Rollo couldn't be contained. “Well, Caspar?”
“It is done.”
Deb-Lu let out a breath; but he did not speak.
“You'd better tell us about it, then, Caspar.” Delia was brisk.
He nodded, crossed to the table to pour the evening wine for himself and began speaking at once. “As planned. There was absolutely no peril in it for me.” As to that, I wondered; there were no overtones in his voice to indicate he minimized his danger. “The proofs proved themselves, Schian's ring, Licria's order to the sentries. My part, of course, was as a humble painter enrolled as a part-time stikitche.”
“What of Vad Valadian?” I spoke in my growly voice.
“A dupe, acting out of misguided friendship.”
“And—?” said Delia, somewhat sharply for her. Of course, what Caspar the Peaker was saying was important and interesting, what Delia's ‘and’ meant was the vital issue.
“They have both been taken up. Schian will probably go in the river. Licria to an establishment of little sisters of a stern persuasion.”
“So the queen is squeamish after all!”
“Licria is,” pointed out Delia, “the last of her line.”
Who could say how much Satra had already known? High office and almost unlimited power, as I have before said, addle people's minds. Her very pride in her bloodline would keep her fanatically determined to ensure that one of her descendants ascended the throne after her. If that was Licria's daughter, Satra would be well pleased. As I opened my mouth to voice these thoughts, Delia said: “Licria will be married off and her daughter trained up. As for the little she-leem herself—I suppose one must feel for her.”
Mevancy, who up to now had been sitting twiddling her wineglass, broke out: “Feel for her!”
Her color was high and she looked charged with emotion.
“She's had her day and her race is run,” said Delia mildly.
“Yes.” Mevancy spoke slowly. “In that sense, yes, I see that.”
“Right,” I said. “Well done, Caspar. Now we're free for Makilorn.”
“I have—other plans.”
Caspar the Peaker was a kaogoinye working for the Star Lords. If he had other plans then the Everoinye were dispatching him on a new mission.
“Of course, Caspar.” Delia smiled. “Thank you.”
The evening meal ought to have been a cheerful occasion for we had cleared up one of our more pressing problems; the good friends gathered at the table were not, it seemed to me, in a celebrating mood. Nath Karidge had been invited and he responded to that atmosphere. He told me that he'd asked Deb-Lu to communicate with Vallia to request airboats for EDLG.
“The Emperor Drak is kindly sending down sufficient fliers to transport the whole regiment. I am a trifle concerned—”
“Oh?”
“Aye, jis. Suppose Queen Satra lays her hands on them?”
“A cogent point, Nath. A secret rendezvous?”
“That'll be the best plan.”
He smiled his Beau Sabreur smile and I knew he'd see to that item.
All the same, Satra's greed for vollers presented an unwanted further complication in our already complicated lives. Two problems had baffled and continued to baffle the famous Wizards of Walfarg of Loh. One—the manufacture of gold from base metals. Two—the means of levitation. Stories of flying carpets were well-known on Kregen, although naturally differing somewhat from our terrestrial versions. Flying carpets were unnecessary in lands where airboats were used, except and unless they were readily and cheaply available to the masses. There was no doubt that some mages could levitate themselves and perhaps a few followers; events had occurred strongly suggesting this theory to be correct. In general, flying remained a mystery. Of course, I felt pretty well convinced that Carazaar was using some form of sorcerous aerial navigation rather than any mechanism based on the silver boxes of vollers.
“By the silk-clad legs of the Lady Diwina!” burst out Delia. “Give us a song, Rollo, and cheer us all up.”
So he sang a little ditty, ‘The Sweet Flowing Water,’ composed by Pitir Ng'gland from Ng'groga some five hundred seasons ago. After that we had ‘Bear up your Arms’ and the ‘Lay of the Ponsho Farmer's Daughter’ and a few more of the old favorites. When we were all yodeling out: “No idea at all, at all, no idea at all!” we'd sung ourselves back into a better humor.
On parting for the night, Deb-Lu said: “Satra's banquet may well prove an interesting occasion.”
“She'll be on top form,” prophesied Delia, with a smile.
“Oh, Nath,” I said, bringing up something that had been puzzling me. “I'm surprised Drak can spare any vollers from the Pandahem campaign.”
“That's just about over now, jis. Yumapan and Lome joined in and the Bloody Menaham were well and truly trounced, aye, by Lasal the Vakka!”
“Queen Lush?”
“Kept on getting in everyone's way, so the news said—you know, jis.”
I found, to my astonishment, that I laughed. “I know.”
“She made a sensible decision in the end. Appointed a noble from Yumapan to command the combined armies. Fellow called Kov Loriman.”
My amusement increased. “The Hunting Kov! I'll bet Nath the Impenitent laughed at that one.”
“Chuktar Nath Javed. Oh, aye, jis. Trust him.”
Yes, by Vox, I said to myself. Old Hack ‘n’ Slay would never forget the time he'd had to drag and carry the Hunting Kov through the horrors of the Coup Blag. The news that the Bloody Menahem had been tamed, if only for a while, would come as a relief to all, and especially to Pando the Kov of Bormark in Tomboram. An unkind thought occurred to me—who was winning in the bottle race between Tilda the Beautiful and Scaura Pompina?
There is no need for me to relate the tedious details of Satra's banquet. It all went off in style. She was, as Delia had prophesied, in top form. She was full of her plans for the new empire. At a suitable break in the proceedings, I said to her: “And if the Shanks attack?”
“They will be dealt with, all of the Fish Faces.”
“We are leaving for Makilorn in the morning. The Shanks are massing an army there—”
She stared at me with those deep eyes, her white widow's peak, as it were, thrusting forward with determination. She summed me up, she summed up the situation. “That is in the south, past Chem.”
“Once they have conquered, their fliers will strike north.”
She knew what I was getting at. She sat quietly, pondering. When she lifted her head she said: “Let me know their strengths as soon as possible.”
She would not be drawn any further, so with that I had to be content.
It appeared clear to me that my role, unwanted and thrust on me by the Star Lords and those folk who believed in me, as Emperor of Emperors, Emperor of all Paz, was one of conciliation, of argument and of persuasion. I could not order Satra to send her army south to fight Shanks. I would have to persuade her to see that that decision would be her best course.
In the morning we prepared for the off.
To my surprise the one-eared Khibil, Vad Valadian, and Strom Chan with his beard just as stiffly jutting, came to see us off. They said they'd asked Satra if they could go with us but that she had refused permission. She'd said she needed both them and their paktuns for her new armies.
In his arrogant Khibil way, Valadian said: “I think she will come around. It is very clear to us, in any case.”
“Very clear, majister,” added Strom Chan grimly.
“I thank you both. Now it is remberee.”
“Aye, Remberee, Dray Prescot, Emperor of Emperors!”
With that, Vendayha Lady soared up into the brilliance of the Suns of Scorpio.
Some way out we picked up Nath Karidge and EDLG from the secret rendezvous and our little squadron headed south.
I feel it completely unnecessary to relate the uproarious welcome we received from our comrades when we reached the camp outside Makilorn.
T
hey were there, the men and women whom you have met in this narrative of mine. Seg and Inch, Milsi and Sasha fell on us, laughing. Nath na Kochwold, stern and living proof of the invincibility of his Phalanx, old Hack ‘n’ Slay for whom, as Delia remarked, estates and a title must soon be found, greeted us with news that an enormous shbilliding was organized for tonight. My new friends greeted us in a much more restrained fashion, Kuong, Llodi, Larghos the Throstle all looking down at the mouth. Moglin the Flatch was not there, neither was Fan-Si.
“Tell me,” I said in the old gravel-shifting voice.
“She was wearing her armor an’ all, just like you always said. Proper mail an’ everything.”
In a heavy voice, Kuong said: “Yes. The bolt went clean through her throat above the mail rim.”
“And Moglin?”
“Went berserk. Charged and was cut down.”
I could say nothing. The little Fristle fifi, Fan-Si—gone. Moglin the Flatch—gone.
How many more good friends were to die before all these horrors were over?
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Chapter eighteen
One has, in these latter days, to be tolerant of other peoples’ religions, unless, I suppose, you belong to one of the great proselytizing faiths of two worlds. The religion of Tsungfaril was enough to drive any preacher, fanatical or not, into hysterical action. The best I could hope to do, and I trusted Opaz Beneficent would smile, was to imply to some of the more zealous in the ranks that our first priority was dealing with Shanks. People are touchy about their faiths. I wanted no in-fighting, no bloodshed between the forces we were trying to muster to resist the Fish Faces.
Burrowed over many seasons within the escarpment fringing the wasteland and paralleling the River of Drifting Leaves the tombs of generations of the dead of Makilorn reminded me, as I have said, of Petra. I paid a visit to the tomb set aside. There were no flowers, for land is so precious in Makilorn and flowers and timber scarcer than gold pieces in a barracoon. The gods of Tarankar were not those of Tsungfaril, nor those of Walfarg, and I commended the ibs of Fan-Si and Moglin to them. Then I went back to the city.
This was on the second day after our arrival. The enormous feast and celebration had duly taken place. Any crusty old kampeon, any fighting man or woman is accustomed to the death of comrades. Death is a mere part of life.
The city of Makilorn remained as I remembered, white roofed, built after the style of the tomb of Genghis Khan, narrow along both banks of the river. You may well imagine how Lunky's heavy face brightened when he greeted me.
“I always knew, majister, there was more to you than perhaps even a Diviner could scry.” His thick lips twisted into a smile almost of self-mockery. “And you the emperor all the time!”
“And, san, still your friend, I trust?”
The narrow tired face of San Chandro broke into its attractive smile as he said: “Friends? By Tsung-Tan the Mighty! It is you who do us the honor.”
These two dikasters, the Diviner and the Repositer, guardians of the religion of Tsungfaril and of the paol-ur-bliem, the accursed, were most anxious to do all they could to help. Kuong and Mevancy chipped in to explain as we walked in the coolness of arcades. Deserts surrounded the city, yet it was now obvious to us all that the Shanks would use their airboats to fly over the barrier deserts. Already we suspected they had adapted to fresh river water. In any case, driven by the sorcerous energy of Carazaar, they could mount a sudden vicious attack, seize the ruby, and be gone back to their seas.
We turned about at the end of the arcade and the stumps of our twin shadows marched with us until we passed under the overhang. Deb-Lu appeared at the far end. He walked swiftly towards us, his brown polished staff high.
He looked animated. “Lahal, all. Dray! Astonishing!” He bent forward and peered hard at Lunky. Dressed soberly, as always, the Diviner wore the habitual fawn gown of Tsungfaril. Deb-Lu put out his hand and with a quick upward movement of his head that almost dislodged his turban, said: “May I?”
“San,” said Lunky in his heavy way. “May you what?”
“Oh, of course! You have an—ah—object on your chest. I suspect it is strung about your neck—”
“Yes. I cannot tell you—”
“Of course. That I understand. May I please see it?”
Slowly, Lunky pulled a gold chain up from the front of his gown to reveal a golden trinket. In shape it vaguely resembled a formalized representation of Tsung-Tan although fuller in the body. Instantly, I remembered a burning building, flames everywhere, and a dead and charred man, and a girl to be rescued.
Before Deb-Lu could speak I burst out: “But the drikingers took it!”
Mevancy snapped out: “Cabbage! I was right. Leotes’ men did retrieve it.”
Deb-Lu swung on me. “You've seen this before?” He almost squawked his amazement.
“If it is the same one. San Tuong Mishuro lost it in a burning building and after that bandits seized it.”
“There is only one.” Lunky held it reverently.
Deb-Lu straightened up. His kind wise old face looked triumphant. “The ruby of the Skantiklar in Makilorn is hidden among nine of the queen's necklaces. That we know—”
“So does that devil Carazaar!” flashed Mevancy.
“Agreed. What he does not know, what we did not know until we were close enough to ascertain is—there is a second ruby in Makilorn. And it is concealed within the icon of Tsung-Tan around San Lunky's neck!”
Oh, yes, there was consternation at this, pleased confusion. Then I growled out: “All the more reason to resist Carazaar.”
Mevancy gave me a demanding look and after a time we were able to have a few words in private. She said: “The Everoinye, then, must have known all along!” To which I replied: “Oh, I don't know. They weren't at all interested in the confounded Skantiklar then, were they?” And: “Cabbage! You always—” And: “Pigeon! I sometimes think they're senile!” And—a gasp of horror.
“Miscils, palines, sazz and parclear!” called Kuong. Mevancy and I gave each other two good long fighting stares, then, shoulders back, heads high—and Mevancy's face a rose of color—we marched in for refreshments.
As you will by now be aware, it was vitally necessary for me to hold an impressive parade of the army. This meant all of the Vallians present in the army, not just the Guard Corps. Perhaps you may imagine the pomp and circumstance of the occasion, held outside the walls on the flat and dusty desert. They were there—oh, yes, they were there! The swods in their disciplined ranks and files. Many of them you have met in my narrative. Many names have appeared and then vanished, good men and women gone down to the Ice Floes of Sicce, to be met by the Grey Ones and so try to make their way to the sunny uplands beyond. Before this business of the Skantiklar and the Shanks was done, many more would follow.
We were greatly cheered by the arrival of Queen Kirsty. She and Rodders had cleared Tarankar out pretty smartly. Her mercenary army had grown. Now she breathed fire and slaughter against the devil Shanks who dared to attack her capital city. Also, she was actively goading the apathetic citizens to take up arms and fight for their city.
Inevitably, as we were in Loh, questions of archery arose. There were competitions held every day. The Bowmen of Loh were skeptical of men and women of other lands who used the famed Lohvian longbow. I own I was smugly satisfied to note that many of the prizes went to my lads of Valka and Vallia.
As a matter of interest, First Emperor's Foot Bows were mainly longbows; there were a pastang of crossbows and a pastang of Valkan compound reflex bows included. All the ranks were full up. My chiefs organized a constant shuttle of fliers bringing in provisions, supplies, provender. Feeding an army is always a nightmare; feeding an army in a desert is purgatory.
Now we had two rubies of the Skantiklar, the question in the minds of all those in on the secret was—how many did Carazaar have?
Once he got his claws on all nine, all hell would brea
k loose.
Mind you, by that time we'd all probably be dead.
Korero kept polishing up his shields, and he carried extra weaponry. Balass the Hawk had been saddened by the loss of Fan-Si and Larghos; but like us he was inured to pain of that kind without becoming callous. My chiefs of the Guard Corps, Nath na Kochwold and his Phalanx, and the Chuktars of the line moved about the camp with grim determination. Everyone knew that the imminent battle would be the big one, the culmination of all their efforts.
The Hamalian forces flew in under the temporary command of Kapt Hargon ham Hurlving, for Fleet Admiral Harulf ham Hilzim had returned to Ruathytu to attend the Emperor Nedfar. A new force commander would be sent out as soon as appointed by Nedfar.
Our scouts reported in regularly. On the day when we'd finished reviewing the Hamalese I made up my mind. We were very thin on the ground and in the air. Taking our refreshments when we could I was chewing the last of a section of vosk pie and battling my way past the chunks of gristle therein. Delia saw me chewing and smiled. In a fashion I hoped was not too surly, I said: “I'm going off to Djanduin and then to see the Clansmen.”
“I agree. All Paz is in this. I'll welcome the trip.”
In his big breezy way Seg chipped in. “Too true! All Paz has to stand as one.”
Inch nodded his head atop that lanky frame. He didn't speak for he'd broken one of his astounding taboos and couldn't utter a word until nightfall.
So, the very next day, aboard Vendayha Lady, we sailed for Djanduin.
Again, needless for me to relate the joyous proceedings as my Djangs welcomed their king and queen. Kytun Kholin Dom and Ortyg Fellin Coper, the best of comrades both, agreed instantly that the Djangs must be represented in this struggle. I particularly wanted the flyers, young men and women astride the superb flutduins, the best flyers in my view in Paz. As for the four-armed Djang warriors, they had already beaten Shanks in fair fight and were thirsting to show the Fish Faces the errors of their ways. A sizeable force was quickly mustered and dispatched aboard Djanduin vollers.
Scorpio Triumph [Dray Prescot #43] Page 15