Warlord of Antares [Dray Prescot #37]

by Alan Burt Akers

  So, out of the blueness I somersaulted and so crashed down thump into a room into which I had never been before. I knew I was about to speak with the Star Lords, and anyone who spoke to them needed to think long and deeply on what he said. Long and deeply, by Zair.

  * * *

  Chapter three

  I treat with the Star Lords

  Mind you, I ought still to be angry with the Star Lords.

  Their information had told me the damned Shanks were attacking Mehzta, hundreds of dwaburs away to the east. The conquest of the island would take them some time. We could not send our own troops because of the troubles through which we were going. You have time, the Everoinye had told me, you have time to settle affairs in Vallia and to prepare Paz for the Shank invasion.

  And the fishy-headed devils had turned up to attack us in Pandahem, just south of here.

  Not only that, the Shanks used airboats, fliers that sailed through the air and fought us with fire. Yes, the Star Lords should have warned of that.

  That was the bone of contention I had with them.

  The room, oval in shape and with curved cornices, held a cool mild light which came from a source I could not identify. It simply permeated all the space. There was a single chair, with arms, a back and with deep upholstery in an ivory color. There was a table with a single central leg. On the table—a flagon and a glass.

  This time I did not hesitate. I crossed to the table, poured a full glass of the wine, a light yellow, and then sat down in the chair.

  All this, mark you, without so much as a by your leave.

  The walls had been done out in intricate curlicues of flowers and leaves, of grasses and ferns, all in natural colors, and the effect was soothing. A white rectangle against the wall facing the chair rather spoiled the effect.

  A voice from thin air spoke and I couldn't understand half the words, even with the genetic language pill the Savanti had given me. I sat still, sipped the wine, and said nothing.

  I was, if the truth be told, rather husbanding a growing resentment. Those damned Shanks in their airboats! The Star Lords should have warned me.

  The voice spoke again, and this time testily.

  “Look at the picture and think of what you wish to see."

  “What picture?"

  A sigh. “The white rectangle, onker."

  So I looked and I thought.

  Far below there was jungle. It smoked hot and harshly green into the glare of the Suns of Scorpio. The fliers streamed on in perfect formation. My viewpoint moved in dazzlingly to the lead ship, that superb voller called Pride of Vondium.

  She stood quite alone right up in the prow, magnificent, glorious, the suns catching those outrageous auburn tints in her hair and burnishing them to bronze. She was clad for war, girt with swords, and with a bow in her fist. She stood peering ahead and down, searching, searching.

  My heart called out to her, called despairingly and forlornly, for she could not hear me, could not know I gazed upon her with such longing.

  “Delia,” I cried. “My Delia of the Blue Mountains, my Delia of Delphond."

  Was it just coincidence?

  As I thus cried out in that mystic chamber among the Star Lords, so Delia started, and looked up and then about her. Her face—glorious, glorious!—turned so that she looked, as it were, full upon me.

  Like any fool I held out my arms.

  She smiled, suddenly, dazzlingly, so that I felt the shock of it.

  My Delia smiled, and I felt the comfort of that, sundered from her by unimaginable gulfs.

  The picture misted and died.

  Wild and chaotic thoughts clashed and jumbled in my skull. What a foolish useless lump of a husband I was! How my Delia seemed always condemned to search for me. And yet—I shivered at the thought that if that splendid armada from Vallia found what they looked for, if they discovered the Coup Blag they would find also the Witch of Loh, Csitra, secreted inside like a spider at the center of her web.

  She had lost her child, certainly, and her power was much reduced. But her malignancy continued unabated. She would do all she could to harm Vallia in her insane pursuit of me.

  There was comfort to be found in the presence with Delia of the Witch and Wizard of Loh who were our loyal companions. Their combined powers should be enough to counter the kharrna of Csitra.

  There was no time for more thought as the thin voice from empty air spoke again.

  “Think again, Dray Prescot."

  This time Seg Segutorio jumped into the picture, almost as though he was there in the room with me. Good old Seg! His wild black hair and fey blue eyes, his bowman's shoulders, all filled the screen with his presence. His handsome face was wrought into a scowl and he was telling someone I could not see to jump. There was no mistaking that.

  He looked still to be in the bewildering mazes of the Coup Blag, and yet I'd thought he'd scrambled free through the hole in the roof. Well, I'd find that out soon enough, I did not doubt.

  If Seg really still wandered about in the maze, then no doubt Nath the Impenitent remained with him. Perhaps also Loriman the Hunter was there. Maybe they hadn't made it through that split in the roof of the chamber as it collapsed and fell about our ears. They remained therefore in deadly danger.

  The fleet from Vallia led on by Delia had clearly been searching. Yet the Mages from Loh knew where the maze was, for they had succored me there and fought and destroyed the uhu Phunik, Csitra's child.

  Therefore—and the revelation struck me once again with the power of the Everoinye—therefore my friends searched for me.

  The Star Lords manipulated authority in so terrible a fashion that the Wizards of Loh were as puny mewling mortals in their grip. For all their mystical mastery, the Lohvian sorcerers could not scry my whereabouts when the Everoinye had me in their grasp.

  The next item at which I chose to look would have raised the blood pressure of any honest seaman of Paz.

  The ocean sparkled in a ruffle of blue-green and white. I could not smell that tangy sea breeze there in that secret room; but in my imagination I could snuff up the ozone and the seaweed and the fresh riot of air as the breeze blustered past.

  Three ships burned upon the bright face of the sea.

  From the little that remained I took them to be argenters, broad-beamed merchant craft. Above them circled the hateful black-hulled fliers of the Shanks. The airboats with their brightly-painted squared-off upperworks had given the three ships of Paz no chance. Fire pots had rained down. It was now all over, and had I been there instead of watching that terrible scene from an unknown distance I could have achieved little more.

  Little more than nothing would still be nothing.

  “Yes,” sighed that nasal voice. “There is your task, Dray Prescot, and yet—"

  “Hold it, hold it,” I interrupted, not recking of the damned power of the Star Lords. “I know all about that lot. Why didn't you warn me of them? You said the Shanks were over in Mehzta. Yet they are here off the coast of Pandahem and likely to—"

  Instead of cutting me off peremptorily with cutting sarcasm, as they would probably have done in the old days, they interrupted with: “The Shanks are in Mehzta. The fight sways back and forth. These are Shtarkins, along with Shkanes. Their use of vollers is recent."

  “That doesn't alter the fact you should have told me."

  A spark of their old arrogance spurted.

  “We are not answerable to you, Dray Prescot. You answer to us!"

  “Yes and no,” I said, and heard myself speaking, and I was in a fair old state, I can tell you. This was quite unlike normal dealings with the Star Lords, unknown arbiters of life and death. I realized I was holding the glass of light yellow with a grip that would fracture the globe if I didn't manage to control myself.

  The Star Lords went on to apprise me of the details of the vollers run by the Shanks, details that I shall pass along when they become relevant, and something of what they said calmed me down. All the same, I felt tha
t the bargain I fancied we had patched up between us had been seriously endangered, and I had been betrayed.

  “Not so, onker. You have had time to deal with your problems, there is time yet to go. We shall tell you when that time comes, never fear."

  I did not slang them. I wanted to know why what had happened to me since being snatched up from the collapsing palace, leaving Seg, and arriving here, had occurred. The details seemed to me so bizarre as to warrant an explanation that, in all probability, I would not understand.

  The voice gained an edge as it answered.

  “You need not know why. We have many responsibilities and in Kregen we—” and here when I interrupted, not understanding, the voice snapped: “The easiest concept for you to grasp is melting pot. Yes. We are almost sure your brains can understand that."

  I wasn't sure: I didn't say so.

  “A dead numim, did you say?"

  “As a doornail, poor devil."

  This was followed by a long silence.

  After a space I said: “I did see, earlier, the green presence of Ahrinye—"

  “Silence, onker!"

  Well, if the young and arrogantly energetic Ahrinye was trying a scheme on against the other Star Lords, he might well be successful if their powers really were fading. And young? Maybe he was a million or so years less in age.

  Presently the voice—and I thought it was by a shade different from the first—said: “Our responsibilities sometimes demand assistance."

  Almost, almost I blurted out: “Call on me, any time.” But I managed to keep the black bile down.

  The Star Lord went on: “If we so will it, you will be called on to serve in the bacra area—"

  “Bacra area?"

  “Where you were, fambly."

  That did not mean anything to me.

  “But we deem you to be more useful following the course we have set out—"

  “A course I initiated before you suggested it, Star Lords! I don't forget that."

  A silence.

  Typical of the Everoinye, they loftily ignored that point. It was, in truth, a petty point, and indicating my own stupid self-esteem. They indicated they were unhappy at the way I risked my neck for purposes other than theirs. They'd twice now hoicked me up out of it when I'd tried to pull first Seg and young Ortyg, then Loriman, out of danger. But, and I felt a sudden coolness down my spine at this, they told me a thing I should have realized.

  “We understand you to be reckless and a daredevil and an onker of onkers, Dray Prescot. We suppose you to continue thus. Maybe, one day, we shall not require you, and your usefulness to us will be at an end."

  “Come the day!” I bellowed up. “Come the day!"

  “You forget—"

  “I don't forget! Those two times are the only times you've lifted a finger to help me. You've never worried yourselves over my skin. I'd have been dead a thousand times by now for all you care."

  The silence this time seemed to be charged with that insufferable pressure that clamps down just before a thunderstorm.

  “We are sending you back now, Dray Prescot, to rejoin your comrades."

  “I see. Tell me. All this trudging about mazes and underground corridors. Can you give me something to help me see a trifle better in the dark? Is that beyond your powers?"

  “Not at all. A trifle."

  “Well?"

  “You were ever ungracious in your ways."

  “I'm gracious to those who are polite to me."

  Let them suck on that one, the high and mighty bunch of onkers!

  From the white rectangle hanging blankly on the wall a shaft of pure white light hit me in the face so that I blinked, and cursed, and flung up a hand. If this was their idea of a joke it hurt.

  This might not be a joke. This might be a new form of punishment for insubordination.

  “Remember your tasks, Dray Prescot. You have reunited Vallia. Now your task is to unite Paz—"

  “That's easier said than done, despite all our grand talk. The task is greater than I imagined."

  “Of course."

  I fumed away and saw I'd get no farther. At least, I'd given the Star Lords a piece of my mind, not that they needed much in the way of extra brains. Maybe their powers were fading; they were still so immeasurably stronger than any other force I knew of on Kregen, they remained superhuman and all-powerful.

  The transition rustled in on wings of blueness and I was up and away again, like a scarecrow blown headlong in a gale. Just as I went I reflected bitterly that they'd not given me a magic torch or something to light up the darkness, the stingy taskmasters.

  Whirling around I went thump down on my feet. Rock scraped underfoot and the orange flare of torches burned into my eyes. The passage was rough hewn and the light shone in brilliantly from the corner. A man stepped around the edge of stone into view.

  “Hai, my old dom. I knew you'd be around here somewhere."

  * * *

  Chapter four

  Horrors in the Coup Blag

  Our greetings were necessarily brief, for, as Seg said: “There's an unfriendly monster fellow with a horrendous set of gnashers chasing us. I've shafted two of his eyes; but we need to find a little space to tackle him properly."

  Nath the Impenitent, bulking hugely in the passage, roared on half-dragging the suddenly unimposing form of Kov Loriman the Hunter.

  The Hunting Kov was a husk of his former self. Gone were the bluster and arrogance. Gone was his imperious look. He appeared shrunken. Since his lady had been slain and swallowed up in the earth, he had scarcely moved under his own volition.

  “Hai, Jak,” rasped out Nath the Impenitent, fiery-faced, spiky with contained anger. “We must get on. The beast is snapping at my heels."

  There was no time or need for me to argue.

  If these two said run, then I'd run. If Seg, who is the finest bowman in two worlds, had shafted the beast twice, and the thing still lived, then running was clearly and eminently the most sensible course of action.

  Nath held up a torch in his left hand. His right dragged on Loriman. Seg held a torch in his left hand, and his right grasped his bow with the arrow nocked in that old and cunning bowman's fashion.

  I wondered why Seg was doing it cack-handed; there was no time to ask now as we ran on along the corridor. The floor caught at our feet, rough-hewn as it was. The light glanced weirdly from the jagged walls and roof. The place held a musty stink as of last week's socks left and forgotten in the laundry basket.

  Before we'd reached the next corner the beast rounded his corner and rumbled along the corridor after us.

  I cast a look back.

  Nasty. No doubt of that. And the loss of two of his four eyes made his temper even worse. He looked to be all spine and scale, with grasping forelimbs, claws and, as Seg had said, a jawful of gnashers. Nasty, right enough. We ran on.

  The chamber into which we pelted around the next bend lofted high and vasty into purple mistiness where the flare of our torches merely touched the edges of mystery with orange. There appeared little comfort for wandering adventurers here.

  “This'll do,” said Seg, full of confidence.

  Most unkindly, I said: “P'raps a flat-trajectory compound reflex might—"

  “Oho!” burst out Seg. “You're a backstabber too, are you?"

  He thrust the torch at me, transferred the great Lohvian longbow into his left fist and took up the nocked arrow into those supremely capable archer's fingers of his. We could hear the beast roar from the tunnel. Our torches threw a little light and I blinked, for their radiance held an odd glow to me now, as I paused in the chamber. The light glinted on scale and spine and on two fiery eyes.

  Seg loosed.

  A watcher would say he blurred into action; the loosing of the two shafts was so swift, the second following the first so rapidly, that the whole transaction was over in a twinkling, the two arrows flying almost before Seg moved.

  “Well,” said Nath the Impenitent. “I shan't have to ru
n dragging this damned lord about, now. I thank you for that, Seg the Horkandur."

  Seg smiled and then looked at me.

  “Little flat bows,” he said. Then he shoved that superb Lohvian longbow up on his shoulder and whipped out his knife.

  As I went over with him to help dig out his four arrows, Seg said over his shoulder: “Not until we meet the next horror, Nath."

  The first two arrows had merely destroyed the eyes. The second pair had penetrated deeply into the brain. I left those two to Seg.

  Truth to tell, as I believe I have struggled to explain, the death of wild animals, even monsters intent on devouring me, is always a saddening and chastening experience.

  Nath the Impenitent let rip with his grunting snort of a laugh when we rejoined him.

  “The next horror is likely to be seriously conulted by you mad pair."

  Conulted, as I may have mentioned, means to receive a nasty shock, a body blow, and I found its usage, and particularly by a rough tough customer like Nath, in these surroundings, decidedly charming.

  Also, and this pleased me immensely, Nath with his ingrown hatred and contempt for lords and nobles, had quite grown to accept Seg and me as companions.

  “Oh, aye,” said Seg in his raffish offhand way. “We'll conult a few more of the confounded creepy crawlies down here yet. But with half the maze vanished away I fancy it won't be long before we're out of it altogether."

  The way Seg easily accepted the heights—or depths—of sorcery involved here did not amaze me. His own fey nature told him things that more lumpen mortals could never understand. With the death of the Witch of Loh's hermaphrodite child, the uhu Phunik, its ethereal constructions had vanished. Opulent underground chambers, palaces of wonder, had not simply whiffed away with Phunik's death. Oh, no. There had been a gargantuan upheaval as the fabric of the normal universe resumed its shape and the distortions of magical art withdrew.

  In other words, the whole lot fell down in a hell of a smother.

  Most of the people in the party who had ventured down into the maze of the Coup Blag had got away, scrambling up the slippery slope of detritus to emerge into the lights of the Suns of Scorpio.