Scorpio Triumph [Dray Prescot #43]

by Alan Burt Akers

  The queen's Wizard of Loh, Mar-Win-Naltong, jumped up, swinging his staff in a glittering arc before him. Licria dived away from her chair and scuttled to crouch behind Naltong. Schian kicked a couple of chairs out of his way as he followed, raving incoherent words. The queen continued to sit, shielded by Naltong.

  What happened next lay on an aethereal plane beyond the ken of non-sorcerers. Deb-Lu did begin to say: “There is no need for alarm—” Then he stopped speaking and held up his free left hand. He became still. Naltong's staff continued to whirl in a flashing circle before the Lohvians. Some of the guards stood, mouths hanging, riveted. Others ran out of the tent. The attendants fell to the carpets, clapped their hands over their heads, and sobbed and slobbered, too frightened to scream.

  Only moments later two more Wizards of Loh entered the tent and four Witches of Loh. They were all attired in gorgeous and flamboyant robes; their faces expressed absolute power and knowledge of that power. They ranked themselves alongside Naltong, and span their staffs. Quite clearly they were exerting enormous thaumaturgical pressure upon Deb-Lu.

  I own I gave a breath of relief when two pillars of light materialized beside Deb-Lu. As the radiance coalesced there stood Khe-Hi-Bjanching and his wife, Ling-Li-Lwingling. Our three comrade Wizards and Witch of Loh stood stock still, staring at the other sorcerers. I felt a prickly itch all over my skin. Heat grew in the tent. Vast quantities of kharrna were being hurled about the tent, energies beyond our comprehension.

  Fascinated, we stared upon this thaumaturgical contest.

  How could one judge which way the combat flowed? No visible signs of distress appeared upon the faces of the mages at first. The looks of lofty disdain upon Satra's sorcerers slowly vanished. Our three comrade mages exhibited nothing in their faces but absorbed concentration.

  Seven against three! How could our friends prevail? And what would be the price of failure?

  There was some comfort in the thought that between these sorcerers of Satra's and our friends lay five hundred seasons of progress. Surely, I tried to tell myself, bolstering my hopes, surely they must have learned a few tricks of the trade unknown to Naltong and his gang? Surely?

  A fourth glimmer of blue began fitfully to shine beside Khe-Hi. It thickened, wavered, died, returned, coalescing. Like a column of heated air it shimmered there uncertainly. What—or who—was this?

  A face appeared momentarily, and vanished in a whorl of light. Rollo! Rollo as ever was! Rollo the Runner whose real name was Ra-Lu-Quonling, an apprentice Wizard of Loh. His form focused and he stood there, and he wavered like a blown candle flame. Grimly he stuck to his task. He said he was no great hand at going into lupu and projecting his image; but he had done so, and manfully he was trying to assist us now. Good old Rollo!

  The silence remained profound for all the slaves had retreated into absolute terror. We all stood as though as petrified as the people out there still under the thrall of the suspended animation spell.

  A star of light appeared under the turban of one of Satra's wizards. The light shifted and rolled down his temple. The mage was sweating! A witch's lips twisted, revealing brown teeth. She caught her lip between those teeth, and clamped them shut. Another wizard actually gasped.

  Now all of Naltong's gang were sweating. What powers, what kharrna, what sheer raw thaumaturgical energies were being expended—only the inhabitants of the Seven Arcades might know.

  Naltong reeled. He staggered back. He dropped his staff. A cry, strangled, awful, gargled from his throat. He fell.

  The other six mages collapsed.

  “Well, now,” said Deb-Lu in his cheerful old voice. “I feel they Brought That on Themselves.”

  “Beastly lot,” declared Ling-Li.

  “They deserved that for their own impoliteness and stupidity.” Khe-Hi sounded severe.

  “All I wanted to tell you, comrades,” said Deb-Lu, “is that I am happy to report we have broken through the magic here. We can show you the way out.”

  “Splendid!” I said. “What about this sorry lot?”

  Noise had returned and of that noise the greatest row was spurting from Princess Licria. She was howling her head off in terror.

  “They'll live.” Ling-Li was most laconic.

  I said: “I was overjoyed to hear of your twins, Ling-Li. You and Khe-Hi have my deepest felicitations. It's splendid!”

  “Thank you, Dray. And you know of our arrangement over their names?”

  “Absolutely,” said Delia, smiling, perfectly unruffled by all this magic. “And we shall fill their shoes with gold, as is proper when babies enter the world.”

  Queen Satra stood up. She was breathing heavily and her lips trembled. She started to speak, licked her lips, began again.

  “I cannot believe what I have just witnessed. The college is the most powerful in Whonban and that means in all Loh and Kregen. Yet—”

  “The college formed by these seven has much to learn,” said Deb-Lu in his driest way.

  Rollo's form was now flapping like laundry on a line. “I think,” his voice said, faintly, “I really think I must depart.”

  “You have our thanks, Rollo.” Deb-Lu half-lifted his staff. “But you really must work on lupu. You make such hard work of it.”

  “Of course, san—” With an inaudible plop Rollo vanished.

  The seven Lohvian mages remained sprawled on the carpets.

  Seg said: “My money was on you all the time, Deb-Lu.”

  Sasha said: “Not a doubt in all Paz!”

  Milsi said: “It's lovely to see you all again.”

  Inch said: “And you know the way out. Capital!”

  The forms lax on the carpets failed to elicit any sympathy. I gave them a nod. “I was absolutely confident you'd learned some tricks of your arcane trade in the five hundred seasons separating you.”

  Deb-Lu rubbed his nose and then immediately shoved his turban straight. “Assuredly, Jak. Assuredly.”

  Queen Satra emitted a little puff of sound from her moist lips. “I do not believe. Oh, no! By Hlo-Hli, I cannot believe!”

  Delia spoke reflectively. “It is most odd. I own to a feeling of sorrow for you. You have been kind to us down here. Yet your empire was oppressive, so we learn at school, and deserved to die.” Delia's hand made a graceful gesture before her face. “You have my sympathy, Satra.”

  Just what this high and mighty queen might have made of that was not to be known, at least, just yet.

  Ling-Li said in her precise voice: “There's that other locus out there, growing nearer.”

  “Could it be the Lady Merlee?” said Delia.

  “Too strong for her.” Khe-Hi's projected image vanished and then reappeared next to his wife on the other side of Deb-Lu. “Anyway, the mage is masculine.”

  “We'd better—” began Deb-Lu. The other two nodded and the three said together: “Remberee, all!” and vanished.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter six

  The new locus of magic turned out to be a Wizard of Cromal. He walked in with an altogether new expedition unknown to us. They were not in good case, having suffered considerably from the horrors down here. They had few porters left and their warriors looked grimy and battered. All the same, the leader, a one-eared Khibil called Vad Valadian, was prepared to be as haughty as any damn-you-to-hell Khibil considered he had every right to be.

  The sorcerer wore robes that had once been impressive. His narrow face bore a shrewd look owing more to knowledge of the world and native cunning than arcane thaumaturgical understanding. He called himself Tse-Tsu-Luenling. He was not a Wizard of Loh. Oh, surely, he'd been born in the continent of Loh down south in Shirnlee, not in Whonban. Now it is essential in order to avoid confusion to grasp the delicate distinctions of territorial claims and magical attainment in Loh. This fellow Luenling was a member of the Cult of Stortingen. He could call himself a Wizard of Stortingen. Now if he traveled abroad and people addressed him as a Wiza
rd of Loh, he'd make the most of that chance. There had been occasions in which I'd been astonished at the actions of a Wizard of Loh, and no doubt this deception explained them.

  Absolutely no detective work was required to guess why Vad Valadian had ventured down into the Realm of the Drums.

  What my comrades and myself wanted to know was—who had sent him, who was he working for, what new party wanted the ruby of the Skantiklar?

  This information was not forthcoming.

  There was now a whole great gang of us clustered down here, all thoroughly frustrated by the disappearance of the ruby clutched in the hot little hands of Na-Si-Fantong.

  “The best thing we can do is to get out of it,” said Delia, and she pursed up those delectable lips.

  “Quicker than a shaft from the bow of Erthanfydd Himself,” agreed Seg.

  In the aftermath of the Conflict of the Sorcerers, a markedly different attitude was observable on the part of Satra and her people. Gochert heard all about it, and apart from a casual comment—and how typical of the icy character that was!—simply ignored the whole thing. He was as anxious to reach the surface as we were.

  The Lady Merlee, so Delia told me, had mentioned in her faint voice that she was glad she hadn't been there.

  “I'll bet!” I said, and twisted my lips into a smile.

  Vad Gochert with his usual cool calculation had decided not to confirm we Vallians’ preposterous story. “When we reach the surface,” he said, and his jeweled eye patch glittered. “Then the truth cannot be denied.”

  As I say, a cool customer and a fellow to have on your side.

  Satra's seven witches and wizards had recovered and each had a headache that brought tears to their eyes and immediate recourse to the needlemen and the Puncture Ladies. What had happened to them was something like walking slap bang into a brick wall.

  The concourse of tents and marquees was struck, the porters and slaves were loaded like pack animals, the guards prowled ahead—and we were off. The lads of the Guard Corps tended to form solid and bristly walls about their Kendur and his comrades. A few words in the right ears saw Mevancy, Llodi, Kuong and Rollo included along with Fan-Si's fristle Jikai Vuvushis and friends. A messenger, young Tyr Nalgre ti Mailinsmot, all pink ears and bright eyes, only just learning not to entangle his sword between his legs, trotted up to say that Vad Gochert and the Lady Merlee would like to walk with us for a time.

  This was useful and they joined our party to be fully introduced and to learn more of what had gone on in the world since they'd been frozen down here.

  “You are, I think,” said Gochert in his precise way, “a hyrpaktun. A zhanpaktun, rather than a mortpaktun—”

  “Oh, aye, notor,” I interrupted in my growly way. “Time was when a fellow had to earn the right to call himself a paktun, a renowned mercenary. After that he could aspire to become a hyrpaktun and receive the pakzhan from his peers. Nowadays any young lad from the farm can pick up a spear and put a boiled leather helmet on and call himself a paktun without ever seeing a battlefield.”

  “Times change.” Gochert said this with more than its obvious meaning.

  “Despite all,” said Delia, “one has to believe for the better, surely?”

  We were walking through a cavern high and vast, its roof lost in the evanescent pearly light. Somewhere up ahead Satra was being carried along in her palanquin, and to our rear Vad Valadian and his people trailed on. Now Gochert gave me a shrewd look, the light striking from the facets of the jewels covering his left eye.

  “Yes, I believe you are a zhanpaktun. But you are more than that. No one can miss the way you are treated.”

  This, of course, was something about which I could do nothing. My lads weren't going to have anyone—anyone!—treat their Kendur with less than the respect they considered his due. In that case, capital must be made out of it.

  “We are all of Paz, Gochert. It is absolutely vital we all join together to fight the damned Shanks.”

  “I concur.”

  “Good. Well, it seems the people of Paz require a figurehead to be their leader. Some poor benighted simpleton to be their Emperor of Paz.”

  He digested this for a time as we marched on. Then he said: “I doubt that some nations of Pandahem would welcome that.”

  “The Bloody Menahem?”

  “Among others.”

  I told him that recently Menaham had gone on the rampage against their western neighbors and that Vallia was actively assisting in resistance. He nodded and added: “And a considerable more from Havilfar. Particularly the Dawn Lands.”

  “The Dawn Lands are in a mess,” said Delia, with finality.

  We'd told Gochert that many countries of the Dawn Lands, down south in Havilfar, had banded together with us to defeat Hamal. Still, his remark held weight. Some of those crusty kingdoms down there would take a deal of convincing to accept some kind of emperor to co-ordinate them. “All that is for when we escape this maze,” said Gochert in his sharp voice. “Queen Satra has accepted my invitation to dine with me when we next camp. Would you care to join us?”

  The look I gave him must have resembled a Jikaidast observing a cunning and clever gambit in his opponent. I said: “Do you think you know my name, Vad Gochert?”

  He waved a negligent hand. “I must needs be blind in both eyes not to.”

  “Then,” I said, “as you are blind in neither, there need be no more pretence between us.”

  The Lady Merlee gave a little half-stifled laugh at this. I went on: “We shall be happy to accept your kind invitation.”

  That ‘we’ meant my friends; it was not a royal we.

  Now, as to what followed when we did next camp—I must stress what I have repeatedly emphasized. Killing people is not the proper business of any man or woman. That killing occurs is lamentable, regrettable and explainable. Life is what counts. If a society throws up thugs who go around the streets bullying and fully prepared to murder, that is fair comment on that society. That other people in that society are entitled to protect themselves seems unassailable logic. When Vallia was attacked I had no hesitation in resisting. I may add that I have no fear of the old saw, ‘He who lives by the sword dies by the sword.’ For a start, I do not live by the sword, and for the second, when I, as they say in Clishdrin, pop my clogs, what more expected fashion could there be?

  Gochert's plans for a pleasant rest period entertaining the queen were to be dashed. Up ahead the trail left the cavern by an opening wide enough for two people abreast. Bits and pieces of a crowpin lay about, some still twitching, the vegetable horror hacked to shreds before it had a chance to snatch a passing victim. Mind you, crowpins had to live, too. At the side stood an audo of Satra's personal guards, with a hikdar two paces front and centre. He saluted punctiliously, his clothes, armor and weapons impeccable after all the time he'd spent down here.

  “Lord Gochert. A message from the queen.”

  As the hikdar spoke, Gochert's icy face reflected nothing of his feelings. An expedition had been encountered up ahead seeking the way out. The leader was known to the queen, a certain Chan Holomin, Strom of Wioldrin. She might very well, I fancied, be a trifle cross with Strom Chan, for he had sneaked down here after her without her permission—or so I had been led to believe. Whatever the truth of that, the outcome was that the queen would receive Strom Chan at dinner when we next halted. She must therefore decline Vad Gochert's invitation and would in turn invite him to attend her entertainment.

  At the end of the hikdar's recital Gochert simply nodded his head curtly and said: “Tell the queen I am engaged to entertain the King and Queen of Croxdrin and party. I shall attend with them.”

  “Quidang!”

  Handsomely done, I said to myself, handsomely done, by Vox!

  Then I experienced a hilarious reaction at all this stuffy protocol and polite society manners—down here among the magics and horrors of the Realm of the Drums!

  As to those weighty matters, though, the magics were
being taken care of by the assembled mages, and the horrors by the advance guard. This included detachments of Vallians, and therefore inanimate people and monsters of the animal or vegetable creation were being awoken as we progressed.

  There were other ways of dealing with the situation, and of Satra's skepticism, naturally; this happened to be the way things fell out.

  When we halted to camp and the fires burned up and the smells of cooking wafted and we could take our ease, it was perfectly understandable that to us, despite the pervasive pearly glow, we should think of this time as evening.

  As we dressed for the queen's dinner party, Delia said: “Gochert knows who you are, now, and yet he is pussy-footing around the subject.”

  “Aye. I think the idea of an emperor of emperor's sticks in his craw.”

  “If I read him aright he will come around. There will be others who will not.”

  “The Star Lords are hard taskmasters. Willy-nilly, I have to sew the whole of Paz together. I shall,” I said with a bombast that amused me and brought a little smile to Delia's lips, “I really shall have to find a kingdom for Inch and Sasha.”

  “They are perfectly happy—”

  “Of course! But Seg feels it, I know.”

  “Yes.”

  As she buckled up her rapier, Delia added half musingly: “Mind you, dear heart, I doubt if we can make all our friends kings and queens.”

  There was not a hint of megalomania in this conversation; there might be a touch of fear. We did what we did because the Star Lords commanded, and we knew only too dreadfully well what happened if I disobeyed. My defiance of the Everoinye had to be conducted in much more subtle ways.

  Queen Satra set up a sumptuous banquet. Huntsmen had brought in plenty of game, there were still amphorae of wine untouched; we sat down to a gourmet's repast.

  Gochert and his party were welcomed in and we sat at the long table. The throne-like chair at the head of the table remained empty. Across from me sat Strom Chan, his brown seamed face and stiffly jutting black beard as I remembered. We exchanged a few polite words, clearly understood between us the fact we would get together later and compare experiences. Trylon Ge-fu-Schian and Princess Licria, of course, were seated at the table, and a right unholy pair they made, by Krun!