A Victory for Kregen

Chapter three

Before replying, I pulled off the boot taken from a dead Muzzard and chucked it down. The boot was not so much either too tight or too loose as badly fitting; it was well enough for riding, but walking in it and its mate would be agonizing. I wriggled my bare toes. The eight pairs of eyes regarded me expectantly. I scratched under my anklebone.

“Well, Jak? And is there no one in the whole wide world?”

“Without disrespect, San — you are clearly tired. Your exertions have exhausted you.” I pulled off the other boot and wriggled those bare toes in turn. “And, you are quite clearly possessed of very great powers indeed, for you have been able to give us news of our relations, people you have never met or seen. This, I know, is unusual-”

“Yes, Jak. Although I do not think I am fully recovered, I am able to do more in lupu than many Wizards of Loh.”

Deb-Lu-Quienyin spoke simply. There was no boasting here. Also, in the comradeship forged between us nine in the horrors through which we had successfully fought, Quienyin’s own history had been, at least partially, revealed.

“Come on, Jak,” spoke up Tyfar. “If San Quienyin is willing, then surely you must long to know.”

Interesting how, when the Wizard of Loh displayed his supernatural abilities, we’d all resumed calling him San.

“Or is it that you do not have any blood relatives still alive?”

Again I scratched my foot.

“There is a man whose whereabouts I would like to establish. If I know him aright he will be tossing people about like split logs. He is a Khamster, A Khamorro, a high Kham. No doubt he will be in Herrelldrin now.”

“And he cannot then be any kin to you.”

“No. A good comrade. As we are down-”

And then I hauled myself up, all canvas flapping. By Krun! I’d been about to say, “down here in Havilfar,” which was a perfectly logical thought to a Vallian, or anyone from the northern hemisphere of Kregen. But if I claimed Hamal, which was the most powerful empire in Havilfar, the southern continent, I’d hardly talk about being “down here.” So I scratched my foot again and reached over for a small piece of meat clinging to a leaf platter, and said, “down not too far it will be convenient for me to go to Herrelldrin and seek him out. If he is there. If you can scan him, San.”

“No blood relation?”

“No.”

He sat quite still for a moment, looking on me. He had put his ridiculous turban aside after the last items of news had been passed on in lupu, and his red Lohvian hair stuck out like the feathers of the rooster with the wind up his tail. His old face had lost many of the lines and wrinkles, and had filled out, and his clear and piercing eyes looked astonishingly young. And I felt he was looking at me as though I were a glass of crystal-clear water.

Sink me! I burst out to myself. I had too much at stake in Kregen to allow a tithe of my secrets to be spilled here, even despite the special comradeship we nine felt.

“No blood relation, this fearsome Khamorro. I suggest you sleep now, Quienyin, and then we can talk on this matter later.”

“You are very desirous of finding this man?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will sleep for a space. Wake me at the hour of mid, when the suns burn in the zenith. I may be able… Well, no matter, Jak the Sturr. I did you a pleasant repose.”

And with that Deb-Lu-Quienyin rolled over onto his side on the spread cloths and seemed immediately to fall into a deep slumber. I chewed my morsel of meat and gazed at the Wizard of Loh. I did not mind if he read some of my riddles. And the six retainers, also, were men amenable to reason of one kind or another. But Prince Tyfar, this brave, bright, bonny princeling of Hamal, my country’s bitter enemy?

What would he say, what do? No. I must continue with my deceptions. And, by Krun, they were not petty deceptions, either!

Tyfar shook his head, smiling.

“I am mightily glad my father and sister are safe. I thank Havil the Green for that. The news for you will be as good, Jak — and did you notice the sudden formality of Deb-Lu-Quienyin? He called you Jak the Sturr, which you claim is your name.”

“And, Tyfar, I notice you do not give a warm thanks to Havil the Green. Mayhap, Krun of the Steel Blade merits a greater gratitude?”

We trod thin ice here.

He eyed me.

“Aye, Jak the Sturr. Aye.”

“So be it.”

Havil the Green presided as the chief god of many lands of Havilfar. He had, in the past, represented to me all that was evil and to be destroyed. I was over those impulses now, and could even come out with a good rolling Hamalian prayer or two addressed to Havil the Green. All the same, fighting men tend toward Krun… as must be clear from the conversations peppered with his name.

“And also, Jak, the Sturr — I do not think your name can be Sturr. It does not fit.”

I lifted an eyebrow. Sturr is the slang name given to a louche fellow, a morose, silent, boorish kind of chap who is all left feet and ten thumbs. “No? I thought it suited me.”

“The Lady Ariane nal Amklana dubbed you Jak the Unsturr.”

“She — let us not talk of her.”

“Willingly.”

The Lady Ariane nal Amklana, of Hyrklana, had not turned out quite as we’d expected during our recent adventures. I had thought Tyfar was inclined to become romantically attached to her. Now I knew he was not. He deserved a far finer mate than Ariane.

“Let us take up the question of your name, Jak.”

“Before that, I will just say that one should not be too hard on Ariane. She was sore pressed. By Krun!

But she does have fire-”

“A fire that is inwardly directed only.”

“Let us talk of our plans to get out of here-”

“The Sturr — or the Unsturr?”

I just looked at him. We sat in the grateful shadow and the watch was set and the others were lying back and no doubt reviewing what Quienyin had told them and, an ob would bring a talen, wishing they were out of Moderdrin and safely back with their loved ones. Although — well, there were arguments about that, also…

Once a young man sets his feet on the mercenaries’ path and seeks to become a paktun and then a hyr-paktun, he must banish foolish longings for home. He will return in the fullness of time, bearing his scars and the choicest items of his loot — if he is lucky — and take a wife and settle down and raise more fine young men to go off adventuring across Kregen. But daydreaming of home is weakening. Thanks to Opaz — men are weakened every day doing that!

“Should, Jak, I call you-” said Tyfar. He was half-laughing. “Should I dub you Muzzardjid?”[1]

“I think not.”

“It is a fairly won name.”

“Maybe. Not for me.”

“I just do not like Sturr. I am a prince and empowered to confer names upon the worthy. You are -

although you have not said — I guess, of a middling rank of nobility?”

The name of Hamun ham Farthytu had been conferred upon in all honor; it was not just another alias. And the rank of Amak is at the bottom end of the higher nobility; there is the wide range of the lesser nobility, of course. But caution held me. Even in this, the old harum-scarum, rip-roaring Dray Prescot who would go raging into a fight without an ounce of sense in his head, would have held back. The Amak of Paline Valley was an identity, a real identity, that I did not wish to reveal as yet. So, leaning back on an elbow, I said, “It is of no matter, Tyfar. What concerns me is the slow progress we make.”

He looked as though he was going to carry on with his thought; but he must have changed his mind, for he contented himself with, “Very well, Jak. But as soon as the time is ripe I shall dub you with a name more fitting. So you have been warned.” He wiped his lips with a cloth and closed his eyes in the heat.

“As to our making better progress, I think it still too risky to travel in daylight. But, if we must-”

“Think of Quienyin.”

“I am.”

“Given an opportunity, we can change our mode of travel. But it will be chancy-”

So we talked, low-voiced, and then ceased this prattling and sought the deeper shade and tried to sleep. We had ample water, thanks to the stream from the Moder, and our swarths were cared for. We had food, meat, and fruits. But we all felt the screaming need to get out of this damned place. Promptly on the hour of mid Quienyin woke up and, reaching for his turban, looked around our little camp. He saw me. He opened his mouth and I spoke quickly, quietly.

“Tyfar is asleep. I would prefer not to awaken him.”

He nodded and then caught his turban and slapped it down, hard. The blue cloth was dusty and cracked, and many of the fake pearls and brilliants had been lost. But it still gave him that aura of omniscience so necessary for the credulous folk.

“Do you wish…?”

“When the suns are gone down a little more.”

“We will see what a Wizard of Loh can do, then.”

“Remember, Quienyin, I do not ask this of you, do not beg or plead. I know nothing of the cost to you; but, I-”

“There is no need to go on. Of course I shall do all I can. Are not we all comrades?”

This was, truly, a most strange way for a feared Wizard of Loh to talk. But, by the insufferable aroma of Makki Grodno’s left armpit — he was right.

“You have never been to Loh, Jak?”

“I paid a fleeing visit to Erthyrdrin, and-”

“Well, they are a strange, fey lot up there, and hardly call themselves Lohvians at all.”

“That is sooth. You have traveled widely?”

“Mainly in this continent of Havilfar. I, I must confess, regard travel as a means of arriving somewhere.”

“As we did in that caravan across the Desolate Wastes?”

“Grim though it was, the time had its pleasant moments.”

“You have been to Hamal?”

“I shall not return to that empire.” His gaze twitched to the sleeping form of Tyfar, and then away. I would have to ask Deb-Lu-Quienyin what had chanced in Hamal. I felt he did not care for the place. “I did make a quick trip to Pandahem; but that was not successful.”

“And Vallia?”

He glanced up at me.

Was there a special note in my voice, a tremor, an inflection, as I spoke the name of the country of which I was emperor? Did he truly see so much more than ordinary mortals?

“Vallia? No, Jak. I have never been there.”

I took a breath. Tyfar slumbered. The others were either asleep, dreaming, or standing watch. I summoned my courage.

“I think, Quienyin, if you visited Vallia you would be received with proper respect. You would like it there.”

“Oh? You speak with — authority — of the empire at war with the empire of Hamal.”

“You remember I asked you about the Wizard of Loh called Phu-Si-Yantong?”

“I do. San Yantong is a most puissant adept — I was sorry to have missed him.”

I jumped, startled. “You mean — he was there — in Jikaida City?”

“I thought so. I am not sure. His kharrna is very powerful, superb, superb. I did not press too hard.”

I swallowed down. By Vox! That devil Phu-Si-Yantong, so near! Yet — could he have been and not struck a blow at me?

“When I asked you of Yantong before you said he was marked for great things. You expressed the hope that he would prosper. You also said nothing about his little difficulty.” I know my old beakhead of a face had grown grim and like a leem’s mask as I spoke, and I could do nothing about that. One cannot always hide emotions behind a placid countenance. I went on and the words ground out like vosk skulls being crushed in the grinders. “Do you still harbor good wishes toward Yantong? Have you learned nothing of him since we spoke?”

He was abruptly intense, concentrated. He looked at me and those lines that had been vanishing on his face deepened and grooved. The force of his power shocked out.

“You speak in a way that could offend a Wizard of Loh, Jak. I will not be offended. But it is necessary that you explain yourself.”

Given the awesome powers of the Wizards of Loh, given their aloofness from the petty concerns of normal men, given that they regard others as, if not inferior beings, then beings without the same necessities of the inner life — what Deb-Lu-Quienyin said to me was perfectly rational. Any man of Kregen would tremble if a Wizard of Loh spoke to him thus.

“By Hlo-Hli! Jak! Speak!”

“If you seek-”

“No ifs, Jak, by the Seven Arcades!”

“Seek the truth of Yantong. I promise to speak then. Although-” and I glowered down on my comrade, Deb-Lu-Quienyin “-although, my friend, my words will then be unnecessary.”

“You speak now in riddles.” He breathed in and then out, deliberately. This was an exercise in self-control. I waited.

Presently he said, “I will do as you suggest — and only because of our comradeship, which is something precious to me because it is something I could never fully experience as a Wizard of Loh. This is a matter I do not expect you to understand.”

“I do understand something, probably more than you realize. I have had dealings with Wizards of Loh before.”

“Then let me go off a ways and try my newfound kharrna.”

The shadows lay very short now, mere blobs of reddish and greenish discoloration under the thorn-ivy. Everything possessed two shadows. Quienyin and his two shadows went off to crouch down by the rock face. He took up a position which, although I had no idea of its significance, I recognized to be a position of ritual. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable, too.

Four times during the course of the day skeins of flutsmen had sailed over us, high and distant, mere forbidding specks, potent with disaster. They worried me. I looked up now as Quienyin sat so uncomfortably, and up there another wedge of flutsmen winged over. Slotted like nits in a ponsho fleece as we were down here, we were not likely to be espied easily. But the worry remained. The flutsmen were active and I wondered what caused that. Something, of a surety, had stirred them up. Common sense indicated that I should try to catch some sleep. I did doze off for a few burs. I was awakened by Nath and Barkindrar coming off watch and the two Pachaks going on. I decided not to raise a ruckus over their waking me up; I know I sleep lightly, ready to leap up almost, it seems, before the danger that stalks me would leap for my throat. It is an old sailorman’s trick. The Shaft and the Bullet were not too sleepy, and were carrying on with great vehemence the argument that had absorbed them during their watch.

“Jikaida! Now you can take your Jikaida and-”

“Now, Barkindrar! What you say against Jikaida can be said against Vajikry. Do not forget that!”

They wrangled on about the merits or otherwise of Jikaida, which is the preeminent board game of Kregen, and of Vajikry, which is of not quite so universal acceptance but which is, as I know to my sore cost, highly baffling and irritating and calculated to arouse the itch in any man or woman. Vajikry takes a special kind of twisted logic, I suppose, to make a good player.

So, with that as a starter, I found myself running an old Jikaida game through my head, move and countermove, and so I closed my eyes and, lo! I was being shaken awake and the shadows were measurably longer. Thus does abused nature force her just demands on the physique. The hand shaking me, the footstep, the low voice, were all devoid of menace. I sat up.

“Time to go on watch, Jak — notor.”

I looked at Hunch.

He licked his lips. “You said — you said you would stand a watch, Jak.”

“Aye. I did and I will. And I could wish you and Nodgen did not have to keep up with this notor nonsense.”

Nodgen said, “We have talked about this, Jak. We were all three slave together. You escaped. You have made something of yourself and have manumitted us before Prince Tyfar. But we think you are truly a notor, a great lord.”

“That’s as may be. But your freedom is very real to you, because the word of Tyfar, Prince of Hamal, is worth much.”

“Oh, yes, we will take the bronze tablets. But we still believe you to be a great lord, and therefore we do not mind calling you notor. Only,” and here Hunch screwed his Tryfant face up, “only, sometimes, Jak, it is hard to remember.”

“By the disgusting diseased tripes of Makki Grodno! I do not care. But you will have the outrage of an offended princeling if you forget in his hearing.”

“Aye, that we will.” They both sounded marvelously little alarmed. This special sense of comradeship developed between us, and the terror of the Moder worked on us all, paktun, retainer, escaped slave, wizard, and prince.

And, as though to underline those thoughts, the voice of Deb-Lu-Quienyin, who was privy to Hunch’s and Nodgen’s secret, reached us. He sounded troubled.

“Tyfar would overlook that lapse,” said Quienyin. “Jak, I must speak to you — and at once-”

“Assuredly.” I stood up. Quienyin stood back in the shadows, so that I could not discern his expression. He wore his turban. A fierce bellow cut the air from the thorn-ivy.

“Vakkas! Riders heading for us!”

I spun to look. Tyfar was sinking down behind the thorns and the others were flattening out, steel in their fists.

Beyond them, across the flat and clear in the slanting rays of the suns, a party of riders broke from a clump of twisty trunks, the crinkly leaves down-drooping and unmoving in the breathless air. The men rode totrixes, zorcas, hirvels. There was not a swarth among them. They rode hard, lashing their beasts on, and the dust rose in a flat smear behind them, hanging betrayingly in a long yellow-white streak. I looked up. Up there the flutsmen curved down, the wings of their flyers wide and stiff, and the glint and wink of weapons glittered a stark promise of destruction over the doomed party of riders below.