Fredro wrung Fallon’s hand in both of his and looked around for a khizun to hail.
“You’ll have to take a bus,” said Fallon. “It’s just like Earth. The minute a drop of rain falls all the cabs disappear.”
He left Fredro and walked westward with the idea of going directly to Tashin’s Inn to report to Qais, before events swept his news into obsolescence. He was getting wetter by the minute, and regretted the fine new rain-cloak lying by the front door of the Safq—he could almost see it from where he was. But he was not so foolhardy as to try to recover it now.
By the time he got to the Square of Qarar, however, he was limping from the knock that he had given his knee in the tunnel, and so wet and miserable that he decided to go home, get a drink, and change his clothes before proceeding farther. He had an old winter over-tunic there which he could use to keep dry with thereafter, and this would mean only a slight detour.”
As he plodded through the rain, head down, the sound of a drum caused him to look around. Down Asada Street marched a column of civic guards with pikes on their shoulders, the drummer beating time at their head. From the two white bands on each sleeve of their jackets Fallon recognized them as belonging to the Gabanj Company. His own Juru Company looked scarecrows “by comparison.
A few pedestrians lined the sides of the street to watch the column go past. Fallon asked a couple what the parade portended, but nobody could give him a plausible answer. When the militiamen had gone, Fallon trudged on homeward. He was just opening his door when a voice said, “Master Antane!”
It was Cisasa, the Osirian guardsman, with his antique helmet precariously held to the top of his reptilian head by the chin-strap and a Krishnan sword hanging awkwardly from a baldric over his shoulder, if he could be said to have a shoulder.
He went on in his weirdly accented Balhibou, “Fetch your kear at once and come with me to the armory. The Churn Company is ortered out!”
“Why? Is the war on?”
“I know not—I do but pass on the orters.”
Oh, Bakh! thought Fallon. Why did this have to happen at this particular moment? He said, “Very well, Cisasa. Run along and I’ll be with you soon.”
“Your parton, sir, but that I’m forpitten to do; I’m to escort you in person.”
Fallon had hoped to slip away to continue his visit to Qais; but evidently Kordaq had foreseen that some of his guardsmen might try to make themselves scarce at mobilization, and had taken measures to forestall such absences. It was no use running away from Cisasa, who could outrun any Terran ever born.
Fallon’s aversion to being called up was due, not to cowardice —he did not mind a good battle—but to fear that he would never, then, be able to collect from Qais.
He said wearily. “Come on in while I get my gear.”
“Pray hasten, goot my sir, for I’ve three more to fetch after I’ve deliffered you. Have you no red jacket?”
“No, and I haven’t had time to get one,” said Fallon, rummaging for his field-boots. “Will you have a drink before we go?”
“No thank you. Duty first! I am wiltly excited. Are you not excited too?”
“Positively palpitating,” grumbled Fallon.
The armory was crowded with the entire Juru Company, or at least all of those that had arrived; latecomers were being brought in every minute. Kordaq sat with his spectacles on at his desk, in front of which stood a line of guardsmen waiting to beg off from active service.
Kordaq heard each one out and decided quickly, usually against the plea for exemption. Those whose excuses he found frivolous he sent away with a stinging tirade on the cowardice of this generation compared to the heroic Balhibo ancestors. Those who claimed to be sick were given a quick examination by Qouran, the neighborhood physician, whose method seemed to be to count eyes, hands, and feet.
Fallon went over to where about two hundred of the new muskets were stacked against the wall. Other guardsmen were crowding around them, handling them and speculating as to how these things were to be used. He was turning one of the firearms over and sighting along the barrel—it had sights, he was glad,to observe—when Kordaq’s voice roared through the armory:
“Attention! Put those guns down and get back against the other wall, all of you, while in a few words I convey to you that which I must say.”
Fallon, knowing the Krishnan habit of never using one word where ten would serve, braced himself for a long speech.
Kordaq continued, “As most of you know, the armies of barbarous Qaath have now swept across the sacred bourne of fair Balhib and are advancing upon Zanid. The holy duty therefore falls to us to smite them sore and hurl them back to regions whence they came. And here before you are the means, whereof I’ve hinted heretofore. These are true and veritable guns, such the mighty Terrans use, devised and fabricated here in Zanid secretly.
“If you wonder why the Juru Company, of all in Zanid the most irregulous, should be among the few chosen to bear this new weapon—for there are enough for three companies only— I’ll tell you straight. Firstly ‘tis known that our pike-drill’s abominable and our archery worse, whereas those of some other companies of die Guards are almost up to the standards of the Regulars. ‘Twere ill-advised, then, to deprive the army of such puissance as the pikes and bolts of these others provide. Secondly, the fact that this company includes beings from other planets—where such fearsome lethal toys are commonplace—makes us all the more adaptable. Thus these foreigners—I speak particularly of Earthmen and Osirians—can serve as a ready-made force of instructors in the use of guns.
“Did time permit, ‘twould advantageous be to spend a number of days in practice—but the emergency o’errides our wishes. We must therefore march out at once and snatch such practice as we can enroute to the field of blood. Mark me well, though: there shall be no casual shooting without specific orders, for the quantity of bullets and explosive is limited. Do I catch any guard banging away unauthorized at stump and stone, I’ll truss him and use him for a target at official exercise.
“Now for the manner whereby these things are used. Harsun, set up that bag of sand ‘gainst yonder wall. Now attend me closely, heroes, whilst I strive in my inarticulate way to make these operations as clear as desert air.”
Kordaq picked up a musket and proceeded to explain how it was loaded and fired. It transpired that, in the absence of any trigger mechanism, the musketeers were expected to discharge their pieces by touching to the firing-pans lighted cigars held in their teeth. Fallon had a prevision of some bloody noses before they learned to master the recoil of the guns.
One of the guardsmen said, “Well, meseems we get free smokes, at least.”
Kordaq frowned at such levity and, having loaded his piece and lighted his cigar, aimed at the sandbag set up against the far wall and touched off his charge.
Bang!
The armory’s rafters rang with the explosion. The kick of the musket staggered the captain, and from the muzzle bloomed a vast cloud of black, choking smoke. A hole appeared in the sandbag. Fallon, coughing with the rest, reflected that while the asphalt-sugar-niter mixture exploded, it might work better as smoke-screen material than as a propellant for ordnance.
The Krishnans in the company jumped violently. Several screamed with fright. Some shouted that they would be afraid to handle any such Dupulan’s device as that. Others clamored for the good old pike and crossbow, which all understood. Kordaq quieted the hubbub and continued, emphasizing the importance of keeping one’s explosive dry and one’s barrel clean and oiled.
“Now,” he said, “have you any queries?”
They had. The Thothians objected that they were too small to handle such heavy weapons, while the Osirians pointed out that tobacco-smoke threw them into a paroxysm of coughing, wherefore they never used the weed. Both arguments were allowed after much discussion, and it was decided that these species should retain their bills. After all, Kordaq told them, the company would need a few billmen to protect it, “lest for all our lightni
ngs and thunders the roynish foe win to hand-play.”
There remained the lone Isidian to dispose of—for while its elephantine trunk was efficient enough to catching thieves on the streets of Zanid, the creature was not quite up to manipulating a muzzle-loading arquebus. Fallon suggested making the Isidian the standard-bearer. Accepted.
The rain had ceased, and Roqir was breaking through the overcast, when the Juru Company marched out of the armory, with Captain Kordaq, the drummer, and the Isidian flag-bearer at their head, muskets and bills on their shoulders, and mail-shirts clinking.
Chapter XVIII
The Balhibo army lay at Chos, a crossroads in western Balhib. Fallon, having the guard, walked slowly around the perimeter of the area assigned to the Civic Guard of Zanid, a musket on his shoulder. The Guard had the extreme northerly position in the encampment. Another regiment occupied the adjacent area, and another beyond that, and so on.
Krishnan military organization was much simpler than Terran, without the elaborate hierarchy of officers or the sharp distinction between officers and non-commissioned officers. Fallon was a squad-leader. Above him was Savaich, the tavern-keeper; as senior squad-leader of the section, he had limited powers over the whole section. Over Savaich was Captain Kordaq (the title of rank could be as well translated as “Major” or even “Lieutenant-Colonel”) who commanded the Juru Company.
Above Kordaq was Lord Chindor who commanded the whole Guard; and above Chindor nobody but Minister Chabarian, who commanded the entire army. The army was theoretically organized in tens—ten-man squads, ten-squad sections or platoons, and so on. In practice, however, the numbers were seldom those of this theoretical desideratum. Thus the Juru Company, with a paper strength of a thousand plus, actually mustered less than two hundred on the battlefield, and it was about an average company. Staff work and supply and medical arrangements were of the simplest.
So far, Fallon and his squad had been adequately, if monotonously, fed. Fallon had not seen a map of the region in which they were traveling; but that mattered little because as far as one could see in all directions there was nothing but the gently rolling prairie with its waving cover of plants, something like Terran grasses in appearance, though biologically more like long-stemmed mosses.
From over the horizon a thin pencil of black smoke slanted up into the turquoise sky, where Ghuur’s raiders had burned a village. Such cavalry-raids had struck deep into Balhib already. But the Qaathians could not take the walled cities with cavalry alone, nor could they build siege-engines on the spot, in a land where the only trees were grown from seeds imported and planted and kept alive by frequent watering.
All this Fallon either knew from rumors that he had picked up or surmised from his previous military experience. Now to his ears came the creak of supply-wagons, the animal noises of cavalry mounts, the hammering of smiths repairing things, the shrill cries of a tribe of the Gypsy-like Gavehona who had attached themselves to the army as camp-followers, the popping of muskets, as Kordaq doled out the day’s sparing allowance of target powder and shot. In the six days since they had left Zanid, the Juru Company had acquired a nodding acquaintance with their new weapons. Most of them could now hit a man-sized target at twenty paces.
So far, there had been two killed and five wounded—four gravely—in musket accidents. One’s gun had blown up, as a result either of faulty manufacture or of double-charging. The other had been shot on the target-range by a musketeer who failed to notice where he was pointing his piece. All seven casualties had occurred among the Krishnans of the company. The non-Krishnans were more careful, or more accustomed to firearms.
A spot of dust appeared above the prairie, about where the westward road would be. It grew, and out of it appeared a rider loping along on an aya, having the misfortune to have his dust-cloud blown along by the breeze at just his own speed. Fallon saw the fellow gallop into the camp and disappear from sight among the tents. This happened often enough, though sooner or later, he knew, the arrival would bear portentous news.
Well, this seemed to be the occasion, for a trumpet blew, riders galloped hither and yon, and Fallon saw the musketeers come marching back over the rise to camp. He, too, walked over to where the Juru Company’s standard rose amid the tents. The troopers of the company were whetting swords, polishing helmets, and pushing oiled rags into their musket-barrels.
Just as Fallon arrived, the little drummer—a short-tailed freedman from the forest of Jaega—beat “fall in.” With much clatter and last-minute rummaging for gear, the company slowly pulled itself together. Fallon was almost the first of the third section to arrive in his place.
At last they were all in place—except a couple. Cursing, Kordaq sent Cisasa over to the tents of the Gavehona.
Meanwhile a troop of cavalry galloped westward along the road trailing a rope, to the end of which was attached a rocket-glider, for Chabarian had hired a number of these primitive aircraft and their pilots from Sotaspe for scouting. The craft rose like a kite. When the pilot found an updraft, he cast off the rope and ignited the first of his rockets which, burning the spores of the yasuvar-plant, pushed the craft along.
Then the Juru Company stood and stood. Cisasa returned with the missing men. Krishnans on ayas galloped back and forth bearing messages. Officers, their gilded armor blinding in the bright sun, conferred out of earshot of the troops. Two of the companies of the Zanid Guard were wheeled out of line and marched across the front of the army to reinforce the left wing.
Fallon, leaning boredly on his musket, reflected that things had been different when he had commanded an army and so had had a fair notion of what was happening. He had, so to speak, started at the top and worked his way down in military rank. If he ever again acquired an army of his own, he would try to keep his soldiers better informed.
About him the men yawned, fidgeted, and gossiped: “ ’Tis said the Kamuran has a kind of mechanical bishtar, worked by machinery and sheathed in iron armor…” “They say the Jungava have a fleet of flying galley-ships which, fanning the air with oars like wings, will hover over us and lapidate us with weighty stones…” “I hear Minister Chabarian has been beheaded for treason!”
Finally, more than an hour after falling in, there came a great blaring of trumpets and banging of gongs and beating of drums, and the army began to move forward. Fallon, tramping through the long moss-grass with the rest, saw that the commanders were getting the array into the shape of a huge crescent with the horns, of which the Zanid Guard was the right-hand tip, pointing westward toward the enemy. The musketeers had been massed at the tips of the crescent, with the more conventional units of pikemen and crossbowmen in between, while behind the crescent Chabarian had placed his cavalry. He had a squadron of bishtars, but kept them well back, for these elephantine beasts were too temperamental to be used rashly, and were prone to stampede back through their own army.
When they had marched so that the tents were mere dots against the eastern horizon they halted and stood again, while the officers straightened out irregularities in the line. There was nothing for Fallon to see except the waving of the moss-grass in the breeze and a glider circling overhead in the greenish-blue sky against the bright-yellow disk of Roqir.
The Juru Company was moved a little to place it atop a rise. Now one could see farther, but all there was to see was the surface of the olive-green plain, rippling like water as the breeze bowed the moss-grass. Fallon guessed the total force as in the neighborhood of thirty thousand.
Now he could see the road, along which more dust-clouds appeared. This time whole squadrons of riders were moving along it. Others popped up above the horizon, like little black dots. Fallon inferred from their behavior that they were Balhibo scouts retreating before the advance of the Jungava;
Then more waiting; then more Balhibo riders. And quite suddenly, a pair of riders a few hundred paces away were circling and fighting, their swords flashing like needles in the sun. Fallon could not see clearly what happened, but one f
ell off his mount and the other galloped away, so the Balhibu must have lost the duel.
And finally the horizon crawled with dots that slowly grew into squadrons of the steppe-dwellers spread out across the plain.
Kordaq said, “Juru Company! Load your pieces! Light your cigars!”
But then the enemy stopped and seemed to be milling around with no clear purpose. A group of them detached themselves from the rest and galloped in a wide sweep that took them past the Juru Company, yelping and loosing arrows as they went, but from such a distance that nearly all the shafts fell short. One glanced with a sharp metallic sound from the helmet of a trooper, but without harm. Fallon could not see them too clearly.
From the left end of the line came a single report of a musket and a cloud of smoke.
“Fool!” cried Kordaq. “Hold your fire, hold your fire!”
Then with a tremendous racket the Qaathian army got into forward motion again. Fallon had a glimpse of a phalanx of spearmen marching down the road toward the center of the Balhibo line, where Kir’s royal guard was posted. The phalanx was no doubt composed of Surians, or Dhaukians, or some other ally, as the Qaathian force was said to be entirely mounted. Other forces, mounted and afoot, could be seen moving hither and thither. Clouds of arrows and bolts filled the intervening air, the snap of the bowstrings and the whizz of the missiles providing a kind of orchestral accompaniment to the rising din of battle.
But the scene became too obscured by dust for Fallon to make much of it from where he stood, besides which the Juru Company would soon have its hands full with its own battle.
A huge force of mounted archers on ayas thundered toward the right tip of the crescent. Kordaq cried, “Are you all loaded, lit, and ready? Prepare to fire. Front rank, kneel!”
The first two ranks raised their muskets, the men of the second aiming over the heads of the first. At the end of the line Kordaq sat on his aya with his sword on high.
Arrows began to swish past. A couple thudded into targets. The approaching cavalry was close enough for Fallon, aiming his musket like the rest, to see the antennae sprouting from their foreheads when Kordaq shrieked “Give fire!” and lowered his sword.
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