Part 13 (1/2)

”And we have decided-” Mishka went on.

”He has wisdom in his words,” Hector stated.

”That you should get instruction in yakavarsh-” Mishka said.

”E'en though he be nae Hielander,” Hector added.

”Which is the art of unarmed combat-” Mishka continued.

”So leesten to him most closely,” Hector advised.

”Whereby the wrestler may turn the opponent's own strength against him,” Mishka said, and waited for the next interruption. When there was none, he waxed enthusiastic. ”Not only is yakavarsh an excellent means of self-defense, Prince; it is in truth an art, yes, a philosophy, a way of life. Consider the lovely curve as a body soars through the air! Create an infinity symbol when you elegantly dislocate his arm! See a gateway to eternity in the angle of his broken neck!”

Charlie was willing and spent some hours trying to learn Talyinan judo. He failed. New Lemurians are proportioned too unlike humans for any of the holds to work very well for him. But at least the open-air exercise kept him from growing queasy when the wind stiffened and a chop set the s.h.i.+p rolling. That might not have been a problem in itself, had the Prophecy not said he would cross the water ”Singing and swigging while others lie seasick.” The warriors kept bringing him rich food and drink and then expected him to give an a capella concert.

t.i.tle: Hokas Pokas Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. d.i.c.kson ISBN: 0-671-57858-8 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.

Copyright: d.i.c.kson Publisher: Baen Books

8.

Soldiers Three

After Belogh had lost its independence, it dwindled to a small fis.h.i.+ng port. The great stone amphitheater had stood unused for generations. Though Dzenko's following was added to the townspeople and farmers, the audience filled less than half the available s.p.a.ce. When Charlie left the room given him to arm in and trod out into the arena, his feet scuffed up clouds of fine white dust.

The day was bright and hot. He sweated in the underpadding of the ring mail coat which had been hastily altered to fit him. Still more did he sweat in the conical noseguarded helmet, for it needed twice as much lining as it was meant to have, were it not to cover his head like a candle snuffer. A drop ran into one eye and stung. The smell and taste of the dust were acrid. The round s.h.i.+eld hung heavy on his left arm.

He looked about. Spectators, made splashes of subdued color on gray tiers. He sensed their excitement before they started shouting. Dzenko had forbidden his men to breathe any word of Charlie's ident.i.ty. The newcomer had been introduced cloaked, cowled, and masked by a scarf, as a n.o.ble faring incognito, who had heard the inst.i.tution of the Three Brothers was being revived, disapproved of it, and challenged them to fight the matter out with him. Nevertheless, the circ.u.mstances were bound to start talk buzzing among those who knew the Prophecy, and now everybody could see that the stranger was human.

Hector, his second, patted Charlie on the back. ”Guid luck to ye, lad,” he breathed. ”Stand steady and strike hard. Remember Otterburn. Remember Bannockburn. And Killiecrankie. And the Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled. Noo I maun be off.” Likewise armored, his tubby form tramped to where a yachi stood tethered for him, a lance beside it. The observer for the Brothers was already mounted, a husky person in full warlike panoply. Afoot, Hasprot, the minstrel, strummed his horpil and doubtless composed in advance many of the lines which would describe this event.

Charlie's glance searched after Dzenko. It found him in a box favorably positioned for viewing, along with Igorsh of Avilyogh, the lord mayor of Belogh and his family, and other dignitaries. The baron threw the boy a stark smile. More heartening was Mishka, who rose and clapped vigorously at sight of his friend.

A roar lifted from the crowd. Out of their own door came the Three Brothers.

Charlie swallowed. He hadn't expected them to be so big. They towered close to two meters. He hoped some of that impression was due to the plumed and visored helmets and the plate armor rather than ring mail which they wore. The sheen off the metal hurt his eyes. He prayed the billowing dust would soon dull it.

As per instructions, they clanked and Charlie jingled across the arena to stand beneath the official box. The lord mayor blinked at them. He was an aged, wrinkled, shaky male whose best clothes, seen at close range, bore countless darnings and patches.

”Ah . . . greeting, greeting, gentlemen,” he quavered. ”Obedient to the, ah, the ancient law of Belogh . . . looked it up yesterday evening in the archives, I did, while everybody else was reveling . . . hard to concentrate in that racket, but I persisted, I did, and . . .” His voice trailed off. ”Where was I? Oh, yes. The ancient law of a challenge-I think-bugs have eaten a lot of it-I think in case of a challenge, I have to try and make peace before it's fought.” He stared at Charlie. ”Surely you, a-did I hear somebody say 'Prince?'-well, I regret I have no more daughters to offer in marriage-”

”I should hope not,” snapped a stout middle-aged female in his party, ”seeing I'm the youngest and it's been twenty-three years-”

”Ah, yes.” The mayor nodded. ”Granddaughters, I meant to say. I'm completely out of marriageable granddaughters, my dear Prince, so I'm afraid-but perhaps-”

Under Dzenko's warning scowl, Charlie replied as boldly as he was able: ”Sir, I came here not to marry but to fight.”

”Eh? What? Well, well. But why not? Not much difference anyway.”

Impatiently, Dzenko plucked the lord mayor's sleeve and hissed in his ear. ”Very well, very well, let the combat begin,” agreed the latter. ”I believe you're supposed to salute me. And it really would be quite nice if you saluted each other. On your honor, gentlemen, begin.”

The Brothers lifted swords above s.h.i.+elds. Charlie did the same, while taking the chance to study the others. Their armor fitted as poorly as his helmet. Doubtless it was a set of heirlooms.

Yet when all were back in the center of the arena and politely raised blades, and a trumpet sounded, and they strode forward to the encounter, Charlie's pulse fluttered. His three opponents were like remorseless robots grinding down on him.

They ground very slowly, however. Meanwhile, their second started to bounce his yachi around and around the contestants. This inspired Hector to imitation. Dust fountained up. The Earthling heard Hasprot chant: The bugle has blown and the battle will start The south is the side of the city combatants.

Towering, totaling more than a ton, Brutally armed are the Brothers of Belogh-

The minstrel had to compete with Hector, who was singing ”Charlie Is My Darling” at the top of his own lungs.

The dust was getting thick as a seafog, a dry mist which clogged nostrils and throat. He could barely make out his rivals a few meters off. Why in the name of sanity did that yokel have to create such a cloud?

Wait! Could it be that he wanted to hide the engagement so that n.o.body could see how easily the local team was overcome?

The fact was, Dzenko had told the human, his agents had taken care to pick the three oldest brothers of acceptable ancestry that they could find and persuade these to set up as the Warriors Advocate of former times. (The appeal had been to their civic spirit. Besides a.s.serting its cultural ident.i.ty, if Belogh revived picturesque customs, it might attract tourists, especially starfarers.) The agents had a.s.sured Dzenko that the group consisted of dodderers like the lord mayor. Charlie should be able to wear them out and make them surrender with no danger to himself or any need to harm them.

What was that terrible clangor which broke loose in the whiring grayness? It gave believability to Hasprot: Heavily hewing, the heroes are met.

Singing, the sword of the Prince now descends In a left to the head that would lay most men low, And a right to the ribs that rocks his foe back-

Perhaps his imagination compensated the audience for its inability to see what went on, though Charlie did hear boos.

A shape loomed out of chaos. The human recognized the yachi-mounted native in bare time to jump aside from the lance aimed at him.

”Wait!” he screamed. ”Hey, wait! You're not supposed to-” The yachi bounded past, stopped, spun around. The rider dropped his spear, drew his sword, and chopped downward. Somehow Charlie caught the blow on his s.h.i.+eld, but it staggered him. In sick terror, he knew that the dust had been raised not to blur view of the defeat of the Brothers but to hide his own murder by their second. Afterward the trio would claim they had legitimately slain him. ”Honor” demanded that they win.

Though how honorable, really, were Dzenko's wiles?

Again the sword smote from above. Charlie's blade met it, and was nearly torn from his grasp. Hasprot declaimed: I chant of a champion's challenge anew.

Sir Hector will have quite a hand in the fight.

Calm and courageous, he couches his lance-

The Hoka must have guessed what was going on. Ablaze with indignation, he bounced into sight on his own yachi. ”Defend y', blackguard!.” He squeaked.

Charlie thought he saw contempt on the face of the hulking Beloghan as that rider turned to meet the little alien. But Hector's first blow nearly cast him from his saddle. Smiting, they disappeared into the dust. ”Crimson the field is, as carnage grows common,” reported Hasprot.