Krozair of Kregen

Here was a chance. I felt a pain in my chest.

“Yes, she was beautiful. Gafard loved her truly, and she loved him truly.” I did not look at Vax. “I think that does mean something important.” I leaned closer. “And here is something Gafard told me that must go no farther than the three of us.” I turned and glared directly into my son’s eyes. “Do I have your word?”

“Yes, Dak. I will not speak of it.”

“Good. Then know that this Lady of the Stars was the true daughter of Pur Dray, the Lord of Strombor.”

Before I had finished the great word Strombor, my son Jaidur, whom I must think of as Vax, leaped up. He let a terrible cry escape him. Then he turned — I saw his face — and he ran to the ladder at the stern and fell down it and so raced like a maniac into the bushes of the shore, vanishing out of sight. Duhrra stared after him, a powerful frown crumpling up that smooth, seemingly idiot face. “Duh, master!

What did I do?”

“You did nothing, Duhrra. And I am not your master.”

“Yes, master.”

I walked away, feeling the desolation in me. This was not my idea of family life. But, then what did I know of family life? I had been privileged to know my eldest twins, Drak and Lela, for periods off and on until they were fourteen. My second twins, Segnik and Velia, had been three when I’d been so mercilessly hurled back to Earth. And now Segnik was Zeg and a famous Krozair of Zy, and Velia was dead. Of Dayra I knew nothing, and of her twin, Jaidur, I must see him every day and speak with him, and call him Vax, and bear the agony; for he hated the memory of his father, a father he knew nothing of

— or, at least, knew nothing good of.

I did know one thing of Dayra. Delia had told me she had been giving trouble at school, with the Sisters of the Rose, of course. And I remembered old Panshi talking of the young prince and of my assumption he meant Segnik, when he meant Jaidur. Old Panshi had had a little frown of puzzlement. Why couldn’t I be just an ordinary simple man? But then, if I were that, I would never have won Delia, the Princess Majestrix of Vallia, at all.

We sailed out on a raiding cruise the next day, hopping from island to island, and I was exceedingly beastly to the Magdaggian shipping we caught. The three swifters acted together, for it seemed the natural thing to do, and Rukker was getting the hang of sea fighting. On this cruise we took a small swifter by a ruse, and boarded her and slew or enslaved her Magdaggian crew. Her slaves joined our ranks. She was sailed back to Wabinosk in triumph.

That night we caroused as Renders do. I had run through all my memories of carousing the nights away with Viridia the Render on the Island of Careless Repose, in the Hobolings. She had been youngish then, and with the normal two-hundred-year life span of the Kregan, I had no doubt she was still at her piratical tricks. Would I ever see her again? Would I ever see any of my old comrades — and enemies

— again?

The coveted High Jikai appeared to come no nearer.

But my words with Vax — I must think and talk of him as Vax — bore fruit Fazhan, who acted as my ship- Hikdar, told me the swifter we had taken was of Sanurkazz. She had been taken by the Magdaggians and converted to their use. As in the wooden navies of the eighteenth century of Earth, the ships of the contending nations were of so similar a type they were fully interchangeable. She had the name arrogantly painted on her bows and under her stern — the sailors of Kregen follow this fashion more often than not — and I read this aloud. “Prychan. A suitable name.”

“Yes,” said Fazhan. He reached out with his knife and scraped at the green paint. “Yes, as I thought. See, Dak, underneath. Her real name, carved as is proper; but blocked up with this damned green paint.”

We removed the offensive paint and saw the original name of the galley.

“Neemu. Yes, I see.” You know that a neemu is a black-furred, near leopard-sized killer, with a round head, squat ears, slit eyes of lambent gold, and runs ferociously upon four legs. A prychan is a very similar beast, sharing the same characteristics, but having fur of a tawny gold. I studied the lines of Neemu.

She was two-banked, a four-three seventy-two. Although she had only eighteen oars to a bank, they were concentrated in the usual way of swifters, giving her an exceptionally long forecastle and quarterdeck. She was narrow in the beam, so narrow I ordered her oars kept in the water to keep her upright. She was fast. I tried her in maneuvers and found her cranky so that she did not respond as well as — for instance — Green Magodont, which was a much larger craft, a three-banked hundred-twenty-six. Green Magodont was of that class of swifter designed to sail in the front rank in a battle, agile so that she might spin about and deliver the diekplus, shearing away an opponent’s oars. Then the second line would come in to take on what was left. This Neemu was clearly a scouting vessel, designed for high speed, yet powerful enough to tackle reasonably heavy opposition. Vax said, “I would like to take all those who will come and sail back to Zandikar.”

There was now a fresh batch of rescued Zairians wishing to go home. I said, “Why Zandikar?”

He said, without shame, “There is a girl-”

“Oh,” I said.

So the brutality of my ruse had been worth it. Vax had decided not to go to Magdag to search for his sister Velia. He knew she was dead; he did not know the manner of her dying. I had told no one that I had held Velia in my arms as she died, and of how the overlords had trampled up to take me. They had not caught Grogor, Gafard’s second in command; but he it was who had shot the arrow into the king’s fluttrell; he it was, they thought, who had slain the stikitches employed by the king. I was a mere pawn, Gafard’s man, and me they had dispatched to the galleys.

“Very well-” I started to say, when I was interrupted by a harsh and ominous screeching. I knew exactly what that raucous shriek from the sky was, and I did not look up. The Gdoinye, the great golden and scarlet raptor of the Star Lords, the magnificent bird of prey they used as a messenger and a spy, had sought me out once again. Duhrra was talking to Vax about taking Neemu back to Zandikar, and trying to urge him to go on to Sanurkazz, for that was nearer Crazmoz. Vax cocked up his head.

“What is that bird?” he said.

Duhrra looked up, also, his idiot-face peering.

“Duh — I see no bird.”

I glanced up, casually.

The confounded Gdoinye was up there, planing in wide hunting circles, screeching down. The thing spied on me for the Star Lords, that was sure.

“Up there, Duhrra, you fambly!” said Vax. He pointed. “Surely you see it? A great red and gold bird.”

“Vax — you’ve been at the dopa again.”

Vax shouted hotly at this and swung to me. “Dak — you see it?”

I looked up at the Gdoinye circling up there, watching me, telling the Star Lords what I was about

“No, Vax. I see no bird.”

“You’re all blind!” shouted Vax, and stamped off. I felt sorry for him. I wondered what he was thinking. But I thought this must be an omen. I must stir myself, or I might be thrust back across four hundred light-years, to Earth, and never get out of the Eye of the World. First, I must make sure my son Jaidur, who called himself Vax out of shame, was safe.

Chapter Seven

We strike a blow for Zairia and for Vallia

On a fine Kregan morning as we pirates swaggered down to the swifters hauled up onto the beach, I said to Duhrra, “You want to talk to this young tearaway, Vax. Probe him about his father.” I saw Duhrra glance across at me. “It is not good that a young man feels this way.”

“I agree. But it is a powerful hatred he bears.”

“Talk to him.”