A Life for Kregen

by Alan Burt Akers

  “I do not think I would choose to ask.”

  “And you?”

  “Here and there about the world—”

  “Oh, really, Jak! If we are to be friends, as I sincerely hope, you must do better than that.”

  “You would wish to be friends with me?”

  Her regard on me wavered and she looked away. She shivered. “Better a friend than an enemy.”

  “Well,” I said, trying not to be offended. “And I think if we are to be friends you must do better than that.”

  “Mayhap I do not wish to be — friends.”

  “As to that, we must let Opaz guide us.”

  “Yes.”

  “So how was it you were slave with the Pandaheem?”

  Her face flushed up again in remembered terror and anguish, and, too, recollected anger.

  “I served the Sisters well. At least, I think I did. I have some skill. But when the Troubles fell on Vallia, flutsmen came and I was taken. They dropped from the air like stones. We fought but were overborne. They are not — not nice, flutsmen.”

  “Most, not all,” I agreed, equably. “And this Kov Colun?”

  “I will say nothing of him save that I shall sink my talons into him, and rip him, and may then, if it pleases me, kill him.”

  I nodded and the conversation died for a space.

  After a time as we rode along and the motion of the hirvels jolted our livers, we regained a more pleasant atmosphere and she told me she was one of six children born to a shopkeeper in Frelensmot. He had been a happy, jolly man, and just rich enough to buy three slaves for the shop, which was, she said with a funny little toss of the head, a Banje store, a place where you could buy candy and sweets and toffee-apples and miscils and all manner of toothsome, mouthwatering trifles. But the shop fell on evil days and her father spilled a vat of boiling treacle on his foot and it never healed and that broke him. She herself was sent at first to the Little Sisters of Opaz, where she learned a great deal of how to be demure and polite and sew a fine stitch. Later she went — and here she hauled herself up in her tale, and regarded me with those eyes of hers slanting on me with the telltale surprise for herself that she had said so much.

  “When I went to Lancival I learned what to do with a length of steel somewhat longer than a sewing needle.”

  She laughed. “And I learned other things, also, and one day Kov Colun will find out how I can rip him up in a twinkling.”

  Her hand reached back and stroked down the polished balass of the box. A sensuousness in the gesture reminded me of the way a great cat will turn her head and rub a paw down past her ear. Then Jilian laughed again, her head thrown back and the long line of her throat bared and free to the breeze.

  “And you are just Jilian?”

  “For you, Jak, just Jilian.”

  “I see.” Well, it was no business of mine. Although she wouldn’t understand, I did not think we would go up the hill to fetch a pail of water together.

  We would have to avoid habitations until we reached Vond, and any other riders we encountered would without doubt be hostile. The rendezvous with Barty and the others lay some way ahead and although I was in a fever of impatience to reach Vondium and attempt to discover where the main threat to the city would come, I had to tread cautiously. So we covered the dwaburs, talking and laughing, and keeping our weapons loose in their scabbards.

  A scatter of black-winged warvols rose ahead of us. The scavenging birds would rip a body up, dead or half-dead; but they were a part of nature fulfilling a function and so must be treated on their own merits. We rode up to the mess hunkered by a grassy hillock.

  The three zorcas were almost stripped down to the bone. The three jutmen because of their armor were not in so detailed a state of dissolution, although their faces were gone, and only three yellow skulls jutted above the corselet rims. Their weapons were gone, and although two of the arrows had been withdrawn, the third, broken in half, still shafted from the gaping eye socket of a skull. One always, in these circumstances, inspects the fletchings.

  There was no sense in grieving over the three zorcamen. By their uniforms and insignia they were of the Second, Jiktar Wando Varon’s regiment. Stragglers, they must have been attempting to catch up with the main body, as we were, heading for the rendezvous.

  The arrows were fletched with natural gray and brown feathers, and were of the length to be shot from a standard compound bow. “Hamalese?” said Jilian.

  “Very likely, or their mercenary allies. We have a ways to go before we reach Vond. The river will set a barrier of some sort between us. Keep your eyes skinned.”

  And that was an unnecessary injunction, to be sure.

  The mercenaries turned out to be masichieri, very cheap and nasty examples of men earning a living hiring out as killers and pretending to be soldiers, and they found us as the twin suns were sinking into banks of bruised clouds and streaming a choked, opaline, smoky light over the grass.

  “I make ten of them, Jak.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will that be five each, d’you think?”

  They were infantry, armored in an assortment of harnesses, bearing a variety of weapons, and their bristly ferocious faces exhibited their joy at thus finding two lonely strangers at this time of the evening. They rose from the bushes and four of them bent bows upon us. They were joking among themselves.

  “Best step down nice and easy, horter and hortera,” one shouted, very jocose, calling us gentleman and lady.

  “Had I a bow—” began Jilian.

  I said: “Put your head down, girl!”

  I clapped in my heels, the Krozair longsword flamed a single brand of livid light against the sky and I leaped forward.

  Three of the arrows were caught and deflected as the masichieri, startled, loosed. The third whistled past out of reach to my rear. Then I was in among them. The Krozair longsword — well, that brand of destruction is indeed a marvel, and this was a true Krozair brand, brought from Valka, the blade and hilt so cunningly wrought that the steel sings of itself as it thrusts and cuts. Four, five and then six were down before they even had time to consider what manner of retribution they had brought on themselves. I kneed the hirvel to the side and the Krozair blade hissed. Back the other way and a thraxter that came down at me abruptly checked, snapped across, and its owner went smashing backwards without a face.

  The remaining two were to my rear and I hauled the hirvel up squealing on his haunches and swung him about. His hooves clawed at the sunset. We were down and I was belting back, and saw a sight, by Krun!

  One of the masichieri staggered away, his hands to his face, and between his clenching fingers spurted a crimson flood.

  The other screamed as the whip coiled around his neck. He was dragged bodily up to Jilian’s hirvel. I saw her face. It was drawn and intent. I saw her left hand.

  She did not wield a rapier.

  As the shrieking wight was dragged in, struggling futilely against the coils of the lash, a steel taloned left hand raked out, glinting in the dying light, slashed all down his face. That cruel, steel curved claw ripped his face off as a mummer takes off a mask. Blood spouted. Jilian reined back and flicked her whip and allowed the body to drop.

  She laughed.

  Her left hand, gloved with taloned steel, a razor claw of destruction, glimmered darkly as she lifted it to me in triumph.

  Chapter Ten

  What Difference Does an Emperor Make?

  “By Vox! I do not know. I’ve no idea at all.”

  “Us and Sogandar the Upright,” said Nath at Barty’s wail of despair.

  We stood in that book-lined room glaring in baffled fury at the map of Vallia. The colors mocked us. No scouts reported an invading army, we had had not a whisper from our spies in the occupied territories. We knew nothing. And yet, I was convinced, there had to be the real invasion force from which that ludicrous gaggle of men masquerading as an army under command of Fat Lango had been intended to decoy us away.
<
br />   “Where among all the Ice Floes are they?” said Barty.

  He stood with his hands on his hips and his head thrown back and he looked as though he’d just tried to eat a five-fathom eel lengthways.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Nath slapped his rapier up and down in the scabbard, fretfully. “And we’re doing that right now. Scouts, spies, aerial observation. What else can we do?”

  “Wait,” I said.

  “Aye, majister. Wait. And the men grow lean and hungry although we fill their bellies six times a day.”

  “The fight will come. We must ensure we fight it where we choose.”

  Most of my joy at rejoining the force and then of marching back to Vondium had evaporated when I discovered that Delia had taken herself off again about important and secret business of the Sisters of the Rose. Always I felt irritable and half-lost when she was away. This is natural, if foolish, behavior and I do not choose either to defend or curse at it. It just is.

  The arrow that had winged past me in that short sharp fight had sliced a chunk out from under Jilian’s breast and I’d had a fair old game with her at the end, just before we joined up with the rest of the retreating force. She’d fought her two masichieri well. But she’d become a little delirious and I’d had to strap her down to the hirvel. It was a most undignified young lady who was decanted in Vondium and hustled off by the ladies to their own wing where the doctors could attend more effectively than I had done. Had Seg’s wife Thelda been here the to-do would have been much greater, of course.

  The trouble was — this meant I could not question Jilian about her steel claw, which was a twin to that worn by Dayra.

  Jilian had kept the clawed glove strapped to her hand and wrist after the fight. That had caused some of the bother, for she’d taken it into her head to slash at anyone who came near. Well, that was all over and she was safely asleep festooned with acupuncture needles. When she awoke, poulticed, bandaged, dosed and medicated, she’d be herself again.

  So we pondered the dark designs of those who sought to topple Vallia, and, besides wondering where they would strike, wondered who in a Herrelldrin Hell they were.

  One thing I could do, and that was make sure the army was up to scratch. We were forming regiments at a fair pace, of course; but it takes time to turn a man into a soldier. I offer no excuses for this conduct in a land where always before in living memory gold had been used instead of warriors. Now we must free ourselves by our own efforts. The response of the Vallians was immediate and generous and we had no difficulty in filling the muster lists of any regiment on the day they were opened. Cavalry, infantry, artillery, we formed fresh bodies and trained them. For air — well, I had found myself one of the wise men of Vallia, who are not to be confused with sorcerers although often termed wizards, and he was busily producing the substances necessary to fill the silver vaol-paol boxes that lift and power fliers. We would build ourselves a fleet of sailing fliers, able to lift into the air but dependent on the breeze for sailing. At the least, they would give us some support, and at the best would help us rout the enemy.

  In the great waters of Kregen there are perhaps only the devil Shanks from over the curve of the world who can teach Vallians much about sailing ships. From the fleets of great Vallian galleons would come eager volunteers to sail the ships of the sky.

  The map of Vallia, as well as remaining blank as to the intentions of our foes, showed not a single mention of any place called Lancival. I had not commented to Jilian that I did not know it. And she, the minx, had known all along that I could not. No smot, den or village, no province or estate that I could find was called Lancival, and none of the men I questioned had heard of the place, no, by Vox, never!

  The Lady Winfree, a charming girl and married to a Chuktar newly appointed to command a brigade, looked right through me when I mentioned the name to her. She excused herself rapidly and made off, her skirts swaying, her head high. So that was that. Lancival was another of these damned secrets the women held so close to them. Well, they were entitled to secrets, of course, that went without a say-so. And, equally of course, there are secrets wives hold that they are not entitled to, just as their husbands hold remembered guilt. I felt the thankfulness in me I had told Delia of Earth, that weird little planet with one tiny yellow sun, one small silver moon and not a diff in sight.

  I went to see Jilian in her yellow-sheeted bed with the flowers banked around the suns-filled room. She lay white and lovely and completely unconscious of anyone or anything save what paraded before her in dreams. I sighed.

  The doctor said: “Give her another two days, majister.”

  Long before I left the ladies’ quarters, which had been among the first of the palace ruins to be rebuilt, Barty met me bubbling with an enthusiasm and a joyful eagerness I found despite my mood to be wonderfully infectious.

  The first thought was that one of the invading armies had been discovered.

  But Barty called out: “Dayra!” He waved his arms, his face almost bursting, and fell in beside me to trot along babbling out the news. “She has been seen. It must be her, definitely — the spy was well paid. She rode into Werven with a rascally gang buying supplies. I am sure, Dray, there can be no doubt.”

  “Werven. That is in Falinur, Seg’s kovnate.”

  “Wherever it is, Dray — I must be off. This is the chance we have been waiting for.”

  He was right. And the devils of temptation leered and beckoned to me. My daughter, my elfin wayward daughter who wore a steel-taloned claw and slashed men to pieces, Ros the Claw — how could I not rush instantly to find her and how could I not stay in Vondium in her time of trial? What to do?

  Barty must have sensed that indecision in me, for he was becoming more and more attuned to the delicacies of personal relationships these days. He cocked an eye at me, and stopped speaking, and for a dozen strides we marched side by side out of the women’s quarters. In silence we continued through the Mother of Pearl Court, under the colonnades where purple-flowered ibithses glowed against the limewash, and so over tessellated paving into the cool blue shade of the Goldfish Court where the tanks rippled ghostly flickers of orange-gold like sparks against the milky silver.

  “You must go, Barty.” I spoke heavily. “And my heart goes with you. But for me, I must stay here.”

  He understood.

  There was no way of telling if he was pleased or sorry I would not be with him, for we had gone through a few hairy moments together, and to do him credit he expressed immediate understanding and determination to talk to Dayra. He was aware of problems. He did not know Dayra was Ros the Claw. I felt it right that he should know before he went, and found little sense in my withholding the information previously.

  “By Vox!” he said. “You mean — like that ghastly steel claw your friend Jilian was wearing?”

  I nodded.

  He shook his head. “What a girl. I’ve romped with her when we were very young — before I knew you, Dray. I think she must be very — grown up — now.”

  “Yes.” I spoke dryly, and my throat choked up. “Very.”

  Barty had owned a number of airboats and all the survivors of the troubles had been placed at the disposal of the Vondium Defense Forces, as was proper. The Lord Farris was reluctant to release a single unit from the small forces we had; but he understood from what I did not say and from my demeanor that the need was pressing. Barty was fully supplied with all that a man needs to survive on Kregen and with a party of his own men was sent off in fine style. He called down the Remberees, which were answered with bellows of well wishers, and the flier fleeted up and away into the radiance of the Suns of Scorpio. A fine, headstrong, courageous young man, Barty Vessler, the Strom of Calimbrev.

  But, all the same, the thought occurred to me and I could not halt it, that it ought to be me who flew off with such high hopes. And, come to think of it, where the hell was Delia?

  The next few days passed most miserably.

  There wer
e, at the least, no more ghostly visitations from that infernal Wizard of Loh, spying on us in lupu; but even that would have been a welcome interruption. As it was, and despite the people around me who worked hard and with a will, I felt alone, isolated, cut off from all the things that seemed of worth. So when Nath, who as the commander of the Phalanx was now called a Kapt, a general, wanted me to inspect the new bodies he had formed, I was glad to go.

  Now, as you know, a Phalanx consists of two Kerchuris, the two wings, each of five thousand one hundred eighty-four pikemen, the brumbytes. Flanking them are the Hakkodin, the axemen and halberdiers, eight hundred sixty-four strong. Because we now had access to adequate supplies of iron, and Vondium’s forges produced first quality carbon-steel, we had incorporated bodies of men equipped with the big two-handed sword. With these fearful weapons they could knock a jutman from his saddle with a single blow, if they did not slice him in half.

  In addition, and because of the promised threat from the air, the Phalanx had attached strong forces of archers. These were not, alas, the famed and feared Bowmen of Loh armed with the superb Lohvian longbow. They used the compound reflex bow, powerful, accurate, flat in the loose, and they had been drilled and trained until shooting oozed from their ears. They had been given particular attention. The Vallians were now aware of the danger from the skies.

  As for artillery, wheeled varters, the Kregan ballistae, were manufactured and artillerymen drilled and practiced with a keen desire to make their battery the best in the army. The superior Vallian gros-varters, too, were produced. There just was not time to have the wise men go into the problems of design and manufacture of the repeating-varters I had set my heart on. They would have to come later — if Vallia survived.

  The two Kerchurivaxes came up to report, massive and brilliant in armor and a profusion of ornamentation. I never stinted on the amount of decoration a fighting man cared to wear, provided always that nothing was allowed to interfere with his efficiency. The long period of waiting was trying, but as the two Kerchuri commanders saluted and I looked beyond them, with a welcoming word, to the massed blocks of the Phalanx, I saw with a lift of elation that the men showed not a sign of boredom or slothfulness. Of course, Nath kept them up to the mark. But, all the same, idleness breeds slackness. We would have to take a little stroll in the suns shine of Antares and give the brumbytes and the Hakkodin a modicum of exercise.