Krozair of Kregen [Dray Prescot #14] Read online

  His face lit up. Well, that might be brotherly love. It could merely be a warrior's joy that reinforcements were on the way.

  “I will pardon your uncouth manners, fambly, for that great news. But, the next time we meet, I warn you. Keep a civil tongue in your head lest you lose it."

  I said, “Do you mean the head or the tongue or both? Did you not receive proper tuition in Kregish?"

  Before he could react, for although he was very quick I think his old father still held an edge there, I bellowed off forward and my oarsmen settled at their looms. There were no longer sixty of them, alas, and I turned from the forecastle and roared back, “are you sailing with us or not? Your swifter has her oars out. If you do not use them in a moment or two we'll be on our way."

  The Krozairs jumped up onto the bulwarks and ran along the oars and thence along their own oars to their ship. I guessed they were fuming. But Zeg might still suspect our motives and he would wish to be with Miam and where the fighting was to be expected. What he would say when he saw Vax intrigued me.

  He shouted a last baleful warning as the ships parted company. “Do not forget what I have promised you, Dak, when you return—if you return.” The words spit into the overclouded sky. “You have the word of a Krozair."

  He had looked resplendent—superb, brilliant—striding down the blood-soaked deck among the corpses, his weapons agleam, his helmet flaunting the brave scarlet feathers, his white surcoat with the coruscating device of the Krzy. He was my son. And all we could do was shout threats at each other. So, and to the vast surprise of my men, I bellowed back mildly. “I'll be back. And mind you keep Zandikar safe for Queen Miam—Krozair."

  All the same, as we glided on and at last and thankfully plunged into the concealment of the rushes, I reflected that he had been overly mild for a Krozair. I know I have a daunting way with me; but Zeg was of that stamp of young men fanatical about their beliefs. That was clear. I had heard it spoken and had joyed in it. He had gone to the sacred Isle of Zy at a very young age, soon after I had disappeared when he'd been three. He had not had the earlier and wider education of Drak. He was obsessed with his Krozair vows, the Disciplines, the mysticism. The Krozairs had molded him completely—or so I had thought. And yet ... ?

  The uproar in that open reach of water might easily bring inquisitive Magdaggian swifters. I fancied Zeg would dispose of them smartly enough, and he had taken the swifter we had captured, manned by her ex-oar-slaves. As for us, we ghosted on and soon were able to turn and so make a landing on the mainland.

  Here I had to be extraordinarily nasty to Duhrra and the others.

  “No, you pack of famblies! I can get through—I hope. But you would all be taken up. Why, you'd start a-yelling Zair at any moment. This is Green work.” And I wrapped about myself the green cloth that I had brought and changed my Red helmet for a captured one sporting green feathers. “See?"

  Duhrra said, “I was renegade, also, Gadak."

  “Gadak, is it? That proves nothing. I go alone."

  “Gadak” was the Grodnim name given to me by Gafard when I'd pretended to become a renegade. Duhrra had never got along with “Guhrra.” As for the others—"Take great care on your way back. And tell that fam—tell that Zeg to fight like a Valkan."

  Even if they did not fully understand, they would pass the message. Zeg was known to be a prince of Vallia, Zeg of Valka.

  I did not wait for them to shove off but sprinted for the nearest cover. I did not even look back. The land here rose from the Dikars, with their ribbons of shining water, and trended upward and then leveled off. I passed through ruined gregarian groves, and through kools of land where the wheat had been cut down and used by damned Grodnims. Soon the camp appeared ahead, rows of tents, with lines of tethered sectrixes, lines of hebras, the artillery park where a few varters were being repaired. One or two fluttrells flew in the sky and so I walked with a brisk military gait, not running and not slouching. If anyone questioned me, I was a scout returning with information.

  The park where the vollers had touched down lay over the other side of the camp. This was the main siege camp; there were others on the other flanks of the city walls. It should be mentioned here that I carried an arsenal of weapons, with reason. I had buckled on the Ghittawrer blade, the device removed. I had belted on a Genodder, the Grodnim shortsword, above that, to the right. The great Krozair blade hung down my back, and the green cape hid the hilt. Also I carried the Lohvian longbow and a quiver of arrows. I might not use all of these weapons; I felt it certain I would use some.

  When I add that the old seaman's knife snugged over my right hip, those of you who have followed my story so far will know that was a habitual fashion with me.

  At the center and in a cleared space lofted the ornate green and white tent of the king. I walked through the alleyways between the surrounding tents. Gafard's tent would be nearby. No airboats lifted into the sky, so I was in time. I let out a long breath and stepped past the last tent. Guards ringed the king's abode and tethered hebras waited patiently. The rast was in conference, then. He had slipped up, the cramph.

  I put my foot down to stalk arrogantly on and a voice said, “Why, by Grotal the Reducer! Gadak! Gadak, as I live and breathe!"

  I turned. Grogor, Gafard's second in command, stood there, hands on hips, his face astounded, gaping at me.

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Then die, Dray Prescot, die!"

  “Grogor!” I said, booming it out in hearty good fellowship. “How grand to see a friendly face again, by the Holy Bones of Genodras!"

  “Gadak...” He goggled at me. “But we all thought you gone to the swifters, dead."

  “To the swifters but not dead. I have been remitted. How is our master, Gafard, the King's Striker? He is well, I trust?"

  “As well as that prince Glycas will let him be. The king is changed—well, it is not for me to prattle on. So you come to serve my lord Gafard again?"

  “My lord Gafard,” I said, realizing I'd forgotten the “my lord” bit, thinking so often of him as Gafard. “Aye. If you will take me to him."

  “He is closeted with the king and Prince Glycas. They plan this afternoon's strike at that accursed city."

  “The siege goes well, I trust?"

  “If you trusted less, Gadak, and opened your Grodno-forsaken eyes, you would see how we fare here. Our bellies rumble."

  I had eaten well of mergem before I'd quit Marigold. This news heartened me. Genod had a large army here, and the way across the Eye of the World from Magdag, and from the nearer Green cities, was long and arduous. With bold sea-rovers like my lad Zeg ranging like sea leem, food would be a problem after they'd eaten the district empty. Logistics play havoc with the calculations of kings.

  I handed Grogor a handful of palines. His eyes widened.

  “How came you by these? They fetch golden oars here."

  “I remember you shot an arrow at a certain saddle-bird, Grogor. I remember you rode to save my Lady of the Stars.” I could not tell him the Lady of the Stars was my daughter Velia. “I think I misjudged you when first we met."

  “Aye. Mayhap I did, also. And I give thanks to Grodno for the palines.” He put one in his mouth and the paline-look passed hedonistically across his plug-ugly face.

  We walked slowly toward Gafard's tent. I had until this afternoon. Rather, I had until the conference ended. I had a plan. It was feeble and must change as events progressed; but as a scheme it ought to be foolproof, given the technology of the inner sea.

  The soldiers busy about the unending duties of swods all carried that pinched look of hunger about them. But, also, they held a new and eager look of conquest. I knew why. Their great king had just arrived, with flying boats. Soon, this very afternoon, they would be wafted over the infernal walls of Zandikar, which had withstood every attempt for so long, and then they could run riot within the city in an orgy of rapine. They were soldiers, simple men, and by the reckoning of men of Zair evil until t
he Last Day and beyond. But to me, a simple sailorman and an equally simple soldier, they were just swods. I would joy to go into action with them against the hated shanks, those devils from over the curve of the world, demons who would give us much trouble in all the lands of the Outer Oceans in the future.

  Wo is Kregish for zero. Swods in their rough, jocular way like to dub themselves wo-Deldars, zero-Deldars. It is an irony.

  Because this army of swods fought for the Green and King Genod I would have to go into battle against them.

  Always I find this unsettling, that one can sing and roister with common soldiers, and find them human beings, and on the next day encounter them in battle and find them transformed into leems. Of course, this holds true for the men of Zairia, and my warriors of Valka and Strombor. As for my Djangs, well, those four-armed demons are fighting-men first and last, and warriors of the hyr Jikai in between.

  A number of the men I had known when I served Gafard came up and we talked and I was seemingly free and open in my conversation, telling them I was glad to be remitted from the galleys—a stupidly obvious statement—and happy to be back with Gafard and my comrades. Presently Grogor said, “The conference is breaking up. The generals and Chuktars ride off. Soon the three leaders will appear. Then we will know."

  As though drawn by a magnet, a crowd of men gathered in a vast ring around the king's tent. When, at last, he stepped out, a great cheer went up. “Magdag! Genod! Genod!"

  I looked at this yetch, this nulsh, this kleesh whom I had been instrumental in bringing into this marvelous world of Kregen. He looked handsome, puffed up with pride, garish in his green and gold. But he was a fighting-man and could use the Genodder, the shortsword he had invented and named, with a skill no other fighting-man of Grodnim could match.

  After him stepped Prince Glycas and Gafard, together, shoulder to shoulder, and it was clear they struggled for precedence. As for this Glycas, I remembered him. He might remember me, for all that it was over fifty years ago I had stayed in his Emerald Eye Palace and avoided his sister, the princess Susheeng. He was unpleasant. I would have short shrift with him.

  As for my lord Gafard, Rog of Guamelga, the King's Striker, Prince of the Central Sea, the Reducer of Zair, Sea Zhantil, Ghittawrer of Genod, and many another resounding title, he was the widower of my daughter Velia, my son-in-law, the hulu, and ripe for mischief.

  I remembered what Duhrra had said, and I, too, felt I would not willingly slay this man Gafard, for all he was a renegade from Zair, bowing down to Grodno, a hated enemy. He was a rogue and a rascal, intensely courageous, a Jikaidast, a man.

  The noise subsided and the dust clouds settled and the king spoke. It was all fustian stuff; but it drove heart into the men and roused them, and gave them enthusiasm. This cramph Genod, who had murdered my daughter, was accounted a genius at war. He told the men Zimuzz had fallen, at which I let rip a few shouts, because that was expected. Now, this very afternoon, he said, we would fly over the accursed walls of Zandikar. Then it would be every man for himself. The city would be given over to the sack.

  They started in a-yelling, “Zamu! Sanurkazz!” and the rast promised them those great cities for the sacking, also.

  Amid frantic scenes of wild enthusiasm the king passed among his men. They even began the great shout of “Hai Jikai!” and this I would not shout. Grogor, too, did not shout. He said, sourly, “Wait until the city is ours before we shout the Hai Jikai."

  “Let us move nearer to my lord Gafard."

  So we forced our way through the throng as the dust rose billowing and the blades flashed in the light of the suns. For the dappled clouds had all passed away and the gloriously mingled, streaming light of the Suns of Scorpio flooded down over that ecstatic scene as a king moved among his army.

  The men were halted at last by a line of blank yellow-faced Chuliks. Their long pigtails were dyed green. They wore mail and they would cut down anyone at the order of their Chuktar. Grogor advanced confidently. The king and his advisers had passed beyond the line of Chulik mercenaries, into a cleared space where a small flier rested. They were talking gravely together, with much nodding of heads and gesticulations.

  Grogor said to the Hikdar in command of the Chulik detail, “Lahal, Hikdar Gachung. I must speak with my lord Gafard. This man is with me."

  “Lahal, Jiktar Grogor. You may pass."

  The Chuliks are usually stiff and formal in military matters.

  As we passed their impressive line and walked toward the group of high dignitaries by the voller, I said to Grogor, “Nothing was said, then, about your shot at the bird? You escaped?"

  “Gafard accepted the loss of his Lady of the Stars. It hurt him. I know that. But the king has the yrium, and the king may do all. My lord Gafard interceded for me, and pleaded I did not know it was the king. There were politics involved.” Grogor's face showed what he thought of politics. “My lord Gafard is sorely tried by Prince Glycas."

  “The king plays one off against the other? This I do not like, for I believe my lord Gafard to be the better man as mergem is better than dilse."

  “Aye."

  “And did my lord Gafard truly reconcile himself to the king, afterward? His lady was dead, and it was the king's doing."

  “I did not see. No one knows how she died. They say you were with the body. But you went to the swifters. I think Glycas had misbehaved himself at the time, and the king inclined toward our lord."

  The king stood with his back to us, talking and waving his hands about in graphic gestures. His voice was mellow and strong and everyone listened intently. Gafard saw Grogor. Then he saw me. His eyes widened. He switched back at once to listening to the king; but I saw his hand grip the hilt of his Ghittawrer blade.

  A fussy aide bustled up and Grogor cut him to size and told him we waited for Gafard with news. The king must be allowed to finish his instructions. We moved off and I heard Genod saying importantly, “I shall fly over the city now and inspect the defenses. The rasts of Zairians will never stand against us, as we descend upon them from the skies. But, by Goyt, I must conserve my army against the assault on Zamu. And there is Sanurkazz after.” He swung his arms violently. “You, Gafard, will accompany me."

  Glycas, stung, said, “I would fly with you, Majister."

  “If you wish, for you may see what has held you up so long."

  Glycas, it was clear, was in King Genod's bad books.

  During the time we waited and looked like gawping onkers at the voller, the continual hum and buzz of a great military camp rose about us. The sense of impending great deeds filled the air with tension. The suns-light smoked more brilliantly in every bright trapping and gem and sword-blade. We all shared the feeling we were gods, treading no mortal path.

  When we heard the sounds indicating that the group was breaking up, Grogor said, “Let us go and see my lord."

  “Yes,” I said, and stumbled and sprawled in the dust.

  Grogor laughed. “Onker.” Then, as I lay there, “You are all right, Gadak? Nothing broken?"

  “My leg,” I said. “By Iangle! It stings like the bite of a lairgodont!"

  “Do not move and I will fetch a needleman."

  As Grogor ran off I felt again that I would stay my hand in battle against him, even though he was renegade, hulu.

  I heard the men on the other side of the voller. The air-boat itself was a roomy craft, with an open central well with seating around the sides. Her hull was wood over wooden formers. She was a simple commercial craft, cheaply produced in Hamal and sold to Genod. The bloods of the sacred quarter of Ruathytu I had known would never give her room in their vollerdromes. Yet her petal shape conveyed enormous powers here in the Eye of the World.

  I stood up when Grogor vanished around her prow, and peeked over the coaming. Gafard was assiduously climbing into the airboat and managing to push Glycas out of the way. The king already stood just aft of the pilot, his back to me.

  Glycas—and how I remembered his evil rast-face!
—said most petulantly, “Let me up, gernu, you rast."

  “Up as high as you like, Prince, cramph,” said Gafard.

  There was no love lost between these two even in semi-privacy. The king did not move. The pilot sat petrified at his controls. He was a Grodnim. I put both my hands on the coaming.

  Men have said I am quick. Well, Djan knows, I have need to be, to stay alive on Kregen.

  With a single heave I went up over the coaming. I heard a distant yell, “Onker! Stand aside from the king's flying boat,” and I knew no guard in the whole army would risk a shot with the king so near. I jumped across the airboat and knocked the king aside. I hit the control levers, hard and full, to send the boat leaping skyward. I heard an abrupt shriek from the side and rear and guessed Glycas had not made it and had fallen back. If he'd broken his neck it would save the hangman a job. King Genod stumbled back, clearly not understanding what was going on. I caught the pilot around the waist and heaved the poor devil over the side. He fell and did not kill himself.

  Then the voller sped up into the bright sky and King Genod, Gafard, the King's Striker, and I faced one another.

  No one drew a weapon.

  The king hauled himself up. He stared at me with the puzzled look of a man finding a cockroach under his salad.

  “You realize you are a dead man?"

  I ignored him.

  “Gafard,” I said. “You know me."

  “Aye.” He half turned to the king. “This is that wild leem Gadak, who was sent to the swifters.” He shook his head. “He must have been remitted, although I did not know."

  “What do you here, dead man?” said Genod.

  I said, “I was not remitted, Gafard. I escaped. Do you remember what passed between us the last time I saw you? In the Zhantil's Lair, when you heard this kleesh had stolen away my Lady of the Stars?"

  Gafard sucked in his breath. The king's hand hovered over the hilt of his Genodder. That hilt blazed with gems. The blade would be the finest the smithies of Magdag could produce.

  “I—I do not fully remember. But the king has the yrium. Surrender yourself to his mercy. We must return to the ground."