“Wouldn’t that make them enemies, dear Veltan?” Ara asked.
“They didn’t get along too well right at first,” Veltan conceded, “but the threat of the creatures of the Wasteland sort of united them.”
There was a much smaller boat that was moving rapidly toward the beach, and Veltan looked at it with a certain affection. “That’s my sloop,” he told Omago and Ara. “She moves right along, doesn’t she?”
“What was that one built for, dear Veltan?” Ara asked. “It doesn’t seem to fit in with the others.”
“She moves very fast,” Veltan said proudly. “I use her when I want to go someplace in a hurry.”
“Isn’t that what your lightning bolt’s supposed to do?”
“My pet’s fast, but she’s very noisy. Sometimes quiet is more important than fast.”
There were four men on the sloop. One of them seemed quite small, another was medium-sized, and the last two were fairly tall and were dressed in leather clothes.
“The little one’s that Maag named Rabbit that I’ve told you about, Omago,” Veltan said. “The young fellow’s a Trogite soldier named Keselo, and the two others are Longbow and Red-Beard, archers from Zelana’s domain.”
“They’re hunters, aren’t they?” Omago asked.
Veltan nodded. “Very good hunters,” he said. “Red-Beard’s not quite as good as Longbow, but then, nobody’s as good as Longbow is. As far as I know, he’s never missed. His arrow always goes where he wants it to go.”
Omago smiled faintly. “When I was a boy, I used to dream about being a hunter. It must be a very exciting life.”
“I suppose it is, Omago, but Longbow isn’t just an ordinary hunter. His war with the creatures of the Wasteland started a long time ago. He hates them, and he kills every one he sees. Technically, I suppose he’s working for my sister Zelana, but he doesn’t take orders very well. Eleria’s about the only one he really listens to, and he’ll even jerk her up short every now and then.”
“Doesn’t that make your sister angry?” Ara asked.
“Not really. Zelana knows that he’s loyal and that he’s doing his best to help her, but he does things his own way.” Veltan shrugged. “It’s the results that really matter. The method isn’t all that important.”
“Where’s Yaltar?” Omago asked.
“He’s traveling with Zelana and Eleria on the Seagull—that’s the ship of Sorgan Hook-Beak, the commander of the Maags,” Veltan replied. “Someday I suppose I’ll take him for a ride on my pet thunderbolt, but he might be a little young for that right now.”
“Much too young,” Ara said firmly.
The small ship Veltan had called a “sloop” came ashore somewhat in advance of the rest of the fleet, and Veltan introduced Omago and Ara to the men who’d been on board. “This is the one I’ve been telling you about, Omago,” Veltan said, putting his hand on Rabbit’s shoulder. “If you tell him what you need, I’m sure he’ll be able to hammer whatever it is out of metal.”
“I hope so,” Omago replied, looking at the little man Veltan called Rabbit. “Veltan came by a while back,” he told the Maag, “and he told me what was happening in his sister’s Domain. Then he gave me a knife to show me what he was talking about when he used the word ‘metal.’ I got to thinking about it, and it seemed to me that if I lashed the knife to the front end of a long pole, it might make a fairly useful tool when we come up against the creatures of the Wasteland.”
“We call those tools ‘spears,’ Omago,” Rabbit said, “and they’ve been around for a long, long time.”
“Really? I sort of thought that I’d come up with the idea all by myself. We don’t know all that much about wars, though.”
“This one’s very quick, Rabbit,” the young Trogite Keselo said. “If he’s never seen a spear or even heard about one, it seems that he invented it right on the spot.”
“It does sort of look that way, doesn’t it?” Rabbit agreed with a slight frown. “If you come up with any more of these ideas, Omago, describe them to me. Then I’ll hammer one out and we’ll see how it works. How did the idea of the spear come to you?”
Omago shrugged. “I’ve got an extensive orchard, and I use a long pole with a cross-piece tied to the tip to pull down the higher limbs so that I can pick the fruit without climbing up the tree. I was standing there with the knife in one hand and the pole in the other, and the notion of putting them together sort of popped into my head.”
“Any time you hear one of those ‘pops,’ let me know about it,” Rabbit said.
“Some skiffs are coming in,” the tall archer Longbow said. “Sorgan, Narasan, and a few of the others will be here soon.”
“Good,” Veltan said. “We’ve got work to do, and we haven’t got much time.”
Omago was more than a little surprised by the hulking Maags. He’d never seen people so tall before, and the assorted metal weapons they had hanging from their belts were quite intimidating. The Trogites were shorter and somewhat darker, but they were also well armed.
Then Omago saw Yaltar trailing somewhat to the rear with a beautiful lady who was almost certainly Veltan’s sister Zelana, and a perhaps even more beautiful little girl, who was obviously Zelana’s Dreamer Eleria.
Ara rushed down toward the water and embraced the boy, and Yaltar clung to her as if something terrible had recently happened.
“Nice country, Veltan,” a Trogite with silver-touched hair at his temples observed.
“Thank you, Narasan,” Veltan replied. “Where’s Gunda?”
“I sent him on back to Castano to bring the rest of the army here,” the Trogite replied. “I’m hoping that the open channel through the ice is still there.”
“It is,” Veltan assured him. “Did you run into any problems on the way here?”
“No, the only problems we encountered cropped up before we set sail. Red-Beard’s tribe wasn’t very happy when he told them that he’d be gone for a while. His elevation to the rank of chief was fairly recent, and he’s been quite open about his dislike for the whole idea. They’re convinced that he seized on the idea of sailing south as a means of escape. There’s a lady in his tribe named Planter, and she said some very uncomplimentary things to him before we left.”
“Just let it lie, Narasan,” the red-bearded fellow who’d come ashore from the sloop growled.
“Just trying to explain a few things, Red-Beard,” Narasan replied. “My employer has a right to know about these little squabbles, wouldn’t you say?”
Red-Beard turned and stalked away, muttering to himself.
“This is Omago, Commander,” Veltan said. “I’ve known him since he was a little boy, and the other farmers and the shepherds all seem to bring their problems to him.”
“He’s quite gifted, Commander,” Keselo reported. “Veltan brought him an iron knife to show him what the word ‘metal’ really means, and he turned right around and invented the spear.”
“The spear’s been around for centuries, Keselo,” a very thin Trogite scoffed.
“Not around here, it hasn’t, Jalkan. The farmers around here don’t even know what the word ‘war’ means, so they’ve never needed weapons of any kind. Omago refers to his spear as a ‘tool.’ That suggests an entirely different sort of mind, wouldn’t you say?”
“The other farmers were quite impressed when Omago showed them his spear, Commander Narasan,” Veltan said, “and they’d really like to have spears of their own.”
“What does a farmer need a spear for?” the thin Trogite Jalkan demanded with a faint sneer.
“That’s about enough of that, Jalkan,” Commander Narasan said firmly.
“It’s a legitimate question, Commander,” Veltan said. “I’d mentioned that our enemies are part bug, and some accounts of the war in Zelana’s Domain drifted across the border between our two Domains, and Omago heard a few references to ‘bug-men.’ Any time a farmer hears the word ‘bug,’ he starts to feel very belligerent. A swarm of locusts can devour a
whole year’s crop in less than a day. After Omago had shown the other farmers his spear, they sort of volunteered to join us in the upcoming war.”
“If we showed them how to form a phalanx, they could be very useful, couldn’t they, Commander?” the young soldier Keselo suggested.
“They might at that,” Narasan agreed. “They’d need shields, though.”
“What’s a shield?” Omago asked the commander.
“It’s a metal plate we strap to our left arms. We use it to protect our bodies from enemy weapons.”
“Sorgan’s coming, sir,” Keselo advised.
“Good.” Narasan looked at Veltan. “Where do you think we should set up our camp?” he asked.
“That’s something I wanted to talk over with you, Commander,” Veltan replied. “I don’t want to offend you, but it seems to me that we might want to keep your army— and Sorgan’s as well—on board your ships. Your men are well disciplined, but Sorgan’s Maags—? Well, I’m sure you get my point.”
“It’s crystal clear, Veltan. Peacetime brings out the worst in the Maags.”
“We’ll be moving up to the Falls of Vash before long anyway,” Veltan continued, “so setting up a temporary camp would just be a waste of time and labor. My people have been gathering food for your armies, and I’ll have them bring it here to the beach. In the meantime, I’ll take you and Sorgan and some of the others to my house to have a look at my map. I filched Rabbit’s idea of a lumpy picture, so you’ll be able to get some idea of the terrain near the falls. My big brother’s Dreamer said that we’ll be fighting this war up there, so you’ll need to be familiar with the territory.”
A towering Maag came up from the water’s edge to join them. “The country around here looks a lot flatter than it was off to the West, Narasan,” he said, “and there aren’t so many trees.”
“That doesn’t hurt my feelings too much, Sorgan,” Narasan replied. “Fighting a war in the bushes irritates me. This is Omago. He’s sort of in charge here.”
“The chief, you mean?”
“We’re a little less formal here, Sorgan,” Veltan said. “Omago doesn’t give orders to the other farmers. He makes suggestions sometimes, but that’s about as far as it goes.”
“Veltan thinks that we might want to leave our men on board the ships for now,” Narasan said. “We’ll be marching on up into the mountains in just a few days anyway, so there wouldn’t be much point in having them come ashore and set up a camp.”
“I’ll go along with you there, Veltan,” Sorgan agreed.
“I will want to take you and Narasan—and any others you might want to bring along—up to my house,” Veltan added. “I’ve put together a map that you’d better have a look at. The terrain where we’ll be fighting this time’s much steeper than the ravine above Lattash was.”
Sorgan shrugged. “I’ll bring Ox and Ham-Hand,” he said. “When you get right down to it, though, this is Narasan’s war. I just came along for the ride.”
“That’s not true, and you know it, Sorgan,” Narasan flared.
“Maybe not,” Sorgan replied with a wicked grin, “but this time we’re going to do things your way. That means that I get to blame you when things go wrong.”
“You’re all heart, Sorgan,” Narasan said sourly.
“I thought you might have noticed that,” Sorgan replied, grinning even more broadly.
Omago saw that the two widely different men had apparently developed a strong friendship during the course of the war in the West, and he believed that would probably be very useful when trouble arrived.
“Just exactly how’s the church organized here in the Land of Dhrall?” the thin, leather-clad Trogite called Jalkan asked Omago curiously as they were all following the path from the beach through the wheat-fields to Veltan’s house.
“I’m not sure I follow you,” Omago replied. “What exactly do you mean by ‘church’?”
“Priests. The ones who lead the people in their prayers and make sure that they aren’t violating the articles of the faith.” Jalkan seemed very curious about this.
“We don’t have anything like that here in Veltan’s Domain,” Omago replied. “I’ve heard that there’s something along those lines over in the Domain of his sister Aracia, but Veltan doesn’t seem to think we need anything like that here in the Southland. If someone wants to ask Veltan a question, he just goes up to his house and talks with him about it, but they usually go through me for some reason.”
“Are you saying that you talk directly with your god?” Jalkan demanded in a shocked voice.
“That’s why he’s there, isn’t it?”
“But—” Jalkan floundered.
“Different places have different customs, I guess,” Omago said. “We’re fairly relaxed here in the South.”
“Where are all the gold mines located?” Jalkan quickly changed the subject. “That’s what this war’s all about, isn’t it? I mean, these invaders we’ll be fighting are coming here because they want your gold, don’t they?”
“I doubt it. I don’t think the servants of the Vlagh are very interested in the yellow metal some people use for trinkets. The Vlagh wants our land and the food we grow.”
Jalkan’s expression turned suspicious, and he abruptly stalked away.
“I wouldn’t answer too many of that one’s questions, Omago,” the tall archer Longbow suggested quietly. “The other Trogites don’t like him very much. He’s very greedy, and he doesn’t treat his men too well.”
“These outlanders are peculiar, aren’t they?”
Longbow smiled faintly. “They seem to think that we’re the peculiar ones. Their lives are very complicated, but we try our best to keep everything simple. I’m not sure exactly why, but that seems to offend them for some reason.”
“I’ll be glad when this is all over and they pack up and go home.”
“You’re not alone there, friend Omago.”
“That’s impossible!” The Trogite called Padan exclaimed, staring in awe at Veltan’s house. “It’s all one solid rock!”
Veltan shrugged. “It keeps the bad weather out,” he said. “I noticed back in Kaldacin that most of the fancy buildings down there let in a lot of cold air.”
“How did you do that?”
“Are you sure that you really want to know, Padan?” Veltan asked with a sly little grin.
Padan gave him a quick, slightly startled look. “I don’t think so,” he said after a moment. “I’m getting a strong notion that I won’t sleep too well if you tell me exactly how you made it.”
“Let’s all go on inside, friends,” Veltan said to the outlanders. “I stole an idea from Rabbit and made a detailed map of the region where we’ll probably meet the enemy. I think you should all have a look at it so you’ll know what we’ll be coming up against.”
Omago waited near the door until Ara joined him. “How’s Yaltar?” he asked his wife quietly.
“Not all that well, dear,” Ara replied. “As I understand it, he had to do something fairly awful up there in Zelana’s Domain, and it’s really bothering him. Zelana’s doing what she can to calm him, but about the only thing that helps him is holding Eleria’s hand.”
“Are you going to stay with them?” Omago asked her.
“I think I’d better, dear. We’ll be in the kitchen. I’ll need to fix supper for these outlanders anyway, and the smell of cooking food usually makes Yaltar feel better.”
Omago smiled. “The smell of your cooking makes everybody feel better, dear heart,” he said fondly.
“It seems that way, doesn’t it? Run along, dear. Veltan might need some help explaining things to the strangers.”
Omago rejoined the others, and they trailed along behind Veltan and entered a large room that so far as Omago could recall he’d never seen before. That wasn’t really unusual, though. Every now and then Veltan rearranged his house, switching the locations of various rooms for no particular reason.
“This is my map-room,�
� Veltan announced with a certain pride. “It’s sort of based on your war-room back in Kaldacin, Commander Narasan, but there are a few variations.”
“I noticed that,” the Trogite commander said with a kind of awe in his voice. The room was circular, and the doorway opened onto a sort of balcony that was perhaps ten feet above the floor. The map Veltan had constructed lay down below, and so far as Omago could determine, it was a perfect duplicate of the mountainous country around the Falls of Vash. Omago knew that Veltan was gifted, but this was astonishingly accurate.
“Where’s all that water coming from?” Sorgan Hook-Beak asked. “I don’t see any little streams leading into that river that’s tumbling over the edge of the cliff.”
“It comes up from beneath the ground,” Veltan explained. “It’s a bit quiet right now. Every now and then it gets sort of excited, and the water spurts about a hundred feet up into the air.”
“Did you put that there, Veltan?” the young Trogite Keselo asked.
Veltan shook his head. “I think an earthquake might have caused it. The ground’s a bit unstable under those mountains.”
“The ground up there by that waterfall’s a whole lot steeper than what we encountered in the ravine above Lattash,” Sorgan observed. “That might give us a bit of trouble on down the line.”
“Could you come up with a notion of just when we can expect the enemy to reach that area, Veltan?” Commander Narasan asked.
“We’re encountering the same problem we came up against in the ravine above Lattash,” Veltan replied. “My brother’s Dreamer told him where, but he couldn’t be very specific about when.”
“If they’ve been boring tunnels under the ground, they might be up there waiting for us already,” Padan suggested.
“No,” the young Trogite Keselo disagreed. “It took them centuries to bore their way through the rock from the stairway to the caves leading to those ancient villages in the ravine. They haven’t had enough time to get to that waterfall yet.”
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