Lilah leaned forward a little on her throne, her white hand beneath her white chin, brooding on me. “I shall send all my army up against Umgar Stro in Chersonang. I believe we can break both him and them, together. This will be your opportunity, Dray Prescot, to seek and find the woman you desire. I offer you the chance to command my army, with my generals, to go up against Umgar Stro at the head of a host. Come, what do you say?”
At my side Thelda gasped.
The guards pressed more closely about us now.
There was no need to discuss with myself my answer.
“I thank you, Lilah, for your offer. It is generous of you. But I cannot wait. I will leave for Chersonang at once — sleep will have to wait, instead.”
“You fool!”
I turned to go and Seg’s hand flashed up with the arrow between his fingers and a spear point tripped him so that he fell sprawling before the throne. My sword was half drawn when something — a spear butt, the flat of a sword — sledged down on my head and I tumbled down that long smooth slope of black oblivion.
Chapter Sixteen
The army of Hiclantung marches out
If you choose to think my actions at this time — and, indeed, for some time past — had been irrational, I could not argue the point with you.
Truly, I now feel that the belief my Delia was dead had deranged me. I know I had acted in ways completely outside my usual fashion, and, yet, too, in ways I have been told are typical of me, as witness that wild moment when I defied the Queen of Pain to rush out from the windlass room in the corthdrome upon the indigo-haired assassins of Umgar Stro. I must have been in a state of shock that allowed me to walk and talk and act and yet held me all the time in a kind of mental stasis.
The ancient Chinese, we are told, had perfected the art of torture by water, the expected drop of liquid crashing onto the victim’s forehead like a weight crushing into his brain. A single small drop could not do that; it was the expectation and the mounting terror of the inevitable, alternated with the passive bouts of cringing waiting. First I had thought Delia dead, then I had heard she might be alive, then her death was once more certain, and now again she might be missing and, perhaps, better dead. The sheer vibrationary pressure, the nightmare nutcracker rhythm of it all, had made of me a different animal from the man who had flown over The Stratemsk.
Of only one thing could I be sure. Whether dead or alive, Delia would fiercely insist that I go on with life, that I persevere, that I never give in.
Seg and I recovered quietly in a comfortable room set deep within the palace. The room was as luxuriously furnished as anyone could wish, windowless, lit with samphron oil lamps, and set everywhere with the motionless and watchful figure of guards, spearmen of the Queen’s own household in their embroidered robes and gleaming helmets, their steel-tipped spears. We were both naked. We had no weapons.
Seg said: “We could take the spears from these dummies, easily, you and I, Dray!”
I said: “We could. We could fight our way clear if we went together. But — what of Thelda?”
His look distressed me.
“Thelda,” he said, and he bowed that mane of black hair to his brawny forearms.
So we pondered our chances of breaking free and taking the plump Lady of Vallia with us.
Wherever we were marched within the Queen’s palace we were accompanied by an overwhelming escort, consisting of spearmen and bowmen. These latter, we knew, effectively prevented the sudden dash for freedom. And yet, even then, we knew we were not prisoners in any ordinary sense of that term. We became aware of a sense of heightened purpose within Hiclantung. Soldiers moved everywhere. Preparations were being made and Seg was moved to express a fierce dark satisfaction in the demeanor of the men.
“They have not forgotten what Umgar Stro did to them. Through the treachery of one man, that Forpacheng, their pride was humbled.” Seg moved his hands meaningfully. “Well, now they are regrouping, remembering their traditions. They will not suffer the same fate again.”
Hwang, the Queen’s nephew, came to see us, distressed by what Lilah was forced to do to us — as he said, for our own good.
His young face wore the kind of look one associates with a child’s awareness of some mischief, and the desire to brazen it out. He flung his embroidered robes away from his legs, kicking them petulantly, as he sat down. Seg hospitably poured wine — it was a purple beverage of excellent vintage, I recall, full-bodied yet not too sweet, from the western slopes of Mount Storr — and Hwang took the goblet as though prepared to sup and to forget what was on his mind.
“I have just come from the dancing girls at Shling-feraeo,” he said. “They bored me.”
“Umgar Stro,” I said.
Hwang nodded. “Yes, Dray Prescot. You have it aright.”
We began a technical discussion concerning the equipment and tactics of the army of Hiclantung, in which Seg pressed hard. I might have felt amusement, with another man, at another time without worries, at the way Seg so passionately concerned himself with the prospects of this lame remnant of the glorious empire of Walfarg. Much of Seg’s home country, that mysterious land of mountains and valleys called Erthyrdrin, I came to know later; but nothing could quench the burning pride in Seg, a pride echoed in Hwang, that the ancient virtues of Loh should survive, and that he, as a man of Erthyrdrin, should participate to the full in their perpetuation. Perhaps I caught a glimpse, there in that silken scented prison room of the palace of Hiclantung, of the breaking of barriers of nationality that was so much to affect my life on Kregen.
Seg was a man of Erthyrdrin, and he had told me how his people were feared by the other peoples of Loh — there had been much wild free talk between us — and now, here he was, dourly determined to smash unknown enemies of the Lohvians.
For the enemies were unknown in the sense that the people of Chersonang were unknown to Seg and myself, and Umgar Stro clearly had not flexed all his military muscle and therefore was unknown to Hwang and the Lohvian army of Hiclantung.
Presently Hwang said to me, with a smile and a gesture of the hand holding the wine goblet: “You are a wise man, Dray Prescot, not to attempt escape. You are a man I think could escape if you willed it. But you have put both the Queen and myself into your debt; and we are conscious of that—”
“You are not in my debt.”
“For myself, thinking of you as a friend, I am glad you go up against Umgar Stro with an army, and not alone.”
“Huh,” said Seg Segutorio.
Hwang inclined his head, squinting along the goblet.
“Assuredly, Seg. By alone I meant with you and without my army.”
“You are in command?” I said.
“In a manner of speaking. Orpus holds joint-command. There are other generals. We believe you will join us, Dray Prescot, to give us the wisdom of your advice.”
“Seg is perfectly accustomed to commanding men in combat.”
Hwang looked with a strange kind of affection upon my comrade. “Yes. Seg is of Erthyrdrin, and we who remain of Walfarg know of them well. There was once a time . . . Well” — he drained the goblet — “no matter.”
He stood up to go.
Then, looking down on us, for protocol was not respected by me so long as I remained a prisoner, Hwang said: “I have had a messenger from Naghan. You remember Naghan, the spy?”
“Yes.”
“He will return very soon. His report — and it is cautious as befits a spy — says he will have news of Delia—”
Hwang’s shoulder was gripped in my fist and my ugly face blazed down into his.
“What?”
He wriggled. I took my hand away, drawing a breath, glowering.
“When Naghan reports I will bring him to speak with you.”
“Do that, Hwang. Pray God, Zair, my life — his news is good!”
We had insisted we be allowed exercise and the guard commander would march us to a wide hall where Seg and I jumped and ran and thwacked at ea
ch other with quarter staffs until we both slumped sweating and aching and thoroughly worked out. I cannot say we were tired, for this make-believe action merely titillated the muscles of men accustomed to the real hardships of campaigns and battles.
At last Naghan the spy returned.
Queen Lilah, Orpus, and Hwang came to our luxurious prison room with Naghan. With them, also, a grim armored body of the Queen’s spearmen indicated clearly she would stand no nonsense from Seg or myself. Also — surprisingly — Thelda walked in with them, dressed in her old brown short-skirted garment and with her hands bound behind her with golden cords. Her color was high. Her bosom jutted. Her head was held erect and arrogantly. She stared around contemptuously, saw Seg and myself, and all her composure crumbled so that, for just an instant, we saw the lonely frightened girl she really was. Then she caught herself, and resumed that haughty patrician air that remained to her the only bastion against insanity.
“Speak, Naghan,” commanded Lilah.
The spy did not cringe. He looked at me curiously. His short body was clad in a simple robe with the minimum of embroidery, and his faded eyes sized me up in a way I knew few had done upon Kregen beneath Antares.
He opened his mouth, he started to speak, to say, “I now know for certain that the Princess Delia of Vallia is—” when Lilah stopped him with a single word.
She faced me. Since that dramatic meeting in her private room where we had drunk wine and she had lain at my feet with her garment of gems winking and flashing upon her white body, we had not encountered each other alone. I guessed she had been unsure of herself, unwilling to confront me again without the presence of her courtiers and her generals and her guards imposing an iron restraint upon her conduct.
“Let him speak, Lilah,” I said.
“After we have spoken, Dray Prescot.”
“Then be brief.”
“I desire you to go with my army against Umgar Stro. You will lead them, inspire them. With you at their head they will attack to the victory.”
“That is easy enough — it might suffice for vengeance. Is there more than vengeance to be found in Chersonang, Lilah?”
She frowned. Her red widow’s peak of hair drew down, it seemed, with the movement of her face, so that she presented a brooding and devilish look. She wore a tunic of green — not the green of Magdag or the green of Esztercari, but green nonetheless — and a short skirt of green over leather-clad legs. Her embroidered robes were put away. Around her narrow waist a golden belt tightened her figure, emphasizing the fact she was a woman, and from it swung a jeweled sword. In her left hand she carried a switch. All the time we spoke and without conscious effort on my part a portion of my attention concentrated on that switch.
“I want you to give me your word, by the sacred name of Hlo-Hli, by whatever pagan goddesses rule you, that you will not leave my army until you have led it to victory.”
“And what if the host of Umgar Stro prevails?”
“In that case, the issue will not matter to anyone.”
“Nothing is certain in war.”
Her whole attitude bespoke extreme uncertainty; she was bandying words with me, and she a queen.
“Give me your word—”
“I will do what I can for your army against Umgar Stro, because that happens to fit into my own desires, Lilah. Beyond that even your Hlo-Hli can do nothing. Now give Naghan leave to speak.”
Her small mouth compressed and the switch lifted. But she turned to Naghan calmly enough and told him to report.
“The Princess Delia of Vallia is now known to me for certain as not the name of the female prisoner on whose track I spent a great deal of time—”
I stood there. I could not speak or move. I simply glared at this calm matter-of-fact man called Naghan the spy, and he saw my eyes and he swallowed, that grave courageous man, and went on: “As San Yuong has said, all the prisoners except himself were killed at Plicla. I have been in Chersonang. There is a female prisoner there, who may or may not be the Princess Delia of Vallia. I have discovered only that she is kept penned in a dungeon, miserably. I have had no opportunity to speak with her, but she has female servants and slaves. The talk is that Umgar Stro is too busy to win conquests at this time; when the battle has been won he will deign to try his mettle with her.”
Queen Lilah sniffed. “From what I hear of Umgar Stro that fits his contemptible character. He likes his women pliable; drugged, eager for love. He will not waste time fighting a woman; he demands they yield to him with counterfeit joy.”
“I know that type of sub-man,” said Seg. He would not look at me.
Before anyone could stop her, Thelda burst out: “And is the man who forces a girl any the less of a sub-man, then?”
Orpus stroked his beard, which, as always, lent weight to what he was saying. “No. Passion in either case is unlawful and vile. But — I put it to you that no woman can be raped unless she desires it.”
Thelda gasped, looking shocked, and Lilah smiled reflectively. I remembered the stories of her cast-off lovers, the abandoned detritus of the Queen of Pain.
I said: “When do we leave?”
“On the morrow.” Orpus nodded, and he seemed pleased. “The plans are perfectly laid. You will ride at the apex of the host, Dray Prescot. The Queen’s generals have planned everything with meticulous attention—”
Seg Segutorio, highly incensed, cut into Orpus’ words.
“What of Delia?”
Naghan remained silent. Lilah moved her switch, but she, too, did not say anything.
“Delia may be the woman,” Seg said. “We do not know—”
“We will ride at the head of the host, Seg, you and I,” I said. “We will fight. If the army of Hiclantung can follow me, then it may. But I shall fight through to Umgar Stro, I think, or I will be cut down.”
Orpus nodded briskly. “Excellent. Our plans call for a great charge that will reduce the cramphs of Chersonang to slime beneath our feet. They are but Harfnars—”
“Harfnars, yes,” said Naghan in his quiet voice. “But they fight exceedingly well. And Umgar Stro with his Ullars has drilled and strengthened them. Half-men they may be, but they will fight.”
Orpus boomed a great basso laugh.
“There will be no treachery in our ranks, this time, when the Ullars fly down upon us. We have learned how to defend ourselves against impiters and corths. When the accursed Harfnars see their new allies retreating, bloodied and torn, they will not fight as they have done in the past.”
Clearly the sense of historic conflict sounded in Orpus’ words. For many years the hatred and rivalry between Hiclantung and Chersonang had festered. Now a new element in the Ullars had been added. There was sense in what Orpus said — sense, and a deadly danger these Lohvians would not see.
So we sallied forth on the morrow, a proud and eager company. Queen Lilah was with the host. Wearing her green tunic and with a glittering gilded breastplate, she led out for a space. With Seg and myself, mounted upon nactrixes, rode Hwang’s regiment of cavalry. Heavy horsemen, with long lances and armor, and with a breathtaking panoply of embroidery and silken banners, they rode arrogantly, confident in their own prowess.
The infantry marched in their regimented formations. Varters rumbled in the intervals. There were also many strange contrivances mounted on carriages whose purpose I was to come to understand passing well in later years. At this time I saw them in action but the once, and was impressed.
Thelda rode with Seg and me. Lilah wanted to keep her under her eye. Seg and I wore half-armor, bronze breastplates and shoulder-pieces, beautifully made. There comes a time in a people when armor is so splendidly made that its very beauty cancels out much of its function. The empire of Walfarg had fallen to interior problems as much as by barbarian invasions, and a symptom of that ancient disease showed in the conspicuous artistry of the armor, its incredible standard of workmanship, its comfortable fit, its padding, its cunning fastenings — and in the ominous clefts be
tween piece and piece, the gaps at neck and shoulder.
I did not care.
I felt a lightening of my spirits. I had been imprisoned in a silken bower unable to break free; and now I once more rode beneath the twin suns of Scorpio and advanced into Kregan warfare. I did not know if Delia lived. I would find out. Of that I was certain.
The whole glittering procession marched firmly toward Chersonang and following us tailed a massive baggage train. No comforts would be missed on a Lohvian campaign. We would, in any case, spend only a few days on the march before we crossed the border and approached Chersonang city.
“You do realize, Dray, that that she-leem only wants you to lead her army? She wants you to rush in first and break a way for the rest of her lackeys. You’ve had no say in the strategy, have you?”
“Yes, Thelda, and no, Thelda,” I said. “I have more or less promised. You must understand why I agreed.”
“But there’s no need!” She bit her lip while Seg shot a quick glance at her as she rode between us. She wore a proper riding habit, and once more looked a great lady, her switch in her gloved hand.
“Oh?”
Her nactrix jostled closer to mine; she reached out her hand to me and her face showed a strange look, of compassion, baffled desire, remorse — self-doubt, even. Thelda had never been one to exhibit the slightest self-doubt; even the business of the vilmy and fallimy flowers had not fazed her for long.
About to pay attention to what was festering in her, I was caught by the long shrilling sounds of Hiclantung trumpets, those fabled silver trumpets of Loh. Intense activity boiled up.
“Look!”
Low over the horizon, skimming the ground and rising and falling over groves of trees, a myriad black shapes darted down on us. A swarm of midges they appeared at first; and in seconds the narrowing distance converted them into fanged and wide-winged impiters, metal-jangling, with fearsome Ullars perched on their backs waving their spears in ferocious glee at the onslaught.
Between the scattered clumps of trees the ground undulated gently in waves of rippling grasses, a motionless sea endlessly in motion. The Ullars flew their mounts directly down on us, disdaining any attempt to stalk us from the sun. Instantly the compact formations of the Hiclantung infantry shook out into fresh patterns and I saw the forest of upraised left arms, the longbows bent, the sunlight glinting from the jagged arrow barbs.
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