Lord of Janissaries

by Jerry Pournelle

  “I went to Walking Stone and demanded that he face me, or be known evermore as a man without honor or shame. Walking Stone said that he and those chiefs who had sworn to him were now the judges of honor among the Horse People. They judged that there was no honor in such as Chintua, and that such men as Chintua were no better than weakling foals, to be cast out lest they breed more weaklings.

  “I could not believe that any of the chiefs had sworn to follow such a man. Yet it was so. I will not name them, for they may still return to the way of honor. But there were so many that I was fortunate to pass alive from the tent of Walking Stone.

  “Walking Stone could not fall without warning on the Silver Wolves as he had fallen on Chintua, but yet we could not stay close to him. If we moved swiftly, the gods might yet grant us a life with our kin and our herds, and without shame. So we rode to the Green Lands, and sent messengers to the Great Chief of Westrook. He gave us honor in our need, as he had given it in our defeat.”

  Mad Bear sat down cross-legged on the floor, arms folded on his chest.

  “Great Chief, eh, Ben?” Elliot said.

  Murphy shrugged and turned to Rick. “Mad Bear brought the message himself, Captain, him and six others with turf on their spears.

  “He swore a whole bunch of oaths that he’d keep the peace. I called up enough of the ban to keep them out of mischief, and gave them a campsite and some food. The crops were real good last year.”

  And the surplus should have gone to the Caves of the Preserver, but let’s not get into that now. “Have they behaved themselves?”

  “Far as I can tell. There’ve been a couple complaints of missing sheep, but a little silver took care of that. I sent a report, but I reckon you were on the road out of Margilos by then. So I had to sort of make do.”

  Make do. And it’s always easier to get forgiveness than permission. Rick was certain that despite Murphy’s elaborate politeness, Ben had decided to make alliance with Mad Bear no matter what Rick Galloway might want.

  Typical Drantos nobleman. But dammit he reports to me. . . .

  “All right, Sergeant. How many warriors does he have?”

  Mad Bear clearly understood the question. He made rapid gestures with his hands. Rick noticed that he had a long scar across the knuckles of the left one.

  Baldy, the interpreter, nodded. “He says—call it three hundred and fifty. He speaks the truth, for I have seen the camp and counted that many but no more.”

  “Okay. I suppose something can be worked out, if he’s telling the truth about wanting—”

  Mad Bear glared and his hands twitched. Then he snarled something Rick hardly needed interpreted, and went on with a speech that made Baldy turn pale under his tan. The priest could barely keep up with the flood of words.

  “He says that he has already taken all the oaths before all the gods that a warrior may honor. If the Great Chief of the Stone Houses doubts him, then let the Chief Murphy take those oaths. Better, let the Great Chief take those oaths himself—or if he is too much the coward to bear the fire, the sun, or the wind, let him come against Mad Bear with a warrior’s steel. Mad Bear will meet him with no more weapons than his knife and his honor, and let the gods judge who lies.”

  Suddenly Rick was glad of the .45 in his shoulder holster. “I meant no offense. Tell him that. Offer him whatever is customary.”

  Mad Bear spoke again. This time he seemed less angry. The priest translated. “I hope the Great Chief of the Stone Houses is wise enough to see how much he may win by friendship toward the Silver Wolves. Sooner or later, Walking Stone will drive other clans to do as we have done. If they may hope for friendship among the Stone Houses, they will come in peace.

  “If they cannot do this, then they may yet follow Walking Stone’s banners when he marches again. We fought well when our horses were thin. Think how we shall fight when our horses are fat.” He sat down again.

  Murphy shrugged. “It’s pretty much as he says, Captain. The grazing is getting a lot better out to the northwest. If Walking Stone can unite all the Westmen, they’ll really be a handful. From what Mad Bear says, they weren’t exactly driven out of the Five Kingdoms. Walking Stone and some other big chiefs ordered a retreat, and made the order stick.”

  It made sense to provide a way out for the chiefs and the clans who didn’t want to follow this self-proclaimed Genghis Khan. But do we want any Westmen allies at all? Mad Bear came south because Walking Stone had the sense and the muscle to try sitting on blood feud. What will the chiefs say when they find out they’ve got less freedom to follow their old customs in the south?

  He wants an answer. Think fast, Galloway.

  Mad Bear grinned. “I know that there may yet be a blood price we owe you, for the last time we came. I will ask the gods. If they say so, my warriors and I will swear to ride with you against your enemies in the north. We know they dream of avenging their defeat upon you. The prisoners we took said as much. If the gods will it, we will shed our blood in battle at your side.”

  That sounded a lot like an offer of alliance—gods permitting. “Will the other chiefs do the same?”

  “I can bind no other chief. Each must call upon the gods himself. Yet surely if the Silver Wolves are bidden to swear oaths of friendship with the Chiefs of the Stone Houses, it will be a sign to others.”

  Which, freely translated, hinted that Mad Bear might twist a few arms.

  Ben Murphy looked expectant. So did Baldy. Mad Bear had no expression at all.

  I’d hate to play poker with him. Man for man the Westmen were the best light cavalry on Tran. They weren’t all that bad in bunches, either, if they could get behind a single chief. Damn Ben Murphy and damn Mad Bear. I want a bath and Preparation H, not decisions—

  “Surely Mad Bear must seek the will of his gods. No man of honor could do less.” And just hope that doesn’t mean human sacrifice or I’m for it with the Yatar people. But I think they just sacrifice horses. “If the gods wish that the Silver Wolves ride with us against our common enemies, they will be greeted with honor. If that is not the will of the gods, the Silver Wolves may depart in peace.”

  Mad Bear grinned widely as Baldy finished the translation. So did the other two. Rick wished he felt as relieved as they did. He’d committed not only himself but the whole alliance to friendship with rebels against Walking Stone. Serves me right for praying for a chance to make a decision without having to consult everyone and his fifth cousin’s steward.

  Rick recalled a Chinese proverb. “Be careful what you wish for. You may get it.”

  * * *

  The anticlimactic council of war took place after the dinner Murphy hosted on the roof of the keep of Westrook. Murphy had had a table, benches, and several kegs of beer lugged up, then dismissed the servants and sat down at the foot of the table. Rick took the head and Bisso, Elliot, Warner, and Mason ranged themselves along the sides.

  Rick had drunk too much beer and eaten too much beef and venison. He felt a little groggy, and knew only part of it was a proper meal after too many days in the saddle. The rest was trying to forget what he might have let his friends and allies in for, and particularly what Tylara might say: You’ve allied with Westmen and traitors to boot.

  It was that way every time they tried to talk. Within seconds she had found something to resent. Or he had. It was easier to avoid each other. It can’t go on like this. The kids aren’t old enough to know what’s happening, but I think they feel it, and I know that damn clanswoman nanny of hers hates my guts.

  When I get home we’re going to have it out. I tell her what I know, and she tells me why.

  Clouds hid both the Firestealer and the Demon Sun, but Murphy had laid out lanterns, and the bonfire in the courtyard added more light. Rick glanced over the battlements at the dancing figures around the fire. It was amazing how much noise two drums, a lyre, and a set of pipes could make.

  Alex Boyd reeled through a patch of firelight, a woman on each arm. Tonight all the unattached fem
ales of Westrook seemed to be making themselves available. Alex shouldn’t have to take “no” for an answer tonight, and that’s one less damn thing to worry about. It sure wouldn’t hurt if somebody’s husband or father did pound on Volunteer Boyd good and hard. Rick blearily realized that the others were waiting for him to speak.

  “All right. We’ve got Westmen whether we like them or not. Like fleas. Murphy, what do the people around here think?”

  “Well, some think the only good Westman is a dead one. Sir. But they don’t all feel that way. Mad Bear did his oath-swearing in front of a couple dozen village headmen and knights. Baldy did the interpreting. They trust him, you know. I taught him a lot of ‘star medicine’ and he’s delivered a lot of babies who wouldn’t have made it.”

  “So they’re willing to let things ride as long as the Westmen behave?”

  “That’s about it, sir. They will behave, too, while Mad Bear’s running things.”

  “Okay. Next question. Suppose he dies. Or suppose his gods tell him not to make an alliance with us. What then?”

  Murphy shrugged. “If Mad Bear dies, the Silver Wolves elect another chief, and we start over again.”

  “The new chief wouldn’t be bound by Mad Bear’s oaths?”

  “No, but he wouldn’t start a fight unless he was real dumb. Any new chief has to be an experienced warrior, and I don’t think any of them are stupid enough to fight star weapons or a castle.”

  “And if the gods don’t come through?”

  “Captain, your guess is as good as mine. One thing, though—I’m not going to force him and his people back to Walking Stone. We couldn’t if we wanted to, and they’d fight to the death if we ever tried.”

  “Murphy—” Elliot began ominously.

  Rick shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking of doing anything of the kind, Sergeant. Being a bheroman doesn’t give you the right to assume your CO’s an idiot.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Still, we can’t keep him and his people around here forever. Not enough good grazing land, for one thing. Besides, some hot-headed warrior or a villager with a grudge would make trouble sooner or later.”

  Warner frowned. “Captain, I don’t know what your lady would say to giving away Chelm land—”

  You certainly do, but thanks for being polite. “Depends on what land.”

  “Way down south. I went through there when I ran away from Parsons. That area’s going to get pretty warm, but there are springs. The land’s too rocky for farming but not for grazing. A bunch of hills, but nothing those little scrubs the Westmen ride couldn’t handle.”

  “I know that area—is there Earth grass there? Horses can’t eat Tran scrub—”

  “Westmen horses can,” Elliot said. “Have to have some grain too, but they make out.”

  “Genetic drift?”

  Elliot shrugged. “Don’t know, sir. But it’s for sure Westmen ponies can live awhile on Tran plants.”

  “There’s Earth grass anyway,” Warner said.

  Probably scattered broadside by the Shalnuksis a thousand years and more ago. They seemed to do that: bring in Earth plants and animals and turn them loose. It made a goofy ecology, but there’s always some kind of ecology. “That’s near the city-states,” Rick mused. “What the hell, if the city-states can’t handle three hundred Westmen, what are they good for?”

  The other laughed. A servant filled their glasses again.

  It’s still alienating Chelm land. Poor land, but Chelm land. I’ll have to get Tylara to buy off on that. Anything else and there’d be trouble with the bheromen and knights. Not to mention Companion Morrone; his claim to Chelm was just as good or bad as ever, and now he had an experienced little army of his own. Making him a Marcher lord had made him tougher but not a whole lot smarter. He’d listen to an appeal from any bheromen who claimed the Eqeta was violating his oaths. Another reason Tylara and I have to talk, if we didn’t have enough already.

  “Okay, I can agree. In principle, anyway.” Rick shrugged. “We have to settle Mad Bear and his people somewhere safe.” Don’t even think the word “reservation,” and maybe you can avoid what usually happens when a nomadic people runs into a sedentary one. If civilization survives and spreads on Tran, the Westmen are doomed; but maybe we can give them a more dignified end than the American Indians got.

  And maybe Tylara will get down on her knees and beg your—

  “Excuse me, Captain.” A servant stood at the head of the stairs. Murphy went to him and came back with a sealed message paper. Rick broke the seal.

  “Christ!”

  “Sir?” Elliot prompted.

  Rick read the message aloud.

  SUTMARG REGION INVADED BY HOST OF TA-MELTEMOS UNDER PRINCE STRYMON. HOST OF DRANTOS ASSEMBLING TO MEET IT. HAVE SUMMONED THE BAN IN THE NORTH. UNIDENTIFIED HORSEMEN IN THE HIGH CUMAC MAY BE SCOUTS FOR SECOND HOST OF HIGH REXJA. WANAX RETURNING FROM BENEVENUTUM. I LEAD THE VANGUARD OF DRANTOS NORTH TO MEET STRYMON. WITH RESPECT SUGGEST YOU REMAIN IN WEST TO MEET INVASION THERE.

  MORRONE,

  PROTECTOR OF THE SOUTHERN MARCHES

  ACTING CAPTAIN GENERAL

  TYLARA DO TAMAERTHON, EQETASSA OF CHELM

  JUSTICIAR OF DRANTOS

  * * *

  “Has that little bastard gone crazy?” Mason said.

  “No. At least not yet,” Rick amended. “With both me and Ganton away from Edron and Armagh, he’s the highest-ranking officer around. He’s sure got the authority to summon the host and lead it north.” Rick thought for a moment. “Fact is, I think he’s right. Strymon moves fast. Give him half a chance and he’ll be through the Sutmarg and into the south in no time. If Morrone moves fast enough he may be able to bottle him up long enough for us to get the Romans into the picture.”

  “If they’ll help,” Mason said quietly.

  “Yeah.” They have to. “Sergeant Major.”

  “Sir.”

  “There’s a hell of a lot we need to know. What’s Strymon got? How did he get into the Sutmarg without any kind of fight?”

  “Maybe—”

  “Maybe. Exactly. Everything’s a maybe. We need information. Now.”

  “I’ll get patrols out.”

  “Send enough that they can leave messenger relays. I want to know things fast. This is a good time to try that new heliograph system.”

  “Sure,” Elliot said. “I’ll send back to Armagh to have a team meet us north of here.”

  “Right. We’re going to have to make a visit to Armagh ourselves, but it’s best to get them started. Murphy.”

  “Yes, sir—”

  Rick stood up. His head felt clearer. “Murphy, Westrook is now the Captain General’s temporary GHQ. I want the semaphore manned around the clock. Ban and arriere-ban, and full patrols north and east. Look for these ‘mysterious horsemen.’ They may be garbled reports of your Westmen, and they may be some of Strymon’s light cavalry. Find out. Send steady troops. We need live witnesses, not dead heroes.”

  “Sir! Uh— Cap’n?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Ban and arriere-ban, and I’ve got nobody to plow and plant.”

  “Christ, Murphy, you think he don’t know that?” Elliot demanded.

  “It’s all right, Top. Murphy, I don’t expect you to keep everybody mobilized all summer, but it can’t hurt to muster them and see what they’ve got.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have to get back to Dravan. This place is too far west for a main base. When you get organized here, send me what you can spare. I’ll have to leave that up to you.”

  “I’ll have a lot after we get the crops planted,” Murphy said. “Not much I can send you until then.”

  “Yeah, I know that. Next. If the gods tell Mad Bear he can join us, send him as escort for some of our hussars. If he doesn’t join up, you’ll have to escort him out of our territory. South. Be polite when you tell him, but he joins us or he goes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bisso, Warner, you ta
ke five troopers and half the Guards back to Edron. Make sure that you take Sniper MacAllister and at least one more of Gengrich’s men. Not Boyd, he stays here.”

  Elliot looked pained.

  “Okay, I know you rely on Bisso, but it can’t be helped.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Warner, when you get to Edron, assess the strategic situation. Consult Gwen. You’re authorized to evacuate the University and escort what you can to Edron. Use the Guards, and if you can get any of Drumold’s people to help, do it. Bisso, you’re field commander. Warner calls the shots, but you’re in charge outside the walls. You’ll also be Acting Provost of the University.”

  Rick watched Larry Warner for signs of resentment, but saw none. Maybe he’s learning.

  “Yes, sir.” Bisso didn’t look too happy.

  Rick suppressed a grin. Independent command was always a nice dream until it turned into a real hot potato. And it’s time we promoted some more NCOs to officer status.

  Of course they already were, as far as the locals were concerned. Star Lords. Brave wise men from the sky. Hah.

  “Do the University people fight?” Warner asked.

  “Not unless you have to, but it’s likely you’ll have to,” Rick said. “You know the situation better than me, but I’d guess some of the minor clans are going to see this as a great opportunity.”

  “I hate to abandon the place—”

  “Warner, the University is its people. Buildings are easy to come by. Trained personnel aren’t. And Gwen’s not replaceable at all.” There, I’ve said it.

  No one argued with him.

  “And me, Colonel?” Art Mason asked.

  “Stand by. We’ll all be going to Dravan as soon as possible, and after that somebody’ll have to collect the ammo from the dump at Armagh. And see to the surinomaz.”

  “That’s you or me, Colonel,” Mason said.

  “Yeah.” Rick thought of the long ride to Dravan, and even farther to Armagh, and shuddered.

  “Anything else?” Mason asked.

  “Not that I think of.” For the moment he needed to hit the latrine. As he headed for the stairs, he heard Warner tell Murphy, “Hey, Ben, it just hit me. Once we’ve won, we give Mad Bear land in the Five Kingdoms.”