Omens of Kregen Read online

  “As you wish. They had a daughter, did they not—?”

  “Please, Naghan. By Vox! I do not wish to talk about little Sassy. No, Never!”

  The Abstemious was not entirely blind.

  “If I have offended you, Nath Javed, then I apologize. I bear you only well. And — you stubborn onker — if you will not appeal to the emperor, what more can I do?”

  “Remember, you are a Deldar and command ten men or more, and I am a swod in the ranks.”

  “May the light of Opaz shine upon you, Nath Javed, and the keenness of sword and the cunning hand of Vox ever defend you from your foes.”

  “Opaz go with you, Naghan. You have my gratitude.”

  Riding his hired preysany under the light of the Moons of Kregen, Naghan the Abstemious, as he said afterward, felt strongly the mystery surrounding old Hack ’n’ Slay’s fall from grace. Whatever had caused him to steal the money, or borrow it, wrought significantly upon him.

  Still, there seemed nothing to be done. The world would roll around and the twin suns, Zim and Genodras, would rise in the eastern sky on the morrow, and life would continue.

  Perhaps there was no great mystery after all.

  Poor old Hack ’n’ Slay, there did not seem much of life left to him. So Deldar Naghan the Abstemious rode soberly back to Vondium pondering the vicissitudes of fate and the wayward turns a fellow’s life took before they shipped him off to the Ice Floes of Sicce.

  Chapter two

  The Empress and Emperor of Vallia Dance

  The marriage between Marion and Nango was celebrated with great pomp and magnificence in Falkerium, the capital city of the kovnate province of Falkerdrin. As promised, the emperor danced at Marion’s wedding.

  Marion Frastel, the Stromni of Huvadu, found herself in a delicate situation. Huvadu was a province right up in the northeast corner of Vallia, and was currently in the hands of the usurping and self-titled King of North Vallia.

  Because of this she was low on funds. Her brand new husband, Strom Nango ham Hofnar, owned estates in the Black Hills of Hamal. He was, it was generally believed, a wealthy man. Hamal, the most powerful empire in the southern continent of Havilfar, had for very many seasons been in bitter conflict not just with the Empire of Vallia but with just about every country the Hamalese airfleets could reach.

  The two had met out there in adventurous circumstances by the Mountains of the West, and had fallen in love.

  Strom Nango, it was also generally believed, was financing Marion. Certainly, the splendor of the wedding brought a sparkle to life, made folk realize there was more to living than fighting and wars and sudden death.

  That thought must have been in Marion’s mind as she looked up at her husband. She was a short lady, and Nango overtopped her by a head and he was not one of your tall fellows.

  “We do not have long, my heart. The army marches for the north so soon—” he began.

  They stood by a silken-draped pillar in the dancing hall of the palace where the wedding guests laughed and chattered, danced and drank, indulging in themselves the joy they knew the happy couple were experiencing.

  Marion stared up fiercely.

  “And you do not think I will let you go off by yourself, Nango?”

  “Your regiment of Jikai Vuvushis is committed to the emperor.”

  “He will release me, I feel sure, in order to go up and reclaim my lands. Think of it, Nango! To have Huvadu back again!”

  “Splendid, of course. You have never visited the Black Hills? No. They can be very lovely at certain seasons.”

  “And we will visit them. After all, if we can find a good reliable airboat we can visit where we like when we like.”

  “I shall buy the best voller in all Hamal, Marion.”

  She stood on tiptoe in her golden high-heeled shoes to kiss him. Laughing, flushed, they kissed and then — after a pleasant period — parted. Nango picked up a crystal goblet from the side table and handed it to his bride.

  She half-turned to take it, smiling, lifting it to her lips. Her gaze passed beyond her new husband’s shoulder.

  “Oh!” she said. And, then: “Here is the emperor now, Nango, dear. I shall ask him directly.”

  She and Nango stepped aside as they turned to face. She inclined her head just a trifle, as was proper in these surroundings, and Nango, who had the nonsense of slavish inclining and scraping knocked out of him in Vallia, gave a polite nod.

  “Majister. Isn’t it all wonderful?”

  “It is all wonderful, Marion. You and Strom Nango have put on a splendid affair. And now you are skulking in corners, kissing. I claim the dance you promised me.” At that moment Strom Nango bowed again.

  A charming voice, by Vox! the most charming and delicious voice in two worlds, said: “And I, my dear Strom Nango, claim my dance with you.”

  “Majestrix.”

  The Empress of Vallia looked radiant. Well, of course, by Zair, whenever did the Empress Delia not look radiant? Superbly dressed in a sheer gown of a color tending to lavender, with just two small pieces of jewelry, her hair a shining marvel, she was simply gorgeous — aye, and cunningly devious with it, too. With very little exaggeration it is true to say that there are regiments and whole armies ready to fight and die for the empress Delia. And, because she is Delia, this distresses her.

  Nango was dressed in a slight variation on his usual Hamalese kit, which here in Vallia looked exotically strange. He wore gray trousers and a white shirt, over which the green cape on its golden cords did not strike a jarring note. He wore nothing of blue.

  He and Delia swung off onto the floor. The music soared up, a pleasant rhythmic tune, and Marion held out her arms.

  Marion was an accomplished dancer, and glided smoothly along. But, being Marion, she could not refrain from saying: “I am glad that no unfortunate occurrences have taken place at my wedding. I did feel for poor Ling-Li.”

  Two points were of note here: one, that that confounded and double-damned Witch of Loh, Csitra, and her ripe-for-hanging hermaphrodite child, Phunik, had indeed not sent through their sorcerous arts some vile plague upon us. They’d deluged thousands of rats upon the wedding of Khe-Hi-Bjanching and Ling-Li-Lwingling.

  The second point of note was that those two were puissant Sorcerers themselves, a Wizard and a Witch of Loh, and ordinary folk always spoke very warily about them. They were good comrades and welcome in Vallia and Marion had grown a little used to them.

  She went on in her way to make the casual and unthinking remarks that struck in cruelly. Csitra visited these plagues upon Vallia, and her Pronouncement of the Nine Unspeakable Curses against Vallia was directed against just one person’s willpower and resolve.

  “We have seen some remarkable sorceries,” chattered on Marion, dancing along with the music. “I do hope that awful Csitra witch falls down and breaks her neck.”

  “There is the King of North Vallia first—”

  “The armies of Vallia gather against that one. He is doomed. Everyone knows that.”

  “Oh yes, everyone knows that. They also know there will be hard fighting before he is finished. And, after that, there is Drak and Silda to be married and proclaimed Emperor and Empress of Vallia.”

  She did not quite stop dancing; but her rhythm faltered.

  “And you would really and truly, majister, do that?”

  “Of course. I have sworn it.”

  “It will be a marvel in the world. And I wonder what the dear empress has to say?”

  This was impertinence on the grand scale. It didn’t matter. In the old days these remarks of Marion’s might well have caused the removal of her head from her shoulders. Still, she was a likable soul, and, much like another grand lady I had known, always meant well.

  “The moment my lad Drak and his bride Silda are married and on the throne, I shall be off. I can promise you, Marion, that if the witch Csitra’s neck is not broken in a fall, then I shall most probably break it myself.”

  “Yes,” sh
e said, following around in a neat double-step of rhythmic grace, “yes, you will need all the armies to go up against Csitra.”

  “Oh, yes,” I told her most solemnly. “All the armies.”

  “And my regiment of Jikai Vuvushis, who serve you most loyally, majister, will go too.”

  “As to that,” I said, whirling her around and depositing her safely on her feet and into the arms of Nango, “we shall see.”

  Delia said: “A splendid wedding, Marion. And Nango dances almost as well as a Vallian.” She laughed as she spoke; but there was truth in the remark. Vallians are a happy lot, singing and dancing far more than the Hamalese.

  Nango held his new bride, and laughed at the sally. I glanced at him and felt he was not affecting amusement. We’d make a good Vallian of him yet!

  “All the same, Delia,” I said. “I am a Vallian by adoption, so that—”

  She took my arm and whispered in my ear.

  “Only one little yellow sun. Only one silver moon. And no diffs, only people like us!”

  Without a word I seized her and whirled off into the next dance. What Marion and Nango thought I didn’t care. If they were a tenth as happy as Delia and I — when the damned Star Lords allowed us that freedom — they’d be more lucky than any ordinary humans beings could expect in two worlds.

  As followed in any respectable function in Vallia, it was not long before the singing began.

  As this was a wedding, we tended to sing more of the sentimental ballads; but as there were many soldiers and fliers here some of the old rip-roarers were bellowed out as well.

  We sent the newly weds off in fine style, and managed to make Marion break down into a fit of the giggles, which was a good augury for the future.

  After that a little group of us got into a corner around a table loaded with flagons and glasses and plates of palines and other fruits, and we sat, drinking and talking amicably long into the night.

  These times of comradeship remain always warm and heartening memories. Zair knew, I welcomed and relished these moments among friends. They are, as anyone with an ounce of wisdom knows, precious in lives filled with the bustle and clamor of the day.

  Nath Famphreon, the new kov of Falkerdrin, had given us the run of his palace. Now he sat drinking with us, a young man and still learning; but, by Krun, he had learned a very great deal in the very recent past.

  Nath na Kochwold, the commander of the entire Phalanx Force, an upright man and a good comrade, wanted to straighten out the arrangements of locations for the various Phalanxes and Kerchuris.

  Kapt Erndor was there, grim and yet far more at ease than heretofore. He would be taking the bulk of Turko’s Ninth Army north. Turko, of course, the Kov of Falinur, would have to return to his kovnate and carry on sorting out affairs there.[1]

  There were others around that table and sprawled on the sofas, some you have met before in my narrative and others who so far still have not found a mention.

  Together in friendship we were good comrades all.

  Despite my long seasons on Kregen, four hundred light-years from Earth, I still found myself blinking at the amazing contortions folk like Korero the Shield could perform. Mind you, he did have four arms and a tail equipped with a powerful grasping hand. He rode ever at my back in battle. Now he used any of his five hands. In this I knew I was in error; he was a Kildoi, and they, like Pachaks and Djangs, who have more than an apim’s miserable allocation of only two arms, are mighty strict about which particular hand is used for which particular purpose.

  Now Marion and Nango had gone, Turko could say outright what was in more than one of our minds without offending the happy pair.

  “Y’know, Dray, it’s a great pity good old Seg was not with us today. He’s a fellow for a good wedding.”

  “Aye, Turko. And Inch, also.”

  “The truth of the matter is,” said Nath Famphreon, “and I speak as a newcomer to your circle — Marion was really only concerned that the emperor was here, with the empress.”

  Sharp, the new Kov of Falkerdrin. He was right, though, no doubt of it. Seg with his wife Milsi had gone across to Balkan where Seg was the new High Kov. In this he had my blessing, for Balkan was a rich province that traditionally kept out of politics. The place would give him immense wealth and a secure base. I so much valued my true blade comrade Seg Segutorio that I joyed for him in this turn of good fortune.

  “I trust Seg will take the reins into his own hands without trouble,” said Delia.

  “Sink me!” I burst out. “If anyone gives Seg Segutorio any trouble I feel sorry for the poor benighted idiots.”

  “True, my love, true.”

  We talked then in general terms about the condition of Vallia and in detail of the problems we faced. The island empire was now all but re-united. Once that was successfully accomplished Drak and Silda could take over, leaving Delia and me free to follow our own wishes for a change.

  Kapt Erndor leaned forward and said: “The troops are in good heart, praise Opaz. The 30th Division is due in tomorrow from Vondium. They flew up.”

  “What,” said Turko in mock surprise. “You mean to say Lord Farris actually spared some of his precious aerial fleet? Marvels and wonders will never cease.”

  “With this last campaign, kov,” said Erndor, “we are much better off for air than we’ve ever been.”

  “We’ll need all the fliers we can get over those damned mountains.”

  “What is the mettle of the 30th?” Nath Famphreon wanted to know.

  “Raw,” said Erndor. “They are commanded by Strom Chuktar Enar Thandon. A cold fish. Still, they have one good regiment, the 11th Churgurs commanded by old Hack ’n’ Slay.”

  At that moment my attention was distracted by what appeared to be a column of heated air rising from the opposite corner where the marble floor, of tiles in brilliant yellows and greens, supported an enormous jar of Pandahem ware. The flowers growing there perfumed the air most pleasantly.

  Delia said, sharply: “There!”

  Before any of us could react, the column of air thickened and coalesced and turned into the figure of a man.

  For a tense moment we all stared. Then we relaxed.

  That figure with its long plain robe, its massive turban about to topple in confusion over one ear, the wise, commanding and yet endearing face, told us this was an old comrade.

  “Deb-Lu,” said Delia. “So you came to the wedding at last. Welcome.”

  “I have already spoken to Marion and Strom Nango. That is not the purpose of my visit to you.”

  At once my nerves quivered alert. When Deb-Lu-Quienyin, a most powerful and puissant Wizard of Loh, used his kharrna to pay calls through the occult other dimensions, things tended to happen.

  He moved forward and, as was often the case, the lighting where he was — and that could be anywhere at all, by Krun — illuminated and shadowed his face and figure differently from the way the lights and shades fell in Nath Famphreon’s palace.

  “Lem the Silver Leem,” he began.

  I surged upright, all the blood rushing to my head. My rapier was half drawn before I was aware.

  “Dray,” Deb-Lu said, commandingly. “Rest easy. There is nothing for you to do—”

  “Nothing to do! There will only be nothing left to do when all the stinking adherents of Lem the Silver Abomination are destroyed and forgotten!”

  “Quite so,” cut in Delia. “And suppose, Dray, we allow Deb-Lu to tell us the news? Before you burst a blood vessel.”

  “Very well, my love,” said I, most meekly.

  “The news is soon told.” Deb-Lu made an ineffective gesture to push his turban straight. “A temple was reported in Vondium—”

  “By the Black Chunkrah!” I was incensed. “The foul blight tries to fester in Vondium the Proud itself!”

  Delia put a hand on my arm. I put my fingers on hers, and, as ever, felt — well, never mind that. The Wizard of Loh went on speaking, taking my outburst in his stride. But we all k
new the vileness of the creed of Lem the Silver Leem. Its devotees practiced the torture, mutilation and murder of young girl children. They carried out their grisly rites in order to gain preferment within their horrendous cult and glory in the sight of Lem.

  “Joldo Nat-Su, the city prefect, was informed. He did what was necessary—”

  “Burned the obscene lot to the ground,” rumbled Turko.

  “Aye, Turko. Joldo did that. There were very few survivors from the temple. The business was done and was seen to be done and is now over with.”

  “But,” I said in a voice of granite.

  “Indeed, Dray, but. We believe there are other temples. The blight was brought in with the mercenaries and has kept well underground.”

  “Damned mercenaries. I shall return to Vondium at once—”

  Delia squeezed my arm; she did not speak.

  It was left to Deb-Lu to say: “Hardly wise, Dray. You are about to finalize the reunification of all Vallia. No further temples have been discovered so far, and when they are they will be dealt with. I merely informed you to keep you abreast of a situation I know to be of great concern to you.”

  “Too damn right it’s of great concern.”

  Delia put her finger on the nub of the problem. She said crisply: “What news of the witch, Csitra, Deb-Lu?”

  “Ah,” said old Deb-Lu in his most infuriatingly wise way. “At least someone has a head upon their shoulders up there in Falkerdrin.”

  Turko laughed at this, and the company appreciated the justice of the remark. Quite clearly, if I went roaring back to Vondium, the capital city, to sort out the Lemmites, I would be seen and Csitra would by this time have inserted another of her agents, duped tools, to spy on me.

  Then she would send another of her plagues within the ghastly scheme of the Nine Curses against Vallia.

  Csitra only used a sending of horror to places where I was and where I was known to be. She suffered from the serious delusion that I could be persuaded to care for her, as she lusted after me, through cajoling force.

  The most serious aspect of the situation was that folk tended to blame me for all the horrors that descended upon their heads. Well, by Krun, and they were perfectly right. If I succumbed to the witch, the plagues would go away.