Allies of Antares [Dray Prescot #26]

by Alan Burt Akers

  “Agreed!” The shouts were unanimous. On one subject, then, the famous Conquerors of Hamal could agree...

  In the tiny hush of reaction to the outburst, young King Rogpe of Mandua stood up. He drew his sumptuous robes about him in the instinctive gathering of resources gesture of one about to plunge into unpleasant argument; almost immediately he loosened the fur-trimmed velvet, for Hamal was warmer than Mandua. “There is a matter I must have settled before I return.” He held up a hand as some delegates started to protest.

  Young and uncertain, Rogpe might be; in what he had to say he was in deadly earnest and therefore articulate and convincing.

  “Here me! I speak of the case of those countries who actively allied themselves with Hamal! Most notably that of Shanodrin!"

  “Slay ‘em all!” and, “Burn their towns around their ears!” The suggestions on what should be done with collaborators bubbled up merrily and uglily.

  “Prince Mefto A'Shanofero, known as Mefto the Kazzur! He stands indicted before this assembly! He and his accomplices must be brought to trial."

  No one there in that glittering chamber was unaware that Mefto the Kazzur had sought through his alliance with the Hamalese to dominate much of the Dawn Lands. The Kingdom of Mandua had suffered. Now Rogpe put a hand to his quiff of fair hair. He smiled, a nervous smile yet one which revealed his feelings of triumph at delayed revenge accomplished.

  Puffy faced, impatient, King Nodgen the Bald leaped to his feet. He shook a fist at Rogpe.

  “Yes, yes, my young fighting king, yes! We will deal with the traitor Mefto the Kazzur. But we have more zhantils to saddle here. There is no doubt that if Hamal is to be kept under proper control the empire must be given a Hamalese to rule. That man is King Telmont—"

  Nodgen the Bald's words were lost in a chorus of catcalls and fiercely amused expostulations and accusations.

  “King Telmont is not related in any way to Thyllis—"

  “He cowers in his kingdom in the far Black Hills—"

  “He is spineless!"

  The knowledge of family relationships and intricate blood ties and links and alliances through marriage were meat and drink to the rulers in the Dawn Lands. Such knowledge was of vital consequence. By understanding why one king did this and one queen did the opposite through the promptings of family loyalties enabled a tricky course of diplomacy to be set. The delegates had to keep themselves informed of the intrigues that fomented all the time. It was a matter of survival, along with always remembering names, for by forgetting a name one might lose a kingdom.

  The rival king who had accused Nodgen the Bald of flying his airboats back home and then claiming compensation for their loss rose to shout with great scorn: “We know why you champion this King Telmont, Nodgen the Bald! How much gold has he paid you? What promises has he made?"

  The marshal Djangs eased forward, wary.

  “I spit on your robe, King Nalgre the Defaced! I deny your accusations, I hurl them back into your teeth—"

  Fresh fuel was heaped on the fire of enmity; the duel that would follow later might enlarge catastrophically to include two entire countries, at each other's throats—as usual. These local wars had been contained in the mutual onslaught on Hamal. Now, with the sad inevitability of human nature, they would burst out again, raw and red and bloody.

  The damping down of that squabble—a damping down only, for to extinguish it would take longer and demand harsher means—was left to Drak. By the grimness of his demeanor he left no one in any doubt of his anger and contempt. He tried to bring the Peace Conference back to considerations of what lay immediately to hand. “We each have a rapier to sharpen, and so accommodations must be made. If the delegates from the Dawn Lands insist on fighting among themselves, we deplore that but accept it as a burden of history. The future of Hamal must be assured. Let no one forget that all of us face a greater menace from the Shanks who raid us from over the oceans."

  “Aye,” said Jaidur. This was a matter touching him and his new kingdom nearly. “And I suspect the damned Shanks will soon stop raiding and attempt permanent settlements—"

  Fresh uproar at this statement could not conceal the wave of dread that swept over the chamber. All men of this grouping of continents and islands called Paz who lived near a coastline were dreadfully aware of the menace of the Shanks. Fish heads, they called them, Leem Lovers, any scurrilous name a man could put his tongue to, all revealing the horror their name conjured up.

  As though the mere mention of the Shanks put a pause to the precedent proceedings, a fresh session opened with a concerted attack on the delegates from Vallia, Hyrklana and Djanduin.

  Nodgen the Bald, irked at the dismissal of his claims for King Telmont, pointed a forefinger at Drak. He swept that indicting digit around to encompass Seg, Jaidur, Kytun and O. Fellin Coper. The unmistakable result of the gesture was to isolate these men and to range the other delegates against them.

  “You sit there fulminating against us. You sit there pompously pontificating. Yet who are you? You are not of Havilfar North and Central—"

  Kytun bellowed: “We are of Havilfar South West!"

  Jaidur said, “We are of Hyrklana off Havilfar East!"

  Drak and Seg remained silent, very sensibly.

  “Look at you!” Nodgen waggled that forefinger. “All of you, lackeys. Aye, lackeys!"

  Kytun's four arms windmilled and Ortyg, with a squeak of alarm, tugged at his comrade's military cape. “Let him chatter, Kytun!"

  “Lackeys!” roared K. Kholin Dom, fearsome, ferocious, a warrior four-armed Dwadjang. “Explain yourself—king!"

  “That is not difficult!” shouted another delegate.

  “No! Lackeys—all of you—lackeys of one man!"

  “Let me blatter ‘em!” pleaded Kytun, his face a black sunburst.

  “Hold still, Kytun, do!” Ortyg's gerbil-face expressed concern for Kytun, nothing for the shouted accusations.

  Nodgen the Bald bellowed: “One man commands you, the father of the King of Hyrklana; the King of Djanduin; the Emperor of Vallia. One man—and where is he? Why is he not here to talk to us—does he think himself so far above us—?"

  The picture wavered.

  As though heated air rose before the scene in the assembly chamber the whole glittering assemblage shivered and undulated.

  “Your pardon,” said Deb-Lu-Quienyin. “I must admit I allowed my concentration to lapse."

  The Wizard of Loh's eyes encompassed the world. I stared into those eyes and looked through the sorcerous power of Deb-Lu into the Peace Conference. People in there were shouting and waving fists although, I was thankful to observe, no one was foolish enough to draw a sword.

  “It is all right, Deb-Lu,” I said. “I must be tiring you. And what they say is right, in one way. I do not wish to go down and sit among them for these dreary proceedings."

  “Very practical."

  “And if that is being high and mighty—so be it."

  “Shall I go on?"

  “It is hardly worth it. They will decide nothing. But Drak tries hard. No, I need a wet and—"

  The picture I saw through the Wizard of Loh's eyes came into focus. We sat comfortably in a small aerie high in the Mirvol Keep of the palace of Ruathytu, the Hammabi el Lamma. Whoever had lived here before, probably a Chuktar of saddle birds, had done himself well. There was ample provision of wine and fine fare. The picture steadied and the resplendent assembly came back into focus. Deb-Lu-Quienyin had arranged a signomant, a device which eased his powers of observation at a distance, and its placing discreetly in the chamber allowed us excellent vision all around, if in a little foreshortened a fashion.

  The wet I promised myself had to wait for the double doors at the far end of the assembly chamber crashed open. The Djangs on duty there recovered swiftly and their stuxes thrust steel heads at the man who burst in. They halted their instinctive reaction at once, for the man was clearly a merker, a messenger who had flown hard. His leathers were glazed wi
th dust.

  He held up a hand and shouted so that all could hear.

  “Lahal, notors! King Telmont has gathered a great army and marches on us. He vows vengeance. He has sworn to retake the city of Ruathytu and to place the crown of empire upon his head. And his chief promise is this: he will seize by the heels and utterly destroy the man called Dray Prescot."

  Deb-Lu let out a cry and the picture I saw through his eyes vanished instantly. I blinked.

  “Jak!” said Deb-Lu. “This is serious—"

  “What?” I said. “Not you, too? You did not think, like those delegates down there, that by one battle and the taking of their capital the whole puissant Empire of Hamal would be conquered?"

  * * *

  Chapter two

  We Fly For the Mountains of the West

  “But we must find him! From what you say of him he is the only one. It is certain this King Telmont is a buffoon."

  “Drak is right,” said Jaidur. “We must find him—and damn quickly."

  The Peace Conference had closed the session for the day and those delegates who had been so scathingly denounced by King Nodgen the Bald gathered with Deb-Lu and me in one of the apartments given over to our use in the Hammabi el Lamma.

  “I can vouch for him,” said Deb-Lu. He still wore his turban, and it was still lopsided; but for all that he looked what he was—a Wizard of Loh and among the most feared and respected of sorcerers of all Kregen. “Yes. Prince Nedfar is all your father has said."

  “And,” said Jaezila with a force that for all its passion did scarce justice to the tumult within her, as I could see and, seeing, feel for her, “if we do not quickly tell Tyfar the truth, I, for one, will not answer for the consequences."

  “That settles it,” I said. We were all supposed to be relaxing after a hard day, and we were all tensed up and unhappy and aware of the pressures. The idiot King Telmont had scraped an army together and was marching on Ruathytu. The delegates from the Dawn Lands squabbled among themselves. And everyone wanted the business finished quickly so they might go home to the problems that awaited them there. “We must find Nedfar. He is the man who will be emperor. Just how we convince the others is another problem."

  “We will convince them, Dray,” said Kytun, using all four arms to express his feelings and to feed himself.

  “Not by edge of sword."

  “Of course not!” said Ortyg. His shrewd face expressed pained surprise at my suggestion. “We will discuss this—"

  “I'll discuss it,” promised Kytun.

  “And Tyfar?” Jaezila was really worried. She and Tyfar were at one and the same time madly in love and forever at loggerheads, a most intriguing situation.

  “I'll fly out, Jaezila,” I said.

  Drak looked cross. “I do wish, Father, you wouldn't call Lela Jaezila all the time. She is my sister, and your daughter, and she calls you Jak and you call her Jaezila. Most unsettling."

  “We were blade comrades, Drak. I know Jaezila as Jaezila more than I do as Lela. Anyway, Tyfar must be told."

  Jaidur swallowed his drink and said, “And where was this Prince Nedfar during the Taking of Ruathytu?"

  I said, “I do not know. But I give thanks to Opaz and to Djan that he was not here. I do not like to contemplate what would have happened had we met in battle."

  Kytun's fierce Djang face contained an amazingly placid look as he said, “I am glad we did not meet in the fight."

  There was no mistaking his meaning. My Djangs would allow no harm to come to their king. I did not make the mistake of assuming I could overrule their loyalty by my desire to promote a new emperor in Hamal, for all my admiration of the emperor-elect and my affection for his son.

  “Well, then, Jak,” Jaezila stood up, tall and graceful and superb in her hunting leathers and in no mood to stand any nonsense from her father. “If you're flying out with me, let's get started."

  “Lela!” exclaimed Drak, outraged.

  “We can't shilly-shally around. Tyfar is stuck out there by the Mountains of the West and being attacked by those confounded wild men, I expect, and getting all kinds of garbled messages about what's happened to Ruathytu. What do you think he's imagining, feeling? By Vox! Have you no heart!"

  Not one of those fighting men who swore allegiance to me even thought of saying that, well, Prince Tyfar was a Hamalese, after all. They had fought the Hamalese; now they understood my dreams and desires for the future.

  I stood up. I put the wine glass down.

  “Wenda!"[1]

  [1 Wenda! Let's go! A.B.A.]

  So, when we'd sorted out who was going and who staying to attend the tiresome Peace Conference, we all went up to the most convenient landing platform where a selection of captured Hamalian airboats rested.

  Drak could not be released from his lynch-pin position in the conference. Lildra was reluctant to let Jaidur go as they were comparatively recent newly weds, and this appeared to be just. Ortyg was not too keen on Kytun going, preferring him rather to stay to keep an eye on the unruly elements here.

  Seg said, “I'm going, my old dom, and joy in it."

  I admit I felt a leap of my spirits as Seg spoke. What it was to go off adventuring with a blade comrade, a true friend, the greatest bowman in all Loh!

  Drak looked stern. He could have stood for a portrait of an elder judging a tribe, a statesman adjudicating on empires—well, he was all those things, of course; but he so looked the part. “I do not like the idea of you going haring off all over the place, Father. It is—it is undignified."

  “I've never, save in one instance, bothered about dignity."

  “But you are the Emperor of Vallia! Emperors do not go off flying—"

  “This one does. Oh, and don't forget to mention when Kytun and Ortyg are here, the King of Djanduin. Anyway, Drak, you will have to shoulder the burden of being Emperor of Vallia soon."

  This, as you will readily perceive, was one of my very good reasons for leaving Drak. He had to be made to understand I meant it when I said he was to take over. He was perfectly capable. It was only his damned rectitude and sense of what was fitting that made him declare he would never become emperor while his mother, Delia, and I lived.

  “You know my thoughts on that—” he began.

  “Enough! Let us take off—"

  Drak went doggedly on. “And we are supposed to be concerning ourselves about this Prince Nedfar you have selected to be the Emperor of Hamal. Where is he? He is who—"

  “Listen, Drak! It is my guess Nedfar has flown to the Mountains of the West. He's visiting his son, Tyfar. That's what I think. If we hang about he will be rushing back here and no doubt become embroiled with some stupid idiot from the Dawn Lands, or this King Telmont, or anything untoward—” I finished speaking somewhat more lamely than I'd begun. I could hear myself talking, and that is always fatal to ordered thought.

  Over our heads a few clouds scattered pink and golden light from their edges, radiant whorls of darkness, as they obscured the face of the Maiden with the Many Smiles. The stars clustered thickly, fat and bright and twinkling merrily, and a tiny night breeze blew the scents of moon blooms festooning the walls of the landing platform. I breathed in deeply. The air of Kregen is sweet, sweet...

  Everything had been prepared. Now that the decision had been made I was anxious to be off, for I well knew what would happen if word of this got around to my people. There would be an instant outcry. To tell the truth, I found it uncanny how well my decision to fly off was being taken. If my lads of the Emperor's Sword Watch, or the Emperor's Yellow Jackets, got wind of an adventure in the offing—well! And Delia's warriors of the Empress's Devoted Life Guard—they'd want to come, too. And, I saw, if we didn't get off sharpish, nothing was going to stop Kytun from leaping aboard the flier and joining us.

  Drak looked up at us three lining along the rail of the airboat. He gave us a smile. Suddenly, I wondered if he was pleased to see me go, to get me out of his hair. Well, if that was the case—and I
doubted it—then it would be mutual only in the sense that what I was going to do where we were going was all a part and parcel of what had to be done for Hamal and Vallia.

  Deft-Fingered Minch stared up at us, his bearded face as crusty and concerned as ever, for he was a kampeon I counted as a comrade, and I have no doubt at all that he was running over in his mind the preparations he had made for us. We had given him little time; but Minch was not called Deft-Fingered for nothing. I had no doubts that the airboat had been stocked, and fully stocked, with all that we would need.

  Seg suddenly leaned even farther over the rail and shouted down to a fiery-haired fellow with wide shoulders clad in sober russet who looked up in just such a way as Minch.

  “Lije!” shouted Seg. “Did you put in that knobbly stave I have in pickle?"

  “Aye, I did that. And you shouldn't be flying off alone without me—"

  “By Vox!” said Drak, as though struck by a shaft from Erthyr the Bow himself. “That is right! What am I doing allowing you and Lela to fly off—"

  “By the Veiled Froyvil!” sang out Seg. “Your mother and father, and Thelda and me, walked all through the hostile territories of Turismond together—"

  “And Jak and Tyfar and I have gone adventuring, Drak,” called Jaezila who was Lela to her brother. “So stop worrying."

  I shot a hard look at Seg. He had the grace to brace his shoulders back and tilt his head, but he knew he had roused a storm that might delay us. “Get her up, Seg!"

  “Aye, my old dom. Let's get away from all these nannies."

  As the remberees were shouted and our voller lifted up into the night sky, I looked closely at Drak. Already he was swinging away, cape flaring, to bellow at his people standing further back on the landing platform.

  “Make it fast,” I said to Seg at the controls. “Drak will send half the army after us."

  “More likely your Sword Watch,” said Jaezila.