Scorpio Invasion

by Alan Burt Akers

  “A sound principle,” I observed, and drank.

  Xinthe disappeared and I assumed she was preparing the meal.

  Etiquette was more likely than not to be entirely different here. Using what little conversational skills I have I quickly established that Xinthe stood as student, nurse and cook to Wanlicheng and that, thank you, walfger, you may assist with the washing up.

  The meal was simple, good, perhaps a trifle too frugal for my taste; but then, an old sailorman like me is used to drawing in his belt buckle.

  Wanlicheng, when we had finished eating and the washing up had been placed in its wooden racks, said: “Now, Xinthe, the preparation for the tenth corner.”

  “Yes, master — which Path do you mean?”

  “Impudence!” His thin lips curved into a smile as he spoke. “You well know, tikshvu.”

  I felt a jolt at his joking use of that word tikshvu, which I have previously translated as missy. Usually it threatens and cows a young girl who has been rebellious. These people made their own rules, it seemed.

  She spread her hands in her lap and nodded. “The Path of the Ib.”

  That is to say, the Path of the Spirit or Soul. Wanlicheng pursed his lips. “In the Path of the Ib, the tenth corner holds a special significance. It is similar to the importance of the seventh corner in the Path of the World.”

  “In the Path of the Flesh—” began Xinthe.

  “Two Paths are enough for the moment.” He spoke sharply.

  “Yes, master.”

  “Now, hold your attention to the ninth corner.” As he spoke he leaned down and placed his two thumbs over her closed eyelids. The shadows in the room lay deeply now as the suns sank. There was one cheap mineral oil lamp that remained unlit as Xinthe concentrated on her exercise.

  I sat very quietly. Both Wanlicheng and Xinthe had the red hair of true Lohvians. Presently he stood back and without a sound sat down in his chair. The silence grew oppressive. I did not drink the fine red wine. I wondered what was going on in Xinthe’s pretty head. As for her tutor, his gaze remained fastened upon her face.

  At last her lips moved and in a whisper she said: “The corner is true. I am holding it. Fast.”

  Wanlicheng said: “Good. Fix it and then return.”

  When at last Xinthe opened her eyes the smile with which she favored her teacher was a wonderful sunburst of beauty. “Yes.” she said. “Oh, yes!”

  His austere face revealed pleasure. Whatever his history might have been in the recent past, here was a man who understood the finer things of life. Speaking in that well-modulated voice he began a general conversation. Like most people meeting new acquaintances, he wanted to know all about me. For, as he observed: “One can tell you are not of Loh.”

  Xinthe continued to sit and I surmised she was recovering from whatever she had been doing inside her own skull.

  I gave my usual farrago of lies concerning myself and then ventured a question about the scene I had just witnessed.

  “There is no such thing as the One True Path. You must find your way as best you can, using whatever means you are able. This sometimes means you may have to deny a certain god, or embrace another. So far no one has been able to convince me that One True God exists, any more than One True Way.” I did not wish to contradict him on his point about gods; but I admit I felt this to be a serious chink in whatever theory he was expounding.

  He went on to say that his belief in magic and in gods had failed him so often that he had looked around for a better way. He had been fortunate enough to meet a wise woman — he called her Lisa the Forthright, although that was not her real name — who had opened his eyes to Alternative Magic.

  “We call our movement Alternative Magic, for it is that, in a real sense. But it is much much more than a mere alternative to magic and gods. We seek to perform the same work as that done by sorcerers — magic — and by gods — miracles — solely through our own human powers. This may sound impious, blasphemous, even. But I assure you, Drajak, a man or woman has the power there in their heads. Through the Paths we move forward to our goal. We can unleash the powers of the human mind and spirit and have no need of sorcerers. As to gods, they have other uses.”

  “There are then many of you?”

  “Not as many as we would like. We have a goodly number of members, all the same, scattered about here and there.”

  “And you are not persecuted?”

  “No, why should we be, since we do not spout our beliefs from statues in the main kyro of town.”

  Xinthe threw me a sharp glance. I shook my head.

  “All this is completely new to me, Lady Xinthe. I am no spy.”

  Well, it wasn’t completely new, of course. There are the two well-known ways to God: Rejection of Images or Affirmation of Images. In addition I had spoken to Kregen philosophers and mystics who recognized the three Paths Wanlicheng had mentioned plus the Path of Afflatus. What this mystic was trying to do was the new thing. If he could perform magic and miracles without any mumbo-jumbo, straight out of his head, then he would, indeed, be a remarkable fellow. And Xinthe and the mystic he called Lisa the Forthright would add their peculiarly feminine slant to the proceedings. If between them they could win through all the corners on the paths then I’d be the first to be interested.

  They called themselves the Pilgrims.

  Sometimes they were known as Wayfarers or Pathfinders.

  They were out to perfect Alternative Magic for the good of humanity.

  I wished them well.

  Then I asked about the woman fanatic Mul-lu-Manting.

  “She seeks to achieve her desires by ranting, preaching, trying to arouse the people to past glories. I fear she has no joy in her task.”

  What Mul-lu-Manting wanted was a new Empire of Loh. She reveled in the luxurious thoughts of the power and prestige once enjoyed by Walfarg. All that had been swept away, she claimed, by the failure of the Wizards of Walfarg and because the governments had failed to provide airboats. Because at the time the empire began to break up a king was on the throne, Mul-lu-Manting blamed the men for the catastrophe. With a return to women, ruling as Queens of Pain, then the Empire of Walfarg, the Empire of Loh, would return!

  “People in Loh are too apathetic to bother about such a return to imperial glories.” Wanlicheng shook his head. “That thing is best forgotten.”

  “All the same,” observed Xinthe, “you cannot deny it was when Loh was ruled by kings that the empire broke up.”

  “In certain circumstances, denying a self evident truth can obliterate the truth for subsequent generations. So, missy, have a care!”

  She happened to be eating a handful of palines and she threw one of the yellow berries at him. He caught it expertly enough, so I guessed this was not the first time. I was pleased that despite his austere appearance he was no stuffy old prig of a dominie. And if he could move mountains merely by using his head...!

  I stood up.

  “Thank you for your hospitality. Now I must be on my way.”

  “You will stay the night here, Drajak. I thought that was settled.”

  “That is kind of you—”

  “You are a stranger in Changwutung. Apathetic the people may be; we have high walls. The alleys are not safe at night.”

  “I take your point and I thank you again. I shall be happy further to impose on your hospitality.”

  Xinthe threw a paline at me.

  I caught it, popped it, and chewed pleasantly.

  I looked forward to an enjoyable evening of civilized conversation.

  Chapter four

  By the time we retired I had not been disappointed in those expectations.

  This apartment boasted two bedrooms, a kitchen and toilet facilities and the living room. I bunked down on the living room floor with an old, and, I am forced to report, a somewhat thin and threadbare blanket. To saythat to an old campaigner such things are commonplace is surely redundant by this time in the narrative of Dray Prescot. The rest o
f the apartments in this building were on the same frugal scale. Household slaves would remove the night soil in the morning, and water would be brought up.

  When I tackled the question of slavery, I was partially mollified to hear Wanlicheng express the opinion that one person ought not to be able to own another. To this Xinthe nodded approval; but then in her feminine practical way, she added: “It would be inconvenient to lift and carry things oneself, up and down these stairs.”

  There were very few people in Paz who had not heard of the Shanks. In an odd but totally believable way it seemed the further away from the coast the stories were told the more hideous were the reports of the Shanks and their atrocities. The apathy into which Walfarg was sunk would, said Wanlicheng, make any Shank attack almost certain of success.

  This was just the kind of information I needed — and, of course, by Krun, just the kind of news I did not want!

  I went on to say: “Have you ever heard of an entity, a spirit, a ghost — some horrific supernatural being — called Carazaar? And, not to forget his repulsive multi-dimensional assistant, Arzuriel?”

  They shook their heads. No, they hadn’t.

  “Or of a Wizard of Loh — I beg your pardon, a Wizard of Walfarg — called Na-Si-Fantong?”

  “Fantong? Oh, he hasn’t been heard of for some time. The last news with any pretensions to authority placed him in Kothmir. Rumor had it that he was mixed up in some unsavory trickery involving a necklace.”

  “As I heard it,” amplified Xinthe, “he had to leave Kothmir very rapidly with half the kov’s army on his heels.”

  “But,” I said. “He had the necklace?”

  “No. It was recovered.”

  I felt relief at that. Whatever this Fantong wanted all the gems of the Skantiklar for, one would get you ten they were for no good purpose. There were nine gems to be collected. He had failed to snatch the one from Queen Leone in Tsungfaril. I’d been involved in that affair. Just how many had he? Then, the unhealthy thought occurred to me.

  I said: “Was the necklace intact?”

  “Strange you should ask. There was one jewel missing. Quite a big one, from the account I heard.”

  So the scheming sorcerer had at least one ruby gem of the Skantiklar!

  By the time we’d eaten and I was ready to leave I found I’d grown a healthy attachment to these two. What their relationship was outside the teacher student one was not my business. They slept in separate rooms.

  Wanlicheng, strongly supported by Xinthe, suggested I stay for a time and study the various Paths to Alternative Magic.

  Now, I admit it. I was tempted. If it could be done!

  But — there were Tsungfaril, Mevancy, Tarankar, Taranik, Leone, not to mention Kuong and Llodi, down south. There were my immediate concerns, even if returning to Vallia and Valka remained always my ultimate objectives.

  I expressed my regrets in such a way that they saw I was genuine. They wished me well on my journey.

  And there, of course, was the rub. How was I to contrive transport all those dwaburs south?[3]

  One notion occurred to me, an obvious one. I was too scared to use it. Oh, yes, I, Dray Prescot, Lord of Strombor and Krozair of Zy, was far too conscious of the risks involved even to think of chancing going the other way, going home, and waiting for the Star Lords to seize me up and dump me down in the land of Tsungfaril where my labors were required.

  Not, as they say in Clishdrin, not on your nellie!

  So, then, how?

  And, another little item in the account book before I left the subject of the Everoinye and their clever phantom blue Scorpion — could I trust the thing any more? The gerblish onker had dropped me, hadn’t it? Right in it? Well, then!

  “You look, Drajak, as though you have lost a zorca and found a calsany.”

  I twisted up my lips in some kind of ferocious smile. “If there was a time to use your Alternative Magic, it’s now. Then I could fly through the air down south.”

  “One day, one day,” said Wanlicheng, comfortably.

  Between me and my destination lay the jungles of Chem. In those dank depths lurked animal monsters and plant monsters like syatras and slaptras. Probably the jungles were swarming with head-hunting cannibals, waiting for me to provide their daily rations.

  Well, if I couldn’t reasonably walk there, couldn’t fly there because there were no vollers, was too frightened to get the Star Lords to shift me, I’d have to go by ship.

  As an old sailorman who’d been the First Lieutenant of a Seventy-Four, I anticipated no trouble in finding a berth, particularly as I had commanded swifters on the inner sea of Turismond, the Eye of the World, and swordships in the outer oceans, with particular reference to the Hoboling Islands and Pandahem. To coast down the western seaboard of Loh might be a pleasant experience. It might be ghastly. Either way, that was my path.

  They accompanied me down to the levee where a number of river craft were tied up. They offered to pay the fare to the coast; but this I refused, and before long I was fixed up as a deckhand aboard a broad-beamed vessel going down loaded with goods for the towns to the west.

  At first I thought I was lucky that the stupid Scorpion had dropped me much closer to the west coast of Loh than to the east. A little reflection made me revise that opinion. The west coast country of Tarankar was, we believed, infested with the Shanks. Their superb ships would patrol the sea approaches. H’mm. It would clearly have been safer, if longer, had I gone east about around Loh.

  When we parted, Xinthe suddenly leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “You’ll come back one day.”

  The lines were cast off and the vessel nosed out into the brownish waters. I bent to my sweep and then looked up and used one hand to wave to the shore as the vessel cleared the levee.

  “Remberee, Ornol! Remberee, Xinthe!”

  “Remberee, Drajak!”

  Then I put my back into the sweep and hauled and we glided off into the pungent brown smell of the river.

  The master, Tsien-Ting, a small nervous man with a bad facial blemish, delegated most of the work to his bosun, a hulking Khibil, Pondro the Pin. No sailorman needed to ask what kind of pin that was.

  As the vessel, Quaynt’s Fortune, glided down, way could be kept up easily by a few regular strokes from the sweeps. The large square sail was generally only used on long straight reaches running free. There was a set of fore and aft sails to be bent on when the vessel tacked up river. The life was strenuous only episodically. There were no voracious fish or monsters in the river, The River of Glinting Charm, which was mightily fortunate for the Khibil bosun, Pondro the Pin.

  When he was fished out at the end of a boathook, he glared murderously at me.

  What he said I couldn’t have heard said better on any stage throughout Earth or Kregen.

  “I’ll get you for this!”

  All I said was: “Next time don’t try to use your pin on a defenseless head belonging to a fellow half your size.”

  The little Och, the vessel’s cook, who’d caused the trouble, peered fearfully from the open top half of his galley door. I suppose, truth to tell, he was used to being knocked about by Pondro; but, well, that unfortunately is my way, to go interfering between basher and bashee.

  Tsien-Ting bustled up, trying to act with authority, and squeaking like a woflo in a trap.

  I felt annoyance. Remarkably, my irritation was not so much for myself as for the unwanted situation. There was nothing much else I could have done, as I saw it.

  “Back to work, shint!” snapped Tsien-Ting.

  This was quite uncalled for. I ignored him and grasped my sweep to assist us in negotiating the upcoming bend.

  Why can’t I, Dray Prescot, shut my eyes to injustice and petty terror, to the abuse of authority and to the injury of the weak? I can’t; but had I been able to do so I’d have had a smoother life and a few less lumps to show, by Vox!

  Sleeping with one eye open is a knack more or less essential to an adventuring kind
of fellow on Kregen. I awoke instantly to the soft footfall and so was able to take Pondro’s ankle in my fist and twist him over. Once more he went into the river. This time it was night. I hesitated. The splash had aroused no one, since everyone was asleep except for the Brokelsh deckhand, Bargray the Tumbs, and he thought the splash was me going overside. So, I hesitated. But I couldn’t.

  So I shouted: “Man overboard!”

  Mind you, I drew the line at diving in after the rast.

  By the time Pondro was fished out Quaynt’s Fortune was alive with shouts and curses and lanterns and running feet. Once again Pondro opened his mouth to tell me my exact fate. I looked at him. He shut his mouth, quickly, gulped, and turned away.

  Oh, well, that dreadful Devil Face of Dray Prescot sometimes comes in handy, I suppose.

  All the same, I was not fool enough not to change vessels when the next sizeable town hove up around a wide curving bend. The place looked not too dissimilar from Changwutung at a distance; as is the nature of places, I expected many differences of detail. I was wrong.

  This town of Ternantung was the twin of Changwutung.

  Just about all that the outside world now knew of Walfarg in Loh were its mysterious walled gardens and veiled women. Perhaps, the notion occurred to me, perhaps after the fall of the empire, those were all there were.

  Now it is not my intention to go into great detail concerning my journey down The River of Glinting Charm. There were the smells, rich and fruity close to the shore, surprisingly fresh in midstream. There were the never-ending delights of wild animals, and birds and fish. There were settlements along the banks and here my new vessel, Garrus, pulled in to buy and sell the goods she carried. The master, an apim called Nath Hsienu, known as Nath the Bollard, ran a much tighter ship than the ineffectual Tsien-Ting. There was no trouble aboard Garrus. In addition, Nath the Bollard was addicted to the game of Jikalla, and we had a number of interesting games, although, as you know, my main interest in that department is Jikaida.