Renegade of Kregen [Dray Prescot #13]

by Alan Burt Akers

  The other voller was larger, higher, with three decks and varter positions, with room for a crew of eighty men—a pastang. As she flew in I was forcibly reminded of the power an aircraft must possess over the earthbound fighting-man marching on his own feet.

  Rumors had floated about sufficiently for me to know that these were the only two vollers Genod possessed. I took no pride that I had deprived him of the squadron supplied by Hamal; the relief I felt was tempered by the knowledge that with these two alone, against totally unprepared Zairians, he could do a great mischief.

  The reception went off smoothly enough—I was sorry to see—and with the bands playing and the flags fluttering and the swods marching in perfect alignment, King Genod made his way into the camp of one of his armies upon the southern shore.

  There was no doubt as to the polished drill of these swods. There is a great difference between your wild warrior and your disciplined soldier, for all they are both fighting-men. The mercenaries Genod had hired were not on parade. He was being welcomed by the army he had helped create, the killing instrument with which he had won his victories and carried the Green triumphantly to the Red southern shore. This was a family reunion, as the long ranks of pikemen marched past, with the halberdiers and swordsmen leading, and the wedges of crossbowmen, closed up to march, followed, their crossbows held all in strict alignment across their chests. Each man in the ranks with his green plumes and insignia, I felt sure, owed a special and personal allegiance to King Genod. Genod had forged his army and it was his, in his hand, to do with as he willed.

  He trusted this army, out of the greater army he had created, to Gafard, the King's Striker.

  There was a deal of affectionate greeting, and much bowing and saluting, the pealing of trumpets, the curveting of sectrixes, the green flags proud against the sky.

  A little breeze had ghosted up, and this added a fine free atmosphere to the occasion, a zephyr breeze foretelling the great wind of destruction that would sweep the Green to victory over the Reds all along the coast.

  The king and Gafard and a sizable body of their immediate officers and retinues disappeared into the tall pavilion erected against the king's coming. Treasure was being spilled here. Yet for this genius king, this superman with the yrium, such attendances were not only expected and demanded—they were essential to his life-style.

  A powerful Pachak guard surrounded the two fliers, and the gaping swods were kept well away. I stood in the crowd with that fold of white silk across the lower half of my face. Many soldiers affected the style, for here the wind carried stinging sand. I stared at the two vollers.

  For my money they would both be first-class specimens. Hamal habitually built and sold inferior specimens to foreign countries. That had been one cause of a war that, while it lay in abeyance for the moment, was by no means over. The Hamalese had supplied these two vollers as examples, and on their performance the balance of the order might rest, although I knew well enough that any nation which did not manufacture fliers was only too pleased to buy examples from Hamal even if they were less than perfect.

  “Real boats! That fly through the air!” observed a swod, his full-dress uniform now changed for his fatigues. The other pikemen and arbalesters were likewise changed. Full dress was costly and reserved for occasions like this grand parade and, ironically, for battle.

  “I'd never have believed it, if I hadn't seen it with me own eyes!” declared a dwa-Deldar, wiping his nose with his fist.

  “Gar!” said a wizened little engineersman, spitting. “They be just ordinary boats, fitted with the power o’ Grodno, if you ask me."

  “Nobody's asking you, Naghan the Pulley."

  They would have wrangled on, in the press, amicable in this off-duty period as swods usually are. I moved away with Duhrra. I would see all I wanted of the positions of the vollers. I did not like the guards being Pachaks. That complicated matters.

  In less than a bur I would be on duty again, and just before Duhrra and I went to dress into our mail and greens, a fresh interest cropped up in the army. Two swifters came in bringing with them a captured Zairian swifter.

  We all trooped down to the beach to look and jeer and shout mocking obscene threats as the Zairian prisoners were marched ashore in chains.

  The two swifters were from Gansk, a powerful Grodnim fortress city of the northern coast opposite Zy itself. The Zairian was from Zandikar, a fortress city up the coast to the northwest from Zamu. So, of course, the Ganskian sailors and marines were cock-a-hoop over their victory and very mouthy about it to the men of Magdag.

  Duhrra spat. “Zandikar,” he said. “I've been there myself! I fought a bout there and won two zo pieces. I think they fought well before they were beaten."

  The sight of those chained men displeased me. Zandikar, the city of Ten Dikars, was nowhere near as powerful or wealthy a city-state as her next-door neighbor, Zamu; but her small fleet was considered smart and effective and she had a reputation for her archers and her gregarian groves. There was no order of Krozairs associated with Zandikar, not even a Red Brotherhood, but she was of the Red and of Zair, and an ally.

  The two Gansk swifters were six-five hundred-and-twenty swifters. The Zandikarean was a five-three hundred swifter.

  There must have been great slaughter, for far less than a full swifter's crew trudged ashore. As for the oar-slaves, they were sorted out, Green and Red, and sent the one to recuperate and rejoin their fellows, the other to further slavery on the oar-benches of Grodnim swifters.

  After this excitement Duhrra and I had to be quick about dressing and reporting in for duty. There were more messages on this afternoon than there had been for the entire previous three days. The king had stirred things up, although I had no feeling that Gafard had been dragging his heels. Strong scouting forces had already probed east and west, and weaker patrols had gone south to check out if the Zairians had yet returned to the villages of Inzidia, which had been evacuated earlier when the Grodnims had advanced. I knew that the scouts going east would have to halt long before they reached Pynzalo, for the base camp at which I had met Duhrra, and where he had lost his hand, lay in their way.

  From the nature of the messages I carried it was perfectly clear that the king endorsed Gafard's view that a strike to the east, the quick capture of Pynzalo, a consolidation on that strong line, and then a chavonth-like spring to the west represented the best strategy. They both agreed with my views, then...

  As the suns were dipping into the sea to the west with the nearest of the confused mass of islands known as the Seeds of Zantristar—the damned Grodnims called them the Seeds of Ganfowang—black bars against the burning glow of sea and sky, it chanced that Gafard called me into the inner compartment of his campaign tent. I went in and saluted and noticed he looked keyed up. He paced about, as he spoke, over the priceless carpet, well pleased over some matter.

  The imposing many-peaked tent provided for his lady had been taken down long before the king arrived, and the tent, the lady, her retinue, and a strong guard of Pachaks had left the camp, no man would say where. I had seen the king's Crebent wandering about looking exceedingly bilious. He was one Grodnim among many we could do without.

  “Such news, Gadak!” Gafard greeted me. “We are on the move. The king approves—but these are matters not fit for the ears of a mere aide. Look—” He gestured to a side table. “Help yourself to a drink. It is all Grodnim stuff."

  I refused politely. He'd had to stock Grodnim wine when the king came here.

  “The King also brought me an item of information interesting to him; an item of supreme importance to me!” He was expansive; I had never seen him more febrile, alert, restless, pacing about, a flush beneath his mahogany suntan giving him even more of that voracious carved beakhead look I know so well from the mirror.

  “Yes, gernu?"

  “You asked me once if it was sure the great Krozair, Pur Dray, the Lord of Strombor, was surely dead. And I answered it was sure. Well, Gadak—” Her
e, he stopped pacing and turned and glared at me with a look of unholy triumph. “There is news, sure news! The king's spies brought it; it cannot be doubted. Pur Dray has reappeared in the inner sea from—from where no man knows. He is still alive!"

  “You honor me with your confidence—” I began. He brushed that aside.

  “It is no confidence. The news will soon circulate. The greater the news the faster it travels. But, Gadak, there is more ... Pur Dray has been ejected from the Krozairs of Zy! He is Apushniad!” Gafard shook his head in bewilderment. “I cannot understand how they can be such fools, such stupid idiot onkers; but the fact remains."

  “Then if he is Apushniad,” I said, speaking slowly, sizing him up, “you think, perhaps—?"

  “Aye, I do! There is a certain matter between us. I must meet him. Now that I know he is alive and not dead I am overjoyed!"

  How badly he wanted to overmatch the old reputation of that Krozair of Zy who was dead and was now alive!

  I said, “You would seek to come to hand-strokes with him, to slay him, to prove yourself a greater Ghittawrer than he is a Krozair?"

  He looked at me as though I were a mewling infant, or a crazy man screaming at the lesser moons to halt in their tracks. He opened his mouth, but the tent drapings ripped up and Grogor, his second in command, appeared, throwing a quick salute, butting in, interrupting: “Gernu! The king! He calls for you—at once, gernu!"

  Gafard's mouth snapped shut. He whipped up his green cloak and threw it over his shoulders. His longsword clanked once as he strode past me. He said, “Get about your duties, Gadak. Serve me well and you will be rewarded."

  “Your orders, my commands, gernu!” I bellowed blankly.

  That small incident had shown me in more revealing drama the situation between these two, between King Genod and Gafard, the King's Striker. For all the talk of brain and hand, of genius and executive, still when the king whistled Gafard ran. Gafard was tough and strong and ruthless and high-handed and all the things a man needed to be to survive upon Kregen and attain a position of comfort—quite apart from power and wealth—and his authority within the army was unquestioned. Still, King Genod whistled and Gafard ran.

  Then I checked. Did I not run when Gafard whistled?

  The answer to that question should be satisfactorily answered this very night.

  After the suns had gone down and the Maiden with the Many Smiles began to climb the heavens, I found Duhrra thinking about wandering down to the infantry lines after more dopa, and told him what I was going to do.

  His broad idiot face broke into one huge grin. “About time, master! Huh—I'm with you, by Zantristar the Merciful!"

  I said, “We will take both the flying boats, for that will be easier. The little one will rest on the big one's deck."

  We gathered up all our fighting gear we would ordinarily use on duty and left our sleeping silks and spare clothing scattered about as though we had just left casually. I wanted to leave a bolthole in case the damned voller was not a first-class example and played up. That is a thing anyone of foresight would do, even though I did not expect to see this place again for a long time.

  The Maiden with the Many Smiles, Kregen's largest moon, gave more light than we needed for a desperate enterprise of this nature. But I would not wait. The king might leave on the morrow after his inspection. And my impatience had now boiled over. Rashness and recklessness—they are a mark of my own stupidity, I own.

  Acting perfectly normally we walked through the moon-drenched shadows to the edge of the bluffs overlooking the beach. In one of the curved beach hollows fenced on its seaward side the Zairian prisoners had been lodged. They would be chained and the chains stapled to stakes driven deeply into the sand. Here lay one chance; the sand would give more easily than earth. I had brought a length of iron filched from the engineers’ stores, just in case. As it turned out we were lucky here. One of the Rapa guards, who toppled over after Duhrra hit him on top of his crested head, carried keys on a large bronze ring. Cautioning silence, we went among the prisoners, releasing them. They gathered about me in the pink and golden shadows, breathing hard, hardly believing.

  “You are men from Zandikar. I salute your prowess. Now we strike a blow for Zair and we strike in absolute silence!"

  “I am Ornol ti Zab, ley-Hikdar, third officer of Wersting Zinna." The man looked squat and hard, a real sailorman, his black curly hair smothered in sand, with the black dried blood crusting about a wound. “We are with you in this escape. But—you and this giant with one hand wear the green."

  “Aye,” I said. “Aye, Hikdar, we do. And if there is a scrap of red about we will gladly wear that! By Zair, yes!"

  There were dead men in the dunes. Red cloth was to hand. I wound the crimson about my loins, over the green, draped an end over the green tunic. There was no time for more. We all stole silently across the sand. The Hikdar halted as I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

  “Not that way, Hikdar."

  “But,” he whispered back, “that way lies our swifter, our fleet Wersting Zinna."

  “There is a greater Jikai tonight. You are a ley-Hikdar.[4] Success this night will leap you at a bound to Jiktar. I promise you. Your king Zinna will do no other.

  [4 Ley: four]

  He looked doubtful. I did not blame him. I could be a part of a trap, devilish sport of the Grodnims with Zairian captives.

  “King Zinna is an old man now, dom. He would sooner see his swifter back in the ship-sheds of Zandikar."

  “Yet the way I show you will deliver up a greater prize. Did you not see the flying boats land?"

  He gasped. “Aye—aye! This will be a great Jikai!"

  So we went on through the moonlight in the way I directed. Of course, King Zinna must be old—I'd last seen him fifty years ago and he'd been middle-aged then. The cities and states of the Red southern shore hang together in a sketchy alliance against the Greens, but they are touchy of their national honor. I didn't care to which Zairian city-state the voller went just so long as I stopped off at Zy first.

  Although, come to think of it, my allegiance should go to Mayfwy of Felteraz and through her to King Zo of Sanurkazz. That was, if I had any allegiances left.

  The night guard on the two vollers had been changed from Pachaks to Fristles. No doubt apims and Chuliks and any other diffs on the roster might have been used as required. My sea-leems of Zair dealt with the Fristles; the cat-faced diffs swiftly disposed of, the Red swamped over the Green.

  The moon glistered on the ornate scrollwork gilding of the sternwalk. The hull bulged with power. Yes, this was a fine handy craft, equipped with varters, decked, a superb fighting machine of the air. We swarmed up like ants, climbing up onto the deck and taking by surprise the remnant of the guard sleeping off watch there.

  With brands in their fists, with their blood up, these men of Zandikar showed their mettle.

  Their captain and ship-Hikdar had been slain in the battle with the two swifters of Gansk. Many of their comrades had gone up to sit in glory on the right hand of Zair in the radiance of Zim. Now they sent a covey of Grodnims down to the Ice Floes of Sicce without compunction.

  Some noise fractured the night in that swift struggle. That was unfortunate but seemingly inevitable. I belted for the control deck shouting to Duhrra to make sure everyone was aboard safely. The controls were perfectly familiar to me. I hit the levers and we went up in a smooth, swooping rise, a rush of power. The smaller voller was not inits mooring place and so King Genod must be sending more messages. I chilled.

  Suppose he had taken the voller himself? But no—no, Zair would not play that trick on me. I did as I had planned and brought the voller to earth again in the first spot that appeared suitable from the air. I knew this terrain from carrying messages and had selected a number of deep gullies where the voller might be hidden. I double-checked the best place from the air as we slanted down, and was satisfied she would not be spotted if the two-place flier nosed over
.

  Hikdar Ornol ti Zab organized his men into throwing the scrubby branches of nik-nik bushes over the deck to shield her. The nik-nik is a nasty plant and the men were scratched. They did not care. My plan appealed to them.

  But, Hikdar Ornol and Duhrra both said to me, growling: “We shall come with you, Gadak."

  “Not so,” I said. “I am able to pass easily where you would have trouble, Duhrra, and you, Hikdar, could not pass at all."

  They fumed and argued, but they knew I was right. The voller had to be secured first. Now came the tricky part.

  I started to leave them and as I did so Hikdar Ornol said to me, “There is one among our company who claims to have seen a flying boat before. He even says he can fly one through the air like a bird."

  The urgency in me, I now admit, made me gloss over this information that would normally have been startling. The Hikdar went on, speaking in his growly graint voice: “If you do not return within two burs of dawn we shall decide—"

  I knew what he was going to say. I stopped him.

  “You will get this young fellow to fly the boat out. You will all be trapped if you return. You know this to be true."

  “Aye.” He spoke surlily, a warrior deprived of a fight. “It is sooth. But we are loath to do this thing."

  “I shall not say Remberee."

  “Hai Jikai!” he said to me, and so I went back toward the camp and to King Genod and Gafard, the King's Striker, the Sea-Zhantil.

  There was a quantity of confusion going on about the vanished voller. Guards ran and shouted and torches flared. This was all to the good. I ran in as though most busy about my work, and almost forgot to rip off the red cloth. I bundled it up and stuffed it inside the green tunic over the mail.

  “It must be cramphs of Zair!” men bellowed. “Rasts of the Red!"

  In all this confusion I ought to be able to take Genod and Gafard. At the least, I ought to be able to do that. So I planned as I ran and shouted with the rest and worked my way around to the tent of the king.

  How man proposes and Zair disposes! Or Opaz or Djan. I wouldn't give the time of day to Grodno or Havil or Lem. I ran through the moon-shot darkness. This was where I let rip all the frustrations, where I really hit back, where I at last created a High Jikai that would reinstate me among the ranks of the Krozairs of Zy.