“Yous’ constructive tidings welcome and accepted,” Saluu-hir-lek assured them expansively. With a flourish of his own, he escorted them from the wagon. Once outside, the eldest of the visitors glanced at the sky.
“No one believe anymore in omens. We a mature species—except in certain aspects of our culture.” He turned to face his host, his eyes flicking occasionally to the peculiar aliens who always seemed to be hovering in the background. “I hope you make this happen, General. I have seen many concessions made to Toroud-eed, Biranju-oov, and other adjacent realms. Is time surely for proud people of Kojn-umm to assert themselves more forcefully.” He stared at Walker, who remained standing near the rear of the staff wagon. “I hope the strange friends you have acquired help you to victory, and not to ruin.”
“Regardless shape or size or origin, I listen open to any who have good advice,” Saluu-hir-lek reassured the venerable delegate, “and then I make the decisions that best for Kojn-umm.”
Whether this response was sufficient to satisfy the elder, Walker could not tell, but neither the questioner nor any of his companions raised any further objections. They boarded the gleaming, nearly silent vehicle that would whisk them back to the capital in comfort and speed and were out of sight in seconds. But before they departed, one member of the delegation, who had heretofore stayed aboard the now-departed craft and out of sight, emerged to remain behind.
In late evening there was no sunlight to glint off Viyv-pym’s traveling armor as she approached the staff wagon, but Walker thought she looked splendid anyway. Next to him, George snorted in disgust, shook his head, and wandered off in search of something to eat.
Halting before him, she stroked his right shoulder and upper arm in greeting. He responded with a light touch of his own. As always, he risked losing himself in those eyes: sunshine and gold.
“Hello, Viyv-pym. Come to wish us good luck?”
“Come to join in great expedition.” Her eyes flashed. “Having already served two tour of military duty, had to request special dispensation to participate. Final permission from relevant department received only this morning.” She searched his soft, rounded, alien face. “You have objection?”
“Who, me? No, no,” he told her, perhaps too quickly. It was a good thing George had already left, Walker realized. Listening to his human friend’s near stammer, the disgusted dog might have piddled on his leg. “Glad to have you along. Someone else to talk to.”
“I am happy my presence please you.” One limber hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. “Opportunity also for small personal glory, and to kill a few rival of Kojn-umm.” Together, they started toward the dwelling wagon he had been assigned. “This very bold decision by Saluu-hir-lek. Destination is no secret, of course. Almost impossible conduct any military activity on Niyu in secret. Media are everywhere.”
Walker knew that in addition to the expected sizable contingent of media observers from Kojn-umm, broadcast units were also arriving to cover the undertaking from other realms—including Toroud-eed. The presence of enemy media representatives among them did not faze the soldiers of Saluu-hir-lek’s army. It was the way traditional warfare had been conducted on Niyu since the beginning of civilized times. “Well-mannered,” as one of the departed cautioning politicians had put it. There were ratings to be had, products to be sold, philosophies to be disseminated. A nice, steady, prolonged battle at the ancient gates of Toroud-eed would be good for everyone. Except for the soldiers who died, of course. There was only one glitch in that expected scenario.
Saluu-hir-lek had no intention of engaging in a prolonged conflict.
Unlike troop movements, it was possible to keep battlefield tactics reasonably hidden from the enemy. The defenders of Toroud-eed, hopefully still worn out from their failed investiture of Jalar-aad-biidh, would know that the forces of Kojn-umm were coming, but not what they intended to do once they arrived. No military strategist himself, Walker’s basic understanding of tactics stemmed from his days on the football field. From what Saluu-hir-lek and Sque had confided in him, he thought the overall plan had a chance of working. How good a chance he did not know.
Like everyone else, he would find out soon enough.
As for Viyv-pym, she was more than a little excited by the chance to go into battle again. Her arrival, at the last minute prior to the army’s departure, did arouse a question or two in his mind. He was not quite as smitten as George believed or Sque felt. Was she here for the reason stated, simply because she wanted to participate in the coming fighting? Or had she been sent to keep an eye on him and his fellow aliens, to see if they were engaged in some unsuspected activity inimical to the interests of Kojn-umm? Was she friend, or spy? Or had she been paid to watch over him and ensure that the premier imported culinary attraction of the capital came to no harm and was returned safely to work his gastronomic magic?
All were possibilities, by themselves and in combination. Time, he imagined, would reveal the truth. And if not time, possibly George, who could be positively prescient at times.
Meanwhile, they had a hostile regime to conquer. Walking toward his transportation, Walker found himself and his new companion assaulted, not by swords or pikes, but by media representatives anxious for material. The presence of the famous alien food preparator among the expeditionary force was a useful angle for questions. As Viyv-pym looked on in amusement, he answered all that he could, truthfully and without hesitation. They asked him about cooking, about food, about life on Niyu, about his opinions on the forthcoming campaign. Thankfully, they never asked him about tactics. That was natural enough. Such matters would not be regarded as something with which he would be involved.
Had they asked, he could have told them quite a bit, including some things that would have genuinely surprised, and perhaps even shocked them. Needless to say, he did not volunteer the data.
Because via the planetary media, the military as well as the citizens of Toroud-eed would be watching.
Walker had seen a number of movies in his life that depicted or dealt with medieval warfare. Slight variations notwithstanding, it seemed very straightforward. You assaulted the fortress with arrows and rocks and fire. Then troops carrying defensive shields and scaling ladders attempted to surmount and take control of the walls while other siege engines and rams sought to force a way through. Meanwhile, the defenders rained variations of liquid and solid lethality down on the attackers in coordinated attempts to alternately discourage, kill, or drive them off.
There were two notable differences between what he remembered seeing on the large and small screen and the assault on the Toroudian fortress of Herun-uud-taath. First, the combatants had access to destructive technology that far exceeded anything existing on Earth—but were forbidden by custom and ritual from making use of so much as a single-shot pistol. Second, and more importantly, he was not watching a fictionalized representation of some ancient battle: he was part of it.
Or more accurately, he was an active witness. Concerned with the safety of his strategic ally (and superlative chef), Saluu-hir-lek made certain that three of his four alien visitors remained safely away from any fighting. This was not a problem as far as Walker was concerned, since he felt exactly the same way about the carnage that was taking place at the walls of the fortress. The fourth member of their group, however, waded into the fighting with reluctant determination, causing havoc wherever he stomped. The panic generated by Braouk’s efforts was more devastating to the opposition than the number of them that he actually slew. It was one thing for a Niyyuu to encounter an alien in the media or even on the street; quite something else to have to deal with it in person, in a battlefield environment. Especially when that alien was a fully armored, four-limbed, one-ton mass of verse-spouting Tuuqalian.
Sque, of course, remained above it all, though not uninterested. After all, she and her friends were participating because they had a personal interest in the eventual outcome, not out of any sense of altruism or deep love for their Kojni
an hosts.
“Ruination as entertainment. Devastation as politics. If I do not find my way back to dear K’erem soon, I fear I shall go mad.” Tendrils writhed in agitation, visual evidence of her frustration.
“You won’t go mad.” As they surveyed the distant field of battle, Walker spoke from the other side of the wagon’s lookout tower. “You’d end up analyzing the descent into psychosis, and in the process retain your sanity.”
Clinging easily to one side of the tower with seven of her ten limbs, she swung silvery eyes toward her human companion. “Do not think that only simple creatures such as your kind can go insane, Marcus. Complexity can also lead to confusion, confusion to angst, and angst to withdrawal. There are many kinds of madness.” With a free tendril she gestured at the ongoing battle. “This is only one.”
“Madness we can use to our advantage,” he countered. In the distance, a gobbet of jellied hydrocarbon exploded in flame somewhere inside the fortress. Exempt from battlefield restrictions and clearly marked as such, a pair of small vehicles hovered low overhead, the shielded advanced recording devices they carried relaying the retrograde mayhem to enthralled viewers on all five continents.
“Time will tell. When surrounded by and dealing only with primitive sentients I must take care to remain hopeful, if not overtly optimistic.” Another free tendril curled up and back to scratch at an ear socket.
Viyv-pym was out there too, somewhere, Walker knew. He hoped she would be careful, and would return unharmed. Knowing her now as well as he did, he knew it would have been futile to ask her to refrain from placing herself in harm’s way. Slender and light of weight she was, but so was a stick of dynamite.
At that moment, in fact, Viyv-pym was nowhere near the ferocious free-for-all that was washing up against the frontal defenses of Herun-uud-taath in waves of fire and blood. Having joined a select contingent of carefully picked troops, they had been transferred on tibadun mounts at high speed to a position in dense woods near the southwest rear of the Toroudian defensive complex. The greatest threat to the success of such a maneuver lay not in being surprised by defensive forces, but in being discovered by representatives of the media, who would attack the fast-moving troops with relentless requests for interviews and their unending search for personal-interest stories.
Having managed to avoid the attentions of both a counterattack and avid civilian interrogators, and having sent their loping tibaduns back to the front lines, the would-be infiltrators from Kojn-umm assembled for a final preassault briefing from their officers. Viyv-pym wondered how the visitors would react in such a potentially perilous situation. The giant Braouk would simply have listened in silence, absorbing all that had to be said. The Tuuqalian was even now occupying much attention at the forefront of the battle. As for the small many-armed dose of ambulating sarcasm, Viyv-pym knew that she would remain as far from the scene of combat as she was aloof. The human Walker . . .
Walker was more problematic. Charged with assisting all the aliens in their interactions with her kind, she found him a continuous bundle of contradictions. That he could fight she had seen for herself, when he had been undergoing instruction in the use of hand weaponry. That he chose not to do so she attributed to a mix of personal and cultural convictions. Yet observing him studying combat, those times when he was unaware that he was being watched, she thought she detected hints of a repressed desire to throw himself recklessly into the ongoing fight.
Analyzing the motivations of one or more visiting aliens could wait. At the moment, she and her fellow fighters found themselves about to embark on a perilous maneuver that would succeed only through the boldest of actions. Such had been the intent of the risky stratagem from its inception.
Having received their final instructions, the members of the assault force silently spread out and hid themselves among the trees as best they could, waiting for darkness. An hour after the sun fell, following a hasty uncooked meal that made her yearn for Walker’s superb cuisine, they began gathering in twos and threes and moving forward. The southwest rear corner of the great fortress of Herun-uud-taath, which guarded the traditional approach through the mountains into Toroud-eed proper, loomed above them. Forbidden from making use of modern sources of illumination, its defenders had lined the multiple ramparts with torches and glow spheres.
The infiltrators from Kojn-umm made no attempt to conceal themselves. They did not approach the complex slowly, by stealth and in shadow. Instead, as they emerged from the forest they formed up neatly into four columns and stepped out smartly onto the paved road that led to the fortress. Pavement soon gave way to the traditionally acceptable dirt and gravel.
Along with many of her comrades, Viyv-pym’s mouth shrank to an almost invisible “O” as an inquisitive media scanner passed overhead. It dropped so low she could see the pilot and commentator inside. Marching along, eyes forward, she could almost feel the relay unit’s pickup brush the tips of her ears. The uncomfortable sensation made her frill fibrillate and her tails twitch uncontrollably.
Satisfied, the scanner gained altitude without its integrated commentator voicing any queries. Moments later, the first challenge to the contingent’s steady approach came from the fortress. A specially trained officer marching in the forefront of the columns replied. As they had been instructed to do, expressions among the approaching troops varied from studiously neutral to intentionally bored.
An enormous metal gate, forged and formed in the ancient manner, groaned inward. Uncontested and unchallenged, the soldiers of Kojn-umm marched in. Viyv-pym smiled inwardly as she passed beneath the gate’s arched opening. The ruse, devised by a group that included not only Saluu-hir-lek and his senior officers but the human Walker and the K’eremu Sque, depended on fitting out all of the specially chosen Kojn-umm troops in uniforms not of their home realm, but in those of Toroud-eed. They were real uniforms, too. Originals that had been scavenged from the dead left behind by those Toroudians who had many ten-days earlier attacked the fortress of Jalar-aad-biidh. The special troops had even been instructed in particular Toroudian mannerisms.
While marvelously executed, the ruse was not perfect. A few questions were asked. One Toroudian officer, descending a stone stairway, saw something that did not match his knowledge of What Ought to Be. Harsh Niyyuuan voices split the night, swiftly giving way to shouts first of uncertainty, then of alarm.
An officer in the front of the column rasped an order. Weapons were pulled from scabbards and concealment. Screeching defiance, the columns broke apart as the soldiers of Kojn-umm, Viyv-pym among them, clashed with the now-alerted defenders of the fortress.
The attackers had the advantage not only of surprise but also, initially at least, of greater numbers. By the time the alarm had traveled through the citadel, the invading contingent from Kojn-umm controlled the gate and its immediate vicinity. Despite prodigious efforts by the fortress’s defenders to regain control of the occupied sector, the invading soldiers had solidified their position by taking control of several guard towers. Unwilling to risk additional casualties in what had clearly become an internal war of attrition, the commanders of Herun-uud-taath’s defense decided to hold back and wait for dawn. For one thing, they badly needed to see what, if any, other surprises the invaders from Kojn-umm might be keeping in reserve.
By the time runners could convey news of the infiltrators’ success to Saluu-hir-lek’s headquarters, the general already knew of it from media reports. It caused quite a sensation. Such successful duplicity was something of a novelty in military campaigns. Like anything new on the news, news of it triggered burgeoning interest among millions of viewers.
Though without reinforcements and heavy equipment the infiltrators could not make further progress, neither could the defenders of Herun-uud-taath dislodge them from the positions the Kojnians had taken up inside the rear of the fortress complex. With the strategic situation thus stalemated but with the forces of Kojn-umm now holding a definite, quantifiable advantage, Saluu-hir-le
k rocked his opponents further off balance with his next action.
Instead of seeking immediately to press his tactical advantage, he requested a conference with his opposite numbers.
Understandably, the general staff of Toroud-eed was at first suspicious. When it was made clear that the request was sincere and contained no hidden provisions, they found themselves genuinely bemused. Dissecting but finding no harm in the proposal, they eventually, if a bit sullenly, agreed.
Preparations were made to meet not far from the base of the fortress’s main western gate. The location chosen was just within range of Herun-uud-taath’s heavy fire throwers but sufficiently distant so that any contemplated treachery was likely to fail. Since both sides had agreed on the terms of the summit, they were allowed to substitute a modern, portable, prefabricated structure for the more traditional fabric tent. This allowed for a meeting where, among other things, the interior climate could be controlled—a welcome development, since the weather had been unseasonably hot.
To its great regret and vociferous objection, the media that eagerly anticipated covering the elite meeting was banned from attending it. The commanders of both forces had to concur in order for such a ban to be enforced. This they readily did. Neither Saluu-hir-lek nor his Toroudian counterparts wanted flashing scanners recording and transmitting their every mood and word.
No one was more grateful for the declaration that the meeting was to take place than the soldiers on both sides, since all combat would be suspended while talks were ongoing.
The vetted participants arrived early. If the talks went nowhere fast, neither side wanted to lose a day’s fighting, lest the other use the time to better position or provision their troops.
Saluu-hir-lek arrived clad in a freshly disinfected and cleaned uniform. Like the members of his staff, he displayed little in the way of adornment. No medals, no ribbons, no intricate epaulets, no serpentine gold braid. On Niyu, members of the military were considered professionals no different from healers or technicians, agronomists or astronomers. Modest insignia identifying their specialties were sufficient to proclaim their status.
The Light-years Beneath My Feet (The Taken) Page 15
