Legions of Antares (21 page)

Thrangulf made some commonplace observation. Kov Naghan was not in the taproom, so with a polite circumlocution I asked for his whereabouts.

“Hammabi el Lamma,” said Nedfar. He spoke wearily. “We spend too much of our time there these days. I feel guilty about snatching a few hours off.” He glanced up. “You have business with Kov Naghan?”

“Only to seek a transfer—”

The folk who had told me Naghan would be at The Rokveil’s Ank had been casually definite; if he had gone back to the palace maybe Something Was Up...

“A transfer, Jak?” Nedfar moved his glass about on the table by its base. His hands were finely shaped. “You are tired of the Air Service?”

“No. Suffocated, perhaps.”

“I see.” He spoke purposefully, yet the old snap and ring of command lacked the urgent energy of yesterday. “Lobur — my aide has left me, Jak. I am allowed a replacement. Would you serve as an aide?”

No hesitation at all as I said, “Wholeheartedly, prince. It is an honor—”

He smiled, interrupted and spoke shrewdly, “You left the service of my son.”

“Only because he was posted away from action, prince.”

“Yes, that rings true. We went through much suffering and terror down the Moder, Jak. I do not forget those times.”

So, like a beautiful ripe fruit plopping into my hands, the chance at Thyllis’s map room was given to me — free.

Mind you, by Zair! If I make this sound an easy decision, it was not all that easy. Moral dilemmas, they are the stuff of life, it seems, and we chart our course from rock to rock and hope to escape disasters as we blunder along. My lads crewing
Mathdi
must be thought of. I couldn’t have that hairy crew of cutthroats rampaging around Ruathytu — or could I? Why not? The glow grew in me as I went off to arrange matters. Why not, indeed! What a riotous shambles they would make before they were all caught and tortured to death.

That could not be allowed. The dreaded Laws of Hamal would specify the exact nature of their crimes and the appropriate punishments, down to the number of turns of the rack and thumbscrews, the twists of the ankchun, and the length of time they would be allowed to linger in torment before they were executed. No, no. That would not do. My lads in
Mathdi
were far too valuable for that condign fate.

Chuktar Thorfrann heaved up a sigh when I told him I was leaving, and he wished me well. If he experienced envy, he concealed it in his explosive apoplectic way. I packed my gear. The latest intelligence from the various fronts was of a steady advance of the different columns. A few battles had been fought; but no major engagements had taken place, and everyone lived in Ruathytu with the thrilling conviction that the high command had events well in hand and were waiting their time to strike.

Again I weighed the advisability of my leaving the capital and joining one of our invading armies, and again I was forced to the conclusion that my sphere of greatest advantage lay just here, where I was, and where, by Vox, I would be as soon as I gained free entry into the palace. Once into the Hammabi el Lamma as an accredited aide to Prince Nedfar, I’d be into the map room, whether allowed or not.

We held a full muster of the crew of
Mathdi.
Bonnu held them in their ranks as I appeared. I wore a plain gray tunic and trousers, tucked into low-cut boots. But, around my waist and looped over my left shoulder, I wore a flaunting scarlet sash.

What I had to say was short and, if you like, brutal.

Boiled down, it went thus, “You may do what you will to the cramphs of Hamalese, but you will fly this ship to Kov Seg’s army, and you will not lose a man here, and you will arrive sober and in good order. Dernun?”

The shout of “Quidang!” shook the old ship. They understood me, right enough. My private feelings were that this was a tame ending to their adventure; but I could not risk their lives heedlessly, and
Mathdi,
old and creaky maybe, would be a capital addition to Seg’s aerial forces. On that, they dismissed and I went off to the barracks to collect my gear.

The gold I’d brought from Paline Valley was holding out well, although Bluenose had been swept up by the Hamalese for their mirvol scouting forces. That thought reminded me that Nath Tolfeyr had been absent from the capital, and again I wondered if that mysterious man operated for the empress. Somehow, even then, I doubted that. Their characters would not have been compatible enough, for Thyllis was an overbearing personality so used to command as to be incapable of understanding opposition to her wishes, and Nath Tolfeyr always trod an independent path. That I had been able to keep my real if secret identity of Hamun ham Farthytu, Amak of Paline Valley, in the background without recourse to use pleased me mightily. So, as dwa-Jiktar Jak the Shot, I stepped out onto the next part of the course I had chosen.

My fingers had just gripped the handle of one of my lenken chests when a figure stepped out of the rear quarters. He wore a cloak and a muffling scarf, and he held a crossbow, fully spanned. The steel quarrel head glittered. It was aimed at my heart.

“Jak!” The voice rasped hoarsely. “Jak, I am in the most desperate straits. For the sake of the friendship I bear you, you must help me!”

The scarf fell away. The gaunt, haggard, desperate features of Lobur the Dagger stared out.

“You’ve got to help me! Or we are both dead men!”

Chapter seventeen

Into the Hammabi el Lamma

The leather-wrapped rope handle contracted as my fingers gripped. The chest, although lenken, was not large and was moderately filled with clothing. Lobur’s crossbow quivered. He didn’t know it, but I rather fancied I could have the chest swinging in a short arc before me to take the impact of the bolt. With his weapon discharged, Lobur’s famous dagger wouldn’t stop me from taking his neck between my fists and asking him a few pointed questions.

Deliberately, moving slowly, I released the handle. I straightened up. I stared at Lobur. He licked his lips.

“I mean it, Jak! You must help me, or—”

“Where is Princess Thefi?”

“She is safe now—”

“
Now
?”

He flinched at my tone. “She’s been ill — but she is all right now. Jak! Listen — we have to get out of Ruathytu—”

He didn’t like my expression. I moved my hand, carefully. “You’d better tell me all about it, Lobur. I’ve a bottle somewhere here, it’s a middling Stuvan; but it will serve.” I went across to the wall cupboard and took down the straw-wrapped bottle. The crossbow swung to cover me.

“Jak! Are you listening? We can’t get hold of a voller or a flyer, there are guards everywhere. Prince Nedfar has his people beating up the whole—”

“So you can’t get out of Ruathytu and you want me to do it for you. Here.” I handed across a goblet filled to the brim. “How do you expect me to do it, then? A magic zorca?”

He looked at the wine and licked his lips again. His face was fuzzed with beard, drawn and dirty. The crossbow trembled.

“Do you want the wine or not?”

He crumbled. He put the crossbow down and reached for the wine. There was no hesitation on my part as he took the goblet.

“My thanks, Jak. I have no one else to turn to.”

“You know how Nedfar has taken this?”

“He will agree in the end. His high and mighty honor has been besmirched, that’s what riles him. If he were like an ordinary man instead of a stuck-up prince it would be easy. As for that buffoon Thrangulf, I’ll stick him if he crosses me.”

This Lobur before me now was a very different fellow from the Lobur I’d known before. I kicked the chest to the side.

“We are going to Thefi now, Lobur. You’d better pray she is in good health and spirits. D’you forget Tyfar?”

“No.” He finished his wine at a gulp. “I do not forget Tyfar!”

Outside the quarters in the courtyard a little Och slave with only three arms who pushed a broom all day caused Lobur to jump and dodge into the shadows. I called the Och, and I put on the strong haughtily casual voice of your habitual hateful slave-handler.

“Slave! Go at once to Hikdar Bonnu in
Mathdi
and tell him Jiktar Jak orders him to wait. He will receive a message. Is that clear?” I tossed a copper ob into the air.

“Clear, master.” The Och spluttered out the words. He dropped his broom and caught the copper coin skillfully. He ran across the dusty courtyard.

I said to Lobur, “You can come out now, Dagger — the little three-armed Och slave has gone.” Well, I was not feeling too happy about Lobur the Dagger. “We cannot delay. You do not know what those fellows of mine will get up too if I’m not around.”

“Then, for the sake of Havil, let us hurry!”

He didn’t know the half of it about hurrying, by Krun! Just as I had things organized; myself with ingress into the map room and my lads in
Mathdi
to cut up rough and perform a little mayhem and then join Seg, this idiot Lobur brought his passionate elopement into the picture. As they say, Men sow for Zair to reap.

Through the fuzz I noticed how long and lean Lobur’s chin looked, and the way the line of his lips twisted down and then up as he spoke. He looked both haunted and hunted.

My first concern now must be for the safety and welfare of Thefi. It wasn’t Lobur’s fault he’d fallen in love with a girl whose hand, however willing she might be, he could win only by the most prodigious of efforts. As Tyfar had said in his gentle way, Lobur did not appear to be making any efforts. Once I was satisfied about Thefi, I could think about Lobur and the pair of them. If this is a priggish holier-than-thou attitude, then so be it. It was the way it was going to be, at least, for me.

We found Thefi huddled on a pallet in a miserable garret with a holed roof and splintered floors, high in a warren off Fish Fin Street, leading down to the Havilthytus. The place possessed its own aroma. I do not care for fish. Thefi looked better than I’d feared. She started up as we entered, drawing a shawl about her. Her hair was combed, her face was clean, and the draggly old dress she wore was stitched and decent.

“Jak! But — but—” Then, almost accusingly: “Lobur! You shouldn’t have brought Jak into this. We could all be—”

“Hush, Thefi! Jak is a friend. You remember the Moder? He will find us a voller, you’ll see.”

I said, “Princess. You are well?”

“Yes, yes. But we must get away—”

Did this answer my unvoiced queries? Was Thefi heart and soul in this business? Some reticence about her could be easily explained by the circumstances and her natural fears. All the same, I fancied I detected a hesitation here.

They explained that they were paying an extortionate amount to the rogue who owned the tenement, that Thefi had been unable to bring much cash, and that she had in the rush of their elopement dropped the bag containing her jewels. Someone had had a find, then. I passed across the bag I had with me, which contained enough to satisfy the landlord for a pair of sennights.

“By Krun! He is charging you — but you had best stay here until I can arrange for your departure.”

“If Prince Nedfar gets wind of where we are—”

“He will not from me, Lobur.” Then I looked directly at Thefi. “And you, princess?”

She understood well enough what I was asking. She leaned her head back, and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

“I did not think it would — would be like this.”

There was nothing else I could get from her, short of asking outright and thus precipitating a nasty scene with Lobur. I promised to return with news, again assured them of my best will, and told them not to take any foolish chances. My warnings were unnecessary; but they served to emphasize the plight Thefi found herself in.

Then, just as I was leaving, Lobur said, “You are captain of a voller. If we can reach Pandahem I have a good friend there. He will do anything for us. You will be rewarded.”

“Pandahem, is it, Lobur? Well, I’m not in this for reward.”

“No. No, of course not, Jak. I should have realized.”

During this short and uneasy conversation Lobur stood by the door on the alert. This grasping landlord would spy on them if he could. They had told him they were Nath and Natema hiding from Nath’s outraged wife. Once the fellow understood she was Princess Thefi, daughter of Prince Nedfar, he’d be off to collect his reward like a bolt from an arbalest. They took care.

Joining with this subterfuge, I pulled my scarf up around my face, and calling, “Remberee, Nath, Natema,” I blundered down the rickety stairs and out onto Fish Fin Street. The scarf — it was a green flamanch with yellow borders — served double duty here, for it also filtered out some of the odors.

When I trotted out my orders in the stateroom of
Mathdi,
Bonnu screwed up his face. His head went up.

“As they say — to hear is to obey. But, in this—!”

“I know, Bonnu. The lads are spoiling for a fight. But they’ll get all the fighting they want when they serve with Kov Seg. Mark my words!”

As just about all the Quoffas and krahniks, as superior draught animals, were pulling government equipment, I had to employ a lopsided mytzer whose low-slung body shuffled along on nine instead of his ration of ten legs all moving in unison. He hauled a two-wheeled cart on which my gear was piled. His driver was a Relt, whose beaked miserable face showed patches of missing feathers where his master had taken a crop to him with too heavy a hand. We presented an odd spectacle, I daresay, a strapping dwa-Jiktar of the Hamalian Air Service marching at the rear of a bouncy little cart hauled by a poor tradesman’s mytzer. For all that, these animals give excellent service and have splendid pulling power. We trundled along the busy streets of Ruathytu en route for Prince Nedfar’s villa where I was to be quartered as his newest aide.

Reposing confidence in ship-Hikdar Bonnu, and knowing that for the moment there was nothing I could do about the Lobur-Thefi situation, I could let those events for the moment hang fire — an expression not found on Kregen yet, thank Zair. I could concentrate on getting into the map room of the palace.

This was an odd experience.

Rather naturally, I was not Nedfar’s only aide. As a prince with a mind of his own, who had shown that he did not always see eye to eye with the empress, he yet wielded immense powers. His uprightness and strength of character endeared him to many Hamalese, and brought contumely on his head from the more fanatical of Thyllis’s adherents. There were four of us in the skiff as we were rowed across the Havilthytus toward the artificial island. The palace reared, stark and somber and yet spired and turreted, a masterpiece of Kregan architecture, giving off an aura of splendor and pomp, and of chill horror.