Warlord of Antares (6 page)

We went off to the table where Nath and Loriman were stuffing their faces.

The women gathered around to eat and drink, and a weird-looking crew they were.

We elicited their stories, which were sad and cruel and painfully familiar.

Kidnapped, they’d been brought to the maze and employed on menial tasks, abused and ill-treated, seeing their only escape in death.

“So we shall have to take them all along with us.” Seg braced himself up. “Well, if we have to, we have to. By the Veiled Froyvil, we can do it!”

Nath nodded in agreement.

Now people speak of your complete soldier very often as a man or woman who thinks, lives and talks only of soldiering. There are such unhappy wights about, on Earth as on Kregen. They are not complete human beings, that seems clear. They have their uses. A fellow takes up soldiering because he has to, there being no alternative at the time. As soon as he can, he finishes with it.

My misfortune on Kregen had been that circumstances dictated that my life and soldiering had been intimately intertwined for a long time, a damn long time, too long a damned time, by Krun.

So Nath, a Vallian, was in my eyes a complete soldier who understood far more than simple soldiering.

Loriman chewed and swallowed and said: “I agree the women must be saved, if that is possible. But they will be an encumbrance when we face Csitra.”

“Ah,” said Seg.

“What, Horkandur, does that ‘ah’ mean?”

A noble very much used to having his own way, this Kov Loriman. As a kov, the Kregan rank approximating an earthly Duke, he did not have to be too careful in considering other people’s finer feelings. He’d arrived at the conclusion that Seg and I were not to be treated in quite the offhand and unthinking way he handled other people. This understanding, being new to him, clashed with his natural instincts. He intended to go and find Csitra the Witch of Loh and exact revenge. He couldn’t quite comprehend that we did not share that desire.

“It means,” said Seg, “there are other shafts in the air.”

“Explain yourself!”

I caught Seg’s eye, and he smiled that damned mocking smile of his, and nodded, as much as to say: “Righto, my old dom, you have a go at this onker.”

I faced up to the Hunting Kov.

“Listen, Loriman, and listen good. You need to exact revenge upon Csitra. I, also, have suffered at her hands, as has Seg, as have many of our friends.”

Loriman tried to interrupt, as much in anger at my tone as what I was saying. I brushed him aside and went on in that hard, intemperate bash-on way of Dray Prescot.

“Csitra can be contained. Her evil was mostly the result of her forced alliance with Phu-Si-Yantong, a most unsavory character whom you might have known as the Hyr Notor. Well, he is dead and well stuffed down on the Ice Floes of Sicce. Yantong and Csitra’s child, Phunik, attempted to carry on the evil work of his father, and now he, too, is dead, blown away in the Quern of Gramarye. The witch has been severely punished already.”

“But not enough—”

“Any revenge in the matter of the Lady Hebe is strictly up to you, Loriman. I tell you now in all seriousness that Csitra’s power is insufficient to create further mischief. Her occult meddling can be countered by superior kharrna. This is true, Loriman, believe me as you believe in the Great and Glorious Pandrite.”

His left fist was gripping and ungripping upon the hilt of his scabbarded sword. His lips twisted. He could see in my face that old demonic look, and he didn’t like it at all. But he listened.

“From the grouping of continents and islands over on the other side of the world of Kregen come the Shanks. Fish-heads. They burn and slay and spare none, apart from a few wights they keep as slaves who’d be better off dead. These are the foes we here in Paz must confront.”

“I know of the Shkanes, the Shtarkins. They are all evil, as the Shanks are evil. We will fight them, yes. But before that I will cut down this Csitra, Witch of Loh or no damned Witch of Loh. And that is also true, believe me!”

His words hung on the close air of that chamber, echoing and ringing. I just hoped our Wizards of Loh were able to continue their occult caul of protection over us.

Nath the Impenitent broke the spell.

In his gruff way he rasped out: “At least I shall be spared the task of dragging the Hunting Kov about by the collar.”

Seg laughed, as amused as I by the contrast.

As though the casual use of the names of powerful sorcerers summoned up their opposites, the phantasmal form of Deb-Lu shimmered against the wall. His newish turban toppled dangerously over one ear, his kindly face was marked by intense concentration. His robes, as always, looked as though he’d been pulled through a hedge backward. But his power was undeniable.

He beckoned.

“That,” said Seg, “is the way out.”

“Aye.”

Kov Loriman the Hunter wanted to continue the argument; but with the Wizard of Loh to act as our guide out of the Coup Blag, we had no wish to hang about further. With the women straggling along before and aft, we set off to follow Deb-Lu. Loriman’s face resembled black thunder.

“Very well, then, run! As for me — there is a task set to my hands within this evil place.”

Chapter six

Concerns a Star of Death

The Hunting Kov acted on his own words without a heartbeat’s hesitation.

His bulk shouldered the women aside. One tumbled to her knees, hair falling forward, her cry lost in the general hubbub. Loriman charged back, returning the way we had traversed.

The women cowered out of his way, distressed, not understanding as he barged past like a runaway chunkrah.

At the last he turned to look back.

His face, always hard and arrogant, held now a flushed look of triumph. There was in that fanatical expression an expressive wealth of dedication. Slave to his ideals of hunting, Kov Loriman had now been consumed utterly by them.

He visualized in Csitra the Witch the ultimate quarry.

The dust of the corridors, the rank smell of the women, the feeling of pressure of millions of tons of rock pressing in all about us, added as it were a tonal palette to the emotions flooding Kov Loriman.

He shook his sword aloft.

“By Hito the Hunter! She shall not survive me, that I swear by Pandrite the All-Glorious!” He slashed his sword down. “
Hai, Jikai!
”

He swung about, the light glanced once upon the metal of his harness, and he was gone.

Seg laughed. “By the Veiled Froyvil, my old dom! I’m swamped to know if I’m sorry or glad to see the back of the fellow!”

“Oh,” I said with a nonchalance I did not feel. “We’ll see old Loriman again, never fret.”

Nath the Impenitent sniffed. He had an arm about the waist of one of the more comely of the ladies. “I give him the chance of a hot cinder in the Ice Floes of Sicce if he goes up against the Witch. By Vox, she’ll devour him whole!”

“Let us press on, doms,” I said. I did not say to Nath that with the occult caul of protection afforded by our friendly Wizards of Loh, Loriman shouldn’t come to too much harm. That is, if the caul had been extended to encompass him in its magical embrace.

I trusted Deb-Lu had done that. I needed Loriman for a key part in my schemes.

The decision had been long in coming, and hard in the taking. But, come it had and taken it I had — now all that remained was to implement it.

“Come along,” I said in a tone of voice that made Seg favor me with a quizzical look. I knew I sounded far too casually light-hearted for this grim situation; but the decision, once taken, set that part of my worries free. And good old Seg would buckle down to his part in the scheme, that I knew, after he’d had a good old moan.

The girls set up a screaming just then and surged back on us in a frightened mob. There was a splendid display of thrashing arms and legs, of half-naked bodies tumbling one over the other, of faces screaming in fresh fear. The smells became near overpowering.

The fellow who caused all this stood like a gnarled tree, legs wide apart, black and golden armor — all shiny leather and dull metal and golden studs and rivets — relieved by a dramatically flung-back scarlet cape. His helmet held a skull-crest and surmounted a face of compressed ferocity, of down-drooping mustaches, of serrated sharpened teeth, of veinous-crimson eyes, of nostril slits pulsating like the underbelly of a fish.

Harsh and compelling without a morsel of humanity remaining in him after a lifetime of bloodshed, this Kanzai Warrior Brother was no figment of sorcerous imagination.

The Kanzai take in recruits from any suitable race although it is said they favor Chuliks and Khibils and Laceroti, and train these acolytes into adepts and Warrior Brothers. After that the world of Kregen is their oyster.

We were not overly bothered with them in Vallia, for the old emperor’s grandfather had cleared them out in a wholesale rubbish-clearance that was now the subject of many songs and stories. Pandahem had its share of Kanzai Brothers.

This fellow carried a thraxter and a shortsword scabbarded at his waist above the skirts of the laminated armor. He appeared to have no missile weapons, and this appearance was deceptive. He carried no bow; he had other nasty objects he could hurl with neck-slicing speed.

The Kanzai despised shields.

Now, from its scabbard he drew a chunkscreetz and this swordbreaker was more like a Japanese Sai than a European swordbreaker. Of strong iron, with two curved quillons designed to trap and snap an opponent’s blade, the swordbreaker was a weapon that had to be taken into account.

He moved with precise control, each movement taking a segment of time between periods of absolute stillness.

The length of chain he swung from a pouch made Seg draw in a quick breath. At one end of the chain swung a three-bladed knife, and the other a three-tined grappling hook. The thing was a Kregen adaptation of the Japanese Kyotetsu-shoge. The Kawa-naga, as an improvised weapon, varied subtly. I shared Seg’s distrust of these cripplers.

The links of chain spun about his head. His thin lips widened in a smile of invitation. He did not boast, for that is not the way of the Kanzai.

Nath blurted out: “I’ll settle his hash—”

“Stay, Nath. Maybe we can talk to this Kanzai Brother rather than fight him.”

“As soon hold back the River of Golden Smiles with your bare hands.”

The dulled metal chain links went whirr-whirr-whirr in a circle before the adept. He swung the chain in a bewildering series of patterns, of figures of eight and loops and cunning underhand passes. He went through what was clearly a training discipline. It was impressive, I’ll say that, by Krun.

That Seg stood with his bow ready for instant action was a situation so normal as not to warrant comment.

I called across: “I do not wish to slay you, Kanzai. There has been too much blood shed here already. I would ask you to allow us and these poor women to pass.”

The girls had quieted down to a low moan here and there and a muffled sob. They were resigning themselves to what was about to happen and not much caring for that.

You can’t take your eyes off a woman of Kregen when her blood is up and she smarts for revenge.

A swooping streaking line of silver struck from an outflung arm and hand straight for the heart of the Kanzai.

Before the girl had time to drop down, her knife slashed in to meet the slanted swordbreaker and bounce and chingle into a harmless arc and clang against the stone of the floor.

“Very pretty,” said Nath, on a breath.

The girl’s hair moved like a pit of snakes as she flung herself forward. Her flung knife had failed; now she would try her other weapons on this Kanzai adept.

The iron swordbreaker had flicked a bare hand’s breadth to deflect the girl’s knife. As the girl screeched and hurled herself at the Kanzai, I found myself wondering if he could thus easily deflect one of Seg’s Lohvian arrows.

I shouted in an evil voice: “Do not slay her, Kanzai, or you are a dead man.”

Whether or not he took notice of my braggart words I couldn’t be sure; in any event he merely tapped the girl on the head and stretched her in slumber on the floor of the chamber.

The chain resumed its whirring menace around his head.

“He is challenging us, that is certain sure.” Nath the Impenitent puffed his cheeks. “Insolent cramph.”

If we hadn’t had these confounded caterwauling women along, the situation would have been amusingly comical. As it was, our first duty now was to see the women safe.

Some of them were perfectly capable of looking after themselves in most situations they’d encounter on Kregen. This particular fate had just proved too much for them.

“We must push on,” I said. “We don’t have time to shilly-shally about down here now. There is a lot to do.”

“I suppose I shall have to shaft him, then.”

Seg didn’t sound happy at the prospect. Like me, he is a fellow well past the time when blood-shedding held any attractions.

Nath said: “He’s mighty clever with that chunkscreetz.”

For reply Seg merely flexed those marvelous archer’s shoulders of his and lifted the bow.

The Kanzai erupted like a tent in a gale.

The swordbreaker vanished into its scabbard. The whirling iron links clattered to stillness. His right hand raked into a cunningly-opened pocket and whipped out with a silver glint of metal between the brown fingers.

The Star of Death whirring like a woodchuck drew a line of destruction from the Kanzai’s hand to — my actions were controlled by a force outside of myself. I stepped up and the Krozair brand twitched before Seg. The glittering Star of Death and the superb longsword met and rang like a carillon of best silver bells from Vandayha.

The little star-shaped horror spun away, spinning, hit the ground and then, oddly, ran along like a child’s toy.

The Kanzai remained perfectly still. Seg did not loose.

For those few heartbeats we remained still, like a posed group in a museum. The chains remained silent and unstirring. Another Star of Death showed in the fingers of the Kanzai. This time he held it aloft, twirling it.