Scorpio Reborn [Dray Prescot #38]

by Alan Burt Akers

  There was no time to be fussy. I picked the first stone to hand, stood up as tall and straight as I could, and hurled the stone. It struck Leotes on the side. I gasped. Thank Zair my aim was good! Scrimshi roared in frightened anger and slashed the strangdja down.

  With a tiny fragment of my Krozair skills I managed to stagger sideways and the blow missed. Nath jumped for me to pinion me like a chicken for the chop. Scrimshi was making a frightful noise through his squashed nose.

  Leaning sideways I surged the other way and had as much chance of avoiding Nath's clutching arms as a ponsho has of evading the jaws of a leem.

  Twisted around and held fast, I saw the glitter of the strangdja. I tried to kick and could not. The leaf-shaped spikes would rip my head off.

  “Stand perfectly still, strangdjim!"

  The brilliant head wavered, descended, and then held steadily aloft.

  I swallowed down.

  By Krun!

  “Bring him over here."

  Llodi was the first to obey the vad's orders. He took me by the left bicep and ran me across to Leotes. I say ran, I tottered and Llodi held me up.

  Up on his zorca and blazing in the early light of the suns, Leotes looked impossibly tall and resplendent. His red moustaches curled splendidly.

  “Is this the man, Mevancy?"

  “It is, Leotes."

  Oho! I said to myself. They're on first name terms already, without the lord and lady. Very cozy!

  She leaned from the saddle and looked at me.

  “We have been searching for you for a long time, cabbage. I told you not to run off."

  “For your sake I am glad the man is found. Now, by Beng Trunter the Nosher, I am famished! Let us eat both breakfasts in one before we resume our journey. The caravan may proceed ahead of us.” Leotes lifted his gauntleted hand. “Give this man food and drink and clean him up and bring him to me when I rejoin the caravan."

  “Quidang, lynxor! At once, Lynxor!"

  Oh, yes, this Leotes ran a tight ship, all right!

  Mevancy favored me with a long downdrawn look; but she said nothing further. She looked just a little frazzled around the edges, a mite tired. I own I had to feel genuine gratitude for her actions. Clearly she'd returned with Leotes from their attempt to rescue the captives from our caravan and, not finding me where she'd left me, had persuaded the vad to search. Yes, a resourceful, persuasive and most high and mighty miss, this Mevancy!

  There was no difficulty in guessing why the three strangdjims took such good care of me after that. They had been deputed to care, so they did. Also, and with my knowledge of the tricks of a soldier's or mercenary's life, best exemplified by the mythical figure of Vikatu the Dodger, I could see by devoting themselves to me—on the vad's orders!—they got out of other and much more unpleasant duties.

  So we all settled down to a splendid feast of the left-overs from the cooks’ tent and when we'd bloated ourselves out I had a dry-wash and my hair was brushed and I began to look presentable.

  The last few carts were trundling off and only the beasts and carts that would take the vad's gear remained. Nath went off, to return shortly with one zorca, one lictrix and two preysanys. Here was revealed a distinction between these three mercenaries. They were all three ordinary mercenaries; none wore the silver pakmort or golden pakzhan at throat, pinned up with silk. Scrimshi mounted up on the zorca and Nath on the lictrix. So that left Llodi and me to straddle the preysanys.

  These three might be only ordinary mercenaries, hired caravan guards; they knew the ropes. When the vad at last indicated that he was ready to proceed we trundled gently along with the other riders and carts, and these three hadn't done a stroke of work in getting the caravan under way.

  They'd stick to this duty like glue, keep out of everybody's way, and hope their lazy life would continue for as long as the journey.

  A corpulent, choleric, contuming Deldar rode up astride a zorca and started shouting. Well, of course, that last remark is superfluous. All Deldars shout. It is habitual to them to pass on the orders from the higher officers to the men.

  “You three lolly-gagging layabouts! I'll have you. Where have you been hiding? Get on about outpost. You, Scrimshi, take point! Bratch!"

  “Can't do it, Del.” Scrimshi sounded as though he was in pain, so much was he enjoying himself. “Direct orders from the vad. Gotta take care of this fambly. Daren't let him outta my sight."

  “Do what?"

  “That's right, Del,” amplified Nath, expansive with good humor. “The vad detailed us special. Can't leave him."

  The Deldar's leather harness swelled. His beetroot red face went redder. He took another rib-straining breath. “I'll give you three heart beats to get on duty. One! Two!"

  “Del!” interrupted Llodi, urgently. “Don't say Three! It's true. We've gotta take this fambly to the vad soon's we rejoin the caravan.” He gestured. “Well, look at him. He ain't all there and what with the vad's new fancy lady looking out for him an’ all—"

  “Yeh,” said the Deldar. “I saw her."

  “You see?"

  “You've got away with it this time. But there'll be a next time. I'll have you three, I'll have your ears toasted for breakfast."

  After the Deldar had taken himself off to rouse out some other unfortunates to ride point and flank, Scrimshi and Nath rolled about in their saddles laughing. Llodi laughed, too.

  They were chortling so much they were quite unprepared for the presence and the voice that flayed across like an icicle knife.

  “What is this creature doing here, alive, instead of dead and Rippasch meat?"

  The change in demeanor of the three strangdjim was remarkable.

  Their laughter ceased abruptly. Their faces tautened. They stiffened up in their saddles. They made the rote response.

  “Lynxor!"

  “I asked a question, shints! You—” he pointed at Llodi. “Speak!"

  “Yes, lynxor. We must care for him—"

  “I gave orders that he be executed at once.” The voice softened. “Why did you disobey my orders?"

  “The vad, lynxor! He told us. We must report to the vad with him."

  The streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio flashed off the silver mask covering the right side of his face. That glorious suns light looked cold as though the reflection drained the color and brilliance.

  Strom Hangol ham Finral stared at me. He was arrogance personified, of course, a person who reveled in power over others; now the name of Vad Leotes held him in check. His look would have withered the stoutest heart of the wrongdoers paraded before him for punishment.

  “I shall not forget this,” he said, and his voice shook with passion. “I shall remember you, rast, and see you are put where you deserve to be. By Lem, I'll not be thwarted by the likes of a yetch like you!"

  With that he slashed with his riding crop full at my face.

  Oh, yes, I was suffering from the effects of the paralysis, I was weak, without strength; all the same, I remained a Krozair of Zy. I still possessed the old Krozair skills, even if my puniness diluted their shattering effectiveness. I moved my head sideways and the blow rattled down on my shoulder. I reached up to take the crop away from this fellow; but he was far too quick and the crop whistled up beyond my reach. Then his zorca reared and he fought the reins and clung on.

  Llodi called: “Your pardon, lynxor! We must take him to the vad in good condition!"

  Hangol's nostrils pinched in. His helmet framed the viciousness of his face. Oh, of course, one can see his point of view. His authority, he would think, had been undermined, without thinking beyond his own immediate self-importance. But had he been your proper officer in the first place, this humiliating contretemps would not have arisen.

  Without another word he galloped off.

  “A nasty one that,” said Llodi, shaking his head. “If he's your enemy, then may the wise and good Tsung-Tan have you in his keeping."

  * * *

  Chapter five />
  “Get your tongue up behind your teeth, cabbage! No, no—shut your black-fanged winespout! If you stick your tongue out again I'll bite it off!"

  “Th—th—” I mumbled.

  “It's not th you great fambly! It's t—t—t!"

  Some people would welcome the preliminaries to Mevancy biting their tongue off. That was my incongruous thought. The tent Leotes had placed at her disposal had belonged to a stromni who had died of blood-poisoning some way back east. The tent was comfortable, well-furnished and pleasant. I sat on a figured rug and drooled, trying to learn to speak all over again as I had done at my mother's knee all those years ago four hundred light years from Kregen.

  Although I had no personal stake in the people who had been taken by the bandits, I was pleased that Leotes had rescued them all. I did not enquire what had happened to the drikingers. On Kregen one knows what happens to the bad guys in general, because for all its beauty and culture there is on that wonderful world this old barbaric streak that demands an eye for an eye. Now all those people I had met in Larishsmot after the fire who had gone with Cardamon's caravan had been incorporated in Leotes’ caravan. Well, no doubt they would be asked to pay. There is little one gets free on Kregen, as on this Earth.

  What I had received free from Mevancy was truly splendid, although I might have paid ahead of time in carrying her almost out of that fire. I wondered how bashing the back of my head and neck when she dragged me so that I became paralyzed would appear in the balance of payments. Still, that thought was churlish, and not worthy of a Koter of Vallia.

  “Try again, cabbage. T—and get your tongue well in."

  I tried. “Th—th—"

  She threw a cushion at me. “Never mind. Maybe it'll come back of its own sweet will, some day. Let's look at your muscles."

  She walked over to me with that lithe swing of the hips that can so injure a fellow. She wore a casual lounging robe of blue silk; I noticed she had chosen one from the wardrobe of Leotes’ women that had long sleeves. She took my left bicep between her fingers and rolled as though kneading dough.

  “It feels strange, cabbage. Like a bladder that instead of being blown up hard is flat and flaccid. H'm. I'd guess you once were quite strong."

  She dropped my arm. That is a correct description. I managed to get enough power into my muscles to stop the back of my hand hitting the carpet. She snatched up the paper and writing implements. “Now, cabbage, tell me more about yourself."

  I'd written a theosophical pack of lies about my history. At the first shot at writing communication I'd been pleased that these people of Southern Loh used one of the universal scripts of Kregen that reflected the universal Kregish, imposed from Outside forces. I'd been a fool of course; incautiously in response to a request for my name I'd started with: ‘Dra.’ I advance for my stupidity my state of mind, the paralysis and the fuzziness of my thoughts. There was little chance that these people would not have heard of Dray Prescot, the puissant Emperor of Vallia. And I didn't want the hassle of claiming I'd been named for the emperor. So I used one of my familiar use names. I simply added Jak to the Dra. I was Drajak. Then, out of homesickness, I suppose, I wrote that I was Drajak ti Zamran. I felt any references to Vallia or Valka would be inopportune. Zamran was a pretty market town in my island kovnate of Zamra, just north of Valka. Mercenaries traveled the world of Kregen; origins oftentimes were less important than current loyalties. Oftentimes; not always, by Krun!

  “Zamran,” she'd said. “No, I don't know it. I know Zamrarn, of course, where the black pearls come from."

  I'd scribbled a swift little story about being swept overboard in a storm and the subject of just whereaway Zamran was was buried.

  So, now, I elaborated on my fictitious history and was able to use a number of real events that had occurred in my life. When I asked about her she laughed and refused to be drawn.

  One item that intrigued me Mevancy answered casually.

  “Paol-ur-bliem,” she said, reading where I had written. “Oh, I'm not sure. Something to do with their religion. Leotes was reticent."

  So Mevancy didn't come from these parts, then.

  She made me exercise cruelly.

  I had to pump my legs away, run on the spot, lift weights. Weights, ha! It took all my strength and effort to lift a chair from the carpet. As for an amphora of water—no chance. Mevancy persisted; I felt no answering increase in muscular powers.

  The two louts she'd hired on, Nafty and Pondo, had not been slain when the bandits attacked. Now Nafty stuck his head around the tent flap and in his laughing way said: “My lady.” Mevancy went out at once.

  By the time she returned the caravan was packing up for the next portion of the journey across the wastelands.

  “You'll have to ride the preysany Leotes was good enough to find for you, cabbage. You lost the lictrix of mine—” She stopped herself, and laughed in an odd way. “The lictrix you were riding."

  Mounting the preysany, whose name was Tuftytail, proved easier this day than it had been yesterday. I took no false comfort from that. Mevancy would ride with the vad. Scrimshi, Nath and Llodi had been relieved of their special duty and gone back to riding escort. My interview with Leotes had been short and—given the circumstances—sweet. He'd simply consigned me to the jurisdiction of Mevancy nal Chardaz with firm orders that her instructions were to be obeyed. The black look on Strom Hangol's face at this might have been rewarding; it was also a thundercloud warning of difficulties ahead.

  During this period of travel through a portion of the wastelands that was relatively pleasant, we could find water and ample wood and grazing. Also, during this period, Hangol began to get the hang of being unpleasant to me in ways that outwitted Mevancy. He didn't mark me, of course. Every attempt on my part to prevent him was swept aside as an adult with a child. He took to being ingratiating with Mevancy. And, a sight that saddened me, I saw all three of those strangdjim, Scrimshi, Nath and Llodi, stretched out on the flogging frame. They were not flogged jikaider, for which small mercy I was thankful. But they were given a regulation number of lashes for some supposed dereliction of duty. Everyone knew this was Strom Hangol in his mean way getting his spiteful revenge.

  Truly, when a great lord puts power into the hands of his cadade, it behooves him to choose wisely and well!

  I'd asked Mevancy for full details of the rescue from the bandits, and from the way she replied I gathered she'd played a large part in that venture. When I asked about my kit and the rapier and dagger she shook her head. My belt had been found, around the waist of a headless corpse; Mevancy said she'd not seen the weapons. As I have said, no fighting man ought to rely on just one special weapon or set of weapons. Your true warrior can snatch up any weapon and get on with the fight. All the same, I was sorry to lose them, for they were a finely matched pair given to me by Prince Varden, a blade comrade.

  As we traveled towards the west it was noticeable how the folk tensed up. They were bracing themselves for an unpleasant experience.

  Between us and the city of Ankharum lay the Great Salt Desert. Deserts are often unpleasant places; salt deserts almost invariably so.

  Unable to admit to any joy in traversing so inhospitable a place, I nevertheless at this time took delight in discovering the sobriquets of the three mercenary strangdjim.

  Back home no doubt they'd be called spearmen, rather than strangdja-men, and they were among the lowest paid of all mercenaries. Scrimshi, I discovered, was known as Scrimshi the Sturr. This, remembering the Moder, enchanted me. Nath was called Nath the Arm. Well, as it is said, there are as many Naths in the world of Kregen as stars in the sky. I'd known a Nath the Arm before, a kaidur trainer for the Jikhorkdun in Huringa in Hyrklana. Much later I heard he'd managed to retire on his winnings to a little farm out by Halphen, an area noted for first quality Pombolims. Mind you, I'd never have believed he could ever leave the excitement of the arena and of shouting for the Ruby Drang. As for the here and now, Llodi rejoiced in the nickna
me of Llodi the Voice.

  Mevancy deigned to answer my scrawled questions and told me that Llodi possessed a fine tenor voice. He'd sung in his local temple's choir in his youth and had then run off very sharpish when the priests had wanted to castrate him to preserve and encourage his splendid voice. I didn't blame him.

  On the journey with Leotes’ caravan, when the dust did not rise too thickly and we had filled water bottles with the prospect of a water hole or oasis ahead, Llodi would sing as we rode along.

  And, indeed, his voice was surpassing beautiful.

  He was fond of ‘Carnation Pink and Iris Blue’ a song of Houdondrin in Loh. He had an extensive repertoire. I jotted down a note to Mevancy, and she sniffed and went off to find Llodi the Voice. So, to my request, he sang all through that famous old song ‘The Bowmen of Loh.’ If I thought of Seg then, why, you will understand, I am sure.

  Then, just before we were due to essay the crossing of the Great Salt Desert, another Opaz-benighted band of drikingers attacked our caravan.

  A riderless zorca pelted in, all that was left of our point.

  Immediately a tremendous hullabaloo started up.

  Mind you, as I thought then, this attack showed the lamentable lack of intelligence of these creatures who had taken up the bandit trade. Had they waited until we'd crossed the Great Salt Desert we would have been in poor shape and in no great case to resist their attack. That is what I thought then, without experience of the Great Salt Desert.

  They rode in with a whoop and a holler, driving their lictrixes hard. A shower of javelins produced a few casualties. Dust smoked up and already it tasted salty on the tongue. Our bowmen shot in their superb Lohvian longbows and took out mount and rider. Dust gouted. Shafts crisscrossed. Despite my undignified position aboard a preysany near the tail of the caravan, I saw more than one heroic deed. The bandits closed in near my position and I felt my fingers twitching. I'd be as useful as a week-old baby out there right now. I saw Nath the Arm whirl his strangdja and a bandit's arm fall off. There was no sign of Scrimshi the Sturr or of Llodi the Voice. I trusted they were still in the land of the living, even Scrimshi, who had lived up to his cognomen of the Sturr. As for Nafty and Pondo, if they were not defending their mistress, the Lady Mevancy, with their lives, then I'd have to have a word with them—and this I thought, then, in the heat of the fight when I was still half paralyzed.