“The regiment is on full alert.” Nath drank his parclear.
He needn't have said that, for he'd know I assumed that after attempts on the life of the empress EDLG would be very much on the qui vive. Oh, no, Nath Karidge had been shaken by the ugliness of my reactions.
I turned to Delia. “You have your rapier and main gauche and daggers, of course. Your Claw?”
“Yes, my love.” Her voice was particularly mild.
“Good. Then keep it by.”
Her Claw, a most vicious and unpleasant instrument of destruction, would be kept in its jikvarpam instead of the balass box. That I knew.
Nath Karidge said: “With your permission, maj, I'll cut along now. Things to do.”
“Of course, Nath.”
He slapped up a salute of such smartness it nearly took his head off, and stalked out. I guessed he'd be chasing tails all morning. The use of the diminutive of majestrix as maj instead of jes was rather pleasing. I found I preferred it to jes, although I'd remain jis to our comrades.
Shortly after that a message arrived to say the queen wished to see us urgently at the palace.
We had planned on watching the quarter finals of the regimental hikchunkazzarn competition. Delia and I looked across at each other as Nath Karidge gave orders for the escort and messenger to leave. I believe we all shared the same thought.
Nath said: “I came back with the messenger, maj, studying her. As far as she is concerned, the message is genuine.”
“Well,” I said, flatly, not moving. “I think it's madam at work.”
The others nodded, and Delia said: “We'll go, though.”
“Maj!” Nath was not so much flustered as apprehensive. He'd go marching off into the jaws of a Herrelldrin Hell to save the empress; he didn't relish one single little bit the idea of her following him.
He now had two sets of twins, bonny lads and lasses, and a beautiful wife and a comfortable marriage. Delia and I, for our parts, would not readily forgive ourselves if Nath Karidge was killed.
Nath tightened up his lips and then burst out: “Very well! I'll roust out a guard detail right away.”
Delia called: “Nissa!”
Instantly a slip of a girl stood at her side. I hadn't seen from whence she'd sprung. “Maj?”
“The bag with the red roses, my dear.”
Nissa was off at once. She had pale blonde hair, closely cut, and a sweet round face that would in a few seasons blossom into a maturity of beauty to do more than one poor fellow's business for him. She wore a trim outfit of russet, and a necklace of flowers looked cool and fragrant at her throat. Also, she wore a long Vallian dagger on her thigh. Almost at once she was back bringing the sack with the red roses embroidered upon it.
“Here, Nissa, let me help,” said Nath.
I saw they'd done this before. The Claw was brought forth and strapped up over Delia's left hand and forearm. It glittered with menace. Those razor sharp talons could take a villain's face clean off.
Delia made a little helpless moue at me. She was not altogether enamored of the Claw of the Sisters of the Rose, preferring the rapier and dagger; but she well knew its effectiveness to those trained in its use from childhood.
With Delia's left hand hidden in the folds of her cape, with Nath leading and the guard detail around us, we set off through the strange avenues of Hiclantung. People gave us the occasional glance; mostly they remained indifferent. Much though they had changed from the listless lot they'd been, Queen Satra still had much work to do to turn them into a nation that would fight for her—as she thought—or fight the Shanks—as we desired.
The mid morning rays of the suns lay streaming their mingled lights of jade and ruby across the city. Green copper domes shone refulgently. Dark shadows under the arcades looked as though all the Perils of Prandar the Pernicious lurked there. Up ahead a bridge of houses crossed the avenue.
Nath halted and our little party closed up.
The lights of the suns were completely extinguished under the bridge.
Quietly, without pointing, Nath said: “Under the bridge. I caught an odd flash of movement, quickly stilled.”
“Nets,” said Delia, firmly.
“Aye, maj, my thought exactly—” Then Nath Karidge had no time to finish the sentence. Black figures burst against us from each side. They'd been waiting in ambush for us to be trapped in the nets, and we'd spotted the trap and halted, so now they were going to finish us where we stood.
They did not holler or whoop but came in with feral silence.
Instantly a swirling fight developed. Nath was not to be baulked from his position protecting the empress, not even by her husband the emperor. Screams began to racket up and the harshness of spilled blood smoked into the air. Using the rapier and main gauche I put a big feathered Rapa down and flicked a quick look at Delia. Her Claw scintillated silver in a slanting slash and swung back gleaming redly. Nath thrust a fellow away from the side and then I had to skip a blow and thrust and whirl and when I could look again Delia was just withdrawing her rapier from a bulky Brokelsh. I charged over towards her. The noise of the fight had not attracted the attentions of any passersby. Quite the opposite. Ordinary citizens simply made themselves scarce when stikitches were earning their living.
Abruptly, just as I reached Delia by way of another Rapa, a Chentoi and a Fristle, there seemed to be hundreds of EDLG swarming everywhere. The assassins were so overwhelmingly outnumbered that very few were able to escape.
To my horror I saw young Nissa in there swinging an ironwood quarter staff, and cracking the last few assassins over their heads. Her round face was no longer sweet, it was suffused with fighting rage.
“Delia!” I yelled. “What kind of mortillas are you raising now?”
She saw Nissa, and frowned, and then immediately gave me a little smile.
“We are as Opaz fashions us.” She shook red drops from her Claw. “Nissa is seconded to me as handmaiden from the SoR. She is a good girl; but I cannot say I relish this much frowardness.”
Nath Karidge, splendid in the light of the suns, wheeled up.
“They've gone. We'd better clear off, too.”
“Right,” I said. Then: “And what about all these lads of yours?”
“Ah, well, jis. I considered it a reasonable idea to—ah—as it were—ask them to follow along. Just in case.”
“H'm. I remember when you disobeyed orders at the Sign of the Headless Zorcaman.”
He brightened up. “Fine, rollicking days!”
“Aye, Nath,” I said, somewhat heavily. “Aye.”
The jurukkers of EDLG took care of their own; the sprawled corpses in the black clothes of their calling were left to rot. I looked down on one with the blood greasy from his beak. A clean sword lay at his side, his hand lax. I needed that sword, for it was a lynxter, the usual weapon of Loh. Unbuckling the dead Rapa's belt I hauled it free and scabbarded the blade. Then, on an impulse, I ripped open the black cloth at his throat. Yes, the silver pakmort, a trifle tarnished, was indeed at his throat on its silver cords. This was one paktun who, wandering the Death Jungles of Sichaz, must rue his decision to give up the mercenary life for the assassin's.
The troops were jostling into formation and Delia and Nath were waiting as I took the pakmort and stuffed it and its silver silken cords into my pouch. Now I'd made the decision I felt as though a scouring wind had blown through my old vosk skull of a head, freshening up my brains.
We marched back in good order, and Nissa twirled her quarterstaff.
Later on that day I said to Delia: “I have to go out tonight.”
She shook her head with a little helpless gesture that caught the breath in my throat. “Is there anything I can say that will—?”
“Probably, yes, there is. But we both know this nonsense has to be stopped.”
“The queen—”
“Yes. This is just the first step in a logical progression that I am the first to admit may lead to disaster. But I will n
ot stand for that cramph Schian any longer. Once I've warned him off, and I hope in the process given him the fright of his life, then maybe the queen can help.”
Because she was Delia, she lifted her chin and said: “Then I shall go with you. Naturally.”
It took a hell of a time to convince her I'd better go alone, a hell of a time. Her lower lip trembled with passion, her blood was up and her eyes transfixed me with a brilliancy that blinded. But I held doggedly on.
She found a grey slave breechclout, which I felt would attract less attention, even, than the mustardy brown ones. A simple leather tunic and boiled leather helmet, the Rapa's silver pakmort at my throat and his lynxter at my side, sundry other possessions a mercenary would carry, and I stood up, ready for the off.
“You look the part, my love.”
I kissed her and so sealed any possible last minute pleas. Then I just ran off, feeling my heart thudding, ran off so that, just in case she called me back, I would not hear.
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* * *
Chapter sixteen
Motionless and barely breathing I waited in the shadows cast by a giant ceramic pot, growing flick-flick plants, for the double rank of guards to march past. Apart from them the corridor lay empty, for Deb-Lu, whose phantom image had guided me here, had vanished.
This corridor in Trylon Schian's luxurious villa was well enough lit, confound it. The guards were all from those who had been trapped down in the Realm of the Drums. They were smart enough to challenge a lone paktun. Once I'd got in and Deb-Lu had begun to guide me there'd been no place where I could shuck off the leather and appear as a slave. I waited for the guards to march past—and the double rank halted with a clash and just stood there.
There was absolutely no use my fuming with annoyance over this situation—but I did, anyway.
“By the hairy upper lip and pendulous belly of the Divine Lady of Belschutz!” I snarled to myself. “What in a Herrelldrin Hell are they hanging about here for?”
Although the double rank of guards faced me, they couldn't spot me in the pot's shadows if I remained still. They couldn't hear me, either. So, I just stood there quietly.
A fly buzzed along and alighted on my nose.
With the stoicism and courage of your true hero, I did not move.
The blasted thing plonked his nasty little legs up and down my hooter and I had to hold my muscles in bands of steel to prevent perfectly natural reactions. In a heartbeat or two I'd sneeze. I could feel the itch developing. A single sound, a movement, mysteriously coming from the shadows of the plant pot would bring the instant attention of the guards. Oh, I'd try to sweet talk them out of sticking me there and then, and if I failed I'd fight ‘em all, of course—a light feather touch brushed my nose and was gone.
A flashing glimpse of the flick-flick plant flicking out a tendril, flicking up the fly, and flicking it into an orange cone-shaped flower—oh, yes, all praise to Opaz the Cultivator who sent down flick-flick plants to Kregen when the world was young!
A brisk voice yelled: “Brassud!” and the guards snapped to attention. The next moment, as though the flick-flick plant had commanded them, they right turned and marched off. Now they guarded a young woman and her attendants, so I knew I was close to where I wanted to be, although not yet there.
Deb-Lu appeared, without a trace of blue shimmer. He rubbed his nose and I—I confess—I laughed.
“Esser Rarioch is maintained in so clean a condition,” he said, “you have to breed flies specially for the flick-flick plants. Is there not a contradiction in that situation, Dray?” We walked along the corridor towards a junction where the lighting, if anything, shone more brightly.
“Assuredly, Deb-Lu. But if man interferes with nature by keeping his house so clean flies can find no sustenance, then surely, as Opaz would wish, he must then care for those plants dependent on flies?”
“Only partially. They can live without—”
“But in what case!” We'd reached the junction and found no one there. For myself, I found nothing incongruous in carrying on a kind of philosophical discussion in these circumstances, and neither, I am sure, did Deb-Lu.
“Oh, I agree absolutely we must care for the creations of Opaz.” He gestured with his staff. “It's down here.”
“A flick-flick plant denied flies is like a skychunner denied purchales.”
His amused chuckle coincided with our arrival outside a door of balass with ivory of Chem inlays. “Very important little fellow, this, Jak.”
“Then I shall go in and pay him a visit.” I pushed the door open.
“Oh, he's not in. Arranging an orgy for tonight.”
The stink of stale perfume lingered on the air in this fussy apartment. The chamberlain fellow must be of some importance judging by the vulgar ostentation of furnishings and fittings. I padded across a carpet of Walfarg weave—which I judged to be of the third grade only—until Deb-Lu called: “There.”
Straight ahead of me the wall was clothed by a tapestry depicting the ritual slaughter of San Sin-Sin-Yarelving. The thing was not an object I'd even think of tolerating in any of my homes. I pushed it aside and touched the button and the secret door slid aside.
“Thank you, Deb-Lu.”
“I do not wish to use very much more kharrna at the present time. Satra's college of mages is not without some skills.”
“Quite.”
Deb-Lu winked out and I walked into the corridor beyond the secret door. As in most Kregan buildings of importance the secret ways had been provided by the architect with vision slits so that the passage, only a trifle dusty, lay barred in stripes of light. I debated whether or not to become as a slave, decided against it, and went on as a paktun. On one notable occasion I'd been betrayed by the chingle of a pakai, and although the dead Rapa assassin, who'd provided me with his lynxter, pakai and pakmort, did not have too long a string of victory rings, there were enough for me to take it off and stuff it into the pouch. Each of those silver rings had once fixed a pakmort to its silken cords. There were only two gold rings, triumphs of the Rapa over zhanpaktuns.
Each shaft of light falling across the narrow corridor allowed vision of a room or chamber, sometimes different views of the same space. We'd ascertained that Schian had an important interview towards the hour of dim and I intended to attend. Moving along quietly and cautiously and negotiating the many twists and turns and ladders and stairways, I came at last to an observation slit showing me Schian's study cum library. The place did have a few books and scrolls in it, at that. The main feature was a large couch with a table handy loaded with drinks.
Now I remembered the patience learned stalking my supper in the wild. My irritations and annoyances vanished. Composing myself, I settled down to wait.
If the Star Lords were watching me now I might expect a scorpion to waddle out of a crack in the wall. I refused to allow myself to worry over that eventuality. No doubt they'd thunder in their hoarse clanging voice that I was being impertinently impudent, or impudently impertinent in thus risking my life on a mission that did not affect their plans. Ah! I'd say in reply; if I'm assassinated, then your plans for me and my confounded yrium go up in smoke.
No little reddish brown scorpion waddled arrogantly out to confront me.
The hour of dim approached, voices sounded and the door of the study was thrown open. Four guards—fine tough Chentois—stalked in, their sallow faces and sharp eyes peering for assassins lying in wait for their lord.
When they were satisfied, Trylon Ge-fu-Schian walked in. He wore his clashing colored lounging robe, a dagger, and he was munching on a handful of palines. With him tripped Princess Licria, looking radiant in a revealing gown of silver mesh. Both of them had eaten and drunk well, that was evident.
They flopped on the couch facing me and the guards took station around the walls. Now you know my feelings about and views on hired guards. They take their pay and they do their job. I do not willingly harm them, for I have stood
my turn of watches in the dark hours. There was a good chance I could burst in and deal with the guards before turning on Schian and Licria. But that would inevitably take a little too long, and the alarm would be raised. Patience, again, was my tactic here.
“If he's as good as is claimed,” Licria was saying, “something might be accomplished at last.”
“Aye, Hlo-Hli take it, at last.” Schian sounded sullen.
“He will be busy.”
“I still want that devil Dray Prescot and his precious Delia first on the list—”
“I think not, Ge-fu.” She spoke sharply. “The queen first, then some of her most trusted advisers—we know who they are well enough—and then all who oppose us will be bereft of the queen's protection.”
He shifted on the couch and reached a flagon from the table. “Well, I suppose so.” Suddenly he brightened up. “When the queen is gone, you are right, princess. Why, we can arrest Prescot and I shall have the pleasure of cutting him down. His Delia can be thrown to the Rapa guards.”
“Yes. I shall watch that.” Her tongue licked her lips.
“Of course, there are her guards.”
“A handful only. The army will crush that regiment instantly.”
H'm, I said to myself, by Vox! Nath Karidge and the lads of EDLG will have something to say about that first!
They sipped wine and presently a Khibil stalked in, magnificently dressed, haughty, flushed, clearly elated.
This Khibil sported but one ear. Licria nudged Schian, and reluctantly the trylon stood up to acknowledge the presence of a vad.
Licria, as a princess, remained seated.
Immediately, before any lahals, she said: “You have him, Vad Valadian?”
“Aye, princess. He is willing to earn his hire. I have him outside—”
“Then bring him in at once!”
On this signal the doors opened again and a smart young fellow marched in. As was to be expected he wore a plain olive-colored cloak over his black clothes. His black mask covered his entire head and the eye-holes held shadows darker than the clothes themselves. He carried himself alertly. He wore no visible weapon.
Scorpio Triumph [Dray Prescot #43] Page 13
