"I agree." Fekata spoke in his own tongue to the youth, who trotted off.
"What did you say?" asked Vakar.
"I told my son to fetch the heads of the Ukpe, our secret society, to act as witnesses."
In time four men with ostrich-feather headdresses and faces painted with stripes and circles, wrapped in buckskin blankets and an immense dignity, showed up. Vakar and Fekata repeated their engagement before these. Fekata asked:
"Now, how big a ring do you wish?"
"Who said a ring? I will have a sword-blade, made to my measurements."
The smith stared blankly; then his face became distorted with rage until Vakar feared the fellow might spatter his brains with a hammer-blow. But then Fekata's expression changed again and he burst into a roar of laughter, slapping his paunch.
"You damned whites!" he bellowed. "How can an honest craftsman make a living with you rascals cheating him? But I will make your sword. I, Fekata of Gbu, keep my word, and the biggest sword an insect like you could swing will take less than half the star. Give me that thing. Angwo, fetch a few of your brothers; we shall need all the lungs we can get on the blow-pipes. You see, Vakar, the trick in working the star-metal is that it must be forged at a bright-red heat where copper or bronze would shatter, and with a hammer of double the normal weight..."
-
XVII. – THE GRIP OF THE OCTOPUS
Vakar bid farewell to Yoja and rode back to Tegrazen, where he found little Yamma of Kernê drinking barley-beer in the same tavern. Yamma was telling the story of his life to a shaven man with the yellowish skin of a Gorgon.
"Hail," squeaked Yamma as Vakar sat down. "You are that fellow who was on his way to see Fekata, are you not? Did you spit in his soup?"
"No; he and I did a bit of business."
"It is always like that! Nobody will take up the cause of poor Yamma, who is now too small to fight his own baffles."
"You know what Fekata looks like," said Vakar. "I should want a small army at my back before I crossed him. But who is your friend?"
"Wessul, late of the Kingdom of Gorgonia."
"Why late?"
Wessul spoke: "A slight difference of opinion with my captain, which developed into an exchange of knife-thrusts. He wished to demote me from mate to ordinary seaman, claiming I was too popular with his wife. I left him holding his spilt guts in both hands and weeping into them as he waited to die, and came away, for Gorgonian law is hard in such cases." The Gorgon sighed. "Now I am out in the great world with nobody to order me about, and I do not mind telling you gentlemen it is a lost and lonesome feeling. Worst of all I shall miss the great raid."
"What raid?" said Vakar sharply.
"Have you not heard? The mainland has been buzzing with it. King Zeluud has gathered all the forces of Gorgonia and its tributaries for an assault upon some northern land."
"What land?"
"He is not saying, though some rumors name Euskeria, some Poseidonis, and some far Aremoria."
"When will he sail?"
"He may have done so already for all I—ho, where are you going?"
"Kernê," Vakar flung back. "Innkeeper! The scot, quickly."'
-
Five days later Vakar jounced into Kernê, haggard from hard riding with mere snatches of sleep. He led the weary camel along the waterfront where the great stone warehouses looked down upon the picket-fence of masts and spars. Men of all nations and colors jostled him; horses and asses shied from the smell of camel and their owners cursed him in many languages. Vakar, sunk in thought, paid them no heed. It was time, he thought, to make use of his connections.
He inquired until he learned where Senator Amastan dwelt and presented himself at the door, giving his name as Prince Vakar of Lorsk. After a long wait a eunuch beckoned him in.
Even after all his travels Vakar found the ostentatious wealth of this house overpowering, with palms standing in pots of solid gold. Amastan was a big stout man with rings an all his pudgy fingers. He smelled strongly of perfume, wore multicolored silken robes, and said:
"Welcome, Prince Vakar. Have you brought the other half of Drozo's medal?"
"No. The damned Gamphasants stripped me to the skin."
"Indeed?" Amastan tapped the fingers of one hand on the palm of the other. "That may be true. But—ah—we really must have some means of identification, you know."
"Hells!" blazed Vakar, then controlled his impatience, remembering that to Amastan he was just a wild-looking sun-baked wanderer. "Find somebody who knows Lorsk and I will answer his questions till Poseidonis sinks beneath the Western Sea. Meanwhile, assuming that I am who I say I am, I should think my credit would be good."
"The credit of the heir to the throne of Lorsk would certainly be good," murmured Amastan, and turned to a scribe. "Fetch Suri. Prince—ah—Vakar, what do you wish with me?"
"I want to get to Amferé, quickly."
"Well, if you have the fare, ships still leave for Amferé every few days, though this is near the end of the trading-season."
"Too slow! I am likely to be stuck in Sederado a month waiting for a fair wind. Do you know about the Gorgons' raid?"
"We have heard of then collecting an armament, but not of their having yet put to sea."
"Well," said Vakar, "I must get home to warn my people."
"What can we do? Though we have some passable magicians, I know of none who can give you fair winds all the way."
Vakar made a rude comment as to what Kernê could do with its sailing merchantmen. "I want a galley! One of your precious battleships. Lorsk will pay you well for the service."
"Ah, but unfortunately the Free City must keep its navy close to home while the Gorgon threat overhangs us. Much as we hate to let a good profit go, I fear we can do nothing for you."
Vakar argued some more but got nowhere. When the mariner Suri came in, the Lorskan said:
"Oh, never mind the inquisition, as you will not make a deal in any case. Perhaps you know a captain sailing for Amferé soon who will not cut my throat as soon as we are out of sight of Kernê?"
Suri said: "Jerro of Elusion sails in two days; it is his last trip of the year."
Vakar found Jerro's ship, engaged passage, sold his camel, got a much-needed haircut—and then waited three days for an easterly wind. They coasted along the south shore of the peninsula of Dzen. Then, as the wind turned southerly enough to carry them north towards Meropia, Jerro headed in that direction across the blue Sirenian Sea.
The wind held fair, keeping the sail taut and creaking on its yards as one blue crest after another heaved against the high stern and slid underneath. For a day and a night they drove northward, and then a sailor cried:
"Ships aft! A whole fleet!"
Vakar's heart sank, for the horizon was pricked by a score of mastheads, and every minute the number grew. Soon the low black hulls of a great fleet of war-galleys could be seen.
Another sailor cried: "It is the fleet of the Gorgons!" and fell to praying to his Hesperian gods. Jerro cursed.
Vakar said to Jerro: "What do you mean to do?"
"To run as long as I can. You might as well be dead as a Gorgon's galley-slave. If they are in haste they may not stop for us."
All the sailors were now weeping and praying, crying out the names of their women and homes. Vakar kicked the gunwales in frustration. He toyed nervously with his hilt, realizing that if the Gorgons sent a ship after them there was little that he, the captain, and four terrified sailors could do.
The fleet of galleys came closer, crawling across the smooth sea like a swarm of centipedes from under a flat stone. All their sails bore the octopus of Gorgonia, a symbol which ignorant landsmen sometimes thought to represent a human head with snakes for hair—which it did somewhat resemble. One galley detached itself from the rest and angled towards Jerro's ship.
Vakar interrupted his fuming to say: "If we are taken alive, pray say I am Thiegos of Sederado."
"Aye-aye," said Jerro. "But what in the
seven hells is that?"
Vakar looked. On the forward deck of the galley stood a man in the garb of a Gorgonian priest. He held one end of a golden chain, the other end of which was linked to a golden collar that encircled the neck of a creature whose like Vakar had never seen. It was a little smaller than a man and vaguely human in shape. It had a tail, pointed ears, and a hooked beak, and was covered all over with reptilian scales, something like a Triton in his snakeskin armor. It squatted on the deck like a dog.
"That must be a medusa," said Vakar.
"A what?"
"Creatures said to have strange powers of fascination, though I see nothing fascinating about that overgrown lizard. Watch out, there!"
The approaching galley swerved to avoid running down the little merchantman. Somebody shouted across the water. Jerro shifted his steering-yoke to send the ship angling away from the galley, but a sailor in the bow of the latter threw a grapnel over the rail of the merchantman. Several sailors pulling on the rope began to draw the two vessels together.
Vakar leaped to the rail of the merchantman, drawing from his girdle the curved sword-knife that he had taken from the Kernean at Kiliessa, to chop the grapnel-rope. Before he could complete the action, the priest on the galley pointed at him and spoke to the medusa. The latter reared up against the rail of its own ship, extended its scaly neck, opened its beak, and gave a terrific screaming hiss, like steam escaping from a hundred cauldrons.
In mid-stride Vakar's muscles froze to stony rigidity. His momentum toppled him forward so that his head struck the rail. He saw a flash of light and then nothing.
When he regained consciousness he was already lying aboard the galley, still in his rigid statuesque posture, gripping the bronze sword in his fist, on the poop in front of a chair of pretence in which a bearded man sat wearing a bronze helmet inlaid with gold and crested with ibis plumes. This man was examining Vakar's sword of star-metal, turning it over, squinting along the blade, and swishing the air with it. He said to another Gorgon:
"Strip the others and set them to the oars when they recover. Tins one, however, seems to be something else. He looks like a Pusadian but is clad like a Kernean and carries a sword like nothing I have ever seen. We will save him to show to the king."
"Aye-aye, Admiral," said the other man, and pushed Vakar's body over to the rail out of the way.
Vakar found himself facing the gunwale a few inches from his face. Since he could move neither his neck nor his eyes he was forced to stare at the weathered wood by the hour as the ship plowed on. His paralysis had not diminished his capacity for discomfort, and after a few hours of lying on the heaving deck his body was one vast ache. He could barely breathe, and his mind ran in futile circles trying to figure what course he should have followed instead of the one he had.
The sun rose to the meridian, though Vakar was fortunate in that the awning over the poop shaded him as well as the admiral. The sun went down. Vakar, suffering torments of thirst, lay where he was. The Gorgons must be in haste, he thought, for otherwise they would not have driven their rowers to make the two-day jump straight across the Sirenian Sea with no chance for the crews to sleep. No doubt they wished to get then great raid over before the storms of winter set in.
Towards morning Vakar's paralysis wore off sufficiently for him to blink and swallow. His mouth tasted foul and his eyeballs were dry and scratchy.
When the sun came up again there was much trampling and talking behind him, though he could not follow much of what was said. At length a change in the motion of the galley told him that they were drawing into a quiet cove. They stopped with a lurch as the galley's bow grated on the sand, and there were sounds of men running about. Hands seized Vakar's body and half-carried, half-dragged it over the rail of the bow and down to the beach. As the sailors carrying Vakar turned him this way and that, his rigid eyeballs took in a wooden shore that looked like that of one of the Hesperides.
The men carried him shoulder-high down the beach, past the noses of more galleys. They hoisted him up over the bow of another beached ship, the largest of all. He was carried along the catwalk between the rowers' benches to the poop. Here he was stood upright leaning against the rail, facing a dark paunchy man who sat on a chair like that on the other ship but more ornate. The admiral, who had followed Vakar, told the paunchy man of Vakar's capture. The paunchy man said:
"The effect should have begun to wear off. You there, can you speak?"
With a great effort Vakar forced his Vocal organs to say: "Y-yes."
"Who are you then?"
"Thi-thiegos of Sed-sederado."
"A Hesperian, eh? Well ..."
Just then another man thrust his way forward. Although Vakar could not yet turn his head or eyes, he was able to see that this was his old acquaintance Qasigan.
"King!" said Qasigan. "This is no Hesperian or Kernê-an, but our main quarry himself: Prince Vakar of Lorsk! I know him despite the whiskers."
The paunchy man, thus identified as King Zeluud, gave an exclamation. "Let us slay him quickly, then, and go on with the rest of our mission. Khashel, take this sword. Lean the body of the prisoner so that his neck lies across the rail, and strike off his head."
"No-no!" murmured Vakar, but they paid no attention.
The man addressed as "Khashel" seized Vakar's body and pulled it inboard so that Vakar's neck lay across the rail. He spit on his hands, spread his feet, and grasped Vakar's own iron longsword, the one Fekata had made for him, in both hands for a full-strength downward cut. He extended the blade in front of him and made a half-swing, sighting on the neck and checking the sword before it reached its target. He lowered the blade so that it just touched Vakar's skin, then raised it high above his head ...
The instant the blade touched Vakar's neck, before Khashel raised it for the definitive blow, the paralysis departed from Vakar's muscles. Suddenly relaxing, he fell into a huddle against the gunwale. Khashel's blow, descending with terrific force, drove the blade into the rail where Vakar's neck had just been.
Khashel, eyes popping, tugged the hilt as Vakar rose to his feet, still clutching the curved Kernean weapon he had in his hand when the medusa had petrified him. Khashel still had both hands on the hilt of Vakar's longsword when the Lorskan stepped forward, bringing his arm around in a backhand cut that laid the bronze blade across Khashel's throat below his short beard.
As Khashel slumped into the scuppers, blood streaming from his severed throat, Vakar hurled his bloody blade at King Zeluud, who ducked. In the same movement Vakar seized the hilt of the longsword, yanked it out of the split rail, and vaulted over the side.
He lit with a splash in waist-deep water. As an uproar arose on the ship he bounded shoreward, half falling as a wave tripped him, then sprinted across the beach, ignoring the stares of Gorgonian soldiery scattered about taking their ease. He plunged dripping into the woods and raced up the slope, away from the sea, dodging trees, until pounding heart and panting breath forced him to slow down. After him came sounds of turmoil: shouts, trumpet-blasts, and the clatter of armament as the Gorgons rushed about like a disturbed ant-city and organized a pursuit.
Vakar continued straight inland for a while, then angled to the right to lose his pursuers. Bushes scratched at his bare shanks as he fled. Up and up he climbed.
A patch of blue sky ahead drew him to a ledge of rock on the hillside from which he could look out over the treetops at the shore below and the Sirenian Sea beyond. Here he collapsed, drinking in air in great gasps, and lay while beetles ran over his unprotesting limbs.
When his vision had cleared he sat up and looked towards the landing-place of the Gorgons. Their search-parties should still be streaming inland. Should he climb a tree? Would they have hounds? Could medusas follow a trail like a dog, or locate him by occult means?
Then he realized that the scene was not what he expected. Trumpet-blasts, thin with distance, were recalling the searchers to the ships, and the Gorgons were swarming up over the bows of th
e beached galleys, some of which were pushing off.
Raising his eyes, Vakar saw why. Out in the Sirenian Sea lay another huge fleet, crawling towards the Gorgonian armada. This, Vakar guessed, must be the united navies of the Hesperides. He cracked his knuckle-joints with nervous anticipation. Was he to have an arena-seat at the greatest naval battle of history?
But as time passed the new fleet halted while the Gorgons, instead of sallying out to meet them, rowed off to Vakar's right parallel to the shore and away from the Hesperians. Vakar got up and climbed until he found a better lookout. Thence he could see that the shore curved around northeastward to his right, and beyond a wide stretch of sea, on the horizon, he could see the blue loom of another land-mass to the Northwest. If he were on Ogugia that would be Meropia; if on Meropia, the continent of Poseidonis.
The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales Page 20
