Unmok appeared at my side, carrying a sword. The thraxter was most ornate. I realized it was Noran’s weapon.
“I would not believe, Jak the Shot — but...”
“Do you stand aside, Unmok the Nets. They may pass me, but they will be dead doing it.”
“And, my friend, so will you.”
“If it is my time for Zair to whisk me up, my friend, then up I will go, and nothing on Kregen will prevent that.”
A flash of gold just beyond the scaled men, a glitter of steel. The first schrepim bore on for me, but the second swung back, not as quickly as he had once moved, to face the golden numim who leaped on him, sword held just so.
The two combats finished with a speed that astonished me.
My schrepim died, at last, poor devil, and I swiveled to see Mazdo the Splandu finish off his with a slicing cut that left the schrepim’s head all a-dangling before he fell.
“Jikai!” called Mazdo. “Jai, Jikai!”
“Maybe,” I said in a grunt of exhaustion. “I give you the Jikai for your help — and, my thanks—”
“You did it all. I merely brushed up the crumbs.”
And Mazdo the Splandu ran fleetly off along the seating to vanish past the curious carved nymphs. After that the guards turned up. I do not know if they had waited to see the outcome of the fight. But Vad Noran, shaking still, his face as green as the green ichor staining the seating of his private amphitheater, slowly came back to his senses. He started bellowing orders.
His guards, who may have waited and who may not have, were in for a very rough time of it. A very rough time indeed.
Presently, when the poor shredded schrepims had been carried away, and Noran had been petted and fussed over by his tame slaves, all aahing and oohing, and blandishing him with exclamations of admiration and praise for his valor — at which Unmok and I wisely held our tongues — we all went into the villa. Little to add to that. Unmok, brisking up, mentioned payment for his werstings, and Noran paid. He looked at me.
“I shall reward you, Jikai — handsomely. You are, I think, a hyr-paktun. Will you fight for me in the arena? There will be much gold. You will be a hyr-kaidur very quickly, I know—”
“Much as you honor me, notor, I am not able. I am sworn.”
He looked disappointed, but he had the sense not to press.
It was quite clear to everyone that Noran must have fought like a leem to have slain all the schrepims with my and Unmok’s assistance. Unmok started to protest, but I hushed him.
“Give us our gold, notor,” I said. “We have a cage-voller to buy and fresh animals to find.”
“Yes, yes. You shall have gold—” He swallowed. “My life is precious—” And then he said, “I cannot understand the ingratitude of those vile Slacamen! I paid for them, I would have treated them well! Why did they choose the path of murder?”
His personal needleman had patched me up and stuck a few needles in to deaden the pain. I felt half alive. I said, “They are men despite all, despite what diff and apim may think of them. No man cares to be chained and caged and forced to fight in a battle that does not concern him.”
“You speak foolishly, Jak. Men like that have only their swordarms to sell in the market. And I pay them well!”
You couldn’t argue with him. At least, I couldn’t at that moment. I nodded.
“Thank you, notor. Now we will take our leave.”
The vad’s palatial quarters reflected his tastes well enough. The fellow who so far had sat quietly in a deep armchair by the window, idly pulling leaves off a plant in a bowl at his side, looked across. He was a spare man — by Krun! he looked like a starving ferret! — and his tastes were most certainly not reflected in the sumptuousness around him.
“You sound as though you sympathize with these Slacamen.”
I shook my head and waited for the Bells of Beng Kishi to subside. I had taken a few fair old knocks. “No, notor. Just that they made the mistake of not knowing when to stop killing.”
“One that you will not make?” His voice was like oiled steel.
I agreed, in the same deferential way I was talking, for I wanted out of here. He wore supple mesh mail from the Dawn Lands, and his dark hair was cut savagely short. His left eye was covered by a patch, a thing of crusted diamonds and emeralds. The stillness of him as he sat there, the deliberate movements as he stripped the plant, all conveyed the sense of suppressed energy. He was a man I would not seek to cross, and if, inadvertently I did so, would guard my back and put him down as quickly as possible.
He said, “You will not leave without the vad’s permission.”
“Assuredly, notor.”
He turned his one good eye, sunken under a black brow, up to Noran. “I would have given much to have seen the contest in the arena, Noran. And more to have put my sword-arm alongside yours in your battle with these yetches.”
Noran laughed. His voice pitched a trifle high, his face was flushed, his eyes bright. I did not look at Unmok. I just wanted out. We had gold enough now to buy the cage-voller.
About to open my mouth again, I was brought to my senses by Unmok’s grip on my arm. The two lords missed the byplay.
“Shut your black-fanged winespout, Jak!” Unmok’s whisper was fierce and frightened.
Noran was speaking, trying to sound offhand, casual about his fight and yet driven by what the pretense demanded.
“I would have joyed to have had you at my side, Gochert. It was a High Jikai!”
I kept my craggy old face impassive. By Zim-Zair! The presumption! Not in claiming what Noran claimed — that could easily be understood, and excused, on the grounds of his natural vanity and the position he found himself in. No, not that. But to use those great words, the High Jikai, in this context... No, I wanted out, by Zodjuin of the Silver Stux!
Then another portion of the puzzle that I sensed — and with a chilling unease, too! — was going to influence my life in the immediate future, dropped into place. This jewel-eyed Gochert had finished with the plant. It was now a mere stiff skeleton of twigs. His deliberate fingers began to slide over the pommel of one of his swords as though it were a netsuke. This was his thraxter. He wore also a rapier and his left-hand dagger was larger than the usual main gauche. All the weapons looked to be plain and workmanlike.
Gochert’s one good eye appraised Noran. He waited before he spoke, and that small pause was just not quite long enough to be insulting.
“A Jikai,” he said. “A High Jikai. By Spikatur Hunting Sword, Noran, I think you are right!”
Even if Vad Noran’s jaw drew in until his neck creased and his shoulders went back, he took the remark as a compliment. He had no desire, apparently, to cross this jewel-eyed, ferret-faced Gochert. He waved his hand to dismiss us.
I said, “With the vad’s permission.” Then I added, “It is now clear that Froshak the Shine did not release the schrepims.”
“By Glem! Is not that what I have already said!”
He hadn’t, but I did not wish to argue the point. We went out and I took a last good look at this Gochert fellow, who scared Vad Noran and who talked of Spikatur Hunting Sword. The gold weighed on us, and I, at least, was ready to fight for it. But Unmok knew what he was doing. He might be scared of the protocol surrounding nobles, but he assured me that Noran would honor his promise and payment. So we collected the tame slaves from the outer courtyard and left Vad Noran’s villa and its secrets, and walked down into the busy bustle of Huringa.
In a weird way, somehow or other, I seemed to hear the echo of clanging iron bars back there in that villa.
As we walked along Unmok regained his usual perky self. “A cage-voller!” he said. There was awe in his voice.
“You told me you did not much care for this beast-caging life, Unmok.”
“So I did, Jak, so I did.”
“So why continue? We have enough gold. You could set up in business.” I refrained from mocking him on what might be the current nature of that business.
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He stopped and twisted to stare up at me. His middle left jerked in excitement. “It is your gold, Jak! You fought the Slacamen, not I!”
“Are we or are we not partners?”
“But — in this!”
“You’ll find Froshak again all right?”
“Yes, yes. But tell me fair what is in your mind.”
“I will, Unmok. I will — but...”
The plans I had for Unmok and Froshak were dreams they would consider impossible. I did not want to force their destinies upon them, become an arbiter of their fates. If they wanted to go with me to Vallia, they would have to make the decision themselves. I was fully prepared for a refusal. Their lives were their own.
Amusement touched me at the thought of Noran and the pitiful figure he cut and his desperate desire to hold onto the reputation of a Jikai he had acquired over the affair with the schrepims. The honor in his life was now caged up, locked with a lie.
As for my life, well, I had broken free of my iron-barred cage, if only for a time. Delia and my gang of ruffians were safe, for no warning of danger had reached me from Deb-Lu-Quienyin, but there was cause for concern over the safety of anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.
Tilly, Oby and Naghan the Gnat had been rescued. Voinderam and Fransha were on the way home to confound the plans of the Racters. Vondium and Vallia would stand. We would struggle through, that I passionately believed in, even against Phu-Si-Yantong. Life would open out for me again, the iron bars forgotten. Whatever Unmok and Froshak decided, I would find myself a handsome voller and fly home to Vallia through the streaming mingled radiance of the Suns of Scorpio.
There were Prince Tyfar and Jaezila to bid good-bye to first.
Saying the remberees to them would be painful, but, after that wrench — Vallia!
Vallia and Delia!
Notes
[1] na: The word “na” in Kregish for “of” carries connotations of higher rank than the other common word for “of” — “ti” — and is used more of provinces and cities rather than towns or estates. A.B.A.
[2] ob: one. shebov: seven. zan: ten.
[3] “Kyr” is conferred by the emperor, “Tyr” by a high ranking noble. Koter is Vallian for Mister, equating with the Havilfarese Horter. A.B.A.
[4] jikarna. Arna is a Kregish word having the meaning of “absence of.” Hence Gilarna the Barren — the Absence of Pleasure. So that jikarna can be translated as the absence of warrior qualities, i.e., coward. A.B.A.
About the author
Alan Burt Akers was a pen name of the prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer, who died in December 2005 aged eighty-four.
Bulmer wrote over 160 novels and countless short stories, predominantly science fiction, both under his real name and numerous pseudonyms, including Alan Burt Akers, Frank Brandon, Rupert Clinton, Ernest Corley, Peter Green, Adam Hardy, Philip Kent, Bruno Krauss, Karl Maras, Manning Norvil, Chesman Scot, Nelson Sherwood, Richard Silver, H. Philip Stratford, and Tully Zetford. Kenneth Johns was a collective pseudonym used for a collaboration with author John Newman. Some of Bulmer’s works were published along with the works of other authors under "house names" (collective pseudonyms) such as Ken Blake (for a series of tie-ins with the 1970s television programme The Professionals), Arthur Frazier, Neil Langholm, Charles R. Pike, and Andrew Quiller.
Bulmer was also active in science fiction fandom, and in the 1970s he edited nine issues of the New Writings in Science Fiction anthology series in succession to John Carnell, who originated the series.
More details about the author, and current links to other sources of information, can be found at
www.mushroom-ebooks.com, and at wikipedia.org.
The Dray Prescot Series
The Delian Cycle:
1. Transit to Scorpio
2. The Suns of Scorpio
3. Warrior of Scorpio
4. Swordships of Scorpio
5. Prince of Scorpio
Havilfar Cycle:
6. Manhounds of Antares
7. Arena of Antares
8. Fliers of Antares
9. Bladesman of Antares
10. Avenger of Antares
11. Armada of Antares
The Krozair Cycle:
12. The Tides of Kregen
13. Renegade of Kregen
14. Krozair of Kregen
Vallian cycle:
15. Secret Scorpio
16. Savage Scorpio
17. Captive Scorpio
18. Golden Scorpio
Jikaida cycle:
19. A Life for Kregen
20. A Sword for Kregen
21. A Fortune for Kregen
22. A Victory for Kregen
Spikatur cycle:
23. Beasts of Antares
24. Rebel of Antares
25. Legions of Antares
26. Allies of Antares
Pandahem cycle:
27. Mazes of Scorpio
28. Delia of Vallia
29. Fires of Scorpio
30. Talons of Scorpio
31. Masks of Scorpio
32. Seg the Bowman
Witch War cycle:
33. Werewolves of Kregen
34. Witches of Kregen
35. Storm over Vallia
36. Omens of Kregen
37. Warlord of Antares
Lohvian cycle:
38. Scorpio Reborn
39. Scorpio Assassin
40. Scorpio Invasion
41. Scorpio Ablaze
42. Scorpio Drums
43. Scorpio Triumph
Balintol cycle:
44. Intrigue of Antares
45. Gangs of Antares
46. Demons of Antares
47. Scourge of Antares
48. Challenge of Antares
49. Wrath of Antares
50. Shadows over Kregen
Phantom cycle:
51. Murder on Kregen
52. Turmoil on Kregen
Copyright © 1980, Kenneth Bulmer
Alan Burt Akers has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.
First published by Daw Books, Inc. in 1980.
This Edition published in 2007 by Mushroom eBooks, an imprint of Mushroom Publishing, Bath, BA1 4EB, United Kingdom
www.mushroom-ebooks.com
Originally published as written by Dray Prescot, as told to Alan Burt Akers.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
ISBN 1843196115
Contents
The Spikatur Cycle
1 – At the Sign of the Headless Zorcaman
2 – Of the Disobedience of Nath Karidge
3 – In Which Nath Nazabhan, Kapt of the Phalanx, Is at Last Named
4 – Concerning the Power of Phu-Si-Yantong
5 – On the Day of Opaz the Deliverer
6 – Sword for Delia
7 – Sacrifice
8 – Zenobya
9 – “You’ll be just that, Dray Prescot! Arena fodder!”
10 – Unmok the Nets
11 – A Shot at a Swordship
12 – Beasts for Huringa
13 – Of an Encounter in a Skyship
14 – I Amuse my Friends
15 – Of Questions and Reminders
16 – An Armorer Raises an Echo
17 – Of the Eye of a Vollerman
18 – In the Recalcitrants House
19 – Mazdo the Splandu
20 – Combat, Blood and Death
Notes
About the author
The Dray Prescot Series
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