As it turned out, the city to the north was Lakensmot. The city wall was neither particularly wide nor tall, but it was in excellent condition. The vollerdrome — or the lifterdrome as it was called here in Balintol — lay directly below the southern wall. It was dusty or muddy depending on the weather, a place where you could park your flier for four pieces of silver a night.
The fellow who took my money and assigned me a place wrinkled up his face while considering the flier. He was a Brukaj with a chin like a bulldog, and a scowl, and he told me at once that he could not stand slavers.
I agreed with him. Then we began to haggle in a friendly, enjoyable way for a while. Finally, we agreed on a trade. I parted with the Kataki’s prisoner lifter and got a nice little six-seater with brass fittings and a wooden steering cabin. The Brukaj said he would pull out the empty cages from the lifter and install seats. It would make a first-class business flier. To me it was only fair.
“That will be four pieces of silver, dom,” he said.
“What for?”
“Four pieces of silver per night for the landing site.”
“But I have just paid you.”
“Oh, aye. That was for the slave lifter. The fee is for your new flier.”
“Oh,” I said. “I’m glad you remembered to tell me about it.”
“All part of the service, dom.”
After I paid him, I asked about a reasonable inn. He recommended the Vo’drin and Bucket, supposedly a comfortable, respectable inn. “I’ll be found there later,” he added.
There were a few airboats in the square. “If you are there you can buy a round; I know you can afford it.”
His scowl did not alter. “Such are the times, now, dom.”
He said his name was Bolgo the Rapacious. I made no comment. The Vo’drin and Bucket proved to be quite passable. Soldiers patrolled the streets instead of a city guard. They gave me no trouble, and I went in, paid for a room and ordered a meal.
Bolgo told me he hadn’t seen Llanili’s Sparking Thunder, and when I enquired about him in the taproom, no one had seen him for about a sennight, although Llanili was well known as a lifter captain.
I understood this news to mean that the flier had mastered the storm unscathed and flown on to its destination. At least, I hoped so. It could just as easily be a wreck amongst the trees, smashed into an unrecognizable heap of kindling. And the passengers? I knew nothing about them. They were no more than meaningless names, blank slates. As for their motives, they merely followed the lady Quensella, and her goal, by Vox, had only been to hasten northwards. But their fate concerned me.
Bolgo arrived some time later, looking as if he had lost a zorca and found a calsany. I handed him a jug of the local ale. When it was his turn, to my surprise he threw his copper pieces on the table without murmur. He began to hold forth with extremely sarcastic comments about the king and the regent, and it was obvious that he hated both. We sat in a corner alcove, along with a few of his friends. They shook their heads warningly.
“Come on, Rapacious. The king is too young...”
“He is young and a mischievous onker. A hulu. Someone should tell him about the state of his kingdom.”
I said nothing, pricked up my ears, and drank the ale.
They continued their debate, and it painted an ugly picture. The father of the king had died at an early age — on that matter, there were a lot of rumors, by Krun! — and the lad was controlled with an iron scepter by his aunt, who had taken the reins of the regency in her capable and apparently merciless hands.
I was off to get the next round, and went to the bar. The door was pushed open and not only did the night air surge in, but also a group of soldiers. One of them, a huge hulking fellow in polished, prettily ornamented armor, pulled a trembling, bald headed Gon on a chain behind him. The unfortunate man received a slap. “Well? Come on, you blintz.” The Hikdar hit the Gon again. “What are you waiting for?”
Hardly able to raise his arm, the Gon stretched out his arm. He pointed at Bolgo the Rapacious.
“Seize him!”
In a moment Bolgo was grabbed and his arms secured behind his back. He looked at the Gon and his face held no reproach, only pity and regret. The Hikdar pulled at the chain. He leaned forward and glowered at Bolgo’s friends. They sat stock still, and I could imagine that their innards had transformed into quivering jelly. “Well?”
The Gon shook his bald shiny head. The Hikdar straightened up, slapped his sword hilt and pulled the chain again. He was obviously disappointed. He was not sure if he should take the other poor devils in addition to his main suspect or not. Finally he pushed out his chest under his breastplate and left.
When I returned to the alcove with the ale, Bolgo’s friends said: “You can’t say we didn’t warn him to keep his black-fanged wine-spout closed.”
“What will they do with him?” I passed out the ale.
“Oh, they’ll give him a good beating. They want to make us all afraid. I doubt that they’ll throw him in the dungeon.”
“No,” said his companion. “That’s right. They will try to beat him into silence.”
“On whose orders?”
The local official was a certain Vad P’Pernorath, and the commands came from the capital which meant they came from the regent. He was powerless to resist these commands. So he did it — or risked losing his head.
I learned that a lot of seditious gossip was making the rounds. There was the inevitable resistance movement, which consisted mainly of guerrilla bands that lurked in the hills and wastelands. According to my informants, they had not been taken seriously until recently.
Of course, this meant that Prince Ortyg would not be talking with the young king, but with the regent. That would make life more interesting. This regent C’Chermina seemed to be a very powerful woman.
“And the Gon?”
He was a guy who had lost a wager to Bolgo over a racing lifter. So it had not taken much persuasion for him to denounce the winner to that cramph of a Hikdar.
Then the time came to climb the dark wooden staircase and go to sleep. In the bedroom there was a bench on the wall, which I transformed with the help of a ball of yarn, specially brought for this purpose from the lifter, into a pretty little trap by the door. I jammed a chair under the window latch so that the legs formed chevaux-de-frise. Then I had the same last thoughts as at the end of each and every day and closed my eyes.
A loud crash and a shout woke me.
At the door, a dark shadow wrestled with the bench.
Two steps brought me to him. I grabbed his collar in my fist and pulled him up. A quick look into the corridor showed me the shadow of a fellow who escaped from the circle of light at the other end. I let him go.
“Ow! Ow! My head!”
I looked at my prisoner. The Polsim boy had a rat-like face, and was dressed in grey. His dagger lay on the floor. I picked it up with my free hand and held it to the boy’s nose. He narrowed his eyes.
“No doubt you are sorry, right?”
He nodded eagerly. A few questions and the corresponding answers convinced me that he was a simple thief. He had nothing to do with the seething state of affairs around us. He looked half-starved and said that his name was Nath the Quick. Whether this was true or not did not matter, because I was planning to travel the next day and could do without any trouble from the authorities.
Finally, I turned him around, pushed him through the door and sent him on his way with a swift kick in the backside.
There were no more alarms or distractions for the rest of the night, so I woke up rested in the morning. I ate a rich first breakfast, paid the bill and went to the lifterdrome.
A Brukaj who didn’t look as grumpy as poor old Bolgo had assumed responsibility for the place. He introduced himself as the nephew of Bolgo the Rapacious. We exchanged a few words while I checked my new voller. “By Bruk-en-im!” said Balrey the Pretty. “My uncle has been betrayed in the worst way, and I’ll deal with him myself.”
By that he certainly meant the Gon. I nodded, limited myself to meaningless answers, and observing the fantamyrrh I climbed aboard. As I flew my new flier in a graceful curve through the sky, I was conscious again of the wonderful sweetness of the Kregen air. The different smells of the city remained behind me; I had hardly noticed them there, so quickly do you get used to your surroundings.
I needed to steer in a northeasterly direction. Prebaya, the capital of Caneldrin, was located on the banks of the river Largesse, about one hundred dwaburs from the east coast. The river originated in the north in a mountain range of considerable size. Although the capital was far away from the sea — in earthly terms about five hundred miles — it controlled the nation’s maritime trade and did not need to rely solely on agriculture. The landscape that passed beneath was pleasant, and there were crops and livestock aplenty. The weather was nice and warm. I avoided the cities that I spied on the horizon, and all in all it was a quiet relaxing trip. Not that I needed any reason to relax, by Krun, but this self-deception was somewhat calming.
The old empire, which had many names, but was generally referred to as the Empire of Balintol, had left its mark on the country and its people. It was not so long ago that the invasion and subsequent retreat by Hamal had also left an indelible mark. Although there is on Kregen a marvelous abundance of different races, customs and architecture, many things avoid the need for change of any kind. A house has a roof and walls or pillars; the difference lies in the way the different elements are put together. The subcontinent of Balintol represents a colorful patchwork of all possible cultures, which are fascinating in their interconnectedness.
The longsword my clansmen of the Great Plains of Segesthes use from the back of their voves in a fight is a deadly weapon. Its shape has been copied and is widely used. This weapon, which of course should not be confused with the superior and larger Krozair longsword, is terrible in its effect. The further north you go, and the closer you get to the mountains that separate the great plains of Balintol, the more apparent is the use of the Balintol longsword. This does not mean that I would give the best Balintol longsword fighter a chance against one of my clansmen, oh no, of course not, as sure as Zim and Genodras rise every morning over Kregen!
Prebaya came into view on the horizon shrouded by a shimmering mist that in the slanting light of the Suns of Scorpio made its towers and pinnacles glitter like spear tips. A great number of lifters were arriving and leaving the city, and a considerable number of ovverers had set sail. In the soft, colorful, dazzling sunshine the city appeared calm and peaceful. But since we were on Kregen, of course, the opposite was more likely. Highly likely, by Krun!
My son Drak had sent ambassadors to our diplomatic missions in the major nations, among which several countries in Balintol had recently been ranked. He had hoped this step would eliminate at least one source of friction. Our ambassador in Caneldrin was Elten Naghan Vindo, who joined the diplomatic service from the Treasury. He was a thin, sober man with a sharp wit and he was useful for special operations. He had lost his whole family during the time of unrest in Vallia, and instead of starting over and marrying again he had begun a new career. I was hoping that the things I had asked Ling-Li to send me had arrived with Elten Naghan.
As I looked ahead, the reflections of the suns’ light from Prebaya’s towers and rooftops had gone. Darkness settled over the land. It started to rain.
When I landed the flier at a lifterdrome, it was still raining. A Polsim, drenched to the skin, pointed me to a berth and demanded eight pieces of silver. The prices in capital cities are usually considerably higher than elsewhere, so I paid without a murmur and hurried through the downpour to check for any messages from Vallia.
My code name was Varghan na Vernheim. As soon as I announced myself at the station, I was admitted. I shook the wetness from my shamlak and walked through the gate. The shamlak had been through a lot lately and looked decidedly scruffy.
Elten Naghan Vindo greeted me with a steaming pot of good Kregan tea. I was led into a small room where they had laid out fresh, dry clothes, but I went straight for the tea and food. Vindo did not wear the brown-yellow Vallian clothes, but a dull orange shamlak. His baggy trousers were inflated at the ankles. This was the fashion in the northern regions of Balintol.
He told me that Prince Ortyg had been received and welcomed by the lady Chermina with honor. “I have a few excellent sources of information. She has lofty plans for Tolindrin. And then...”
“Oh, aye,” I interrupted him. “And then she wants to conquer the whole of Balintol. And then the whole world.”
He tugged on his full goatee. “Something like that, Majister.”
I asked him if he had ever heard of the ladies Froisier or Quensella.
“Froisier sounds like an invented name.” He tugged at his beard again. “Quensella is not uncommon. The sister of the regent has that name.”
“Oh, yes?” I sat up straight. Now, on Kregen this was not at all unusual. It could indeed be her. If she had been flying north to Prebaya to participate in the discussions with Prince Ortyg it might explain why she had been in such a hurry.
“And this young king? Yando?” That was the short version of a name that started with a double-initial, and was a few feet long.
The ambassador smiled in an almost conspiratorial manner. “He’s a clever boy. But his education is inadequate for his role. Currently, he is passionate about the theater.” Again with the cunning smile. “His greatest pleasure is to dress up as a great hero, to strut across the stage and defeat dragons and monsters.”
“And?” I did not understand what he was getting at.
“Yes, Majister. He spends most of his time dressing up as Dray Prescot, the Emperor of Emperors, the Emperor of All Paz.”
“When...” I continued to say, then stopped. “So the books and plays and all the other lies about me are known here?”
“Extremely popular, Majister, extremely popular.” He was enjoying himself in his own dry way, and I couldn’t blame him. Still...!
“I suspect this Chermina, the regent, is not thrilled by the idea that a person should rule all of Paz?”
“Not in the least.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“Majister. May I ask...?”
I nodded. Then I told him that a large part of Loh, and a good piece of Havilfar and Pandahem were already convinced. Segesthes was way ahead thanks to my clansmen. As for Turismond, little had been achieved there so far. “It is a task, Naghan, in which I find no pleasure, but for the sake of Paz and our future defense against the Shanks they must still be persuaded.”
As a diplomat, he was diplomatic. “It is a task for all of the people whose heart is in the right place, to assist with all their strength, Majister.”
“Aye. And I suspect this young king Yando knows nothing of the true story of Dray Prescot, doesn’t read between the lines; for him there is only battle and bloodshed.”
“He is too young and easily influenced.”
Naghan gave me the things that Ling-Li had sent — a reasonable drexer and a golden pakzhan, which included a long pakai with far more gold than silver rings. I put it on after I had again donned my ragged red Shamlak. I still wore the russet leather trousers. The ambassador insisted that I take an ordinary dark gray cloak. I thanked him with all my heart and stepped out into the downpour.
It was very, very wet. The rain was torrential. The gloom gave way to the darkness of the hour of dim when none of the moons of Kregen light up the streets and avenues.
The street was awash with water. Naghan had mentioned that it had been raining heavily for a while. Floods threatened. I went through the puddles and searched for the Quail and Cypher that Vindo had recommended to me. I had a plan, but it stood on shaky ground. I needed accommodation and the latest gossip before I could really get down to work.
The lights of the inn, which sparkled through the pouring rain, made a mighty inviting impression. I quickened my pace — and then stopped abruptly.
This was the place to find gossipy, fat, wine-guzzling drunkards. But not Dray Prescot.
Even though I was wet and uncomfortable and thirsty, I could not forget my duty. Not only did I have an obligation to the Star Lords, but also a duty to remain on Kregen, for Delia...
I pulled the dripping cloak tighter around me and directed my steps to the palace of the regent Chermina and King Yando.