Beasts of Antares (25 page)

A girl tottered out of the last door. She looked in a distressed state. She wore the remnants of fine clothes, and there were weal marks on her naked back. Her hair tangled in an untidy mess about her face, and tear streaks cut through the grime. She saw me. Her eyes, wide brown eyes, closed. She tottered and Naghan went to catch her, thinking she was about to fall. But she was not falling; she was going into the full incline.

I said, “My name is Chaadur the Iarvin. Remember that, Fransha. Now we are taking you home.”

She started to cry.

Tilly put a hand out, and the gesture of friendship from the Fristle girl spoke volumes. One distress called to another.

“You know her?” Tilly did not sound surprised.

“Aye. The Lady Fransha, who ran off with her lover and put all Vallia into a turmoil—”

“No!” Fransha looked up, shaking. “No, majis — no, Chaadur! Voinderam and I were kidnapped! By the Racters!”

I felt the ice clench around my heart. The damned Racters!

“Tell us as we run, Fransha. You are with friends, now.”

We stepped over the Rapa guard. The suns shine smote down. The dwindling uproar from the slaves indicated they had split up, as we had anticipated, and were running every which way. Some of them would be running in circles, I had no doubt. But some, too, would win free.

The Rapa who had been flogging the Xaffer lay with his whip wrapped around his throat. There was no sign of the stylor and his chalk and slate. The Xaffer was gone, too.

We crossed the open space swiftly, and now we ran with naked steel in our fists. Fordan stayed close to Tilly.

“The Racters sent a note to each of us, saying the other must desperately meet. So I went to the meeting place, and Ortyg went too, and—”

“The Racters surprised you and kidnapped you, and sold you as slaves!”

“Yes and no.” We slowed our run to a walk and Fordan assisted Tilly and Oby and I helped Fransha. “No, Strom Luthien wanted to kill us out of hand—”

“He would.”

“But the Kov of Falkerdrin would not permit it. He said we would go to his estates and be held prisoner until the Time of Troubles was over.”

“Nath Famphreon, you mean? The son of Natyzha?”

“Yes.”

“I know him. In this, he acted as I would expect, I think. He has notions of honor and loyalty. The pity of it is, in one cynical sense, that his loyalty is to his mother.”

“He was kind to us. He apologized for what had been done. And I believed him.”

We went down an alleyway between hedges, heading toward a squat, flat-roofed building supported on many thick pillars. That had the look of a landing platform.

“Nath Famphreon betrayed you?”

“No.” Fransha was now gaining better control of herself. Her memories of what she had gone through were being pushed aside as she spoke of the very beginning of her ordeal. “No. Our airboat had to come down — well, you know how unreliable they are. We were captured by flutsmen. The kov was not with us, and his men fought, but they were overborne. He employs mighty paktuns to work for him. But some were slain and others were captured. We were sold...” She stopped. She did not like to recall this part of her adventures; it brought back the hideous nightmare, and she shook.

Tilly said, “Leave her alone for now.”

“That is the platform,” said Fordan. He carried the Rapa guard’s thraxter. I was pleased to see he gripped it in the fashion of one who knew how to use the sword.

“No, Tilly.” I spoke as gently as I could. They all jumped anyway. “No, there is yet one more thing I must know.”

Fransha laughed, too shrilly. “Ortyg? My love, Ortyg Voinderam?” She was shaking so much now her hair swung and matted before her face. “I do not know. I have not seen him since they brought me to this hideous place!”

The racter party had been very clever. They had spiked our guns in the matter of our plans to invade them. But, all the same, I was glad to have confirmation that Phu-Si-Yantong was not instigating this latest plot against us in Vallia.

We paused in the shadows of the landing platform. An ornate staircase built of stone, with iron balustrades and chemzite facings, led up to the roof. Hyrklana is rich in iron. On the roof the overhanging eaves of hangars for the fliers told us the private flierdrome was of some capacity.

“Listen,” I said. “Other escaped slaves will probably come this way, seeking vollers. You, Naghan, and you, Oby, will see to it that our party gets onto the roof and into a voller. Fordan will care for Tilly, I feel sure—”

The Fristle nodded. “With my life.”

“So that leaves the Lady Fransha to you two.”

“And you?”

“Listen! Take a suitable voller and lift off at once—”

“Now just a minute!” started Oby, furiously.

Naghan began expostulating.

I quieted them down.

“Listen, you two! I want you up and away and out of it, with the two ladies. There are still chores I must do here. For one thing, I can’t just walk off and leave old Unmok the Nets, can I? He risked it all coming here with us. And there is Ortyg Voinderam. If he is here I want to find him. That is for the good of Vallia.” I did not add that, also, I had an appointment with Prince Tyfar and Jaezila and their retainers, Barkindrar the Bullet, Nath the Shaft and Kaldu.

“But
we
can’t just fly off and leave
you
!”

“You can. And you will. I came to Hyrklana to get you three out of the Jikhorkdun. Thank Opaz, that has been done — or nearly done as soon as we bag ourselves a voller. And we’ve found the Lady Fransha, which is a blessing, and unexpected, although all of a piece, given the habits of flutsmen and slavers. But I have other things to do.”

Well, there in the shadows, with the shouts of guards beginning to rise from the grounds of the villa, these two wanted to start a fierce whispered argument. I wouldn’t have that. I was somewhat fierce.

In the end we padded up the stairs and knocked over a few guards who wanted to stop us, and we found a palatial voller with a cabin amidships and a steeply lofting poop aft. She had fast lines. She was worth much gold in Hyrklana and a small fortune in Vallia. Oby said she would do.

“No more arguments! Up and away. All the way home to Vallia.” I gave them a very rapid rundown on the altered state of the empire, and cautioned them to beware of everyone until they reached the imperial palace in Vondium. I did not think that would have fallen again. They wanted to know all about the Time of Troubles, but Fransha said she would explain. She called me majister as a matter of course. When, in his biting tones of argumentative sarcasm, Naghan addressed me as prince this and prince that, Fransha looked alarmed.

“But, Naghan — this is the emperor!”

Naghan looked at me. Oby shut his one good eye.

“Emperor?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said impatiently. “For the sweet sake of Opaz! Take off. Guard yourselves. I’ll be back home in Vondium in no time.” I told them that Delia and a gang of cutthroats might be following me and added that they were to be told what I’d told Naghan and Oby. Privately, I hoped the two parties would not meet up. If they did I knew what would happen. The whole raving bunch would come roaring down to Huringa ready to take the place apart stone by stone.

Of course, that might be a Very Good Thing, as Deb-Lu might say; it did not happen to fit in with the plans we had for Vallia. First things first.

“Now,” I said, and a brusqueness harshened my voice. “Get in the voller and take off!”

And then a party of slaves ran shrieking into the area below the landing platform. That did it. Fordan helped Tilly up into the voller, and I noticed how they both observed the fantamyrrh as they entered. Oby turned to Fransha. But she was looking over the parapet, her fists gripped on the stone.

“Ortyg!” she said, choking, shaking, trembling uncontrollably. “My love! Ortyg!”

Down there vicious guards were herding slaves into a huddle. Whips rose and fell. Shrieks rent the air. And, clearly in the mess of slaves, beaten to his knees, Ortyg Voinderam staggered and fell.

Chapter nineteen

Mazdo the Splandu

What a confounded mess!

I swung to glare at my friends.

“Stay here!” I spat it out. I know my face must have blazed that old devilish look, I know I sounded like the craziest of all mad emperors. “Stay here. Keep a watch from the voller. Slay any guard who tries to molest you. If I fail — lift off.”

“But...!”

“We will...”

“We won’t let you...”

“By the Black Chunkrah! Will you do as I ask?” Then, cunning with the frantic pressures of the moment, I bellowed, “For the sakes of Tilly and Fransha!”

They had not seen what I had glimpsed among the trees and shrubbery beyond the corner of the landing platform. A small stairway led down over there. Without giving them any further chance of argument, I leaped away, raced across the roof.

Their faces must have shown shock and horror in that fraught moment — for I ran away from the ornate stairs with their iron balustrades and chemzite facings. I ran away from the brutal guards and their whips below. I ran away from Ortyg Voinderam, so cruelly beaten into the ground.

I, Dray Prescot, Lord of Strombor, Krozair of Zy, must have seemed to them to be fleeing.

Just as my head whipped below the level of the platform I half turned and bellowed, “Do as I say as you value your lives — and my friendship!”

Then I was down, haring like a maniac for the secluded path leading to the space before the landing platform.

Along that path, hurrying, came the cadade.

With him half ran, half scurried, a gesticulating guard, a Fristle, who had evidently brought the bad news to the cadade. The florid face was more flushed still, the eyes mean, the jaw fiercely set. Sweat dripped from the brim of that splendid helmet with its panache and plumes. He hurried. But he would not sully his own dignity by running.

That pompous self-esteem of his gave me the chance to get down the little back stairs from the landing platform and into the corridor between the hedges.

There was little time for finesse. The Fristle saw me coming and started to yank out his sword. He was slow.

The cadade let rip with a blinding bellow of rage and ripped out his own over-elaborate sword.

Now, I had no wish to slay them, either of them. But this had to be done nip and tuck. I belted into the Fristle, slid the blow of the thraxter, slammed his head back with a simple and unsubtle right cross. Before he slumped to the ground I’d ducked, spun, kicked the cadade and then dug my thumb into his windpipe. After that it was a mercy to tap him alongside the head — having first picked up his sword and tipped off his helmet. He went to sleep.

A voice said, “By Opaz! As neat a piece of work as—”

The voice stopped. It stopped abruptly and on a choked grunt. The reason for that was my fist wrapped around the throat of the speaker. I recognized the golden-furred numim we had released from the Recalcitrants House. I let him go and stepped back and instantly bent to the unconscious cadade.

“You were nearly a dead man there, dom,” I said, matter-of-factly, stripping off the ornate bronze and silver kax, ripping the silver-tissue vest away, getting at the blue tunic beneath. The kilt was mostly bronze and silver. That went on me first, wrapped and thonged with swift and sure knots. I was driving my arms into the tunic before the numim got his breath back.

“You — you are mighty quick, dom.”

“When necessary.” I still did not pause, dispensing with the silver tissue — it had ripped clean across, anyway — getting the kax on. Without being asked, the lion man stepped up and helped me buckle up the straps.

“My thanks, dom—”

“I am Mazdo the Splandu.” He spoke the name simply. But I grasped much by the cognomen — not that there was time for the pappattu. I had to get out into the open space among the slaves before my bunch of revolutionaries came boiling down those ornate stairs to rescue Voinderam themselves.

“There are vollers up there. You had best take one swiftly — I have other work to do.”

“I shall take an airboat from these rasts. But, cannot I help—?”

“Again, my thanks, Mazdo the Splandu. But — no. Best for you to take your freedom while it is still on offer.”

The cadade’s sandals would have to be high-thonged, of course. I slapped the leather thongs about as fast as I could. My heart was beginning to let me know it could beat a right old tattoo. The sword belts, the last check to make sure everything was shipshape, and finally, grabbing the helmet and lifting it up and feeling the weight, and settling it on my head. The kax strained as I raised my arms. But the cadade was a big fellow, as I’ve said, and I could wear his armor albeit with some constricting discomfort.

“You—”

“If you must, call me Chaadur. Now I am off. Remberee, Mazdo the Splandu. We may meet again.”

I bustled along, half-turning, and then banishing that superb specimen of the race of diffs we call numims — lion-men — from my mind. He called after me, soft-voiced, “If we do meet again, Chaadur the Sudden, I stand in your debt.”

I lifted my arm, not looking back, and so rounded the last hedge.

Here I concentrated. I knew the lineaments of the cadade. I forced my face into an approximation, thinking of what Deb-Lu-Quienyin had said, pumping up the blood, getting a flush to spread. Mind you, that wasn’t difficult, not after the rushing about I’d just been doing. I was not exactly panting, but I was breathing faster than usual when I rounded the end of the landing platform and paced rapidly out toward the knot of cowed slaves and the belligerent guards.

They sprang to instant attention as the glory of the bronze and silver kax, the waving plumes, the glittering helmet, bore down on them.

Now for it...

I started bellowing in the hoarse commanding voice I had heard in the outer courtyard. Deb-Lu was right. Habit, acceptance, seeing the clothes and hearing the vicious words of command, all these things added up to the cadade to these guards. I was the cadade. Who else?

This was quite clearly a random collection of slaves. They’d been going about their unending labor when the guards had rounded them up. Quite probably there was not a single one of those who had escaped from the Recalcitrants House.