Witches of Kregen (16 page)

A girl’s voice, clear and hard, snapped out: “You rast! Die, then!”

She came at me from the side, very quick, very lithe. She had little skill. Well, Nalgre the Point had been kind with her. I parried her blow and the sword whispered past my ribs. I caught her as she fell and eased her to the carpet. She’d slumber peacefully for a time yet.

I crossed to the shadowed bed, immense among its hangings and looked down. The bed was empty.

The chair?

Softly I padded to the gherimcal, rounding the long and thick poles, leather-wrapped, padded, which might be carried by men or animals, and looked into the interior.

“Well, Natyzha, so I’ve found you at last!”

She sat there, upright, her wizened face as intent and cunning as ever, the lushness of her pampered body clear through the silks and sensils. She was smothered in gems, and the gold and black of her attire glittered. Her eyes glittered also, like glass.

She said nothing and her expression did not change.

“Well, Natyzha — have you no greeting for an adversary? And, anyway, what in a Herrelldrin Hell are you still sitting uncomfortably in your gherimcal for when...”

My voice trailed off.

With a movement like that of a striking risslaca I bent down and peered closely at her.

She was dead.

Dead as a doorbell. And, what is more, she’d been flayed and stuffed, her eyes of glass glaring fixedly and unseeingly at me, all that gorgeous body a mere covering of skin over straw.

Chapter fifteen

Of the Lady Fanti and Nath the Onker

If the giant blue Scorpion of the Star Lords had whisked me up right there and then I’d have been profoundly grateful — believe me.

Here I was, at the apex of a hostile palace where guards and dogs searched for me, and the one woman who could have saved my bacon was dead — dead and stuffed and on display as though she were still alive.

It was enough to make a fellow snatch off his hat and jump on it, by Vox!

The lady Fanti let a sigh ripple from her lips. She’d wake up in a moment or two, for I’d dealt gently with her, so that it became vitally necessary for me to put on a change of face, suffering as I did so, in the way taught me by Deb-Lu-Quienyin. With my craggy old physiognomy feeling as though a million bees swarmed all over it, I was able to snatch up a glass of water from beside the bed — an artful touch in the deception, that! — and cross to the girl. Putting my arm under her shoulders, I lifted her up to a sitting posture and then held the water under her nose.

“My lady!” I said in as high-pitched a voice as I could reasonably manage. “They have apprehended the monster who did this. Here, my lady, drink and give thanks you are unharmed!”

I rattled on and shoved the water at her and she, vicious, in the way of young nobility, smacked it out of my hand. The glass went smash and the water sprayed the priceless rugs.

“You clown! What—”

“Hush, my lady, please! You must rest — your handmaidens will be here very soon—”

“What is going on! I was attacked—”

“Yes, my lady. But that is over. And no one knows the kovneva is dead.”

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in this bedchamber—?”

“I helped apprehend that monster, my lady. I was left to care for you after the others went back and sent for your handmaidens. Please do not over-excite yourself.”

“Why did not they leave a Jikai Vuvushi — oh, I expect I know why.”

I didn’t. But I hazarded a guess that the fighting maidens did not get on with this hoity-toity missy who was not one of them, who attempted with little success to emulate their martial prowess, and who was the vad’s granddaughter. She was a handful, that was certain.

Through all this nonsensical chatter I still could not see a clear escape route for myself. I didn’t want to put her to sleep again; but if the lady Fanti insisted on being her obnoxious self — despite the apparent situation and my explanations — then I’d have to keep her quiet long enough for me to climb out of the window and start the escape.

She glared up at me. She wore an evening lounge dress of a pale green color, with too many jewels, and her hair was caught up into looped pearls.

“Did anyone besides you see the kovneva was dead?”

“I do not know, my lady.”

“If they did, then they must be killed, too.”

I didn’t miss, nor did I like, that little “too.”

“Oh, my lady,” I said, putting braggadocio and confidence into the words. “I am quite confident the secret is safe. No one outside can possibly know the dowager kovneva is dead. Least of all her son Nath.”

“Mind your tongue, rast! These matters are not yours!” She moved her hand pettishly, for I still supported her. “Where are my stupid girls? And you, cramph, what is your name?”

Her manners were deplorable.

“Nath the Onker, my lady.”

And she laughed.

When she’d had her spiteful little laugh out, she said: “When Kov Nath and I are married I think I shall have you in my guard. You will amuse me.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And I won’t have my court with Nath in Falkerium. My father will bring Nath here, whether he wants to or not.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And do you show no gratitude, you rast?”

“Certainly, my lady, I thank you.”

“The Onker! I shall enjoy you!”

This was no damn good at all. I’d learned a very great deal, reached into the heart of the conspiracy. Now I had to get away. Sober common sense told me I’d not now make my way through the palace the way I’d come. No, it was the window for me.

I sat up so quickly that she fell back and I caught her just in time.

“You stupid onker — what—?”

“The window, my lady!” I whispered very dramatically. “A noise.Lie still, I beg you — I will investigate...”

Like a spider I scuttled across those priceless carpets and hoisted myself up to the windowsill. With a quick sideways movement I was through the opening of the central casement and so dropped to the ledge. Without waiting I shuffled as fast as I could along the way I’d been going, away from the corridor where I’d first taken to the outside wall. A deep column buttressed here and I only just made it to its shelter before that intolerant young voice was screaming into the night.

“Nath the Onker! Where are you?”

I made no reply but hurried along as fast as fingertips and toes would take me.

“Onker! Nath the Onker! Oh, when I have you in my guard you will see! You will see!”

Eventually that youthful, silly, hateful voice faded and I found a way down in the shadows. Even then it was nip and tuck; but by playing the old trick of joining the hunters I got clear. Being a hunter was easy. Was I not dressed and equipped like the hunters? Was I not one of them?

Nalgre the Point brushed up his whiskers and said: “A fine night for a shbilliding, and what happens? Some tomfoolery about an intruder. It spoiled my night.”

“And mine. And it was all probably a scare, anyway. They found no one, so there probably was no one.”

“Aye, by Lingloh.A great waste of time.”

But I, Dray Prescot, had not wasted my time this night. By Zair! What a scheme! And what prizes for the winners!

Once you’d seen the scheme, of course, it was obvious, simple. But then, that is the nature of hindsight. You had to hand the palm to the Sultants, father and son. If they could only hang on long enough, without discovery, why — the prizes were fabulous!

They faced problems. Well, of course, they would in so parlous a gamble. From my previous experiences with the Racters I believed that Sultant did not get on with and hated his fellow Racter nobles, particularly Ered Imlien. I had a hunch that Imlien was involved in this.

Then I spent a moment mentally saluting the ib of Natyzha Famphreon. Her shade was on the long way down to the Ice Floes of Sicce. The Gray Ones would stalk through the mist to meet her. Would she find her way through to the sunny uplands beyond? Well, for all her enmity and deplorable way of life, I could not find it in my heart to wish her ill.

What now concerned me was my pledge to her.

I had to prevent the death of her son Nath and to ensure he came into his rightful inheritance.

A flashing memory of myself with feet dangling over emptiness, hanging onto that damned spike with one hand, and a fellow with a spear about to push me off for the long drop overwhelmed me. By Zair! I hadn’t enjoyed that, and I gave a little shiver.

Nalgre the Point said: “What’s up, Kadar?” Then he burbled on in his confident way: “You need a little stiffener, that’s clear.”

So we went to see what we could retrieve of his shbilliding, which is by way of being a riotous assembly of devotees of liquid refreshment, and spent a sizeable portion of our wages. Later we were sitting at a wine-stained table with the bottles mostly lying on their sides.

I said to Nalgre: “I am buying back my hire.”

“Oh? What ails you, dom?”

“Naught ails me, dom. Look, I’m for an enterprise. I could do worse than have a fine fellow like you with me—”

“Is there loot in it?”

“Loot? Well — cash, certainly.”

“I’m bored with guard duty. If you promise me loot and action, I’m your man.”

“As to action, there may be a quantity of skull-bashing to be accomplished.”

I did not add that I wanted to do the next part of my promise to Natyzha as quickly and cleanly as possible.

Nalgre looked at his empty glass.

“I swore off fighting — once. Like I swore off drinking — once. I’ll go with you, Kadar the Silent. And if there is skull-bashing to be accomplished, then I shall do the same with alacrity.”

Maybe that was the secret that ate at him, that he had grown tired of being a mercenary and wished to try something else, and was not fitted. Maybe that was why he’d accepted the tame job of being a guard to a noble. And he’d had his fill of that...

Next day and without explanation we bought back our hire, discharged ourselves from the service of the vad, and rode southwards.

There was no reason to suppose that Nalgre or Orlon Sultant would put two and two together. We had no connection with the intruder of the previous night. We were clearly bent on finding action down south against the hateful puppets of the Emperor of Vallia who were moving once more from the Black Mountains and from Falinur.

“First stop, Nalgre,” I said. “Falkerium.”

“The capital is rich, I’ve heard. When you tell me the task ahead, I shall take more interest. Now, as to the philosophy of Naghan Deslayer the Fifth—”

Well, he talked and I listened and we jogged along. We took passage aboard a narrow boat with all our animals and kit and so sailed neatly into the basin of Falkerium on the day when news had broken that hordes of foes were marching north from the emperor’s lands to invade Falkerdrin.

“If that is your task, to fight these fellows, then—” and he rubbed his hands “—let me get in among ’em!”

“No, Nalgre. The dowager kovneva’s son, Kov Nath, is here in Falkerium.”

“I’ve heard the stories about him. A ninny.”

“Maybe not.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. There may yet be found somewhat to amaze the people about that young man.”

“And your task—?”

“Is to free him, if he be prisoner.And to put him aright if he is free.”

Nalgre the Point quizzed up that panda face.

“You speak of high matters here, dom. Hanging matters. Also, you speak in riddles.”

“Not so. You and I are going to take young Kov Nath into our custody.”

Chapter sixteen

In Falkerium

The efforts of Seg, Inch and Turko after our successes in Vennar — a province no longer — had clearly been rewarded by a rejuvenation of the armies. The work they had put in must have been prodigious. To mount a fresh offensive so soon after the conclusion of a victorious campaign indicated a sustained effort of will and determination.

For those whose understanding of the military extends to picturesque uniforms, or rightly bewailing the casualties, or merely blanket condemnations, the difficulties of putting armies into the field are probably unknown.

Once you have reluctantly decided that fighting is a lesser evil — sometimes it is not, of course — and you must provide for men and women actually to go out and do the fighting, the realities of armies strikes home cruelly. Armies are organisms. Organic, they have a life of their own, and a death, too, not infrequently. The sheer scope of organizing, running, supplying, is enough to run people ragged; the intense need to boost morale saps even more of the strengths of those in command.

Yes, it might appear to the onlooker, as I have said, that the reunification of Vallia dragged on and on; the truth was that with our limited resources we had done wonders. Most of the credit lay with people like Seg and Turko and the Kapts and logistics people of the army. If we were on what we hoped was the last leg of the course, no one would be more pleased than they.

Except myself.

I wanted the whole messy business over and done with, the slaves liberated and everyone knuckling down to the tasks ahead which we could not avoid.

There would be no evasion of the onslaught from the Shanks. That was very clear.

Nalgre the Point and I put up in a modest inn, The Queng and Scriver, and we kept our ears open.

I explained enough and no more. If I could do this thing quickly and cleanly, well and good. If I could not — well, that problem would be faced when it occurred.

The situation was crystal clear. I might not have all the pieces of information; I had enough to make a just reading.

Natyzha was dead. Her son, Kov Nath, a reputed weakling, was expected to be putty in the hands of whatever strong noble or group of ambitious people controlled him. The Sultants knew that Natyzha was dead. Ered Imlien, if it really was he who had Nath, did not know. So that gave rise to the interesting situation that each side had one piece, and neither could deal with the other. Clearly, if that hoity-toity young miss, the lady Fanti, wanted to marry Nath on the orders of her grandfather, Nath had to be got out of Imlien’s hands. But the Sultants could not tell Imlien Natyzha was dead. And Imlien would never let Nath go. So Nalgre the Point and I, as it were, stood in the center of the web.