by David Weber
“Enough,” he said instead, with a gesture of resignation, “I have too many other problems to worry about to consider this one in depth.”
He straightened and took a sniff of the air, heavy with the scent of brimstone, wafting down from the Fire Lands to the north. It was one of the Vales’ many products. Brimstone for gunpowder, ores, hides, gems, and raw nuggets of gold—all of them flowed out of the Vales and through Mudh Hemh. And everyone wanted it. The other Shin, yes, but especially the Krath. Mudh Hemh was the most populous Vale, since the fall of Uthomof, and it was also the richest, acting as a conduit for trade with the entire eastern half of the Shin Range. Which was why it was the Vale above all Vales the Krath wished to seize.
They had tried at least a dozen times, from as many directions, to invade the Shin Range and wipe out the Shin once and for all. The destruction of Uthomof had been the result of one such war, and he could smell a change in the air, a danger as faint and sharp as the hint of sulfur on the wind, but just as real . . . and growing stronger. War was coming; he could feel it in his bones.
But until it did, he had heads to crack and disputes to settle. It generally came down to the same thing.
Roger swung up onto the turom cart and waved at the valley spread out before them.
“Tell me what I’m seeing, Pedi.”
It was obvious that the Vale of Mudh Hemh was a pretty complicated place, geologically, as well as politically. The valley was at least partially an upland glacial cirque, with some evidence of blown volcanic caldera. The various geological catastrophes had created a sort of paisley shape, broken by regular hills and surrounded by rearing volcanic mountains. The Shin River cut across the valley almost due east and west, and its course was flanked on both sides by a mixture of fields and fortifications.
To the east, on the nearer side of the river, two massive fortresses faced each other across a large, torn sward. Each was easily as large as the main temple in Kirsti, and each sealed off the entire width of its respective vale from mountain to river. The fields in between them were large—it was at least ten kilometers from the nearer fortress to the further one—and they’d clearly been cultivated until fairly recently. At the moment, however, they were occupied by an army.
The nearer fortress had a new, raw look to it, as if it had been thrown up in haste, but it was holding its own against the force spread out before its walls. The army (it could only be the Krath regular forces) spread across the fields, filling the vale from side to side. A tent city to the rear was laid out in widely spaced blocks, while massive squares of infantry closer to the fortress awaited their orders to assault the Shin walls. They were moving forward against the nearer fortress in regular waves, but reinforcements for what Roger assumed were Shin defenders could be seen crossing a covered causeway behind the fighting and moving down side roads in the protected lee of the fortress.
Both fortresses had companion forts on the far side of the river, or perhaps they could more accurately have been considered overly large outer works, protecting the farther shore. There was no open ground on that side, just a broken mass of rubble, fallen basalt, and flood ravaged shore. But neither side seemed to consider it uncrossable.
To the west, behind the fighting but on the nearer side of the river, lay the ruins of what had once been a fair sized city. It might not have been much compared to Kirsti or K’Vaern’s Cove, but it had been larger than Voitan. Now it was a tumbled ruin, clearly being mined for the stone of its buildings.
On the far side of the river there was a large embayment, or secondary valley, with a walled town built into the side of an ash cone. The ash cone, in turn, was the outrider of a large area of geothermal activity. A small stream, tinged bright blue with minerals, flowed down from the ash cones, geysers, and fumaroles.
A massive bridge, wide enough for four turom carts abreast, crossed from the town to the ruined city. Obviously, it was the conduit for the majority of supplies and reinforcements for the newer fortress.
“The two main forts are Nopet Nujam and Queicuf,” Pedi told him. “The area between them is usually a trade city, Nesru, full of Krath and Shin traders. The far forts are Nopet Vusof and Muphjiv.”
Roger nodded. He still didn’t know why her father might have concealed any contact he had with the human at port from her. Which was fair enough, since she hadn’t been able to think of any reason, either. Although it was probable that O’Casey was right about the reasons the Gastan felt impelled to keep it a secret, but why conceal it even from Pedi? She might be stubborn, impulsive, and personally reckless, but Roger and the rest of the Basik’s Own had seen more than enough of her to realize that she was also highly intelligent and possessed of an iron sense of honor. Her father should have trusted her with his secret.
Then again, Mother should have trusted me instead of finding trumped-up excuses to send me away from court, he thought. Not that I’d ever given her the sort of proof that she could trust me that Pedi must have given her father.
He shook the thought aside and returned his attention to Pedi.
A part of him wished that she’d conducted this briefing sooner than this, but she’d been very little in evidence since the sojourn at Shesul Pass. Part of that was because of how much of her time had been devoted to nursing the now clearly recovering Cord, but she’d been nearly invisible even when she wasn’t attending to the shaman’s needs. In fact, she’d spent much of her time sleeping in the back of a turom cart, which Roger put down to recovery from all the time she’d spent with the ailing Cord. She’d certainly earned the downtime, at any rate, and she appeared to be on the mend as well. Her energy levels seemed to be up today, anyway, and at the moment, happiness at being home was written in every line of her body language.
“The city across the way is Mudh Hemh, and the closer one, the ruined one, is Uthomof. It fell to the Krath in the time of my great-grandfather, and they passed on to besiege the walls of Mudh Hemh itself. But in my grandfather’s time, we drove them back to Queicuf and built Nopet Nujam. They lost heavily in that battle, and they’ve rarely sent great forces against us since.”
She looked down at the attacking army and shook her head in one of the human gestures she had absorbed.
“I fear we have, as you humans would say, ‘ticked them off,’” she added. “May I borrow your binoculars, please?”
Roger handed them over. They were clumsier than his helmet systems, but they were also more powerful, and Pedi observed the nearer fortress through them for several moments. Then she nodded.
“My father’s emblem is on the walls, along with those of virtually all the clan-chiefs. I wonder who defends Mudh Hemh?”
“I imagine we should go find out,” the prince said, updating his map to reflect her information and dumping it into the network. Pahner had decided that the humans could make use of the low-powered, low probability of intercept, inter-toot network. It was unlikely that the standard communications and recon satellite that was parked over the port would be able to pick it up.
“Father is not going to be happy about any of this,” Pedi warned him.
“Not even about having you back?” Roger asked lightly. Then he smiled. “Well, in that case, we’ll just have to see if we can’t persuade him to be happier.”
It took nearly three hours to arrange the meeting. The sun was on its way down by the time Roger, Pahner, and a cluster of Marines and Mardukans—including Pedi and an adamant, if barely ambulatory, Cord—were brought into the presence of the Gastan.
Pedi’s father was short for Mardukan, not much taller than an average Mardukan female, but broad as a wall. The double swords which were the customary armament of a Shin warrior were slung across his back, and between those and the gaggle of trophy-covered chieftains at his back, he was quite the picture of a barbarian war chief.
Roger waved Pedi forward, and she stepped in front of her father, a leather bag in one hand, and bowed her head.
“Father, I have returned.”
> “So I was told.” The Gastan spoke quietly, sparing the humans barely a glance. “Benan,” he added.
“Benan, Father,” she agreed. “And allied to the humans.”
No one could have missed the emphasis she’d placed upon that final noun, or the ever so slight edge of challenge in her body language. But if the Gastan noticed either, he gave absolutely no sign of it.
“I suspect you have something for me in the bag?”
Pedi bowed again, slightly. Then she reached into the bag and removed the head of the Kirsti high priest. She held it out by its horns, and a whisper ran through the mass of chiefs like a wind in the pass. The Gastan contemplated it for a moment, then reached out and took it from her.
“Taken by you?”
“Yes, Father.”
“I have an army at the gates, I’m holding the reason, and I have a daughter who confesses to the crime. You know that we are—were—at peace with the Krath. The penalty for such an offense is to be given to the Fire Priests.”
“And what of their offense against us, Father?” she snarled. “What of the taking of my party, of the attack upon Mudh Hemh?”
“A price we accept to prevent . . . that,” he said, gesturing with one false-hand in the direction of the surflike sounds of combat. Roger suddenly realized that they were very near the top of the wall, probably in the upper levels of one of the bastions flanking the main gate.
“What do you think I should do, Daughter?” the Gastan asked after moment.
“I suppose . . .” She hesitated for a moment, then inhaled and raised her head proudly. “I suppose I should be turned over to the priests. If it will end the war.”
“Over my dead body,” Roger said conversationally, and smiled.
“Perhaps, human,” the Gastan said. “And we have yet to deal with you. In fact, it is not my daughter towards whom the Fire Priests bend their malice, but one ‘Baron Chang.’ Would that be you, human?”
“It would,” Roger replied. “And you won’t be handing me over like a lamb to the slaughter, either.”
“Baron,” the Gastan mused. “That is a noble of your human lands, yes?”
“Yes,” Roger agreed.
“You are responsible for the good of others, ‘Baron’? You hold their lives in your hand and feel the weight of that?”
“Yes,” Roger replied soberly.
“I have lost over four hundred Shin warriors since this war started, ‘Baron.’ Including Thertik, my son and heir.” Roger heard Pedi inhale sharply, but the Gastan’s attention never wavered from the human. “That is the price my people and I have already paid. And you think that I would quail at the thought of turning you over to the Krath if it ends this slaughter?”
“I don’t know,” Roger said. “I would ask you this one thing, though. If they came up to you and pointed to one of your warriors and said ‘Give him to me. We will sacrifice him to the God and devour him, and that will end this war,’ would you?”
The Gastan regarded him levelly for a long moment, then made a gesture of ambiguity.
“Would you?” he responded.
“No,” Roger said. “That was the choice put to us, and I rejected it. Pointedly.”
“Hmmm. But just who are you responsible for, ‘Baron’? This group? These ragged mercenaries? Humans seem to have such in plenitude. Why not give one, if it saves others?”
“Because humans, and Mardukans, aren’t pawns,” Roger said, then sighed. “I can stand here debating this all day if you like, I suppose, but it’s really not my forte. So are you going to try to kill us, or not?”
“So quick to the battle,” the Gastan said with a gesture of humor. “Do you think you would win?”
“That depends on your definition of ‘win,’” Roger said. “We’ll make it out of this citadel alive, some of us, and we’ll collect our group and leave. You’ll get overrun by the Krath while you’re trying—and failing—to kill us, and while that happens, we’ll keep right on heading for the spaceport. It’s nothing that we haven’t done before. It will, however, tick off my asi’s benan. I have to consider that.”
“Hmmm,” the Gastan said again. “You’re just going to walk to the spaceport, ‘Baron’?”
“Of course,” Roger said. “We’re humans, after all. They’ll accept us.”
“I see that you’ve fallen into evil company,” Pedi’s father said. One of Roger’s eyebrows arched at the apparent non sequitur, and the Gastan gestured at the IAS journalist who had been quietly recording the entire meeting. “We have warning from the Office of the Governor that this man is a wanted criminal, a dangerous traitor and thief who should be returned to the port for trial,” he said.
“I’m what?” Mansul lowered the Zuiko and glared at the Gastan.
“I have other such messages, as well,” the Shin continued as if the journalist had never spoken. “One of them mentions a group of humans, ragged mercenaries who may attempt to pass themselves off as Imperial Marines. They are to be considered very dangerous and should be killed on sight and without warning. There is a reward—a very attractive one, in fact—for their heads. What do you think of that, ‘Baron’?”
“Gastan, you know that’s a lie about me, at least!” Mansul protested. “So you must realize the rest of it is lies, as well!”
“Must I?” the Gastan asked easily. “Softly, Harvard Mansul. I want to hear the answer of this human noble. This ‘Baron Chang.’”
Roger regarded the Gastan for a long slow moment, then nodded.
“My name,” he said, clearly and distinctly, “is Prince Roger Ramius Sergei Alexander Chiang MacClintock. And I am going to wipe the floor with the governor. And with anyone else who gets in my way.”
“Roger,” Pahner growled, and his hand dropped to the butt of his bead pistol.
“Softly, protector,” the Gastan said, raising his own hands in placation of both the Marine commander and of his own chieftains, who had shifted at the human’s movement. “Softly, Armand Pahner. Softly, humans, Shin. Friends. Friends I think, oh yes.”
He hefted the head of the High Priest. The climate of Marduk had not been kind to it, and he regarded the loathsome object coldly for a moment, then looked over his shoulder at one of his guardsmen.
“Bring me my sigil.”
He waited until the trophy staff was brought forward, then strode to the outer door. The humans followed at his gesture, and as they stepped onto the walls, the bull-throated roar of the Shin and the howling of the Krath forces arrayed against them pressed against their faces like the overpressure waves of distant explosions.
A large horn, longer than Roger was tall, had been laid upon the walls, obviously in preparation for this moment, and the Gastan first blew into a side valve. A mournful hum cut through the sound of the battle noise, and faces turned towards him from below. He gave them a few moments, then opened a speaking tube built into it.
“Krath!” he bellowed, and the megaphone effect sent his voice echoing across the valley like thunder. “Here is the head of your High Priest! We have the humans who took it within our walls! And here is the answer of the Vale of Mudh Hemh to your demands!”
He raised the head high in both true-hands and spat upon it, his motions broad enough to the observable across the entire battlefield. Then he attached it to the highest point of the staff, raising it for all to see, and set the iron shod foot of the staff into a socket atop the battlements.
He left it there and strode back into the conference room without so much as another backward glance, his shoulders set, while the ear-splitting shouts of the Shin on the walls bayed jubilant defiance at the Krath. Roger and his companions followed, and the Gastan turned to them grimly.
“And so my daughter’s allies are mine, as well, it seems,” he said. “But, Prince Roger Ramius Sergei Alexander Chiang MacClintock and Captain Armand Pahner of the Bronze Battalion, if you think you are scurrying off to Marduk Port without helping us out of this mess my daughter has gotten us into, you are so
rely mistaken.”
“There is a human group, the Imperial Bureau of Investigation,” the Gastan said as he passed over a flagon of wine. “You know it, yes?”
“Yes,” Roger agreed, pouring a glass of the wine. The meeting had been narrowed down to the main staff and a few of the tribal leaders. The IAS photographer had managed to shoehorn himself into the group and was discreetly recording in the background, and Roger was—inevitably—accompanied by Dogzard. But for once, the size of Roger’s entourage wasn’t completely out of hand.
As their commanders settled down to talk things over, both groups of subordinates were weighing each other and wondering who was bringing the most to the table.
There were certainly more of the Shin. At the first sign of the Krath attack, the Gastan had gathered the tribes, and every segment of the Shin Mountains was represented. There were at least three distinctly separate groups, distinguishable by their armor and weapons, as well as their features.
The most numerous group seemed to be the one associated closely with Pedi’s father. They were of about normal height for Mardukans, armed with a motley of weapons—mostly swords and battle axes—and wearing armor that ranged from light boiled leather to heavy plate. Their horns, like Cord’s, were high and rounded, with prominent ridges along the sides. Many of them had elaborate decorations on their horns, and helmets designed to display them to best advantage.
The second group appeared to be displaced Krath officers. They were equipped almost exactly like Flail commanders, armored in heavy plate with mail undershirts, and armed with long swords and square shields. They also had the haughty bearing that Roger had come to expect from the Krath.
As it turned out, they were clan leaders from “lowland” vales, where the influence—and money—of the Krath was strongest. They were heavily raided, so they tended to be unflinching in battle, but they were also ready to negotiate if battle could be avoided.