Scorpio Assassin

by Alan Burt Akers

  Leaving the Mishuro villa I went the long way round to the palace, striding out, breathing deeply, trying to bring myself under control. Many thoughts jostled inside my cranium. There was the affair of the queen’s necklace yet to be settled, a damned sorcerer to be dealt with, a gang of cutthroats to be cut down to size. There was the ever-present urgency of getting this whole imbroglio over fast so I could return to Vallia and Valka. There was the mystery of Carazaar and his minion Arzuriel. Lurking like some monster of the deep below everything else the hideous problem of the reiving Shanks from over the curve of the world remained. They would not go away until everyone of Paz united to drive them off.

  By the time I had waited for my name to be sent in to San Chandro and his authority of admittance returned I had quietened down. I had left my admission with my clothes as I’d been hoicked up and out of here. I’d go along with the same story to San Chandro, and, in sooth, he must have heard of the disturbance in the pool at the Springs of Benga Annorpha and the peril of the Chasserfic.

  He had heard. He greeted me kindly, although clearly abstracted by affairs of state, and was galvanized into eager demands to hear more when I explained what had happened. He was convinced the Chasserfic was a part of the greater plot. At the moment I couldn’t accept that; but I didn’t argue. I made a casual mention of the lord Nanji and the lady Floria; he hadn’t the slightest interest in them. His spies had reported their presence in the city, and their movements, and that was all.

  “No, my boy, it is that Tsung-Tan-forsaken Shang-Li-Po! He and his evil schemes are at the bottom of everything.”

  “I thought San Lunky did well—”

  “Yes, yes! Of course. But events have swept past now. We must look to the heir. Whoever is pronounced queen will need the Repositers to guide her in ways quite different from what we have done before.”

  Aware of the importance of the answer in his eyes, I asked: “Who is the heir?”

  He pursed up his lips, that narrow face shrewd. “There is confusion in the records. The lines of descent were tangled at the best of times, and that time was a long time ago. As the college sees it, there are three people who have legitimate claims to be the closest next of kin.”

  I waited as he heaved up a sigh. He could see the troubles ahead that would accrue from arguments and confrontations.

  “The three are, one: the lady Kirsty, two: the lady Thalna and three: the lady Leone.”

  “That is our Leone?”

  “Yes. And her cousin, Kirsty. You met her, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “My best judgment is that Thalna will be knocked out of the running first. Her claim is the most tenuous of the three.”

  “And the best?”

  “That will have to await the adjudication.”

  He gave me a stare. “You may wonder why I am so free with you, Drajak. I fear dark times are ahead. The old order is crumbling. I need a man like you at my side.”

  Again, I waited. I didn’t want to ask the question burning my tongue which he might well consider impertinent. He was, after all, down here in Tsungfaril, a very important personage.

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Yes, Drajak, I see your tongue is commanded by your head. You would like to know who I support?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood up from his chair and walked across the room, turned and walked back. He eyed me like a sparrow sizing up a crumb of bread.

  “Your reticence is as important as your assistance. You know how much I care for Leone. She is of the spring, warm and young, green and growing. She is not cut from the same cloth as Queen Leone was.” He stopped by the table and picked up a Jikaida piece, turning it over in his thin fingers. It was the Yellow Pallan. Then he placed it down firmly beside the Yellow Princess. He gave me that fierce sizing-up look.

  I drew a breath.

  “Then you will support Kirsty.”

  He nodded. “Aye.”

  “I understand.”

  “If I thought you would not then I would not have told you, neither would I have sought to employ you. You do follow, Drajak?”

  Now it was my turn to nod. “I follow.”

  Chapter sixteen

  In ordinary times one would quite have expected San Chandro to have trumpeted the stunning news that a mortal man had been blessed by Tsung-Tan and had been moved through time and space at the whim of the godhead. As it was, Chandro hugged this information to himself. My best judgment was not that he was obsessed by the imaginary power this information gave to him alone but that he sought ways of using it to further his plans for Kirsty as queen.

  In a very short time arrangements were finalized for the adjudication which would take place in the college palace. Mevancy went off to join the crowds whilst I stayed in the Mishuro villa.

  One person who was delighted Chandro wished Kirsty to become queen burst in to see me beaming. Trylon Kuong had been kept busy lately; now he had taken time off on the day of adjudication to come and congratulate me and thank me for Kirsty’s life.

  “That’s a rather melodramatic way of putting it.” I waved a hand at the refreshments on the side table of this small room Mevancy and I used as a sitting room. “There were other people involved—”

  “Oh, yes, true! But it was that damned traitor Shang-Li-Po, the Kaour, behind the plot. And he wanted to kill Kirsty!” Kuong was outraged.

  In as casual a way as I could manage — I made play with a paline in my fingers as I spoke, carefully — I said: “Kirsty and Rodders are well matched. Leone is unattached. As, trylon, are you.”

  Such a match, apart from creating a splendid marriage, would have solved some of my unwanted problems too, by Krun.

  He ducked his head in that way people have of telling you they understand what you are saying.

  “Leone is — well, Leone. My love-life is well catered for at the moment. Most.” A look one can only describe as self-satisfied came over his bronzed face. “Highly spiced. Oh, no, Drajak, nothing like that.”

  “Lucky you,” I said, keeping the bitterness out of my voice with difficulty.

  “No, it’s damned politics again. The western boundary of my trylonate of Taranik runs along the eastern boundary of Tarankar. At one time we had friendly relations with them. They are a strange lot, in any case, and now apparently a new lot of diffs have moved in. The upshot is that they refuse to trade, they have assassinated my merchants and returned the queen’s ambassador’s head in a sack.”

  I made a sympathetic noise and added: “A cause for war?”

  “I detest war. But Vad Leotes and I were trying to persuade the queen to take a more positive attitude. San Chandro, also, is of our mind.”

  “If Shang-Li-Po counsels no war he will be popular—”

  “That is true. I find it distasteful that I am in the warmongering party. As you know, the Queen’s Repositers are split; Nath the Uttarler is unable to make a decision even concerning the Queen’s Matrons.” He checked himself there, and shook his head. The Queen’s Matrons provided the queen with information about her past lives unknown to the male Repositers. Kuong went on speaking in a slow and wondering voice: “You know, Drajak, now there is to be a new queen, where is the need for Repositers or Matrons?”

  He sounded like a man who had just discovered a new planet among the stars of heaven.

  I said: “The Repositers will be required to store information for all future queens, as has been the case in the past. Their feathers may be clipped; they’ll still fly high in Tsungfaril.”

  He gave me a quick look. “You sound — hard.”

  “When I first became interested in all this political mélange here I assumed it was the usual thirst for power, with half-crazed people killing and bribing their way to positions of authority. This remains true, of course; but reincarnation, the paol-ur-bliem, adds a new dimension and creates a profoundly different situation. Whether or not you believe the old chestnut about absolute power corrupting or not, once most people gain pos
itions of authority with the wealth and privileges attached they are drastically disinclined to give it all up. Now you have power blocs continuing from generation to generation centered around the very same person.”

  “Except for this situation now with the queen—”

  “Aye, Kuong, aye. And Kirsty will need good friends.”

  The sound of rapid footfalls reached us from the hallway and we turned as Mevancy marched in.

  “They’re still at it,” she said, not breathlessly but in a rush. “They’ve been closeted for half a day now.”

  Kuong said: “Even if the outcome is already decided, they have to make the proceedings appear difficult and important. And, anyway, I expect Nath the Uttarler has held things up humming and hawing.”

  The college and the council would, so Chandro had assured me, not fail to choose Kirsty as queen. After all the votes had been tallied up, Chandro said there would be a difference of one vote. And that would be enough. That, he had said confidently, also took into account the probable vote of Nath the Uttarler — if he managed to rouse himself to remember to cast his own vote — for Shang-Li-Po’s faction.

  “Shang-Li-Po’s faction,” I said. “The party of peace.”

  Mevancy said: “Shang-Li-Po’s faction. The sell-out party.”

  “That is true.” Kuong frowned. “They’d sell anybody to save their own skins.”

  The whole city of Makilorn waited. A new queen was being chosen. Lassitude might mark most of the dealings of these folk as they prepared themselves for the delights of Gilium in the afterlife, already I had seen the way they could throw off constraints and enjoy themselves at times of celebration. Now another absorbing conundrum had been presented to them and they threw themselves into the fascinating pursuits of guessing and discussing and gambling on the outcome.

  We here were in possession of confidential knowledge. The folk of Makilorn knew there were three contestants, and so they judged them on what was known and according to predilection. Kuong judged that most people favored Leone. This seemed natural. After all, she was young, beautiful, eager, with a dazzling personality. Kirsty was dark and hard and would suffer no nonsense. As for Thalna, very few inveterate gamblers would take odds on her victory.

  The time ticked by and the sand dropped in the glasses.

  The twin Suns of Scorpio, Luz and Walig, passed across the sky.

  Kuong strode up and down. At last he burst out: “I cannot stay here like this! I’m for the college.”

  “There is a huge crowd—” began Mevancy.

  “Oh, yes, of course. They’re all hanging about, waiting, betting, listening to the most ludicrous rumors, eating and drinking, like a crowd of vosks all waiting for the swill to pour out.”

  “Can we get through?”

  “I am, after all, a trylon.”

  “Um,” I said.

  “Well, cabbage, it’s better than sitting here!”

  “Very well.”

  Truth to tell, I welcomed the activity, even if it could have no influence on events. We prepared ourselves and then went quickly through the deserted streets to the palace that housed the college.

  The rumble of the crowds swelled like thunder as we approached. True to his word, Kuong led us around to the rear entrance and was able to gain entrance without trouble. The palace was sumptuous. Guards stood everywhere. We were shown to a waiting room where other notables sat tensely or walked up and down, and even here the bets were being laid.

  The inner chambers were sealed off and the college and council met in utmost secrecy. We heard that Ortyg Hanshar, the chief priest, had gone in looking pale but firm. Nath the Uttarler had been found wandering in a picture gallery admiring the portraits and been led gently in to do his duty. No news reached us. The golden doors remained fast shut.

  “What is the delay?” demanded a rascally-looking fellow emptily.

  “They merely prove their own importance,” snapped a waspish woman with considerable venom.

  A man with the brown face of the desert, lined and harsh, said: “The due rituals must be observed in the light of Tsung-Tan.” He was a strom from a distant oasis and clearly believed completely in Gilium and the paol-ur-bliem and the fitness of the college and council. “It is beneath my dignity to place a wager on so important a matter. Had I done so I would have unhesitatingly placed a fortune upon the choice of the lady Leone.”

  Kuong made a little grimace at me. “You see?”

  One of the high-ranking guard commanders who waited with us half-turned at this. He was a Khibil, smart and well-turned out, and wore the pakmort at his throat. “I would choose the lady Kirsty,” he said with a military snap. “There are hard days ahead for Tsungfaril.”

  “Then you will lose your wager, chuk.”

  Just as the Khibil chuktar rapped back: “No one can know for sure until the trumpets sound,” the silver pealing notes of the trumpets rang out, high and brilliant. Utter silence fell. The golden doors shivered, and moved, and opened wide. On the heated air the cloying scents of much perfume clogged the nostrils. Priests appeared in procession, walking with stately self-conscious tread, gorgeously appareled. Under a golden canopy borne by armored acolytes Ortyg Hanshar looked every inch the most important priest serving Tsung-Tan. His granite face, marked by years of uncontested authority and set in lines of inflexible purpose, demanded and commanded absolute obedience from all those who lived in the hope of Gilium.

  “The die is cast,” breathed Tuong. “Queen Kirsty will—”

  Then he stopped speaking as though he had fallen over a precipice.

  Following the canopied high priest and borne by two dozen yellow-dressed slaves a throne-chair rode high in the air. Every eye in the chamber fastened on the throne and its occupant.

  High she rode above the throng. Surrounded by the images of her power and symbols of royalty she sat upright in the chair, hands resting firmly on the silk-covered arms, her face a glowing wonder.

  From the crowd a deep chant rose, controlled and ordered, the words distinct and striking to the heart.

  “Hai, Queen Leone! Hai Jikai!”

  Mevancy’s grip on my arm crushed through to the bone.

  The procession marched on as the crowd parted for it. The doors at the far end were flung open. As the nobles and high ones in this antechamber shouted for the new queen, so, as she proceeded, the crowds waiting outside took up the acclamations. The din was prodigious. After all, when had there last been a new queen in Tsungfaril?

  “Leone,” said Kuong. His face had lost color.

  “San Chandro,” said Mevancy, on a breath. “It has gone wrong. Where is Chandro?”

  “There,” I said, and nodded my head at the notables following the throne. Nath the Uttarler led off, supported by two slaves. He was followed very closely by a tall figure dressed from head to toe in red. So closely did this person walk that he was almost abreast of poor old doddery Nath. His face bore marks of granite that made of the granite face of the high priest a mere child’s simpering countenance. Shang-Li-Po gloated in his victory. Dogging his heels walked his crony San Yango. Chandro trailed along at the rear of the group of Repositers. His head hung down and his face lay in shadow.

  “I see him,” snapped Mevancy. “And San Nalgre?”

  “No,” said Kuong. “He is not there.”

  The Queen’s Matrons followed with the Diviners. Lunky’s face expressed repressed sullen fury. He did not look up as he passed.

  “So that’s the way of it,” I said.

  There was no sign of Kirsty or Rodders, or of the lady Thalna come to that. Kuong rolled his shoulders like a man drowning.

  “I cannot stay here!” he spat. Without another word he barged his way through the crowd heading for the small doors at the side. Mevancy gritted out: “Follow me, cabbage,” and we headed after Kuong.

  Outside the palace we moved along the streets trying to avoid the crowds. Makilorn gave itself up to celebration. Not one of us could find the heart to speak
even when we had reached the Mishuro villa. Kuong kept striding up and down in fury. Mevancy, it was clear, was consumed by apprehension at the reaction of the Star Lords to this disaster.

  Later on, when Kuong still simmered with helpless fury, San Chandro turned up. He looked exhausted, shrunken. We guided him to a chair and pressed a goblet into his shaking hands.

  He stared up at us, his eyes unfocussed. “All the plans,” he whispered. “Utterly wasted. Shang-Li-Po struck through to the heart. He prevailed upon San Nalgre. Nalgre voted for Leone.” He tried to drink and the wine slopped. “Nalgre could not resist the pressure. Shang-Li-Po had him taken away somewhere under guard and the threat of instant death—”

  “This behavior from a Repositer!” shouted Kuong.

  “Shang-Li-Po has gone above the law. He has taken the reins.”

  “Then he must be taught—” I began hotly.

  “No, Drajak!” Chandro shook. “Any visible conflict between the members of the college will result in untold harm.”

  “That is perfectly correct,” came Lunky’s voice as he entered the room. He was pale and nervous. “Tsungfaril cannot support any overt violence.”

  “But—” said Mevancy.

  “There is no but.” Lunky dropped into a chair. “Nalgre has been taken to one of Shang-Li-Po’s secret villas. He has girls there. There is a tunnel and a shaft from the villa to the river—”

  “If Nalgre was free,” Mevancy spoke more calmly. “He could cast his proper vote, could he not?”

  “But he is not free. And there is no way we can free him.”

  “But if he was?”

  “Well, yes, to speak of the impossible. This vote could be declared invalid and a fresh one held. That is true.”

  “Well, then,” said Mevancy with a note of triumph in her voice. “We must go there and rescue him!”

  At this both Chandro and Lunky protested, horror in their faces and voices. It was impossible. Any use of soldiers was quite out of the question, could not be tolerated by the state, the priesthood.