A Sword for Kregen

by Alan Burt Akers

  Secondly, three brigades of infantry, the sword and shield men. One of the brigades, the Nineteenth, was that commanded by Kov Vodun. These three brigades amounted to some four thousand five hundred men.

  Thirdly, two brigades of archers, around three thousand.

  And, fourthly, a brigade of the skirmishers.

  That formed the infantry corps, and a fine body they looked as they marched out with a swing to board the sailing fliers. The weird constructions, more flying rafts, we had been forced to use before had now given place, with the time and the rebuilding program, to more sensible flying ships. These possessed hulls with real wooden walls, so that the men would have shelter during the flight. Their sail plan was deliberately kept simple, a fore, main and mizzen with jib and headsails. We rigged courses and topsails, not caring to go further into the fascinating ramifications of the typical Vallian galleon’s sail plan. They would fly, and with their silver boxes upholding them in thin air and extending invisible keels into the lines of ethero-magnetic force, they could tack and make boards against the wind. They were sailing ships of the sky, and subject to the vagaries of the weather, quite unlike the vollers of the Hamalese.

  For cavalry we took a division of totrix archers and lancers, just over two thousand jutmen, attached to the Phalanx. One division of totrix heavy cavalry, two thousand strong, and one division of zorcas, two thousand one hundred and sixty in number, were joined by a regiment of the superb heavy nikvove cavalry, five hundred big men on five hundred great-hearted nikvoves.

  Our tail consisted of engineers, supply wagons, medical and veterinary components, and a goodly force of varters.

  Also, I took the whole of the Sword Watch, leaving merely a small cadre at my officer’s pleas to carry on with their program of recruitment and training.

  In all we were nearly thirty thousand strong. The plan called for us to land, debouch, deploy and then thrash these upstart invaders and send them packing. That was the plan.

  Chapter Five

  Of the Theatre, a Gale and a Surprise

  On the evening before we left we visited the theatre. The idea of pomp or pageantry in a simple visit by the emperor to relax for an evening’s enjoyment at the play was anathema to me, so Delia and I and a few companions went quietly to our seats in the Half Moon, an old theatre of Vondium and one in which many famous actors and actresses had trod the boards and spoken their lines.

  The building was mainly of brick and stone and only the roof had burned in the Time of Troubles. The seats were arranged in a horseshoe fashion, tiered one above the other, and the acoustics and vision were alike first class. As I sat down on the fleece-stuffed cushions and looked about at the black and ugly burn marks high on the walls, and the licks of fresh paint, and saw the stars glittering high and remote, I reflected that the times of troubles were not over yet, by Vox.

  An awning had been erected over the stage. During the performance a light rain began. The performers were shielded, and as they were the important part of the night’s proceedings, we in the auditorium perforce sat and got wet. Only a handful of people left. Watching the play absorbed us, and a little rain was nothing.

  The play was a new one, recently completed by Master Belzur the Aphorist, called The Scarron Necklace. Although my mind was filled with Army Lists, and the problems of supply and transportation, and the natural concern for the morrow, I found I was held by the action of the play. Of one thing I was pleasantly sure: there were still playwrights left in Vallia.

  As was often the case, a purely entertaining middle section had been incorporated, in which choirs sang the old songs of Kregen. On this night a new touch had been added. I sat up, and I heard Delia’s delighted laugh at my side.

  For, onto the stage pranced files of half-naked girls clad in wisps of crimson and wearing fluffed out felt helmets that might, if you did not look too closely, pass as the bronze-fitted vosk-skull helmets of the Phalanx. The girls all carried wands — and then I realized they were intended to represent the pikes of the pikemen. They were only some five feet long; but the girls made great play with them, marching and countermarching and singing a foolish, lilting, heart-lifting ditty. The words were something to do with a soldier being always able to command the vagaries of a girl’s wayward heart. This was the song that was afterward called the “Soldier’s Love Potion.”

  “They march well, majister,” said Nath, leaning across and not taking his gaze from the spectacle. “I could do with a few of them in the Phalanx, by Vox!” And he laughed.

  The girls weaved patterns across the stage, their wands circling and rising and falling, and thrusting. I found it extraordinarily difficult to laugh. By Zair! I approved of this flummery, for it did a power of good for morale — but in the reflected radiance of the mineral oil lamps limning those slender girls out there I seemed to see the clumped and solid ranks and files of the Phalanx and heard the awful clangor of battle. Playacting, make believe, a light-hearted evening’s entertainment — why should I make such heavy weather of it and refuse to take the joy? Why this continual questioning of my motives, when I had made up my mind, grimly, and intended to unite Vallia once again and then hand all over to Drak? Why? Why torture myself with regrets? Life is life, and it whirls along and we all get dragged with it willy-nilly no matter how desperately we cling to the deceptively substantial acts of everyday.

  I half-expected to see that damned Gdoinye come sticking his arrogant scarlet-feathered head out over the proscenium arch and summon me off to jump about for the Star Lords. By Krun! But that would stir the old blood up.

  Delia sensed my mood, half-desperate, half-defiant, and she pressed my hand, and so I turned my fingers over and gripped hers.

  “We sail in the morning.”

  “I think I shall be glad to shake the dust of Vondium out of my head.” I felt her fingers in mine, warm and trembling slightly. “I wish Drak were here.”

  “He will come home with Queen Lush,” she said, and I caught the amused puzzlement in her voice. “I have invited Silda to visit us. Her work — well, she will have news of Lela.”

  “When that young lady deigns to return home to give a Lahal to her father, I shall have a few words to say—”

  “Now, then, you grizzly old graint!”

  Then the mock-soldiers on the stage, their crimson draperies swirling and their bodies gleaming splendidly, performed their final triumphant charge, and vanished into the wings, and the rest of The Scarron Necklace began.

  * * * *

  So, here we were, a little army flying off with the wind across Vallia toward Bryvondrin to meet these upstart foemen who would not leave us alone.

  The wind held fair and we bowled along. Standing on the quarterdeck I looked around on the empty spaces of the sky. How odd, how weird, thus to see an armada of sailing ships billowing grandly through the air! Their sails did not gleam, for they were patched brown and pale blue, dappled with camouflage. But the sight of massive ships upheld in the air, bowling along with all sails spread... incredible.

  A sniff at the air and a closer look at the cloud formations ahead gave me unwelcome news. The captain came over at my call and he agreed that we were in for a change in the weather.

  “In for a blow, majister — and the breeze will back, I think.”

  “Aye, captain. I am not as sanguine as I was that we will reach Kanarsmot before the gale strikes.”

  “We can but pile on all canvas and trust in Opaz, majister.”

  “Aye.”

  The plan had been to land near Kanarsmot, a town on the Great River situated where, on the southeastern bank of the river, the boundaries of Mai Makanar to the north and Mai Yenizar to the south marched. By this stratagem we would array our forces in rear of the invaders, cut their supply lines, free the town, and then be in a position to hit them in flank and rear and dispose of them with little hope of escape.

  But the wind gusted and freshened. And, as we feared, it backed.

  Well, weather is sent b
y the Hyr-Pallan Whetti-Orbium, the meteorological manifestation of Opaz, and we must do what we could. We battened down. There were no seas to come leaping and crashing in over the bulwarks; but as the breeze blew with ever greater strength and backed around the compass, our yards were hauled farther and farther around. Soon we were facing a stiff easterly. The rushing roar of the wind stuffed our mouths and nostrils and half-blinded us. On the ships staggered, lurching as their invisible keels gripped into the lines of force. At last, when we were within only three dwaburs of the town, it was apparent that we could make no further headway.

  The twin suns were sinking, flooding the land below with their mingled streaming lights. The jade and ruby cast long tinted shadows. The country here was tufty, cut up by small hills and gullies, scrub country and yet being well-watered festooned with traceries of forests. The clouds sent racing shadows leapfrogging across the grass.

  “Down, captain,” I shouted, my words blown away. I pointed down and stabbed my hand urgently. If we continued aloft we’d be blown miles off course.

  So, in the last of the light, we made our landfall.

  We came down fifteen miles short of Kanarsmot and we knew the enemy was in force somewhere between us and the town.

  Thus are the grandiose plans of captains and kings foiled by the invisible breeze.

  A pretty bedlam ensued as the reluctant animals were herded from the capacious interiors of the ships. The men disembarked and set about bivouacking. The wind tore at cloaks and banners. We pitched a dry bivouac, no fires being lighted. Cavalry patrols, zorcamen, were sent out immediately.

  When I gave firm orders that the flutduins, those marvelous saddle birds of Djanduin, were not to be disembarked, Tyr Naghan Elfurnil ti Vandayha stomped across to me, raving.

  His flying leathers were swirled about his legs by the breeze. He had one hand gripping his sword and the other outstretched, palm up, as though he was begging for alms.

  “Majister! My flyers can scout that Opaz-forsaken—”

  “Come now, Naghan — look at the weather!”

  “My flutduins can fly through the Mists of Sicce itself.”

  “I don’t doubt,” I said, dryly. “However, I shall need your aerial cavalry for the morrow. The breeze will drop by then.”

  Naghan Elfurnil was a Valkan, and he had been trained up by expert flyers from Djanduin. An aerial detachment was with us; but I was not going to throw them away in weather like this.

  “The jutmen will be our eyes tonight, Naghan.”

  “They’ll be outscouted, you mark my words.”

  “It would perhaps be best if Jiktar Karidge did not hear you say that, Naghan. He has a temper—”

  “Oh, aye, majister. Karidge is a fine zorcaman, I’ll give you that.” Naghan gave a huge sniff that was instantly whipped away by the wind. “But I’ll never live to see the day when zorcas can outscout flutduins.”

  I forbore to suggest that, perhaps, this night, he had lived that long.

  “Those oafs we will fight tomorrow have flying fluttrells. Not many. But you’ll need to look sharp to drive ’em off.”

  “And, strom, since when has a fluttrell had a chance in hell of matching a flutduin?”

  Well, by Vox, that was sooth, and we both knew it.

  So the pandemonium continued, and slowly and in the end surprisingly, order and quietness came out of chaos. The army bivouacked and the sentries were posted and the patrols went out. If we were not outscouted, we could set down all fair and square. I did not think we would outscout our opponents, for they had the advantage of the terrain. And, as the night progressed and the reports flowed in we understood that on the morrow we would advance to battle with a good idea of the strength and location of the enemy, and that they in their turn would know of our strengths and positions.

  There were some cavalry clashes during that night. The army was up and breakfasting and on the move early. The wind had dropped; but we judged three burs or so would have to pass before the weather was fit for aerial cavalry. In that time we formed and marched forward.

  The commander of the local forces came in with a remnant of exhausted totrixmen. They had been pushed back by the first onslaught over the Great River and had subsequently harried the invaders as best they could.

  “The whole situation was completely quiet,” the commander told me. He was a waso-Chuktar, Orlon Turnil, and he looked worn out. “But they will not expect so quick a reaction, majister. Truly, the flying ships are marvels.”

  That was the trouble with the current mess in Vallia. Our enemies pressed in on all sides and we had to leap from here to there to repel each attack. It was strange to think that not so far away we had friendly forces quite cut off from us by enemy occupied territory. We had to build our strength so as to be able to field enough armies of sufficient power to handle each trouble spot. That was taking the time, and, by Zair, it was tiring me out.

  “You had best take your men and see them bedded down,” I said.

  Chuktar Turnil looked at me.

  “I think, majister, I did not hear you. We shall, of course, ride with you this day and fight in the line.”

  I did not smile. “I think, Chuktar Turnil, you did not hear me aright.” And then I added: “You are right welcome. May Opaz ride with you.”

  As he cantered off to rejoin his men, the six legs of his totrix going floppily in all directions, I gave orders that his little force should ride with the cavalry reserve.

  During a regulation break in the line of march we spread the maps and studied the tactical situation. Up until now it had been strategy and operations. Now we got down to the sharp end of planning.

  “At the moment,” said Karidge, thumping the map, “they must at least have reached this line of trees.” His headgear glittered with gold thread, his feathers bristled. He was a light cavalryman from the tips of those feathers to the stirrup-marked boots. I had chosen his zorca brigade and joyed in the choosing.

  “And is this river fordable?” I pointed.

  “Aye. The men will get wet bellies; but they can cross.”

  “By the time we reach there, the enemy will have set down less than an ulm off. I think that will do.”

  Nath scratched his nose.

  “You mean to fight with a river at our backs?”

  “A fordable river, Nath. You and the Third Kerchuri. The churgurs and archers will come in from the right flank. The woods there will screen their initial moves and by the time they are out in the open—”

  “By Rorvreng the Vakka!” broke in Chuktar Tabex, commanding the heavy cavalry. “Then I will put in such a charge as will sweep them away!”

  “I would prefer,” I said mildly, “for Nath to chew them up a trifle before that, Chuktar Tabex.”

  “Aye, majister. But, I pray you, do not keep us under your hand too long!”

  The regulation halt was up and the men were stirring and falling in. A bunch of slingers from Gremivoh were yelling back insults at the Deldars who were bawling them up. Undisciplined and unruly, slingers; but fine fighting men. The suns were lifting into the sky and the breeze was dropping away. The long files formed and the men shouldered their weapons and marched off.

  They made a splendid sight and I forced the ugly truths from my mind and concentrated on thinking as an army commander. There would be many dead men and weeping women before Vallia could breathe freely again.

  There was time for a last look at the map. A rounded hill was shown beyond the little river and it was my guess the enemy would station their cavalry there so as to get a good run in for their charge. The flanks would be more cavalry, with the infantry positioned in solid blocks interspersed with connecting lines. That seemed a reasonable guess; but you never can tell in dealing with paktuns who have years of campaigning under their belts. Even if the enemy formation was entirely different, I felt we had set down in such a way as to be able to meet them with the force we chose at the spot we chose. There seemed to me no chance that they would refus
e battle. Our object was to get forward as quickly as possible and by hitting them in the flank, roll them up onto the pikes of the Phalanx. After that I could let slip the heavies with Chuktar Tabex in the van.

  Delia had not insisted on bringing any of those ferocious Jikai Vuvushis, Battle Maidens, that I now knew to be a real part of her secret life. Jilian was still recovering from her wounds, and I had not seen much of her, to my own sorrow. Now Delia spurred up as I mounted and called across.

  “I shall ride with you, at your side, Dray.”

  I nodded, and lifted into the saddle. Korero was there, a golden shadow at my back. I half-turned and opened my mouth, and the Kildoi said, “It is understood, majister.”

  I felt the quick flush of pleasure. By Vox! What it is to have great-hearted blade-comrades!

  And here came Nath, another blade-comrade, and his face froze me.

  “Majister!” he called as he galloped. Karidge was belting along to catch him, lathering his zorca, which made me understand with a shiver of dread that the news was bad.

  “Those Opaz-forsaken louts!” Nath shouted. He hauled his zorca around and the animal’s four spindly legs flashed nimbly as he turned. “They have sucked us in!”

  “Aye,” said Karidge, reining up, his face a single huge scowl. “By Lasal the Vakka! I trust in Opaz we have not scouted them too late.”

  “Spit it out!”

  Scouts had come in, and their latest reports contradicted what we had hitherto believed. We had thought there were fifteen thousand foemen. There were more than twenty-eight thousand — infantry and cavalry. A reinforcement had reached them from Opaz-knew-where. I felt my face congeal. Doggedly, I heard out the report, beginning to refigure the entire coming contest.

  I said, “We are near enough thirty. So the odds are even — weighed in our favor still. The plans stand. We go forward and attack. We cannot shilly-shally about now.”

  Then it was a question of listening to reports of the composition of the new forces arrayed against us.

  “Masichieri, majister. Damned thieving no-good vicious riff-raff, masquerading as mercenaries. But they can fight, and there are fully six thousand of them.”