The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales (35 page)

             
When the sun came up again there was much trampling and talking behind him, though he could not follow much of what was said. At length a change in the motion of the galley told him that they were drawing into a quiet cove. They stopped with a lurch as the galley's bow grated on the sand, and there were sounds of men running about. Hands seized Vakar's body and half-carried, half-dragged it over the rail of the bow and down to the beach. As the sailors carrying Vakar turned him this way and that, his rigid eyeba
ll
s took in a wooden shore that looked like that of one of the Hesperides.

             
The men carried him shoulder-high down the beach, past the noses of more galleys. They hoisted him up over the bow of another beached ship, the largest of all. He was carried along the catwalk between the rowers' benches to the poop. Here he was stood upright leaning against the rail, facing a dark paunchy man who sat on a chair like that on the other ship but more ornate. The admiral, who had followed Vakar, told the paunchy man of Vakar's capture. The paunchy man said:

             
"The effect should have begun to wear off. You there, can you speak?"

             
With a great effort Vakar forced his Vocal organs to say: "Y-yes."

             
"Who are you then?"

             
"Thi-thiegos of Sed-sederado."

             
"A Hesperian, eh?
Well
...
"

             
Just then another man thrust his way forward. Although Vakar could not yet turn his head or eyes, he was able to see that this was his old acquaintance Qasigan.

             
"King!" said Qasigan. "This is no Hesperian or
Kernê
-an, but our main qua
rr
y himself: Prince Vakar of Lorsk! I know him despite the whiskers."

             
The paunchy man, thus identified as King Zeluud, gave an exclamation. "Let us slay him quickly, then, and go on with the rest of our mission. Khashel, take this sword. Lean the body of the prisoner so that his neck lies across the rail, and strike off his head."

             
"No-no!" murmured Vakar, but they paid no attention.

             
The man addressed as "Khashel" seized Vakar's body and pulled it inboard so that Vakar's neck lay across the rail. He spit on his hands, spread his feet, and grasped Vakar's own iron longsword, the one Fekata had made for him, in both hands for a full-strength downward cut. He extended the blade in front of him and made a half-swing, sighting on the neck and checking the sword before it reached its target. He lowered the blade so that it just touched Vakar's skin, then raised it high above his
head ...

             
The instant the blade touched Vakar's neck, before Khashel raised it for the definitive blow, the paralysis departed from Vakar's muscles. Suddenly relaxing, he fell into a huddle against the gunwale. Khashel's blow, descending with terrific force, drove the blade into the rail where Vakar's neck had just been.

             
Khashel, eyes popping, tugged the hilt as Vakar rose to his feet, still clutching the curved
Kernean
weapon he had in his hand when the medusa had petrified him. Khashel still had both hands on the hilt of Vakar's longsword when the Lorskan stepped
forward,
bringing his arm around in a backhand cut that laid the bronze blade across Khashel's throat below his short beard.

             
As Khashel slumped into the scuppers, blood streaming from his severed throat, Vakar hurled his bloody blade at King Zeluud, who ducked. In the same movement Vakar seized the hilt of the longsword, yanked it out of the split rail, and vaulted over the side.

             
He lit with a splash in waist-deep water. As
an uproar
arose on the ship he bounded shoreward, half falling as a wave tripped him, then sprinted across the beach, ignoring the stares of Gorgonian soldiery scattered about taking their ease. He plunged dripping into the woods and raced up the slope, away from the sea, dodging trees, until pounding heart and panting breath forced him to slow down. After him came sounds of turmoil: shouts, trumpet-blasts, and the clatter of armament as the Gorgons rushed about like a disturbed ant-city and organized a pursuit.

             
Vakar continued straight inland for a while,
then
angled to the right to lose his pursuers. Bushes scratched at his bare shanks as he fled. Up and up he climbed.

             
A patch of blue sky ahead drew him to a ledge of rock on the hillside from which he could look out over the treetops at the shore below and the Sirenian Sea beyond. Here he collapsed, drinking in air in great gasps, and lay while bee
tl
es ran over his unprotesting limbs.

             
When his vision had cleared he sat up and looked towards the landing-place of the Gorgons. Their search-parties should still be streaming inland. Should he climb a tree? Would they have hounds? Could medusas follow a trail like a dog, or locate him by occult means?

             
Then he realized that the scene was not what he expected. Trumpet-blasts, thin with distance, were recalling the searchers to the ships, and the Gorgons were swarming up over the bows of the beached galleys, some of which were pushing off.

             
Raising his eyes, Vakar saw why. Out in the Sirenian Sea
lay
another huge fleet, crawling towards the Gorgonian armada. This, Vakar guessed, must be the united navies of the Hesperides. He cracked his knuckle-joints with nervous anticipation. Was he to have an arena-seat at the greatest naval battle of history?

             
But as time passed the new fleet halted while the Gorgons, instead of sallying out to
m
eet them, rowed off to Vakar's right parallel to the shore and away from the Hesperians.
Vakar got up and climbed until he found a better lookout. Thence he could see that the shore curved around northeastward to his right, and beyond a wide stretch of sea, on the horizon, he could see the blue loom of another land-mass to the Northwest.
If he were on Ogugia that would be Meropia; if on Meropia, the continent of Poseidonis.

             
The Gorgonian fleet was swinging northward to pass through this wide strait, the Hesperians following at a respectful distance. Evidently the Gorgons were not heading for
Amferé
, to march through Zhysk to attack Lorsk. Then what? North on the coast of Poseidonis lay the smaller Zhyskan city of Azaret, after which there was not a decent harbor until one came to Di
ö
prep
é
, a mere village in rocky Lot
ö
r.
As there was nothing in
Lotör
worth stealing, what then?
Did the Gorgons mean to fall upon Avalon, or the Saturides, or fare even farther north to Aremoria or the coasts of wild Iera
rné
?

             
If they did land at Azaret, Lorsk would have little to fear, for the road thence to Lorsk led through lofty mountains where a resolute squad might hold up an army.

             
Vakar Zhu watched for
over an hour while
the Gorgonian fleet, growing smaller and smaller, crept away northward. Then, seeing that the sun was near its apex, he turned back towards the beach.

-

             
Several days later Prince Vakar trudged into Sederado— for, as he had soon learned, he was on Ogugia. He had lived by stealing from farmers and now was looking for means of subsistence with no assets save the naked sword thrust through his girdle. He felt that he could relax as far as the Gorgons were concerned, as they evidently did not mean to assault Lorsk. Queen Porfia might still have it in for him because of Thiegos, but he hoped that between his beard and the prominent scar across his left cheek he would pass unrecognized.

             
What had he to offer? Though rated a scholar in Mneset, a provincial princeling like himself could hardly, capitalize on his modest learning in the City of Philosophers. On the other hand, while no great warrior or athlete at home, being bigger than most Ogugians he might be valued for his modest attainments in those lines here.

             
He found his way to the barracks of the Royal Guard, Ogugia's only professional, permanent force of fighting-men, for like the other Hesperian nations the Ogugians put most of their trust in their navy. Most of the Guard
were
foreigners, because the native Ogugians were more concerned with philosophy and their creature comforts than with martial glory.

             
Viahes, the commandant of the garrison, asked: "Who are you, and where do you come from, and what do you want?"

             
"I am Znur, a Lorskan." Vakar had given some thought to his alias; it would not have done to call himself Thiegos" of Seder ado again. "I have been travelling for months on the mainland, which explains the sunburn and the garb. Now I seek a livelihood, and thought the Guard might use me."

             
"What can you do?"

             
"Ride, and use this." Vakar touched the sword.

             
"Let me see that. Look at it, Gwantho. What is it?"

             
Vakar replied: "Something I got in Tartaros. The black smiths have a magical method of treating bronze."

             
"How did you get to Ogugia, with all ships hugging then-harbors for fear of the Gorgons?"

             
"The Gorgons brought me."

             
"What?" cried Gwantho, Viahes's
legate.
"Are you a spy for them?"

             
"Not at all.
They caught me, but I escaped when then-fleet stopped on your shore to rest men and take on water."

             
"It could be," said Viahes. "We will have one of our Lorskan troopers question you in his own language to see if you are genuine, and then if you can demonstrate your skills we will take you on at three pounds of copper a month plus food and quarters. We will issue you a shield, helmet, and spear which you shall pay for at one-and-a-half pounds a month for six months."

             
"That is agreeable to me," said Vakar.

             
"Fine.
You may have a chance to show your skills this afternoon, when the queen will make a short inspection." Viahes flashed a grin at his legate.

             
While Vakar was wondering how to get past the Queen's inspection without recognition, the Lorskan trooper came in: Riazh of Lez
ô
tr, who looked sharply at Vakar and said:

             
"I'm sure I've seen you."

             
"Maybe.
Though I'm of Mneset I've often passed through
Lezôtr
. I usually stop at Alezu's inn."

             
"He is a Lorskan," said Riazh to the officers in Hesperian. "I should know
tha
t affected accent they use in the capital anywhere."

-

             
The guardsmen were lined up with helmets and spear-points gleaming from their morning's polish. Vakar, whose arms had not yet been issued to him, stood to one side as Queen Porfia walked down the line—not
exactly
lurking, but trying to keep out of the queen's immediate range of interest. As she came close he felt his blood run faster; what a woman! Fantasies crossed his mind, of sweeping Porfia up in his arms, covering her with kisses, and bearing her off to the nearest couch. But much as he esteemed the Queen of Ogugia, Vakar valued his head still more and so kept quiet.