“It has been an awful time.” She spoke simply. There was something different about her from Syblians I'd met before, and that long slender dagger had something to do with that. “As for me, I come from Wenhartdrin. You'll never have heard of it.”
Now I had a problem. I debated for a moment with myself, and then decided I'd better stick to coming from the Great Plains. As for Wenhartdrin, an island off the south coast of Vallia, that was where excellent wine was made. Folly told me a raid had captured her and others and from then on she'd passed from hand to hand, bought and sold, slave. Polly, the other girl Sybli, had come from some part of Havilfar.
“All our guards were slain, then the Jikai Vuvushis. In the end only the mistress was left.”
“And you.”
“Oh, yes. But I'm a slave.”
What, I wondered, would Folly make of Vallia now?
When Princess Licria roused herself I gave her no time to get back in the saddle of her high zorca.
“We must march, princess, and march well. Now, let us get on!”
Her lips tightened up. She saw my face. She hitched up her shoulder, swung about and started off without a word.
Well, she had spirit, no doubt of that, by Krun!
I said: “If we're lucky we ought to find a room with somewhat of victuals pretty soon.”
Folly said, on a breath: “Oh, I do hope so. I am so thirsty.”
Without thinking over it, I said: “Me, too. I could do with a nice flagon of best Nardi's Wenyellow. That would go down like a treat!”
She gave me a quick startled look. Of course! Oh, well, if any more came of that lapse, then it would. No doubt her mention of Wenhartdrin had brought that particular wine to mind, Nardi's Wenyellow being a famous vintage of the island. Mind you, it was sent overseas.
Walking on and talking, I noticed how these two tested appearances before venturing too far. They'd been through nasty times, and it showed. Folly told me that the little group with the Princess Majestrix had become separated, she'd no idea how, and they'd been hurrying to catch up with the main expedition. This tied in with the evidence I'd followed. Queen Satra had brought down a huge expedition. Folly didn't know how many people there were; but she said: “Thousands!”
They'd been down here a long long time, and the rumors were that the queen wished now only to return. The trouble was, no way out was found.
In her position as handmaid to the princess, Folly often saw the queen. She said: “She's not like she is at all.”
Sort the pips out of that one, Dray Prescot!
Folly wanted to know about the Krozair brand. She'd given it a look when I'd buckled on the scabbard. I said: “It is a blade, Folly. You tell me about the dagger.”
“Dagger, master?” Oh, with what innocence that was said!
Her wrap around over her breechclout was long enough to conceal a Vallian dagger. I fancied she'd be slain out of hand in the normal course of events if discovered with a weapon in the presence of the princess or queen. Down here would be slightly different. She said: “You will not tell the mistress?” I shook my head. “I found it down here among corpses. It is a type of dagger I know.”
“That Magor—”
She shivered. “I thought this was the end and confided myself to Mother Delia—and then you were there.”
Delia of Delphond, the ancient Mother Goddess—she was still known and revered at this time. I felt I liked Folly more and more.
The whole situation was now laid out. When shouts ahead told us we'd at last caught up, I felt even more strongly the sense of destiny. We'd ventured down here by chance. I'd been cut off from my companions. I'd met a princess who might be a lead to the queen. Now the Star Lords had required me to save Mul-lu-Manting, who wanted a return to the old Empire of Loh, calling her schemes the New Empire of Loh. In my arrogant foolishness I'd decided that Mevancy would make an excellent queen ruling as Empress of Walfarg.
Guards approached, tough men in armor who looked as though they'd kill anything first before asking questions. They saw Princess Licria. There was a quantity of Lahalling and general genuflecting. I stood to the side with Folly, thinking grandiose schemes concocted for the Everoinye.
Licria pointed at me. “Seize up this shint! Chain him!”
There was no stopping the efficiency the guards showed. As I was lapped in chains, I was realizing the depths of the Star Lords’ schemes.
If they really did want a New Empire of Loh and needed a figurehead, they'd brush aside my choice of Mevancy. Oh, no, Queen Satra was here. Who better to be a new empress than a real Queen of Pain?
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* * *
Chapter sixteen
Wa-Te's tail hand whisked in from nowhere and caught my bicep. The tail hand hauled and I straightened up. I had been prevented from stumbling by Wa-Te's quick reactions.
“Thanks, Wa-Te,” I said in that low slave monotone that has to be learned deuced quickly if one wishes to avoid ol’ snake.
Ahead of us and to the rear in the rock corridor stretched the lines of slaves. The smells were offensive for a time; after that they went away unless some fresh scent brought back the sense of smell. The noise of shuffling feet and the clink of chains was broken only by the occasional smack of a whip or the thud of a cudgel. The pervasive pearly light shone down with ironic benevolence on slave and slave driver alike.
Over my shoulders the wooden yoke was trying to rub through the cloth padding and raise blisters. Some of the poor devils down here had shoulders red raw. A needleman had been assigned the slaves; but he could do little apart from ointment and a needle or two to take away the pain.
At each end of the yoke swung a basket. What the baskets contained I had no idea for they were covered with leather and strapped down with brass buckles.
Wa-Te's straw-colored hair hung down lankly. His two left arms could be used one to help support his yoke, the other to scratch or brush his hair. It is highly unusual to see Pachaks as slaves. For my part, I value Pachaks above many other fine races of diffs of Kregen.
“Here comes that greesh again,” he whispered.
Greesh is a term of utter contempt used by slaves and the poor folk for slavers and masters. It is formed from that infamous word grak and the word kleesh, one of the worst insults of Paz. Booted feet hitting the stone floor with an arrogant crack, crack, crack, heralded the passage of Yaka, clinking with weaponry, armored in iron, swinging a thick black whip. To his sinuous tail was strapped six inches of bladed steel.
When Yaka the Stripe passed on along the column we slaves breathed out sighs of relief. Yaka had the charming habit of taking ten strides and of then slamming out with his whip at the nearest slave. Ten more strides and another stripe, ten more and another ... We here in this little group had been lucky this time. Yaka had been overheard to say that the ten paces a blow technique smartened up the slaves remarkably.
Just how long I'd been marching now was difficult to judge. I'd eaten and slept six times. The column proceeded slowly, and then speeded up so we had to totter along under our burdens, and then we'd come to a halt. “Trouble up front,” would go the whisper back down the column.
Well, by Krun! I wasn't at the front, so the traps and the monsters up there, at least, couldn't get at me.
When we debouched into a vast cavern the slaves showed no delight or wonder at the fantastic sight. Glistening stalagmites and stalactites formed growing columns between floor and roof. The air breathed cooler and fresher. Kataki slave drivers bellowed for us to rest and we slumped down thankfully. Guards of all manner of races of diffs prowled. Quite clearly Queen Satra protected her goods. The treasures mattered, not the slaves.
A slender graceful form flitted along the rows. Folly knew where I was stationed, for she had visited me twice before. This time she brought a bundle with an onion and a chunk of moist cheese with a heel of bread. I thanked her and she put a rosy finger to her lips. “All your gear is safe, Drajak, jikai. The mist
ress insisted it be kept intact and separate. I do not know why.”
She glanced around, saw a Kataki glaring at her, flushed up, and ran off.
I split the food with Wa-Te. We were chained up two by two, yokes overlapping, and Folly had been cautious. No one had seen the food passed.
“I thank you, Drajak. But there is something strange here.”
“Aye.”
“I have been a paktun for many seasons. I have been abroad in the world. But I have not seen a Sybli like her before.”
I told him that Folly was the daughter of a Sybli woman and an apim father, a sea captain. Almost always such a union is fruitless; sometimes a child is born. This explained Folly's actions. As for Wa-Te, he'd been with a party attacked by Magors. They'd fought well. All the Pachaks save Wa-Te had been slain, and the lord they protected had been seriously injured. He'd lived. In reward he'd sent Wa-Te into slavery. “Trylon Ge-fu-Schian. That was his name. I shall not forget.”
“Some of the high ones of the world are not all evil,” I said.
“Ha! By Hlo-Hli! Not many!”
When we were roused out with kicks and blows and stumbled to our feet and marched on, we passed dead bodies and dead Magors.
This, together with Wa-Te's story, proved that somewhere up at the head of the column marched someone who was capable of negating the stasis spell. So, that was the problem. If, somehow, say by asking Folly, I made contact with whoever it was—well, by Vox! and who might it be?
Once I could get a glimpse of the person or persons bringing sleeping perils to life I could make a decision.
Also, a point I had neglected to check with Deb-Lu or Rollo—once we'd resurrected a person down here, could they in turn bring others back to life?
Maybe Princess Licria was creating all the dangers in front.
Material traps, of course, would function anyway.
There were a number of females of various races in the column and most wore the mustardy-yellow slave breechclout. I still wore the scarlet, although it was a trifle grubby by now and at the first stream I'd give it a good wash. Many women, though, wore the waist to knee wrap-around in various colors. I just hoped no one would find the Vallian dagger hidden under Folly's wrap-around.
Either by searching the girl or finding it sticking in their guts.
“By Papachak the All-Powerful!"Wa-Te nodded his head. “It's getting almighty dark!”
I'd noticed the diminution in the pallid light. I could see quite well; but from the way the slaves stumbled and the exclamations, I gathered they could not. Presently word came down to halt. No one sat down—unless they fell down from fatigue—for to do so would bring ol’ snake cracking about their bare backs. After a long wait we were told to sit down. The yokes were not removed, so up front they regarded this as only a temporary halt.
Now, as I have mentioned, these damned Kataki slave-drivers are experienced man-managers—and woman-managers, too, although that disgusting discipline varies—and fooling them is a specialized art. I'd had practice, Zair knows! So there were no keys to our fetters. The iron was banded around and then struck through with rivets.
We were lucky. An ages old slaving trick is to drive the rivet through a bone. That is unpleasant.
Also, because the passageways wound about and narrowed and widened into caverns, we were not yoked fore and aft, which is an exemplary way of keeping poor doomed slaves in marching order.
Treading on our heels stumbled a Gon and a Brokelsh. The black bristle body hair of the Brokelsh contrasted starkly with the thick sprouting chalk white hair of the Gon. This white hair of his plunged the Gon into the deepest shame. His eyes were lackluster and his lips drooped.
I said to them during a short break: “Doms! When I shout ‘Greesh!’ you must duck your heads very quickly.”
They stared at me as though I were bereft of my senses. Well, perhaps I was. Here I was, supposed to be the great and puissant emperor and I was chained up, slave. In addition, it was now clear that the whole train of events from the Star Lords flinging me down to save Mul-lu-Manting to now, all tended in one certain direction. And here I was, chained up like a leem in a lord's baiting pit. I mentioned Makki-Grodno and the Divine Lady of Belschutz to myself—frequently, by Krun!
Our next halt lengthened. Presently a Rapa with his beak missing and his feathers drenched in blood staggered back to find the needleman. He was a guard, not a slave. “A big one up front,” said Wa-Te.
“Aye.”
A couple more wounded came back. Then Yaka the Stripe appeared flicking his whip suggestively. He directed the tame Ochs to release our own chains from the main chain. “Single file!” he bellowed so the echoes rang. Amid much shuffling and very little cursing, for the slaves were cowed, we sorted ourselves out. The light had improved a little since the darkness in the ways after the cavern of the stalagmites. Wa-Te stood to my front, the Gon to my rear.
We shuffled on to the sound of meaty thuds and cracking whips.
The cavern which we entered was, I judged, fairly gloomy, although I could see what the fuss had been about. The air was humid and stank of decaying flesh and vegetable matter which sliced through our own slave stink. The left hand wall stretched ahead, studded with dark openings just over man height. The right hand side of the cavern was choked with syatras, this time growing up from the floor. They were reaching out to the column of people, fleshy tendrils waving. There were no bodies on the floor, for any folk snatched up would have been popped into those coffin growths. Bits and pieces of syatra scattered about spoke eloquently of the fight to clear a passage through.
We moved on and the flashing white of eyes rolling fearfully at the syatras rippled along the column as I looked back.
Well, this was ponsho and leem time.
Yaka the Stripe was walking up along the column shoving the slaves against the wall. A tendril swiped at his head and missed, and the Whiptail laughed and sliced with his blade. There was nothing wrong with the bastard's courage in this situation. He would be accountable for his slaves and he did not intend to lose any here. “Grak!” he bellowed and snapped his whip. “Grak!”
I projected a whisper to Wa-Te before me. “Ready?”
His tail hand lifted to signal he understood—and was ready.
Yaka stalked on as I turned back to watch him. He strutted past me and his whip licked out to catch the Fristle walking in front of Wa-Te.
Putting all my force into the action I swiveled my body around, legs braced, swinging to the right, and I spat: “Greesh!” The left hand basket at the end of the yoke smashed around like the arm of a trebuchet, parallel to the ground.
At that word of contempt Yaka turned back, facing to the column, and the basket hit him smash full in the chest. He catapulted bodily backwards.
The syatra scooped him up gratefully.
“Wenda!” I yelled at Wa-Te. The Pachak responded instantly and I hurled myself after him into the nearest left-hand slot of darkness.
“I'm dumping the yoke, Drajak!” he called back.
I could see him quite well and was able to hurdle the yoke and its baskets. I shoved my yoke off with a feeling of freedom.
The fetters between my ankles hindered me considerably. Hobbling, I charged after Wa-Te, plunging into utter darkness.
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* * *
Chapter seventeen
“Crack!” slapped rock against rock, and the bottom rock flew into splinters.
Neither of us felt like cursing. “Here,” said Wa-Te and handed across another sharp piece. I fitted the point against the end of the rivet holding his fetters with my left hand and brought the chunk of stone in my right down hard and accurately. The rock did not split. The rivet—I thought, I hoped, I prayed!—moved. Just a fraction, but it moved. It had to.
A soft pearly light hazed all about us in the small cavern. We'd hobbled here expecting pursuit to come baying along the dark corridor after us. No one followed us. We guessed that for t
he moment there was more concern and turmoil among the guards over the sudden demise of Yaka the Stripe than over checking the slaves. I struck again. Again and againI hit the damned stone, breaking some, finding more, until, at last, at heavenly last, Wa-Te's fetters fell free.
“Thank you, Drajak. Now it is my turn.”
The Pachak removed my fetters with neat methodical strokes that had less power than my smashing blows but that did the job economically. Oh, yes, as I say, I do like Pachaks.
“Thank you, Wa-Te. Now, what next?”
“Food and weapons.”
“Aye.”
“We will find a way out, as Hlo-Hli Herself smiles on us.”
He was perfectly confident. He'd been through far more than had I down here. He was a mercenary, a zhanpaktun entitled to wear the golden pakzhan on its silken cords at his throat. He'd always been a mercenary, ever since his father had trained him up and assigned him to the band. When he gave his nikobi, his pledge of honorable service, he would not break it lightly. Pachaks discharge their service loyally until death.
After that we were very lucky.
Moving forward with great care, for we were weaponless as regards steel weapons, we traversed a passage and entered a chamber where tables and chairs and tapestries indicated we were entering once inhabited areas of the complex. There was food, rough fare suitable for guards.
We ate and drank prodigiously. Then Wa-Te, using the leg of a chair, forced open the lid of a chest. There was no trap.
“This must be a guardroom,” he said. “Look at these. Rusty!”
Many of the weapons in the box were rusted together. We found five swords that would serve, and with spit and dust cleaned them up.
As I only have two arms, I took two swords. Pachaks have two left arms and a tail hand, so Wa-Te took three swords.
He flexed his right arm, which as usual was marginally stronger than his two lefts. “This feels good, by Papachak the All-Powerful!”
Swinging the two lynxters about, I agreed.
Speaking gravely, the Pachak said: “I would not use my name whilst I was slave. I am Nath Wa-Te. Lahal, Drajak the Sudden.”
Scorpio Drums [Dray Prescot #42] Page 14
