“Go,” said Seg, “away. Come back when you can talk respectfully of your mother. Is that clear!”
She jumped into the air, her face blanched, she bit her lip — turned and fled.
Seg started to berate himself, cursing his own folly and pig-headed stupidity. Onker! Vosk-skulled onker!
Now he’d ruptured the whole fabric of his planned life.
Nothing of what had passed was spoken, the days went by, and, suddenly, here he was being dressed in robes so ornate as to need another fellow in here with him to help support the weight. He made sure he had his drexer with him. Obolya had been through on his way downriver, taking Seg’s bowstave and quiver with him. Oh, well. He could look forward with pleasure at least to building himself a new bow on his honeymoon... He fretted over Mishti...
The wedding took place in the Temple of Pandrite Risen, and included priests of all the other temples of the city. The occasion was in truth splendid. So much gold, so much glitter, so many lamps, so many robes of wonderful ornateness. The music soared. The scents almost overpowered. The choirs sang. The lady Mishti stood to the side, drenched in silks and gold, and her eyes were downcast and she did not look at her new father at all.
One could feel true sorrow and sympathy for any girl who has to face a new father; that does not mean she may forfeit her respect for her mother. Seg felt his heart move for poor Mishti. He would do all he could, and perhaps that would not be enough.
When the dancing began he said to Milsi: “This is a splendid wedding, my heart. But there must be at least two more, you know.”
“Oh, aye, assuredly. One with all my friends in Jholaix. And the other with yours in Vallia.”
“The Vallia of today is not like the Vallia you were taught to hate as a child.”
“I know. I have spoken to Llipton on this.”
He was there, the kov, propped up, joying in the happiness of his queen. His wife, the gorgeous Rahishta, was truly sumptuous and Seg couldn’t see Llipton having her killed off.
They were enjoying themselves in the enormous ballroom of the Langarl Paraido. Perfumes scented the air, fans waved, wine circulated, people talked and chattered and danced as the four orchestras played by turn. Seg, looking at Milsi, found he could hardly bear to look away. She so radiated happiness, she looked so perfect, that she dominated everything by her own self and not because she happened to be the queen.
On the second day of the ceremonies, Seg was to be crowned king.
This function took place in the throne room of the Langarl Paraido. More gorgeousness, more gold, more silks and tapestries, more of everything luxurious and sybaritic and heady with the promise of the life to come.
Clad in robes of astounding magnificence, Seg stood forth with Milsi facing him. She was the only person with the power to crown him. She wore a long straight gown of purest white, girded in silver, with the crown upon her head. The chief priest held upon a velvet cushion the crown she would take up and place upon Seg’s dark unruly mop.
He stared up into her eyes. So beautiful, so wonderful — a girl who was his wife now. Yet, yet — did he want to be king of this infernal jungly rivery place?
Milsi took up the crown. She held it high and all sound ceased in that immense chamber. The chief priest stood like a dummy. A priest beside him stood on one leg, the other stilled in the act of scratching his calf. The feathered fans ceased their incessant waving to and fro. A little fly upon the velvet cushion stopped and did not move.
Seg knew.
He turned his head and looked at the water clock fixed beneath the east window. No water dropped from the clepsydra’s upper chamber. The water in the lower stood as though solid, like a sheet of blued steel.
The blue water in the upper chamber remained where it was, fixed, rigid, solid, unmoving...
Motionless in their ranks all his comrades stood looking blindly on. All the nobles and the chiefs, all the great ones, all the vast assembly — all — stood like stone.
In all that great and glittering company only two lives sparked with energy. Milsi lowered the crown, and almost dropped it, and so placed it back upon the velvet cushion.
“Seg! What is it? What—?”
“It is all right, Milsi, I promise you—”
“But — but—” She looked around, distraught.
He took the two steps up and clasped her in his arms, smoothing the supple curve of her back for he could not smooth her hair for the crown.
“Milsi, hush, hush—”
A golden yellow light blossomed about them. The unearthly scent of surpassing sweetness enfolded them.
At the core of the golden radiance the figure of a woman glowed, supernal, divine, shedding benediction.
She wore a white gown girdled by a golden chain. Her dark hair flowed in a loose perfumed mass from beneath a helmet of so brilliant a gold it shone as though molten. Crimson plumes bedecked the helmet.
Milsi, looking on in awe, saw the woman’s face.
A pale face, unlined, with a purity of outline that set her countenance apart from ordinary features, her face half-smiled down upon the two locked in each other’s arms. Her eyes of a deep and lustrous brown seemed to melt into them. Her firm, full mouth, a contrast of complexity, curved benignly upon them. Yet in her left hand she held a sword. Upon her breast shone an insignia in the shape of a wheel with nine projections upon its outer circumference.
Seg felt Milsi stir in his arms, stiffen, grow firm.
“Who,” demanded Milsi, “are you, lady?”
The answering voice flowed in a golden mellow sound like a million deep and yet happy-toned bells all chiming from the bell towers of a world’s temples.
“I speak to the Grand Archbold of the Kroveres of Iztar.”
“I am here, my lady Zena Iztar,” said Seg. “And I give you Lahal and Lahal, and my devotion, and ask you to share with me my happiness and pride in my lady, the lady Milsi, who is the queen of this land.”
“Bravely spoken, Seg Segutorio. But you forget you are my Grand Archbold. To you has been entrusted the furtherance of my Order.”
“I own to a parlous state of sin in this, for I have been neglectful of late. Yet there have been reasons—”
“Reasons enough so that I have not called on you beforetime. But, now, you are not fighting the Shanks.
You are not battling the adherents of Lem the Silver Leem. You are not putting down the slavers, the aragorn, the slavemasters. You are not opposing the Werefolk. You are not combating the Traxon Ardueres. And you do nothing about the Witch of Loh, Csitra, who commands Spikatur Hunting Sword.”
“That is true. I am being married.”
Milsi could feel the hardness of Seg against her. Her common sense told her that this apparition was real, a visitation from the gods — perhaps a goddess herself. So that her Seg took much upon himself to answer in so proud a fashion.
Zena Iztar’s smile curved more. “I joy in your good fortune in the lady Milsi, Seg. But do you wish to stay here as king?”
“I do not know! I wish to stay with Milsi — that is all I do know. And, my lady, I wish to serve you as best I may.”
“Do you forget what the Emperor of Vallia drew out for your future possibilities, Seg? Concerning Pandahem?”
“I do not forget. He suggested I should be the Emperor of Pandahem. That is all a foolishness. I would sooner be the Grand Archbold of the Kroveres of Iztar.”
“Yet this same Emperor of Vallia created the new emperor in Hamal, did he not?”
“Oh, aye, he did that. I was there.”
“I would have you still as my hand in the world, Seg. And your new comrades here will prove fine krovere brothers. Even the Relt Caphlander, for the Order has need of a stylor.”
“Agreed, my lady.”
Milsi just stood, trembling finely in Seg’s arms, listening to this talk of emperors...
“Also, Seg, I may tell you that the Emperor of Vallia has decided on your new kovnate. You are to be a High Kov.
He would have you as an emperor like himself out of his comradeship.” The mellow voice chimed golden gong notes. “Yet I think you do right to refuse for the moment.”
“Look at Pandahem! They’d never accept an emperor. And as for this kingdom of Croxdrin, my lady Zena Iztar, I have decided.”
“Excellent. Proceed.”
“I shall do whatever my lady Milsi asks me to do.”
The smile curved even more in that palely glowing face framed by the brown hair and the golden helmet.
“A very wise and sound decision, I assure you.”
“But—!”
“The Kroveres of Iztar need you, Ver Seg. So do others of your blade comrades.”
“Yes, and I can tell you why my old dom wants to make me the Emperor of Pandahem! The cunning old leem hunter — he’s so fed up with his job as Emperor of Vallia and keeps trying to shovel it off onto his son Drak that he wants to let me have a taste of the same nonsense!”
Zena Iztar laughed. Her smile broadened and it seemed the twin suns of Scorpio flamed and blazed within the throne room there in jungle-fast Croxdrin.
“You are wrong, Ver Seg; but you do have a point. Now you must make your decision with the lady Milsi. There is much to do in the world, for Kregen never sleeps.”
And, like that, suddenly the golden radiance vanished and with a last faintly ringing “Remberee!” vibrating on the air, Zena Iztar departed.
Without hesitation Seg turned Milsi in his arms, kissed her lusciously and with immense passion and gusto, grabbed the crown, thrust it into her hands, lifted hands and crown and settled it on his head. Then he hopped down the steps and stood staring up at Milsi as the choirs all broke into song, the priests chanted, the music soared and the blue water dropped down plop after plop in the clepsydra.
When they were alone, the crowds still shouting and carousing in the streets outside and the torches flaring all over Nalvinlad and the wine flowing like the very river itself, she said severely: “I understood a very great deal of what passed between you and the lady Zena Iztar. It seems, King Seg, that you have been keeping secrets from your wife.”
After he had kissed her a few times, he said: “True.”
After she had kissed him some more times, she said: “And what do you propose?”
“Do you think Mishti would happily go to Vallia?”
“I do not. She has grown apart from me since we arrived here. I do not blame Muryan for that. It is her youthfulness. She wants to be queen. It has gone to her—”
“And you?”
“I go with my husband.”
He sat up, looking down on her, glorious in the lamplight. “That’s not good enough! I do what you want!”
She moved her hand against his chest.
“I do not like this jungly place, and that’s the truth of it.”
“You’ll like Vallia, and Valka, and—”
“Will they like me?”
Seg laughed, but before he could gather her in his arms, she said: “I told you I understood. How could you be the Emperor of Pandahem? The island is made up of many countries. Yet — wait, wait, my love, let me finish. Yet you spoke of the Emperor of Vallia — and we all know what he did in Hamal. And you said he was your old dom. And he was the Bogandur, and he was — oh, Seg! Was he really?”
“As ever lived and breathed.”
“Then I shall be happy in Vallia.”
Then she reached up and kissed him on the nose, and said: “And even if the Emperor of Vallia was another Trylon Muryan, still I would be happy with you.”
The next day they had to go about the city so that all the people might see them and cheer.
Presents were lavished, and Seg made a great point of acting with exquisite politeness to Kov Llipton who accompanied them. They had reached the royal jetty where the crowds waited, and everything was going splendidly. A slim paddler appeared from a tangle of craft and thrust vigorously for the shore. Kov Llipton saw it, and his great numim face broke into a delighted smile.
The Schinkitree touched the jetty and a numim, waving his wand of office high and shoving a little Relt out of his way, leaped up onto the wooden planking. He went straight into the incline, and bellowed: “Pantor!
Kov Llipton, I have urgent information—”
“Stand up, Tyr Naghan Shore!”
Up leaped the numim, fierce, bubbling with his news. Before Llipton could bellow out that the queen and king stood before him, Naghan Shore yelped: “I asked at the Vallian consulate, and they confirm, my lord! This evil-smelling rascal, Seg Segutorio, is indeed a kov of Vallia! I hope and pray you have not sent him swimming—”
Seg near busted a gut laughing. Milsi put a hand to her mouth. Even Kov Llipton in his numim way let out a great guffaw of merriment.
Mind you, said Seg to himself, Llipton might laugh now; but it had been touch and go. He’d have sent Seg swimming, sure as the river rolled to the sea, had events not turned out as they had.
A tremendous roar rose up from the crowds. Everyone swiveled to stare down river and up — up into the bright air.
They soared on, high and fast, swarm after swarm of them. Fleet airboats, fast compact vollers, enormous skyships, flying up the river in a silent majestic procession. Many banners waved. Seg didn’t say a word; but the smile spread his mouth right across his tanned face. Milsi clung to his arm.
Tyr Naghan Shore yelped as though a wersting had bitten his rump. His ferocious lion-man’s face crumpled.
“May the Good Pandrite aid us now! Woe, woe! They are from Vallia, and they have come to chastise us for sending their kov Seg Segutorio the Horkandur a-swimming in the river!”
Seg rapped out: “Calm yourself, Tyr. I am Seg Segutorio. I live. They are my friends and we will welcome them in a seemly fashion.”
Naghan Shore, the kov’s messenger, gaped.
That enormous armada flew down, and hovered over the river, and everyone saw the snouts of the catapults and ballistae, the varters, those special varters of Vallia that could blow the crowds away in a twinkling. Of the many banners the union flag of Vallia dominated all.
A small voller swung out, circled, and landed where it seemed to the pilot the most important personages congregated.
From the flier stepped a lithe lissom man, hard-faced, bronzed, with a wild and reckless look about him.
At his side stood a woman of great beauty, poised and regal. He wore war harness, she wore a laypom-colored gown of soft material and easy cut, yet she, too, carried weapons.
Seg smiled. People didn’t know whether to stare at the new arrivals or gape at the armada above. The skyships were truly enormous, with decks serried one above the other, each with a long row of varter ports. Over the sides heads showed, staring down, hawk-faces, crowned with helmets, and the glitter of spear and sword, the deadly glint of arrowheads.
From a voller over the center of the river a pot fell. It blazed and spurted and spat fire. The hiss when it hit the water carried a message understood by all.
“Milsi,” said Seg. “Here come the King and Queen of Hyrklana, Jaidur and Lildra. I see they brought company.”
A hulking great fellow abaft the King of Hyrklana put a trumpet to his lips and blew. That brought instant silence. Into the quiet his stentorian bellow broke.
“We seek Kov Seg Segutorio! I tell you, on behalf of the King and Queen of Hyrklana, and of the Eleventh Fleet of the Vallian Air Service, that if you have harmed one hair of his head this entire miserable little city will be put to the flames!”
Seg stepped out and called: “Lahal Jaidur! Lahal Lildra!”
They ran to him, their hands extended.
“Uncle Seg!”
Then it was all an uproar, of shouting and laughter, of introductions, and of the promise of gargantuan feasts, with much eating and drinking, of dancing and singing. If there is one thing that any Kregan can do
— bar a few of the more intractable of the races of diffs — it is have one hell of a good time.
&
nbsp; “Yes, it was all good fortune,” Jaidur told Seg in a reasonably quiet interlude. Milsi just hung onto Seg and wouldn’t let him go. “This fellow came downriver and wanted to know if they should have your head off, or whatever—”
“Send a fellow swimming is the way of it here.”
“Yes. Damned primitive. Anyway, a voller was there and old Strom Ornol — you remember him, Seg, whiskers as long as your arm and knows all the gods and goddesses in Hawkwa Country off by heart —
spotted how important it was, as it was by Vox! The voller hared it back to the fleet. We’re going to help Drak out — seems the idiots out of North Pandahem are trying another stupid invasion. So, here we are.
And the quicker we’re on our way home — although Hyrklana is my home now—” Here Jaidur in his reckless way gazed fondly on Lildra “—we can set about helping my big brother Drak.”
“Ye-es—”
“You’re taking this kingship thing here seriously?”
“Well, young Vax Neemusbane, you may have been a king longer than I have, for I’ve just begun; but I do take it seriously. Also, young man, there is a matter I must discuss with you that may make you sit up a trifle.”
“Oh?”
Seg smiled. Give Jaidur a few more years yet before he was asked to join the Brotherhood of the Kroveres of Iztar...
“All in good time.”
“This is a splendid party you’re having. Your coronation? Well, many congratulations. But Vallia needs us.”
“In my own time, Jaidur. Give me but the one day?”
“Very well, Uncle Seg. Oh, and I hear that in this savage country all the queens are called Queen Mab and all the kings mean a great fat wo, a zero, empty of power and authority. I mean you no disrespect, Seg, as you know full well, seeing that you stand to me as my father. But you are King Mabo, majister.
King Mabo.”
“Aye, my lad, I am King Mabo. Also, the kings meant nothing here beside the queens until King Crox married Milsi’s relation. The kings take the name Mab and put it into the masculine gender. Mabo. H’m.”
Seg the Bowman Page 19
