Oddly enough, in that moment, the clouds directly above us parted in a waft of an unfelt breeze. The light of the Maiden with the Many Smiles broke through, shedding a pink radiance down. In that moment the petals of the moon-blooms opened. On a sudden the air was filled with the scents of moonblooms, strikingly pungent in the night.
A stout, high-colored, buxom woman pushed through the throng, swinging her bag so that it struck shrewdly against shins in an impartial way as she cleared a path for herself. She wore a tromp-colored dress with a high collar. She glanced at poor dead Nafto the Hair, sniffed, and bent to the girl.
This formidable puncture lady was Prishilla the Otlora — Otlora being translated means something like No-nonsense.
“She’ll live,” she said, her voice oddly and affectionately gruff. “Now give me some room to work.”
That seemed to break the spell.
Garfon the Staff could take charge. He’d handle all the ugly necessaries that, for a dizzy moment, seemed quite beyond me, emperor or no damned emperor.
Seg gave me a nudge.
“Brassud, my old dom. It’s all over. Let’s go and find a wet.”
“Aye, You’re right. Although — there will have to be an inquiry.”
“Of course. Let’s get out of this.”
The people already on the scene hung about, and more folk running up crowded in. The place was congested, excitement rippled in the night air like lightning. I made no attempt to halt any of this. Let the people see. Let it be known that the famed and feared Ganchark of Vondium had been trapped and slain.
Bad cess to the dratted thing!
A guard appeared holding high bits of a jurukker’s kit. They had been found bundled behind a bush. No doubt Nafto would have returned for them later. Well, he’d never don the kit of an imperial jurukker, never again proudly wear the emperor’s insignia. He was no longer of 2ESW.
He had been a werewolf.
And now he was dead.
“D’you think they’ll have him down in the Ice Floes of Sicce?”
I considered the thought as Seg led off toward the terrace.
“I don’t see why not. He is, after all, a human being now, and he’s dead. No doubt he’ll trot around the Ice Floes for a space, meet the Gray Ones, before he—”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Seg. “D’you think he’ll ever get up to the sunny uplands beyond?”
“I really don’t know. I can’t find it in my heart to hate the poor devil. We’ve got to find out why he turned into a ganchark.”
“I don’t believe anyone ever has.”
“A great load has been lifted. A black cloud has passed away from Vondium. We’ll have to have a tremendous celebration and thanksgiving service. The priests will do us proud. And there’s Deb-Lu.”
“Thank Opaz.”
An old, a very old little ditty, popped into my mind as we went across the terrace and through the corridors to our private snug.
“March winds and April showers, Bring forth May flowers.”
Well, Zair knew, the seasons on Kregen are markedly different from those on Earth. The idea was that we’d gone through the rain and the winds, now we could look forward to a time of blooming. That was the hope.
Ha!
Kregen — ah, Kregen! The world is wild and terrifying, and beautiful and enjoyable. Much goes on there that is just simply unbelievable by Earthly standards. And, also, because men are men and women are women, much goes on there that anyone on this Earth would instantly recognize. Beauty and terror go hand in hand, it seems...
In the way of things on Kregen, the little meeting of Seg, and Nath na Kochwold, and Farris and me broadened and grew, and we moved to a larger chamber where the tables were well provisioned with wine and delicacies. We might be up all night talking and arguing, going over and over what had occurred, pondering, wondering, planning for the future. These night-time gatherings were among the more important of periods for me, as you know, wherein much was decided that would directly affect the fate of Vallia, of Paz, and of Kregen itself. Not, of course, to mention the effect those decisions would have upon Delia and me...
The upshot of one of those decisions was that directly after the thanksgiving service the force destined for Turko would fly off. Seg and I would go. Now that the werewolf was slain, there was nothing detaining us in the capital. Farris could handle everything with the Presidio, as he and they had been doing so splendidly.
As well as being the emperor’s Justicar Crebent, Farris was also the Lord Supremo of the Vallian Air Service.
“I can spare you ample vollers and vorlcas for the whole force, Dray. But let me have ’em back as soon as you can.”
He didn’t have to tell me why he wanted the airboats and the flying sailing ships of the sky back so promptly. We in Vondium had to be prepared to send forces anywhere at a moment’s notice to resist invasion. We were that blind man at the center, striking out at invisible foes who attacked him from all sides.
“Thank you, Farris. Done.”
Nath na Kochwold eased over. He looked just a little flushed and this was not from wine but from a nervous effort he was making. I guessed instantly what was afoot.
“Now, majis, the position is this. You are taking the Sixth Kerchuri with you to strengthen Kov Turko, who has the whole of the Fourth Phalanx. That will give him three full Kerchuris. Now, then—”
Mildly, I cut in to say, “Did you not say that this new green Fifth Phalanx you have formed needs your personal ministrations, Nath?”
“Well, I may have made that statement at one time.” He gestured widely. “Of course, that might have been true. But they are not really green troops, as you well know. And they have first-class instructors. No, no. They will improve without me. But, the position of three full Kerchuris in the field, I submit, majis, does demand the personal attention of—”
“Of a Kapt of the Phalanx?”
He coughed. “You have done me the honor to name me Krell-Kapt of the Phalanx. I really do think—”
“Well, let me think on it.”
Then Seg butted in, in his shrewd yet fey way.
“Three Kerchuris demand a Krell-Kapt, Dray. I think Turko, and his general, Kapt Erndor, have been controlling the Ninth Army up there excellently. But with these reinforcements...”
I said, “Any high-ranking chuktar can take command of an army and be named its Kapt. When the army’s campaigns are over, the chuktar relinquishes his title of Kapt. That is simple.”
“But the Phalanx is different. Nath is the Krell-Kapt of the entire Phalanx Force. They will hardly ever serve together. So the Brumbytevaxes take command of each individual phalanx, and, as we all know, the Kerchurivaxes with their kerchuris do the work. So—”
“I think, Seg, you have put your boot into your own argument. If the Kervaxes do all the work, and the Brumbytevaxes are an unnecessary luxury, there is even less need for a superior over them.”
Nath took a cautious sip of his wine, did not look at me, did not look at Seg. I could see he was suffering.
The name of Brumbytevax had been given as a kind of nickname, a totem-name, to the commanders of each phalanx. It was true the Kerchurivaxes handled most of the work. And the very name of the pikemen in the files, the brumbytes, given to the commander of the whole phalanx, was in very truth a form of affectionate recognition of their position. On the other hand, the phalanx commanders had been in tough fights, when the phalanx fought as a whole — some pretty fraught encounters, too...
I said, “Brytevax Dekor might very well expect to command the Sixth Kerchuri when it arrives up with his Fourth Phalanx.”
“Aye, majis, aye,” groaned Nath. “That’s the rub.”
Fixing Nath na Kochwold — who is a man very strict on discipline — with a stern eye, I ground out: “Can you personally assure me that the Fifth Phalanx will be trained up properly in your absence?”
He stiffened. The wine-goblet drooped at his side. It was empty. He rappe
d out his words as though on parade.
“Aye, majister! I so assure you, as Opaz is my witness.”
“Right. That’s good enough for me. Thank Seg. In his cunning way of Erthyrdrin he’s twisted all logic inside out. Nath, you’ll come with us.”
“Thank you, majister.”
I turned away to find a refill, thinking what a lot of rigmarole went on when grown men wanted to go marching off to war. Give me half a chance and I’d stay at home and let some other idiot get on with the fighting and the killing. But, then, I had been landed with this job of being Emperor of Vallia, and so I had a duty to go and do what I could for the place...
The foolishness of a girl’s heart was discussed, and its near-tragic end marveled at. Nafto the Hair had been something of a romancer. Well, kissing a girl whilst on guard duty was heinous enough. He had been betrothed to the lady Nomee. Yet he’d made an assignation with a young girl from the palace household — a newcomer I didn’t recognize — and must have been persuasive enough to cause her to forget the werewolf. She had been warned not to go out alone at night. Yet she’d flitted off to keep her assignation, no doubt trembling with fears that had nothing to do with gancharks.
Poor Filti the Sheets was now abed, nastily cut-up by claws but otherwise physically unharmed. As I had conjectured concerning Wenerl the Lightfoot, so I wondered if Filti’s mind would fully recover from her ordeal.
Deb-Lu-Quienyin looked in briefly on his way to bed. He appeared tired; but his indomitable will overcame effects of age without sorcerous aids.
We discussed what had occurred for a time, and then Deb-Lu said:
“Jak, I must comment on peculiar phenomena recently observed by me in the environs of the palace.”
“Phenomena?”
“Precisely. Not, I need scarcely add, on the physical plane.”
“Scarcely.”
This renowned Wizard of Loh and I had passed through some harum-scarum and some frightening experiences together. He had known me as Jak. Now and again he could bring himself to call me Dray, and in general company would use the familiar term majis. But, as with a number of other people, I remained Jak for him.
“The necessity to delve back into my childhood and recall methods of dealing with werewolves, and of the formula — Emder, the dear fellow, called it my magical recipe — for the ganjid potion, distracted me considerably. Some occult force has been up to something, yet I cannot tell what that may be, for the visitations are brief.”
“It’s not another wizard gone into lupu and spying on us?”
“I think not. There is probably an element of spying involved. Vallia has enemies abroad. But after the death of Phu-Si-Yantong, well, one could hope we had seen the last of evil wizards.”
I essayed a smile at my comrade wizard.
“On Kregen, Deb-Lu? Not to be troubled by any more evil wizards or witches? Come now, old friend, you have more faith in the inevitable than that!”
Chapter thirteen
We fly to Turko’s Falinur
My decision to fly north to Falinur aboard a vorlca, one of Vallia’s sailing ships of the clouds, caused a deal of quiddities, I know, and must have seemed odd. Also, I suspect, there were a few folk who felt quite put out by that decision.
To fly aboard a voller, one of the airboats that had the ability not only to lift themselves into the air but to speed along at a good clip, was a much sought after treat. Vollers were still scarce. The two silver boxes, one containing a mix of minerals, the other cayferm, which lifted airboats, remained difficult to manufacture after the depredations in Hamal where most of them still originated. We in Vallia could make silver boxes that would lift a ship into the air and cling onto the lines of ethero-magnetic force. Thus the ship could put a keel, as it were, out and, hoisting sail, tack and make boards against the wind.
You can easily, therefore, see why I chose to go aboard a sailing flier. For a salty old sea-dog like me, although the scent of the sea might be absent, there was the breeze in the canvas, the creak of timber, the feel of a ship alive and vibrant all about me.
One day — and soon we all hoped — we would produce our own silver boxes to power vollers. I heaved up a sigh.
“What ails you, then, my old dom?” called a familiar voice.
“I was thinking of Jaezila and Tyfar.”
Seg turned to look forward. We stood right in the eyes of the ship. Massy clouds soared above us as we soared over the green landscape below. Every shred of canvas was set and pulling, stiff as boards. This vessel, Logan’s Fancy, might not be the largest sailer of the skies we had built; she was truly among the fastest.
“That Prince Tyfar needs to have his head careened and his brains scraped.” Seg spoke seriously, and I did not miss the almost savage note behind his words. He had been in loco parentis to Jaezila during my enforced imprisonment on Earth. “By Vox! I wonder what mischief they’re up to over in the Mountains of the West.”
“If they can keep the wildmen at bay and ensure supplies for the silver boxes, then whatever else they get up to is their own business.”
“Well, the quicker they decide, the better. Milsi wants to meet them, for a start.”
“Your Milsi, Seg, is a jewel.”
“Oh, aye.”
“And I could wish she and Delia were with us.”
“We’ll just have to bash Layco Jhansi and see Turko right, then we can get back to Vondium. No doubt by that time their business with the Sisters of the Rose will be over.”
“One can only live in pious hope. Ah, here comes Deb-Lu. There are things you and he must know.”
“Lahal, Jak — what are these things, then?”
The breeze whispered past as we were carried along in its warm embrace. Zim and Genodras flooded down the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio. The day was good. Yet I had information to tell these two that would cast a dark blot upon their appreciation of that bright scene.
A flurried commotion aft did not make us turn our heads. Back there a series of stout poles protruded from the side of the ship. These were the perching poles for the squadron of flutduins we carried, and these birds are, as I have often said and will no doubt say again, the best saddle birds of all Paz — in my estimation. Their flyers were lads and girls trained up by my Djangs, for Vallia had been lagging far behind other countries when it came to the use of aerial forces of animal and bird flyers.
The birds would swoop in splendidly from either side, give a neat little flick of their broad wings, do a sideslip and so land on their selected perching pole. Strong curved claws would grasp the timber. The riders would unstrap their clerketers and use the nets strung beneath to reach the bulwarks. When I looked at these perching poles bearing their aerial freight I was reminded of an abacus.
“Turko will be pleased to see those,” remarked Seg.
“And these things, Jak?”
“Well now, Deb-Lu. I told you we were unlikely to be left unmolested by wizards and witches on Kregen. I’ve told Seg a little of what we met in the Coup Blag in the Snarly Hills away down south in Pandahem. Our ways parted then, Milsi and Seg sorted out her realm, I did what I could against the perverted followers of Lem the Silver Leem, and also against the armies being formed in North Pandahem to attack us in southwest Vallia.”
“I suspect You Bear No Good Tidings.”
“Yes. Phu-Si-Yantong might be dead; his shadow still hovers over us.”
“Ah! I had heard rumors of a child...” There was no need for Deb-Lu to elaborate on the ways in which wizards circulated their news. He wouldn’t tell me, anyway. But they kept up with what went on in their uncanny fashions.
“The Child is an uhu. A hermaphrodite, called Phunik. He has great powers already, although not yet grown into his strength. He is very much an unknown factor.”
Deb-Lu looked surprised. He gave that ridiculous turban a shove. “You mean the danger comes from the child’s mother?”
“Yes.”
Seg said: “Sh
e’ll be a Witch of Loh, for sure.”
“Of course.” Deb-Lu rubbed his nose. “This is amazing news. I was firmly under the apprehension that Ling-Li-Lwingling was dead.”
Now it was my turn to be surprised. Surprised! By Krun, I felt the shock go through me.
“Ling-Li-Lwingling!” I yelped. “Oh, no, San, not her. The witch is Csitra—”
Seg put out a hand and caught Deb-Lu as he stumbled. If he would have fallen I do not know. If the news had shaken him into an incautious movement, if he felt dazed, I did not know. But he looked up at me with eyes that reflected a greater shadow than that which I thought I was telling him about...
“Csitra,” he whispered.
“She queens it over her maze in the Coup Blag and terrorizes the whole district. I was extremely fortunate to escape from her clutches.”
The Star Lords may or may not have assisted me in that fraught escape. Powerful though a wizard or witch might be, and supremely powerful though the Witches and Wizards of Loh truly are, yet their arcane knowledge pales to insignificance beside the awesome powers of the Star Lords.
For some weird reason the memory of one of the stories circulating in Vondium added significance to what we were saying. Covell of the Golden Tongue, young still and virile, a master poet, had spent months composing a stunning verse epic. This was duly staged, presented, put on, in Ramon’s Club theater, which, belying its name, held seating for upwards of a thousand people on one level alone.
Covell of the Golden Tongue was shattered.
Ramon had emasculated the epic, shortened it, left out the ending, rendered the whole grotesque. I had only heard this story and could not vouch for its truth. What I did realize was that Deb-Lu’s reactions at the name of the Witch of Loh, Csitra, indicated that we might plan out how events were to shape, and someone else — the Witch Csitra — would devise a new and horrible ending...
Around us in thin air the flying ships and the airboats of this little force sailed majestically on. Against the forces of sorcery we, ourselves, were puny indeed.
Seg half-turned.
“A glass of strong red for the San!” he bellowed. One of the youngsters, smart in his new uniform, sprang up and bolted aft. In only moments the glass of wine was to hand. Deb-Lu took it and drank gratefully.
Werewolves of Kregen Page 10
