Witches of Kregen

by Alan Burt Akers

  “Mind your tongue, rast! These matters are not yours!” She moved her hand pettishly, for I still supported her. “Where are my stupid girls? And you, cramph, what is your name?”

  Her manners were deplorable.

  “Nath the Onker, my lady.”

  And she laughed.

  When she’d had her spiteful little laugh out, she said: “When Kov Nath and I are married I think I shall have you in my guard. You will amuse me.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And I won’t have my court with Nath in Falkerium. My father will bring Nath here, whether he wants to or not.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And do you show no gratitude, you rast?”

  “Certainly, my lady, I thank you.”

  “The Onker! I shall enjoy you!”

  This was no damn good at all. I’d learned a very great deal, reached into the heart of the conspiracy. Now I had to get away. Sober common sense told me I’d not now make my way through the palace the way I’d come. No, it was the window for me.

  I sat up so quickly that she fell back and I caught her just in time.

  “You stupid onker — what—?”

  “The window, my lady!” I whispered very dramatically. “A noise.Lie still, I beg you — I will investigate...”

  Like a spider I scuttled across those priceless carpets and hoisted myself up to the windowsill. With a quick sideways movement I was through the opening of the central casement and so dropped to the ledge. Without waiting I shuffled as fast as I could along the way I’d been going, away from the corridor where I’d first taken to the outside wall. A deep column buttressed here and I only just made it to its shelter before that intolerant young voice was screaming into the night.

  “Nath the Onker! Where are you?”

  I made no reply but hurried along as fast as fingertips and toes would take me.

  “Onker! Nath the Onker! Oh, when I have you in my guard you will see! You will see!”

  Eventually that youthful, silly, hateful voice faded and I found a way down in the shadows. Even then it was nip and tuck; but by playing the old trick of joining the hunters I got clear. Being a hunter was easy. Was I not dressed and equipped like the hunters? Was I not one of them?

  Nalgre the Point brushed up his whiskers and said: “A fine night for a shbilliding, and what happens? Some tomfoolery about an intruder. It spoiled my night.”

  “And mine. And it was all probably a scare, anyway. They found no one, so there probably was no one.”

  “Aye, by Lingloh.A great waste of time.”

  But I, Dray Prescot, had not wasted my time this night. By Zair! What a scheme! And what prizes for the winners!

  Once you’d seen the scheme, of course, it was obvious, simple. But then, that is the nature of hindsight. You had to hand the palm to the Sultants, father and son. If they could only hang on long enough, without discovery, why — the prizes were fabulous!

  They faced problems. Well, of course, they would in so parlous a gamble. From my previous experiences with the Racters I believed that Sultant did not get on with and hated his fellow Racter nobles, particularly Ered Imlien. I had a hunch that Imlien was involved in this.

  Then I spent a moment mentally saluting the ib of Natyzha Famphreon. Her shade was on the long way down to the Ice Floes of Sicce. The Gray Ones would stalk through the mist to meet her. Would she find her way through to the sunny uplands beyond? Well, for all her enmity and deplorable way of life, I could not find it in my heart to wish her ill.

  What now concerned me was my pledge to her.

  I had to prevent the death of her son Nath and to ensure he came into his rightful inheritance.

  A flashing memory of myself with feet dangling over emptiness, hanging onto that damned spike with one hand, and a fellow with a spear about to push me off for the long drop overwhelmed me. By Zair! I hadn’t enjoyed that, and I gave a little shiver.

  Nalgre the Point said: “What’s up, Kadar?” Then he burbled on in his confident way: “You need a little stiffener, that’s clear.”

  So we went to see what we could retrieve of his shbilliding, which is by way of being a riotous assembly of devotees of liquid refreshment, and spent a sizeable portion of our wages. Later we were sitting at a wine-stained table with the bottles mostly lying on their sides.

  I said to Nalgre: “I am buying back my hire.”

  “Oh? What ails you, dom?”

  “Naught ails me, dom. Look, I’m for an enterprise. I could do worse than have a fine fellow like you with me—”

  “Is there loot in it?”

  “Loot? Well — cash, certainly.”

  “I’m bored with guard duty. If you promise me loot and action, I’m your man.”

  “As to action, there may be a quantity of skull-bashing to be accomplished.”

  I did not add that I wanted to do the next part of my promise to Natyzha as quickly and cleanly as possible.

  Nalgre looked at his empty glass.

  “I swore off fighting — once. Like I swore off drinking — once. I’ll go with you, Kadar the Silent. And if there is skull-bashing to be accomplished, then I shall do the same with alacrity.”

  Maybe that was the secret that ate at him, that he had grown tired of being a mercenary and wished to try something else, and was not fitted. Maybe that was why he’d accepted the tame job of being a guard to a noble. And he’d had his fill of that...

  Next day and without explanation we bought back our hire, discharged ourselves from the service of the vad, and rode southwards.

  There was no reason to suppose that Nalgre or Orlon Sultant would put two and two together. We had no connection with the intruder of the previous night. We were clearly bent on finding action down south against the hateful puppets of the Emperor of Vallia who were moving once more from the Black Mountains and from Falinur.

  “First stop, Nalgre,” I said. “Falkerium.”

  “The capital is rich, I’ve heard. When you tell me the task ahead, I shall take more interest. Now, as to the philosophy of Naghan Deslayer the Fifth—”

  Well, he talked and I listened and we jogged along. We took passage aboard a narrow boat with all our animals and kit and so sailed neatly into the basin of Falkerium on the day when news had broken that hordes of foes were marching north from the emperor’s lands to invade Falkerdrin.

  “If that is your task, to fight these fellows, then—” and he rubbed his hands “—let me get in among ’em!”

  “No, Nalgre. The dowager kovneva’s son, Kov Nath, is here in Falkerium.”

  “I’ve heard the stories about him. A ninny.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye. There may yet be found somewhat to amaze the people about that young man.”

  “And your task—?”

  “Is to free him, if he be prisoner.And to put him aright if he is free.”

  Nalgre the Point quizzed up that panda face.

  “You speak of high matters here, dom. Hanging matters. Also, you speak in riddles.”

  “Not so. You and I are going to take young Kov Nath into our custody.”

  Chapter sixteen

  In Falkerium

  The efforts of Seg, Inch and Turko after our successes in Vennar — a province no longer — had clearly been rewarded by a rejuvenation of the armies. The work they had put in must have been prodigious. To mount a fresh offensive so soon after the conclusion of a victorious campaign indicated a sustained effort of will and determination.

  For those whose understanding of the military extends to picturesque uniforms, or rightly bewailing the casualties, or merely blanket condemnations, the difficulties of putting armies into the field are probably unknown.

  Once you have reluctantly decided that fighting is a lesser evil — sometimes it is not, of course — and you must provide for men and women actually to go out and do the fighting, the realities of armies strikes home cruelly. Armies are organisms. Organic, they have a li
fe of their own, and a death, too, not infrequently. The sheer scope of organizing, running, supplying, is enough to run people ragged; the intense need to boost morale saps even more of the strengths of those in command.

  Yes, it might appear to the onlooker, as I have said, that the reunification of Vallia dragged on and on; the truth was that with our limited resources we had done wonders. Most of the credit lay with people like Seg and Turko and the Kapts and logistics people of the army. If we were on what we hoped was the last leg of the course, no one would be more pleased than they.

  Except myself.

  I wanted the whole messy business over and done with, the slaves liberated and everyone knuckling down to the tasks ahead which we could not avoid.

  There would be no evasion of the onslaught from the Shanks. That was very clear.

  Nalgre the Point and I put up in a modest inn, The Queng and Scriver, and we kept our ears open.

  I explained enough and no more. If I could do this thing quickly and cleanly, well and good. If I could not — well, that problem would be faced when it occurred.

  The situation was crystal clear. I might not have all the pieces of information; I had enough to make a just reading.

  Natyzha was dead. Her son, Kov Nath, a reputed weakling, was expected to be putty in the hands of whatever strong noble or group of ambitious people controlled him. The Sultants knew that Natyzha was dead. Ered Imlien, if it really was he who had Nath, did not know. So that gave rise to the interesting situation that each side had one piece, and neither could deal with the other. Clearly, if that hoity-toity young miss, the lady Fanti, wanted to marry Nath on the orders of her grandfather, Nath had to be got out of Imlien’s hands. But the Sultants could not tell Imlien Natyzha was dead. And Imlien would never let Nath go. So Nalgre the Point and I, as it were, stood in the center of the web.

  We made no attempt to join any of the regiments forming in the city. The capital of Falkerium was just such a proud provincial capital as may be found over the length and breadth of Vallia. Strong-walled, tall of tower, wide and deep of moat, powerful in artillery, the place with its population of citizens and much swollen military presence, could hold off a siege for a good long time.

  If we brought Nath onto our side... There would be no need for a long and costly war, a terrible siege. We could conclude the treaties and go home to our firesides.

  Surely, that was a victory worth attempting?

  Falkerium, then, would be the site of this final battle in this particular campaign. Nalgre told me somewhat of his history, and I made up a rigmarole that satisfied him as to mine. He’d left Loh and traveled extensively in the other countries of Paz. He’d fought some arduous campaigns in the ever-squabbling Dawn Lands of Havilfar, and had then migrated northwards to seek employment with Hamal.

  “But the confounded war was over by the time I arrived. So I came on here. I met a fellow who told me what was afoot.” Here Nalgre’s panda face expressed absolute distaste. “He wore the golden pakzhan at his throat and pretended he was a hyrpaktun. Only a few moments’ conversation unmasked him.”

  “You can always tell the fakes.”

  “Aye! By Hlo-Hli, but I berated him! I never did discover where he’d stolen the pakzhan from, but the name was never his, the nulsh.”

  When your peers in the mercenary trade confirm you as a hyrpaktun and you wear the pakzhan, there are certain secret words you learn, also. No, some rash young fellow who might by chance have the golden insignia fall into his hands would never pass off the deception.

  We put up at the sign of The Hen Downwind and went out to look at the sights.

  The front line forces down south on the provincial border were, we were told, holding the line. But everywhere in the city regiments marched, bugles blew, hooves trampled as Falkerdrin gathered its resources to strike back and this time bring the Racters to total victory against the emperor.

  We were idly watching a group of coys growing weary trying to march in step and align their spears. Nalgre said: “Y’know, Kadar. From what I’ve heard of this new Emperor of Vallia, I’d sooner be fighting for him than against him. But, the strange fellow, he does not employ mercenaries.” Nalgre rubbed his squat nose. “Most odd.”

  “Aye.”

  Whether Nalgre the Point knew it or not, he was indeed going to be employed by the Emperor of Vallia!

  That gave me pause. I’d had more than a few qualms lately, particularly over the casualty figures, about my avowed policy of having Vallians free, and be seen to free, their own country. If I employed men who fought for a living, would not that release from what could be a frightening bondage those young men of Vallia who had no wish to chance the battle, the outcome of war? I was not growing weak in my resolution; I was looking at the problem from a different angle.

  Maybe, if I chose wisely, it might be possible once more for Vallia to pay gold for fighting men instead of paying with the blood of her sons...

  I just hoped to Zair I had not been arrogantly blind in my so lofty pronouncements.

  All during this time with Nalgre the Point in Falkerium as I listened and looked, made inquiries and put together a plan, I constantly watched for a sight of the messenger and spy of the Star Lords. But the Gdoinye made no appearance. That superb golden and scarlet bird of prey did not come flying down out of the suns, sent by the Everoinye, to squawk insultingly at me.

  I missed the onker. By Krun! I missed him!

  Came the day when I heard positive news of the whereabouts of the young Kov Nath.

  A guardsman in his cups told us with many sniggers that the young Kov really thought he was running the war. This ran so strongly with the tide of general opinion about Kov Nath that it was easily believable. I harbored doubts. I knew Kov Nath possessed a quick courage. Of his mental attainments I had no readily accessible first-hand knowledge; but I supposed it was feasible that devious and cunning Kapts could persuade a not-too-bright noble that he was in command and running the war effort.

  Nalgre, having agreed to abide by our contract that he would be told all that was necessary when the time for action came, busied himself finding out all he could of the Barange Fairshum, the central fortress palace from which Nath and his officers ran affairs of state. As befitted a proud provincial capital, Natyzha Famphreon’s palace was, indeed, a marvel. I detected a fanciful resemblance to her in the building, for it possessed a hard granite carapace of towers and battlements and an architectural lushness of feature in the walls and buttresses.

  “We could join this young kov’s guard, Kadar,” suggested Nalgre.

  “He’s not so young these days; but the impression he gives makes people refer to him like that. As to joining the guard, well, I’ve had my fill of standing like a statue at the heads of staircases or against walls. There will be another way, you’ll see.”

  So we ferreted about and snuffed into unlikely corners and slid surreptitious gold into dirty and clutching palms.

  “It will not be easy, by Hlo-Hli! But we can take him. The ransom will make up for all our trouble.”

  “You’ve entirely glossed over your philosophical qualms.”

  “Not entirely. I’d sooner earn a dishonest crust this way than an honest one killing people.”

  I couldn’t allow this to pass. I said, “I am not taking up the kov for ransom, Nalgre. I have said I will explain it all when the time comes.” I gave him a hard look. His panda face couldn’t really flush up. “But I abhor kidnapping—”

  “If, in our short acquaintance, Kadar the Silent, I had not formed a certain opinion of you, I would not be here with you on a harebrained escapade. Logical dialectic would indicate my own madness. I do admit I doubted your motives, and the talk of ransom was to test your reaction — d’you mind?” The last, Nalgre shot out like a bolt from a crossbow.

  “Nope.”

  “Ha! There is the Kadar the Silent we all know and love!”

  These olumai folk from mysterious Loh — there may not be many of them upo
n the gorgeous and terrifying world of Kregen, but they are a people to be reckoned with. The toppling towers and slaked walls of his own country of K’koza in Whonban in the continent of Loh might have been the cause of Nalgre the Point’s traveler’s itch; but they exerted a strong and mesmeric force upon him, that I knew.

  The exotic names of faraway places attract with magnetic force the dreams and desires of the ordinary mortal man and woman. Zair knew I’d like to go off exploring into Loh, and Balintol and many many other strange countries of Kregen, yet my whole life was spent working away in the place where I found myself. There just had been no time that I could see in which I could just have upped sticks and departed for a little exploration without a reason for going. Every time I’d flown off into adventure I’d gone with something to be accomplished, and this was true of those occasions when the Star Lords dumped me down naked and unarmed to sort out a problem for them.

  Now if I heard that a comrade was in trouble in far Balintol, or slaved in chains in Loh... But, then, I’d brought back my comrades to Vallia, or Drak had done so, or they’d found their own way back. Vallia, the unity of Paz, and the fight against the reiving fish-headed Shanks took precedence, must take precedence, in my life.

  On the following day, the cups of our guardsman friend being filled to overflowing, he told us between hiccups that Kov Nath was to inspect the Second Frant of Foot Spears. Nalgre sociably poured more wine.

  “So the kov is to leave the palace. Mayhap the Suns will burn his pallid cheeks.”

  “You have the right of it, dom!” The guardsman, Orban the Stick, laughed. He delighted, as we could see, that he, a simple jurukker, was able to address two ferocious hyrpaktuns as dom. Of such petty prides are great treacheries made. “And they’ll have a baby’s leash tied to him as well, by Vox, I don’t wonder!”

  We laughed companionably at his jest.

  His head slumped onto the wine-stained table when we left the tavern. His hair, of a paler than usual brown in Vallia, stained a deep vinous ruby around its curly edges.

  “You’ll never snatch him off a parade ground! It is madness, Kadar!” Nalgre twitched himself around in our upstairs room to stare at me over his shoulder. He threw his lynxter on his bed and repeated: “Utter madness!”