"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 ship 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 fishing 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 shield 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 shields. 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 shield, 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.

Charlie felt dizzy with relief. Yet he dared not stop. He groped his way ahead. The frightful noises of battle he had heard were silenced. Instead, as he neared his opponents, he caught sounds of-what?-yes, wheezing and panting.

Vaguely before him appeared the Three Brothers. They leaned on each other for support. "No, Moach," one said in a high-pitched, thready voice, "I can't whang my shield any longer, no more than you or Chekko can. I must have a rest."

"What's the matter with that grandson of yours?" the second demanded of the third. "He should have taken care of that . . . that upstart . . . by now . . . shouldn't he?"

In grim glee, Charlie entered their view. "He didn't," he announced, and lifted his blade.

Unable to move their own weapons, the Brothers wailed, "Mercy! Mercy! We yield! Only get us out of these confounded bake ovens-" One of them fell backward in a great clatter and lay feebly waving his arms and legs like an overturned insect.

Charlie heard Hasprot: Blow-struck and bleeding his body, the Prince Waits what may well be the wound that will slay him.

Skyward goes soaring the sword of a Brother.

Down the edge drops-

But the dust did not settle. The minstrel saw Charlie stand triumphant and, not missing a beat, continued: And disarms the Brothers.

Yare are the Three to yield to the youth, Who graciously gives them their lives as a gift, Though fully well able to flick them to flitches-

Across the arena, Charlie saw Hector stand above a prostrate warrior who himself pleaded to be spared.

He had won! He was safe! In the glory of that, Charlie knew he would, indeed, show pity on his antagonists, not only let them go but forbear to tell of their plot. After all, whispered a part of his mind, his own role in this wouldn't bear the closest examination.

"Prince of the Prophecy," Dzenko shouted, "reveal yourself!"

As Charlie bared his red head to a cooling breeze, the crowd went wild.

Belogh was under the sway of a baron who dwelled at the far end of Vletska, the large island on which this town stood. That powerful but cautious lord had hung back from making a commitment to the revolution. Dzenko sent new messengers to him. The word they bore was that the Prince had truly come; that already he had performed three of the Five Feats, and the rest were mere technicalities; that therefore everyone who loved freedom-and, it was added, wanted to be on the winning side-should immediately join the cause.

"I am certain he will," Dzenko told Charlie, "but he'll take a few days yet to make up his mind. In the meantime we must lodge here, before we go on to Lyovka." The island where the Riddling Priests lived was more strategically placed for fighters to rendezvous who came from all over the kingdom.

Belogh had few accommodations. Most of the travelers had to sleep outdoors or on shipboard. Charlie and his entourage would actually have preferred that to the lord mayor's drafty palace. But etiquette demanded they accept the proffered hospitality.

"Good show, good show," the elderly leader had congratulated the boy. "Yes, good show, Garamaz-er, I mean-whatever your name is-oh, yes, Prince. Ah . . . I told you I was all out of marriageable granddaughters. But I've since been reminded that a, ah, third cousin's child is just about your age, and I ought to mention her to you. Take my advice, though, and don't have anything to do with her. Temper like an ilnya's-eh, what?"

He broke off as a buxom female jerked at his arm and whispered in his ear.

"No, I am not talking out of turn!" said the lord mayor crossly. "I believe in calling a spade a spade. No more than that. Give a man fair warning. I simply stated she has a temper like- Oh, very well." He allowed himself to be led away.

Charlie had been astounded that the subject was ever brought up. Didn't these Beloghans understand that humans and New Lemurians were different species? There was no possibility of such a couple having children. Perhaps they were anxious enough to make the alliance that they didn't mind too much.

Not that Charlie dreamed of going along with them. No doubt someday he would get married. But that would be to a proper girl, not a bald, misshapen female of a barbarian race!

Thinking about the matter later on, he grew ashamed of himself. He had no right to feel superior. He looked just as peculiar to the New Lemurians as they did to him. And as for culture, they knew less science and engineering, true. But only a short time ago, historically speaking, no country on Earth had been further along. And how much did the Talyinans know-arts, trades, crafts, traditions, the ways of nature-of which he was totally ignorant?

Really, it was incredible that these people were even friendly to him, let alone idolized him as their Prince. Few nations in the past of Earth would have been so broad-minded.

He found that being a legendary hero is a full-time job. Everybody wanted to tell him his troubles, enlist his aid in his pet projects, give him his advice, build himself up in hopes of winning his favor, or beg him to heal him of sickness by his surely magical touch. After two days of this, he felt he had to get out or explode.

Dzenko raised no objection. In fact, the baron made a public speech explaining that the Prince must depart for a while from his worshipful followers, in order to plan the next move in his campaign, and that their cooperation in not disturbing him was essential. Charlie suspected Dzenko was glad to get rid of him; he knew his questions annoyed the Lord of Roshchak.

Thus Charlie came to be driving along the north coast of the island, accompanied only by Hector. That was an uninhabited stretch, treeless, begrown with stiff gray-green bushes, beset by a chill wind under a leaden overcast. He thought it desolate. The Hoka waxed eloquent about the bonnie heather o' the muirs.

This time they had a real wagon. Inspired by thirdhand accounts of human piston engines, some local genius had adapted the principle to yachi-drawn transportation. Four animals on either side of a long tongue leaped in a rhythmic succession which, with the help of a spring coupling, gave a fairly smooth ride. They were timed by a device cogged to the front axle, which snapped a whip behind the ears of each one in turn.

Charlie gazed across the sea rolling gunmetal on his left. "What I hate most," he said, "is the idea of war. Is Olaghi so bad that overthrowing him is worth hurting and killing people?"

"Freedom is aye dearly bought, lad."

"And what about the League law?" Charlie fretted. "I'm afraid I am violating the noninterference rule. Maybe Mr. Pomfrey will believe I had to do it to save my life. But maybe he'll decide I didn't make enough of an effort to- What's that?"

The wagon jolted and jerked as the yachis got out of step. Hector s.n.a.t.c.hed the reins and halted them. Jumping to the ground, he hunched down to examine the whip-timing device.

"Aye," he nodded sagely, " 'tis the distreebutor."

"The distributor?" Charlie asked, climbing down to join him.

"Aye. Dinna ye ken, lad, we Scots are a' engineers? Look here." A stubby yellow-furred finger pointed. "A nut on yon bolt has been replaced wi' anither a wee bit too large, which has noo worked its way doon the shank. Hm-m-m, I think the rate could hae been estimated, so we must aye break doon richt hereaboots. . . ."

He began to tinker. His work ended in less than a minute.

From the crest of a nearby hill where they had lain in wait, five large New Lemurians, armed and

armored, came dashing. Hector went after the sword and shield he had along. The newcomers halted in a semicircle, a few meters from the wagon, and Charlie saw wound-up crossbows leveled at him.

His palms p.r.i.c.kled. His stomach revolved. "Hold it, Hector," he said dully. "They've got the drop on us."

A tough scar-faced warrior called in a sarcastic tone, "Greeting, Prince. I have the honor to invite you

aboard the flagship of his Majesty Olaghi, High King of Talyina."

"What?" croaked Charlie.

"His fleet lies out to sea," the officer explained. "We have a swift shallop to transport you thither,