"Are they not meant to be very dangerous," I whispered. "I mean, mortals in the earliest stages of becoming glass dragons are not entirely sane." "Yes indeed."
"And, er, was she not the reason Roval took to the drink?" "Yes. It was over another man."
"Four other men, as I heard it. The late prince of Alberin, a shipmaster, my former commanding officer, and Andry Tennoner."
"Enough!" hissed Justiva.
The writing kits were brought in by a deacon, who was then sent away. The neophyte dragon Terikel began to speak, and we wrote.
The glass dragons had been profoundly disturbed by the destruction of one of their kind by the Lupanians, and had retreated to their mountains lairs or taken to the upper atmosphere to ride the air currents in tranquility. Immortal beings get very sensitive about anything that might kill them, or so it seems. Terikel was a very young dragon, however, who did not yet have the caution born of centuries of life, and thus she had more boldness where danger was concerned. She had been drifting on the air currents five miles above the Lupanians, learning what she could about those just south of Gatrov. Half of the Lupanian tripod towers were concentrated in this area, which was where the borders of Fralland, Zaldacia, Terrisia, and Greater Alberin came together. It was also close to Vosburgh, the capital of Zaldacia, which was built on the shores of Lake Askal. To give them credit, the rulers of Fralland, Zaldacia, and Terrisia recognized the threat quickly, and decided to unite their forces. Eight days after Gatrov had been destroyed, a combined army of over a hundred thousand kavelars, militiamen, cavalry, lake galleys, reccons, and irregulars had gathered in and around Vosburgh to confront the tripod towers that were slowly advancing in that direction. What they had not realized was that the Lupanians could fly. A thing, smaller yet faster than a glass dragon, had been high above Alberin when we had destroyed the towers sent to conquer us. It was the thing I had seen. From what Terikel had said, this then flew four hundred miles south to Zaldacia in barely two hours, for she had seen it descending to where the three towers were preparing to move on Vosburgh. One presumes that a very thorough report was delivered.
When the three tripod towers finally advanced on Vosburgh the following morning, they were spaced about a mile apart, and with their flying engine circling above to warn of glass-dragon attack. Well-camouflaged ballistas were in their path, but the towers blasted all cover to ashes before they were within a half mile's distance. The westernmost of the towers waded along the shallows of Lake Askal, and it was this one that the dozen galleys of the lake fleet attacked. These were dash galleys, small, swift warships armed with ballistas. Each and all were cut in half and sunk at a distance of one mile. Vosburgh fared no better. No longer interested in preserving our cities for their own use, the Lupanians merely slashed the rooftops of the lakeside city with the beams of their heat weapons. This caused a storm of fire confined within the city, and from what Terikel said, the place was ashes by nightfall. At least five thousand cavalry charged the towers, sacrificing themselves while militiamen with slings and hellfire jars tried to sneak up on them. Nothing got to within a quarter mile of a Lupanian.
• 'Towers ... now gathering," concluded Terikel laboriously. "Walking north. Will be here, three days."
"This is very serious," I said to Justiva once Terikel had finished. "The Lupanians learn from their mistakes. Not a ballista or galley will ever get to within a half mile of their towers again, and that was how we got them every other time. Unless we can ambush them or somehow get close, we have no hope. Perchance they thought we would not be quite so dangerous as we have proved to be, but now they know it, and they will never again fight from less than a half-mile distance."
"Three days to prepare," said Justiva.
"From yesterday," crackled Terikel.
At that moment I heard a clattering of boots on the stairs to the loft, and Roval's voice calling out to us.
"Laron won," he called before he reached the door. "Now all he has to do is do the impossible, yet again."
Roval stopped a few steps into the loft, staring past us to the neophyte glass dragon.
"You," he said in a tone of voice that in my experience generally precedes attempted or actual homicide.
"Roval... my love," crackled the voice from a mouth that glowed greenish blue from within.
"You were my love," said Roval coldly, backing away a pace, and with a hand on his ax. "I was never yours. Yours were whoever was to hand when you felt inclined."
"Needed their help," replied Terikel, "against Dragonwall. Bought support... with myself."
"And who was the one man that you never approached?" demanded Roval. "I would have helped. We of the Special Warrior Service are very good at helping."
"No, could not... not for what was needed."
"Well, if told I could have sealed my hearts tight while you used your body to get your way. If you had explained it, I could have trusted you. No, you wanted to hurt me. You feed on hurt and betrayal."
Even a neophyte glass dragon is not a thing to make weak and futile pleas. Instead it stood in silence for some moments, then began to advance on Roval. Justiva took me by the arm and dragged me aside, and Lavenci needed no encouragement to move clear as well.
"Twisted, flawed, warped, I am, bent by an Elder from Torea, now ash in the wind," she whispered her voice like leaves blown on an autumn breeze. "Now, yours forever, and you are mine."
"Not with four other bodies in the bed between us!" declared Roval defiantly.
"Killing them, cauterizing the memories. Only way, to heal." Standing only a foot or so from where Roval stood with his arms folded, Terikel reached out and caressed the back of his hand. Smoke sizzled up from his skin where the hot claws touched it. He flinched, but did not back away or cry out.
"Wanted that I touch ... other than you ... only one living man has known my touch. Soon, just you ... it is my pledge."
Terikel began to back away now, gazing at Roval all the while. When she reached the loading doors of the loft there was a brilliant flash of light like a dazzle casting, and when I had blinked the dancing glows out of my eyes, she was gone.
"She, er, she delivered a report," I said nervously, holding up my scribbled sheet of reedpaper.
"Then you had best deliver it to Presidian Laron," Roval said with a polite but icy smile, before bowing, turning on his heel, and striding for the stairs.
XXX
Laron's first act as presidian of Greater Alberin was to rename the electoral advisors as the Greater Alberin War Council. He liked using the word "war" rather than "defense" because it suggested that we were actually going after the Lupanians. ft was to this council that I presented the young glass dragon's report.
"In short, the entire force of Lupanians is on the way here," Laron concluded when I had finished.
"Yes sir. And their policy appears to be to annihilate anything displaying resistance, or even looking suspicious, before they get within a half mile of it. They can fly, too, and at a speed many times greater than even a glass dragon can achieve."
"Many times more?"
"Five times, was Lady Terikel's estimate."
"But that would be approaching three hundred miles per hour."
"Yes. They can now fly anywhere on our world, and very fast at that. They can reach newly arrived, benevolent sorcerers from Lupan as soon as their voidships land. They will kill them as they emerge from their voidships." Riellen's original octagonal table had been sanded, put on a larger base frame with eight legs, stained walnut brown, edged with gold leaf, and lacquered by the time this meeting began. It was not that Laron was fond of luxury so much as that the people around both him and Riellen wanted to do things for them. Riellen now had the title charter advisor, while the other six experts were just called citizen councillors. Laron unrolled another report and tapped it with a finger.
"A trend has been found in the use of the tripods," he announced. "From the script on the sides of the tripod towers I have noticed that the mo
st recent arrivals are sent into battle
first. Could it be that the Lupanians who have been here longest are becoming sick, and unable to fight?"
"Why should that happen to them?" asked Roval.
"Because it happens to us. Sailors from very distant continents sometimes die of maladies that would have locals merely feeling queasy. Azorian is dead, and he was in the first cylinder."
"But one tower from the first cylinder is still active," said Lavenci.
"That is a good point, Lady Lavenci," said Laron. "Do you have anything to report?"
"Azorian's castings were similar to our own magic, but he had a vastly greater ability to gather and control etheric energies. His powers here were a hundred thousand times greater than mine."
"That is a very precise figure," said Laron, leaning forward and clasping his hands.
"I improvised a measurement device, a type of balance beam that we both tried to push downward by minute castings."
"I see. And how much stronger than Azorian are the Lupanian glasswalker warriors? A thousand times? Ten thousand?"
Lavenci pressed her fingertips against her temples.
"Look, at these levels of etheric power it's meaningless to talk about amounts," she said.
"Sorry?"
"It seems that there is a limit to the amount of etheric energy around us. Everyone knows that—on Lupan, anyway. The etheric background is much weaker on Lupan, so the Lupanians are much better at drawing together power than we here, who have lived in plenty all our lives. Think of it this way: the difference between a very strong blacksmith's apprentice and a very strong warrior is not some small measure of strength, it is five or ten years of training with weapons."
"Can you expand upon why they are so much more powerful than us?" asked Laron.
"Don't you see? Look, even I could devise a casting to generate a heat weapon. It could cut a worm in half at one mile. Take me to a place where I am a hundred thousand times more powerful and I could use that same casting to cut a batde galley in half at the same distance—as Lupanians are doing here. The sorcerers on Lupan worked out that they could be like gods here. Some group of nobles found the idea very attractive."
"I see, I see. Does this give us any advantage, I wonder?"
"None that I can think of," replied Lavenci.
"We'll then, back to trickery," sighed Laron. "Do you know what the tripod towers use for distress signals?"
"I cannot say. I could study the controls in the captured tower."
"Then do so. If we can use the distress call to make the others think the, er, glasswalker is merely trapped, and not dead, we might lure them back into Alberin and again fight them at close range. What do you think?"
"It would be an act of desperation, but has anything that we have done been any more than desperation?" asked Lavenci.
XXX
After the meeting I visited some people who knew people who were good at finding out about people. They told me that they had learned nothing about Pelmore. I went to Madame Yvendel's to see Lavenci, but was told that she and Wensomer were examining the captured tower for clues to Lupanian magic, and were expected to be there all night. I returned to the palace, and there I fell flat on my back in the direction of a bed. During the night the Lupanian flying engine passed low over the city and dropped several castings of poisonous smoke. I did not awake until later, when all the bells and gongs of the city began ringing the alarm. Some said the flying engine had shone a great light down on Alberin, then dropped something into the harbor that sank three ships at anchor. After that we were left in peace.
Chapter Twenty-One TEMPORIANS
I awoke a little before dawn to discover Wallas curled up on my chest. I sat up. Wallas tumbled off.
"Constable Wallas reporting for duty, Inspector," said Wallas, before sitting back, extending a hind leg into the air, and licking it.
"Anything to report, apart from yourself, for duty?" I said as I stood up and poured some water into a washbasin.
"Such ingratitude! I was up most of the night on your behalf." "Cats are nocturnal, Wallas. Well?" "Well what?"
"Well, have you learned anything?" "No."
"Damn! Well, Wallas, it's dawn and you're on a bed. I have novice warriors to select to be slaughtered." "Sir, I've been thinking." "Good. Do it more often." "Who are you chasing?" "Pelmore, of course. And his rescuers." "Who are they, sir?"
"Agents of the regent—ex-regent, that is."
"Pelmore was not among those who rode out of the city with the ex-regent. Thousands of people watched them ride past, including me. Before I was made a cat, I was a courtier, and courtiers like to watch what other courtiers are doing."
"But refugees left as well, Wallas. Oh I know that most came back with Riellen, but anyone wishing to flee the city would merely have stayed outside."
"Nobody knew that an electocracy would happen, inspector. Not you, not Pelmore, not me, and probably not even Riellen. I doubt that Pelmore tried to leave."
"The Inquisition may have rescued him. He was one of theirs. I've seen proof."
"They would have kept him in the Inquisition building. We all know what happened to that."
"Yes, in fact I was very nearly still inside when it collapsed."
"Let us play spot the conspiracy, sir. You could secredy love Riellen, yet be furious with her for three years of headaches. Do you love Riellen? Are you afraid to let Lavenci get too close because of that?"
"Riellen is sleeping with Laron, Wallas. Most of the city knows it. I am indeed relieved that Laron is teaching her the sweaty and exhausting delights of dalliance. My sole reservation is that I may owe Laron more strong drinks than I could ever afford on my wages."
"Riellen might be hiding Pelmore, still trying to keep you and Lavenci apart."
"Pelmore vanished before Riellen came to power, Wallas."
"Good point, inspector. Riellen is out, then, but what about you? You were a hero back then, when Pelmore vanished. You had enough influence to get admitted to the dungeons, perhaps even the influence to get someone out."
"Wallas, you are beginning to annoy me intensely, and I have people to train. Good morning to you."
"Where would you hide Pelmore—" began Wallas, but I slammed the door on his voice and hurried away.
>: >: x
I was assigned half a decile of archers. The forty-seven men and three women were not bowmen with massive arms, but a mixed bag of people, half of whom who knew how to aim a crossbow. The rest were strong enough to load a crossbow, so that a pair could operate a single weapon. They had been trained for three days, and could shoot off three bolts per minute. Accuracy was not an issue, because an army of the Lupanians' supporters would be very hard to miss. The reason that I was put in front of fifty crossbow archers was that I had faced the Lupanians several times and survived.
We were drawn up on the wharves, ready to fire out across the harbor. I had taken them through several volleys, and they were all smiles and confidence. Suddenly a shower of missiles erupted from the other side of the harbor wall, some of which
trailed black smoke; then strangely dressed figures armed with pikes swarmed up onto the wharf, howling for blood. The archers fell back at once, some even dropping their weapons.
"Stand!" I shouted. "Fifth Alberin Presidian's Militia, stand ready!" Some backed away a little more slowly, but none stood. I turned and faced the attackers, holding up both hands.
"That's enough, lads, well done!" I shouted, and the street urchins wearing sacks over their heads stopped at once. I turned back to the archers, who were by now looking very sheepish.
"Never, never break and run until the officer tells you to retreat!" I shouted, with a passable show of fury. "He's your leader. If you don't want to obey him, leave now."
I waited. Nobody left.
"This morning you ran from fish heads, rotten fruit, and burning rags on sticks," I continued. "In a day or two it will be arrows from the Lupanians'
human recruits, each a yard long, that can skewer your body and leave you dead. Those shooting them want you to break and run. You want to scatter them with your crossbow bolts. Who will win? The side that holds firm. Now get back here and let's try again."
"Please, but what if it's Lupanians in towers a hundred feet high, each armed with a heat weapon that can slice a war galley in half at one mile?" asked a recruit who was wearing a blacksmith's leather apron.
"In that case turn, run, and try to keep up with your officer." The rest of the day was spent getting the children and idlers to charge the archers and loaders time and again, throwing things and screaming abuse. By the time we broke for the day it was three in the afternoon, and my voice was ragged. The archers were by now standing firm and shooting, even when showers of fruit and fish heads were descending. They did not even break when attacked by children wielding pails of water, although they were surprised and annoyed. XXX
I made my way to the Lamplighter, secured a tankard of ale, sat down, and thought of nothing whatsoever for a time. Then Wallas appeared and jumped up onto my lap. T have news," he announced.
"The Lupanians are attacking?" I asked, without enthusiasm. "Someone was watching you training those poor fools to stand and die."
"Someone of more interest to me that the other two or three hundred onlookers?" "Yes." "Who?" "You."
"Wallas, piss off."
"Listen! Just listen. Listening?"
"Yes."
'Think upon it. Someone who looks very like you. Someone who could have impersonated you and liberated Pelmore."
All of a sudden, what Wallas was saying started to make sense.
"Go on."
"When he left, I followed him to a storehouse in Wharfside. Chandler's Lane, Wall Tower Building."
"The bluestone place that's meant to be a thousand years old?"
"The very one."
Ten centuries ago Alberin had been a fraction of its present size, and the old city wall ran directly north from the river, starting at Wharfside. There were seven guard towers, and although the five southernmost towers had been dismantled to make way for other structures, the two towers in Wharfside were still intact and being used as storehouses. They were squat and ugly, yet were also large, solid and well built, meaning that they endured the centuries with little need of maintenance. They had outlasted some palaces. For a time I thought about what to do. At the very least I wanted a long and truthful talk with Pelmore, followed by the completion of his sentence. Given what was on the way to the city, I was fairly sure that unless I had that talk very soon, it would not take place at all.
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