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Chapter seven
Many airboats and flying sailing ships were employed in the constant carriage of food and equipment in and wounded and people on leave out. The land of Tarankar had been sore wounded in the recent wars and would need time for Mother Nature to repair the damage. In the interim, those countries of Paz that banded together to fight the Shanks, provided each according to the country's means.
A couple of days after Kirsty and Rodder's dinner—which had passed off very well—Seg and I were inspecting a regiment of archers due to fly off on leave.
Seg's tall handsome figure moved slowly down the lines. His black hair and fey blue eyes of Erthyrdrin marked him as a Bowman of Erthyrdrin, the best of all the Bowmen of Loh. The archers stiffened under his intolerant gaze. I say intolerant because that Seg surely was when it came to matters concerning toxophily; otherwise he was often too tolerant. That had lost him a kovnate in the past. Turko, who had taken over, had sorted things out with true rigor and justice. Now Seg reached the end of the ranks, turned to me, and with that mischievous glint in his blue eyes remarked, in a voice loud enough to be heard twenty archers off: “Reasonable, I suppose, for a rabble. Leave? They're due for leave? Well now...”
You could see the lads in the ranks rolling their eyes at this and wanting to squirm and being unable for they were standing to attention.
“Who did you say was in command, majister?”
Seg took delight in thus giving me pompous titles when on parade.
The Jiktar in command had, of course, marched two paces to Seg's rear during the inspection, as was proper. When I mention customs similar to those on Earth many of them had been introduced by me. So, of course, Hyr Kov Seg Segutorio knew very well who commanded.
“Jiktar Ortyg Vondal ti Dernsmot commands here.”
“And the brigade chuktar, majister?”
“Chuktar Nath Javed.”
“H'm,” quoth Seg, and looked down his nose, and, with the eye away from the regiment, winked at me. This was not truly pantomime. If you took it as being funny, as indeed you very well might, you could be accused of tormenting the lads. The practical approach of Seg's was always to keep the swods in the ranks on their toes.
I said: “Kov. There are three other regiments I must inspect. One of churgurs, one of spearmen and one of kreutzin.” Now churgurs are your heavily armored sword and shield men and kreutzin are your unarmored or lightly armored light infantry, your voltigeurs. Seg might inspect them with me if he cared to; his overriding concern was with bowmen.
“Quidang, majister! The regiment will pass muster.”
I nodded to Jiktar Ortyg Vondal. “Well done, Jik. Get the lads off on leave as soon as possible. Carry on.”
“Quidang, majister.” Then he turned and raised his helmet with the brave feathers flying. “Hai for the emperor!Hai!”
The regiment responded with great vigor, roaring it out, their leave passes safe. I lifted a hand in salute, touched my zorca, and with Seg at my side rode off to the rest of the brigade.
“Well, my old dom, old Hack ‘n’ Slay really has brought them to a fine pitch. I am impressed.”
“They did well in the fight.”
“Aye.”
The remaining three regiments of the 43rd Mixed Infantry Brigade stood rank on rank, immaculate, drilled, and the bobs shone upon their armor. Their chuktar nudged his zorca out to meet us, saluted gravely. His bulky figure in a kax of simple iron, unadorned, his helmet with only the regulation feathers of his rank, the rest of his war harness plain and practical, spoke eloquently of the professional fighting man, a warrior to his fingertips.
He carried the usual arsenal of weapons favored by warriors of Kregen.
“Majister!” he bellowed. “The Forty Third await the honor of your inspection.”
I knew why he'd waited like this; he wanted to let Seg get on with the archers first. Now he'd ride along with us and his eye would be just as intolerant as Seg's had been.
“Chuktar!” I rapped it out, military, sharp, demanding.
So we inspected old Hack ‘n’ Slay's brigade and, indeed, they were a formation of which to be proud. When the inspection was over, Nath Javed reined in. His face, usually the color of the setting sun Zim, flushed up even more as I congratulated him. “My thanks, majister, on behalf of my men.” He did look pleased. Whilst Seg and I took delight in play-acting at titles and ranks, we knew they carried much weight. Nath Javed, known as Nath the Impenitent, had always avowed he detested nobles and emperors. Then he'd gone adventuring with Seg and me and had changed his mind with regard to some at least of the nobility. He knew our views and shared them. But like the good commander he was he was jealous of the name of his units.
“So they're all off on leave, then, Nath.”
“Aye, majister.The whole brigade.”
“And you?”
Seg laughed. “Need you ask?”
Nath the Impenitent licked his lips. He glanced at Seg. “Well, now, Horkandur. You read my mind.” He called us Seg the Horkandur and Jak the Bogandur when formality was past.
“We missed you on our last outing.”
“I bemoaned my fate, I can tell you, by Vox!”
I said: “If anything turns up, Nath, you're in.”
“My thanks, Bogandur.”
“Now—who's for a wet?”
We raced the zorcas off the parade ground to a refreshment area set up where the officers of the brigade could wash away the dust. For a goodly time we talked and then the ships arrived, floating down like thistledown, and it was time for the brigade to ship out home. Amid the yells of ‘Remberee!” the 43rd took off.
Delia, Milsi and Sasha cantered over. All three looked stunning.
“Inch?” Seg said.
Sasha made a face, Milsi laughed, and Delia said: “We left him standing on his head trying to drink a cup of water. I do not know which one of his taboos he broke this time.”
“It was not squish pie.” Sasha had her own taboos and she'd often be found doing the most extraordinary contortions in expiation.
A voice called: “Lahal all.”
We swung about to see a fellow with a kind happy face, cheerfully lined, walking towards us. He wore a plain robe and an enormous turban that looked on the point of toppling off. He carried a plain varnished wooden staff.
“Deb-Lu!” we all said.
This puissant Wizard of Loh was our comrade who lived with us in Vallia or Valka and who could go into lupu and transmit his image like this to talk to us and advise us. He held out his hand to me as though offering a Vallian handshake. His apparition looked quite real. Jokingly, I held out my own hand to grasp the illusion and—lo!—my fingers met firm flesh.
“Deb-Lu!” I exclaimed. “You're real!”
“By the Seven Arcades, Jak! I hope I am—the journey took longer than I expected and we have only just touched down, as you saw, and I am famished and my throat is afire.”
“How wonderful!” Delia welcomed Deb-Lu-Quienyin and the others joined in as we escorted the Wizard of Loh to the refreshments.
The moment Deb-Lu had repaired the ravages of the flight, he spoke to us using Capital Letters. “A Matter we considered Light is now Highly Significant.” Whenever he spoke in those clearly audible Capital Letters we knew things were afoot. “The Skantiklar.”
“Oho!” I said. “So you've been finding things out.”
“Not Enough, Not Enough. I know How, most of Where, but the Why remains Obscure.”
“The Who,” said Delia, “being Na-Si-Fantong.” She shook her head, the suns’ light catching those outrageous chestnut tints in her hair and making of her curls a halo. “I don't like that Si in his name.”
“Brings a sour taint,” said Seg. His folk of Erthyrdrin, as we all did well to remember, possessed the Eye. Now Seg's fey blue eyes betrayed concern for the future, a concern I imagined must be linked to the past.
“Seg.
” Milsi touched his arm. “You—?”
“I expect I'm just being foolish, being an onker.”
“No, Seg.” Deb-Lu sounded grave. “We must all take great care in our dealings with this Fantong. He Is Trouble.”
I, for one, and I know Delia for another, felt a chill of unease.
“Khe-Hi and Ling-Li now have more time to spend away from the nursery.” Deb-Lu chuckled a typical old sorcerer's chuckle. “They are working and between us we'll make it all come out right. Dray! You do not need to be so despondent!”
“Trouble,” I said. “Trouble follows me about like—like—”
“Like something to keep you out of mischief,” said Delia briskly.
“Now, then.” Deb-Lu rubbed his hands together. “Where's this young feller, Ra-Lu-Quonling, then? Wheel him out.”
Seg had already sent for Rollo the Runner. Only a small and select group knew that Rollo should really be a Wizard of Walfarg but had been expelled for missing lessons, dreaming after a girl who'd let him down. What he really wanted to do was to go for a Bowman of Loh. Seg had measured him and pronounced him first class material; I was going to insist that Rollo go along the path ordained by his birthright. Deb-Lu would sort him out.
I said: “Deb-Lu, Ra-Lu-Quonling is known as Rollo the Runner and few are aware of the truth. I think it best—”
“Of course, Dray, no problem. I'll just go along and start as I mean to go on. I won't shake him up too much.”
We all smiled. Rollo was in for a bit of stick from the word go. After that, as we all knew, Rollo would find himself in the hands of a kindly master of whom advantage would be taken all too frequently.
Just after that a shout attracted our attention. The shout expressed shocked incredulity. We all looked to see old Hack ‘n’ Slay pointing out to sea, his other hand resting on the shoulder of the sentry who'd shouted.
Just sailing into sight around the curve of the headland and taking the normal approach to the wharves of Taranjin, a convoy of ships ploughed steadily on. Those ships all had tall thin sails over their lean black hulls. Their upperworks were squared off, brutal, in stark contrast to the sleek streamlined hulls of Paz. Exclamations running the gamut of emotions broke from everyone. The majority expressed indignation, surprised contempt that after they'd been so soundly thrashed the damned reiving Shanks had the temerity to return.
“Well, now.” Seg looked pleased.
I wasn't so sure. Delia gave me a quick glance and then looked away.
“What's the excitement? What have I been missing—by Ngrangi and the Mystic Axe without Taboos! I don't believe it!”
“They're real enough,” grunted Nath Javed. “And my brigade not here!”
Needless to say that the chiefs of my Guard Corps were on hand. Less than one percent of the Guard had taken leave. Their lives were wrapped up with their Corps and with their emperor, their Kendur. Volodu the Lungs lifted his massive battered trumpet and looked at me. Each dent in that trumpet represented a foeman dealt with. I nodded and Volodu blew Assembly. Some of the Fifth Phalanx had gone on leave; enough remained for a sizeable force to form up. Nath na Kochwold, as ever blazing with energy, left the refreshment area at a dead run to join his brumbytes.
I turned to Vangar ti Valkanium. “Still, Vangar, despite the land forces, it's all down to you.”
Vangar's scrubbed face showed dedication to duty imposed by unshakeable beliefs—beliefs in Vallia and Valka, in Opaz. “We'll be aloft in no time. I'm an Airman, Dray; it will not please me to burn ships.”
“Not Shank ships?”
“To capture them would be more useful.”
Seg said: “I like the idea. But the execution?”
Inch said: “Execution is the correct word for Shanks.”
“It is clear,” I pointed out, “that the Shanks are unaware they've lost Taranjin. These are reinforcements. No ship must be allowed to land her troops.”
“So where did the beaten Shank aerial fleets go?”
Everybody looked at Delia as she spoke, and no one could give an answer to what was a mighty ponderable question.
Vangar snapped up a smart salute and within an incredibly short time his vollers and flying sailers rose from their berths. What the consternation aboard the Schtarkin ships must be like we could only surmise. When the Fish Faces began to burn and the sky filled with greasy smoke I own I, for one, felt regret at splendid ships burning. Even damned Shank ships.
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Chapter eight
Amidst all these tangled threads of peoples’ lives where Fate had thrown me, what gave me great pleasure was the way Deb-Lu-Quienyin and Ra-Lu-Quonling, known as Rollo the Runner, got along. Rollo might be rebellious and headstrong; he had a head on his shoulders and was quickly aware of the essential quality of Deb-Lu. Rollo said to me: “Y'know, Drajak, you made me go back to learning to be a Wizard of Walfarg. Seg told me—I wormed it out of him—that I was good enough to be a first class Bowman of Loh. Still, I'm not sorry, now, that I'm to be a sorcerer.”
“And mind you respect and take care of Deb-Lu if that should ever be necessary.”
Rollo looked at me down his nose, all the old arrogance blazing forth. “D'you think I don't know that?”
“I think you do.”
He nodded, and, head high, stalked off.
After the abortive attempt by the Fish Heads to land more troops our general feelings were that we could hope to see a reduction in raiding activity. Delia's question troubled us all. Where had the flying Shanks gone?
Deb-Lu set the task for Rollo, as training.
“Wherever the devils have gone,” growled Inch, leaning on his axe, “some poor folk are suffering.”
When I had the chance of a private word with Deb-Lu I spoke with great care. Nobody employed Wizards of Loh. They accepted you as a client—or not, if they didn't care for you. I said: “I am glad young Rollo is buckling down to the work you set for him. Please forgive me if I wonder if the task of searching for the Shanks is of importance enough—that is, Rollo always said he was not very good at going into lupu, and—”
“Jak, Jak! Finding the Shanks is enormously important, of course. And Rollo has got to sharpen up his techniques. You really are asking me why I do not try. The answer is the Skantiklar obsesses me. There lies our true danger for the future.”
“But—”
“We will find the Shanks, never fear, and send a fleet.” He pushed his turban straight and scratched his nose. “No. By Hlo-Hli, it's this Na-Si-Fantong. We have been busy discovering the locations of the nine rubies. Not that they are ordinary rubies, of course.”
“Of course.”
He perked up at my tone. “You need not feel bitter about this, Jak. The Fish Faces are, as far as we know, the greatest menace facing Paz.”
“Absolutely.As far as we know?”
“Aye, Dray. There is a mystery about this Fantong and the Skantiklar that I feel—and at the moment I've no proof—I sense strongly is of the utmost importance. If Paz is undermined, who will halt the Shanks?”
“Well, Deb-Lu, I just hope that young rip Rollo unglues his wings. We need to stop the damned Shanks wherever they are.”
The next few days passed uneventfully—or as uneventfully as you can ever expect on Kregen. Our lad Jaidur had flown off back to his Kingdom of Hyrklana. Delia and I had talked about his moodiness and the problems he faced at home and could see no sensible solutions.
The Hamalian fleet had also flown home; but their Fleet Admiral, Vad Harulf ham Hilzim, who was a loyal friend in Paz, had sworn he would be right back at the first news of fresh troubles.
Queen Kirsty and her consort, Rodders, remained with their mercenary army. Kirsty intended to be able to parade a show of strength when it came to choosing the next queen of Tarankar. I'd told her the job of running two countries separated by inhospitable desert would be difficult; she'd simply shrugged and said: “The whole of Loh—and beyond the se
as—was ruled by the old Queens of Pain. I don't see why I cannot.”
If she thought she was going to get herself the job of being the next Queen of Pain—to be Empress of Loh—she had another think coming, by Krun! Whilst Mul-lu-Manting might fancy being Empress of Loh, I had by this time come to a certain decision on that score. Well, all right, then. Contrary to my usual custom I will let you into the secret—well, not so much a secret as a desired secret course of action. If the Star Lords wanted a New Empire of Loh—or even a New Empire of Walfarg—to form, then form it would. I doubted if it would be allowed to extend overseas. With the whole of Loh to be ruled by a single person, that person would have to be very good indeed. I was not convinced it would be a good idea, either. Anyway, should it all come to pass, the person I wanted to run Loh was Mevancy. So that was the great secret. And, naturally, Mevancy didn't know.
Because Delia is Delia, Mevancy could act quite naturally in the presence of the empress. They were well on the way to becoming genuine friends. I'd told Delia of this little plan and she'd laughed and hugged me and said: “Well, you grizzly old graint, so there are a few brains in that vosk skull you call a head.”
Then, on a day with dark clouds scudding over the sea, Rollo reported he'd located the Fish Faces.
The continent of Havilfar hooked a trifle west and south of Loh, the Tamish Channel, Djanduin—all memories, memories! Off the extreme south west coast of Loh lay the forbidden Island of Tambu. Beyond that, of course, were Bet-Aqsa and Ba-Domek. On the latter island was situated Aphrasöe, the Swinging City, whose Savanti had first brought me to Kregen.
Should the Shanks be foolish enough to try to land on Ba-Domek—well, perhaps they had at one time or another and what had happened to them had kept them quiet, for a long time. Rollo said they'd gone to Tambu, had picked up reinforcements sent out after those we had destroyed, and were setting up a powerful base.
Our reactions were predictable. We sent scouting forces who reported the truth of Rollo's discoveries. We called on the countries of Paz loyal to the scheme of Pazzian resistance to the Fish Heads for their contributions, in men—and women—in ships and weapons, food and gold. This would all take time.
Scorpio Drums [Dray Prescot #42] Page 7
