My Clansmen learn to stand the charge, to stand alertly, poised, empty hands half-raised, watching the glittering spear point as it hurtles forward. At the last moment they hurl themselves sideways. One hand will rake out and snatch at the spear shaft. It is not an easy trick, it is extremely dangerous; and more than one youngster had his side or thigh cut open or his chest caved in. But with their ferocious abandonment they persist in the sport—for to a clansman this is sport, akin to Rakkle-jik-lora.
So I stood as a Clansman stands, and, withal, as a Krozair would stand awaiting the onslaught of an Overlord of Magdag.
The spear point dipped in at the last moment in the thunder of the hooves. I swayed, not jumping, brushed the spear aside, swung my length of lumber crackingly against the fellow's ribs.
The timber broke across.
How many ribs broke I did not know. The radvakka's yell burst out from him, and he swayed. I threw the rest of the wood at his head, heard it clang on that iron helmet, and then with a leaping spring was up on those narrow hindquarters of his benhoff. One arm went around his neck, and jerked back most cruelly. The other hand pushed his helmet forward and sideways. He slumped.
After that I was able to slow the benhoff down and cast the radvakka into the dirt. I jumped down beside him. His armor he could keep. His weapons and his mount I would take.
So, mounted up on a shaggy grey six-legged beast, with a broadsword, a shortsword, a spear, and the rapier belonging to the kovneva's man Larghos, I trotted along after the fugitives toward the forest.
I admit—to my shame, I suppose—I felt in a much more cheerful frame of mind.
* * *
Six
Of the Scorpion and the Ring of Destiny
“And you believe this ring will solve all your problems, kovneva?"
“I am sure it will! I have been assured, personally assured, that the ring will restore all."
We led our mounts along the forest trails. I had ridden in, not without a few quaint comments on the benhoff, and found the kovneva and her party. Larghos had taken his rapier back, and his face was a study. In the dead radvakka's pouch I had found food, crude fare, rough bread and hunks of odoriferous cheese, and had wolfed it all down. Now we walked circumspectly through the forest to Thiurdsmot, a sizable town, larger than Cansinsax.
There we would find other regiments of the Hamalian army—and the kovneva's comments on the conduct of the Hamalese curdled the air. She reviled them bitterly. She had been promised support and aid by the Hamalese and they had sent an army which had been frittered away. I listened. I knew what I knew about the charge of mailed cavalry against sword and shield men, even with crossbow support. One of the handmaidens had told Marta Renberg that she had recognized me as the man who had saved them in the draw. The girl had long eyesight. I passed the incident over; but the kovneva's attitude changed subtly. I was still “my good man” to her; but she used my name now and then, condescendingly, and it was clear she was mightily puzzled why I, acommon oaf, should be so tender of the welfare of her skin, when I was not even of Aduimbrev.
“A paktun?” she said. “Well, you earn your hire."
“May I enquire who told you of the powers of the ring?"
“You may not!"
“I am not, my lady, in your employment. You do not pay my hire."
“Are you threatening me, Jak the Drang? Be very careful—I have powerful friends who have dark and sorcerous powers."
“The necromancers of the North East can scarcely be your friends, since Aduimbrev has for many seasons been a buffer against them, against the Hawkwas. All along the area where now the Therduim Cut runs was a March—a bloody battlefield for season after season."
“Once—but not now."
“But they raid—"
“They used to raid, before the empire collapsed."
“So, kovneva, you are all friends with the Hawkwas now?” I chanced my arm. “And Trylon Udo of Gelkwa? Perhaps he—"
“He is vanished, no one knows where. The High Kov of Sakwara has now come forward into the open as the true leader of the Hawkwas."
I pricked up my ears. This was vital news.
And then, even as I opened my foolish mouth to speak, a thought hit me. A horrific thought. If this silly kovneva was mixed up with the Hawkwas, who had the support of the devil Phu-si-Yantong, perhaps it was he to whom she referred when she spoke of great sorcerous powers?
After a space, as though changing the subject, although you will readily perceive I but planned ahead, I said: “And your people, your retainers, your guards? They have not all deserted you, my lady?"
Her face bunched tightly at this, spitting fury and venom. “Those that fled from me are as good as dead. There are others loyal to their kovneva in Aduimbrev! I shall raise a host—paktuns, masichieri, the rasts of Hamal. Together we shall return and sweep the radvakkas away into the sea."
“Caution, Marta,” said Larghos, from where he walked on her other side.
I did not fail to notice his mode of address. “Caution, good Larghos? When the Hamalese promised so much for my aid, and fail to give me theirs?"
Quickly, I said: “And your aid assisted them greatly, I think."
Still shaken by her passion, she burst out: “Assist them? Did I not drive into Thermin and sweep them away, and cross into Eganbrev and drive that insolent numim, Fyrnad Rosselin, from his palace and into hiding, destroying his puny forces? Did I not faithfully adhere to the treaty in every part? Did I not materially contribute to the great victory and the destruction of the emperor? Did I or did I not? And now these cramphs of Hamalese fail me, fail me utterly and leave me to flee through the dismal forest with—with—"
And here she paused in her outburst, and cast me a sidelong look, and clamped her mouth shut. She breathed heavily. The color flushed her face. She was silly, foolish, vindictive; but she was also a kovneva and this she had almost forgotten.
I said nothing but tramped on. I had learned much. So this headstrong woman—girl, really—had sided with the Hawkwas, with the Hamalese, and attacked her neighbors. It was a simple and effective method of taking out of play those people who would have rallied to the emperor. The Third Party had employed the stratagem before, and it would, I guessed, be used again.
And, if this hoity-toity Kovneva of Aduimbrev had sided with and assisted the Hamalese, she had in that helped Phu-si-Yantong.
I still did not know the full commitment of the Empress Thyllis of Hamal to this invasion of Vallia. She would glee in it, of course, hating everything Vallian. But it was Yantong who pulled the strings here, and his the puppets that fought and struggled and died on Vallian soil.
The aisles of the forest passed by. We saw only a few other fugitives. The green dimness about us savored far more of Genodras than of Zim. The day wore on and we walked and rode alternately. The nikvoves were not too happy about this nearness of the benhoff, for the two animals dislike each other's scent; but by judicious management we kept them calmed down.
Marta Renberg maintained much silence after her outburst. She had nothing to fear from me, she would think, of course; but no doubt her own words scored into her mind, making her scratch over the sores of wounded pride, the feeling of being used. It would not have helped to have told her that ten regiments of the Hamalian Army, and a thousand cavalry, were no mean force. The absence of fliers and aerial cavalry puzzled me; but I understood later that the Hamalian aerial forces were very thin in Vallia and the local contingents were all centered on Thiurdsmot. As to fliers in private hands, I soon found out that all the airboats Vallia possessed had been confiscated by the victorious parties. The Hamalese took most; but the Hawkwas took many and many more remained in the hands of Layco Jhansi, who was continuing to fight on, despite crippling losses. All these things I learned, one way and another, and stored them all away and pondered.
Despite her personal anger and humiliation, Marta Renberg remained fully convinced that the new emperor, Seakon, would continue in pow
er and subdue the forces still in arms against him.
Seakon?
“A fine young man,” said Larghos, across Marta Renberg. “He has already defeated Layco Jhansi in open battle. But I do not think the Hawkwas and the Hamalese can remain in alliance for very much longer."
From the way he spoke I saw at once that he thoroughly disliked the new emperor.
“What do you understand of these things, Larghos? You are supposed to be a fighting man—you have served as a paktun, have you not? Somewhere in Pandahem? Let me deal with politics.” The kovneva's petulant words served to illuminate the depths of her personal frustrations and cares.
I cocked an eye at Larghos. A paktun he might be; he did not look like one. There was not a scar on his body as far as I could see. But he was a spare, limber fellow, with a straight back and a cut about his jaw that showed there was more to him than Marta either allowed or recognized.
He managed a light laugh.
“Oh, I am not a politician. I know that well enough.” He glanced across at me, a thing easy enough to do seeing that the kovneva reached up only to our shoulders. “But a paktun—no. No, I was never honored with the pakmort as were you, Jak the Drang.” He looked away. “Although I do not see you wearing the silver mortil-head at the moment."
“When I turfed that pile of stones down after your coach I had less than I have now."
The two handmaidens giggled at this.
I had offered no explanations. They would not get any, however much they might ask.
“This ring,” I said, harking back to a subject that intrigued me more by its infantilism than anything else.
“The Ring of Destiny, once owned by La-Si-Quenying, a mighty Wizard of Loh of the distant past. Quenying's Ring. Once I have that in my hand no one will stop me."
I did not smile.
“I know the Wizards of Loh hold great and mysterious powers,” I said. That was true enough, by Krun! “I have heard of a great Wizard of Loh in these latter days. A most powerful man—"
“Can you call them men?” said Larghos. His face had lost a trifle of its color as he spoke.
We moved forward into a small clearing where two fallen trees had intertwined their branches high above, leaning one against another, and a third lay along the ground, rotting quietly away. Beetles and ants and woodlice were busy about their own businesses. Here we rested for a space and they told me about the Ring of Destiny, Quenying's Ring.
It seemed clear enough to me. Phu-si-Yantong it was whose murky schemes coiled about this possessed woman. She believed that if she could take possession of this so-called magical ring she would miraculously find all her problems solved. She could at a stroke dispose of the perils of the radvakkas, gain everything she coveted. As she spoke I saw more. From the way Larghos glowered, and then smoothed out his face, I saw the way this pretty little scenario was scripted. For the kovneva fancied her luck as empress. She would wed this Seakon, who was without a bride, and become Empress of Vallia. The ring would do this for her, as a mere part of its miraculous properties. And, to cap it all, I was absolutely sure it must be Phu-si-Yantong who had sold her this stinking kettle of fish. But she believed passionately.
She had been on the way to the fortress town of Nikwald in the kovnate of Sakwara when the radvakkas had attacked.
Nikwald was in Sakwara, Hawkwa territory. Now it was over-run by the radvakkas. The Iron Riders would not take kindly to the notion of a Vallian kovneva driving up to their encampments in search of a magical ring. I rubbed my nose.
The thought that occurred to me, to be instantly dispelled, also occurred to Marta Renberg.
She turned from where she sat on a fallen branch and surveyed me, her head on one side. A shafting of the mingled light cast her face for a moment into a softer mold, with all the petulant lines smoothed away. She looked radiant, in that moment, almost beautiful. She was well aware of the impression she created. Larghos shifted and cleared his throat; he did not spit.
“Jak the Drang?"
I sat silent.
“You are a paktun, a renowned soldier of fortune. You could fetch me the ring."
“Perhaps."
“There would be a great reward in it."
“Would not the ring itself—?"
“No!” She flared up, agitated. “No—for Phu—for I have been most solemnly informed that only I have the power to raise the magic within the ring. Only me! I have been told and it is true."
Poor silly stupid girl!
She went on, and now she spoke in a breathless, winsome way she supposed must flatter me, overbear me, favor me with all the forbidden paradises known to Kregen. “Why have you been so good to me, Jak? You saved me from the Iron Riders. Then you saved me again from Cansinsax. You ride with us and are a good companion. Why do you do all these things?” She leaned down from her branch to where I sat with my back shoved against the wood. “Perhaps I can guess, Jak the Drang. Perhaps I know the secret of your heart."
I couldn't laugh; but the statement, the situation, demanded a great gut-bursting bellow of crude and raucous laughter.
What did she know of me? What, indeed!
“The ring is in Hawkwa country, and the Iron Riders—"
“You do not fear them. Do you not carry their weapons, ride their mount?"
About to bellow out some uncouth comment, I was struck dumb.
Among all the scuttering beetles and ants and tumbling woodlice under the rotting wood a bright orange-brown form waddled out. On eight hairy legs he poised, his arrogant tail upflung. I stared, feeling the bile rising. Larghos sat with his booted foot less than six inches from the scorpion, and did not move, did not see. He was not a scorpion. He was The Scorpion.
The forest fell silent. The leaves no longer chirred in the breeze. The very suns’ beams lay quiescent, with motes of dust trapped and motionless.
The arrogant stinging tail lifted and dropped. The Scorpion surveyed me very deliberately. So I knew.
After a space of time very sinister to me, The Scorpion ambled to the flaking-barked log and disappeared. The breeze blew, the leaves whispered and the dust motes danced within the radiance of Zim and Genodras.
And not a word had the damned Scorpion spoken!
“Very well, kovneva. I will go to Nikwald and bring back the Ring of Destiny."
* * *
Seven
In the Camp of the Iron Riders
Lumpy carried me jogging across Aduimbrev and over the Therduim Cut and so into Sakwara. I'd called this shaggy old gray benhoff Lumpy out of a mixture of disreputable feelings; but, truth to tell, he wasn't all that bad. It is difficult to feel at odds with a faithful saddle-animal for very long.
Seeing the kovneva and her party safely into Thiurdsmot, I had refused the offer of a flying mount from the Hamalian aerial cavalry squadron. They acted under the orders of Marta Renberg. People in Vallia were becoming more and more used to flying cavalry, great birds of the air being used as saddle flyers; but I refused the offer of a fluttrell since I considered that would attract more attention than a benhoff, attention I wished to avoid. I had insisted on going alone. Larghos had offered to accompany me, which made me look at him afresh; but I managed to convince him his duty lay with the kovneva. Truth to tell, he might have attempted to prevent my return with the ring, seeing that if Marta did as she intended then it would be a quick exit for Larghos.
A different route from the one I had followed previously swung me a trifle to the north. The same gradual trending of the land from forest to grassland to the sere plains progressed. On a bright morning I broke camp and set off and just before the Hour of Mid observed a dark mass approaching over the plain. Lumpy and I took ourselves as quickly as might be into a hollow. I watched.
These people were Vallians. They wore Vallian buff and their colors were a mixture of many of the provinces of the North East. But they were no advancing army bent on conquest. Carts were piled high with homely possessions. Women strode along with children
clinging to their skirts. The men rode guard on the flanks. They were Hawkwas, well and true; but they were refugees, seeking to escape from the wrath of the Iron Riders. They passed away traveling west. I mounted up again and set off eastwards.
If ever I could say about the island empire, as I often say about other places, my Vallia—then my Vallia was in sorry shape. And I was pattering off on a footling errand for a silly ambitious woman who wanted to be empress, searching for a confounded ring said to be possessed of magical properties. Almost, I drew rein and turned back. But The Scorpion had left me in no doubt. I had to get that damned ring. It was a quest of the most farcical kind; but however ludicrous that side of the quest might be, the reality on the other side was dark and horrifically serious.
Despite all the appearances to the contrary, this was no splendid game of quest in the high tradition I played. I fought and gambled for stakes far greater than those of a simple quest.
I have no desire to go into the full details of all that went on during that search for the Ring of Destiny. Marta had given me all the information she had on its whereabouts, and this proved highly accurate. Phu-si-Yantong would not fail on that. I guessed he used this ploy to distract the poor woman, seeing that his iron legions of Hamal had failed. He, like any other man, had to work through the tools available. In Yantong's case the tools were more often than not other men and women. But the Hamalese had been humiliated in the field. No doubt Yantong in his insane ambitions would assemble other forces; for the moment he kept this woman working for him by means of a transparently dishonest folk tale.
The defeat suffered by the Hamalian Army outside the walls of Cansinsax was not the first time they had been bested by the Iron Riders; but they would not face the humiliating fact that all their expertise, their professionalism, their famous Laws, could not withstand the mailed cavalry charge delivered by the radvakkas astride benhoffs. The talk in Thiurdsmot had been of a fresh battle with flyers and vollers to give aerial support and with batteries of varters to supplement the crossbows. The job could be done, of course; I did not know if I wanted to be there at the time to witness the horror and the splendor of it.
Golden Scorpio [Dray Prescot #18] Page 8
