The Nonborn King (14 page)

The tumulus, when Yosh found it, was the size of a large circus tent and overgrown with brush. It looked utterly deserted there in the stormy night, isolated on a wind-swept heath perhaps half a kilometer from the strait. The rain had quit for the moment. Tom bits of wrack scudded across the sky like squadrons of witches. Along the southwestern horizon was a pearly glow that silhouetted low coastal hills. That tantalizing light behind the headland came from Goriah, Aiken Drum's new headquarters, now the de facto capital of the Many-Colored Land. With a human operant ruling the old Tanu kingdom, it was going to be a whole new ball game in the Pliocene Exile.

"And I can hardly wait to play!" Yosh told patient Kiku.

He'd make a more impressive entrance arriving al Goriah in daylight, anyhow. Kiku would be fresh and sporting the handsome garniture that he'd made. They'd tow a gaudy stack of hawk kites right up to the city gates to catch people's attention. Then he'd ride into Goriah dressed to the nines in his gorgeous Muromachi Period samurai armor, with his sword at present-arms. He'd offer that sword of. hand-wrought iron to Lord Aiken-Lugonn. And at last Yoshimitsu Watanabe would no longer be a ronin, a masterless wave-man adrift on the sea of life. He'd be a goshozamurai, an imperial warrior!

Briefly, Yosh wondered what his twenty-second-century colleagues at Rocky Mountain Robotics back in good old Denver, Colorado, would say if they could see him in that hour of glory.

Reality brought him back to Pliocene Earth. His laminated armor was heavy and leaked like a sieve. His belly flapped empty against his spine. Poor Kiku was reduced to mouthing a scraggly broom bush.

Where could the damn tavern be? He rode around the hiltock, shining his solar-battery torch into depressions and shrubbery. All he found was a little standing stone, thin and about half a meter high, with a black ideograph painted on it. As he leaned from the saddle, studying this, he heard distant coarse laughter and music.

Coming from inside the hill, ?

"Hello!" he shouted.

The congenial sounds melted into the whistling wind.

"Is anybody in there? Is this Malachee's Toot? Uh, Kippy Greenteeth sent me!"

There was a grating rumble and the chaliko shied back. A rectangle outlined in dim yellow light, measuring nearly three meters high and somewhat less in width, appeared on the slope before him. The earth sank to reveal a sizable tunnel lit with flaming wall cressets. Passageways led off right and left. Al the far end was a big wooden door with two peepholes like crimson eyes, from behind which came muffled noises of inebriate laughter, singing, clinks and smashes, and other indications of rampant conviviality

"You stand there all night, Lowlife, or come in?" A Firvulag adolescent, hunched and slightly spotty, but wearing a superior smile, beckoned Yosh forward As the war nor followed the exotic youth into the righthand passage, the entrance to the hollow hill sealed behind him Keeping his panic in check (as well as Kiku, who had gone skittish in this novel environment), Yosh rode into a dry earthen chamber where all manner of bales, sealed jars, filled sacks, and oddments of domestic equipment were lying about

The stripling slouched against a barrel, picking at an inflamed blackhead on his nose with one grubby fingernail He indicated a space along one wall where straw covered the floor

"You put animal there Tie to ring in wall Roots to eat in sacks You do feeding, grooming Chalikos no like me " He giggled and a shadow of sinister fehnity distorted his features Kiku snorted and showed the whites of her eyes

Yosh dismounted As he tended to the animal's needs, he felt the gaze of the exotic seeming to bore into the backplate of his corselet, where the great curved nodachi was still strapped

The boy's halting English was truculent "You leave bloodmetal sword here In storeroom "

Yosh didn't look at him He continued to rub down Kiku with a handful of straw "No I keep my weapons and my armor with me And in the morning, I check to be sure that none of the gear I stashed out here has been misplaced I'd really be cut up if any of my things got lost, "

In a split second he whirled about, the sword chopping down in a lightning laijutsu motion to stop just short of the stunned Firvulag's forehead

", and you might be cut up, too. kid If you fuck around with my chaliko Understand?"

"Maia-cAee1" the youth screeched

Yosh was using the sword innocently to slice open a sack of roots when the dwarfish exotic innkeeper came bustling in

"Now, now' What's this commotion, Nuckalam, my lad?

THE PosTDruJvruM ??

A new arrival? Welcome, human fnend'" Malachee's face was plump and rosy His pointed ears protruded from a crown of silky white hair He had sleeves rolled to the elbow, very clean hands, and wore a bibbed leather apron Giving the sword a brief glance, he winked at Yosh "Of course you may keep your weapon with you. sir But sheathed at all times, please No demonstrations of martial art are allowed in Malachee's Toot "

The boy Nuckalam, his face broken out in ugly white fearpatches in addition to the original spots, curled his lip with forced bravado

"He say he cut me up with blood metal' Sonabitchmg Lowlife'"

Malachee hoisted a reproachful eyebrow at Yosh

"A misunderstanding "The wamor beamed suavely at Malachee, ignoring the epithets that the Firvulag youth mumbled in his own tongue After his sword was cased on his back again, he took two silver slugs from his uchi-bukuro and held them out to the innkeeper "Permit me to pay in advance as a measure of good faith Your good brother-in-law recommended your establishment highly "

Malachee twinkled, took the money, and led the way to the public room As the wooden door swung open, Yosh had an impression of pulsing ruddy light, tumultuous noise, a smell of roasting meat and spilled beer, and a press of exotic merrymakers who ranged in size from apple-cheeked manikins carousing underfoot to chandelier-grazing ogres Not one of the Firvulag wore an illusory aspect, as was the almost invariable custom of the race when having commerce with humankind Yosh was interested to see that in spite of the size variance, none of these Firvulag were physically deformed, like the mutant Howlers, nor were they meanly dressed The medium-sized individuals, had they been attired in twenty-second-century garb, would have passed unnoticed in a typical barroom crowd on Elder Earth

Malachee had to shout above the din "Right this way to a nice table' You can sit with two compatriots of yours'"

The decor of the public room featured polished gnarled roots, slabs of ornamental minerals, massive supporting timbers embellished with gargoyle carvings, and ingenious use of fungoid motifs. As Yosh followed his host through the throng, Firvulag patrons drew away with wary expressions. Some scowled and muttered. For all the royal decrees, detente was obviously still a fragile thing.

In the hazy glare at the other end of the room a gigantic tosspot was flailing his arms in the air like a demented windmill. He sang out a single imploring word in a surprisingly rich baritone:

"Vaaf-na!"

The rest of the company chorused: "Vafna! Vafna!"

Yosh felt himself being pushed down onto one of the mushroom-shaped wooden stools at a wall table. Malachee yelled in his ear. "Enjoy the entertainment! I'll have your supper sent out! The two bits includes all you want to eat and drink! You'll share your sleeping room with these travelers, here! Thanks for coming!"

The deep red light was brightening to orange at the far side of the room. Yosh cast an appraising glance at the two humans seated with him. One was a strapping youngster with a peachfuzz beard, wearing shabby fringed buckskins. The shy smile with which he welcomed Yosh hinted at a childish simplicity. The other man was considerably older. His threadbare blouse and torn cape were of the type worn by gray trooper noncomsHe had a stubbled underthrust jaw, greasy hair falling over eyes slitted in hostility, and the coiled-spring demeanor of an incorrigible hard case.

"Hey, guy," the young man exclaimed to Yosh. "That's a hell of a bonzo outfit! And didn't those spooks give you room] Shooo!" He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial rasp. "Is that a sword on your back? Hey, is it iron?"

"Yes," said Yosh.

The hard case glowered above the rim of his beer mug. "You some kinda Mongolian, slaunch-eyes?"

"Japanese extraction," said Yosh equably. "North American native."

"Man, are we ever glad to meet up with you!" said the youth. "All's we got's between us is a bronze pig-tickler and a vitredur skinning knife. I's sure we'd get massacreed in our bed tonight, y'know? Shooo! But with your iron, we'll rate respect'. Hey, I'm Sunny Jim Quigley, and this here's Vilkas. Who you be?"

"My name is Watanabe." Yosh's reply was almost drowned out by the reiterated musical howl of the big Firvulag.

"Vaaaaf-naV

"Vafna! Vafna! Vafna! Vafna!" chanted the other patrons. They thumped beakers, knife handles, and fists on the tablesUnseen drummers took up the beat. There was an abrupt hiss, a poof, and a flash. The tavern rocked with cheers.

A pianolike instrument struck up a strong bass figure and five little Firvulag women came prancing coltishly into the area of fiery radiance. They sang teasing challenges in the exotic language, and the male tavemgoers responded in mellow harmony. The damsels wore full skirts reminiscent of bucolic Mitteleuropa. Their headpieces, bodices, and the cuffs of their scarlet boots were lavishly adorned with gemstones that gave off hypnotic glints, filling the room with whirling tiny lights as the dancers circled to accelerating tempo.

Yosh strained to see clearly in the red murk. Those women! Were they really, ?

The singing grew wilder. The dancers' challenge and the response of the Firvulag men blended into a rapport of almost palpable eroticism- One short musical phrase, almost shouted by the spectators, cued the women to leap one by one into the air. As they rose, their costumes vanished like smoke and it seemed that smooth-skinned nymphs with blazing hair writhed inside an inferno of hot colors. Percussion instruments clashed and rang and the mixed voices reached a hammering crescendo. And then the incandescent bodies were consumed. The sound fell away, lost in languor, melancholy as the fall of bright ashes The light cooled- A different female form materialized, solitary and rarefied, her breasts and thighs scarved in flowing vapor- She sang a brief lyric of heart-stopping purity and sadness. When the last note died, so did the auroral light.

There was silence. Then every exotic in the place leaped up to utter a final deafening "Vafna?"

"My God," said Yosh.

Drops of sweat trickled down the youth's brow. "Shooo!"

The rough-hewn bareneck named Vilkas emptied his mug, slammed it onto the table, and blasphemed the Tanu Goddess. "Gave you a nice little buzz, didn'ey? Real tum-on, right? Well, enjoy it, suckers, and eat your hearts out. 'Cause that all you're gonna get. All any of this peg-up lot'll get." He swept his arm wide to indicate the mob of bleary-eyed, grinning habitues, slowly emerging from the dance's spell. "Damn Firvulag bitches! They only do it by remote control till their menfolk marry 'em. And us humans're on the wrong frequency, so we don't get none, and they know we can never force 'em because of the goddam teeth. So the spook cunts laugh at us! They know we got hardly any Lowlife women."

"Teeth?" said Yosh blankly. "I never got close enough to a Firvulag female to look one in the mouth. What's special about their teeth?"

Sunny Jim looked away, abashed.

Vilkas gave a bark of mirthless laughter. "Not regular teeth, slaunch-eyes." He glared meaningfully at Yosh for a moment, then whispered, "Other teeth. Down there,"

"Ah." The ronin smiled coolly. "I can see how that would cramp your style. You don't look like the type to ask politely. Or get many offers of free samples."

A serving lad materialized at Yosh's elbow and began to unload a tray. There was a platter of big broiled ribs coaled with pungent sauce, a bowl of something smelling like oyster stew, a loaf of purple-tinted bread, and an enormous tankard of beer. As a final touch the waiter set down a saucer filled with tiny mushrooms, the caps scarlet with white flecks.

Yosh reached out- "What's this? The appetizer?"

A hairy hand clamped his wrist- "Go easy on those hoobies, slaunch-eyes- Firvulag get high on 'em, but they'll send a human to hell faster 'n' methyl alcohol." Vilkas released his grip with insolent slowness. "Unless cheap fungo trips are your style." He scowled at the waiter. "More beer, dammit!"

THE POSTD[LLIV[UM

81

Sunny Jim ventured a conciliatory smile. "Aw, Vilkas. Hey' Why'n'cha stash that crap?" His eyes appealed to Yosh. "Vilkas don't mean nothin'. He's just a li'l squiffed from too much spook beer. Past month's been mighty rough on him. He was in Burask when the Howlers tore the town to pieces, and before that, "

"Shut up, Jim," said Vilkas. His beer arrived and he downed a liter without pausing for breath.

Yosh regarded Vilkas without passion. "Kampai!" he toasted, taking a swallow of the brew- "Ah, Burask. I missed the festivities, worse luck. But a week or so afterward I did meet up with a party of Tanu fleeing the city." He began to spoon up the oyster slew. It was fit for the Galactic Gourmet.

Jim's eyes bugged. "Holy blue shit, guy! What happened?"

"Theiroffensive mind-powers were weak. I decapitated two. The others fled. Unfortunately, the golden torcs of the vanquished were damaged by my sword. But I did acquire a fine chaliko for my efforts."

"Lucky bastard," muttered Vilkas through the suds. "Lucky slaunch-eyed friggerty bastard. You wanna know what my luck's been?"

Jim interrupted what was evidently a familiar tirade. "And now you're on your way to Goriah, are you?" At Yosh's nod, he exclaimed, "Hey! So are we! When the word come that this human who wants to be king was passin' out gold collars, why, I like to busied my butt hittin' the trail outa the home swamp! And ol' Vilkas ... well, he didn't need that much persuadin' to come along after Burask."

"And Finiah before that!" shouted the man who wore the blouse of a gray trooper. "I escaped the soddin' Lowlives after they barenecked me, but the Tanu at Burask treated me like a traitor! Never have any luck. Not here, not back 'n the Milieu. Lithuanians just born stone losers. Wouldn' even give us our own planet! Hell, even fuckin' Albanians got a planet, but not us. Y'know what the highass Concilium toid us Lithuanians? 'Go colonize a Cosmop world!' Said we di'n have nuff ethnic dynamism, fchrissake. So we could go share a planet with a lot of lousy Letts and Costa Ricans and Sikkimese'" He choked down the last of his beer and slumped forward, head on the stained tableboards. "Bloody Yanks got twelve planets. Bloody Japs got nine. But nothin' for the poor Lithuanians." He began to sob.