Rebel of Antares (5 page)

“For your sake, I hope not—”

“My sake, Jak! Have I not just explained—?”

“Noran strikes me as a weak man who vents his pettiness in vicious attacks against those weaker than himself. If Avec dies, the papers may burn.”

“Not Avec Parlin. He is too shrewd for that.” But I could see the notion did not please Unmok. He twitched his middle left stump and threw his plate at the slaves with his middle right, at the same time picking his teeth with his upper right. His upper left brushed worriedly over his forehead where the lines stood deeply incised.

“Slit his throat,” said Froshak the Shine.

This Froshak had been about to be put to the question, up at Vad Noran’s villa, when the schrepims escaped. I’d thrown him my knife and helped him escape, and in the subsequent action he had been exculpated of the crime of freeing the schrepims. I viewed him with favor, for we had fought shoulder-to-shoulder, and I think — I hope — that he bore me a certain fellow-feeling.

Where your normal camp boss might have stood up and said something like, “Well, time to be up and doing,” Froshak the Shine just stood up and got on with it. The cages stood about, empty. Our mercenary guards had been discharged and the few tame slaves, who had been with Unmok some time, had little to do. The institution of slavery is abhorrent to me, but in this instance of Unmok and his tame slaves, a relationship had developed that, while still unpleasant, is perhaps less of a blot on humanity than slavery as a whole. Certainly, this kind of valued family-retainer kind of slavery is often trumpeted in extenuation of the whole vile business. As far as my friends and I in Vallia were concerned, it wouldn’t wash. Slavery was going to be eradicated.”

And there spoke the great idealist with stars in his eyes and blood on his hands and mud on his boots, by Vox!

A pottery dish of palines afforded Unmok the chance to remain seated, looking at me. He popped a paline into his mouth and chewed. I followed his example, savoring the taste. Chewing, he said, “I spent some time thinking over what passed when we first went to see Noran and sold him the thomplods. I think he believes you are employed in some secret capacity by Queen Fahia.”

“I gave him that impression. It helped the bargaining.”

“It did that all right. But Jak, if he is plotting against the queen then he will regard you even more as an enemy to be put down.”

“You could have the right of it, Unmok! It could be that is why he sent those assassins, and not to silence our mouths about his vain claim to the Jikai!”

Solemnly, Unmok chewed and nodded.

“Then until this matter is settled, you and I must part company. He has no quarrel with you.”

“If you think, you hairy apim, that I will—”

“I know. I had promised to introduce you to my friends this afternoon. But now, I think...”

Saying good-bye to Tyfar and Jaezila had been pushed from my head by what they had said. Huringa seethed with plots and moils, and now Unmok was telling me of another. If fat Queen Fahia could be brought down and I could play a part in that, then this was where I belonged. Vallia was in good hands, as I kept on telling myself, fretting that I was not there. Tyfar was expecting news this day, and from what he said the news might give us the chance to join in a plot that was, so Tyfar said, the most promising. The future filled with visions. There was much to be done here. But—

“If word is spread about that you and I have quarreled, and I have left the partnership, Noran should not trouble you further.”

Unmok stared at me in comical dismay.

“You — you — if only we had that damned cage voller!”

“You have all your equipment, the cages and the draught animals and the beast handlers. Froshak is a good man. You can start a fresh trip right away. Or,” I said, jocularly scathing at his funny ways, “you could take up the latest scheme you have to change your profession.”

“Jak! You wound me!”

“I intended to.”

“Well, you won’t break the partnership like that.”

“You are always talking about giving up the wild-beast business and going in for a new line. Or an old one. They are never the same two sennights running. Now is your chance.”

He clamped down on a handful of palines, the rich juice spurting, and he glared at me in his funny Och way.

I sighed.

“Look, Unmok... It makes sense.”

Suddenly he brightened. He swallowed. He jiggled with excited realization. “I have it! We spread the story of this quarrel and our parting. I take the cages back to the coast and there you join me and we sail off together! Capital! Capital!”

The immediate thought that shot into my head was vile. I couldn’t do that to Unmok, could I? But, a little Och and a partnership, against the fate of empire? Could I?

I stood up. Emperors have to make decisions all the time, right or wrong, it is part of the job. Given the importance in material terms of the two conflicting courses open to me, I knew I was choosing the right one. In almost any other terms I chose wrong.

“A good idea, Unmok. I’ll draw Noran off. He ought not to molest you and you can get the caravan down to the river and hire craft to take us to the coast. I’ll meet you on the waterfront. And you mind you take care. Froshak—”

“It is in my mind to hire guards now. The caravan will be empty, worth nothing, but a few hired swords will afford a comfort to a five-limbed Och.”

“Yes. I won’t pick you up at Ingadot where you contract for the ship but at the mouth of the river. They always take on water last thing. It will be safer. And Unmok, watch out for the Forest of the Departed.”

“I will. But it is caravans coming the other way that interest the bandits.”

“And because of that, if you hire swords, keep them out of sight. They will make the bandits think you conceal wealth in what appears to be an empty caravan. Yes?”

“You are a good partner, Jak.”

“Unless,” I said, continuing the thought, “being a little five-limbed Och, you hire so many guards they would frighten a queen’s regiment of crossbowmen away.”

He threw the paline dish at me, whereat I felt the enormity of my underhanded treatment of him, for, of course, I had no intention whatsoever of meeting him where the ships took on water.

Unmok remained very cheerful as we said the remberees. We thought it prudent to begin the deception at once; thus, when we went down into the city we went separately. Froshak the Shine was apprised of the plan, and he said, in his usual way, nothing. I left the camp which had been moved away by the officials from the transit area. Once a caravan discharged its cargo it must make way for a new. We were a thousand paces or so up the road, sheltered in a nice little nook between fragrant clarsian bushes and the next nearest camp a good five hundred paces off. A stream ran paralleling the road here. I looked back as I crossed the rustic wooden bridge, looking at the row of cages, the tethered draught animals, seeing the huge, patient old quoffas with their wise enormous faces, seeing the thin stream of smoke from the campfire, and Froshak busily polishing up a krahnik harness brass. Well, I was saying good-bye to all that, and damned unhappy about the way of saying it.

I nudged the urvivel between my knees and he clip-clopped on across the bridge. Unmok and I had decided not to buy expensive zorcas as mounts, and I’d left him the freymuls. So astride an urvivel I rode along the road toward Huringa. We’d felt that the preysany was, just a little, not up to the impression we’d wished to create as businessmen. Kregen teems with splendid animals of all kinds, and all kinds are used, by Vox, for riding, flying, hunting and sport. For work the choice is just as vast.

My head was filled with jangling thoughts as I rode along, grandiose schemes to topple Queen Fahia and encourage the island realm of Hyrklana to resist the Empire of Hamal. Hamal’s iron laws held sway over many lands, but by that token, resistance must exist. We in Vallia resisted, stubbornly and savagely. If Hyrklana could be coaxed into defying Hamal, one course of supply of the vital airboats would be cut off. If, then, Hyrklana would sell her vollers to Vallia...! That was an old dream. I knew my people in Vallia had tried to do business with Hyrklana, but the threat of Hamal had brutally snuffed out all hopes of that.

The rounded hill which obscured sight of Huringa from the transit camp unrolled its dusty road and gradually the city came into view. The fires were out. Queen Fahia had been extremely wroth at the two sorcerers, Unmok had learned, and had they been persons of ordinary quality who had become such wanton incendiaries, they would have been roasted alive. As it was, they had been asked to leave the city. The glittering, imposing figure of the Sorcerer of the Cult of Almuensis, high-powered and haughty in his book-magics, had been indisputably humbled, so the story going the rounds said. The Adept of the Doxology of San Destinakon, by contrast, had been scornful, uncaring of the destruction, threatening retribution against the Almuensian, and of being told that the queen’s court wizards would have to intervene if he did not obey. Fahia had gone in for sorcerers of late.

The urvivel was a good strong beast, brownish with yellow splotches and pricked ears, and he was called Snowdrop — why, I do not know. His saddle was cheap and a trifle uncomfortable and my gear in saddlebags and knapsacks dangled alarmingly between his legs. As for weapons for what might befall me, I had the rapier and main gauche, still unfamiliar weapons in Hyrklana, and a Havilfarese thraxter, a good stout cut and thruster that had seen useful service. Froshak had returned my sailor knife. The small wardrobe Unmok had provided had, in the nature of things, expanded, but I took only a few clothes. I had the feeling that I would be involved in more than a little hop, skip and jumping and wanted to be encumbered as little as possible. On Earth there used to be a saying: “Clothes maketh the man.” On Kregen you would be fully entitled to imagine that the equivalent saying might be: “Weapons maketh the man.” But Kregans are more subtle than that. They are aware that clothes can make a man look what he is not but weapons speak a truer tale when it comes to the test.

These jangling thoughts of mine veered away from clothes and weapons and sorcerers. The concerns over my country of Vallia never lay very far below the surface. If only...! If only all this grouping of islands and continents called Paz could join together in friendship, then the menace of the Shanks from over the rim of the world could be met and fronted as a union. But the Empire of Hamal sought personal aggrandizement, and many other lands were at each other’s throats. Hamal had to be dealt with first. And very first of all, Vallia had to be made safe.

My son Drak, my eldest, stern and serious, could run the empire; I knew that, his mother knew that, he knew that. But he stubbornly insisted he would not take over while Delia and I lived. Well, I’d as pig-headedly made up my mind that I would renounce the throne and crown and hand it all over to Drak when Vallia was once again in a fit state. That was settled, at least in my mind. My middle son, Zeg, was now king in Zandikar, miles and miles away in the Eye of the World. And my youngest son, that right tearaway Jaidur, was Opaz knew where, gallivanting around at the behest of his mother and the Sisters of the Rose. That secret organization of women ran far more damned things than many a mere male would credit.

The Sisters of the Rose had educated the three twin sisters of those three strapping sons of mine. Zeg’s twin, Velia, had died away there in the Eye of the World, and her husband too, Gafard, the King’s Striker, Sea Zhantil. The black agony tortured me still, whenever my thoughts turned toward them.

As for Dayra, Jaidur’s twin, I fancied the problems she presented would solve themselves in time. She was called Ros the Claw, as she wore a razored steel claw on her left hand. At Lancival they had taught her how to employ those talons to shocking purpose.

So that left my eldest daughter, Lela, to worry me, for I had not seen her for long and long. Zair knew where she was now. All I knew was that she was away adventuring for the Sisters of the Rose. Her twin, Drak, had failed to recognize me when we’d met again, and I did not think Lela would know me, as I was confident, to my remorse, I would not recognize her now that she was grown up.

What it is to be a father separated from his children and hurled four hundred light-years across the gulfs between the stars!

People moved along the road toward the city, and I gave them all a wide berth. I was in no mood for idle chatter. Among the farm carts and peddlers and business folk and those pressing forward eagerly for the Games, marched formed bodies of troops returning to barracks after the night’s patrolling. No caravans of wild beasts were in sight. The suns of Antares shone, the air smelled sweet, music and laughter sounded all about me and I wore a blackly hating look and down-drawn brows, and, by the disgusting diseased liver and lights of Makki Grodno, I was in a right turmoil.

Unmok the Nets, stump left middle and all, could fend for himself, couldn’t he? Of course he could. He had Froshak. He’d done it before we’d met and formed our partnership. And Vallia could fend for herself, couldn’t she? Even with the outrages daily committed by reiving mercenaries and slavers? With great-hearted men like Seg and Inch, and Turko and Korero, and all the others, surely my Vallia could be trusted to them?

I hauled on Snowdrop’s reins.

By Zair! Was I or was I not the Emperor of Vallia? Well, then, if I was, couldn’t I trust my blade comrades there? I knew I could. Each one knew what was at stake. Each one would give his life for me and for each other. I sat humped on Snowdrop’s back and twitched the rapier in and out of the scabbard, and scowled. A passing Relt squeaked and stumbled on, his beaked face averted, the features quivering. I must have looked a sight!

“Sink me!” I burst out. And: “By the Black Chunkrah!’ And: “By Zim Zair!” How could a little crippled Och beast-handler stand between me and my manifest destiny as an emperor? How?

As I hauled on the reins and swung Snowdrop back the way we had come, I knew how — too damned easily how.

I’d given Unmok my pledge. Even an empire couldn’t stand before that, could it? Well, of course it could. My pledge given to a foeman, or under duress, is broken as swiftly as a faulty blade in battle... Even my pledge to a friend, if greater forces supervene, would be broken. Regretfully. But then, I do not pretend to be your gallant gentleman. The only real regret I suffered as I started off back to the camp and Unmok was that I was delaying seeing Delia. But even then, you see, she’d probably be off about some derring-do for the Sisters of the Rose...