Now appeared a good opportunity to inspect the vollers we had liberated. I used this euphemism quite deliberately, to cloak the mischief we might have wrought in the desperate straits of our own needs. Two of these craft would go eventually to Vallia, and only one to Hamal. The Khorundese craft bulked far more blockily than the petal-shaped vollers of comparable size manufactured in Hamal or Hyrklana. They were profusely ornamented. I had felt the handling of the example I had flown to be clumsier than I was used to, not so quick in response to the levers of control. But, more primitive though they might be, they flew.
The food was served and we ate, a quite unbalanced diet; but succulent. Then I drew the Pachak twins aside.
“Brothers Fre-Da,” I addressed them seriously. “San Quienyin is for Vallia. Would you consider accompanying him?”
They looked, one at the other, each waiting a sign.
I went on, “I can assure you he will be received with honor in Vondium. As will you.”
“Will there be honorable employment for us there, Jak?”
I pulled my lip. “I am told the Emperor of Vallia no longer employs mercenaries to fight for his country.”
“This word,” said Logu Fre-Da, “we have heard.”
“With acrimony among the paktunsa,” elaborated Modo Fre-Da.
“It would not be seemly to allow the San to travel alone. I think if you give your nikobi, Vallia will welcome you royally. And there are many Pachaks who now call Vallia home.”
The twins looked at each other again and the looks said it all. They nodded. “This we will do.”
“Good.” I felt relieved. “Then that is settled.”
Nodgen returned to camp then bearing two huge armfuls of paline branches, and we all fell on the yellow cherry-like fruits with delight. So the day passed. Any good Kregan likes his eight good square meals a day — six at a pinch. But, as I say, our meals were woefully unbalanced. The suns began to sink. The ostentatious way in which Prince Tyfar and Jaezila each avoided the other’s company amused me. We were given a demonstration again of her prowess with the bow, for she hauled the bow off her shoulder, nocked the shaft, and let fly, and the bird that had been fleeting across the clearing fell plump down alongside Hunch. He jumped a foot.
“By Tryflor!” He grabbed the bird by the neck and swung it about, so that the arrow whirled. “It would not surprise me if the bird descended already plucked and stuffed for the fire!”
We all laughed.
Shadows of russet and sea green lay across the clearing. The Suns of Scorpio plunged into banks of ocher and rose clouds, and the broad bulk of Kregen rolled up to enfold them once more in night. The vollers were brought out from under the trees.
Barkindrar the Bullet declared roundly that, by the Resplendent Bridzilkelsh, he could get his leg up into the voller without assistance. He climbed in awkwardly. Nath the Shaft hovered over him. Tyfar was in the cabin stowing away his armor. At the second voller the Pachaks were stowing their gear and organizing the meticulous arrangements for their new employer to whom they had given their nikobi, and Quienyin was leaning on the coaming watching me walk across to him. I made up my mind.
“Hunch! Nodgen!”
“Jak?”
“You will fly with San Quienyin.”
“But-!”
“I shall see you soon. But I value the protection you, together with the twins, can afford the San.”
“Oh, of course,” said Hunch, crossly. “We can look after him all right.”
“So long as there is somewhere to run away, eh, Hunch?” And Nodgen guffawed. But there was no malice in him. He had seen how his comrade Hunch could fight, as had I.
“Up with you,” I said.
The good-byes were made. Tyfar came over with the others and we all called the Remberees… Quienyin and those four men to look after him lifted away in the voller into the darkling shadows. The suns were nearly gone.
Tyfar hurried back to finish stowing his armor. He had picked up a fine harness and cared for it. Jaezila and Kaldu stood looking over the coaming of the foredeck beside the control levers. I started for the remaining flier. Then I halted and swung back. I wanted a final word with Jaezila and Tyfar both, some jumbled notions in my old vosk skull of a head of trying to get them to see reason, one with the other. When Jaezila arrived in Ruathytu that young lady would discover that the gallant ninny Tyfar was a Prince of Hamal.
A twinge of disappointment that I would miss that entertaining spectacle afforded me resigned amusement.
From under the shadows of the trees men broke in a long savage line of twinkling steel and bared teeth. They yelled war cries as they charged. They raced for the voller where Jaezila’s bow slapped into her fist. I stood halfway between the voller and the thrusting line of foemen.
“Run, Jak!” screamed Jaezila.
There was no time to reach either of the fliers.
I unlimbered the thraxter and swung about.
“Take off!” I bellowed.
The men running in with such headlong ferocity were a mix of races. I cast a swift look back. Jaezila was about to leap over the coaming to join me. There was no sign of Tyfar. In a buffeting of wings, scores of mirvols catapulted over the trees, fell toward the voller. The flying animals bore flyers on their backs, counterparts to the footmen advancing against me. Weapons flamed in the last of the suns.
The trap had been sprung. But the cramphs were too late to take Quienyin’s airboat. Just before I swung about to start hammering at the running men I saw Kaldu seize Jaezila and draw her back into the voller. Heartbeats later the voller lifted into the air, smashing through the fluttering wings of the mirvols. She turned, she lifted, two mirvols collided and fell away in a smashing clawing of wing and talon, and then the voller soared away over the trees.
I was left to face the savage onrush of naked steel.
Chapter eleven
The thongs binding my wrists were not lesten hide and when the time came for me to burst them, I fancied they’d snap without too much effort. As I stood before Trylon Nath Orscop I had to check myself and realize that time had not arrived yet.
His private room was furnished with an austerity surprising in a man wielding his kind of power. He sat behind a plain desk of balass, black and shining, the walls were covered by plain silk drapes, the floor by plain carpets of some indescribable weave that scratched the feet, and his men wore plain dark harnesses of black and bronze. But they had been smart enough in knocking me over, netting me with iron links in the old way of man management on Kregen. Now I was brought before the trylon to discover what he wanted.
A trylon is four rungs down the ladder of nobility, usually. This Nath Orscop, the Trylon of Absordur, ruled a small trylonate; but it was buried in the woodlands, rich in timber and minerals, and he kept himself to himself. He had a single ruling passion, and I was to discover what that was rather sharply.
“You claim your name is Jak the Sturr?”
“Yes, notor.”
I spoke with just enough neutrality in my voice to pass muster. I was prepared to humor this trylon, for the fellow intrigued me. He wore clothes of severe cut, a rusty black, with a flat, black velvet cap. His face was long and narrow, gaunt, very pale, and his gray eyes seemed filmed. Deeply indented lines grooved beside his nose and mouth. A tall oblong of pallid violence, that face, framed in the rusty black.