The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales (34 page)

             
"No; he and I did a bit of business."

             
"It is always like that! Nobody will take up the cause of poor Yamma, who is now too small to fight his own baffles."

             
"You know what Fekata looks like," said Vakar. "I should want a small army at my back before I crossed him. But who is your friend?"

             
"Wessul, late of the Kingdom of Gorgonia."

             
"Why late?"

             
Wessul spoke: "A slight difference of opinion with my captain, which developed into an exchange of knife-thrusts. He wished to demote me from mate to ordinary seaman, cla
imi
ng I was too popular with his wife. I left him holding his spilt guts in both hands and weeping into them as he waited to die, and came away, for Gorgonian law is hard in such cases." The Gorgon sighed. "Now I am out in the great world with nobody to order me about, and I do not mind telling you gentlemen it is a lost and lonesome feeling. Worst of all I shall miss the great raid."

             
"What raid?" said Vakar
sharply.

             
"Have you not heard? The mainland has been buzzing with it. King Zeluud has gathered all the forces of Gorgonia and its tributaries for an assault upon some northern land."

             
"What land?"

             
"He is not saying, though some rumors name Euskeria,
some Poseidonis, and some far Aremoria."

             
"When will he sail?"

             
"He may have done so already for all I—ho, where are you going?"

             
"Kern
ê
," Vakar flung back.
"Innkeeper!
The scot, quickly."'

-

             
Five days later Vakar jounced into
Kernê
, haggard from hard riding with mere snatches of sleep. He led the weary camel along the waterfront where the great stone warehouses looked down upon the picket-fence of masts and spars. Men of all nations and colors jostled him; horses and asses shied from the smell of camel and their owners cursed him in many languages. Vakar, sunk in thought, paid them no heed. It was time, he thought, to make use of his connections.

             
He inquired until he learned where Senator Amastan dwelt and presented himself at the door, giving his name as Prince Vakar of Lorsk. After a long wait a eunuch beckoned him in.

             
Even after all his travels Vakar found the ostentatious wealth of this house overpowering, with palms standing in pots of solid gold. Amastan was a big stout man with rings
an
all his pudgy fingers. He smelled strongly of perfume, wore multicolored silken robes, and said:

             
"Welcome, Prince Vakar. Have you brought the other half of Drozo's medal?"

             
"No. The damned Gamphasants stripped me to the skin."

             
"Indeed?" Amastan tap
ped the fingers of one hand on t
he palm of the other. "That may be true. But—ah—we really must have some means of identification, you know."

             
"Hells!" blazed Vakar,
then
controlled his impatience, remembering that to Amastan he was just a wild-looking sun-baked wanderer. "Find somebody who knows Lorsk and I will answer his questions till Poseidonis sinks beneath the Western Sea. Meanwhile, assuming that I am
w
ho I say I am, I should think my credit would be good."

             
"The credit of the heir to the throne of Lorsk would certainly be good," murmured Amastan, and turned to a scribe.
"Fetch Suri.
Prince—ah—Vakar, what do you wish with me?"

             
"I want to get to
Amferé
, quickly."

             
"Well, if you have the fare, ships still leave for
Amferé
every few days, though this is near the end of the trading-season."

             
"Too slow!
I am likely to be stuck in
S
ederado a month waiting for a fair wind. Do you know about the Gorgons' raid?"

             
"We have heard of then collecting an armament, but not of their having yet put to sea."

             
"Well," said Vakar, "I must get home to warn my people."

             
"What can we do? Though we have some passable magicians, I know of none who can give you fair winds all the way."

             
Vakar made a rude comment as to what
Kernê
could do with its sailing merchantmen. "I want a galley!
One of your precious battleships.
Lorsk will pay you well for the service."

             
"Ah, but unfortunately the Free City must keep its navy close to home while the Gorgon threat overhangs us. Much as we hate to let a good profit go, I fear we can do nothing for you."

             
Vakar argued some more but got nowhere. When the mariner Suri came in, the Lorskan said:

             
"Oh, never mind the inquisition, as you will not make a deal in any case. Perhaps you know a captain sailing for
Amferé
soon who will not cut my throat as soon as we are out of sight of
Kernê
?"

             
Suri said: "Jerro of Elusion sails in two days; it is his last trip of the year."

             
Vakar found Jerro's ship, engaged passage, sold his camel, got a much-needed haircut—and then waited three days for an easterly wind. They coasted along the south shore of the peninsula of Dzen. Then, as the wind turned southerly enough to carry them north towards Meropia, Jerro headed in that direction across the blue Sirenian Sea.

             
The wind held fair, keeping the sail taut and creaking on its yards as one blue crest after another heaved against the high stern and slid underneath. For a day and a night they drove northward, and then a sailor cried:

             
"Ships aft!
A whole fleet!"

             
Vakar's heart sank, for the horizon was pricked by a score of mastheads, and every minute the number grew. Soon the low black hulls of a great fleet of war-galleys could be seen.

             
Another sailor cried: "It is the fleet of the Gorgons!" and fell to praying to his Hesperian gods. Jerro cursed.

             
Vakar said to
J
erro: "What do you mean to do?"

             
"To run as long as I can. You might as well be dead as a Gorgon's galley-slave. If they are in haste they may not stop for us."

             
All the sailors were now weeping and praying, crying out the names of their women and homes. Vakar kicked the gunwales in frustration. He toyed nervously with his hilt, realizing that if the Gorgons sent a ship after them there was little that he, the captain, and four terrified sailors could do.

             
The fleet of galleys came closer, crawling across the smooth sea like a swarm of centipedes from under a flat stone. All their sails bore the octopus of Gorgonia, a symbol which ignorant landsmen sometimes thought to represent a human head with snakes for hair—which it did somewhat resemble. One galley detached itself from the rest and angled towards Jerro's ship.

             
Vakar interrupted his fuming to say: "If we are taken alive, pray say I am Thiegos of Sederado."

             
"Aye-aye," said Jerro. "But what in the seven hells is that?"

             
Vakar looked.
On the forward deck of the galley stood a man in the garb of a Gorgonian priest.
He held one end of a golden chain, the other end of which was linked to a golden collar that encircled the neck of a creature whose like Vakar had never seen. It was a little smaller than a man and vaguely human in shape. It had a tail, pointed ears, and a hooked beak, and was covered all over with reptilian scales, something like a Triton in his snakeskin armor. It squatted on the deck like a dog.

             
"That must be a medusa," said Vakar.

             
"A what?"

             
"Creatures said to have strange powers of fascination, though I see nothing fascinating about that overgrown lizard. Watch out, there!"

             
The approaching galley swerved to avoid running down the little merchantman. Somebody shouted across the water. Jerro shifted his steering-yoke to send the ship angling away from the galley, but a sailor in the bow of the latter threw a grapnel over the rail of the merchantman. Several sailors pulling on the rope began to draw the two vessels together.

             
Vakar leaped to the rail of the merchantman, drawing from his girdle the curved sword-knife that he had taken from the Ke
rn
ean at Kiliessa, to chop the grapnel-rope. Before he could complete the action, the priest on the galley pointed at him and spoke to the medusa. The latter reared up against the rail of its own ship, extended its scaly neck, opened its beak, and gave a terrific screaming hiss, like steam escaping from a hundred cauldrons.

             
In mid-stride Vakar's muscles froze to stony rigidity. His momentum toppled him forward so that his head struck the rail. He saw a flash of light and then nothing.

             
When he regained consciousness he was already lying aboard the galley, still in his rigid statuesque posture, gripping the bronze sword in his fist, on the poop in front of a chair of pretence in which a bearded man sat wearing a b
r
onze helmet inlaid with gold and crested with ibis plumes. This man was examining Vakar's sword of star-metal, turning it over, squinting along the blade, and swishing the air with it. He said to another Gorgon:

             
"Strip the others and set them to the oars when they recover. Tins one, however, seems to be something else. He looks like a Pusadian but is clad like a
Kernean
and carries a sword like nothing I have ever seen. We will save him to show to the king."

             
"Aye-aye, Admiral," said the other man, and pushed
Vakar's body over to the rail out of the way.

             
Vakar found himself facing the gunwale a few inches from his face. Since he could move neither his neck nor his eyes he was forced to stare at the weathered wood by the hour as the ship
plowed on. His paralysis had not diminished his capacity for discomfort, and after a few hours of lying on the heaving deck his body was one vast ache. He could barely breathe, and his mind ran in futile circles trying to figure what course he should have followed instead of the one he had.

             
The sun rose to the meridian, though Vakar was fortunate in that the awning over the poop shaded him as well as the admiral. The sun went down. Vakar, suffering torments of thirst, lay where he was. The Gorgons must be in haste, he thought, for otherwise they would not have driven their rowers to make the two-day jump straight across the Sirenian Sea with no chance for the crews to sleep. No doubt they wished to get then great raid over before the storms of winter set in.

             
Towards morning Vakar's paralysis wore off sufficiently for him to blink and swallow. His mouth tasted foul and his eyeballs were dry and scratchy.