Those people ordered to hack away as much as was practical of the forward parts of the flier had the heaviest burdens. One strapping Khibil was hauling a whole huge baulk of timber. I marked him.
I shouted: “Well done, all. It’s no good gawping at the fire. Cooks! Get our own fires going and cook!”
This was a calculated risk; but a necessary one. My thoughts were that the Fish Faces might send a patrol out in the morning in curiosity to find out what had become of us. By that time, we’d be gone.
In the event we all ate and drank and then taking up our burdens trudged back to the stream where we could conceal ourselves among the trees.
Now even on Kregen, which is a truly remarkable world, everybody is not superhuman. Men and women react in unpredictable ways under unusual circumstances. So, all right. We had with us folk who were used to being slaves and their reactions to combat were thus modified. We had with us warriors, and their reactions to being made slave were unprintable. I decided we all needed a rest. The suggestion being made to Kuong and Mevancy resulted in immediate agreement. Some people had been injured by the Katakis as to need careful nursing. With our slender resources, this we provided.
Two days, I felt, would be sufficient for all but the worst cases. We had to bury one poor devil of a Fristle who’d been badly beaten. We carried out the necessary rites with due solemnity, commending him to his god, Tsung-Tan, and trusting he went up there in glory to Gilium rather than wandering hopelessly through the Death Jungles of Sichaz.
As the people rested and ate through the next two days I went along between the trees marking those I wanted. We were extremely cautious with fires, using them only for cooking. On the afternoon of the second day the lookouts raised the alarm and we all held still and silent as the Shank flying patrol passed overhead.
On the morning of the third day, as Luz and Walig rose into a marvelous Kregan dawn, Kuong and Mevancy, needing little prompting, set the folk to work.
In the fetching and carrying of tree trunks the big Khibil proved a most satisfactory substitute for a beast of burden. I didn’t think of him in exactly that light, until the fact was pointed out, somewhat stuffily, by Kuong’s Repositer. The Khibil’s name was Quando the Iarvin.
I admit it. I stand guilty and condemned. I laughed.
Well, and why not, after all? My good companion and fellow kregoinye, Pompino the Iarvin, had once had a pretty little run in with a thief wearing the cognomen of Iarvin. A smart fellow, a lad who knows what’s what, that’s what Iarvin more or less means. Like all Khibils, this Quando knew his own worth and was well aware in his supercilious way he was a cut above the rest.
At least, he was a godsend when it came to lifting the trunks into place. Nothing fancy. That had to be my watchword. We built a raft-like platform and, perforce, had to plait ropes to tie the lot together. The bronze boxes were positioned and the control wires had to be drastically reduced in length as the levers were situated so close to them. Rollo took a deal of interest in all the technical aspects. I fancied he’d be turning into a second Oby, who’d started out desperate to be a kaidur in the Arena, and had wound up as an expert voller pilot and captain.
The body of the raft-like structure took shape. Rails were added and a light structure for shelter along the centre line. The controls were placed in front. I’d had experience building small personal vollers in Sumbakir in Hamal and that knowledge came in useful now.
When all was done I decreed another single day’s holiday. Hunters had brought in game, we had the stream for water, and supplies of garsun flour were holding up. Palines, of course, grew freely along the stream.
On the day which Kuong and Mevancy had, between themselves, decided we should leave, the trylon said: “Do you have any special direction, Drajak?”
“Yes, Kuong. I’d like to go to the area just north of Clovang. I left some friends there I’d like to see are all right.”
“That is away from the capital, Taranjin.”
“Aye.”
Mevancy said crisply: “We should be trying to link up with Queen Kirsty’s army.”
“If it’s even formed yet, let alone started.”
“Well, cabbage—”
“Also,” I said, “we have some poor folk with us who ought to be dropped off in as safe a place as we can. There is fighting ahead.”
“That is true, by Spurl!” flashed Mevancy.
“We will,” said Kuong, “pick up Drajak’s friends, drop off those who we feel are not capable. Then we can see how Queen Kirsty is doing.”
Rollo insisted on handling the controls. With everyone packed aboard we soared away and up into the streaming mingled radiance of the Suns of Scorpio.
Chapter four
Fan-Si couldn’t stop laughing. She’d started the moment after she and the rest had crawled out of cover and she’d taken in me and the disreputable craft in which we flew.
“A witch did it,” she declared, in between whooping in breaths to laugh some more. “Your wonderful voller was changed by a witch into this heap!”
“It certainly is — crude,” observed Moglin. He stared at Fan-Si. “If you don’t control yourself not only will you do yourself an injury, the prince may well decide to do it for himself. Fan-Si!”
I could see the Fristle fifi’s reaction was only triggered by her amusement at the change from the smart voller in which she’d served as my Ship Hikdar, or first lieutenant, to this lashed up heap. The continuance of her excited reaction, expressed as uncontrollable laughter, had other causes. These, I surmised, had to do with her feelings that she’d never expected to see me alive again.
Her man, Moglin the Flatch, an experienced Fristle Bowman of Loh, put his arm about Fan-Si’s delectable waist, whereat she tried to flick him with her tail. He tugged her and, with a glance more than a trifle uneasy at me, kissed her. This stopped her laughing. When they broke away she was sobbing.
Larghos the Throstle shook his head. “Moggers always did have a way with women.”
Around us stretched a respectable woodland, threaded by watercourses, with clearings in which flowers grew and struggled between themselves for the mastery of the suns lights. The air scented with Kregan sweetness. The little army I’d managed to scrape together out of various gangs remained still in being. They were upwards of eight hundred souls now, and they continued to carry out the tasks I had set them. They had suffered casualties.
These three were my Jiktars, my commanders of regiments, Moglin the Flatch, Larghos the Throstle, and Fan-Si, who loved to ride through the air aboard the voller. Well, where that was now only the Star Lords knew, for they had hoicked me up out of her and dumped me down in Taranjin — after an argument.
Mevancy, crisply, through thinned lips, said: “These are your friends.”
With due respect for protocol, I made the pappattu. When the introductions were over, and Kuong had been particularly gracious, Mevancy rounded on me. Her always highly-colored face positively glowed.
“Well, now, cabbage. And what is all this prince nonsense?”
As they say in Clishdrin, sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. I’d been going around Kregen sowing many different names, and now here was my comeuppance. These three new comrades and the little army we ran knew me as Prince Chaadur na Dorfu, the Striker, Kurinfaril, their chief. Also, they knew this was not my real name. This had been done in my expectations of gaining a significant victory over the Shanks and the Schtarkins and chucking them out of Tarankar. As my plans had gone awry I was now stuck with two different names to be accounted for.
Kuong and Rollo were listening with great interest.
“Come on, cabbage. Prince?”
“The thing is,” I began, most shiftily, and, what was worse, hearing that shiftiness in my voice. I sounded positively guilty as charged.
Kuong said: “You have always struck me as a man of great position, Drajak. One can tell these things. I, for one, would readily accept your assurances that you were a prince.”
Now I know Kuong was a young noble, full of noble ideas. But, give it to him — you couldn’t say fairer than he had, by Vox!
I said: “One of my names is Drajak. It is more than a simple use name. I chose to use my name of Prince Chaadur here to replace the leaders lost by these people when the Shanks overcame them. I do assure you, strange though it seems, I am a prince.”
That was the truth, of course.
Mevancy shook her head. Not a beautiful woman, our Mevancy, but strong featured, well-built, radiant when animated, her beauty came all from deep inside her, an essential part of her spirit. “I — I always thought — suspected — there was something odd and special about you, cabbage—”
“Oh, aye, Most odd. Now can we get on? We have a lot to do.”
Llodi stepped forward. His face looked troubled.
“What do I call you now, Drajak, what with you being a prince an’everything?”
“You call me Drajak as you have always done. It does not always suit me to be known as a prince.”
“Oh, I see that an’ all.”
Rollo suddenly sneezed, largely and loudly. I ignored him. I knew damn well what he was about, the scamp.
He must be having a good laugh at these antics of names, knowing as he did that I was Dray Prescot. He was enjoying me wriggling on the hook of my own duplicity, laughing so hard inside he had to sneeze, by Krun!
During this fascinating period of name calling Fan-Si had recovered.
She approached me with her tail decorously looped at her rear. She was not wearing armor, against my express command, and I’d have a word with Moglin about that.
“Prince,” she started, and rubbed her nose. “Prince — my girls—”
There were ten of them now, ten Fristle fifis, armed and armored — well, some of them — standing in an expectant line. These were the Jikai Vuvushis of our little army who had flown with me and hurled fire pots down on Shank flying ships.
I turned to Kuong. “Kuong — they have proved useful and brave and are grand fighting Jikai Vuvushis. I’d very much like to take them.” I added, more grimly, for this revealed a darker side of the affair: “Also, I would not relish leaving them here.”
At once he said: “The decision must now be yours, prince.” He used that word prince unaffectedly. He was nowhere near as surprised or discomfited as I’d anticipated at my sudden elevation, and in that, as I saw later, I did him a grave injustice. A fine lad, Trylon Kuong of Taranik.
Not wanting to get into a maudlin or sentimental argument over rankings, I nodded. “Thank you. Very well, Fan-Si, get your girls aboard.”
As was to be expected, the rest of the army being left behind started up their caterwauling. I raised my arms and they quietened down. There were not the whole eight hundred here, of course; there were enough to listen and repeat the message. That message was the same old fustian, elaborated on by a brief account of what had occurred in the capital city, Taranjin. I finished by assuring them that the Day would Dawn when the Freedom Armies would burst into the city to join the risen slaves, and the Armadas from Hamal and Vallia would arrive.
“In that great Day, all the Fish Faces will be driven out of Tarankar, and men and women can go back to living decent lives once again!”
They cheered; but the applause sounded thin.
We shouted the remberees and our crazily strung-together craft lifted off. She’d been given the name Deliverance. The name fitted, for she had saved us. Those of the freed slaves who wished to remain with the Freedom Army did so. Now Deliverance carried fighting men and women.
The interesting development of our relationships I noticed now was interesting, all right. By Makki Grodno’s disgusting diseased nose and infected inner ear! It was fascinating, intriguing — and positively eerie.
No one — not Mevancy, not Kuong, not anybody — asked me what our plans were or what we were going to do. They didn’t even ask where we were heading.
My initial intentions were to make the rounds of the scattered groups of Freedom Fighters. They had to be ready. Now that the Opaz-forsaken Shanks had brought in hired Katakis to take effective control of the slaves the anticipated slave revolt had become enormously more difficult. There were those who said, openly, that a slave uprising was now impossible.
The next thing was to make contact with the armadas flying here. Their arrival was problematical at the moment. Many mischances had contrived to hold them up. Rollo the Runner had been charged by me to stay in Makilorn to make contact and liaise with my Guard Corps. I couldn’t really find it in my heart to blame him for joining Kuong and Mevancy and following me. All the same, at the moment I had no idea how the armadas were progressing.
Our shambling tree trunk raft of a flying boat sailed on serenely enough. The Shanks had copied the Hamalese way of organizing the power boxes in their orbits. I wondered just what was in those two bronze boxes. I’d had a few fraught excitements trying to find out what mix of minerals was placed in the Hamalese silver boxes. Without the correct mix you’d come up with a silver box that would lift a ship and grip her onto the ethereal-magnetic lines but would not give her any forward motion. We’d used those sub-silver boxes in Vallia because we’d had to. We’d built what we called vorlcas, box-like constructions that passed as ships. One bonus derived from the ships not having to sail the sea was that we did not need compass timber. We built the vorlcas with straight lines and slab sides, deck on deck. Because Vallian galleons were the best sailing ships of the outer oceans — apart from the Shanks’ remarkable ocean going vessels — we could rig our sailing ships of the air with centuries old skills.
The armada from Vallia had consisted of vorlcas. They had been blown off course, involved in a fight, and were now down somewhere repairing. Where the armada from Hamal had got to I didn’t know. They had sailing ships of the air, also, and these they called famblehoys.
I’d relieved Rollo at the controls and was standing up forward contemplating the multitude of problems confronting me. In order to save Paz an inordinate amount of back-breaking work had to be put in. I don’t believe in feeling sorry for myself; but if ever I had, then I ought to have been feeling sorry for myself then, by Krun!
Mevancy came up and stood at my side, looking ahead, saying nothing.
There was no gainsaying she was a funny girl. She was not beautiful, as I have said; but she radiated an inner strength and beauty I found admirable. She had heard me speak of my lady — and I meant Delia — and had sniffed and been sarcastic. Mevancy had tacitly agreed a compact with Leotes before he’d given his life for her. Although, mind you, he was still alive in the body of a newborn baby. If you believed that. Now Mevancy had received the distinct, direct and definite answer from me that she was not and never could be my lady. Was Kuong next in line?
Presently, to break the silence that had become oppressive, I said:
“Mevancy. You’ll have to learn piloting, like Rollo. Would you care to start now?”
She didn’t turn to face me.
“In some things, I suppose, as you are a prince, you will give the orders. And I suppose flying this contraption would come under that.” Now she turned to face me. Her splendid eyes fixed me with a direct and challenging gaze. “But in matters for the Everoinye, cabbage, remember. I am still in charge.”
“Of course, pigeon.”
“What did you mean, you know, about hitting your head when I was dragging you out of the burning building?”
“Do you remember how you got where you were after you’d collapsed trying to pull poor old Rafael out? I mean, got to the outside?”
“Rafael,” she said, and looked down at her boots. Presently, she said: “Well — vaguely, not really — it was all so confused and hot—”
“Oh, aye. It was hot. Worse than back aboard the Shanks’ flier.”
She cocked an eye at me. “So?”
“So you don’t remember. Well, it’s not worth remembering.”
“Now look here, Drajak
, or prince, or whatever your name is. You set about those Katakis and Fish Heads smartly enough. I know you’re no Dray Prescot; but I will admit you put up a very good imitation. So you were supposed to be a weakling—”
I shouldn’t have said it. But: “So I was after I hit my head.”
Her lips clamped into a demanding line. “There you go again. It’s—”
“Look, Mevancy. That’s all over with now. I don’t forget how you came back for me in the desert and the way you dealt with the vulture and the bandits. Now I suggest you allow me to teach you how to fly.”
Her spirit was bold enough to rise to that challenge. She saw that she’d get no more out of me. By Krun! The poor girl had been dragged out of the burning building by me at the commands of the Star Lords. At the last minute I’d been temporarily knocked down by a falling beam and Mevancy had awoken and dragged me the last few yards. In that dragging she’d contrived to hit my head hard enough to paralyze me. Now she had to learn to fly.
Rollo the Runner walked up. He stood looking as Mevancy got the hang of keeping the airboat on a steady and level course. He didn’t exactly smile condescendingly. I still had to fathom out his relationship with Kuong and Mevancy.
So, being a devious devil at heart, I said: “Rollo. Why don’t you help Mevancy?”
I walked off down the treetrunk deck. Let ’em sort that one out!
Whatever agreement they reached the next couple of days as we reached the group led by Kov Nath the Ron and his kovneva, Layla, they did not come to blows nor did I see any argument. They were both forthright people, and one comment brought forth another. They’d gone through adventures together and that often, not always, tends to bind folk one to another.
Kuong had expressed his desire to learn to fly and I’d asked Rollo if he would oblige. He could scarcely refuse.
Needing to take myself off to think, I was about to leave the camp where the cooking fires had already been doused. I got past the last fire and Rollo cut across my path. He seemed to me to be walking in a jerky fashion and I frowned. I’d never seen him drunk. If anybody in my circle became drunk he had one more chance. The second drunken episode resulted in ejection. Drunks are not funny. Oh, sure, you laugh at their antics when cleverly reproduced on stage; real drunkenness is disgusting.
Scorpio Ablaze Page 4
