A Life for Kregen (8 page)

“That I was, strom.” Renko, still disoriented, took a grip on remembered pride.

I nodded. “Are the clothes of the dead Relt available?”

They were not. They had been burned.

“Tell me of the men who attacked you.”

Renko screwed his leathery face up. He wanted to rub his nose, I could see; but the chains stopped that.

“I saw three of them, strom. But there must have been another one at my back who hit me after I stuck the bastard in front. By Vox, but the whiptail was quick, and I’d have had him, too, but for that crack on my noodle.”

I said, sharply: “A Kataki?”

“That’s what I said, strom.”

He’d said whiptail; but that was the slang term for a Kataki, a nasty member of a nasty race of diffs, slavers, with fierce brow-beating faces, and intemperate dispositions and with long sinuous tails to which they strapped six inches of bladed steel. There were Katakis on Kregen who had no other aim in life but to degut me. The ambition was reciprocated.

“Anything else? Clothes, faces, weapons—?”

“Rapiers, strom, but they kept them scabbarded. They hit me with what felt like the Lenk of Vox. The whiptail had a favor of black and green feathers clipped by a golden grascent — I think, strom, for I was taken by surprise.”

For a space a silence fell. Then, to give Barty the due he deserved, he was the one to burst out: “By Vox! Under the Gate of Voxyri — when I came running up — this Renko the Murais speaks the truth. I’ll swear it!”

“Aye,” said Nath. “The devil’s work spreads itself.”

After that we prosecuted further inquiries and a garbled story came out that made me itch with worry and with frustration. It seemed clear that the Relt stylor was bringing in a message and had been waylaid and slain and the message stolen. But from whom had the message been sent? The minions of Phu-Si-Yantong had heard of it, and we had not, and they had struck. There was no question now in anyone’s mind that Renko the Murais was not guilty. His chains were ordered struck off at once. He expanded after that, and a cup of wine further restored him. But he could add nothing further to the story, being engaged in eking out a living scrounging scraps from the ruins, as so many were. Now there was a happy outcome to the adventure, we could feel thankful he had stumbled on the corpse of the stylor. Although, frustratingly, we knew no more than that there had been a message from someone.

“Anyway, majister — what made you—?” asked Barty.

“The blood. There was no blood on the cut straps. Had Renko stabbed him in the back, that would have been the beginning of the murder — or the end of the Relt — and then he’d have cut the satchel free. No blood meant a clean knife had been used.” I smiled — I, Dray Prescot, smiled — across at Barty. “Anyway, Renko is an axeman. He wouldn’t have stabbed with such a heavy knife. He’d have sliced the Relt’s throat out.”

“Yes,” said Barty.

“And where stands Jando ti Faleravensmot in this?” demanded Nath.

“His judgments have always been impeccable,” offered Enevon, shuffling his papers together. I rather think, as my chief stylor, he had been put out at the murder of a brother in his craft, and was pleased that at least some truth had been revealed.

A stir at the back of the chamber announced the arrival of Tabshur the Talens and the sibling who had won the inheritance, a lean fellow in an apron called Naghan the Tallow. They both looked as guilty as hell. But that must not be allowed to weigh against them. Somehow — and in this I do not boast but rather feel a sense of deflation and defeat — the news that the Emperor of Vallia himself had sent for them and was to look again at their stories, had unnerved them. And, in the case of Tabshur, at least, he was a hard-case, cunning and vicious in his extortions. Naghan the Tallow had been a mere tool in his hands, credulous and willing to be led into infamy.

They broke down and confessed. I think the jingle of chains as the Pachak guard waited added to their misery.

And then Tabshur said: “I paid Tyr Jando twenty golden talens for his judgment. The Fristle fifis was the case he chose. You cannot trust anyone these evil days.”

In that he was right — or almost right. There are people I trust on Kregen. Not many; but they do exist.

As you will hear, there were some I should not have trusted, for betrayal touches high and low alike, friend and foe, and is indeed a foul stink over life.

I said: “Nath. Do you dispatch a guard to request Tyr Jando ti Faleravensmot to return to Vondium. There are questions to which he must give the answers. Oh — and tell the guard commander to make sure the cistern does not spoil any more flour.”

“Quidang, majister!” barked Nath, and turned to one of the Pachak Jiktars.

There was no particular cleverness in the investigations we had made leading to the establishment of Renko’s innocence. Had the questions been asked at the trial the outcome would surely have been different from what it had been. And people had made certain that Renko had been found guilty. He told us that he had been given no opportunity to speak then.

Another important detail had to be settled.

“Make further investigations into the Fristle fifis. The villain or villains must be brought to justice. Setting the innocent free is a half of the matter.”

“Quidang, majister!”

Justice of a sort had been done here. That was cause for partial satisfaction. Jando ti Faleravensmot would have to answer for his conduct. Tabshur the Talens had paid Tyr Jando twenty gold pieces.

I wondered how much the minions of Phu-Si-Yantong had paid him.

Chapter Six

Yellow Sun, Silver Moon

When you live on a world as wild and ferocious as Kregen, for all its beauty and splendor, missions of mercy such as rescuing girls in distress or marching to the relief of a besieged city are a natural order of life, given the way of the world. Although I would not go so far as to claim they are of the same order as worrying about the overdraft, or the state of the automobile, or the parlous conditions of employment or where the next meal is coming from on this Earth, the parallels are clear and ominous.

One has to do what one can against the strokes of Fate and, really, that is all there is to it.

We all worked in those days as our plans matured. The crumbling walls of the city occasioned a great deal of worry, and much effort was expended in rebuilding the fortifications. Over the sennights, what began as rumors hardened into facts. Unpalatable facts. Spies and scouts brought in sure word that a host marched on Vondium from the southwest.

All that wedge of Vallia remained locked in mystery since the victories there of the minions of Phu-Si-Yantong. His insane ambition to rule all Paz had received a set-back in the island, and he was set, with or without the help of the Empress of Hamal, on imposing his will on us all.

So we labored and set our house in order and sharpened our weapons.

With the new threat from the southwest there could be no thoughts of our marching north. The Racters and Layco Jhansi would still fight each other, no doubt, and the reverberations of that conflict would be felt in Inch’s Black Mountains and in Delia’s Blue Mountains. East of them across the Great River we held the land. There was, again, no thought of a westerly expansion for the time being.

The imperial provinces around Vondium were now almost wholly in our hands, pockets and enclaves still being held by insurgents and reiving bands of aragorn, slavers. There remained also a number of roving gangs of flutsmen, mercenaries of the skies, who flew their great winged saddle animals in raiding descents wherever they sensed the pickings were easy. Strong detachments of the army had to be posted not only on the borders of the imperial provinces, but in strategic loci from whence they could march out forthwith against the threat wherever it might be found.

The whole island presented a patchwork of warring factions. How we were to bring peace to the whole land exercised our minds wonderfully.

And if you comment that the peace we brought merely represented the rule of me, Dray Prescot, well, then — yes, I suppose you are right. But I had fought that battle with myself and now my course having been set by the acclamation of the people, I could not in honor draw back. And I still devoutly believed that, blood or no blood, Vallia would prosper far more sweetly with my people to handle affairs than under the iron heel of Yantong or ripped apart by bandits and mercenaries and flutsmen who simply reived for their own benefit and no others.

As for Hamal — the Empress Thyllis would have to withdraw her iron legions, and see to her own internal problems. One day, and the quicker the sooner, by Zair, we would shake hands with the Hamalese in friendship. Until that time they were our bitter foes.

And Pandahem — well, the various countries of that island would have to serve as a friendly bridge to Hamal.

After Hamal the rest of the massive southern continent of Havilfar would ally together against our common enemies.

And there was Segesthes, and Turismond, and Loh...

All Paz must stand shoulder to shoulder against the Shanks who raided and destroyed, sailing up over the curve of the world.

By Opaz! It was a task to daunt the stoutest heart. With all this mighty clangor of distant ambitions reverberating in our minds we were forced to deal with the here and now, the relatively minuscule problems of an army marching against our city.

As the reports came in we understood that the problem was by no means minuscule. Given our resources, the odds against us were gigantic.

Mind you, the Star Lords might suddenly decide they had a sticky problem somewhere on Kregen they wished sorted out for them. Then I would find myself hoisted up out of Vondium whirled by the gigantic blue semblance of a Scorpion, thrust down all naked to get on with the job. So, as was my custom, as I planned and directed, I molded men and women to handle the tasks that must be undertaken should I not be there. And, as always, they could not understand.

Only Delia grasped what I was doing, and sorrowed for it.

To the end of leaving everything in as apple pie an order as might be contrived should I be suddenly whisked away I looked carefully at the commanders available to us.

Nath — whose name of Nazabhan came as a courtesy from his father, who was a Nazab, an imperial appointment as governor of a province and equivalent to a kov — resolutely insisted that he wished to continue in command of the Phalanx. He put great store by that cutting instrument of war. I tried to make him see reason on both counts. But he would not leave the Phalanx command, and he would not allow that the Phalanx could be bested by infantry — as for cavalry, they were just a laugh.

Against aerial attack strong forces of archers were incorporated, and the artillery park was built up.

All Vondium and the imperial provinces surrounding the capital city resembled a gigantic beehive, humming with activity. What cheered me most was the demeanor of the people. Almost without exception they were cheerful, sprightly, utterly confident in themselves, their new army and their emperor. Feeling like a cheat and a fraud, and with profound doubts about the new army, but with pleased awareness of the new spirit of the citizens, I sorted out the folk to take over should the necessity arise. This is mere common-sense insurance when your name is Dray Prescot and you are Emperor of Vallia, and the Star Lords remain unsatisfied.

Messages carried swiftly by one of the few fast airboats we possessed assured me that the Lord Farris, the Kov of Vomansoir, prospered in his newly-restored kovnate. His people accepted him back with a warm welcome because he had been associated with Jak the Drang and was remembered and well-liked as a fair, just and generous man.

The airboat which brought him flying swiftly into Vondium bore the gray and yellow of Vomansoir. Alert, active, bronzed, he jumped down and saluted Delia and me as we waited to greet him.

“Lahal and Lahal,” he called, smiling, brisk and yet with that sureness of purpose about him that marked him as a man who knew what was what and got on with it. “Majister — it is good to see you again. Majestrix, my eternal loyalty.”

I wasted no time but spelled it out, right there and then, as we walked into the shambles of the palace to find refreshment.

“But, majister! Why should you go away again? Now all Vallia awaits your victorious arms.”

“You will have Nath to handle the Phalanx — and if we persevere with him I think he will take on a larger command of the army. Barty Vessler will be of help — he is a fine if headstrong aide-de-camp — more than that, really — and there is Enevon to handle all the finicky details of daily administration.”

“But—”

“There are pallans appointed to all the departments of government and they can function autonomously with only an occasional eye.” We told him of the sad business of Tyr Jando ti Faleravensmot, and of how he had hanged himself rather than return to Vondium. That meant another possible lead to the Wizard of Loh who sought to destroy us had been lost.

“But—”

“You will have Laka Pa-Re to run the mercenaries for you. He is a fine example of the best of the Pachaks. He remained after the nikobi was discharged and I have promoted him Chuktar. You may repose complete confidence in him. And there is Naghan Strandar, and Larghos the Left-Handed, and there are all those ruffianly companions of the choice band. Only if I am called away, Lord Farris, will your services be needed in this. I ask it as a favor.”

“But, majister — your sons. Prince Drak, Prince Jaidur—”

He knew that Zeg was away somewhere and had heard us refer to him as the King of Zandikar.

“Drak is off in Faol looking for Kardo and Melow, and Jaidur — well—” I cocked an eye at Delia and she smiled, both radiantly and ruefully.

“The last I heard of that rapscallion son of ours he was seeking the whereabouts of his sister.”

My ears pricked up at this. These women and their infernal secret societies are one thing; but now they had inveigled a brash fighting man in the person of Jaidur into their schemes. I saw that, and quickly enough, if you please.