Witches of Kregen

by Alan Burt Akers

  “Hai, doms!” I called in that bright bucolic voice. “The day is fast going and there are things I must do if I could remember them.”

  “Beng Dikkane has merited your praise,” said the swod, leaning on his spear, laughing. Of course, for all this banter, had he tried to stop me I’d have kicked him in that lean-jawed face of his, for sure.

  I walked Snagglejaws out of the gate, and called back: “My comrade worshipped twice as fast as did I. To him the glory and to him the — ah — hic — praise.”

  Serenely, carefully, not quite as I had planned, I let Snagglejaws carry me away from the city. Past the cemetery with its pathetic reminders lay open fields and orchards, and white dusty roads. On I went, with an itching back. Once we were in among the trees I could relax and find a good spot to rest up.

  Kov Nath groaned as I eased him to the grass under the shining green leaves and greenish yellow fruit of a postan tree. I tied him up, tightly enough to let him know he was restrained. I did not gag him. I picked off a postan and pushed it between his lips into his teeth.

  His eyes, those Vallian brown eyes, fastened their gaze upon me. In their depths raged passion and fury and, of course, the deep sense of outrage he experienced.

  I said: “Listen to me, Nath. I have a comrade due to arrive shortly and there are three things you must know before he comes up with us.”

  He managed to spit most of the fruit free and started in with a bitter vituperation. I put a hand across his mouth. “Just listen, Nath. One piece of information will surprise you, although it is not particularly important, and I would not have my friend know it. The second, I am sorry to have to tell you, and regret it, for, despite all it saddens me. The third is the future, in which lies your hope, the hope of Falkerdrin, and the hope of Vallia.”

  I made — and it was easy enough — the necessary rearrangements to my old beakhead and there, before the eyes of Kov Nath Famphreon of Falkerdrin, stood Dray Prescot, the Emperor of Vallia.

  I lifted my hand.

  He said nothing at first. He panted for air, and then he got out: “What time you have left to live, I do not know. I will do all I can to prevent them making your death unpleasant.”

  “You remember the chavonths in your mother’s garden? I marked you then, Nath. You had my message from Strom Volgo?”

  “I did. I failed to understand—”

  “You do not ask me what other news I have for you?”

  Well, of course I felt sorry for him. I wasn’t sure just how he regarded his mother. She had ruled his life with controls that were stronger than bonded steel. But she was still his mother. That old scandal about the marriage of his father and mother had been put forward to explain Nath’s apparent weakness and lack of character. I felt differently.

  He stared up at me, flushed of face, not understanding what was going on, and yet, I know, remembering that time when he’d stepped forward lightly with his rapier to take on the chavonths who would have ripped off his head in a trice.

  “Well, emperor?”

  “Your mother, Nath. I am very sorry to have to tell you that she is dead.”

  He closed his eyes.

  After a time of silence, he said an odd thing.

  “So I was right. But she would not listen to me. I do grieve for her, although she would not believe it of me. Can you tell me...?”

  “No. I know only that she is dead.”

  “So you cannot confirm who killed her?”

  “Old age, I expect.”

  He looked shaken, now, the fact that he’d said he was right giving me an inkling that he’d been expecting this. He tried to move sideways and toppled over. Seeing no help for it I untied him, and he chafed his wrists slowly, deep in thought.

  “I grieve — aye, despite what the world will say. But the Sultants killed her — yet you do not seek to profit by this, emperor—”

  “There is no proof that I am aware of. What do you think of their daughter, the lady Fanti?”

  “The less I see of that handful the better.”

  So I spelled out the plot for him, and he managed a tiny smile at its incongruity. One side dare not reveal that the dowager kovneva was dead, for the other side would instantly have proclaimed Nath as the new kov and controlled him even more harshly than had his mother.

  Yet the kov and the lady Fanti had to be brought together somehow, and Imlien and his faction would never allow Nath out of their sight or keeping. It was an interesting moil, which, as Nath said in a voice abruptly husky: “You cut in twain, majister.”

  “You have not asked me about the future.”

  “Oh, you will seek to control me as they would have done.”

  “Not quite. I own to having invested in you, Nath. Nath Famphreon, as Kov of Falkerdrin, is a man I value as a friend.” Then I told him that his mother had asked me to help him. “I cannot do otherwise. All I wish to do is set you on your own feet, as the true kov. After that, you can go to hell in your own way — except that if you work against Vallia you will be answerable not just to me but to all of Vallia.”

  Then Nalgre the Point rode up with his string and Swivelears, and I cautioned Nath to circumspection.

  After the pappattu was made, Nalgre said: “You may be a kov, jen. I ride Goldenhooves. You may ride my totrix, Slowback, if you wish.”

  That being settled we set off. Nalgre bubbled with the story of his doings, boasting that never had such a confusion been seen. As for calsanys, well...!

  We rode carefully and we kept out of trouble. Nath was read the situation in no uncertain terms. The Racters fought against the Emperor of Vallia. They were proud and intolerant, jealous of their power and privileges. The Sultants in Kavinstock and Ered Imlien in Falkerdrin controlled the party. They would never allow Nath to be free as Kov.

  “If you tell the people that as their Kov you will reform hated laws, administer justice, not seek to be too greedy in the matter of taxes, well—” I waved a hand. “Well, they might believe you.”

  “If they do not?”

  “Rather, believe they will. For then we will bring Falkerdrin, at least, back into the empire where the province belongs. The day is now not too far off when all of Vallia will once more be reunited.”

  “With you as emperor!”

  “Me? No. Oh, no—”

  Nalgre reined around.

  “Do what?”

  I said, “By the disgusting diseased left nostril of Makki Grodno! Nath!”

  “Why should I concern myself with your charades? Oh, everyone in Vallia knows that Dray Prescot flies around in a scarlet breechclout brandishing a monstrous sword. Schoolchildren lap up the stories. There are plays, and mimes, puppets and book after book. And it is all true, as I believe. After our meeting with the chavonths I studied the plays and books, and their philosophy is—”

  “Philosophy?” said Nalgre. “Ha — apprise me!”

  And then, to my unbounded astonishment, this pair started in on a long, involved, intellectual discussion about far more than merely the philosophical implications of the stories of Dray Prescot.

  That evening when we pitched camp in the lee of a grassy bank, Nalgre the Point, in his panda-like olumai way, had the truth out of me.

  He said, “I am a hyrpaktun. So are you. That means more to me than this emperor title. And your face has been knocked lopsided — for it is subtly different now.”

  “A trick of the light. But as to being the emperor, yes, I am, and will force my son Drak to take over as soon as Vallia is respectable again.”

  “Drak Prescot?” said Kov Nath Famphreon. He grimaced. “He and I have had words.”

  “Well, of course! You’re a damned Racter.”

  “I was.”

  “Ah!”

  Later still Nath managed to organize his thoughts well enough to convey the fact that he did feel thanks for my rescue of him. For he saw that it was a rescue in all truth.

  “There must have been a difference between the way Ered Imlien imprisoned me an
d my mother’s way. Yet both held me in chains.”

  I said the easy thing. “You’re your own man now, Nath.”

  But I added, “And you’ll get no mercy from me if you foul it up. Being a kov is a tough job.”

  “I look forward to it. By Vox, I do!”

  I told him of my theory of the lever and fulcrum, and added: “I would like to reunite Vallia without bloodshed. I know that to be impossible. But, in Falkerdrin, at least, with the Racters overturned, the task is not impossible for determined men and women.”

  Simply, he answered: “I will play my part.”

  “Your borders march on the south with those of Kov Inch and Kov Turko.”

  “Comrades of yours.”

  “They have done the equivalent of facing chavonths with me before, yes, many times. You will find them good friends if you are a good friend.” And here I gave that small growly laugh that could be called a chuckle if there was aught of amusement in it anyone else could understand. “You will find them bad enemies.”

  He did not reply.

  We rode south again on the next day, taking it gently, not wishing to attract attention. Ered Imlien would have the country roused against us. Now had we had a flier...

  As we rode so I counseled Kov Nath. My own estimate of him was more and more proving true. If we could just get the people of Falkerdrin to renounce their Racter allegiance, join with us — I reiterated the immense menace the Shanks from over the curve of the world represented to us all in Paz, not just in Vallia. As the fulcrum supports the lever and the lever can move a world, so my plans must work for the good of us all. Facile — well, of course.But true, damned true.

  One penetrating point Nath wanted cleared up echoed unmistakably in his words as he said: “And I suppose you will rule from the center, holding all power in your hands?”

  “Fair representation to all regions,” I said. “I support the smallholders, the local merchants, the people who know their own area best. On larger matters a wider perspective is necessary. When nobles act responsibly, there is no reason at all why they should not control their own estates as they have always done. The Racters believe they hold the welfare of Vallia at heart; but I believe they are blinded by selfishness and self-pride. They do not see the world of Kregen about them clearly.”

  “Nevertheless they receive support from the common people.”

  I stared at him. “Common people. That is it. What makes a kov, a vad, a trylon, a strom, and all the rest, so uncommon? Can they eat two meals at once? Can they flap their wings and fly? Can they do two days’ work in one? Common people! Why, my young feller-me-lad, I’m one of the common people and I don’t forget it!”

  He saw my face and had the sense to change his tack. Eventually, wanting to get my head down for the night, for we’d camped in a pretty little dell by a stream, I said, “Look, when we get to the Black Mountains and you meet Inch and, if he’s there, Turko, you’ll find they won’t stand for this nonsense. Also, you would do well to make your peace with Kov Seg Segutorio. He shares my views on the subject.”

  “I look forward to meeting them.”

  For a short time I lay on my back on a blanket spread on the sweet night-scented grass. I was feeling very pleased with myself. Usually I am at odds with myself, aware that what I had set out to accomplish has not been achieved, crossly conscious of my failings, filled with doubts about my actions and what I should be about on Kregen. You may well be amazed that these thoughts should trouble Dray Prescot; believe you me, trouble me they did. In this I feel I am like everybody else. Ups and downs. Sometimes I feel I am a complete failure, at others that, well, perhaps I may have achieved some few deeds in life.

  So, like a veritable onker, I lay there with a palmful of palines munching on the appetizing berries and ready for sleep and these oafish thoughts that the future looked far more promising, now the lever and fulcrum were to come into play, filling my fool head with a pink glow.

  I was wearing the old scarlet breechclout and, as was usual, the great Krozair longsword rested by my side. The scabbard had been made by Delia. I liked to touch that scabbard just before I dropped off to sleep.

  Fuzzy pink moonlight from the Maiden with the Many Smiles turned the leaves into shadowed chips of rose overhead. The night scents wafted cool and refreshing. Against the radiant orb above a silhouette moved, and hovered, and spread wide wings. I lay there, looking up.

  The black silhouette against the Moon remained, sharply outlined against all the streaming pink moonlight. The Gdoinye hovered up there, head bent, cruel talons extended, the powerful hunting bird, spy and messenger of the Star Lords, lowering upon me and watching me.

  Instead of hurling up some genial insult as would be normal, I waited, hoping...

  No voice, no sound, no warning. Quickly, the enormous phantom shape of the Scorpion, vast and blue and all-encompassing, closed off everything about me and snatched me away into the unseen gulfs.

  Chapter eighteen

  Wine from the Star Lords

  Now I must put out all my willpower, all the force of which I was capable. Now I must test the theories that I could in some small measure stand against the superhuman authority of the Everoinye.

  If the Star Lords were in the act of swirling me up from my night’s sleep and intent on hurling me down all naked and unarmed into some fraught situation on some other part of Kregen, then I must do all I could to stop them. I needed to talk to them as I had, once or twice, done in the past. I was in no mood for more deeds of derring-do to further their mysterious purposes.

  “Oh, no, Star Lords!” I bellowed up into the encompassing blueness that was the fantastic giant Scorpion. “Oh no! Not this time! Show yourselves—”

  A wedge-shaped streak of viridian sprang into life along the lower edge of my vision. Stark, brilliant, acrid, the violent green color broadened and strengthened and coiled up into the zenith.

  The dullness as of a wind from the frozen wastes of Forlorn Zinfross the Lost cut me, enveloped me, gripped me in fangs of ice.

  Blueness — the giant Scorpion that whirled me away!

  Crimson — the presence of the Everoinye!

  And Green — acrid, bilious green — the domineering ambitious and impatient Star Lord known as Ahrinye!

  If that unknowable entity seized me up and did as he had promised, my life hitherto on Kregen would appear a bed of roses. He wanted to drive me, to run me harder than any mortal man had been run.

  “No!” I bellowed it up, but the bellow was more of a scream of desperate fear. “No. Star Lords! We have a compact! You cannot—”

  Head over heels I went flying up — or down, or sideways, I couldn’t tell. Stars sizzled like fireflies. I felt that harsh coldness as of the frozen wastes, and I felt the hot lick of flame as though I bathed in the Furnace Fires of Inshurfraz.

  Frantically in that chiaroscuro of colors as I swung this way and that in insubstantial emptiness, as the blue and crimson and green coiled and lapped about me, I looked for the welcome gleam of yellow. Yellow — the promise that Zena Iztar still favored me with her patronage.

  My feet hit harsh grit. The colors continued to clash in my eyes and resonate soundlessly in my head. If I’d been dumped down into some wild part of Kregen to struggle against odds — who had hurled me there? For whom was I the pawn now?

  The grit slicked into cold marble. I lurched forward and, as a fighting man will, ricked up the sword in my fist.

  A sword!

  With the Star Lords?

  I held the scabbarded Krozair longsword. I wore the scarlet breechclout.

  Hitherto in my dealings with the Everoinye, with but a few remarkable exceptions, they threw me down into combat naked and unarmed. I felt I might change my opinion of this practice. I might be less contemptuous than I thought I might be if they left me with a sword...

  The marble under my feet felt cool.

  They did not set me in a chair which hissed as it bore me along. I did not break through
veils of spider silk. There were no chambers of various colors to penetrate until I reached the ebon robed room at the end.

  The black walls rose about me instantly. The colors cleared. Millions of luminous motes danced away to my left, receding into infinity. Along the opposite wall three pictures, framed in heavy silver, showed views of Kregen. I had seen those pictures before and guessed that movements had taken place in the world, perhaps movements that would shatter empires.

  A spindle-legged table stood in the room. Upon the table rested a costly golden goblet.

  I stared and then I laughed, I, Dray Prescot, in those superhuman and awesome surroundings, laughed.

  “You do not waste much on hospitality, Star Lords!”

  For that goblet belonged to the Emperor Nedfar of Hamal. I had toasted him in best Jholaix and then the Everoinye had brought me here, and I’d drained the cup and placed it on the mushroom-shaped table. And it was still here. I crossed to the table, ready to make some scornful remark, and looked down and — loh! the goblet was filled to the brim with best Jholaix.

  The voice whispered in, sounding in my ears and in my head.

  “Things are not as they were, Dray Prescot.”

  First things first...

  “The Shanks—?”

  “Look!”

  The oval silver-framed picture that showed the familiar outlines of the continental grouping known as Paz swirled and appeared to radiate outward. I felt that odd sensation as of falling into the picture. The focus swept up to the northeast, past the enormous continent of Segesthes, up to the large island of Mehzta.

  From Mehzta came my comrade Gloag, who was not apim, and who ran Strombor for me in the city of Zenicce. Now his homeland ran with fire and blood.

  “The devils...”

  The Shanks, fish-headed, quick, tridents gleaming, ravaged the island of Mehzta. Men fought back.

  “They will conquer Mehzta; but the task will take them a few seasons yet.”

  “How—?”

  “Questions are not to be answered by us, Dray Prescot, as you know.”