Tower of Zanid

by L. Sprague De Camp

  The muskets went off in a long ragged volley that completely hid the view in front of the company behind a vast pall of stinking brownish smoke. Fallon heard cries beyond the smoke.

  Then the breeze wafted the smoke back over the company and the atmosphere cleared. The great mass of aya-archers was streaming off to the right around the end of the line. Fallon saw several ayas kicking in the moss-grass before the company, and a couple more running with empty saddles. But he could not count the total casualties because the moss-grass hid the fallen riders.

  “Third and fourth ranks, step up!” shouted Kordaq.

  The third and fourth ranks squeezed forward between the men in front of them, who retired to reload.

  From somewhere to the south came the sound of another volley of musketry as the left end of the line let go in its turn, but Fallon could see nothing. Behind the company rose a furious din. Looking back he saw that a large part of the mounted archers had swept around behind the Balhibo foot, but here, had been set upon by one of the bodies of Balhibo cavalry. Kordaq ordered the Osirians and Thothians, who were standing in clumps behind the line of musketeers and leaning on their bills, to form a decent line to protect the company from an attack in the rear.

  Meanwhile, another force appeared in front of the Jura Company; this was mounted on the tall shomals (beasts something like humpless camels) and carrying long lances. As they galloped forward the leading ranks again brought up their pieces. Again the crackling volley and the cloud of smoke; and when the smoke had cleared, the shomal-riders were nowhere to be seen.

  Then nobody bothered the Jura Company for a time. The middle of the Balhibo line was hidden in dust and sent up a terrific din as spearmen and archers locked in close combat swayed back and forth over the bodies of the slain and hewed and thrust at one another; the plain shook with charges and countercharges of cavalry.

  Fallon hoped that Prince Chabarian knew more about what was going on than he did.

  Then Kordaq called his company to attention again as a mass of hostile pikemen materialized out of the dust-clouds, coming for the Zaniduma at a ran. The first musketry volley shook the oncoming spearmen, but the pressure of those behind kept the mass moving forward. The second volley tore great holes in their front rank, but still they came on.

  The first two ranks of musketeers were still back loading; the guns of the others had just been emptied. Kordaq ordered the bills forward, and the Osirians and Thothians squeezed through the ranks to the front.

  “Charge!” shouted Kordaq.

  The Osirians and Thothians advanced down the slope. Behind them the musketeers dropped their muskets, drew their swords, and followed. The sight of all the non-Krishnans seemed to unnerve the pikemen, for they ran off, dropping their pikes and yelling that devils and monsters were after them.

  Kordaq called his company back to the hilltop, riding around in circles like an agitated sheep-dog and beating with the flat of his sword those of his men who showed a disposition to chase the enemy clear back to Qaath.

  They re-formed on the hilltop, picking up and reloading their muskets. The sight of the corpses that now littered the gentle slope before them seemed to have heartened them.

  The day wore on. Kordaq sent an Osirian to fetch water. The company beat off three more cavalry charges from different directions. Fallon surmised that they did not have to hit any opponents to accomplish that; the noise and smoke alone would stampede the ayas and shomals. For a while, the fighting in the center seemed to have died down. Then its pace quickened.

  Fallon said, “Captain, what’s the disturbance down toward the center?”

  “They’ve been disturbed ever since the first onset… But hold—something’s toward! Meseems men of our coat do flee back along the road to home. What can it be, that having so stoutly withstood the shock and struggle so long, they’ve now turned faint of liver?”

  A mounted messenger came up and conferred with Lord Chindor, who cantered over to Kordaq, shouting, “Take your gunners across the rear of our host to the center of the line, and speedily! The Jungava have disclosed a strange, portentous thing! This messenger shall guide you!”

  Kordaq formed up his company and led them in a quick march out behind the lines and southward across the rear. Here and there were clusters of wounded Krishnans, on whom the army’s handful of surgeons worked as they could get around to them. To the Juru Company’s right stood the units of balestiers and pikemen, battered and thinned—the greenish tinge of the Krishnans’ skins hidden under a caking of dust down which drops of sweat eroded serpentine channels. They leaned upon their weapons and panted, or sat on convenient corpses. The moss-grass was trampled fiat and stained purplish-brown.

  Toward the middle of the line, the noise and dust began to rise again. The soldiers in the line were crowding to look over each other’s shoulders toward something out of sight. Then the crossbowmen were shooting into the murk.

  “This way,” said the messenger, wheeling his aya and pointing to a gap in the line.

  Kordaq on his aya, the drummer, and the Isidian standard bearer led the company through the line and deployed them to face the foe. At once Fallon saw the “thing.”

  It looked like a huge wooden box, the size of a large tent, and it rolled forward slowly on six large wheels, which were however almost entirely hidden by the thick qong-wood sides. On top was a superstructure with a hole in front; and behind the superstructure rose a short length of pipe. As the contraption crept forward at a slow walk, the pipe puffed clouds of mixed smoke and steam—puff-puff-puff-puff.

  “By God,” said Fallon, “they’ve got a tank!”

  “What said you, Master Antane?” asked the Krishnan next to him, and Fallon realized that he had spoken in English.

  “Merely a prayer to my Terran deities,” he said. “Hurry, up —straighten out the line.”

  “Prepare to fire!” shouted Kordaq.

  The tank puff-puffed on, closer and closer. It was not headed for the Juru Company, but for a point in the Balhibo line south of it. Its qong-wood sides bristled with arrows and bolts stuck in the hard wood. Behind it crowded a mass of hostile soldiery. And now, out of the dust, another tank could be seen, farther down the line.

  A loud thump came from the nearest tank. An iron ball whizzed from the aperture at the front of the superstructure and into the midst of the block of pikemen facing it. There was a stir in the mass. Pikes toppled and men screamed. The whole mass started to flow formlessly back from the line.

  The muskets of the Juru Company crashed, spattering the side of the tank with balls. When the smoke had blown away, however, Fallon saw that the tank had not been materially damaged. There was a grinding of gears and the thing backed up a few feet, turning as it did so, and started forward again, continuing to turn until it pointed right toward the company.

  “Another volley!” screamed Kordaq.

  But then the thump came again, and the iron ball streaked in amongst the Juru Company. It struck Kordaq’s aya in the chest, hurling the beast over backwards and sending the captain flying. Then, rebounding, the ball struck the Isidian in the head and killed the eight-legged standard-bearer. The standard fell.

  Fallon got in one well-aimed shot at the aperture on the tank, and then looked around to see his company breaking up, crying: “All’s lost!” “We’re fordone!” “Every wight for himself!”

  A few more shots were fired wildly, and the Juru Company streamed back through the gap in its own lines. The tank swung its nose toward the line of Balhibo pikemen again.

  Thump! Down went more pikes. And Fallon, as he ran with the rest, had a glimpse of a third tank.

  Then he was running in a vast disorganized mass of fugitives—musketeers, pikemen, and crossbowmen all mixed in together, while after them poured the hordes of the invaders. He stumbled over bodies and saw on both sides of him mounted Qaathians ride past him into the mass, hacking right and left with their scimitars. He dropped the musket, for he was practically out of powde
r and shot; and with the collapse of the Balhibo army he would have no chance to replenish his supply. Here and there, groups of Balhibo cavalry held together and skirmished with the steppe-folk, but the infantry were hopelessly broken.

  The press thinned out somewhat as the faster runners drew ahead of the slower and the pursuers tore into the fugitives. Behind and above Fallon’s right shoulder a voice shouted in Qaathian. Fallon looked around and saw one of the fur-hatted fellows sitting on an aya and brandishing a scimitar. Fallon could not understand the sentence but caught the questioning inflection and the words “Qaath” and “Balhib.” Evidently the Qaathian was not sure which army Fallon, lacking a proper uniform, belonged to.

  “Three cheers for London!” cried Fallon, and caught the Qaathian’s booted leg and heaved. Out of the saddle went the Krishnan, to land on his fur hat, and into it went Anthony Fallon. He turned his mount’s head northward, at right angles to the general direction of rout and pursuit, and kicked the beast to a gallop.

  Chapter XIX

  Four days later, having detoured around the battle zone to the north, Fallon reached Zanid. The Geklan Gate was jammed with Krishnans struggling to get in: runaway soldiers from the Battle of Chos, and country folk seeking the city as a refuge.

  The guards at the gate asked Fallon his name and added several searching questions to make him prove himself a true Zanidu even though a non-Krishnan.

  “The Juru Company, eh?” said one of them. ” ‘Tis said ye all but won the battle single-handed, hurling back hordes of the steppe-dwellers with the missiles from your guns when they sought to roll up your army’s flank, until the accursed steam-chariots of the foe at long last drave ye from the field.”

  “That’s a more truthful description of the battle than I expected to hear,” replied Fallon.

  “ ’Tis just like the treacherous barbarians to use so unfair a weapon, against all the principles of civilized warfare.”

  Fallon refrained from saying that if the Balhibuma had won, the Qaathians would be making the same complaint about the guns. “What else do you know? Is there any Balhibo army left?”

  The second guard made the Krishnan equivalent of a shrug. “ ‘Tis said Chabarian rallied his cavalry and fought a skirmish at Malmaj, but was himself there slain. Know ye aught of where the invaders be? Ever since yester-morn folk have come through babbling that the Jungava are hard upon their heels.”

  “I don’t know,” said Fallon. “I came by the northern route and haven’t seen them. Now may I go?”

  “Aye—when ye’ve complied with one slight formality. Swear ye allegiance to the Lord Protector of the Kingdom of Balhib, the high and mighty Pandr, Chindor er-Qinan?”

  “Eh? What’s all this?”

  The guard explained, “Well, Chabarian fell at Malmaj, as ye know. And my lord Chindor, arriving in haste and yet bloody from the battlefield, went to convey the news of these multiple disasters to his Altitude, the Dour Kir. And whilst he was closeted with the Dour, the latter—taken by a fit of melancholy— plucked a dagger from his girdle and slew himself. Then Chindor prevailed upon the surviving officers of the Government to invest him with extraordinary powers to cope with this emergency. So swear ye?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” said Fallon. “I swear”.

  Privately, Fallon suspected that Kir’s departure from the world of the living had been hastened by Chindor himself, who might also have coerced the other ministers at sword’s point to accede to his dictatorship.

  Passed by the guard, he rode at a reckless speed through the narrow streets to his own house. He feared that his landlord might have moved new tenants in, as his rent was in arrears. But he was pleased to find the little house just as he had left it.

  His one objective now was to collect the other two pieces of Qais draft, by fair means or foul. Then he’d go to Kastambang’s and collect the remaining third of the draft, perhaps with a plausible story of Qais having given him the paper in token of his indebtedness before fleeing the city.

  Fallon hastily washed up, changed his clothes, and stuffed such of his belongings as he did not wish to abandon into a duffel bag. A few minutes later he went out, locked his door—for the last time, if his plans worked—strapped the bag to the aya’s back behind the saddle, and mounted.

  The gatekeeper at Tashin’s Inn said that yes, indeed, Master Turanj was in his quarters, and the good my lord should go right up. Fallon crossed the court, now strangely deserted by Tashin’s histrionic clientele, and went up to Qais’ room.

  Nobody answered his stroke on the door-gong. He pushed the door, which opened to his touch. When he looked in, his hand flew to his hilt, then came away.

  Qais of Babaal lay sprawled across the floor, his jacket stained with brown Krishnan blood. Fallon turned the corpse over and saw that the spy had been neatly run through, presumably with a rapier. His script lay on the floor beside him amid a litter of papers.

  Squatting upon his haunches, Fallon went through these papers. Not finding the slip that he sought, he searched both Qais’ body and the rest of the room.

  Still no draft. His first foreboding had been correct: Somebody who knew about the trisected draft had murdered Qais to get it.

  But who? As far as Fallon could remember, nobody knew about this monetary instrument save Qais, Kastambang, and himself. The banker had custody of the money; if he wished to embezzle it, he could do so without written instruments to authorize him.

  Fallon went over the room again, but found neither the piece of the draft nor clues to the identity of Qais’ slayer.

  At last he gave up, sighed, and went out. He asked the gatekeeper: “Has anybody else been in to see Turanj recently?”

  The fellow thought. “Aye, sir, now that ye call it to mind. About an hour or more ago one did visit him.”

  “Who? What was he like?”

  “He was an Earthman like yourself, and like ye clad in civilized clothes.”

  “But what did he look like? Tall or short? Fat or thin?”

  The gatekeeper made a helpless gesture. “That I couldn’t tell ye, sir. After all, all Earthmen look alike, do ye not?”

  Fallon mounted his aya and set out at a brisk trot to eastward, across the city to Kastambang’s bank. This trip might well prove a sleeveless errand, but he could not afford to pass up even the slightest chance of getting his money.

  A subdued excitement ran through the streets of Zanid. Here and there Fallon saw a pedestrian running. One man shouted. “The Jungava are in sight! To the walls!”

  Fallon rode on. He passed the House of Judgment, where the “execution-board seemed to have more than its normal quota of heads. He did not look at the gruesome tokens closely, but as his eye swept down the line he was struck by the feeling that one of them was familiar.

  Jerking his gaze back, he was horrified to observe that the fleshy head in question, its jowls hanging slack in death, was that of the very Krishnan whom he was on his way to see. The board under the head read:

  KASTAMBANG ER-AMIRUT,

  Banker of the Gabanj,

  Aged 103 years 4 months.

  Convicted of treason

  on the tenth of Harau.

  Executed on the twelfth instant.

  The treason in question could be nothing but Kastambang’s banking for Qais of Babaal, knowing the latter as an agent for Ghuur. And since torture of convicted felons—to make them divulge the names of their confederates—was a recognized part of Balhibo legal procedure, Kastambang in his final agonies might well have mentioned Anthony Fallon. Now Fallon had a reason for getting out of Zanid even more pressing than the prospect of the city’s being surrounded and stormed by the Qaathians.

  Fallon speeded up to a canter, determined to dash out the Lummish Gate and leave Zanid behind him without more delay. But after he had ridden several blocks, he realized that he was passing Kastambang’s counting-house, which lay directly on his route to the gate. As he passed, he could not help noticing that the gates of the bank had b
een torn from their hinges.

  Overpowering curiosity led him to pull up and turn his aya into the courtyard. Everywhere were signs of mob depredations. The graceful statues from Katai-Jhogorai littered the pave in fragments. The fountains were silent. Other objects lay about. Fallon dismounted and bent to examine them. They were notes, drafts, account-books, and the other paraphernalia of banking.

  Fallon guessed that after Kastambang had been arrested, a mob had gathered and, on the pretext that a traitor’s goods were fair game, had sacked the place.

  There was just a chance that at least one of the thirds of Qais drafts might be found here. He really should not, Fallon thought, take the time to search for it, with Zanid such a hot spot. But it might be his final chance to recover Zamba.

  And what about the mysterious murderer of Qais? Had this character preceded Fallon here to Kastambang’s?

  Fallon went around the courtyard, examining every scrap of paper. Nothing there.

  He passed on in, finding the battered corpse of one of Kastambang’s Kolofto servants sprawled just inside the main door.

  Now where would these fragments of the draft most likely be? Well, Kastambang had stowed his third in the drawer of that big table in his underground conference-room. Fallon resolved that he would search that room; and if he failed to find the paper there, he would leave the city forthwith.

  The elevator was, of course, not running, but he found a stairway that led down to the lower level. He took a lamp from a wall-bracket, filled its reservoir from another lamp and trimmed the wick, and lit it with his pocket-lighter. Then he descended the stairs.

  The passage was dark except for that one lamp. His footsteps and breath sounded loud in the silence.

  Fallon’s “bump of direction” carried him through the sequence of doors and chambers to Kastambang’s “lair.” The portcullis had not even been lowered. A couple of coins that the mob had dropped winked up from the floor; but the door to the lair itself was closed.