All around us the flat horizon of Central Hamal showed specks of trees, dust and grit, mountains lifting to the north and a river meandering along vegetation-choked banks to the south. The swods panted and stamped down the ramps and ran out onto the parched ground. They formed up smartly enough, for that was a parade-ground evolution. But one or two tripped quitting the airboat, and others piled up, and, all in all and quite without the black-faced fury of Vad Homath to warn us, we knew the evolution had been a disaster.
That didn't bother me. Callous, of course, but gleeful, by Vox!
One Deldar simply picked up a poor wight all entangled with his own crossbow and fairly hurled him head-first down the ramp. The swearing flowered to the burning sky. He catapulted full into his buddies and they collapsed down the ramp in an arm and leg wriggling mess. This was an active-service exercise, a practice disembarkation under threat of opposition, and the crossbowmen were landing with loaded weapons. Some idiot couldn't have latched his safety properly. A crossbow twanged from the middle of the confusion. The bolt went an arm's length from Vad Homath's head.
He didn't move or flinch. Give him that. He looked down on that particular ramp, and the heap of struggling men, and at the Deldars, and abruptly it was not funny any more. I knew—everyone knew—heads would roll for this foul-up. On Kregen, in Hamal, the expression “heads would roll” was not idle, oh, no, very far from idle.
Out of that squirming heap of uniformed humanity, a voice burst, high, hard, rapturous: “Spikatur! Hai, Spikatur!"
So the crossbow bolt had not been an accident. The only mistake here had been that the quarrel had missed...
“Down there!” ordered Homath. He did not scream or rage; he cracked out his orders as though in the midst of battle. Well, for his life, it had been a battle. “Arrest all those men. You—” he spoke to me directly. “Down there. Do not let any of them escape. On your head."
Jumping down onto the ground I joined the Deldars and other officers rounding up the tangled group of soldiers. We sorted them out. They stood in a line, quivering, shaking, the sweat starting out in sheening rivulets all over their faces. If no one knew who had shouted, they were all for the question, no doubt of that whatsoever. I felt sorry for them, that was a normal human response. But I felt angry, too. Was this the way I wanted to fight Hamal?
Vad Homath called off the exercise at once. As a Kapt, a most high-ranking general, he had chosen in his capacity as overlord of the Nineteenth Army, his immediate responsibility, and member of the army council, to check out the progress being made by the new units. Prince Nedfar had asked him to take me along to gain experience. Homath's rage was contained within himself. Like an icy chip caught between ice floes, he froze the marrow in the bones of his subordinates.
The upshot of the affair came when the suspects, lined up in the virulent blaze of the suns, awaited interrogation. One man leaped out. His face was a mere mask of contorted hatred as he tried to get at Vad Homath. The crossbowmen of the guard shot him to pieces. He died. Useless to rage at the guard. Homath didn't even bother to check them. They had their orders. The immutable laws of Hamal laid down procedures. Their job was to protect the Kapt, and this they did. Any thought of sparing the man's life for questioning must remain subordinate to that.
One thing you could say, these fellows of Spikatur Hunting Sword were not afraid to die for their beliefs.
The man's name was Nath the Tumbs. His dead face showed the freckles like peeling paint.
“Take him away,” said Homath, and turned back to the voller.
The thought occurred to me that I might put this incident to advantage. I marched up beside Homath and said, “With respect, notor, it might be advantageous to us to find out more of this man."
His finger stroked his scar. He stared at me. He nodded his head. “Very well.” It was all nicely done, calculated to impress. It did impress. This man was no fool, and he was an enemy of my country. I saluted and wheeled off pronto.
The security officers in his suite would make their own inquiries, no doubt of that. I fancied my line of inquiry would differ from theirs.
There was no chance of donning the gear of a simple swod in the ranks and joining in as an equal. Nearly all these fellows were clums and I learned that Nath the Tumbs had been a taciturn man, not a clum, who kept himself to himself. Nothing of any note was known of him. He came from a small village away in the south of Hamal, or, at least, he said he did. One bearded swod, sweating, fidgeting with his stux, the spear-haft sheening, told me that Nath the Tumbs had been a fine swordsman. The summoning bugle call for the next meal rang out. The bearded swod saluted.
“I must go, horter. And we will not eat any looshas pudding this day, bad cess to Nath the Tumbs for that."
Looshas pudding is one of the favorite desserts of the soldiers in the ranks. Then this swod added, “Although Nath the Tumbs had no real liking for the looshas. He swore he knew a place in Ruathytu where they served the best celene flan in all the world."
On Kregen rainbows are, by reason of the two suns, somewhat spectacular affairs. A common name for rainbow is celene, and celene pie or celene flan is made from a mixture of fruits and honey and, while rather sweet to my taste, is a delicacy. I nodded, half-listening, as the bearded swod, who was called Lon the Surdu, saluted again and wheeled off for the meal. As he went he said over his shoulder: “Oh, and, your pardon, horter. Once when he was more merry than he expected, for Hambo Hambohan sold him his ration, he boasted he was of the Mitdel'hur persuasion. But he denied it afterward."
Lon the Surdu trailed his spear and fairly ran to fall into line for the meal. Everyone was on edge after the assassination attempt, and the officers would be merciless over any infringement. The religion of Mitdel'hur, insignificant in adherents, was little known to me. At the time I had a vague idea they stripped off in their temples and ritually bathed each other, and then shared a communal meal. If there was harm in the sect, it was hidden from me. This might be a start to unravel Nath the Tumbs's background and find a lead to Spikatur Hunting Sword.
In any event, my dilemma about reporting in this item of information was unnecessary; the officers charged with investigating the affair had also found it out.
“Mitdel'hur?” said Vad Homath. “A petty religion.” He looked at the group of staff officers surrounding him as they prepared for their meal, in somewhat grander style than the soldiers. “Follow it up, follow it up. But it will be a waste of time."
For a man who had just survived a murderous attempt on his life, Homath appeared composed. He was your true professional fighting man. That, in many a view, should have inclined him even more against assassins and caused him to react with a display of anger. Instead, he went meticulously through the faults he had observed in what had been performed of the exercise. Eventually he handed over to Jiktar Landon Thorgur, and, his forefinger stroking down his scar, gave orders for the return journey.
We were a subdued party on the way back to Ruathytu.
The close brushing of the wings of death made us all realize afresh that the steel-headed crossbow bolt can take the life of the greatest of men as easily as the least.
* * *
Chapter eleven
Lobur the Dagger Fidgets
“Our spies in Vallia,” said Kov Naghan, “report massive preparations. An enormous buildup is taking place in that devilish land. And therefore it is necessary for us to reinforce Pandahem."
Vad Homath, stroking his scar, said, “I agree—if it is Pandahem."
They sat at their ease at a table in the window corner of the Golden Zhantil, these two Kapts with other high-ranking officers and pallans, and with Prince Nedfar. I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall at a discreet distance. Prince Tyfar was signaling for a fresh round of drinks, and I listened as best Icould to what this informal war-council discussed. It was not satisfactory and only Zair knew how different from what I anticipated and hoped—but ... But! Spies in Vallia! Damned Hamalese spies snif
fing out our secrets!
The situation amused me, despite the seriousness. Here was I, growing righteous over damned spies in my own country, and calmly doing my best to spy on the enemy. And, at least for the moment, my best was nowhere near good enough.
Kov Naghan pulled at his jaw, growling, unhappy. “We must hit Hyrklana to knock those rasts off-balance, and we must put more men into Pandahem. Troops, troops, always it is more troops."
Nedfar spoke pleasantly enough; there was no mistaking the steel underlying his words. “The army has taken many clums into the ranks, strong, simpleminded men who do not think overmuch and therefore may be considered to make good soldiers.” Now I knew Nedfar had pondered this question of the imaginations of soldiers, and so saw he spoke indirectly. But the people at the table were not reassured by his tone.
“No army commander ever has enough men, prince,” said a shriveled little man, doubled up as the result of an old wound imperfectly healed. He was the Pallan of Metals. “If I produce a reserve of swords or spears, the Kapt go out and find men to use them.” And he laughed, a choked dry cackle.
“If, prince,” said Kov Naghan, bullet-hard, unswerving, “we face war on two—no, three—fronts again, we shall have need of every man and voller and saddle flyer Hamal can produce, hire or steal."
“True."
“Pandahem or Hyrklana?” said Vad Homath.
At that point Tyfar called and I joined him at the table being prepared by the servants. Lobur drifted over and with him a few of the other aides to the great chiefs. I had been appointed aide to Prince Tyfar, which was useful, and which gave enormous amusement to Tyfar, who jested with me, his blade comrade. As I sat down I reflected that although eavesdropping on the chiefs as they talked was small beer, in this case I had been pointed toward a new and potentially fruitful path. As we drank and our conversation drowned out anything else, I leaned over and as though concerned, said, “If the Vallians attack us in Pandahem, that could be nasty."
“They don't stand a chance!” The bulky body and sweating face of Famdi ham Horstu, aide to Kov Naghan, gave importance to what he said. He banged his fist on the table and the bottles and glasses jumped. “We'll reinforce Pandahem and chase the damned Vallians all the way home, by Krun!"
The consensus, expressed in a growl that rippled around the table, agreed with this summation. Tyfar looked grave.
“And Hyrklana?"
“Them, too!” yelped the company.
So, all in all, I felt pleased. This was just what we wanted. We wanted the Hamalese to pour men and materials into Pandahem, so that when we bypassed them and hit Hamal, they'd be left high and dry. By the time they were recalled we'd hope to have a hot reception awaiting them. By Vox! We'd run rings around these confounded Hamalese!
Since the return from the exercise in which Homath had nearly been sent down to the Ice Floes of Sicce, I'd been in communication with Deb-Lu-Quienyin half a dozen times, keeping him informed of progress and learning what went forward in Vallia. Assured that my work here was important enough to keep me away from home, and the projects there of expanding and then consolidating our frontiers went ahead, I breathed a little easier. The trouble in the Southwest of Vallia was being handled by Drak, and I left him strictly to handle the affair himself. If he was going to be emperor—and the sooner the better, by Zair!—then this was a damned good way of learning. Delia had gone back to Vondium on business for the Sisters of the Rose, and Jaezila, declining to accompany her mother, had declared she had work still to do in Hamal.
I own my heart sank at that. I didn't want my daughter swanning around in enemy Hamal. Of course, there was nothing I could do to stop her, for she was her own woman. I just trusted in her own prowess and skill and courage, made a few private invocations, and promised myself I'd try to persuade her to leave off the spying and go back home. As for the situation between her and Tyfar, that was hideously complicated. All I could do there, I fancied, was to urge our war preparations along, invade Hamal, knock seven kinds of brick dust out of the damned place, and then make a good and just peace. Then Tyfar and Jaezila could settle their own affairs.
Before that devoutly wished-for end could be reached, before our invasion could succeed, we had to weaken Hamal's capacity to wage war.
And, as you will notice, in all these cogitations, I would not face the scene to come when Tyfar discovered the truth of Jaezila and me.
He was laughing now, open and frank, joying in life, cracking jokes. Lobur the Dagger played up to the prince, and the other aides joined in. Lobur was being twitted about his hopeless passion for the Princess Thefi, Tyfar's sister, and yet Tyfar did not tease him. Tyfar knew that situation well. Kov Thrangulf, sober, industrious, was the raven in the picture, and yet Tyfar and I both felt that Thrangulf had been seriously misjudged by those who mocked him. Yes, he was stuffy, but that is no hanging crime.
Tyfar leaned across.
“You had no joy of those naked prancers, the folk of the Mitdel'hur persuasion, Jak?"
“None. They swore they'd never heard of Nath the Tumbs. I believe them. They seem a harmless lot."
“Vad Homath is still alive, for which we give thanks. He has probably pushed the incident out of his head. He has grave responsibilities.” Tyfar looked straightly at me. “Where would you commit our forces, Jak—Hyrklana or Pandahem?"
“I am thankful I do not have to make the decision. But Pandahem is rich, and we gain much there. To lose the island now would be harmful. We have already lost the vollers from Hyrklana, so—"
“So, you would reinforce Pandahem against the Vallians?"
“That would seem judicious."
“And then those Hyrklese could fly in to attack."
“Hamal has enough troops, surely, to—"
Tyfar closed his eyes. Then, again looking at me, unblinkingly, he said, “Yes, we have the troops. But our Air Service—we are in trouble there, Jak, you know."
I didn't know. I was willing to learn.
“Surely, prince,” interrupted Famdi ham Horstu, his face florid in the lamplight, “surely this is only temporary."
“And,” pointed out Tyfar in his mild voice, “in that temporary period we may be invaded."
“The army will deal with any invasion."
“Of course. We have perfect faith in the army. But it makes life a little easier on the ground during a battle if you control the air."
There was a general nodding of agreement. The point was so obvious I knew Tyfar aimed at a different mark.
Lobur sat sideways on his chair, looking about the elegant room. He fidgeted. He could not keep still. Something of moment bothered Lobur the Dagger, that was clear. In the small pause that ensued after Prince Tyfar's unnecessary yet important comment, I heard the chiefs at the next table talking of the Empress Thyllis's war room. Some of the generals wanted to go across to the palace of Hammabi el Lamma reared on its island in the River Havilthytus to check on the maps adorning the walls of the war room.
Then Famdi ham Horstu banged his fist again, and the glasses and bottles jumped, and he said, “By Krun! If we cannot make enough silver boxes and are short of vollers, then the aerial cavalry will have to cover the army. I do not like it—"
“None of us likes it,” said Tyfar. “Famblehoys will have to fill the gap."
“Famblehoys!” Disgust dripped. “They are useless!"
Thinking it time to put my oar in, I said, “They have been used with success by our enemies."
Tyfar nodded. “Jak is right. If the Vallians, who cannot even build their own vollers, can use flying sailing ships, then surely we can, also?"
Lobur twisted back, fidgeting with the dagger slung at his waist. “The damned Vallians are a seafaring folk. We are not. They understand sails and how to use the wind."
“Then, while there is a shortage of silver boxes to power our vollers, we must also learn to use the wind."
They looked sullen and rebellious at that; but Tyfar was right, and I warmed to
him. He was willing to go on and face the future, using whatever means came to his hand. He would not uselessly repine over what was not possible.
Lobur had spoken damned sharply to the prince. Tyfar took no notice, continuing to talk and laugh with the others; Lobur sat sideways on his chair and fidgeted and looked black. In one of those little pauses that break up any general conversation the chiefs from the next table, talking with growing heat, made themselves heard.
Van Homath was saying: “...any time we like. I'll prove my point in the moorn vew—"
“Let us go, then, and we'll see.” Nedfar rose. They quite clearly were going to the moorn vew, the war room in Thyllis's unholy palace. I perked up ... But my hopes were premature, for the chiefs agreed that they had no need of us aides and we could carouse the night away if we wished. There was the other watch to come on duty who would take over during the night. I slumped back in my chair. And Lobur, when I turned to speak to him, had gone.
His florid face a sheen of sweat, Famdi ham Horstu looked furious. “As Malahak is my witness! Lobur is a strange fellow!"
Tyfar smiled. “As San Blarnoi says, understanding a man is like peeling an onion, the task is tortuous and tearful."
We all laughed, for the aphorisms of San Blarnoi can usually turn up an opposite quote, and Lobur had been acting deuced oddly, no doubt about it. With the rest of their duty thus cancelled, the bloods among the gathered aides decided to go out on the town. Tyfar raised his eyebrow at me. I nodded, and making our farewells, we went off together.
“And Lobur?” I said. “Something ails him, for sure."
“It is my sister, of course."
“Of course."
For him, Tyfar spoke a little fretfully. “Lobur is a good companion, bright and quick and eager to please. There is no reason why he could not make his way in the world, and secure Thefi in a marriage that would be agreeable to my father. As it is—"
Legions of Antares [Dray Prescot #25] Page 11