name was The Playhouse of the Singing Lotus. Fine and fanciful, I thought. A new playhouse had recently been completed two blocks away, called the Golden Zhanti
l. Pando had contributed heavily to its construction. Grimly, I wondered how long it would be before the adherents of Lem the Silver Leem took it over.
The Bloody Menahem, as the Tomboramin called their neighbors to the west, readied themselves for further raids against Bormark. Pando's province usually took the first brunt of the attacks from Menaham. Defeated they may have been in Vallia; the Bloody Menahem who had been the most vociferous supporters of the infamous wizard called the Hyr Notor would not long delay in having a fresh onslaught started against their neighbors.
As we went along through the dimness with only two of Kregen's smaller moons hurtling low above us in the sky, I reflected that it was a great pity that the Pachaks Pompino had signed on in Tuscursmot were no longer with us. Brave and loyal, devoted to their employers under their honor code of nikobi, they had been among the first to die during the affrays and combats we had endured reaching here. I thought of them and the fights we'd seen, and consigned their ibs to a successful passage beyond the Ice Floes of Sicce to the sunny uplands beyond. As you know, I have tremendous admiration and affection for Pachaks among the splendid diffs of Kregen.
The Twins, eternally orbiting each other and shedding light enough to reveal desperadoes to the eyes of honest men, even if the honest folk were thus illuminated for the drikingers, sailed into the sky. Some of the nearer stars paled; but the sparks of light above scintillated brilliantly. The air tanged with night scents. Ah, a night on Kregen! There can be no other planet in all this wide galaxy, it seems to me, to compare with Kregen—beautiful, terrible Kregen under the Suns of Scorpio.
So through the splendid Moons’ glitter we went, and I recalled how I'd begun this adventure with the simple object of burning a temple or two. Then I had been deflected by what seemed to me to be more important objectives. What a single man was going to do against an army I was not as yet perfectly sure. That I must contrive something was the only thought in my head on that score. But, this being Kregen, I began this night's jaunt with one priority ousting another, only to come full tilt against what was in my estimation another and altogether overriding priority...
Pompino's plan was simple, as he had indicated to me earlier on. As to the sorting out of who married whom, that had been materially furthered, I fancied, by the rescuing of the Vadni Dafni from the clutches of Murgon Marsilus. Ha!
“We all take different doors, bash ‘em in, and throw in the firepots. That'll smoke ‘em out, the rasts!"
So, that was the plan.
I'd demurred on one point.
Pompino's reply, brisk, no nonsense, summed it all up.
“Very well, Jak. We'll arrange a party to go in and get the sacrifices out. We'd better take—"
“No. I'll do it alone. I have the silver leem mask."
“You believe it can be done alone?"
“Yes."
“Then may the brightness of Pandrite shine upon you."
So, here we were, at the temple to Lem the Silver Leem, and the firepots were being brought to a fine state of combustion, cloaks were thrown back from sword arms, and we were spreading out to cover every bolthole. I put on the silver mask and marched boldly into the entrance from which I'd brought the freed girl sacrifices. From here I could strike any way. Pompino would not burn here until the last.
In the event, striding out, I met no one who offered to stop me. This, I judged, had something to do with the amount of silver lace on the brown cape, and the embroideries which, as far as I could fathom out, put the owner of this rig around halfway up their devilish hierarchy. He must have been discovered by now. Entering at the back instead of the front, I hoped, would avoid any checks. The corridor matched the one on the other side, and I entered the auditorium under a balcony matching the one I'd sheltered in the previous time I was here. This time the place was full, agog with anticipation and expectant excitement. And the girl sacrifice was there, in her iron cage, to one side of the stage, with all the blasphemous impedimenta of the Lem cult spread out.
The place reeked of unwholesomeness. Incense stank. Candelabra burned, and I eyed these with a view to incendiary activity. No one took any notice of me as I joined the congregation.
The girl in her white dress in the iron cage sucked on her sweets and played with a scrap of satin ribbon. Next to her the slab waited, flanked by ranked instruments. The statue of Lem in a silver glitter hovered above.
Three turns of his pocket glass, Pompino had agreed, would give me time to infiltrate and position myself ready. My own sense of timing told me the three glasses must be almost spent. I eased a little forward. The stage remained empty of all save the girl sacrifice, and I was minded to feel disappointed on this score for I'd marked any of the vile crew who tried to stop me for instant destruction.
The high priests and their acolytes and sycophants did not appear just yet, and the congregation waited, talking, excited, keyed-up.
The crash of splintering wood and shattering tiles jerked everyone's astonished gaze upward.
From the balconies to either hand men leaped down, their weapons flashing in the lights.
These startling newcomers wore armor, and helmets tufted with yellow feathers. But their faces! Each warrior's face was covered by a mask—but not by any ordinary assassin's mask—oh no. As the fighting men leaped down and ripped into the shrieking congregation, their faces snarled with the savage and frightening golden semblances of untamed zhantils.
* * *
Chapter seventeen
A Rose between two thorns
Without hesitation I roared up onto the stage, leaping a screaming woman and kicking her companion in the face—quite accidentally—as I whipped up onto the boards. The girl in the cage held the scrap of blue satin ribbon before her face, her eyes wide, staring, not quite ready to start crying at all the hubbub.
Just about then the first firepots sailed in.
This place would burn like dry shavings.
The cage of the sacrifice, which, as I knew, sometimes held leems, was bolted. The bolt clicked back with a snick audible in the hullabaloo. I reached in.
“I have some more sweets for you,” I said in what I tried to make a modulated and reasonable voice. “We're going to a special Banje shop—"
“You won't take me back?"
She drew away, the ribbon held like a shield.
I knew what she meant. These Leem Lovers knew where to go to buy their sacrifices.
“No. I promise you. To a Banje shop, that's where."
“There's a fire."
She spoke in her light treble, interested in what was going on, allured by the thought of candies, ready to cry or laugh as the occasion warranted. I flung a quick look back.
Pompino's lads were hard at it. Fire raced up the drapes and smoke roiled from two of the side openings flanking the main doorway. In the auditorium the zhantil-masked warriors were cutting down men and women indifferently and some, who appeared to be in authority, superintended the rounding up of those worshippers who threw down their arms and surrendered. It was frighteningly obvious that whoever the men in zhantil masks were, they were not over-bothered if the Leem Lovers fought or surrendered.
I snatched up the girl and leaped for the drapes at the rear of the stage.
If I cut to the side through any convenient doorway I ought to get back to the clear way out. Thank Zair there were no more girl children imprisoned there.
Others besides me had the same idea. They knew the layout and a bunch of them followed me along the dusty corridor. There was no point in fighting them at this stage, for however much the itch might have trembled my sword arm, fires burst up at our backs, and if we didn't get out we'd all be roasted—the girl sacrifice and me along with the rest.
People who attempted to escape through other exits would be met by walls of fire. Up ahead the corridor stretched empty both of flame and smoke. Pompino's folk would wait until I was out—and they wouldn't wait overlong, by Krun—and then this place would fire up, too. If, that was, the
temple hadn't burned down already.
Empty of smoke and flame this exit might have been—it was not empty of golden-masked zhantil men.
As we broke out of the last doorway and made for the double doors leading outside, a line of fighting men in the zhantil masks fronted us, weapons glittering.
Now anyone who resisted Lem the Silver Leem was an ally of mine. Also, I had an idea I knew who had sent these men here, who employed them, who would use the zhantil mask as an emblem in defiance of the leem mask.
It was no part of my plan to fight allies.
To the side lay the other corridor, and there might be a way past there, so that I could circle ... Clutching the girl child, who was now, most understandably, crying at all the din and confusion and the roar of the flames, the stink of the smoke, I turned sharply to break a way through. The zhantil-masked fighters crowded up to the rear. The Leem Lovers, yelling, pressed back. Smoke choked down, obscuring much of what was going on, and the evil crackle of the flames beat against the din of combat.
A hand clutched my elbow.
A leem mask glinted as a slender fellow in a short brown cape with little silver adorning its folds tugged at me.
“This way, Jak! Hurry!"
At his side a woman, more bulky than he, urged me on.
At once I realized these two must be Tipp the Kaktu and Monsi the Bosom, Naghan Raerdu's spies.
They guided me through the smoke away from the main mass of struggling people; three or four of the Lem worshippers spotted our movement and followed. Seven or eight of us crowded along, stumbling, coughing as the smoke retched into our mouths. Tipp the Kaktu threw up a trapdoor in the floor, Monsi the Bosom held out her arms to take the girl sacrifice.
“Quick, Jak—we must be quick!"
There was nothing else for it.
Monsi took the girl and bundled through the opening in the floor, I followed, dropping onto a straw-scattered floor with only the dim glow of the fire angling down to provide illumination. A body dropped after me and Tipp's reedy voice husked: “Go on! Go on!"
Talons of Scorpio [Dray Prescot #30] Page 16
