Delia's warning voice reached me. “Dray..."
“Sink me!” I burst out. “Am I not the emperor! Cannot I go and risk a danger or two?"
They didn't like that. Lord Pernalsh shook his head. He was taller than I, broader, a veritable man-mountain.
“Not while I live, majister!"
A chorus of affirmation followed. Vanki whispered close to my ear, his breath fluttering, “My people will handle this.” He was not there when I turned to answer. In his customary way he had blended into the background when the crowd arrived. A spymaster he was, Naghan Vanki in his black and silver, and a damned slippery fellow with it.
Delia was making covert signs and the gathered people began to drift away. Something of the sense of petulant frustration that had shaken the old emperor, Delia's father, was going to rub off on me pretty quick, by Vox! I felt caged. I felt as those savagely noble wild animals, caged and chained for the arena, must feel as they are whipped and prodded behind the iron bars.
I, Dray Prescot, puissant emperor, was caged up.
We stood alone.
“It seems to me—” I started to try to express my feelings of being shut off, caged away from the hurly-burly of Kregen.
Delia was sharp with me.
“The trouble with you, Dray Prescot, is that you are feeling sorry for yourself!"
* * *
Chapter six
Sword for Delia
The Lord Farris flew in with more problems. As commander-in-chief of the Vallian Air Service, Farris was entitled to fly about in an airboat. But we were desperately short of fliers. A fresh source of supply for the powered airboats had to be found. I greeted Farris warmly, for his dedicated loyalty to Delia always warmed me, and we got down to the latest series of headaches.
Anyway, I'd had the last laugh on that crowd at the dance at the Bankers Guild. The people sent off after the news reported that the eloping couple—whom they found in an inn enjoying themselves—were not Voinderam and Fransha.
So, I could afford a nasty laugh at their expense.
Farris sat down across from me in my little study and sipped his wine, for it was evening.
“It is these slaves we have freed,” he said. “They have received their plots of land and their allotments of seeds and implements and animals, and they work hard enough—although if they work as hard now as they did when they were slaves and were whipped for nothing, I cannot truthfully say."
I waited for him to go on.
“They must be protected. The farms on the borders mainly, of course.” He saw my expression. Both of us detested the idea that within the island of Vallia there should be borders between us and our enemies. All Vallia was one country, or should be. “The flutsmen drop down from the sky and raid and burn and kill. We have had incursions over ten dwaburs into what we regard as Vallian soil—"
“It is all Vallian soil!"
“Aye. But these damned raiders don't understand that yet. And the truth is, the troops we have on the ground cannot be everywhere. The sailing fliers are subject to the winds. And my force—” He spread his free hand.
“There is one clear answer. The freedmen must be able to defend themselves."
“They fight well enough, given the chance, for it is their homes and wives and children who suffer."
“Right. I shall see to that. Is there any news out of the Dawn Lands on vollers?"
“Nothing. Anyway, down there in Havilfar they are a strange lot. You might stand a better chance in Hyrklana."
“If I ever get away.” I told him what had happened at the Bankers Guild. And Farris laughed. I glared at him reproachfully, whereat he laughed the harder.
“I remember when we picked you up in the Hostile Territories,” he said. “My Val! If I'd been told then that you would be the emperor who has my undying loyalty, why—” He stopped himself. His shrewd brown Vallian eyes appraised me. He nodded. “Yes, I think I half-understood it, even then."
“And Naghan Vanki was with you—"
Then a messenger announced himself to say that Filbarrka nal Filbarrka had arrived.
“Send him in! By Vox, he will be a sight for sore eyes."
When Filbarrka came in he was just the same. Bouncing, roseate of face, twitching his fingers together, he brought a breath of the clean air of his zorca plains into my study. Filbarrka of the best zorca country in Kregen, he was a man who had organized the zorcabows and the lancers that had so materially contributed to the rout of the ferocious clansmen of Segesthes in the Battle of Kochwold and subsequently.
“What brings you to Vondium, nazab?” I asked.
“That confounded horn rot in Thoth Valaha. They seem to think I can work a magic cure-all for them."
“Can you?"
“Yes, majister."
I sat back. Trust Filbarrka nal Filbarrka!
“So I just looked in to see if you were still here."
“And right welcome you are. We need more zorcas. If we cannot obtain sufficient, what do you say to forming a few regiments of men mounted on marlques, or on freymuls?"
“The poor man's zorca!” Filbarrka bounced up and down and his fingers performed prodigies of entwining. “They are pleasant enough, but—"
“Quite. But we are poor men, are we not?"
“My stock is down, granted, majister. But the colts come along well, some beautiful little—"
He went on enthusiastically, for Filbarrka and zorcas lived together. As the governor of the blue-grass sections of Delia's province of the Blue Mountains, Filbarrka rated the rank of nazab. I valued his wisdom. When, in the course of our conversation he heard of Farris's problems with the freed slaves, he perked up. It was very quickly done.
“Let me at them! I have ideas—"
Well, Filbarrka was a fellow who never lacked for ideas!
As the conversation wended on in the way these rambling discussions do, and I ruefully reflected that this was not the way to clear my desk, I was also forcibly brought up short by the fact that Filbarrka was supposed, when I contacted him, to provide zorcas for Nath Karidge. Instead, here we were reasonably and carefully discussing ways and means of mounting freed slaves on a wild miscellany of saddle animals, and trying to train them up to look out for themselves...
Somehow or other, I had given the job of creating a second-line cavalry force to Filbarrka. He was enthusiastic. He is always enthusiastic. “The trouble will be a lack of maneuvering skills, an inability to get up in the morning and carry out long marches, and a certain liability to panic at the unexpected. But we'll polish ‘em up. I'll bring in some of my lads—you know what they are like—and we'll start off with maces and round shields. We'll add darts and lances as these fellows improve. Some of the quilted cloth you produce here in Vondium will be capital for protection, with bronze arm and shoulder bars. We'll keep it simple to start with."
Farris smiled and lifted his wine.
“You convince me, Filbarrka. No doubt of that."
We thrashed that out to Filbarrka's satisfaction. He would be based in Vondium to begin with. Then I said, “I was going to ask you if you could supply five or six hundred prime zorcas."
He lowered his wine. “Five or six hundred? That sounds like a new regiment and remounts—"
“Yes."
Farris, rather incautiously, I thought, said, “We can buy zorcas overseas—"
“Oh, yes,” said Filbarrka. “There are other zorcas in the world, of course. And, there are other mountains besides the Blue Mountains."
We took his point.
“All the same,” I said, “we will buy saddle animals from Segesthes. We have to. But—and I own to being selfish here—for this new regiment I would like to have the best. The Jiktar is to be Nath Karidge."
“But he is a Chuktar.” They both looked surprised. I did not think they knew of my threat to stuff poor Nath Karidge into a Phalanx.
“He remains a Chuktar, with a step. But this regiment will be a cavalry reserve, the basis for a much
larger force, when we can find the zorcas and the right men."
In the end we sorted it all out and I pulled that thin file from under the stack of other files, and wrote down the reassuring fact that soon six hundred zorcas would be taken on strength. I was looking forward to telling Nath Karidge.
Turko and Korero came in and my little study began to fill up. These men had all campaigned together and were comrades in arms, and so I pushed the papers across my desk, put my feet up and let the evening roll. We were joined by other comrades and adjourned to a larger chamber. Pretty soon we started singing. It was a good night.
A good night, yes—but not the way an emperor should carry on when he has a ramshackle empire to run. No, by Krun!
Delia's remark that I was feeling sorry for myself carried a deal of truth. Well, if Delia says something, it usually is true and if it is uncomfortable into the bargain, then that means you must spruce up and see about setting matters right.
Nath Karidge did not join us that night as we sang the old songs. As always, or almost always for the exceptions proved the rule, I started up “The Bowmen of Loh.” We all sang lustily.
“I suppose Seg will give command of his Second Army over to someone and return to us,” said Turko as the last refrain died away.
Seg Segutorio, the master bowman, the best Bowman of Loh on Kregen in my estimation, was sorely missed.
“Aye,” I said. “And as soon as Inch sorts out his Black Mountains—” And then I frowned.
This nonsense with Voinderam and Fransha had put back our plans, and Inch would have to battle on alone in his Black Mountains for a space. Turko spoke up. j
“The quicker I can march north and sort out Layco Jhansi the quicker I will be able to hook left and reach Inch."
“They make little progress in the Blue Mountains,” said Filbarrka. “That great rascal Korf Aighos told me there are winged devils in great numbers in the mountains, barring off the Blue from the Black."
We all digested that unwillingly.
Then someone started up that silly song, “The Milkmaid's Pail,” and we all joined in and, for some of us, drove back the shadows.
Now while these raucous parties we held on Kregen were not your Viking-type carouse, nor yet your Hussar or Lancer shindig, they were vociferous and splendidly barbaric. A couple of aides got into a paddy over a little shishi who had jilted one of them. The cause of the quarrel was not altogether clear. The occasion was turned to jest and merriment as we escorted the wrathful pair to the nearest guardroom where we would find a couple of wooden swords. With the rudis they would settle the matter, get the black humors out, and then with clearer heads—that might be ringing with all the Bells of Beng Kishi—try to solve the problem.
With the wooden swords solemnly carried on a red velvet cushion, we trooped out into a practice yard. The guards on duty smirked with pleasure at the thought of young bloods knocking hell out of each other. We had an audience as we went out under the Moons of Kregen. The stone walls bore the marks of fires. One side of the courtyard was a mass of rubble where the stables of the state carriages had been destroyed.
We were making a din. Yet I saw a man half in the shadows. He carried a long pike. He was going through the manual of drill as taught to a brumbyte in the files. At our noise he turned and dropped the pike. It clanged on the cobbles.
The Maiden with the Many Smiles shone in fuzzy pink glory upon the face of Nath Karidge.
“Nath!” those devils with me chorused, filled with glee.
Karidge just stood there. He wore a brumbyte's kit, a soldier's harness that held a bronze-studded leather coat, a vosk-skull helmet, and he slanted the brumbyte's shield, the crimson flower, in the approved position.
“Majister!"
These frolicsome men with me couldn't understand why Chuktar Nath Karidge, the reckless cavalry commander, should attire himself like this and go through the manual of drill with pike and shield.
I knew.
“Let the two hotheads at each other with their wooden swords,” I said. “Let the strict code of the Hyr Jikordur apply.” At this there were gales of laughter, for the Jikordur specifies the code of conduct and the rituals of combat in duels—often to the death.
The rowdy part set about arranging the duel in strict conformity with the Hyr Jikordur and I went across to Karidge. I knew why he had dressed like this and was going through the manual of arms of a pike-wielding brumbyte. Karidge regarded me stonily as I approached.
“I see you prepare yourself, Nath.” I was very easy with him. “That is as it should be."
“Majister!"
“And, too, that is why I have picked you for your next assignment."
He licked his lips. The vosk-skull helmet shadowed his face, but the glory of the Moons of Kregen spilled down and set that hard, reckless face stark against the bronze fittings.
“I think your wife will approve."
“She was most wroth. She told me that, much as she admires all sections of the Phalanx, she could not really credit being married to a man not in jutman's uniform."
I nodded. If, sometimes, I refer to any of the riders of Kregen as horsemen, forgive me. Jutman is the word, for there are most marvelously varied bunches of saddle animals, and one does not always detail zorcaman or totrixman or voveman.
I told Nath Karidge what I wanted. As I spoke so his features loosened, and then tautened. He smiled. The sparkle grew. His enthusiasm seized him up as a giant winged monster of Kregen's skies snatches up its prey.
“I shall serve to the death, majister—"
“Aye, Nath. Aye, I know that. And it grieves me, as well as affording me intense pride in you. The empress—"
“I shall begin at once."
“You may select your officers and troopers from whatever regiments of the cavalry arm you wish. I do not restrict you in any way. You are to form a regiment of the best, the smartest, the toughest—in short, Nath, you will create a cavalry regiment that is just simply the finest in all the world."
“And this regiment will be the empress's personal bodyguard!"
“Just so. You are herewith promoted instantly to ord-Chuktar. The regiment will be known as EDLG, the Empress's Devoted Life Guard.” I gestured in a way I tried to make nonchalant, to hide the guilt I felt at the next words I would say, guilt at the expense of the rest of the army. “Your officers will be a rank higher than customary. Jiktars will command the squadrons. I want the best, the finest, the—"
“Yes, majister."
On a sudden, Nath Karidge's voice sounded soft.
I swallowed.
“This is a thing I should have done seasons ago."
“I can only say that the honor you do me—” He did not go on. I do not think he could. By Zair! But my Delia is loved by her people!
Then a great outburst of shouting and laughter dragged us back from the lip of mawkish sentiment. The two hotheads had laid each other out, their wooden swords clattering onto the cobbles. I barely saw. My Val! My Delia—she demanded everything of me I had to give. Everything...
* * *
Chapter seven
Sacrifice
When Turko and his army were safely on their way north, that, I made up my mind, would be my cutoff point. Then I would take off for Hyrklana to bring back our friends. During my recent absences from Vallia the country had been run by my son Drak, the Presidio, the Lord Farris, with the expert and unstinting help of Larghos the Left-Handed and Naghan Strandar, chief among the other pallans. Yes, that was what I decided.
Jilian had not returned. The Wizards of Loh, although in communication by messenger, had still not penetrated through whatever dark veil of sorcery that arch devil Phu-Si-Yantong had thrown over us. The army needed an overhaul. The harvests remained good. So with a small suite I took myself off to the rocky island of Chandror, off the south coast of Gremivoh. We took one of the sailing fliers and made good progress. On Chandror the new gold mines were yielding ore of a rich red lusciousness. Gold is
just a metal; but it has its uses.
Chandror was an imperial island. There was little there, beyond the goats that leaped from crag to crag in the interior, untold millions of sea birds and a few fishing villages with stout stone walls. I suppose none of the nobility in the past had coveted Chandror, and the emperor had simply accepted it as part of his domains.
Now that gold had been discovered—and kept secret—the island figured afresh in our calculations. We had to pay vast sums abroad for supplies, and we had to make sure we did not overly inflate our own economy with what amounted to cheap money.
The old saying in Havilfar has it: “Money does not drop from fluttrell's wings.” But it seemed to me, as our sails slanted with the breeze and we began to drift down, that had happened. These gold mines were delivered into our hands by sheer chance; a strayed ponsho, bleating and baaing and falling into a pit. And the shepherd crooking him out and with him, a ponsho fleece of gold. The old stories are the best...
A sudden hubbub of laughter and good-humored chaffing erupted at my back. I did not turn, watching the island grow ahead. I knew the voices. These were two lively youngsters, twins, the sons of the son of Genal Arclay, Vad of Valhotra. One day, Opaz willing, one of these two skylarking lads would be Vad in his turn, the other the vadnich.
Valhotra, a lush land, rich in agriculture and husbandry, lay immediately to the east of Vondium and the southern extension of the imperial province of Hyrvond along the Great River. As a matter of sound common sense Valhotra and other provinces close to the capital were held by nobles loyal to the emperor. These twins, Travok and Tom Arclay, could look forward to a glittering future. But, first, they had to serve as aides, pages, raw-edged young coys sucking in all the information they could. And while they were doing that, they thoroughly enjoyed life, always up to tricks and jests, into scrapes and roaring with laughter all the time. They were devoted to each other.
Beasts of Antares [Dray Prescot #23] Page 7
