“You who call yourself Dak! You do not address a Krozair with fitting respect. Do you not know the Krozairs are the only salvation of Zair? Only we can save you. You have been deserting and have been taken up. You will all hang.”
My men started yelling at this, and then a Krozair Brother, an experienced fighter, stepped forward and spoke privately to Zeg. I had searched each Krozair face and knew none of them. Had one been present in the Hall of Judgment in Zy then I would have had a pretty dance before I won free. But none had. They had all been out aroving the inner sea, fighting-Krozairs. This Red Brother spoke to Zeg and Zeg turned to me and had the grace to say, “I understand you command in Zandikar, and that King Zinna is dead.” And then — and I swear Zeg was a Krozair first, last, and all the time — I saw the abrupt and brutal horror flower in his face.
Before he could agonize too long, I said, “Miam is safe. She is the queen of Zandikar. I am about her business. Cast off your
Golden Chavonth
and pull up to her. Tell her you saw me and that all goes well — if I can get free of a pack of chattering Krozairs and go fight Magdaggians.”
Some of the Krozairs let rip gasps of outraged horror at this. But time
was
running on. If I didn’t do what I intended to do pretty quick it would be too late to save Zandikar. Although even if the city went up in flames I would still do as I intended.
“You speak with a big mouth, Dak.”
“Pur Zeg.” I said the word and savored it. One day he would tell me how he had achieved the coveted “Z.” If we both lived, that was. “I must go. For the sweet sake of Zair, clear your ship from my bows. Do you want the city to fall?”
He glared; but already men were pushing the swifters free. I shouted a few short, harsh commands, for the seamen of
Golden Chavonth
handled out little
Marigold
as though she were a mighty three-banked zhantiller instead of a little chavinter.
“I came straight here as soon as I heard the city was besieged. The Dikar was open; but I think you will find it closed by Green swifters by now.”
“Thank you for the warning. Now pull into Zandikar and bid them carry out my instructions faithfully. They are to concentrate in the strong places and resist. You know your brother Drak flies here with an aerial armada?”
His face lit up. Well, that might be brotherly love. It could merely be a warrior’s joy that reinforcements were on the way.
“I will pardon your uncouth manners, fambly, for that great news. But, the next time we meet, I warn you. Keep a civil tongue in your head lest you lose it.”
I said, “Do you mean the head or the tongue or both? Did you not receive proper tuition in Kregish?”
Before he could react, for although he was very quick I think his old father still held an edge there, I bellowed off forward and my oarsmen settled at their looms. There were no longer sixty of them, alas, and I turned from the forecastle and roared back, “are you sailing with us or not? Your swifter has her oars out. If you do not use them in a moment or two we’ll be on our way.”
The Krozairs jumped up onto the bulwarks and ran along the oars and thence along their own oars to their ship. I guessed they were fuming. But Zeg might still suspect our motives and he would wish to be with Miam and where the fighting was to be expected. What he would say when he saw Vax intrigued me.
He shouted a last baleful warning as the ships parted company. “Do not forget what I have promised you, Dak, when you return — if you return.” The words spit into the overclouded sky. “You have the word of a Krozair.”
He had looked resplendent — superb, brilliant — striding down the blood-soaked deck among the corpses, his weapons agleam, his helmet flaunting the brave scarlet feathers, his white surcoat with the coruscating device of the Krzy. He was my son. And all we could do was shout threats at each other. So, and to the vast surprise of my men, I bellowed back mildly. “I’ll be back. And mind you keep Zandikar safe for Queen Miam — Krozair.”
All the same, as we glided on and at last and thankfully plunged into the concealment of the rushes, I reflected that he had been overly mild for a Krozair. I know I have a daunting way with me; but Zeg was of that stamp of young men fanatical about their beliefs. That was clear. I had heard it spoken and had joyed in it. He had gone to the sacred Isle of Zy at a very young age, soon after I had disappeared when he’d been three. He had not had the earlier and wider education of Drak. He was obsessed with his Krozair vows, the Disciplines, the mysticism. The Krozairs had molded him completely — or so I had thought. And yet . . . ?
The uproar in that open reach of water might easily bring inquisitive Magdaggian swifters. I fancied Zeg would dispose of them smartly enough, and he had taken the swifter we had captured, manned by her ex-oar-slaves. As for us, we ghosted on and soon were able to turn and so make a landing on the mainland.
Here I had to be extraordinarily nasty to Duhrra and the others.
“No, you pack of famblies! I can get through — I hope. But you would all be taken up. Why, you’d start a-yelling Zair at any moment. This is Green work.” And I wrapped about myself the green cloth that I had brought and changed my Red helmet for a captured one sporting green feathers. “See?”
Duhrra said, “I was renegade, also, Gadak.”
“Gadak, is it? That proves nothing. I go alone.”
“Gadak” was the Grodnim name given to me by Gafard when I’d pretended to become a renegade. Duhrra had never got along with “Guhrra.” As for the others— “Take great care on your way back. And tell that fam — tell that Zeg to fight like a Valkan.”
Even if they did not fully understand, they would pass the message. Zeg was known to be a prince of Vallia, Zeg of Valka.
I did not wait for them to shove off but sprinted for the nearest cover. I did not even look back. The land here rose from the Dikars, with their ribbons of shining water, and trended upward and then leveled off. I passed through ruined gregarian groves, and through kools of land where the wheat had been cut down and used by damned Grodnims. Soon the camp appeared ahead, rows of tents, with lines of tethered sectrixes, lines of hebras, the artillery park where a few varters were being repaired. One or two fluttrells flew in the sky and so I walked with a brisk military gait, not running and not slouching. If anyone questioned me, I was a scout returning with information.
The park where the vollers had touched down lay over the other side of the camp. This was the main siege camp; there were others on the other flanks of the city walls. It should be mentioned here that I carried an arsenal of weapons, with reason. I had buckled on the Ghittawrer blade, the device removed. I had belted on a Genodder, the Grodnim shortsword, above that, to the right. The great Krozair blade hung down my back, and the green cape hid the hilt. Also I carried the Lohvian longbow and a quiver of arrows. I might not use all of these weapons; I felt it certain I would use some.
When I add that the old seaman’s knife snugged over my right hip, those of you who have followed my story so far will know that was a habitual fashion with me.
At the center and in a cleared space lofted the ornate green and white tent of the king. I walked through the alleyways between the surrounding tents. Gafard’s tent would be nearby. No airboats lifted into the sky, so I was in time. I let out a long breath and stepped past the last tent. Guards ringed the king’s abode and tethered hebras waited patiently. The rast was in conference, then. He had slipped up, the cramph.
I put my foot down to stalk arrogantly on and a voice said, “Why, by Grotal the Reducer! Gadak! Gadak, as I live and breathe!”
I turned. Grogor, Gafard’s second in command, stood there, hands on hips, his face astounded, gaping at me.
“Then die, Dray Prescot, die!”
“Grogor!” I said, booming it out in hearty good fellowship. “How grand to see a friendly face again, by the Holy Bones of Genodras!”
“Gadak . . .” He goggled at me. “But we all thought you gone to the swifters, dead.”
“To the swifters but not dead. I have been remitted. How is our master, Gafard, the King’s Striker? He is well, I trust?”
“As well as that prince Glycas will let him be. The king is changed — well, it is not for me to prattle on. So you come to serve my lord Gafard again?”
“My lord Gafard,” I said, realizing I’d forgotten the “my lord” bit, thinking so often of him as Gafard. “Aye. If you will take me to him.”
“He is closeted with the king and Prince Glycas. They plan this afternoon’s strike at that accursed city.”
“The siege goes well, I trust?”
“If you trusted less, Gadak, and opened your Grodno-forsaken eyes, you would see how we fare here. Our bellies rumble.”
I had eaten well of mergem before I’d quit
Marigold.
This news heartened me. Genod had a large army here, and the way across the Eye of the World from Magdag, and from the nearer Green cities, was long and arduous. With bold sea-rovers like my lad Zeg ranging like sea leem, food would be a problem after they’d eaten the district empty. Logistics play havoc with the calculations of kings.
I handed Grogor a handful of palines. His eyes widened.
“How came you by these? They fetch golden oars here.”
“I remember you shot an arrow at a certain saddle-bird, Grogor. I remember you rode to save my Lady of the Stars.” I could not tell him the Lady of the Stars was my daughter Velia. “I think I misjudged you when first we met.”
“Aye. Mayhap I did, also. And I give thanks to Grodno for the palines.” He put one in his mouth and the paline-look passed hedonistically across his plug-ugly face.
We walked slowly toward Gafard’s tent. I had until this afternoon. Rather, I had until the conference ended. I had a plan. It was feeble and must change as events progressed; but as a scheme it ought to be foolproof, given the technology of the inner sea.
The soldiers busy about the unending duties of swods all carried that pinched look of hunger about them. But, also, they held a new and eager look of conquest. I knew why. Their great king had just arrived, with flying boats. Soon, this very afternoon, they would be wafted over the infernal walls of Zandikar, which had withstood every attempt for so long, and then they could run riot within the city in an orgy of rapine. They were soldiers, simple men, and by the reckoning of men of Zair evil until the Last Day and beyond. But to me, a simple sailorman and an equally simple soldier, they were just swods. I would joy to go into action with them against the hated shanks, those devils from over the curve of the world, demons who would give us much trouble in all the lands of the Outer Oceans in the future.
Wo
is Kregish for zero. Swods in their rough, jocular way like to dub themselves wo-Deldars, zero-Deldars. It is an irony.
Because this army of swods fought for the Green and King Genod I would have to go into battle against them.
Always I find this unsettling, that one can sing and roister with common soldiers, and find them human beings, and on the next day encounter them in battle and find them transformed into leems. Of course, this holds true for the men of Zairia, and my warriors of Valka and Strombor. As for my Djangs, well, those four-armed demons are fighting-men first and last, and warriors of the hyr Jikai in between.
A number of the men I had known when I served Gafard came up and we talked and I was seemingly free and open in my conversation, telling them I was glad to be remitted from the galleys — a stupidly obvious statement — and happy to be back with Gafard and my comrades. Presently Grogor said, “The conference is breaking up. The generals and Chuktars ride off. Soon the three leaders will appear. Then we will know.”
As though drawn by a magnet, a crowd of men gathered in a vast ring around the king’s tent. When, at last, he stepped out, a great cheer went up. “Magdag! Genod! Genod!”
I looked at this yetch, this nulsh, this kleesh whom I had been instrumental in bringing into this marvelous world of Kregen. He looked handsome, puffed up with pride, garish in his green and gold. But he was a fighting-man and could use the Genodder, the shortsword he had invented and named, with a skill no other fighting-man of Grodnim could match.
After him stepped Prince Glycas and Gafard, together, shoulder to shoulder, and it was clear they struggled for precedence. As for this Glycas, I remembered him. He might remember me, for all that it was over fifty years ago I had stayed in his Emerald Eye Palace and avoided his sister, the princess Susheeng. He was unpleasant. I would have short shrift with him.
As for my lord Gafard, Rog of Guamelga, the King’s Striker, Prince of the Central Sea, the Reducer of Zair, Sea Zhantil, Ghittawrer of Genod, and many another resounding title, he was the widower of my daughter Velia, my son-in-law, the hulu, and ripe for mischief.
I remembered what Duhrra had said, and I, too, felt I would not willingly slay this man Gafard, for all he was a renegade from Zair, bowing down to Grodno, a hated enemy. He was a rogue and a rascal, intensely courageous, a Jikaidast, a man.
The noise subsided and the dust clouds settled and the king spoke. It was all fustian stuff; but it drove heart into the men and roused them, and gave them enthusiasm. This cramph Genod, who had murdered my daughter, was accounted a genius at war. He told the men Zimuzz had fallen, at which I let rip a few shouts, because that was expected. Now, this very afternoon, he said, we would fly over the accursed walls of Zandikar. Then it would be every man for himself. The city would be given over to the sack.
They started in a-yelling, “Zamu! Sanurkazz!” and the rast promised them those great cities for the sacking, also.
Amid frantic scenes of wild enthusiasm the king passed among his men. They even began the great shout of “Hai Jikai!” and this I would not shout. Grogor, too, did not shout. He said, sourly, “Wait until the city is ours before we shout the Hai Jikai.”
“Let us move nearer to my lord Gafard.”
So we forced our way through the throng as the dust rose billowing and the blades flashed in the light of the suns. For the dappled clouds had all passed away and the gloriously mingled, streaming light of the Suns of Scorpio flooded down over that ecstatic scene as a king moved among his army.