Alan Akers - A Victory for Kregen

“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.

Straight for the rocky outcrop and running at lung-bursting speed, the forlorn party rode on. They were making for the shelter we had chosen. There, it was clear, they hoped to make a stand against the reining sky mercenaries. Now the sound of the hooves beat a rattling tattoo against the hard ground.

“They’ll never make it.” Tyfar stared hotly through the thorn-ivy. If that young prince decided to stand up and run out to assist those doomed jutmen, I, for one, would seek to stop him. He was become precious to me, now, as a comrade. I would not relish his death. I had seen too much of death.

“Jak-” whispered Quienyin.

“Yes?”

“I have sought out-”

“See! They shoot!” Tyfar was panting now, and his lithe body humped as though about to leap out. I said, “We cannot allow Tyfar to throw his life away. We will do what we can, but-”

Quienyin looked vaguely through a chink in the thorns.

“Those poor people will never reach here alive.” He looked back at me. “There is much we must talk about.”

“I agree. But, I think, it will have to wait the outcome of this mess out here.”

“You are right. But I will say I am — am shattered-”

“So you descried a little, then, and understand more?”

“Indeed! Indeed!”

“Nath the Shaft!” called Tyfar in a low, penetrating voice.

“My Prince!”

“Shaft ’em, you onker! Shaft ’em!”

“Nath,” I said. My voice jerked his head around, and his reaching fingers stilled as they touched the feathers of the shaft in his quiver.

“Jak, Jak!” said Tyfar. “What? You cannot abandon them!”

“No. No, I suppose not. But they are done for — there are ten of them and twenty-five or thirty flutsmen. We can-”

“We can shaft them from cover — and we must hurry!”

His face blazed eagerness at me. I sighed. What can one do with these high and mighty princelings whose honor code rules them to death and destruction? And yet — Tyfar was a man of better mettle than mere unthinking bludgeoning.

“You don’t have to let those flutsmen know we are here, do you?” said Hunch. His voice quavered. Nodgen hefted his spear. He could throw that with skill and power, even though it was not a stux, the stout throwing spear of Havilfar. “I have four spears,” he said. His voice growled. “That’s four of the cramphs.”