The Rebel of Rhada by Robert Cham Gilman Page B

have guarded a warlock and a Vulk with fewer.
    He could hear the sound of music. It was Gret, of course, playing his hypnotic airs for the warmen, distracting them from their obvious--and mutinous--duties.
    Ariane said, “Have you led us into another blind alley, Rebel?”
    He smiled at her temper and did not reply. His chest and arms still throbbed with the iron Queen’s embrace, and there was nothing ahead but fighting and danger, but he felt a savage joy to have a weapon in his hand again and a simple job of combat to do. The complexities and politics would come later, on Sarissa, if they lived to reach that place.
    Erit heard the music and murmured something in a language none could understand. The Vykans made the sign of the Star in the air and commended their souls to God. They would fight, and perhaps die, in the midst of magic they did not understand. If their Ariane and the Rhad were not afraid, then they would try to disregard their own superstitious fear. But Vulks and warlocks filled them with dread.
    Kier gathered them on the narrow metal stairway. They rested themselves from the long, long climb in the narrow shaft and listened to him.
    “There’s no time for tricks and not much chance they would succeed anyway,” he said. “Gret has their attention --some of them, at least, will be listening to him. They’ll be slow to react to us. I know what Vulk music can do. Make ready now.”
    The warmen drew their weapons. And this time, so did Ariane. “We need every sword,” she said.
    Kier looked down at the clear blue eyes under the metal cap and felt his heart beat faster. By the Star, what a queen for the Rhad she would make. But he should not think of that now. She would be queen to all the worlds. That thought brought a nick of sadness.
    As though she read his thought, she smiled for a moment and then grew somber. “Why do we wait, Kier?”
    She might have meant one thing or another. He chose to think she meant only the first. “A moment, Queen,” he murmured.
    Erit raised her blind face and spoke, but not with her own voice. “There is a light in the sky, King!”
    “Now, go!” Kier shouted, and plunged up the remaining stairs into the guardroom.
    There were six Imperials in the guardroom. The door to the cell chamber stood open, and Kier could see three more of the Vegan warmen within. The place resounded with the wild twanging of Gret’s song.
    The first Imperial died with his sword only half drawn, so caught by the music had he been. The others took warning and formed a battle line, for they were trained troops, though softened by too long duty in the capital.
    Beside Kier the Vykans were fighting, and the enclosed and badly lit rooms resounded to the ring of swords. The man opposing Kier was a good swordsman and strong. It took the young star king time to pierce his shoulder and disarm him. He made no move to prevent his bolt for the stairway leading down. There was no time to worry about that now because Kier could see through the other room to the window, where the mists seemed to glow with a dancing violet light.
    Another Vegan went down, and Kier turned to face a third. Ariane stood at his side as firmly as any trooper. He felt a surge of pride for her.
    Cavour had made a snare from his cloak and had caught an Imperial from behind. Gret and Erit were singing a wild, skirling melody. There was a touch of madness in the scene of dancing shadows, clashing blades, and alien music.
    Then, quite suddenly, a silence fell because the last of the guards lay still on the floor. The young Vyk was wounded, cut on the neck above his mailed shirt. But he was on his feet and regarding Ariane with worshipful eyes. We savages, Kier thought, how we love a warrior queen!
    Cavour, at the window now, called out to Kier, “It’s there! I see it now!”
    God reward Kalin, Kier thought, and make his hand steady. Ariane was staring, half afraid, at the ionized rain falling past the casements and on down into the