Legions of Antares [Dray Prescot #25]

by Alan Burt Akers

  He was a lean man with a tic in his left eye, and a shriveled left arm. I refused to allow myself to think that I was providing supplies for the enemy.

  “You will take what your requisitions call for, Hikdar, and not a single sack more."

  “Oh, aye, notor. We'll take what the law allows."

  And that was a lot, a voracious lot, by Krun.

  To Nulty, privily, I said, “We must arrange to depress the figures next season, so that we appear poorer than we are."

  “Aye, master. I do not relish growing crops for these leeches to take away."

  “Well, every little helps..."

  “And we can leave the cattle in the high pastures for a little longer."

  “You will risk the wild men—"

  “Our young men not in the army can care for the cattle. You will see."

  Nulty had striven hard to rebuild the valley and had attracted fresh settlers. Paline Valley was resuming the importance it had once held in the surrounding valleys. Paline was the center one of the Three Valleys—Hammarat, Paline and Thyriodon—and they were all remote and isolated from the current of events in Hamal. Now that I was certain I might travel the empire using my name of Hamun ham Farthytu the urgency to be off obsessed me. Yet much had to be done here for humanity's sake before I could leave.

  When I saw Nulty after he had himself cleaned up I gaped. His shock of wild hair was trimmed, his bulbous nose looked respectable, and his walk was not the shambling progression of a hairy graint. Only his twisted hands struck an incongruous note. He wore a neat white tunic cinctured by a plain leather belt—plain but for two plaques of bronze showing, one a chavonth, the other a zorca. He looked spick and span.

  “And you will be leaving us soon, master?"

  “I must. But Paline Valley can now look forward to a period of prosperity again.” I frowned. “You had best show me the treasure young Hardil amassed."

  Nulty's face expressed amazement only for two heartbeats; then he sighed and lifted a hand.

  “I should have remembered, master, you are as cunning as a leem. Yes, Hardil kept treasure hoarded up for himself."

  “It must be returned to its owners—"

  “Most of them are dead."

  “Then, as the Amak, I will take a tithe. The balance goes to the valley. That is understood?"

  “Understood, master."

  “Make it so."

  The box of tough lenken wood bound in black iron stood under Hardil's bed. Some of Nulty's people dragged the chest out and smashed the locks. They threw the lid back. We all stared in. Treasure ... Ah, treasure! This was the muck men fought and killed for, this was the wonder women schemed for...

  There was a fair old quantity of gold and silver, some boxes of gems. Kregans are aware of the magic inherent in a gem if it is cut and faceted, unlike the Ancients of our own world. We hauled the stuff out and Nulty appointed a young stylor to make a reckoning, with elders standing by to oversee. The stylor Manchi was not available. Privately, Nulty told me he thought someone had chopped the stylor's head off and stuffed him into a crack in the mountains. The Whip Deldars, too, suffered a similar fate. Deprecate the bestiality as much as we may, we must also face human nature. So the stylor carefully wrote down an account. I picked up a fine sword. It was a thraxter, but of a fineness that had caused it to be regarded as a treasure rather than a weapon. I hefted it. I bent the blade and it twanged back sweetly.

  “Yes, master?” said Nulty.

  “Write this among my share,” I said.

  No one argued.

  Perhaps that was as it should be, too. I know I was aware of the amusement that a Hamalian treasure store had yielded a superb sword for an enemy of Hamal. On the blade the etched magical brudstern in its usual open flower shape showed the blade to be of value. Folk tend to whisper rather than proclaim the magic properties inherent in the brudstern. To me it meant simply the blade had been valued by someone enough to make me accept it as a brand of quality.

  Outside, in the sweet air of Kregen, Nulty cocked a fishy eye up at me. “When, notor?"

  “I grieve to say it, old friend. But as soon as possible."

  “I feared so."

  “Then do not fear. You know I repose complete trust in you. You have made of Paline Valley a paradise among the hills. The people love and respect you. I shall be back again to drink a stoup of ale with you and talk over the old days."

  “Make it sooner rather than later."

  “I will, as Havil is my witness."

  A week, I decided, would not be too much of a crime against my people of Vallia. A sennight I would spend with my people of Paline Valley, who were at war with Vallia. As Nulty said, screwing up his eyes against sunglare as the drums rolled from the watchtowers: “We may be cut off and isolated here, but we try to keep abreast of the news. Pandahem island is all ours now, and parts of Vallia. I have heard little from the south, from the Dawn Lands recently.” Then he snorted one of his barking laughs. “I heard precious little, stuck in the cells."

  The drum beat brought the people out of the houses. We all stared up. Wide-winged shapes drifted down among the streaming mingled rays of the Suns of Scorpio. Caught by Nulty's appraisal of Hamal's situation, for if anybody could, he represented grass-roots opinion, I stared at those shapes drifting down. I was surprised. More—I was flabbergasted.

  “What—?” I said.

  “Aye, master. The new flying ships of the air. Do not ask me why the Air Service uses them, although it is whispered they run short of essential commodities in voller manufacture."

  Hamal was never a great seafaring nation; they control airboats, which they call vollers. Together with Hyrklana and other countries of the Dawn Lands—and in Balintol or eastwards, we now believed—they had supplied Paz with vollers, always refusing to sell to old enemies. The secrets of voller manufacture were jealously guarded. We in Vallia had developed flying ships which could rise in the air and grip onto etheric-magnetic lines of force and so sail the skies, tacking and making boards against the wind. It had not seemed Hamal with her sky-spanning fleets of enormous ships would need to descend to mere vessels powered by wind and sails. But, clearly, they had. As the ships of the Train of Supply furled their sails and made bumpy landings, I saw only one true voller, swinging high as tail guard.

  Also, I observed that the Hamalese made unhandy sailors.

  “They have come to take our produce from us.” Nulty was grumpy, bowing under the inevitability of taxation. “Vultures."

  “The empire needs supplies, Nulty."

  “Oh, yes. We must needs feed and clothe our armies and provender their animals. But we have to defend ourselves against the wild men from the Mountains of the West. And our soldiers are away in the Dawn Lands, or Vallia.” He cocked an eye up at me. “They say your namesake there, Dray Prescot, who is the Emperor of Vallia, is a devil spawned from hell and should be stuffed and roasted to a cinder."

  “So they say."

  Then Nulty surprised me. We walked slowly in the suns light toward the grounded sailing ships of the sky. Nulty said: “Now if the Dray Prescot who is Hamun ham Farthytu could be the Dray Prescot who is Emperor of Vallia, I think he would run things very differently, very differently, by Havil the Green!"

  I digested this. If you understand that I felt very small you will not be far from the truth. Difficult to feel ashamed, though, damned difficult, when I was just a simple ordinary sailor man trying to run an empire and chuck out the slavers and the aragorn and the thieving flutsmen and reiving mercenaries, and then trying to join all the lands of Paz into a friendship that was genuine and would last, so that we might together turn our attention to the Opaz-forsaken Shanks who raided us all with fire and blood and misery. Damned difficult.

  “Well, Nulty, old friend. I'm just the Amak of Paline Valley here, and have work to do in Ruathytu."

  The officers in charge of the supply position were barely polite. I saw they were annoyed at being forced to fly sailing ships
of the air, which the Hamalese called famblehoys, instead of queening it through the upper levels aboard vollers. We in Vallia sometimes called our flying sailing ships vorlcas, and as you will see, the two names reflect the respective worth in which the countries held their sky sailers. No doubts at all afflicted me that I must take a very careful look at these aerial vessels. The officers bore down, and although second line troops, the uniforms blazed bullion and lace and flaunted feathers. Nulty pulled a face, and then we were busy trying to keep as much of our produce as we could for ourselves.

  Eventually I could leave Nulty and the elders to handle this end of affairs—they'd been doing it and would continue to do it while I was away—and could saunter over to the famblehoys. The aerial ships were large, bulky, deep-keeled, cobbled together and ugly, deuced ugly. The pattern from which they had been copied, it was plain, had come from Vallia.

  Good sound timber had been used in their construction, and iron, plenty of iron to act as knees and brackets and generally to hold things together. The masts were solid, somewhat on the short side, and the yards were mere stumps when compared with those gracing galleons or vorlcas of Vallia. This fitted with the Hamalese ideas of seamanship.

  Putting on my inane face I puttered around, studying the ships, and drew a number of amused or contemptuous looks from the voswods on the decks, who, being aerial soldiers, would not sully their hands with shipwork or lading. There were precious few soldiers for a convoy of this size, some fifty famblehoys. The produce the fleet could fit into the holds would be enormous. In the name of the Invisible Twins! Where was it going? West against the wild men? Unlikely. South to that mysterious army forming in the sparse land there? Possibly. North—north to Vallia? This, in my frame of mind, seemed the most likely, and raging and cursing at myself, feeling the anxieties crowding on me, I thought how splendid it would be to burn this whole fleet.

  By Zair! That would crimp mad Thyllis's ambitions!

  But, then—a single supply train of the air, fifty huge ships, well, they would carry a dismayingly small part of all the supplies Hamal had on the move. Still—it would be a start.

  The tragedy was, I'd have to burn the supplies, also.

  Maybe something might be arranged...

  My fondness for Paline Valley was overcoming my sworn duty. Hateful though it would be, and no matter how onerous the task, this must be done.

  Barging my way back to see Nulty, I recalled that he had said that Dray Prescot would handle things differently from Dray Prescot. Well, by the Black Chunkrah! now was his chance to see how Dray Prescot, Krozair of Zy, Emperor of Vallia, would handle it!

  * * *

  Chapter six

  Of Freedom, Fires and Flyers

  “The hospitality of Paline Valley is at your disposal, Jiktar,” I said to the officer commanding this Train of Supply. “Wine, food, music, all are yours to command. As to girls, you must pay in blood, if you wish, in that department."

  He took my meaning.

  All the same, during the festivities in which Nulty raised his eyebrows at the lavishness of ale and wine and dopa I insisted be poured out, a couple of half-drunken voswods attempted young Pansi, who cared for the chickens in the smaller compound. The two were apprehended before much mischief had been done, although Pansi, bleeding from a bruised mouth and her dress ripped, continued to cry out of shock. I said to the Jiktar, a bulky man with a gut and a half, who squinted most dreadfully, “I am not minded to be merciful in this."

  “It is an army matter—"

  “Not so. I am a noble of Hamal, and you are under my jurisdiction here. There will be a trial."

  The laws of Hamal, being tighter than those of the Medes and Persians, lay down observances in all likely situations. I brought the full weight to bear, the full weight carried by a noble, which weight has been used against me enough times, to be sure. A court was set up in the outer room of the Amak's house, a defending counsel was appointed from the supply train's officers, our young bokkerim, that is to say lawyer, Danghandi the Quill, prosecuted, and I presided. I wanted to make it fast.

  There was no doubt as to the accuseds’ guilt, for they had been seen by dour Honglo the Surly, and Pansi swore through her tears they were the two. Defense pleaded in mitigation that the girl was unharmed. Danghandi made Pansi turn her face to the samphron oil lamps’ gleam.

  “See the bruise! See the blood!” She had not washed it off. “Harm! Who can say what her ib has suffered?"

  I said, “The case is proved. Sentence alone remains."

  And there was the rub.

  The two voswods looked appalled, frightened, dejected. Damned fools. They deserved all they got. But, all the same, what punishment fitted this crime? The laws of Hamal had it all written out fair and square, and there was nothing I could do but endorse what the book said. The men were led off to be flogged.

  Not nice, not nice at all. I bent my head to Nulty.

  “This augurs ill."

  “Aye, master. The soldiers drink us dry."

  I did not say, “So much the better.” It was in my mind.

  That nasty little business kept the soldiers steadfastly at their drinking instead of roving for other pleasures. So, in Opaz's good time, it worked to my advantage.

  I said, “In order to prevent further molestation, make sure a squad of your best young men stay alert and do not drink. They may be needed."

  “Yes, master."

  “I will retire now. See I am not disturbed on any pretext."

  “Yes, master."

  A little wind gusted the dust in the light of the torches. I entered the inner rooms and chased out the people who wanted to fuss. We were already manumitting the slaves and arranging for their future welfare as free men and women. I had taken the precaution of finding out Hardil's secret escape hole, and, stripping off the white robe, I wound the scarlet cloth about me and took up a cheap mineral oil lamp. Only a dagger would be needed. I crept out through the secret hole and, running fleetly in the night, reached the far windward end of the ship lines. I looked about.

  Each ship slumbered like a stricken behemoth. They might not in truth be stricken yet; very soon they would be. And when that happened I must be safely back in my chambers. The first ship caught at once, the dry wood crackling up in a flare and taking cordage and tarred wood and painted wood and all the gimcrack finery the Hamalians had spared to their despised flying sailers. The flames streamed in the wind. Three ships I fired, one after the other, and then the night watch started in yelling.

  Scurries of wind bore the flames down on the next ships in line. That would have to do. The succeeding ships would burn as readily as the first, and the wind would roar the flames on. I hurtled back to the secret hole and ducked in. A hammering on the door indicated Nulty considered the emergency of sufficient importance to wake me despite my instructions. I'd counted on that, knowing Nulty of old.

  The scarlet cloth went under the bed. The mineral oil lamp, out but still warm, went with it. I grabbed a simple green wraparound and opened the door. Lights and faces glared in.

  “Fire, notor! The ships burn!"

  I shouted. I shouted so that they would understand over the hubbub. “If the ships are doomed, then save the cargo! Unload our supplies and see they are safe! Bratch!"

  At the command bratch, they bratched, jumping as though I had branded them with words.

  Well, our people started in unloading the ships that were still unburned, hurling the bales and boxes out, ferrying the sacks, working like fiends. My orders had been to see the stuff was safe. I had said: Our supplies. See they are safe.

  You do not need two good eyes to guide a donkey.

  Just how many supplies would be yielded up to the supply officers I could not judge. Precious little, I suspected. And every sack, every bale my folk spirited away was another item to add to the loss suffered by the Hamalian armed forces.

  Capital!

  Criminal, illegal, horrible—maybe. Gallant conduct in battle—
no. But warfare—ah, yes!

  If a general is the best tactician and strategist in two worlds and does not understand logistics, he is doomed.

  Of the fifty ships the flames spared only five. The neatly mathematical mooring arrangements, inherent in Hamalian military techniques, simply provided the fires with fresh fuel, ship after ship. The five were successfully sailed off before the flames reached them. Afterwards there was a certain amount of difficulty over the supplies removed; but we straightened it all out. I walked down to the heaps of black refuse, shining and cindery, still smoking, smelling of charred hopes. These had once been ships. The memory of the way the fires leaped eagerly up, the crack and sizzle of the flames, the colors and the heat, burned in my brain. The whole episode had not been pleasant, except a blow had been struck against Hamal.

  “At least, we won't starve next season,” remarked Nulty. And then he kept his own counsel.

  In a petty kind of revenge against his bad fortune, the Jiktar of the Supply Train had a shot at requisitioning our saddle flyers. The mirvols on the perching towers were a fine crop that season. I quickly disabused the man of that idea.

  “We need the saddle flyers to withstand the raids of the wild men from over the mountains. When the soldiers provide us with protection, then, mayhap, you may take our mirvols."

  He tried to bluster and saw, by the laws, he was in the wrong. Oh, he threatened to return with a requisitioning warrant. If he did so, Nulty would know what to do with our mirvols. As though to underline the significance of this incident a patrol of Hamalian army flyers settled with a rush of wings. They had been descried by our lookouts at a distance and authenticated. They flew pale blue and white fluttlanns, smallish birds and a trifle slow, who are willing up to a point and do not eat overmuch. They can barely carry two riders. But they breed phenomenally and are cheap. The patrol leader, a Deldar who would never rise in rank to Hikdar now, walked up to me, saluting with gauntleted hand. He wore a full beard, the lines around his eyes were caked with grime pouching pits of tiredness. His blue uniform was ragged and faded; but his weapons were clean and sharp. The matoc was bellowing at the patrol, some twenty flyers, and keeping them in order while their Deldar sorted out lodgings and food. I gave orders that the Deldar and his men should be treated well.