The Regiment-A Trilogy

by John Dalmas

  The Archipelago requested permission to ship relief supplies up the Rumar when the river was free of ice—the lower reaches were already—and Nufkarm approved it. Through the Krentorfi government, he then proposed a truce, with representatives of the two warring nations to meet in Faersteth and discuss armistice terms. Although he could hardly say so, Nufkarm intended to offer a favorable trade agreement.

  Both governments agreed to release their offworld mercenaries. Movrik's agent in Azure Bay, representing the Lodge of Kootosh-Lan as well as the Iryalan Office of Special Projects, sent a pod to Splenn with notification. Romlar began work on getting his infiltrators out of Komars.

  The next day, Heber Lanks, with his daughter and son-in-law, arrived back at Burnt Woods in a Komarsi floater.

  * * *

  When the troopship arrived from Splenn to remove the regiment, Romlar still hadn't accounted for all his infiltrators. Brossling had flown to Komars to sift through the jails there, and question leaders among the freedmen. Carrmak would have been sent, but he was still recovering from abdominal surgery.

  Over the several weeks since his last fight with the T'swa, Romlar had visited the little hospital in Burnt Woods from time to time, and the army's field hospital, talking to the wounded, both troopers and T'swa. And Gulthar Kro. Kro's face had been substantially disfigured. The bullet had torn through his upper jaw, palate, and cheekbone. His speech was somewhat impaired.

  By the time that Brossling had returned with the last infiltrators, Kro was in reconditioning camp. Romlar visited him there. "Gull," he said, "I owe you for grabbing that grenade."

  Kro snorted a harsh laugh, and in his awkward speech said, "Colonel, you owe me nothin'." He peered hard at Romlar. "You know what I went to you for?"

  Romlar shook his head. "What?"

  "Undsvin sent me up here last summer to kill you. Then I kind of forgot about that. Finally I decided I better do it, so I went to your camp."

  Romlar half grinned. "Really?! Well I'll be damned! Hmm. But you didn't—kill me that is. And out in the woods, you may have saved my life. You saved me getting wounded a lot worse than I was, anyway. And you were out there fighting alongside the rest of us. So I still owe you."

  Kro clamped his jaw as best he could. The fit wasn't very good. The merc commander was beyond understanding.

  "How'd you like your face fixed?" Romlar asked.

  "Whadya mean?"

  "We've got doctors on Iryala that can remake your face."

  Kro's gaze was intense now. "How'd I get there?"

  "I'll load you aboard with my men. After we get you there . . . I've got pull. I'll tell you what. It seems to me—it seems to me we've known each other before. Long ago."

  Kro looked at him more puzzled than ever.

  "Do you want to go?"

  "Sure I wanna go."

  "Okay. I'll go to your C.O. and get you released. We're leaving tomorrow."

  79

  The regiment arrived at Splenn by ship. There Romlar arranged with the Confederation Ministry for Gulthar Kro's passage to Iryala. Kelmer Faronya and his wife would ride home in a courier. The regiment gated home, arriving at a security area of the Landfall Military Reservation. They were quartered overnight there, and given a reception next day by the OSP, with the king himself attending briefly. Interesting, Romlar thought. Why the king? Colonel Voker had flown down from Blue Forest, which was a lot easier to understand, and Varlik Lormagen, the original "White T'swi," from the school he and his wife operated on the coast.

  The next day the troopers were given new paycards that accessed the credits they'd accrued, and they dispersed for a dek, most to visit their families.

  Romlar, however, was taken by limousine to Lord Kristal's handsome home on the royal estate. Lotta Alsnor met him at the horseshoe drive, and they faced off, holding hands between them, looking at each other. He grinned broadly. "How come I get to have such a pretty girl?" he asked.

  She laughed. "Bullshit, Artus; I'm a scrawny little minx. Wiry anyway. But say it again; I like it." She paused for a moment, squeezing his thick hands. "I suppose you're wondering why you were brought here. And what I'm doing here."

  "It has crossed my mind."

  "Well then, let me take you to Emry and we'll uncross it."

  She led him inside and through halls, his attention not on what he might or might not learn there, but on the beauty and harmony of the art and other furnishings he passed. He'd never imagined a home like this before.

  It was more than a home. One wing held Kristal's staff—offices with people sitting at monitors, dictating to computers, talking with each other. Kristal's receptionist didn't seat them. "Just a moment," she said, then spoke quietly to a commset and disconnected. Smiling, she motioned toward a door to one side. "Go right in."

  The old man was on his feet to greet them. He took Romlar's thick hard hand in both of his slender ones, and shook it. "Artus, it's good to have you back. It's spring where you've come from, right?"

  "Spring going on summer."

  "Well. And here you find summer half used up." His deep bright eyes examined Romlar's. "I have a new assignment for you. To start when you've had your leave." He paused. "And when I say a new assignment, I mean a new assignment.

  "I take it your regiment came home in good mental and spiritual condition?"

  "Absolutely. Most of them better than I did."

  Kristal nodded as if he knew what Romlar alluded to. "Good," he said. "Good.

  "Your regiment will not be contracted out again. The Confederation has its own need for it. An imperial invasion fleet is on its way, little more than two years distant. I want you to be part of a secret royal commission to develop strategies and tactics to counter it. Defuse it if possible. This will mean turning over regimental command to someone else—whoever you consider best suited to the job."

  Romlar wasn't smiling now, but his face was relaxed, his answer casual. "Coyn Carrmak," he said. "He's my best battalion commander, and the smartest man I've got. Men tend naturally to listen to him and do what he says, and beyond that, he's the luckiest person I know." He glanced at Lotta then. "With the exception of your brother. Jerym's come through more than anyone else in the outfit, and unscratched."

  He turned back to Kristal then. "You said the regiment isn't going to be contracted out again. What are you going to do with it?"

  "Train it. That's partly where you come in. Over a period of time the commission will develop strategies and tactics, as I said. Your regiment will learn and train in tactics and techniques no one's invented yet.

  "Are you willing to have the job?"

  Romlar grinned. "I'm your man. It sounds interesting."

  "Fine. It's yours. To begin with, you'll work here at the capital. Part of the time just down the hall."

  Romlar put a hand on Lotta's arm. "And where does Lotta fit in?"

  The king's personal aide laughed. "She'll take you to lunch and tell you about that. Meanwhile, I have a great deal to do here." His gesture took in not only his desk and monitor, but the whole wing. "We'll talk again, very soon. Perhaps over dinner this week."

  * * *

  Lotta led Romlar to his lordship's conservatory, and the small staff dining room there. They sat in a private corner beside a bank of Iryalan tropical flowering ferns, their fronds soft green. A waiter came over, described the menu and took their orders, then left.

  "So what hat do you wear in all this?" Romlar asked.

  "I'm Emry's psychic resource and special intelligence section."

  "Then we'll both be working here."

  "That's right."

  "If you'll marry me, we can take an apartment together and save on rent."

  "I'm afraid I can't share an apartment with you."

  His eyebrows raised. "Why not?"

  She laughed. "Because Emry has assigned me a small house on the hill, as free from psychic disturbances as you can get near the capital. Free official housing for his special assistant; I'm one of a ki
nd, he tells me. To be more exact, he said: 'Lotta, you're like Artus. You're one of a kind.' "

  Her smile softened. "There's lots of room for two, if you'd like to share it with me. Our schedules won't always match, but we'll be together a lot more than once every few years."

  Romlar chuckled. "I love you, Lotta. Very much. I'm sure I've told you that before."

  "I seem to recall something like that. Would you like to see the house? Before we fill out the marriage application?"

  He laughed aloud, then leaned across the table and they kissed.

  THE END

  AUTHOR'S NOTE:

  There are two other novels in this series. One, the

  longest of the five, is the wrap-up story: The Three-Cornered War.

  I think of it as Lotta's book, although it contains several

  subplots and a number of riveting characters.

  (And of course the White T'swa and the T'swa play important roles.)

  The other, The Kalif's War, is somewhat tangential to the three you've just read. Following directly upon The White Regiment, it is set almost entirely within the old Home Sector. It continues the Tain Faronya subplot, and contributes strongly to The Three-Cornered War. Niccolo Machiavelli would have approved mightily of the kalif.

  To include those two stories in the same set of covers with these

  three would have made this book more than 60 percent longer,

  thicker, and heavier. Either that or resulted in tiny type,

  and numerous optometrist appointments.

  Notes

  1 North of the border was "The Great Wild," a wilderness reserve established by the Confederation, which made modest annual payment to the three bordering nations on the south. Controlled fur harvest was allowed, and Jump-Off was the base from which licensed Smoleni trappers left in autumn for their territories.

  2 In the Confederation Sector, the year on each world is divided into ten "deks" of equal or nearly equal length. These are numbered in order from the winter solstice, however slight it may be.

  THE END

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