Rebel of Antares (22 page)

Jaezila was shouting up at Hardur, fierce, like a tigress: “I love that man! If you harm him I will surely kill you!”

“But he is a spy for Hamal! He knows our secrets!”

Lildra screamed, “He is a hyr-paktun and he rescued me and he cannot be the emperor! But — but I do not want him killed, whatever he may have done!”

Nath shouted, “Klanak the Tresh vouches for him—”

“He can be deceived.” Hardur boomed out. “I say kill him now, out of hand, as you put your foot upon a filthy rast that infests a dunghill.”

I bellowed across, “You’d get a mucky foot, then, Hardur!”

And Jaezila laughed.

By Zair! If she was not my daughter, how I longed for her to be Lela!

Using his height and lungpower, Hardur bartered away at his central point — killing me with all dispatch — in an attempt to convince Princess Lildra. He was a loyal man, if a trifle prone to blustering pigheadedness, and even in his passionate anger he saw he could not just top me in defiance of Lildra’s wishes.

The wrangling went on, brute force against sentiment, common sense against sentimentality. If you catch a spy, you have to do what he expects will be done — sometimes. Nath was in a quandary, for he quite liked me and had had word from Orlan; yet my detractors were violent and persuasive. If the argument broke down the middle and it was party against party, we had the outnumbering of them, true. I did not think Hardur Mortiljid was a man to worry over that.

In the uproar and excitement I felt a soft touch on my arm, twisted up around the pillar. I said nothing. A voice whispered. “Make no sign. The Princess Majestrix bids me free you. I still wonder if I should have clawed you before you jumped down the trap.”

My bonds fell away at the back and were held up so that while I was free the ropes would not betray me. Barely moving my mouth, I said, “My thanks, Valona. Would you believe I had thought you were my daughter?”

A soft amused snort, and: “You are a splendid paktun, no doubt. But an emperor? Ha! No one has seen me and they will not see me go. Give me four heartbeats to get clear or we will land the Princess Majestrix in trouble. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Valona had crept from the shadows at the back, unseen. If I betrayed her by leaping free now, Jaezila would also be suspect. Perhaps they would turn on her.
Was
she Lela? And these were Hyrklese. Perhaps, they would think, this whole affair was a plot on the part of Hamal. It was very likely.

A fleeting succession of shapes passed before the rosily golden face of She of the Veils. For a small moment the moon silhouetted a group of flyers, winging down. Then they winged swiftly on. I looked toward the arguing crowds. Soon the tinder would light and they’d turn ugly. Time to depart. I would go with great regret. I own to a fondness for my own skin; I hungered to talk to Jaezila again, and to satisfy myself she was my daughter, as I was in no doubt I could convince her I was her father, given the time denied us so far. But if I yielded to that almost overpowering temptation, then my fondness for my skin would be set at naught; they’d chop me, for sure.

Valona had placed the severed ends of the bonds in my hands and I held them taut. When I cast them away and leaped from the pillar I would be seen at once. The hue and cry would begin. Maybe I would not depart. Running away was foreign to the nature of the Dray Prescot who had adventured over the face of Kregen, even if it was tending to feature more and more with the Dray Prescot who, in these latter days, shouldered the burdens of empire. By the stinking left nostril of Makki-Grodno! I damned well wouldn’t run away! I knew what I’d do, and by Zim-Zair, I’d do it quick!

I threw the ropes away and belted like a hellhound for the arguing group around Jaezila. I could convince her — I would convince her. If she was not my daughter, if she was a Hamalese spy, then we were both done for. I cast aside all doubt. Jaezila was Lela, and both our lives hung on the truth of that.

Instantly I was seen. The hullabaloo started, with yells that the mad paktun was trying to assassinate Lildra, murder the Princess Majestrix, disembowel Hardur and decapitate Nath. I pelted on. Someone hurled a javelin and the stux flew past. On I raced, dodging and ducking, leaping idiots who tried to fling themselves at me. I ran with my hands empty and open, arms up, trying to indicate that, being unarmed, I could not hurt anyone.

Any Krozair of Zy, any Khamorro, would know the lie inherent in that, but it was all I could do.

“Jak!” yelled Jaezila.

“Jak!” screamed Lildra.

“You’re running the wrong way!” Jaezila started at me, yelling, and I could see she was choked with laughter. By Krun! What a girl!

Hardur Mortiljid whipped out his sword. Like him, it was big. He rushed. His first swing was designed to part me along the middle and I swerved and hit him on the nose — I had to jump — and hurdled over his falling form. Then I was up to Lildra, who looked distraught, and Jaezila, who looked ready for a fight.

“If you are Lela,” I shouted, “as I truly believe, then I have things to tell you that will show you I am—”

“Your back!”

I dodged and the javelin whistled past.

“Don’t stand jibber-jabbering, you great fambly! Run for it!”

“I’m not in the habit of running — well, only recently—”

Nath stood back, eyeing me, and his chiefs were suddenly holding back the mobs, bellowing with authority at them. Hardur staggered up with his nose streaming blood black in the moonlight.

“Slay him, you rasts! Strike him down!”

“He is unarmed, Hardur!” roared Nath. “Let the Princess Majestrix hear him out!”

“My thanks, Nath—”

“He may fool her. He will not deceive me!” And Hardur launched himself headlong.

The breathing space I had gained would be gone if Hardur were allowed to overpower them again. I reached up and back and, bending forward, ripped my longsword free. The superb brand gleamed in the light of the moons. I spread my fists on the grip and faced Hardur. He did not check but came on in a gusty rushing charge, yelling a wild whoop, his sword swinging.

“Leave him to me!” bellowed the Mortiljid.

The first blows were delivered with skill and strength, but the Krozair brand deflected them with ease and I leaned to the side and twisted my hands over and so laid the flat against Hardur Mortiljid’s head. He fell down.

For an instant a complete silence enveloped the mobs. Into that silence the massed beat of wings brought a rushing note of urgency. Saddle birds landed in flurries of wing-feathers, sending up the dust. Agile men leaped from the saddles. A voice shouted.

“Now what tomfoolery are you up to, father? What’s he playing at
now,
Lela, for the sweet sake of Zair?”

And my lad Jaidur strode forward, very wroth, to confront me.

Chapter seventeen

The Rebellion Falters

We rode hard for Huringa in a jingling, determined cavalcade, with a screen of aerial cavalry winging ahead. We were the Revolution. On our banners glowed the light of coming victory. With us rode Princess Lildra, who would be Queen Lildra. On we rode, confident, bursting with pride, and if we were vainglorious there seemed every reason for that fatuous state.

You cannot have everything in life. Useless to think that wishing will make it so. Everyday reality doesn’t work like that. Wish fulfillment does happen, of course — after a deal of damned hard work and luck and the ability to ride with the punches or to come to terms with emotional situations you thought impossible. As for power fantasies, they are for the crippled, and as most of us are crippled in one way or another, ought to be put to a responsible therapeutic use.

Jaezila was Lela.

That was the wonder.

Jaidur, being my raffish, feckless young tearaway of a son, was here in Hyrklana stirring up as much trouble as he could for Hamal. Unable to buy fliers, he had had a hand in the burning of a few of the factories. And he knew somewhat of Spikatur Hunting Sword.

The news he brought from home reassured me. Delia and my comrades had returned to Vallia successfully after the storm that had separated me, and the empress’s wishes had sufficed to prevent that hairy swarm of rogues from attempting to devastate Hyrklana and all points south. As for Lela, she had a tale to tell. As we rode toward Huringa through the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio, I learned much of my daughter. The odd thing was — and not so odd, when I thought about it — I tended to think of her as Jaezila rather more than as Lela. She had tried to buy airboats in the Dawn Lands of Havilfar, and had not succeeded there. With Prince Tyfar of Hamal as cover, she had tried again here in Hyrklana. As to her true regard for that honorable prince, I asked her, and she told me, and I said, “Then when all this nonsense is over, we will have such a splendid wedding as Hamal and Vallia have never before witnessed.”

“That presupposes he will have me.”

“Tyfar is no fool.”

“Is that an answer?”

“Yes, daughter, it is.”

“And love?”

I laughed. Laughing was easy with Jaezila, as it was with Delia, her mother. “If I have never seen love in a man before, I have seen it in Tyfar when he looks at you.”

She turned her head away as we rode along, with the rebellion riding along with us. So I went on, “And, talking of love, you have perhaps noticed what is afoot between your brother Jaidur and Princess Lildra?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“It pleases me, as I hope it pleases you.”

I nodded. Some people in their modern sophistication deny any such force as Mother Nature. They may be right. Here, whatever the force, be it Mother Nature or anything else, the lightnings had struck, the looks had been exchanged, the understandings given and taken. The speed had been breathtaking. Jaidur and Lildra had met and talked, and that was that. It seems I was in for two weddings, when all this nonsense was over.

As a man, I felt lively affection and sympathy. As a father, I felt concern and hope for the future and desire for happiness. And as a cynical old emperor, I looked at the political aspects, and found they could be worse, could be far worse, by Vox!

So we rode toward the capital city and gained a little strength day by day and heard the rumors and came upon the realities. Had those diabolical Shanks attacked in southern Hyrklana when we marched, it would have been our duty to march with the army of Hyrklana and all the mercenaries, and fling the damned Shtarkins back into the sea from whence they came. But they had retired, sailing away in their phenomenally fast ships, and the soldiers turned their attention to the rebellion.

We did not fare well.

On the day after a nasty skirmish when we had to run for it, Hardur Mortiljid breathed heavily, nursing a wounded arm. He said he had forgiven me for clouting him over the head, and I chose to believe him, and saw that I did not turn by back, just in case. Now he flung himself down by the campfire and seized up a stoup.

“We cannot break through,” he grumped, and drank, and spat. “They are too strong for us.”

Lildra looked unhappy. Whether she objected to his manners or his opinion was beside the point. “But,” she said, and her voice faltered, “the rebellion? We must win!”

“What with? We have not enough real soldiers, and the mercenaries are well-paid and ferocious. How do we fight through?”

Lildra looked across at Jaezila. She was frowning.

“The problem is difficult. Fahia is as cunning as a leem.”

“We need more men.” Nath the Retributor walked across, looking worried. It seemed that all our high hopes had been crushed.

Much of this dismal feeling had been lost on me, wrapped up in the magic of finding my daughter. We spent hours just talking, finding our way to this new relationship, and all the time joyously aware of our friendship that had grown through the times we had spent together and the dangers we had faced. So we had to make an effort to adjust to the grim reality of the rebellion’s lack of progress.

A few — not many but enough, damn ’em! — of the lords and ladies who had flocked to Princess Lildra’s standards departed. Those who remained looked worried. The suggestion was bruited that we should contact Orlan Mahmud nal Yrmcelt, for messengers had failed to reach us for the past sennight or so, and find out the true situation and what to plan for the future. This was the euphemism for saying, “Whether or not we will continue the rebellion.” In the end, I, Jaezila, Jaidur and a small party agreed to venture into Huringa to see Orlan. It would be perilous, and Lildra clung to Jaidur before she would let him go.

I said, “You don’t have to come, Jaezila—”

She laughed and that was that. But all the same, I now realized that adventuring with my blade comrade Jaezila was to be even more fraught with anxiety for me. If that is a selfish way of putting it, so be it. I understood rather more of what was entailed than previously. I confess I didn’t much care for the idea of my daughter swaggering off into danger swishing her rapier about, magnificent in her leathers and black boots.

But they would, they would, all of them...

And I would be the last person on Kregen to be able to deny them, for they were people as was I, and they did what they wanted to do.

We took the fluttrells and flew into Huringa. The saddle birds with the big ridiculous head vanes are sturdy and willing if not of the highest quality of saddle-flyers of Paz, and soon we circled over the next-but-one villa along from Orlan’s. We spied out the land, and seeing no obvious signs of danger, flew in for a landing in a clump of woods in the gardens. Vad Noran’s villa had been extensive, with his very own arena; Orlan’s was even larger, and without an arena, although he had practice rings, glittering with swept and raked sand under the suns.

The first question of importance anyone asked about Huringa was whether or not the games were on. As we landed we could hear the roar from the Jikhorkdun. The games were, indeed, on.

It had rained earlier but now the skies were clear and the suns burned down as we walked cautiously up to the villa. We had a lord with us who was known to Orlan’s servants, and we were assured we could gain an audience without trouble. The place bore the quiet, bored appearance all parts and all peoples of Huringa wore when they were not involved with the games. Our party walked on swiftly under shady trees and along graveled paths to a wicket gate where a dozing Moltingur guard had no time to argue before he was struck down. I said, “Do not slay him, for he may be loyal to Orlan.”