Alan Akers - Captive Scorpio

“So you are the Prince Majister.”

“No-”

The girls at my back all took their chances of giving me a crafty prod or two with their spears. I jumped. They’d taken my rapier and dagger away. I had let them. Every time I tried to speak I was poked by a spear.

“Larravur says you are. She frequents the court of the imperial buffoon and decadent drunkard in Vondium. She is our eyes. You are the Prince Majister. You will receive scant courtesy from anyone here in the Northeast. But, one boon I will grant.” Here Udo leaned back in his chair and pulled his beard. He smiled. “You may choose the manner of your death.”

I opened my mouth and Udo lifted a ringed hand.

“Let him speak, Zillah.”

The girls glowered at me. Even Karina the Quick had come in to see the fun. Not a one of them showed a single spark of mercy; now all believed I was that miserable rast I was accused of being. Karina sported a large bandage over the right side of her face. But she had not lost an eye. She did not stand near Ros. Jodi and Firn separated them. The animosity I felt from these girls puzzled me. It seemed to me overdone, abnormal, almost unreal and certainly damned unhealthy.

Leona pointed a rigid forefinger at me.

“He does not speak. He admits his guilt. His terror contaminates us all. Thrust a sword through him and have done.”

Ros whipped out her steel claw. “Let me take him apart!”

The others voiced their own highly unpleasant ideas on the way I should go. The whole episode smacked of a dream sequence. It was not even a nightmare. It just seemed unreal. Had I been hemmed in by foul-mouthed guardsmen then a flick of a leem’s tail would have seen a few of them down, spitting blood, and a sword in my fist, and a corpse-strewn trail of blood to the door, if one of them did not try to shaft me as I went. But these were girls. As I say, I was weak in these matters in those days.

By Makki-Grodno’s disgusting diseased dripping left eyeball, I can tell you! I felt the hugest of huge idiots, a nurdling onker, a get onker — a ripe charley, the complete fool. And yet — and yet, at that stage in my development on Kregen, what else could I have done?

A stir at the back of the room and a swaying aside of the Jikai Vuvushis heralded the intemperate arrival of Zankov. He stood twitching before Udo, shaking, controlling himself with an effort of will I found amusing. He wore a fancy uniform which included a gilt cuirass all carved and engraved into the likeness of a writhing devil face, fangs and staring eyeballs and wild hair — I think it was intended to be one of the devils of Cottmer’s Caverns — and he kept running a finger around the collar and hitching himself about. I judged he was not much used to wearing armor.

“This man is not to be harmed, trylon,” he said without as much as a Lahal.

“Oh?” shouted Udo. “And who says so?”

At this Zankov checked. He managed to get his finger from the cuirass to spread his arms and shrug. “It would be unwise. He is a bargaining counter, a hostage-”

“I run things here, Zankov — or whatever your name is. Remember that. But-” And here Udo pulled his beard again. “It is so simple as to be moronic. But it might be useful.”

Ros pushed forward. “He deserves to die, here and now.” The claw glittered ominously.

“Oh, aye, he deserves to die.”

“Well, let me scratch him a little.’”

During all this I stood silently, watching the byplay, wondering just how much of his gloating feelings of superiority Zankov could not stop from showing through. He was making a good job of appearing the zealous subordinate to the trylon. They argy-bargyed, discussing my life like a rotten sack of moldy gregarines. Finally Udo waved his hands and gave his judgment.

“Take him away and bind him and set a watch over him. If he dies or if he lives is my decision. I will take it myself. You will be told when necessary.”

A couple of girls grabbed my arms to drag me off.

I remained where I was, with the girls tugging away. I stared hard at Leona. She tossed her head back, her eyes bright.

“If I was this confounded prince, girl — why would you hate me so?”

“You are, and you know.”

“Take the rast away!” bellowed Trylon Udo.

The two girls were joined by two more who tugged at me. I remained firm. “Hold on a mur,” I said. “I want to know what this fellow, this Prince Majister, has done to you to arouse such heated emotions.”

“Get him out of here!” The words slashed from Zankov.

Ros pushed forward. She was breathing heavily, and patches of color mantled her cheeks. The claw looked highly unpleasant, for she had donned it over her left hand and wrist. “I should rip your eyes out, here and now! You betrayer! You deceiver! You lecher! You heartless wretch! You — you-”

“Now easy on,” I said, for she broke down from the violence of her emotions. Firn took a swipe at me with her rapier and I had to sway aside. This was getting out of hand. Leona kept on shrieking at me. Zillah and Jodi, who were clearly in command of the Jikai Vuvushis, added their yells and orders. I shook the girls free and took a step toward Trylon Udo. Instantly a shortsword flicked up into his hand.

“All right, all right, trylon,” I told him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Get him out! Drag him by the heels!” foamed Zankov.

One, two, three strides took me to Zankov. He tried to rip his rapier out and I took him by the throat and lifted him up off his heels. He dangled in the air, choking, his face turning that old interesting purply-green rotten gregarine color.

“Hear me!” I bellowed.

The walls of the room did not shake to that foretop-hailing voice; but a silence dropped. I shook Zankov, who was bubbling like a punctured boiler.

“Just suppose I were this Prince Majister-” Here I swung my left arm across and swept away a flung spear. Another was caught and reversed in a twinkling. I looked at the girl who had hurled, and smiled, and shook my head. Her face went as white as the underside of a chank.

“Can’t you hulus tell me what is going on?”

Strangely, no one wished to speak. I glanced up at Zankov and, regretfully, plunked him down on his feet. I let him go. He fell to pitch forward into Karina’s arms. She glared at me venomously; but a flicker in her eyes, a swift betraying gleam of sympathy? I was not sure.

But she said: “Zankov may overrate himself. But he is one of us. You are a southerner — a clansman -

prince.”

“If I were. And is that all? That the Prince Majister is a stranger?”

“Aye!” said Firn, looking at me with scathing contempt. Her red hair looked marvelous. She breathed deeply and unsteadily. “A stranger. A stranger to Vallia for all of the time. A no-good calsany, a rast who betrays those who love him.”

The bewilderment would not leave me. I looked around them, at those lovely faces, all flushed and bright-eyed, all staring accusingly at me. Contempt, hatred, disgust — all were written clear on those fair faces ringing me.

I shook my head.

Zankov held his throat, croaking, trying to speak and unable to force out a sound. The marks of my fingers glowed in livid weals.

“I’ll go,” I said. “And I will go peacefully. By Vox! But if I really were this Prince Majister then I truly think I’d begin to feel a little sorry for myself.”

I did not. But I wanted to test still further the way the wind blew. But no one responded. Trylon Udo had summoned male guards. He did not know it; but that was a mistake. Had he done so before, I might be away from here now, cleaning up a blood-splattered sword. As it was, I had said I would go peacefully, and so I went. Spear points ringed me as I started off. It was left to Udo to have the last word.