Why, in the name of the glorious and radiant Opaz, can I, Dray Prescot, not keep my big nose out of other people’s affairs?
The ugly sight that presented itself to me in the mingled streaming light of the Suns of Scorpio had nothing to do with me. Nothing at all. So why did I stop in the shade of an arcade? Why did I not continue on? Why did my hand drop to my sword hilt?
I want to remind you of the devastating mistake that I almost committed when the four Xuntalese did not beat the white-skinned apim, but merely tried to arrest him. Had I gone in between them with a wild battle cry on my lips — my Val! What a mess I would have made there! Without a doubt such an error would have caused a setback in my plans.
People going about their daily business made a wide berth around the affair, as do most sensible citizens after all. Their tense faces and frightened eyes peered around corners, out of alcoves and from behind columns and colonnades. The kyro, saturated by the light of the suns, lay deserted except for the leading protagonists in the drama taking place there.
During my uneasy career on Kregen in the service of the Star Lords I had developed the experience to determine from the most meager evidence the rights and wrongs of a situation. At first glance, everything seemed to be clear here, but taking the duties and interests of all parties into account there could be all sorts of reasons for the incident. It was a hard to grasp, nasty mess, by Krun!
An audo — that is a detachment of soldiers, in this case there were ten men — stood warily and with drawn weapons in battle formation facing a man unblinking and full of scorn in the center of the square.
I had encountered his kind before. He wore black lacquered armor that covered his entire body and sparkled gold and green in places. The tools of his trade hung from his belt, a bag full of death stars, a long chain with at one end a three-blade knife and at the other a tripartite grappling hook, just like a Japanese Kyoketsu-shoge, and a chunkscreetz, an iron swordbreaker. He wore two braxters and a number of daggers. He had no shield — his kind detested shields as the mark of a coward.
He stood there like a weathered oak in the forest, every muscle of his body under firm control. His face, with colorless tusks, penetrating eyes and a stern and bitter mouth framed by a spiky drooping mustache, told of a lifetime of bloodshed on behalf of his masters. Some of the best fighters on Kregen claimed that his style of combat began with skills and training where the Chuliks’ left off.
Oh yes, I knew what he was. He was commissioned by his master to go on a mission that he would pursue as long as there was one breath in his lungs and a drop of blood remaining in his body.
He stood there tough and invincible; in his heart there was no spark of humanity any more — at least that was commonly said.
The Deldar of the swods licked his lips.
“You’re coming with us. The Prefect wants to ask you...”
“I am a Kanzai warrior brother.” The words echoed bitterly about the place. A flock of little matfuls, fat gray and white birds very similar to pigeons, fluttered startled into the air. “I am on a mission for my master. I have simply entered your town to buy supplies.” His tone was dark and threatening. “Stand aside!”
His four hands were empty, but he threw back his proud scarlet cloak and two hands hovered over the various weapons.
The soldiers were ordinary swods of various diff breeds. Their armor was more or less uniform. Their swords were mass produced braxters, which would probably break during a normal fight, but would with absolute certainty shatter into useless metal splinters in contact with the weapons of a Kanzai warrior brother.
The swods knew it.
It was also clear to them that their ten were outmatched.
The Deldar seemed to be a typical experienced old soldier, a stocky, coarse fellow with a powerful voice who had worked his way up as far in the military hierarchy as it was possible for him to go. Vikatu the Old Soldier had seen to it that he had been well trained. Nevertheless, he was one of that kind of soldier who follow the orders of others, because that is all they can do. To follow orders was the focal point of his life. That he was liable to die did not matter — orders were orders.
The participants in this impasse stared at each other.
Maybe the example of San Yo the Prophet could provide a solution. He could summon bright, colorful, moving images. I, however, stood still and contemplated San Yo while ten human beings were on the verge of committing suicide.
It was not easy to decide who was right in this situation. The Kanzai warrior brother followed the orders of his master just as blindly as the Deldar followed his. Clearly there was nothing wrong with a fellow walking into a city — even if it was around the capital — to buy supplies, as long as he behaved. Certainly the Prefect had the right to watch anyone who entered his district and might cause trouble. Well, by Vox, the issue was none of my business.
So I turned away.
The suns continued on their way. The birds flew. A light breeze was blowing. It was not the end of Kregen. The air, the sweet air of Kregen, suddenly no longer smelled so sweet and fresh. I paused.
What significance did a Kanzai have for me? Or ten soldiers?
I turned back around. Suddenly the mad thought settled in my old vosk skull that this urgent matter concerned me very much if I claimed to be the Emperor of Emperors, Emperor of all Paz.
I stepped out into the radiant brightness of the sun, crossed the kyro and set myself exactly between the Kanzai and the soldiers. The swods gasped in surprise. The grim face of the Kanzai betrayed no emotion.
The Deldar took on a menacing attitude.
“What is this? Get out of here! Schtump!”
“Del, you’re dead, all of you, if you do not listen,” I said.
“Who the hell are you to come crawling out of the crowd...”
You do not think that I was going to tell him? I simply turned my back on him and gave the Kanzai a hard look.
“I have nothing against you,” he said. “It is better you step aside.”
Now the Star Lords had absurdly chosen me as ruler of Paz because I command the yrium. A power that far exceeds normal charisma, the yrium is both a curse and a blessing, as I knew only too well. I gave to the iron-hard Kanzai warrior brother the dark look which some call the Dray Prescot Devil Look. He did not flinch; he blinked. “Likely you could kill these ten men, but that would seal your fate. Your mission would have failed. Your master would not be pleased.” I did not stop watching him as I spoke.
He replied only: “Do you want to compete against me?”
His upper right hand closed around the hilt of a braxter. It was definitely not mass produced, but was made of first-class steel. It was completely open, who would win in a battle between us. As you know, I hate people who boast about being the best swordsman in the world. I never forget Mefto the Kazzur.
I put even more power into my unbearable, intimidating, insuperable look of authority.
“No, you fambly, I do not want to kill you.”
He blinked again.
I told him that if he was not guilty of any crime, it would be wisest to pay a visit to the Prefect. Once he had finished with the petty bureaucracy, he could fill his knapsack and move on. Finally, I added that his master would certainly agree to such conduct.
He plucked at his long mustache with the left upper hand. There was a faint hope that, unlike words, an action would get through to him. I had tried before to thrash out something with a Kanzai warrior brother.
“I will go to this worm of a Prefect... if you accompany me.”
By the abscess covered and veined legs of the Lady Dulshini! I had no time to wander around here. I had to take care of the ibmanzies. I had to prevent wars. Balintol was the dress rehearsal for the whole of Paz. I said, “I’ll come with you.”
“Good. I see you are a real man.”
Kanzai warrior brothers move in their own incomparable way when they face a threat or need to take action. They move — for the briefest time — lightning fast. Between these bursts of movement, they remain perfectly still, calm, self-possessed. In this they have something in common with the schrepim. When this representative of the mysterious Kanzai brotherhood moved to my side, he did it like every other fighter, with head held high. By the Blade of Kurin, he made a magnificent picture.
The Deldar and his audo marched behind us. There goes a bunch of relieved swods, I thought, amused — admittedly, there are people who think my humor is malicious.
If I have presented this incident in a completely matter of fact manner that might convey a false impression... in truth, the air had crackled with tension.
My Val, yes! A whirlwind of destruction could have seized the peaceful little kyro and in the circle of vaol-paol who could say how things would have turned out? Oh yes, as we walked through the street I sent a heartfelt thank you to the various gods. At this point I still was not convinced that the flare up of my famous — or infamous — yrium had overwhelmed the will of one of the most egocentric and strongest-willed beings on Kregen, but things were looking up, by Vox!
Most onlookers walked on, but one fellow followed us. He was a Gildrim with a long baboon-like nose, close-set eyes and an unruly mop of hair. He wore eye-catching half-armor, which was gilded and fitted with an abundance of feathers. Of course, he had strapped on two or three swords in the best Kregen tradition. I did not like the way he gave me significant glances.
With all Gildrims it is important to keep their tail in mind. Although they have only two arms like an apim, that damn tail is a more than fiendish compensation. Unlike other movable Kregen tails, that of a Gildrim is relatively thick but flexible in an almost miraculous way. The average Gildrim does not strap a six-inch blade firmly to the tip of his tail like a Kataki. Oh no, by Djan! He secures a damn great club to it, a skull crusher, with six triangular blades protruding from it. When confronting that you have to be on guard because he can flail it over his shoulder or smash an opponent with a running horizontal blow to the ribs. With their sad baboon-like faces Gildrims are a grumpy bunch, but it’s good if they are on your side.
This specimen certainly belonged to the other side.
Eventually he quickened his pace and disappeared ahead of us on the road.
The Prefect and his soldiers resided in a beautiful building with a roof crowned with many turrets — a notable feature that caught the eye involuntarily. Most people instinctively crossed the street and walked by on the opposite side to the Prefecture. Strange — and important.
When we reached the arched entrance, I was already expecting problems with the Prefect, and I was very angry about the unwanted interruption to my plans — but I was resolved to seeing through the typically stormy Kregen course of events. Considering the situations a Kregan must sometimes confront, the expected obstacles put before us by the Prefect and his men faded as a more immediate situation presented itself.
Two uniformed groups were arguing loudly and threatening each other with their fists. Faces were bright red. A lot of wrongness spilled from the archway into the street. Our Deldar overtook us and left his unit at rest. He looked surprised.
Quite unlike me.
One of the quarrelling groups wore the uniform of C’Chermina’s followers, the others belonged to Quensella. The Prefect had probably summoned the jurukkers that I had recruited to interrogate them about two issues. One was the disappearance of Naghan ti Indrin. The more important one was the brutal murder of Pallan Granumin by the schrepims. The Prefect would regard the two events as connected with security rather than with each other.
Presumably that was what the noisy argument with insults and threatening fists was about. But no, by Krun, of course this could not be, not as long as the twin Suns of Scorpio float in the sky, for San M’Marmor strode out of the entrance.
The Khibil opened his mouth to shout energetic commands at the guards. He looked at me. There was not the slightest chance to escape the intolerant, foxy look. He saw me and recognized me immediately.
Well, yes, it could not be otherwise, by Vox!
He immediately turned into an angry imitation of Kov Largos the Irritated, who in the old legends of Kregen drove the heavenly host in his bronze vessels over the horizon. He exploded. With gesticulating arms and quivering red whiskers he gave shrill, almost unintelligible cries.
“Seize him! Seize that man! Bratch!”
My lads from Quensella’s personal bodyguard turned around and saw me. The bureaucracy had annoyed them quite a lot and their blood was almost reaching boiling point. M’Marmor’s men hastened to obey the shrieked command. They pulled their swords out of their sheaths and came towards me. My men saw it. They did not pause to think. Weapons flashed in the sunlight.
In the next few tumultuous seconds fighting broke out in the street.