The Lantern of God

by John Dalmas

  "I would like to stay here, on the roof of your penthouse, and meditate." There was more, unspoken, not even articulated mentally.

  Dazzlik's answer was partly voiced, partly silent. (Sense of: We have been waiting for you.) "We are happy that you have come." (Sense of: Your needs will be seen to.) He turned to a youthful disciple and spoke mildly. "Felsettos, bring supper to the Lamp of Hrum. Then obtain a ladder by which he can mount to the roof."

  That said, the master bowed again and lowered himself to his prayer mat, paying no more attention to the visiting sage. Folding his long, skinny legs, Panni too sat down, opened his bundle and took forth his bowl. The young disciple went to a sack hanging on the wall and took out a leafy green head of sallto as large as his two fists. He presented it to Panni with a bow, took the sage's bowl and brought it back full of a vegetable stew with bits of meat. Then he hurried from the room. Panni began with the sallto, eating slowly so that it lasted till Felsettos returned, sweaty and breathing hard, to bow again.

  "The ladder is outside the door," he said. "Orros Vencarrnos, who has the honor of owning this building, says the ladder is yours as long as you wish to keep it."

  The sage's eyes met Felsettos', and without speaking he grinned. Picking the morsels from the stew one by one, he ate them slowly, drank the broth, licked his fingers and wiped them on a rag, unfolded his legs, got easily up, and washed his bowl in the pan provided. Then he gathered his bundle loosely in one hand, went outside and climbed the ladder to the roof of the penthouse. Laying out his prayer mat, he sat down on it, facing south across the city, the lowering sun brightening his right profile, and almost at once entered a trance.

  * * *

  Elver Brokols no longer fooled himself that he would, or could, play both sides of the game. So it felt peculiar to him to sit again at his wireless; peculiar and somehow dangerous. But it also seemed necessary to continue the pretense with Kryger. And to otherwise mislead, perhaps confuse, and just possibly learn something.

  Almost he wished Kryger's sounder would remain silent, but after a moment his signal was acknowledged. Looking at the message he'd drafted, Brokols began to send:

  "Have returned to Theedalit from week with army unit. Stop. Hrummean discipline and morale excellent. Stop. Have had crossbow constructed and interested army in it. Stop."

  The two statements out of three were deliberate lies. He had, of course, not been with the army. Also the expert Hrummean longbowmen had greater range and much faster rate of fire than crossbows could provide, and their accuracy was excellent. But he was willing to bet that discipline and morale were strong indeed.

  "Government has accepted that Djez Gorrbul is the threat. Stop. Almeon too far away. Stop. Public belief increasingly follows government position. Stop. Brokols end."

  After a few seconds the sounder began to rattle.

  * * *

  MESSAGE RECEIVED STOP CONTINUE EFFORTS STOP KRYGER END COMPLETED

  * * *

  The sounder stilled, and Brokols frowned at Kryger's reply. It told him nothing new, nothing of value. "Kryger end. Completed." No questions, no probing—the apparency of disinterest. Perhaps Kryger had written him off as too uncertain a quantity to waste attention on.

  I'll keep checking in from time to time though, Brokols told himself. It was desirable that Kryger not speculate too much on what he might be doing here in Hrumma, and it seemed to Brokols that such speculation was more likely if he stopped reporting entirely.

  * * *

  It was not long after daylight, and his disciples were eating their morning porridge—when Tassi Vermaatio got up! It took all of them by surprise except the two masters. When he stood, the ancient skinny calves, the scrawny arms, looked somehow even more fragile than usual.

  It was not the customary time of the week for him to stand up. Just two days earlier he'd relieved himself, sipped satta and eaten a crust.

  He looked around interestedly, his gaze absorbing who was there, and he bobbed his head, acknowledging their presence. Then he went to the door and outside. Two of the younger disciples hurried after him without orders from the masters, who continued eating unconcernedly. To their astonishment and concern, the old man stepped to the ladder and climbed slowly to the flat roof.

  Panni's head turned toward him, eyes focusing, and he grinned. Tassi grinned toothlessly back, and without a mat, sat down a few feet away, legs folded, back straight. Both sages' eyes slipped out of focus then, and they returned to their trances.

  Forty-Six

  For a very long time, ships in the waters around Hrumma and the Djezes had been single-masted square-sail craft, undecked, that used oars when the winds were contrary. Shipping had always been much more important to the Hrummeans than to the Djezians, and eventually, several millenia before the first Almaeic expedition, a Hrummean invented the keel, making taller masts practical. Not long after that, someone else had reinvented the fore-and-aft rig and built the first sloop on the continent. Its greater agility in coast-wise shipping had rather quickly made it the standard, and oars soon disappeared from merchantmen. Over the last millenium and a half, the Hrummeans had built a few larger ships for the long runs of the Djezian trade, requiring a second mast, thus reinventing the schooner. But their domestic shipping almost never called for so large a ship. Even for trade with the Djezes, sloops were usually adequate, as well as cheaper to build and operate.

  That of course was on the west coast. The Djezes didn't have an east coast.

  When the treaty with the Kinnli Innjakot established a regular Hrummean lumber and charcoal trade from Agate Bay (and later iron trade from Iron Island), schooners became important out of Hrummean ports on the east coast. And the two largest vessels out of Gardozzi Bay were built as topsail schooners, increasing both size and speed.

  The boat that Eltrienn and Vessto rode was a schooner, carrying considerably more passengers than crew aboard.

  Eltrienn and Vessto had left Theedalit on kaaborback with a second centurion, Danntis Deltibbio, and as they rode, Eltrienn had drilled the other two on the basics of the barbarian language. When they left Gardozzi Bay, the once deputy-factor, Ressteto Istroovio, had added his greater fluency to the language lessons. Both Eltrienn and Ressteto were surprised at how rapidly Vessto learned; an adept gets the images and concepts along with the words.

  And Eltrienn especially was surprised at other things about Vessto. He'd changed dramatically overnight, that last night at Theedalit.

  The schooner arrived in Agate Bay at night, just ahead of a following squall, and rode the hook in the lee of the raw stone ridge that was the south point. Dawn broke to skies freshly clear except for scattered tatters of cloud, a few first and second-magnitude stars, a light cool offshore breeze, and a long swell that rolled the schooner slowly, her mast a silent metronome sweeping a considerable arc. Some of her passengers manned the capstan, raising the anchor, and she tacked her slow way up the bay, sunrise catching her within sight of the Agate River.

  The wharf was still there, a half-mile upstream, and the sawmill with its undershot waterwheel, the kilns for brick and tile, the broader kilns for charcoal. They could see them as they approached the river. But the captain anchored outside its mouth, and the Cadriio brothers, with Ressteto Istroovio, rowed themselves to shore in a small boat.

  No one was there. Lumber still lay piled on the wharf, seasoning beyond dryness in the sun. A quick inspection showed that the cabins hadn't been occupied or despoiled—a hopeful sign—but the broad blood stain in the old factor's office clouded the morning for Eltrienn, and left a tight-lipped cast on Ressteto's face. Vessto was not affected emotionally, but he could feel Ressteto's emotion, and kept his face somber in respect for the others.

  They started on foot up the river, the four of them, past decks of logs still piled on skids, wood borers chewing audibly inside them, a slight dry, grinding sound. Beyond the millsite, the wagon road became a broad footpath, with here and there the marks of split hooves in the dirt. A
heavy-haunched kaabor, a draft animal, ventured down to drink, saw the Hrummeans coming, and wheeling, loped noisily into the thicket of a second-growth forest. Encouraging, Ressteto thought. The Innjakot haven't butchered them. If things work out, we can bait them up with grain and catch them—use them for logging again,

  The next life they saw, aside from flitting birds, was a party of warriors coming toward them.

  "Ressteto!" one of them called as they approached. "We did not know if you would come back or not."

  They met, shook hands. '"I had thought not to," Ressteto said. "Since my cousin was killed. The chief who is my uncle was not in favor of it, for he loved his son, and it turned him against your people. But the great chief of my people sent this man, Eltrienn, to talk with Killed Many. I think you know Eltrienn. This is his friend, Danntis. And this is Vessto, Eltrienn's brother, a great shaman from my country. He is with us to make sure we do not offend Hrum."

  "Hello, Strong Grip," Eltrienn said. "I have not seen you for several winters."

  "I remember," Strong Grip replied. "You lived in our village and learned to hunt." He turned to Ressteto. "A boy saw your big canoe coming. He ran and told Killed Many, who sent us to meet you. If he'd known it held such important chiefs, he would have come himself."

  Strong Grip took them a long mile farther upstream to the Great Village of the Kinnli Innjakot, and to Killed Many. The Great Chief met them with several of his principal warriors, including his younger brother Bloody Sword, and greeted the Hrummeans courteously and solemnly.

  Clearly, Killed Many too wanted the sword trade continued. Bloody Sword said nothing, didn't even scowl, but his sullen face expressed what his mouth didn't. For whatever reason, he hated the outlanders, and was here peacefully only under duress.

  "Come in the warrior's lodge," Killed Many said. "We will drink howwas and talk about our children." He called to a woman who stood nearby, ordering that howwas be heated and brought in to them, then led them into the lodge, turning to Eltrienn as they entered. "You saw that no one has disturbed the places of the sword chief Torillo," he added pleasantly. "I have not allowed anyone to live in them or use them for anything."

  "Yes, we saw that," Eltrienn said.

  The Great Chief sat down on the ground, and the others followed his lead.

  "There is blood in one of them," Eltrienn went on, "but we have come in friendship. There'll be time enough to talk of blood debts after the Djez is defeated."

  The Great Chief nodded. "Always blood is spilled. Some gives rise to pleasure, some to grief. You remember Yellow Hair, my oldest. He was killed this summer in his first blood battle, with renegades of the Aazhmili. All of the renegades were killed; Yellow Hair killed two of them. I was very proud. Also I wept."

  Eltrienn nodded. "I heard that you beat the Aazhmili, who are great fighters, and that they have joined your people. And that a tribe farther north has also acknowledged you chief."

  "Two tribes farther north," said Killed Many calmly. "The Icy River People and the people of the Great Fen River."

  "Do you hope to obtain swords for them all? To help conquer the Djez?"

  More than Vessto felt the flash of rage from Bloody Sword then, and he seemed about to speak, but the Great Chief spoke instead.

  "Yes. We would like to obtain many more swords as soon as possible. We do not need those swords; our warriors can defeat the Djez with spears and bows and war axes. Still, it would be good to have more swords, one for each warrior. And that is very many swords now, for we have very many warriors." He paused. "You cannot make swords fast enough for us. I wish to take my warriors into the land of the Djez soon—by the time the leaves turn color. It would be best if, besides selling us all the swords you can, you taught us to make swords for ourselves."

  Eltrienn met the chief's eyes calmly. "We can bring swords more rapidly than you think. As for making swords, there is much to learn and also much to do. You must find the right kind of rocks underneath the earth, and they are present only in a few places. Then you must dig deep pits to get them, and learn to make them into steel. But before you can make steel, you must make the right kind of furnaces, things of very great heat, and know certain kinds of earth to cook in them, and just how, and how to work the melted rock when you have done all those other things. And then, of course, how to make the swords from it so they will be strong without weighing too much. These things take time to learn and do."

  He paused, looking thoughtfully at the ground, then back up at the Great Chief. "I would like to make a proposal. If indeed your warriors go to fight the Djez before the leaves turn, I will see that skilled men come a year from now and teach you to make steel yourself. And this summer I will have as many steel swords as possible sent to you. Many hundred of them."

  One of the other warriors spoke then, a chieftain of one of the Innjoka clans. "There are those among us who do not trust you to keep your word," he said. "Your people are not honorable. And there are those who say it is better to wait, to find out ourselves how to make steel. Your people found out how to do it; so can ours."

  Eltrienn settled his gaze on the man. "Excuse me for not knowing in all cases the thinking and understanding of your people. In what way have you found us lacking in honor?"

  "Your people left our land without taking blood for the death of their factor."

  Eltrienn shrugged. "A blood feud would only widen the breach between your people and mine. My people have enemies enough in Djez Gorrbul; they don't need more.

  "As for finding out yourself how to make steel, it is true, you could. In time. Meanwhile you would grow old and feeble, too old to make war on Djez Gorrbul. You might easily die of old age before then."

  None of the barbarians answered that.

  "Your Great Chief does not wish to grow old and feeble waiting. Nor does he wish the different tribes to become restless, perhaps to grow apart again and waste their strength fighting each other. He wishes to depart with his warriors to the Djez before the leaves turn. And I can bring thousands of new swords to Agate Bay by leaf turn.

  "Meanwhile, your warriors without swords can drill with practice swords of stout wood, clubs with a thin handle like a sword's, cut to weigh the same as a sword weighs. So that when they hold a sword of steel, they will be ready to fight with it."

  Bloody Sword spoke then, scornfully. "Real warriors do not play with wooden swords."

  Eltrienn seemed to ignore the man, keeping his gaze on the Great Chief. "And as for the murder of the factor, that was not an act of the Agate River People. It was the impetuous Bloody Sword, long known as 'Always Fighting,' who thrust his blade through the throat of a man sitting down with no weapon in his hand.

  "But I realize that the murderer is the Great Chief's brother and has his protection. And we are more interested in seeing Djez Gorrbul beaten than in vengeance on the brother of a friend."

  Bloody Sword got abruptly to his feet, his face seeming to swell. "You outlanders are cowards! You are women! You are too cowardly to take vengeance and too womanly to fight! You want the tribes to beat the Djez for you because you cannot beat them yourselves!"

  It was Ressteto who answered. "The murdered factor was my uncle, and one of our people saw him killed. He had no sword, only a knife on his belt. That was not fighting, that was murder, and shameful. And we were few, with few of us armed. We wondered what had happened to the honorable Innjoka. Had they taken to killing the unarmed? It was more important for me to take the story back to Hrumma than to be murdered myself at Agate Bay."

  He stopped then, staring up hard-eyed at Bloody Sword, the only man there on his feet. Bloody Sword had stiffened at the word "shameful," and when he answered, his voice was hoarse with emotion.

  "I will give you a sword and you may strike the first blow. Then I will kill you."

  Ressteto shook his head. "My high chief, the amirr, has forbidden my family vengeance in this. But to show that Hrummeans are strong fighters, I challenge Bloody Sword to wrestle."


  Bloody Sword barked scornfully. "Wrestling! A sport for boys, not warriors! But yes, I will wrestle you. And break your neck."

  Killed Many didn't even get up, simply bellowed sharply. "Sit down! Until I give you leave to stand!" His glare stilled the truculent Bloody Sword, who reluctantly sat, still looking scornfully at the Hrummean. Now Killed Many turned a mild gaze to Ressteto.

  "Would you be willing to wrestle one of the best wrestlers among the Kinnli Innjakot? He is just now on guard outside the council lodge. This would not be a match between enemies, but between two men who enjoy contesting. And I would be interested in seeing how well you do."