Storm over Vallia

by Alan Burt Akers

  “Majister!” she fairly screamed out. “They are killing Leone! Leone Starhammer! Queen Lush has given orders to have her killed! Please, majister — do something!”

  “Quite right and proper, too,” spoke out Trylon Nath Molim into the abrupt hush. “The woman failed in her duty to protect the queen. Therefore she must die.”

  “Out of my way!” snarled Drak, and leaped for the door. He raked down the longsword as he ran.

  Shouted orders, the stamp of booted feet, all a rush and a scurry, and at the head of a parcel of his lads he was out in the roseate glow of the Maiden with the Many Smiles. Mandi Volanta was up with him, directing him, shrieking for the men to run, you hulus, run!

  Incongruously in Drak’s brain, as he pelted on, the knowledge that the queen lived flamed. She had regained consciousness. And her first order had been to take vengeance on Leone, whom she blamed for her misfortune.

  That, of course, was the way of the great ones of the world, of queens and empresses. It was not the way of the new Vallia.

  His mother, the divine Empress Delia, would not countenance such an atrocity for an instant. But — that was the way of the world in which Queen Lush had been born and grown up and learned to understand and bend to her will...

  Drak could not find it in his heart to blame the queen.

  Sprawled in the entrance gate and across the courtyard and up the stairs, the bodies of Jikai Vuvushis scattered. There were men amongst them, too, corpses wearing predominantly blue clothes. These were people in the retinue of Trylon Nath Molim, clearly, ever ready to obey their queen. This handiwork was perfectly normal for a queen, everyone knew that.

  Leone Starhammer and her girls had barricaded themselves in the top floor of the villa and they resisted stubbornly. The fight was a bloody business. Drak roared into action at the head of a mingled mob of his bodyguards, yelling out for the Lomians to lay down their weapons or be chopped without mercy.

  The business was touch and go. A few cunning strokes from the Krozair longsword, a couple of lopped heads, and the Lomians understood. They heard what the prince shouted at them, and knew they must believe. If they did not — they were dead men.

  As for Drak, he was perfectly prepared to slay all these Pandaheem. He valued Leone’s girls. The Lomians were from Pandahem and had been implacable enemies of Vallia from long before Drak had been born. There was no contest of loyalties.

  The odd fact did not occur to him until they were clearing up that many of Leone’s Jikai Vuvushis were from Lome in Pandahem, too...

  The smell of blood and the stink of fear were merely part of normal life after a fight. Leaving everything to be sorted out by his people, accompanied by a strong guard, Drak took himself off to see Queen Lushfymi.

  He found her in the wide silken bed very much in command of herself, most of the acupuncture needles withdrawn, her face immaculately made-up, her hair a shining marvel. Those violet eyes were heavy with remembered pain. She sat up against silken pillows, and she smiled dazzlingly as he entered.

  “Drak! How nice. I knew you would come to see me as soon as — but you are very quick! I have only just sent my tiring women away.”

  Instantly, she had him at a disadvantage, as it were bent across her knee, his backbone about to sunder.

  He swallowed.

  “Queen — Lushfymi. About Leone—”

  “Oh, her, the stupid woman. I reposed great confidence in her, Drak. I felt affection for her. But she failed me abysmally. Forget her. Tell me all the news—”

  He did not, he told himself savagely, he did not feel like a small boy being chastised.

  This woman understood power and the management of that inscrutable and overwhelming commodity. She would make such an empress. The fabled Queens of Pain of ancient Loh might tremble with envy.

  When he told her that he had saved Leone Starhammer she became outraged. Her face took on a menacing look that would have struck terror into the purest of her subjects.

  “You had no right to interfere with my justice!”

  “Lushfymi, look, that was scarcely justice—”

  “Of course it was! Does the workman keep a broken tool? Does a warrior retain a worthless sword?”

  “It wasn’t Leone’s fault—”

  “Oh! So it was my fault, was it?”

  “No, of course not—”

  “Perhaps we had best forget this, Drak. After all, I think we must come to a conclusion soon in our relationship and you do know in what fond regard I hold you.” She smoothed the silken sheet. “I am sure you thought you were acting for the best.”

  “Yes—”

  “So let us brush aside the silly woman. If Leone lives, then she is lucky for now. Nath Molim is most anxious for us to go to Lome and drive out all these awful villains preying on my country. Between us, we can do it.”

  Feeling despicable, Drak took refuge in saying, “The decision must rest with the Presidio and the emperor.”

  “Ever since he fell through the covering of my palanquin, Drak, I have felt an affection for your father.”

  That wasn’t quite as Drak had heard the story from his mother; he let it pass without comment. Lushfymi was a formidable woman, a queen acting perfectly within her rights, and a force of personality and character able to deal with any and every aspect of running Vallia as empress.

  Lushfymi, conscious of the power she held over Drak and yet frustratingly aware that the conclusion for which she hungered appeared as far away as ever, lay back on her pillows. She smiled, a wan yet brave little smile. She knew she was beautiful, not just because everyone told her so but because she could see the evidence in her mirror day by day.

  “Drak, dear, I am very tired. I am so pleased to see you, but—”

  “Of course.”

  “Drak — kiss me before you go — please...”

  He kissed her on the cheek and she turned her head so that her full soft lips met his. She knew all there was to know about kissing. Drak drew back, feeling the passion there. He managed a smile, and then turned and contrived to keep from stumbling as he made for the door.

  By Zair! What an empress she would make! And what a wife! He could not mistake the naked passion blazing in her, and no matter how much of that was for the position of empress and how little for himself as a man, whatever she spared him would be more than enough for any man. No other woman had ever aroused so deep emotions within him, except for Silda, of course; but Silda was different.

  The next day his mother, Silda, and her new stepmother, Queen Mab, flew in. They were closely followed by a second voller bringing Senator Naghan Strandar, a senior and highly valued member of the Presidio, from Vondium.

  The welcomes were genuine and warm, the rejoicings great. Drak found Milsi to be delightful. She, for her part, saw at once that Silda had better marry Drak quickly. The man was a splendid person; but he needed a great deal of female instruction. With Lushfymi acting as the wounded heroine of a battle, for all that the fight had been but a skirmish, Silda’s light was being eclipsed.

  Naghan Strandar brought the decision. Alloran was to be pardoned on account of sorcery, and to be restored as Kov of Kaldi. Drak was pleased.

  During the next days the mercenaries, willing to go fight for Queen Lush if they were paid, prepared to embark for Lome. The town hummed with activity. During this time there were opportunities for enjoyment, dances, routs, balls and festive occasions. Lushfymi mended apace. Silda and Milsi got on famously. And the women scrupulously made no mention of the reason for their visit, were exquisitely polite to Queen Lush, oohing and aahing at her version of the battle in which she had been wounded.

  Delia, sizing up Leone Starhammer, agreed to take the Jikai Vuvushi into her personal regiment. There was no chance that Leone could serve Queen Lush again, and every chance she’d die of the attempt if she made it.

  The mercenaries sailed in the fleet gathered by Alloran in his attempt to conquer the islands. Naghan Strandar informed the Lomians that the
Presidio had vetoed Kapt Lakelmi’s plan to take his remaining forces to Lome. He would go with Alloran back to Kaldi. The large island of Womox, off the west coast, had been recaptured by Delia’s Blue Mountain Boys. Vallia was being reunited. North Vallia remained to be brought back into the fold. But the Vallians were aware that they were being held in reserve against the horrendous invasions of the Shanks, fishmen from over the curve of the world, who would destroy all of Paz if they were not stopped.

  News came in when the town lay quiet after all the excitements that Kovneva Katrin Rashumin had been in hiding with the wizards in their island of Fruningen. She was returning to her kovnate of Rahartdrin. Delia was overjoyed at the news, for Katrin was a trusted friend of standing. San Fraipur smiled, nodding, and said words to the effect that wizards of his home were not onkers.

  One day Milsi said to her stepdaughter, “Silda, my dear, I really do think I must join your father in Balkan. He needs me up there.”

  “Very well, Milsi.” Silda wasn’t going in for the mother style of address. “I understand. Give him my love.”

  Delia said, “I think my son is nerving himself for a decision. It is useless to prod him. I think, Silda, Milsi and I are doing more harm than good here.”

  “Delia!” burst out Silda. “That can’t be true!”

  “I think it is. We are clearly supporting you. We are a pressure group. Poor Queen Lush, wounded, alone, with no one to urge her suit!”

  So Silda had to stand and wave them good-bye and call the remberees. What they said was true; it hurt to see them go.

  To stifle off that feeling she made up her mind to go and see the person she had promised herself to go see for longer than she cared for. She tried not to be ungrateful. There was, also, the question of gold to be accounted for...

  At this time Drak made up his mind that as soon as Queen Lush was fit to travel they’d be off back to Vondium. With Katrin Rashumin returning, and Kapt Enwood and the army here, this corner of Vallia was safe.

  Naghan Strandar told him that the Presidio had been divided over the fate of the traitor Alloran. The emperor had pointed out that the Prince Majister, as the man on the spot, was in the best position to judge. “They all acknowledged the truth of that, Drak. I can say I am mightily pleased at the respect they all hold you in.”

  So to return to Vondium should not create problems.

  He could not deny that he would be pleased to see his father again. He might be an old devil; but he represented to Drak a very great deal of what life was about. His father had always been honest with him, except for these mysterious disappearances, unexplained, and he had only once ever thought with any certitude that his father had lied to him.

  One day in Esser Rarioch, seasons and seasons ago, Drak had spotted a wonderful golden and scarlet hunting bird and had called out in surprise at the gorgeous raptor. His father had denied that the bird existed. Yet Drak had seen it. Of course, he’d been very young at the time, and much smoke had blown with the wind since then and he’d grown up. Maybe that had something to do with it?

  He pulled on light russet hunting leathers over a shirt of linked mesh and, dressing without thinking about it, strapped on rapier and left-hand dagger. Calling for Nath the Strict, he raked down the Krozair longsword, bellowing: “Nath!”

  A footman, scarlet of face, hight Brindle, popped in hurriedly. “Nath has a demon in his guts, jis. Lon the Knees—”

  “Send Nath my condolences. Lon the Knees will handle the zorcas.” He went out quickly, feeling stifled indoors, needing a breath of fresh air. He told the sentry to alert the Hikdar in command of this day’s duty squadron.

  At the stables Lon was competence itself. A fine blood zorca was brought out, Stiffears, and Lon handled himself and the zorca splendidly. He assisted the prince to mount. No one could guess from his rubicund face that if the prince had turned up a glass later, disaster would have befallen Lon the Knees.

  Silda walked into the courtyard, over the cobbles with the wisps of straw scattered about, and saw Drak astride the zorca.

  Lon faded into the shadows of the nearest box. He hadn’t seen Lyss the Lone since all the excitement, and was enraptured to see her come visiting him now. He thought the prince wouldn’t mind; but you had to be careful when you held a responsible position in the Prince Majister’s Stables!

  Silda was in a mood that sizzled like water dropped into hot fat.

  “Off to see Queen Lush, I suppose?”

  “I was going for a ride.” The stiffness of Drak’s tones made a pikeshaft look crooked. “Now you mention it, I think I will. Thank you for the suggestion.”

  “Oh, you are most welcome.”

  “The queen is wounded, you know, and—”

  “Rubbish! There’s nothing wrong with the fat old madam now!”

  “You forget yourself!”

  “I don’t! But I wish I did!”

  Drak, face like the base end of a marble statue, touched his spurless heels into the zorca’s flanks and Stiffears bounded away. Drak and Silda, both their heads seething with half-understood anger and anguish, parted.

  Lon closed his mouth.

  He made a slight movement and caused just a tiny chink of sound. Instantly the sharp point of a rapier pressed against his stomach. Silda stared into the shadows.

  “Lon?”

  “Aye, aye, Lyss, it’s me. What I can’t understand is why you’re still here and not lying with your body there and your head here! You spoke to the prince—”

  “Forget him, the great onker! I came to see you.”

  Lon felt convinced that the brightness in Lyss’s eyes was far greater than could be explained in any except one certain way. He swung about as the gang crept quietly into the stables. They had waited until the prince left. Now Crafty Kando, looking at Lyss, said, “We’re here. And so is the lady.”

  At once Silda was herself again. She fixed Lon with a look. So he felt obliged to explain. Kando had borrowed the two zorcas he’d requested, and the job had been completed. Now far greater game was afoot. The whole gang required zorcas.

  “He is a fat slaver, Lyss! He still has slaves out there, hidden. He has gold! Rafak is a chicken ripe for the plucking! Ride with us!”

  “If this Rafak continues as a slavemaster,” said Silda, “he breaks the law.”

  “Exactly!” crowed Lon.

  “Then he should be reported to the Watch, or the Prince—”

  “We don’t have much truck with the Watch. And we value his gold, believing it should come to us—”

  “What am I to do with you?” said Silda, thoroughly cheered up after that dismal encounter with Drak. “This sounds promising. A spot of mischief thrashing a slaver is just what I need.”

  Swathed in dark hooded cloaks, riding a string of the Prince Majister’s blood zorcas, the gang rode out. Silda rode with them. Drak had needed to go for a ride to rid his head of cobwebs; Silda craved more than a simple ride to rid her brain of the festering agony and anguish there...

  Lon the Knees gave up trying to puzzle out what he’d overheard. Perhaps he hadn’t heard all that at all. Perhaps he’d dreamed it, hiding in the zorca stall... He, too, felt that a spot of action would clear his head.

  The petal shape of an airboat skimmed over the riders and swooped ahead to vanish beyond trees cloaking a rise.

  Moving at a brisk pace, for there was a lot to be got through, Crafty Kando’s gang with Lon the Knees and Silda Segutoria, very much Lyss the Lone, rode for the criminal hideout of the slavemaster, the Rapa Rafak the Lash.

  * * * *

  Some time later with a great deal — but not all, by the Furnace Fires of Inshurfraz, not all! — of his ill humor jolted out of him by the ride, Drak cantered back. The duty half-squadron rode in rear, looking forward to a wet and the opportunity to relax in their various raucous, nefarious or slumbrous ways. A jurukker of the guard detailed to Queen Lush galloped frenziedly toward Drak.

  “Prince! The queen! She is beset by Katakis!�
�� The rider skidded his zorca around, spraying dust, still bellowing.

  “The queen! Assassination! Hurry, jis, hurry!” Without hesitation Drak slammed his heels into Stiffears’ flanks. The zorca leaped ahead, responding at once, and in the same instant Drak hauled up on the reins, as a figure darted from the side to stand directly before him, one hand flung aloft.

  “What the hell! Out of the way — or...” Drak was going to say he’d run the figure over; but he saw the long plain robe, the turban toppling over one ear, and so he guessed at once, with a distinct sensation of his heart turning over and lodging in his throat. He knew, did Drak, he knew.

  “Drak! Silda! The Katakis attack her and her companions believing you to be there. She is sore beset... There is little time left for her...”

  Chapter twenty

  In which Lon the Knees witnesses the true joy

  On the day Queen Lushfymi gave orders to have the captain of her bodyguard killed the girls had resisted the murderers in defense of Leone Starhammer. Since then nearly all of them had signed up with the Empress Delia. So it was that when the Katakis landed from their airboat to assassinate the queen they were met by the guard detailed by the Prince Majister to watch over the queen.

  The guards sent a messenger and then barricaded themselves in the villa. No thought crossed Queen Lush’s mind that this was divine retribution. She saw no connection between her perfectly logical and legal order and this inspired assassination attempt.

  One of the guards said that the leader of this cut-throat bunch of Katakis was Stromich Ranjal Yasi, twin brother to Strom Rosil Yasi. Accurate archery pinned the Katakis in the grounds, and two rushes were fronted and bested. The queen was perfectly composed. Hikdar Nervil remarked that they could hold out for some time yet, but that numbers were against them.

  Queen Lush said, simply: “The Prince Majister will soon be here. He would melt the Ice Floes of Sicce to be at my side.”

  “Assuredly, majestrix,” said Nervil, seconded to Drak’s PMSW from 3EYJ, and took himself off to the dangerous corner where the shrubbery grew altogether too close to the walls of the villa.