Alan Akers - Captive Scorpio

Queen Lush said: “And — me-?”

“You’re a Vallian now, by intention of marriage. And we’ll take Lome back for you. There is little time. And, while I am gone, emperor — stay out of trouble.”

“A thousand — what did you mean?”

“Delia may explain, if she will. Just make sure you stay alive to enjoy it. With my blessings.” I ran out. Kissing Delia, I said as I let her go: “Take care of yourself.”

In a much lighter frame of mind I took myself off through secret tunnels I had used before. Vondium was a buzzing hive of danger; but there at least I could strike out freely. I felt a keen pleasure that Delia’s father was proving himself more human day by day. He wouldn’t change, of course, so much as actually come to like me. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was Vallia — and the country was in a sorry, blood-soaked state at the moment. Once Phu-si-Yantong got his hooks firmly wedged into the country people would realize they had seen nothing yet.

Outside the palace I dodged like a grundal from bush to bush of some ornamental gardens, got across a canal, insinuated myself past a group of wounded Hamalese and so, in the guise of an irregular mercenary hired to the Empress Thyllis, set off for the fliers. They were easy enough to spot. Only at the last moment, as we lifted into the air, was there any trouble. Some old oily rags in the voller served to wipe the longsword clean.

Skimming low over the ground, taking the voller in racing curves around temples and over villa walls, I avoided detection from the air. Ahead the massive bulk of the palace lifted. I looked up. Casting down twin shadows onto the white walls, rank after rank of fliers slanted in for the palace. I knew them.

Trylon Udo and his Hawkwas smashed in to strike the final blows.

And then, beyond the armada from the Northeast, another fleet hove into view. They were not as many. They flew the flags of Kov Layco Jhansi. He was the emperor’s chief pallan. I did not give a cheer; but I felt like shouting in glee.

Among the fliers with Jhansi were many whose flagstaffs flew treshes of checkerboarded ochre and umber, the colors of Falinur. I frowned, suddenly. Layco Jhansi was supposed to be fighting the rebellious Falinurese. It looked as though he was in alliance with them. I sent the voller hurtling flat out for the palace, treachery stinking in my nostrils.

All was confusion in and around the palace.

That frowning pile had become the centerpiece for all the vindictive hatred, the scheming, the vengeance, the sheer outright deviltry of all those attacking Vondium and seeking to claw down the emperor. The voller leaped across the sky. Quarrels spat toward me. Varter-driven rocks hissed past my head. Now smoke and flames rose from the bewildering maze of domes and towers of the palace. The unceasing shrilling of fighting men beat a diapason to the bright sky. The suns passed across the heavens, and cast down their mingled streaming light, and an empire went down in flames and blood. Into a niche high along a flower-hung balcony I dropped the voller with a precision of handling that would have pleased Delia, who had taught me my flying. I leaped out. Smoke blew chokingly across from a burning roof. In a courtyard below men fought and struggled and died. I saw the colors. I raced away, leaping down well-remembered stairs, haring for Delia.

Faction against faction — hatreds and jealousies were tearing the heart out of the empire. Those colors down there — Jhansi’s men fought them both, and the Hamalese fought all. It was a madness. Blood clotted the bright tapestries and fouled the priceless carpets. I raced along the corridors and so came, at last, to where Laka Pa-Re and his Pachaks fought the last great fight. The longsword flamed, striking this way and that in the vicious yet fully controlled fighting technique of the Krozairs of Zy. Hamalese fell away. A group of Hawkwas surged up, screeching, and together, the Pachaks and I, we bested them and drove them off, running.

Chuktar Pola Je-Du was wounded, a slashing gash across his shoulder armor, where the plates hung down broken. His face showed only firm resolve.

“Pola — you have not been discharged from your nikobi?”

“No, prince. We fight to the end.”

“No — that is madness. You need not be slain — from me, will you take your discharge, in all honor?

Will you save your men?”

“If I do, I think you will die here.”

“That is as may be, by Zair. The emperor-”

“He is sore wounded.”

I felt the shock. “The get onker! I told him — the moment I leave him to his own devices the idiot gets himself wounded.” Smoke boiled down the ornate passage and the Pachaks braced themselves for the next attack. I bellowed at the Chuktar. ‘Take your nikobi back, in honor, Pola Je-Du. And you, Laka Pa-Re. Take what you will from the palace in payment for your service — and my thanks to you for your devotion, in the name of Papachak the All-Powerful.”

“Let the compact be unraveled,” said Pola. And then he said: “And you, prince?”

“By the Black Chunkrah! I’ll have a few words to say to the emperor, believe me! Remberee, Pachaks all.” And I turned and belted along the corridor toward the inner apartments. As I ran so I marveled that the Pachaks had consented to be released from the compact by me, who was merely the Prince Majister of Vallia. Their hire had been to the emperor. . At the door of those sumptuous apartments Delia met me. The tears stood brightly in her glorious brown eyes; but she would not weep. Not just yet. .

“My father — oh, my heart! My father is dead.”

I couldn’t believe that.

I pushed through. Lykon Crimahan and the Lord Farris stood with dripping swords within the doorway, their faces ashen. Queen Lushfymi crouched over the body of the emperor. He had been killed by a slashing blow that had near severed his head from his body. Despite the Baptism in the Sacred Pool, he was dead. No man was going to recover in time from that kind of savagely mortal blow. I stood looking down on him. I did not know what I felt.

Then I took Delia in my arms.

“He said — he said you are the emperor, Dray.”

“That is so,” shouted Farris, suddenly. He came to life. “Hai Jikai! Dray Prescot. Emperor of Vallia.”

“There’s no time for that,” I said, savage, incensed, sullen, vindictive — anything but pleased. “We must get out of here. And bring the emperor with you. We will give him proper burial.”

Delia shook her head.

“We cannot carry him and fight as well. He will lie here, and he will burn in his own palace. What more magnificent funeral pyre could an emperor have than that?”

I bowed to her wishes. He was her father.

“How-?”

“Hawkwas. We fought them off; but one did for him.”

I knew.

“A bright, nervous, malicious bastard-?”

She nodded. “Yes, I think so.” We hurried along the corridor past the Pachak dead who had fought to the last. “That sounds like him.”

A few more words convinced me it had been Zankov. Zankov. He had slain the Emperor of Vallia. I swallowed. Carefully, I said: “Were there women with him? Jikai Vuvushis?”

“Yes — and very dreadful — renegades from the Sisters-”

“Was there one who — who fought with a sharp steel claw?”

“No.”

Thank Zair, I said, but to myself.

Delia bore herself like a princess. But I watched her narrowly. The shock of her father’s death would prey on her and I felt the agony for her tearing at me. I had watched my father die, with that damned scorpion scuttling, and I had been only a little lad. Delia had known her father for far longer than ever I had known mine, and the wrench, the agony, the shock must affect her far more profoundly — so I thought.