Warlord of Antares
Warlord of Antares
Alan Burt Akers
Mushroom eBooks
Dray Prescot has been described by someone who has seen him on this Earth as a man above middle height with brown hair and level brown eyes, brooding and dominating, with enormously broad shoulders and powerful physique. He moves like a savage hunting cat, silent and deadly. There is about him an abrasive honesty and an indomitable courage.
Reared in the harsh conditions of Nelson’s Navy, he failed to find success on Earth. When the Savanti nal Aphrasöe selected and then rejected him for their purposes, he was taken up by the Everoinye, the Star Lords. They have flung him through four hundred light-years of empty space to the planet Kregen, orbiting the binary Antares, many times. On Kregen, beautiful and terrible, exotic and mysterious, Prescot’s innate talents flowered and he secured success beyond his wildest dreams.
Now the grouping of continents and islands called Paz are threatened by the Shanks, fish-headed reivers from over the curve of the world. Prescot’s task now is to unite all of Paz in alliance against the aggressors. Not all the people of Paz are willing to forget their old enmities. And there is Csitra, the Witch of Loh, who lusts after Prescot and would drag down all of Vallia to ruin for his sake. In the passionate, shrewd, charismatic figure of Delia of Delphond, and his family and blade comrades, Prescot possesses riches past the mundane dreams of empire.
Alan Burt Akers
Metal
I, Dray Prescot, the Lord of Strombor and Krozair of Zy, whirled head over heels helplessly through a tempestuous void into the black boiling belly of hell.
“What the hell’s going on?” I bellowed. It felt as though I yelled with a mouth full of feathers.
Around and around I went, up and down, and I sincerely believed I was being pulled apart, as those unpleasant Echenegs pull people apart with a variety of wild animals. I tried to curl up into a fetal ball.
This experience was entirely new. The Star Lords had sent their giant blue Scorpion down to snatch me up from Kregen. I expected to be taken through various chambers and possibly be transported in a marvelous chair that hissed, and so be able to speak to those distant, immortal and superhuman entities the Everoinye.
Instead I was being torn to pieces in a black whirling madhouse.
Just what, by the putrescent eyeballs and pustular nose of Makki Grodno, was going on?
I know I am a fallible clown. The years spent on Earth trying to make a career in Nelson’s Navy had been blank for me. I’d had a few successes since being hauled up by the ears and dumped down into trouble on Kregen. Yes, I supposed I was some way on to the grand scheme of uniting the peoples of the lands of Paz.
This time, when I saw the Star Lords, I’d said to myself, this time I’ll have a few very hard words for them.
So they dragged me up in the midst of a whirlwind, battered my ears with blasts of wind and horrendous noise, tumbled me upside down and inside out for all I knew.
My heels hit hard and jarred clear up the spine into my skull.
I staggered forward. The blackness like the ear cavity of a Lepecranch bat folded about me. I blinked.
Well, I still wore the brave old scarlet breechclout. I still had the Krozair longsword. Apart from those two items and the sailor knife scabbarded from its belt over my right hip, there was only me.
With a convulsive heave I stumbled up. I shook my fist at the impenetrable blackness.
“All right, you high and mighty Everoinye! Come on! Let’s be having you!”
If anything, the wind screeched louder and more fiercely, and a cold cutting edge of ice crept into its teeth.
“Damn you, you indifferent—” I roared on, verbiage of almost meaningless bravado when set against the awful forces colliding about my insignificant form. The words were stoppered in my throat.
A single slashing streak of viridian green swiped all across that blackness and drove sparkles and spots of brilliance into my eyes.
That searing shaft of green lasted only a couple of heartbeats and was gone; I knew who — or what — it was.
That was the impetuous and icily contemptuous Star Lord the others called Ahrinye. I thought he would be no friend to me.
The whole world shifted and swung and I fell to my knees. I didn’t know if I was on a world, any world, or drifted on a shard of rock between the stars, or was buried deep within some unguessable hell.
I knew the Star Lords to be fallible, as was I. I could not believe those superhuman entities of vast intellect and distant purposes to be fools. Again, as was I. Their powers were so great that the limited imagination of a mortal man might never encompass a fraction of a jot or tittle. As the universe swept up and down and around and around I tried with barbaric savagery to hold on to the central idea that the Star Lords needed me.
With my own puny willpower I had fought them in the old days when I imagined them indifferent and opposed to all my own wishes. In our more recent alliance I had glimpsed reasons why they had chosen me to do what I had to do for them. I had not fought them recently. But, now...
When all this nonsense settled down and the world became right way up again, I’d have a few words to say, by Zair, a few words!
A looseness in the air about me and a lightness in my limbs heralded another change. The universe steadied. I could smell nothing. The darkness shifted about me and I felt harsh rock beneath my feet; but I could smell nothing and that is always very strange, very strange.
When the pale yellow streak appeared horizontally and glimmered with spectral fires, for a few treacherous moments I imagined this to be Zena Iztar. But this yellow was not her glorious golden yellow, refulgent, bringing a reassurance and a promise. Zena Iztar and I had not met for too long a time and I guessed she was about some supernatural task in realms and dimensions unknowable to mere mortal humanity.
Against the yellow streak, which widened steadily, sharp black peaks stood out like saw edges. I confess it took me a little time to realize I was watching the dawn.
That lemon yellow runneled between the mountain peaks. Shadows lay long and sharp-edged. Each of the scattering of boulders and pebbles all about me on that circular plain cast its own individual shadow. The peaks ringed the plain, and ringed me, too, as though I stood in prison.
Desolation is the only word to describe that place.
I didn’t give a damn about the desolation. Only one thing mattered now — and the horror of it made me put my fist onto the hilt of the Krozair longsword, gripping not in bravado but reaching out for reassurance and put a pulse throbbing evilly in my temples.
For if this was the dawn, as indeed it was, and that yellow glow was the sun, as it probably was, why, then I was no longer on Kregen.
The twin suns of Antares, Zim and Genodras, stream down their mingled opaline radiance upon the world of Kregen, red and green, ruby and emerald. Not yellow.
The only other world of which I had any experience was Earth, and Earth has a little yellow sun.
I did not break down in despair, as I had every right to do. I did not think I was on Earth, for the feel to my body recalled a fever dream of the African coast. In the next instant the blackness returned and the madness of whirling about upside down swooped upon me.
When, after what seemed if not an eternity then a damn long time, I was once more plunked down on my feet, I felt convinced that the Star Lords were in deep trouble. Those awesome beings had the power to hurl me about the world of Kregen willy-nilly. They could fling me four hundred light-years back to Earth, and reach out and bring me back — when they chose.
Now, it seemed, they were fumbling what ought to be the simple task of dragging me up into their presence.
I stood upon one of what looked like a worldwide series of metal boxes. Each box was of the size of a decent three-bedroom suburban house. That homely image did nothing to reassure me in the face of this alienness. I felt the oddness, the strangeness. Just metal boxes for as far as I could see, and the alleyways between them slots of shadow, menacing and unfriendly.
Nothing moved in all that metal expanse.
The sky was just a silvery white distance, an even flow of light that illuminated the hard metal and thrust blackness into the slots between.
Because there seemed nothing else to do, I thought I’d take a look at what might exist in the alleyways, seeing that the tops of the boxes were uniformly flat, empty of anything, and dismally uninteresting.
At the corner of the box a metal ladder ran down the side. The rungs were spaced for a normal-sized person. In the context of the inhabitants of Earth, normal-sized can be understood. In those of Kregen it has to be understood to refer, as I use it, to apims, Homo sapiens sapiens like me and the rest of us terrestrials.
The rungs of the ladder struck cold. I went down hand under hand and, oddly enough, I recalled the days when I’d had to descend from the rigging via the shrouds instead of as a youngster I’d been in the habit of sliding down the backstay.
The damned ground was all metal, too.
Extending about five feet up from the ground, the wall of the box was discolored. Instead of that steely-silvery sheen, the metal looked rusty, pitted and corroded, as though steel and alloy were breaking down.
The alleyway here was about twenty feet across and the box on the opposite side was also decayed.
Down here the perspective both loomed and towered.
The vanishing point was just that from the extended lines of the edges of the boxes, and I fancied they dwindled out of sight far more sharply than logic would suggest. I did not understand what I was looking at. That goes without saying; but I say it nevertheless in the light of much information that came my way later, information I am sure many of you listening to my narrative on these tapes have been born into.
The dizzying perspective extended to the right and to the left.
Either way, therefore — it didn’t matter as far as I could see — would do. So I set off to the left and at the first intersection I took a single step out and immediately whipped back, flat against the metal wall, and the Krozair longsword snouted up.
The man out there wore a complete harness of armor and he carried a nasty-looking sword in his fist.
I waited.
Nothing happened.
Catching a breath and dropping low, I let an eyeball peer around the corner.
The man just stood there.
I watched him.
He stood, silent and motionless. His armor appeared to be fashioned from the same silvery-steely metal as that of the boxes. And from his ankles to his chest, the corroding rust of decay struck pitmarks that caught the light and turned the metal into a granular web.
After a time I straightened up and walked out.
“Llahal, dom,” I called in the formal Kregish greeting.
He made no reply. I studied him a trifle more closely, the longsword now hanging at my side. The blade was ready for action, I can tell you, ready for action in a jiffy!
His sword puzzled me, for it was cylindrical as to blade, without guard or quillons, and from its hilt a corrugated tube ran to the pack on the fellow’s back.
His face was entirely covered, save for grillwork which I fancied was located in an odd place for either breaths or sights.
“Llahal!” I called again.
No reply.
I walked across to him.
Now many folk account me a fellow who walks softly. Some say I move stealthily, and others with less humor say I move sneakily. Either way, on a metal floor, I made no sound.
One of this armored man’s legs fell away from his body. He keeled over. His leg crumbled to powder as it hit the ground, and his body tumbled down, to sprawl out in a tangle of metal arms and one metal leg.
I stopped moving.
All I could think was that the vibration through the metal ground had been the final straw in his destruction.
The metal rang with ironic sweetness as it struck the metal ground, a sound incongruous in these arid surroundings.
There was nothing I could do for the poor fellow, so with a word or two to Zair and Djan and Opaz to light him on his way down to the Ice Floes of Sicce, I marched on.
The furtive scuffling sound from ahead came as a positive relief.
Flat against a metal side of a box, I stared down the alleyway.
A thing like a horse-sized caterpillar came into view. He clumped along on a multitude of little legs all going up and down in a rippling rhythm. His four eyes protruded on stalks. His feeding proboscis uncurled as he reached a corroded wall on the next box and I swore he put the end against the decayed metal and started to suck it in. I could have sworn, yes; but it did not seem rational. But, then, what the hell was rational around here just lately?
His body was colored in much the same steely-silvery sheen as the metal all around, and black hairs sprouted here and there. His eyes were red. He slurped the rotten metal in, and soon he’d cut himself a semicircle and was starting on the next sweep.
