Talons of Scorpio (6 page)

The old sailor knife, well-greased, slid from the sheath over my right hip.

If this Opaz-forsaken Styrorynth thought he was going to gulp me for his lunch he would have to be persuaded of the error of his belief. He was infernally quick and lethal in his own element. Accounted a superb swimmer and diver though I may be, I’d only have the one chance against him.

He swooshed in, mouth wide, needle-teeth ready to clench upon this tasty tidbit. Sliding down and under him, foaming in his pressure wave, I managed to avoid that rat-trap mouth. The knife scored along his underside and the water fouled. Without waiting to hang around I kicked hard — not for the surface but in a direct line for the dark shimmering hardness ahead that was the galleon’s keel.

The Styrorynth rolled away aft and no doubt those little fishes upon whom he preyed would swarm up to feast. Swimming strongly, feet churning, I went clean under the galleon’s keel. Before I surfaced I checked — as far as was possible — to see no other predators of the deep waited to seize me in their jaws.

For the distance I could see underwater with that shimmering silver sky dancing above my head there appeared to be no further danger. No danger, at least, from that direction. When I broke the surface and looked up not a single face peered over the bulwarks upon me. The galleon rolled gently. Well, they had no doubt seen a man fall from the argenter and vanish into the sea. They knew what manner of beasties lurked below the surface. They might cast a cursory look down; they would hardly expect to see the self-same man surface on the other side of their ship.

I hollered.

Three times I sucked a deep breath and dived, knife in fist, warily watching, and three times, seeing nothing, I surfaced and shouted.

On the last time a shock of hair showed over the bulwark above me and thick voice said: “Whey-ey! Where’d you come from, dom?”

“Throw down a rope and I’ll tell you.”

“Oh, a rope — oh, aye.”

Moments later a coil hit the water by my head and I seized the end and was hauled up over the side, streaming water. I had the sense to stuff the old sailor knife away. It was clean enough from the sea water.

On deck a shake of the head and a few blinks, snorts and shakes set me up to face the perils ahead.

The owner of the shock of hair was Brokelsh, and his nose was a mere flat sponge. He goggled at me.

Over on the other side men clustered, staring at
Tuscurs Maiden
, who rolled listlessly beyond. I said: “Thank you for the rope, dom. I’ll do the same for you one day,” and headed straight for the quarterdeck ladder.

The Brokelsh shouted after me: “I’ll remember that, dom. Make sure you do, too. My name is Bango Barragon, from Ovvend, so remember it when the time comes.”

I did not laugh although, by Krun, his shock of hair and his squashed nose and his manner were enough to make a fellow split his sides. I put a hand on the rail of the ladder and a boarding pike came down thwack! I jumped. I looked up and my face must have shone a very nasty glow.

“You nearly had my hand off then, dom!”

“Aye,” quoth the fellow at the head of the ladder, clad in leathers, brass-studded, and with the crimson and light-blue banded sleeves of Ovvend. “And if you try to come up here without an invite I’ll have your head off, by Vox!”

A few sailors and a couple of Pachak marines came over to stare at me, dripping water on their deck. They held weapons; they were in no wise scared of me, of course; just curious and cautious.

“Tell Captain Insur ti Fotor I wish to speak—”

“
Tell
the Capt’n, is it, now! A civil tongue in your head might keep that object upon your shoulders.”

A young lad with a flushed face looked over the quarterdeck rail. I did not know him. He wore a helmet of silvered iron flaunting the feathers of Ovvend. He would be a noble youngster training up in the galleons so that one day he, too, might command one of the sleek sea greyhounds. He could be a fop, a ninny, an autocrat of sadistic humor; he could be a stout-hearted lad ready to learn his trade. I stared back at him, and then yelled: “Captain Insur ti Fotor! If you value your hide, lad, jump! Fetch him!” And, then, I used the word to make ’em leap about. “Bratch!”

He flushed even further, tightened up, opened his mouth — saw my face — and bratched.

The guard at the head of the ladder tried to hit me over the head with his pike. You couldn’t blame him, really. I dodged, took the pike away, so that he fell down the ladder on his nose. A Pachak lifted his upper left arm; his comrade stuck out his lower left arm. In another moment they’d all leap on me, and I had no wish at all to fight them, all at once or one at a time.

“Insur!” I bellowed at the top of my voice.

Now Insur ti Fotor’s family name — it was Varathon — had been scarcely used by us. He’d always been known as Insur ti Fotor, for Fotor was a tidy little township of Ovvend and Insur Varathon came from one of the chief families there. So, all I could do was bellow out: “Insur!”

Give him his due. He did not hang about. His face appeared over the rail, beside and higher than that of the middy’s. He saw. At once he shouted: “Send that man up here. Handle him gently.”

The guard sat up rubbing his nose, which did not bleed much.

“Your pardon, dom,” I said. “It was your nose or my head.”

He sneezed red.

“We’ll see, dom, we’ll see.”

Up the ladder with the two Pachaks at my back I went. Insur turned away, glaring at the middy.

“Please return to your duties, Hikdar Varathon!”

“Quidang!”

The lad scuttled.

Insur simply shouldered on to his aft cabin, shouting to his first lieutenant: “Do nothing until I tell you!”

“Quidang!”

At the carved companionway entrance, Insur half-turned, still not looking at me. “You may return to your duties, Pachaks. My thanks. I will take charge of this man.”

“Quidang!”

The Pachaks trotted off and I followed Insur down into his cabin. He waited with the handle in his fist, and he slammed the door after us. Then, at once, he bowed, and said:

“Majister.”

I took his hand.

“My thanks, Insur. That was splendidly done.”

“If I say I am amazed — flabbergasted — to find you here...”

“You would match the pleasure I feel in meeting you again.”

He motioned to a chair, and so I had to sit down, otherwise he’d remain standing, half-bent, forever. “Well, Insur, tell me all about it.”

He sat down and instinctively poured parclear. The sherbet drink fizzed and sparkled in the glass. “I will tell you everything, majister. But — what? I am bereft of words.”

“First of all — you did right to keep my identity safe. Second: What is all this nonsense about taking the argenter from Tomboram a prisoner of war?”

He straightened.

“It is hardly nonsense, majister.” He wouldn’t mince words. “The Opaz-forsaken devils bear heavily upon us. We strive to thwart their designs, but—”

“Press? Designs? What are you talking about? Is not Vallia at peace with Pandahem? All the nations of Pandahem — well, perhaps with the exception of the Bloody Menahem.”

“No, majister. Not so.”

I gaped. Then I said, harshly, “Tell me.”

So he told me.

Down in the southwest of Vallia, the land I had made my home on Kregen and which empire had fetched me to be their emperor, down there in the southwest in the kovnate of Kaldi a pretty little revolution had broken out. I knew about that. My son Drak had taken his army down there to sort them out, for Kov Vodun Alloran had proclaimed himself as king. During my most recent adventurings I had been somewhat out of touch with the latest developments.

Insur said: “Alloran sought help from Pandahem. He got it. Armies were landed and Prince Drak has fought many hard battles—”

He saw my face and stopped speaking abruptly. Drak! Suppose he was killed in one of these petty little battles, for hard battles mean casualties. Insur saw at once.

“The Prince Majister is safe, and leads the army brilliantly.”

“Thank Opaz!”

“Aye.”

“And so you cruise the sea lanes to prevent the ferrying of more troops to feed this mad King Vodun Alloran?”

“Yes, majister.”

“But — Tomboram! They have been friends for many seasons. I would have thought it of Menaham—”

“They were defeated in a great battle, and Alloran desperately sought fresh allies, and found them in Tomboram.”

“Well, I suppose it all adds up,” I said in a grudging fashion. “Although it stinks worse than the Fish Souk in Helamlad where there is no ice for fifty dwaburs around.”

“Where Helamlad might be, majister, I do not know. What I would dearly like to know is where you came from — oh! Unless—”

“From
Tuscurs Maiden’s
ship’s company, Insur, that’s where. And she’s not of Tomboram, being of Tuscursmot in South Pandahem. We flew the colors of Bormark just because we imagined Vallia and Tomboram, Bormark, allies.”

He shook his head; but he was no man’s fool.

“Your designs are none of my business, majister. You know I will do all in my power to aid you.”

“I know, Insur, and I thank you. So that means you can’t take the argenter prisoner.”

“Quite.”

“I spotted Wersting Rogahan at the forrard varters.”

“He will know you, for sure. And Ortyg Fondal and Nath Cwophorlin have made your acquaintance in the past. Once made—”

“I know, I know,” I grumped. “They say I’ve a face like a leem at times.”

A tiny smile licked around his lips, and his face, all bronzed and sea-beaten, creaked alarmingly. He was no salt-laden old sea-dog but a fiery and consummately professional naval officer. Men had given their lives to save his. I looked hard at him. “And,” I said, “that young Hikdar Varathon...?”

“My son, majister.”

“Congratulations. He looks likely.”

“A sight too likely at times. But — the argenter!”

“Aye, well. I am on passage for Port Marsilus. I can tell you that I and my comrades over in
Tuscurs Maiden
have a mission to burn temples of an evil cult. Pray that cult never sets foot in Vallia. It has tried and we have rooted it out. This affects all the peoples of Paz.”

He spread his hands. “I and all my people here in
Ovvend Opandar
are at your disposal, majister.”

I nodded. “It is a temptation. You have a first-class command, and if the lads are anything like Wersting Rogahan, they are a fearsome bunch. But — I think not, Insur. Your duties lie elsewhere.”

He looked disappointed, for he, like many a man and woman of Kregen, well knew that if they followed me they’d get into scrapes and adventures enough to last two lifetimes. I managed a farcical kind of smile.

“The Shanks, Insur, the everlasting damned Shanks. There will be fighting enough and to spare when they arrive.”

His eyebrows went up.

“Oh, yes, my friend. They are on the way to invade our lands. We have some tidying up to do first before they get here.”

“Do you know where and when they expect to make landfall?”

“I wish I did. I know only that a vast fleet is on the way.”

A knock rapped discreetly on the paneled door. Insur did not look annoyed, as a lesser man might well have done.

“Yes?”

“A Khibil from the Pandahem argenter demands to see you, captain. Demands, no less.”

The voice beyond the door betrayed amusement.

I sighed.

“Time I was gone, Insur. That’ll be a vastly intemperate Khibil whose acquaintance I have the honor to claim. Perhaps if you just tell him that Vallia and Tomboram are allies, ask him to convey your respects to Kov Pando Marsilus na Bormark, and then get rid of him, the quicker we can all get on with our jobs.”

“If he’s been long in your company, majister, he is likely to demand damages, recompense, an apology.”

“I’m sure you can accommodate him.”

Insur did not smile; but his nod was of the thoughtful variety, betokening a careful estimation of what he could get away with in dealing with an intemperate Khibil who was the friend of the emperor.

Insur opened the door. There was much we had not spoken of; but Pompino had effectively put an end to deliberations. I bid Insur remberee, and slipped quickly up on deck.

The two vessels rode close, their yards almost interlocking. I cocked my head up. Like a monkey up the ratlines I went and so out along a yard and leaped for
Tuscurs Maiden’s
main yard and so down to her deck.

Cap’n Murkizon regarded me as one might regard a ghost.

“Jak! We thought you done for, for sure! You are not broken from the ib?”

“No, Cap’n Murkizon. I am no ghost.”

“By the hairy black warts of the Divine Lady of Belschutz! Right heartily glad to see you!” He seized my hand and pumped away as though extinguishing a conflagration. Others came up. Pompino was not among them.

Larghos the Flatch said: “We saw the finny back of a disgusting Styrorynth. Then we saw blood. And yet — you live!”

“The Vallians hauled me out.”

Captain Linson, master of
Tuscurs Maiden
and mindful of responsibilities, congratulated me on a miraculous escape, and then added: “Here comes Horter Pompino. He looks pleased.”

Pompino leaped onto the deck, hitching his sword out of the way. He brushed up his whiskers in a gesture that told us — or, at least me — that he was feeling very pleased with himself.

“It was all a mistake,” he said, strutting up. “The moment I spoke to their captain he understood. We are to proceed at once.”

“What, Pompino,” I could not forbear from prodding. “And did he offer an apology?”

“I did not ask for one, Jak. Besides, he had his damned varters swung in my direction. Ugly, those artillery pieces of Vallia. Damned ugly.”

I did not laugh.

Then he extended his hand, palm uppermost. A single golden coin glittered. It was a zan-talen, worth ten Vallian talen pieces.

“The captain, an unhanged rascal called Insur ti Fotor, requested me to treat the crew to a wet. Of course, he knew better than to attempt to pacify me in that way.”

“Naturally.”