A Life for Kregen (31 page)
The half-lit gloom of the place and the bone-aching sensation of its unfathomable age lent mystery and terror to the Sakkora Stones. I slashed away a tendril that sought to encircle my neck and drag me into an orange gullet, and so put my ear to the green and living wall.
“Keep out of it, mother! It is no concern of yours!”
“You are my daughter and therefore my concern—”
“If Ros pleads for your life, I may grant it.”
I knew those three voices. I knew them!
With a vicious and intemperate slash with the longsword I ripped the curtained hangings across. Samphron oil lamps beyond splashed mellow light into a lurid scene. I stepped across the threshold and checked, struggling to focus on what lay beyond.
A further hanging partially obscured my view and, in turn, hid me from those who wrangled so bitterly. Delia — Delia stood there, pale-faced, wrought-up as I could see, unutterably lovely in her russet leathers, bereft of weapons, chained to one of the millennia-old columns of the Sakkora Stones. Facing her — Zankov stood, thin and brittle, alert and alive, his head jutting forward and the sneer of his face like the blow from a whip. At his side, Dayra — Dayra, Delia’s daughter and my daughter, Dayra, who would be called Ros the Claw. She wore the wicket stell set of talons now and they glittered in the lampglow. She looked almost bereft of reason, high-colored, frantic, beside herself with a fury she could neither understand nor control.
Delia, Dayra, and Zankov. I stood for perhaps a heart beat, for I saw they did not intend to kill Delia just yet. And the reason for that lay in Delia’s spirit, in her refusal to beg or to cringe. She spoke to Dayra as she must have spoken to her in the long ago, when I was banished to Earth.
“Do you know, daughter, who and what this man is? Do you know what he has done?”
“Whatever he has done — he belongs to me!”
“No man and no woman ever belong one to the other, Dayra.”
Those words struck through to me with the pain of a white hot iron. I knew Delia spoke the truth; but I could not accept that truth. Perhaps the word “belong” was the wrong word. I could accept another, less final, word...
“My army is now winning a great victory over that onkerish cramph of a husband of yours, majestrix.”
So Zankov still spoke to Delia as majestrix. I listened on for a space, wanting the words I hungered for to be spoken.
But Delia just said: “I do not think you will beat him. He is very proud of his new army. He is a man with a stiff neck. I know.”
“He is a clansman, is he not? A hairy barbarian savage?” Zankov laughed in his bright, brittle way, most puffed up with his own pride and cleverness. “Then he knows full well the ferocity of the clansmen. They obey me, me! And I am Zankov.”
“You call yourself Zankov. But that is not your name. I know who you are, now—”
“Mother!” cried Dayra. She started around, and I saw she trembled.
“Aye, daughter. This man who calls himself Zankov is the son of Nankwi Wellon, the High Kov of Sakwara. And Kov Nankwi has sworn allegiance to the Emperor of Vallia—”
“Son!” shrieked Zankov. “Aye, son. Illegitimate son!”
“So you seek to gain all by slaying all—”
“That is the way of the Hawkwas.”
“And if you murder me before the eyes of my daughter, as you murdered her—”
“Enough of this nonsense!” bellowed Zankov and I saw he thus shouted in anger because Dayra did not know he had killed her grandfather. “You will say the words required to pass Ros — Dayra — into my keeping. You will say them, majestrix, if I have to—” Then he paused, and shifted his gaze to Dayra, who stood taut and lovely at his side.
“You had best leave us for a space, Ros. There are things of the bokkertu I must discuss with your mother.”
So that was the way of it, then. The mother’s agreement and her full acceptance of the bokkertu must be obtained. Even in this, the people of Vallia would not be hoodwinked. So Delia’s life was safe for a space yet.
This knowledge did not make me relax as much as the point of a Lohvian arrow. But I did become aware of other people in the partially roofed chamber between the Stones. They stood under a straw-thatched roof supported by twisted beams of raw wood, in a shadowy space, and they watched Zankov and his doings with the bright blood-lusting avidity of a crowd in the Jikhorkdun watching the death-sports of the arena. As I looked at them the whole brilliantly attired group wavered and rippled as though I peered drunkenly at them through a ghostly waterfall. I blinked my eyes. The images slowly refocused and I put my hand up to my neck, just above the rim of the kax, and, lo! an arrow, embedded in the flesh, all unknown to me. I must have got this beauty in one of the fights astride the flutduin.
With a pettish snap I broke it off.
There was no time, now, for shilly-shallying; but my warrior instincts recognized why I had not rushed headlong out into the cleared area. Those cramphs watching so avidly would take a deal of beating. But, beat they had to be, because Dayra was at last leaving the chamber, with a long hungry look back at Zankov, and I knew what lay in store for Delia.
“Do not be long, my love,” she said.
“Not so long as the time between an axe and death.”
I felt a fist constrict around my heart, and then Dayra, looking back, her eyes brilliant, her form tensed, lifted that vicious steel claw. “I shall do as you ask of me, and my Jikai Vuvushis call. But, Zankov, as you love me, I wish to speak with my mother when I return.”
His laugh was high, brittle and, at least to me, artificial. But, I could be wrong. “Of course, Ros. She is, after all, your mother whom you love. It is not your father we ask this bokkertu in all legal formality.”
“Him!” spat Dayra. “The betraying rast — I would it was him. Then I would stroke him with my claw.”
The scene wavered again before my eyes. For a desperate moment ghastly phantasms of the time I had ridden after my daughter Velia rose to rend and torture me. I shut my eyes, pressed down hard, hard, and struggled to regain my senses. When I looked again, Dayra had gone. Now I saw under that partial roofing there were Battle Maidens there, twisted lesten-hide thongs cruelly constricting their limbs. There were four Katakis in the front rank, arrogant, lofty men, with their bladed whiptails flaunted menacingly. Them first, then...
Next to them the two clansmen... They were Zorcanders. No doubt they were witnesses to this bokkertu, the Vovedeers out conducting the battle. And, the sight of Katakis, here, involved in legalities of Vallia gave eloquent testimony to the kind of country Vallia would be if Zankov had his way.
Very carefully I placed the Krozair longsword hilt-up on the stone flagging, leaning against the column. Next to it went six Lohvian arrows. I bent the great Lohvian longbow. Seg believes I can shoot as well as he, although I am not sure; I think even he might nod a tight approval of that six-shot group.
The four Katakis and the two clansmen were flung back by the smashing power of that tremendous bow. The longsword was in my fists and I was leaping forward and, as though the uproar in the chamber was the signal, other men boiled in from the far side, men and Jikai Vuvushis.
Leaping for Zankov, who sprang away with a high screech of sudden fear, I saw Barty Vessler there, splendid, splendid, hacking his way through the ranks of diffs who sought to drag him down. His personal guard fought at his side. He made for Zankov who, attempting to escape me, scrambled into Barty’s path.
Men reared before me and there were handstrokes aplenty. Then I was through them or their remains and the Krozair blade bit cleanly through the iron links of the lapping chain. I took Delia into my arms.
She said: “Dayra—”
“I know. Hush.”
“There is no time to hush. Give me a weapon, and—”
“Perhaps she truly loves this Zankov, as he her. Perhaps—”
“No, my heart. It is not like that.” She pushed me away and bent to retrieve a fallen rapier. As she straightened, her face, incredibly lovely, tautened, and I whirled, sword up.
Barty was in the act of bringing his drexer down on Zankov. Zankov’s rapier angled, the light runneled along the blade, and then the drexer bit into his face. With a demoniac screech he leaped away and the blood poured down that thin and bitter face, painting him like a devil of Cottmer’s Caverns.
His face as red with passion as Zankov’s was red with blood, Barty bellowed. “Cramph! Seducer! Pray to all your evil gods, for, by Opaz, your time has come!”
I saw it.
Colun Mogper, the Kov of Mursham, sprang up, tall at Barty’s back. The dagger in his fist did not glitter, for it was dulled a deep and ominous green. High, Kov Colun raised the poisoned dagger. With a convulsive effort he brought it down and plunged it deeply into Barty’s neck.
His life saved by his ally, Zankov did not hesitate. He ran under the roofing and vanished in shadows. I started after him, and found I was barely moving. The stones of the floor surged up and down under me like a swifter in a gale. I was sitting down. I was the Emperor of Vallia. I could not sit down when the country depended on me. Delia bent to me.
“Stay still, my love. The arrow is deep.”
“Zankov... Dayra ...
Barty!”
She pointed.
Through the ferocious hand-to-hand struggle as Barty’s men and the Battle Maidens sought to overthrow Zankov’s people a man moved with a purpose I recognized. Clad like a Krozair of Zy, he wielded a great Krozair longsword, and he cut down all those opposed to him as the reaper cuts corn. He carved a path to the far side and ran into the shadows after Zankov.
“There goes our son, Jaidur. He has worked well for Vallia!”
“But — Barty!”
She put her hand on my forehead and it felt like ice against my skin. “Barty Vessler is dead.”
I could say nothing. Nothing I could say was of any use.
With a roar as of a volcano exploding the roof broke into a thousand shards, dragged up by hooks hauled up by air-boats. Men smashed down, sliding on ropes, men wearing scarlet and yellow, their weapons aflame. I recognized them. The Emperor’s Sword Watch. Devoted to the Emperor of Vallia, each one would give his life. They were here to ensure the emperor’s safety. And this they would do. But they had come too late for another life...
A life for Vallia had been given, given willingly, but that life was gone, snuffed out, and Barty Vessler would never rush eagerly, honorably and joyously headlong into adventure at my side, not ever again.
“Barty,” I said. I just felt stupid. Delia held me.
Korero bellowed at me. “The battle is won! They flee!”
“That,” I said. “Is very good, by Zair.”
And, as I spoke in a strange stupefied whisper, I saw a glistening red scorpion waddle out contemptuously from under the ancient stones.
[1]
see
Secret Scorpio
Alan Burt Akers was a pen name of the prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer, who died in December 2005 aged eighty-four.
Bulmer wrote over 160 novels and countless short stories, predominantly science fiction, both under his real name and numerous pseudonyms, including Alan Burt Akers, Frank Brandon, Rupert Clinton, Ernest Corley, Peter Green, Adam Hardy, Philip Kent, Bruno Krauss, Karl Maras, Manning Norvil, Chesman Scot, Nelson Sherwood, Richard Silver, H. Philip Stratford, and Tully Zetford. Kenneth Johns was a collective pseudonym used for a collaboration with author John Newman. Some of Bulmer’s works were published along with the works of other authors under "house names" (collective pseudonyms) such as Ken Blake (for a series of tie-ins with the 1970s television programme The Professionals), Arthur Frazier, Neil Langholm, Charles R. Pike, and Andrew Quiller.
Bulmer was also active in science fiction fandom, and in the 1970s he edited nine issues of the New Writings in Science Fiction anthology series in succession to John Carnell, who originated the series.
More details about the author, and current links to other sources of information, can be found at
www.mushroom-ebooks.com, and at wikipedia.org.
The Delian Cycle:
1. Transit to Scorpio
2. The Suns of Scorpio
3. Warrior of Scorpio
4. Swordships of Scorpio
5. Prince of Scorpio
Havilfar Cycle:
6. Manhounds of Antares
7. Arena of Antares
8. Fliers of Antares
9. Bladesman of Antares
10. Avenger of Antares
11. Armada of Antares
The Krozair Cycle:
12. The Tides of Kregen
13. Renegade of Kregen
14. Krozair of Kregen
Vallian cycle:
15. Secret Scorpio
16. Savage Scorpio
17. Captive Scorpio
18. Golden Scorpio
Jikaida cycle:
19. A Life for Kregen
20. A Sword for Kregen
21. A Fortune for Kregen
22. A Victory for Kregen
Spikatur cycle:
23. Beasts of Antares
24. Rebel of Antares
25. Legions of Antares
26. Allies of Antares
Pandahem cycle:
27. Mazes of Scorpio
28. Delia of Vallia
29. Fires of Scorpio
30. Talons of Scorpio
31. Masks of Scorpio
32. Seg the Bowman
Witch War cycle:
33. Werewolves of Kregen
34. Witches of Kregen
35. Storm over Vallia
36. Omens of Kregen
37. Warlord of Antares
Lohvian cycle:
38. Scorpio Reborn
39. Scorpio Assassin
40. Scorpio Invasion
41. Scorpio Ablaze
42. Scorpio Drums
43. Scorpio Triumph
Balintol cycle:
44. Intrigue of Antares
45. Gangs of Antares
46. Demons of Antares
47. Scourge of Antares
48. Challenge of Antares
49. Wrath of Antares
50. Shadows over Kregen
Phantom cycle:
51. Murder on Kregen
52. Turmoil on Kregen