Krozair of Kregen [Dray Prescot #14]

by Alan Burt Akers

  “Let the rast suffer, dom,” said Nath the Slinger and then we flung ourselves into the task.

  The Suns of Scorpio set in a last blaze that penetrated our prison in a mingled veil of colors and gradually died to an opaline glow. Presently the chinks of light through the gratings took on a pinkish golden tinge as the Maiden with the Many Smiles lifted above the horizon and shone down upon us.

  Duhrra kept up the work on the link. I helped.

  At last I said, “You must sleep, Duhrra. We will have much to tire ourselves on the morrow."

  “I am sure it will give—"

  “Then all the more reason for sleeping."

  We composed ourselves. Rukker's hoarse whisper, cruel and sharp in the night, pierced the darkness.

  “What are you onkers doing? There is no time for sleep. Keep working, rasts, or I will—"

  A whip-Deldar on watch walked along the gangway between the rowing frames and Rukker had the sense to shut up and drop his head on the loom. Although the swifter's slaves were washed out twice daily with seawater, we still stank. Our hair was growing back in bristles, giving us an outlandish appearance. The Deldar passed on, humming to himself—the stupid “Obdwa Song,” it was—and Rukker lifted his head. I caught the gleam of his eyes in the slatted chinks of light from the gratings.

  “Shut up, Rukker, and get some sleep. I shall see how you fight on the morrow—or before, if I decide."

  “You—"

  A ship is never silent. There are always the same familiar sounds, at sea or at anchor. Through that quiet threnody of water splash and creak of wood, the murmur of distant voices, I whispered, “You are becoming tiresome, Kataki. I know you are a fighting-man. Just do not keep on trying to prove it all the time. And remember who it is you fight—the overlords, and not the slaves. Dernun?"[2]

  [2 Dernun: “Savvy; capiche; do you understand?” Not a particularly polite way of making the inquiry. A.B.A.]

  A marine bellowed some order or other high on the quarterdeck, and Rukker made a visible effort. His moon-shadowed face scowled with the effort as he controlled himself. “After, Dak the High-Handed,” he said. “After we have the swifter—"

  “Yes, yes, go to sleep."

  I heard a low gurgle—hardly a laugh—from Vax, at my right. Duhrra was already fast asleep.

  “If my evil rast of a father had been tamed by someone like you, Dak, I might have let him die under my hand, instead of letting him suffer."

  A most vicious and intemperate young man, this Vax.

  Toward morning, with the innate sense of rhythm of an old sailorman that even the oddities of Kregen and the stresses of being an oar-slave could not break, I awoke. Soon Duhrra was hard at work on the link. Vax yawned when I nudged him, and bid me clear off. “Schtump!” he said, most malignantly.

  “Wake up Fazhan and Nath. Jump!"

  He gave me a look, all shadowed and dark, that was unmistakable. But he leaned down and gave Fazhan a crack in the ribs. When Fazhan was awake he woke Nath. We yawned, still tired; but I knew they were keyed up to the work ahead. If I have glossed over this period of my servitude as an oar-slave it is because I do not care to remember in too vivid a detail a time of great agony and fatigue upon Kregen. Suffice it to say I may appear to be callous about serving as a slave and lax in escaping; the truth was I wanted out of that hellhole as fervently as a man dying of thirst needs water.

  Duhrra let a low whispering sigh pass his lips. His powerful body eased back. The snap of metal echoed in the night

  We all sat perfectly silent.

  Presently, when I was satisfied no other ears had picked up that sharp snip of sound, I eased the chain off. Duhrra clawed himself up and I put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him down.

  Without a word, not moving the chain that lay limply on the deck at our feet, I stood up. The gratings above let down a patterned splotching of pink and gold. The long rows of naked feet and legs of the thranites glistered in the light. Here and there the coil of a chain shone dully. A whip-Deldar approached.

  Silently—silently—I eased up. The Deldar passed. In one leap, touching Rukker's bench with foot and springing on from there, I reached the central gangway. A hand clapped about the Deldar's mouth. He went limp and I eased him to the gangway.

  He had a knife.

  This I passed down to Rukker.

  I saw the Kataki's face.

  “No noise, Rukker,” I whispered. “Until we are all free.” By all I meant the six of us on the oar. “This end is up to you, now. I'm for the oar-master and the keys."

  He would have spit some surly remark; but I padded off along the gangway. The slaves slept and I did not fear discovery from them. Only one more whip-Deldar fell before I had reached the after end of the gangway. I looked up. Up there past the thranites the little tabernacle in which the oar-master sat and blew his whistle and controlled the drum-Deldars and made sure the motive power of the swifter functioned perfectly lay in darkness. I went up like a rock grundal. The oar-master would be asleep in his cabin. The keys were neatly racked on their hooks ready to be issued to the whip-Deldars when the slaves must be taken out of the ship. I scooped them up, reading the labels, made from leather, going back down again to the zygites. From then on the process would be one of progression.

  Fazhan met me on the gangway. He shook. He looked elated and yet filled with a dread fury he might not be able to control. There was no sign of Rukker or Duhrra. Vax and Nath took the keys I handed them and began to awaken the slaves.

  Fazhan said, “I will go aft, Dak."

  I gave him the thalamite keys. I pointed down.

  “When you come up again, Fazhan, bring men who will fight with you."

  “Aye, Dak."

  I shooed him off. Nath was working forward. A noise and a stir began to whisper in the hollow hull of the swifter. In a few short murs all hell would break out. The time for silence was almost gone.

  I started off aft again, and Vax threw his keys to a slave three benches forward. He hit the poor devil over the head and awoke him and whispered fiercely in his ear and then clapped a hand over his mouth. I warmed to the young man. He might be intemperate and malignant in his ways, but he knew what he was doing. He looked at me. I was aware that the light was growing and that I could see him quite well.

  “I will come with you, Dak. I need a sword."

  He merely echoed my own thoughts.

  Together, we stole silently aft, aiming for the quarterdeck, aiming for swords, aiming to wrench this swifter from the grip of the hated overlords of Magdag.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Nath the Slinger collects pebbles

  The sweet fresh night air greeted us as we climbed up onto the quarterdeck. The false dawn lingered with fading radiance upon the deck and the bulwarks, the ship-fittings, the ropes and gilding. The men of the watch were sleepy; they'd been hard at work the previous day as had we. There could be no thought of mercy. Truth to tell, for all the grand talk of mercy here on this Earth, in some situations mercy would be cruel. We were going to take this swifter. I had no doubts. What would happen to any overlords, any ship-Deldars, any marines, when they were caught by the released slaves would make their swift, painless deaths now merciful to them.

  There was time for me to observe this young tearaway Vax in action. I liked his style. The men on watch were dealt with on the quarterdeck. As the last sailor slumped, a shout ripped from the forepart of the swifter. The long narrow length of her lay dim in the tricky light. Shadows moved. Men were stirring. Catching the crew just before dawn might have been good planning, even in a ship. It was doubly clever in that the slaves themselves would be sluggish and slow to understand their own liberty. I had known this before. The slaves would not suddenly snatch up chains and wooden beams and go raving into action. It would take time for them to understand. But as the first shrill yells broke out and the sounds of fighting, I knew some, at least, understood.

  Vax and I burst into the quart
erdeck cabins.

  An overlord completely naked with sleep still on his face tried to stop us and I knocked him down and kicked him as I went past.

  “In here, Dak!"

  Vax was pointing to the first cabin.

  “You go—if you wish. I'm for the captain's quarters."

  Vax cursed and followed me. We ran down the corridor leading from the double doors that gave ingress from the quarterdeck. These cabins lay under the poop. I went straight into the aft cabin, seeing the light hazy and unreal through the sweep of stern windows where the gallery overhung the curved stern. Up above, the high upflung stern post, curved and decorated—with a magodont, of course—would hover over the poop. I wondered where Rukker and Duhrra had got to and if they were up there. The cabin was empty, as I had expected it to be. The sleeping cabin's door ripped open under my blow and I leaped in.

  The captain tumbled out of his cot—this was a fashion to be followed more and more in the larger swifters—roaring. He snatched up his shortsword. He stood lithe and limber, instantly awake, a true captain. I jumped for him.

  The shortsword blurred forward.

  “Die, you rast!” bellowed the captain.

  He should have saved his breath and concentrated on his swordsmanship.

  I slid the blow, not allowing the blade to touch me, and drove a fist into his mouth. I kicked him and as he went back I twisted his right hand with such force the wrist-bones broke. Then the Genodder was in my own grip. It felt fine.

  The captain staggered back, blood from his mangled mouth dripping down his chin. His eyes were wild.

  Vax said, “Why do you not finish him?"

  “He may be useful. Deal with him—but do not slay him."

  I barged out of the cabin and almost at once was fighting for my life. Marines ran down the corridor, yelling first for the captain, and when they saw me, yelling blue bloody murder.

  I accommodated them.

  The Genodder was a fine example of a shortsword in the fashion of the inner sea, invented by King Genod and named after him. I swished it up and thrust, cut and jumped, and, in short, had a fine old time. Normally I do not enjoy fighting unless—well, you must be the judge of that. Suffice it to say that on this occasion my pent-up fury broke out. That red haze did not fall before my eyes, for I kept a cool head and my wits about me—at least, I think I did—but there are few memories until I was at the double doors again with a trail of dead men in my rear.

  The clean tip of a longsword appeared at my side, from the back, and I whirled and the Genodder hovered inches from Vax's throat.

  “You onker,” I said, speaking reasonably. “That's the way to get yourself killed.” I had not heard him over the noise from the swifter. “You move silently. That is good."

  “I—” he said. He looked more than a little taken aback. “I did not expect—"

  “Expect everyone to attack you all the time. That way you may stay alive.” I looked at the longsword. He had selected a good specimen, although it was not a Ghittawrer blade. “Can you use that?"

  “Aye."

  “Then let us see what we can find."

  “Right gladly. I need—"

  I shut him up and we ran out. I knew what he needed.

  That fight contained a number of interesting incidents. But then, each fight is different in details, even if they all may seem to be merely a blind scarlet confusion of hacking and thrusting. For instance, Duhrra, who appeared laying about him with a longsword, used it in his right hand, the steel fingers closed and clamped about the hilt. Rukker had spared the time to strap a dagger to his tail. With that bladed tail he could cut a man up in a twinkling. And Vax fought superbly. He did know how to use a longsword. As I barged my way through the knot of marines who came tumbling up from their deck above the rowers, I saw Vax elegantly dealing with his men in a way that made me think he might be a Krozair. He was very young, it was true; but given that the blade he used was a common longsword with a short hilt, he contrived quite a few Krozair tricks. I stuck with the Genodder, for I allow that a shortsword can, in the right circumstances, nip inside a longsword in unskillful hands. I fancied a shortswordsman would be at a disadvantage against this young ruffian Vax.

  Duhrra was thoroughly enjoying himself. His great voice boomed out, “Zair! Zair!” and other men took up the call. Rukker fought silently, as did I and Vax. Fazhan and Nath appeared, bearing swords, and threw themselves into the fray. The upper decks covered with struggling men. There were naked men with weapons against men roused from sleep with weapons. We must do this thing quickly, even though there were perhaps seven hundred and fifty slaves against a couple of hundred sailors and marines. I had no desire to swamp the Grodnims by sheer numbers, for that would be mere brutalized force. I wanted the thing done quickly and in style.

  Rukker had cleared his area and was about to lead a hunting party to roust out those still below. I bellowed in his ear, for the released slaves were creating one hell of a racket.

  “Rukker! Try not to slay too many. We need oarsmen, too!"

  He glared at me, aroused, the blood-lust strong on him. He took a great draft of air.

  “Aye—aye, Dak the Cunning. You are right—and do not forget we have a score to settle, you and I."

  “Let us secure the swifter and chain down these damned Grodnims and then we may talk."

  Only after he had gone roaring back into the fray did I realize he had been hired by and had been fighting for the Grodnims. But if he came from the northeast corner of the inner sea, as he said, the chances were he did not worship Green Grodno in quite the same way as the Grodnims of the Eye of the World. Anyway, I was in no state to accommodate him no matter what his inclinations.

  The light had dimmed after the false dawn. But as the sounds of combat flared over the swifter so the light strengthened. Soon Zim rose in a crimson glory, at which all the Zairians yelled mightily. “Zim! Zair! Zair!"

  And, inevitably, when green Genodras rose, and we waited for the shouts of Grodno to echo around the ship, and none sounded, we roared our good humor.

  Rukker stormed among the released slaves, cuffing them out of his way, giving them orders, bellowing...

  Duhrra was not sure what to do, so it fell to Fazhan to see about chaining down the new prisoners, those who had been spared.

  I prevented a mob from tearing apart a couple of Grodnim sailors in their rage, and bellowed at them, “Would you wish these two rasts to go up to Genodras, to sit on the right hand of Grodno? Of course not! Chain them down to the benches, make them pull at the Zair-forsaken oars!"

  “Aye, aye!” screeched the ex-slaves. ‘To the thalamites with them!"

  So we managed to save a few men to pull for us.

  There would be the problem of what to do with the Grodnims who had been enslaved with us. The oar-slaves were mostly Zairian prisoners; there was an element among them of Grodnim criminals. There could be no half-measures, of course.

  I climbed up the mast and took a look around.

  Green Magodont lay in the mouth of a river, with low vegetation-choked banks to either side. The mountains inland of the island looked blue and floating in the early morning mist. Downstream lay two more swifters. People were running about them. The noise and confusion in Green Magodont needed, it seemed to me, little explanation.

  We weren't out of the woods yet.

  I looked down.

  Two large and powerful looking men, both apims, were arguing. They both carried swords, they both had snatched up scraps of clothing to cover their nakedness. They had been slaves, miserably chained to the bench; now they were arguing over who was in command.

  “I am a roz and therefore outrank you, fambly!"

  “I am a swifter captain, you onker, and know whereof I speak!"

  I watched Rukker. He walked toward them. He bellowed.

  Other men crowded around on the upper deck. They could be called slaves no longer—or, perhaps, for a space no longer if we did not do something about the o
ther two swifters. Rukker yelled.

  “I am in command here! Get about your business!"

  The two men turned on him, hot in their anger and pride, a pride so newly returned to them. Their swords flickered out.

  One of them dropped with a sword through his guts, the other could not screech. His throat had been ripped out by the Kataki's tail-blade. I sighed.

  “I, Rukker, command! If any more of you rasts wish to die, then step up."

  Duhrra, at the back, started to rumble and shove forward. I went down the mast with some speed and jumped to the deck.

  “What! Dak! And so you wish to challenge me.” Rukker waved his tail above his head. The blade glittered.

  “If you are in command, Rukker, which I doubt. What do you think we should do about the two swifters that will surely pull up here to retake this vessel? Come on, man. Speak up."

  “I do not wish—” he began. But the other slaves—ex-slaves—were running to the rail and pointing at the swifters downstream and caterwauling.

  I said, “You may not wish to know about them, Rukker. But that won't make them go away."

  “One day, Dak the Cunning, I'll do you a mortal injury."

  “You may try. Until then you had best listen to what I say."

  “I am in command!"

  “You command nothing, Rukker the Kataki. This is no swifter fit to fight. You could not tackle those two. Think, man—” I did not take my gaze from him, and I watched that treacherous tail as a ruffianly sailorman watches a Sylvie as she dances the Sensil Dance.

  But he was, I felt sure, a high noble of one kind or another, and he could think quickly when he had to. “And what do you, oh wise and cunning Dak the Proud, think we should do?"

  It would have been easy and cheap to have said, “But you are in command, Rukker."

  The men had broken out the wine now and would soon be helpless. At least, some would, for the supplies wouldn't stretch to better than seven hundred thirsty ex-oar-slaves. I looked downstream again. The oars were moving in the swifters. They would back up to us, and their men would be armed and armored and ready. But drunken men can fight if they have a bucket of cold water soused over them and know that if they do not fight they will be killed if they are lucky, and go to the galley-slave benches if they are not lucky. But it must be done quickly.