"You are men from Zandikar. I salute your prowess. Now we strike a blow for Zair and we strike in absolute silence!"
"I am Ornol ti Zab, ley-Hikdar, third officer of Wersting Zinna." The man looked squat and hard, a real sailorman, his black curly hair smothered in sand, with the black dried blood crusting about a wound.
"We are with you in this escape. But — you and this giant with one hand wear the green."
"Aye," I said. "Aye, Hikdar, we do. And if there is a scrap of red about we will gladly wear that! By Zair, yes!"
There were dead men in the dunes. Red cloth was to hand. I wound the crimson about my loins, over the green, draped an end over the green tunic. There was no time for more. We all stole silently across the sand. The Hikdar halted as I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.
"Not that way, Hikdar."
"But," he whispered back, "that way lies our swifter, our fleet Wersting Zinna."
"There is a greater Jikai tonight. You are a ley-Hikdar.[4]Success this night will leap you at a bound to Jiktar. I promise you. Your king Zinna will do no other.
He looked doubtful. I did not blame him. I could be a part of a trap, devilish sport of the Grodnims with Zairian captives.
"King Zinna is an old man now, dom. He would sooner see his swifter back in the ship-sheds of Zandikar."
"Yet the way I show you will deliver up a greater prize. Did you not see the flying boats land?" He gasped. "Aye — aye! This will be a great Jikai!"
So we went on through the moonlight in the way I directed. Of course, King Zinna must be old — I’d last seen him fifty years ago and he’d been middle-aged then. The cities and states of the Red southern shore hang together in a sketchy alliance against the Greens, but they are touchy of their national honor. I didn’t care to which Zairian city-state the voller went just so long as I stopped off at Zy first. Although, come to think of it, my allegiance should go to Mayfwy of Felteraz and through her to King Zo of Sanurkazz. That was, if I had any allegiances left.
The night guard on the two vollers had been changed from Pachaks to Fristles. No doubt apims and Chuliks and any other diffs on the roster might have been used as required. My sea-leems of Zair dealt with the Fristles; the cat-faced diffs swiftly disposed of, the Red swamped over the Green. The moon glistered on the ornate scrollwork gilding of the sternwalk. The hull bulged with power. Yes, this was a fine handy craft, equipped with varters, decked, a superb fighting machine of the air. We swarmed up like ants, climbing up onto the deck and taking by surprise the remnant of the guard sleeping off watch there.
With brands in their fists, with their blood up, these men of Zandikar showed their mettle. Their captain and ship-Hikdar had been slain in the battle with the two swifters of Gansk. Many of their comrades had gone up to sit in glory on the right hand of Zair in the radiance of Zim. Now they sent a covey of Grodnims down to the Ice Floes of Sicce without compunction. Some noise fractured the night in that swift struggle. That was unfortunate but seemingly inevitable. I belted for the control deck shouting to Duhrra to make sure everyone was aboard safely. The controls were perfectly familiar to me. I hit the levers and we went up in a smooth, swooping rise, a rush of power. The smaller voller was not inits mooring place and so King Genod must be sending more messages. I chilled.
Suppose he had taken the voller himself? But no — no, Zair would not play that trick on me. I did as I had planned and brought the voller to earth again in the first spot that appeared suitable from the air. I knew this terrain from carrying messages and had selected a number of deep gullies where the voller might be hidden. I double-checked the best place from the air as we slanted down, and was satisfied she would not be spotted if the two-place flier nosed over.
Hikdar Ornol ti Zab organized his men into throwing the scrubby branches of nik-nik bushes over the deck to shield her. The nik-nik is a nasty plant and the men were scratched. They did not care. My plan appealed to them.
But, Hikdar Ornol and Duhrra both said to me, growling: "We shall come with you, Gadak."
"Not so," I said. "I am able to pass easily where you would have trouble, Duhrra, and you, Hikdar, could not pass at all."
They fumed and argued, but they knew I was right. The voller had to be secured first. Now came the tricky part.
I started to leave them and as I did so Hikdar Ornol said to me, "There is one among our company who claims to have seen a flying boat before. He even says he can fly one through the air like a bird." The urgency in me, I now admit, made me gloss over this information that would normally have been startling. The Hikdar went on, speaking in his growly graint voice: "If you do not return within two burs of dawn we shall decide-"
I knew what he was going to say. I stopped him.
"You will get this young fellow to fly the boat out. You will all be trapped if you return. You know this to be true."
"Aye." He spoke surlily, a warrior deprived of a fight. "It is sooth. But we are loath to do this thing."
"I shall not say Remberee."
"Hai Jikai!" he said to me, and so I went back toward the camp and to King Genod and Gafard, the King’s Striker, the Sea-Zhantil.
There was a quantity of confusion going on about the vanished voller. Guards ran and shouted and torches flared. This was all to the good. I ran in as though most busy about my work, and almost forgot to rip off the red cloth. I bundled it up and stuffed it inside the green tunic over the mail.
"It must be cramphs of Zair!" men bellowed. "Rasts of the Red!" In all this confusion I ought to be able to take Genod and Gafard. At the least, I ought to be able to do that. So I planned as I ran and shouted with the rest and worked my way around to the tent of the king. How man proposes and Zair disposes! Or Opaz or Djan. I wouldn’t give the time of day to Grodno or Havil or Lem. I ran through the moon-shot darkness. This was where I let rip all the frustrations, where I really hit back, where I at last created a High Jikai that would reinstate me among the ranks of the Krozairs of Zy.
All the stupid pride flooded me, onker that I was. What would that oaf Pur Kazz say when I landed with a magnificent flying boat of the air, with rescued Zairians, and with the enormous prize of not only Gafard, the Sea-Zhantil, the most renowned Ghittawrer of the Eye of the World, but his liege lord also, his king, this same king Genod, the genius king of evil Magdag!
Well, onker I was and onker I remained.
The king’s tent was flooded with light. Orderlies and sectrixmen waited outside, nervous, fidgety. I marched through as bold as Krasny work, up to the tent flaps and the guards. I thought — well, that would be to reveal too much. Suffice it to say I thought it could be done and I could do it. I think, now, in all sober truth, I could have done it. It was, after all, a thing I had done before and was, as you shall hear, a trick I was to pull off again, more than once. But could the Star Lords have had a hand in this? The Savanti, perhaps? I did not know. I do know that as I bluffed my way past the guards and entered the first of the canvas-sided anterooms leading into the king’s quarters a number of what I then considered impossible events occurred. There were far too many men here to be accounted for by the loss of the voller, serious though that was. These were men who should be out hunting for the king’s airboat.