Avenger of Antares (12 page)

So they talked, these two, of men who might well be from Pandahem, and very soon perhaps from Vallia, if this Queen Thyllis had her way.

Even in law-ridden Hamal we were thrown back on our own resources in the struggle against Vad Garnath. He was rich, as all knew, and he had the proud “ham” in his name which proclaimed him as a scion of one of the oldest families of Hamal. He was Garnath ham Hestan, Vad of Middle Nalem, a Vadvarate west of the Black Hills in which originates the Black River. That he chose to spend his time in the capital instead of on his estates meant merely he was a pleasure-loving man, able to afford this raffish high-life living. That he had failed to raise a regiment for service was looked at a little askance, and would be looked at with greater and greater disfavor as the war dragged on. He would have to do something about that, soon. Rees chuckled — rather nastily — and said the rast had been talking of raising a squadron of small fliers, or of equipping a flight of skyships.

I fretted. They would not let me quit my bed for a full day, and I had to lay and ponder what was going on in the wide world. All this talk of regiments and skyships embittered me. My people of Valka and Vallia must have vollers, and soon! The ones we had bought from Hamal before the troubles would soon be mere junk, judging by the Hamalese practice of selling us Krasny work, inferior models. When I had last spent a short spell in my kingdom of Djanduin, far to the south and west of Havilfar, after my trip to Earth to search out the history of Alex Hunter, I had given certain instructions to my Djangs. A party had left by a circuitous and safe route taking six matched pairs of the Djanduin flyers with those wide yellow wings and vicious black beaks, the flutduin, by airboat as a present to Delia in Valka. She would know what to do with them, and with the ferocious Djang riders I had also sent. There would not be time to breed a race of saddle-birds in Valka before the storm burst from Hamal, but I had a thousand years of life ahead, and there lay many, many plans in my head for that future.

Even so, by careful husbandry, both in Djanduin and elsewhere in Havilfar where I had friends, I fancied I could scrape together a promising beginning of an aerial cavalry for Valka. What Delia’s father, the dread emperor of Vallia, might say I did not much care. He would know — or ought to know — that I had at heart the welfare of all Vallia and not just my island Stromnate of Valka.

“You’re dreaming, Hamun!” bellowed Rees. At the happy tone in his voice I looked up, prepared to contest most hotly this calumny, and saw a party of Numims in the doorway, all rushing forward in a billowing cloud of bright colors and fluttering ribbons and flowing golden manes, their bold lion faces alight, shouting their greetings to Rees.

“Rashi!” he said ecstatically, after the first, proper Lahals, and he embraced his wife in an enormous hug that made Doctor Larghos the Needle tut-tut and hop about from foot to foot. Then it was his eldest son, potential heir and Trylon-to-be, young Rees. Then Rees’s twin sister, Saffi. And then, last of all, as was proper, the youngster, Roban. Well, they kicked up a right shindig, roaring and booming in their lion way, golden fur glowing, eyes bright, laughing with their father.

I saw Larghos looking worried.

“Avast, Rees, you great nurdling lion-man!” I bellowed it out so that they turned from his bed to regard this boorish and insulting apim. “Rees, will you deny me the pleasure of saying Lahal?”

“You are the nurdling apim, Hamun, but gladly will I introduce you to my wonderful family.”

Larghos tugged out a kerchief and mopped his brow. Chido was introduced and then Larghos shooed them all away. “Your father needs rest! You are liable to break all his ribs and open all his wounds.”

“Silence, you drooling numbskull!” bellowed Rees. But I saw. His face was unhealthily yellow, lacking that glorious golden tint of the Numim. He was a sick man, and all this hullabalooing and hugging was draining him. Later, his family saw him in less boisterous fashion. His wife was charming, a regal lady, in the nicest sense of that word. His two sons were tough little beggars, and Rees, at seventeen, was filling out and looked set to become just such another bullroarer as his father. I took to young Roban, sensing he might feel left out. He had not yet grown his mane, of course, but he had clear bright eyes and I liked the way he spoke up. We played a game of poron-Jikaida while Rees talked to Rees — young Rees was trying to outgrow the diminutive Reesnik now, as is the way of youngsters — and I found Roban sharp at the game, and I made him fight hard. We never did finish, for Saffi put her glorious golden head around the door and complained with typical sisterly logic that: “You men hog everything!”

The lads were banished and Saffi sat on her father’s bed. Chido and I turned toward each other and carried on the Jikaida abandoned by Roban. This Saffi was really a remarkable girl. Numims have much the same bodily configurations of Fristles, of course, both being cat-people. But whereas a Fristle fifi is giggly and soft-furred, seductive and sensual, and entirely desirable, a Numim young lady is quite different. Apparently possessing all these qualities, the Numim is more like a sleek and regal lioness, rather than a pampered Siamese cat. Saffi was not sensual, but she was sensuous. Her body charmed me, clad in the fashion of Hamal with that short, pleated and flared skirt cut away from the thighs. Her deep blue bodice was of a simple material and cut, but its shape made me think, and this I confess, of my Delia. I sighed.

Why on this world of Kregen was I wasting my time among a parcel of rascals, avowed enemies, when I might be home in Esser Rarioch, with Delia and my twins, Drak and Lela?

Numim girls do not have whiskers, either, and their faces are soft and smooth within the frame of that glorious golden hair.

Chido perked up no end when his father, the Vad, arrived bringing his sister, Chelestima, a fascinating girl with dark hair and bright cheeks, a few years younger than Chido and, clearly, devoted to him. Their mother had died and the old Vad depended on Chelestima. She was dressed in such a way that I felt for her, clad in clothes that while being expensive and beautifully sewn, were dowdy and unfashionable. The first thing the Vad said after the greetings was: “And how much did you win on the Amak of Paline Valley, Chido?”

Chido spluttered out weakly that he had not wagered.

“Then you’re still the onker I thought!” The old boy held himself erect, whip-smart, his black clothes, silver ornaments, and thraxter the marks of a grand Horter of Hamal. “This Amak was your friend, I am told, and there was much money to be won. You lost an opportunity there, my boy. Money doesn’t drop from fluttrell wings.”

“Yes, Father.”

Well, I will say no more about this tough old character, Chido’s father, the Vad of Eurys, save to say he impressed me as a man Vallia could well do without as an enemy. (Eurys is situated in a bold curve of the coast of southeast Hamal opposite Niklana, the small island to the immediate north of Hyrklana.) I will have more to say about the Vad of Eurys later.

You may imagine the whole household was in the utmost turmoil with all the visitors. I bellowed until a slave girl brought my clothes and I could dress. I took up a thraxter and belted it to my waist, flung my brilliant green jacket about my shoulders, and so escaped.

The business with Nulty was conducted with all speed and due process of law. I kept of the hoard I had won sufficient for what lay ahead; Ornol was a gul and the sight of gold often frightened these poor people.

“How will you get to Paline Valley, Amak?”

“If I come, I shall come, Nulty. That is my problem.”

The lawyers of Hamal are a rich and bloated species of humanity, for they are always engaged in business. Nulty was duly confirmed as my Crebent for Paline Valley. I would be sorry to see him go, for many reasons, and he sensed this. But life is made up of greetings and partings, of Lahals and Remberees . . . I was officially abjured of any guilt in the death of Leotes, according to the rules under which we had fought, and the name of ham Farthytu was duly inscribed in the Palace of Names.

I had taken a thraxter, the straight cut-and-thrust sword that is the typical Hamalese weapon, for a purpose. I was not molested. The rogues of the sacred quarter were most wary of me now, and I was stood drinks, and clapped on the back, and generally made to think of myself as the very devil of a fellow. This could not make me change my ways, but for someone else — dare I suggest Chido? — this fame would bring problems. I did not intend to stay here long, anyway.

Taking an amith-trolley out to the Horters’ quarter and over the Bridge of Nalgre the Penitent, I made my way up to the Shining Quarter. I had to give my thanks to Casmas for his handling of the affair, for all he had taken his percentage. Truth to tell, I do not much care for these money merchants. They grub. But, then, that is their nature, and we all grub after our fashion. He received me most warmly, and although I spent only a bur at his villa I learned he was even more certain of receiving his patent of nobility. His marriage of the Ranga, the jolly fat widow, did not mean he would automatically be made a Rango, of course. He was confident he would become more than an Amaknik; if he was really fortunate, an Elten, at least.

“My felicitations, Casmas.” I did not add that the more money he lent Queen Thyllis and her government, and winked over the interest and a too ready repayment, the higher up they would push him. He knew that, the devious old rascal.

So I finished my tea and left.

The shadows of the tall-legged aqueduct that strode across the plain from the southern hills, and crossing the walls passed close to the eastern side of the Thoth Arena, lay long in twinned penumbras of red and green as I walked back to the bridge. The slaves were hard at work pumping the water into the Jikhorkdun, for amphitheaters demand mortal great amounts of water. I was reminded of those monstrous water wheels in the caverns beneath the citadel of Mungul Sidrath, and I sighed and walked on, lost in reverie.

“I have found you at last, Amak Hamun! May Lem be praised!” There was Nath Tolfeyr, very worried, one hand to his rapier hilt, the other to his lips.

About to be crushingly rude, I was prevented from saying anything as Nath grabbed my arm, most familiarly, and said in a swift rush: “Act naturally, Hamun! We owe you something, for Rees, and Vad Garnath is a beast unslaked. He will surely have you tormented, privately. You are a doomed man, unless— We can save you, Hamun. You must come with me at once to the Most Glorious Temple of Lem the Silver Leem. Only he can save you now!”

In the temple of Lem the Silver Leem

I, Dray Prescot, Prince Majister of Vallia and official upholder of Opaz the pure spirit of the Invisible Twins, did not immediately smash this Lem the Silver Leem idolater and blasphemer across the face, and kick him as he went down.

“Hurry, Hamun, hurry! Your friends will do what they can, but Garnath has spies everywhere!”

He hurried me on, into the bewildering shadows of the aqueduct. The water rustled and splashed far above, and the sounds of slaves working came to us; the doleful clank of bronze buckets and the duller thunk of wooden tubs.

“What—” I was not so much shocked and astonished as repulsed and nauseated.

“Don’t chatter, Hamun! Your friends— Well, we all knew you would win, of course. Lem is your only hope. Hurry and say nothing and keep close.”

Then the idea struck me that it would be useful to know something of this monstrous Lem. All I knew was what I had been told and what I had seen in Migla, and what I judged to be the character of those men I knew who worshiped the foul leem-beast, Lem.

So, forcing myself to remain calm, I hurried on with Nath.

He was not such a bad fellow, anyway, for he had stood as my second, although refusing to fight if the necessity arose, for which I could scarcely blame him. He was acknowledged by Rees, who heartily disliked Lem, swearing rather by Krun. So, as I say, I decided this could be an adventure, and followed Nath Tolfeyr into the shadows.

The Most Glorious Temple had been cleverly hidden, I will say that for these leem lovers. We hurried into the shadows of the aqueduct and, passing through a waste area much cluttered with building materials and old lumber and wrecked carts and fliers, entered a narrow opening appearing casually, as though a mere space between rotting piles of bricks. There we came onto a steeply descending stairway.

“I waited here for you, for I knew you had gone to Casmas. This is my temple; there are others of which I do not know.”

“Let us go down, then, Nath. Perhaps I shall be safe as you suggest.”

He laughed, his cares sloughed off with the closing of the door behind us. We clattered down the stairs. “Oh, we do not mean to hide you here, Hamun. By Lem, no! Vad Garnath is one of us at least in belief, if a pariah trag in all else.”

I thought I was catching his drift, and I did not like the way of it. But, as they say among my clansmen, “In for a zorca, in for a vove.” I was here now; I would see this thing through.

The darkness was broken at the foot of the steps where a cresset showed greasy light upon the streaked walls. Here a lenken door opened and we went through. The door was guarded by a Bleg, his weird bat-face perfectly fitting the surroundings. His thraxter was gripped naked in his fist and he carried a shield. They guarded their shrine of Lem, then. I took notice of the Bleg’s harness, for as much may be learned from a person’s clothes as his weapons. The Bleg guarding the door wore ordinary swod uniform, the private soldier’s lorica and bronze kilt and greaves. His helmet was unremarkable. His colors and devices were of a flat brown hue, picked out with silver. Brown and silver. Were they, then, the secret colors of Lem the Silver Leem?

When I dub the people I was about to meet leem lovers, it must be understood I mean them to have no connection with the shanks, the shants, the shtarkins, those unholy folk from across the curve of the world, who were also called leem lovers. The name applied in the case here, and was applied as an epithet in the other. I felt these leem lovers here would call those other raiding, murdering fish-heads anything but leem lovers.