Belmundus (The Farn Trilogy Book 1)

by Edward C. Patterson

“That’s no Cetrone,” he muttered. “No clan garb.”

  In fact, it was a Yunocker. Perhaps one who had survived from the barricade, only to join in the kennel slaughter. When the last zugginak collapsed, Harris went to one knee, breathlessly. This was work, but they had lessened one reaptide horror. As he took this breather, the Yunocker turned.

  “Buhippus?” Harris stammered, standing quickly. “You, here?”

  “Yes, Lord Belmundus.” He bowed. “You may ask how and why, but it is a story best left to the tavern.”

  “But your rank and station?”

  “My fall from grace was sure and fraternally wrought,” Buhippus replied, grasping Harris about the shoulders. “You are well met, my lord, even if by a zugginak shit-shoveler. My brother was thorough.” Buhippus looked about, his Stick waving at the furry carcasses. “But I am thorough also. By my hands, they were fed. By my hands, they have died.”

  “Captain Buhippus has been a savior, my lord,” Parnasus explained. “He rescued me from the Yuganawu gutters and I have helped him shovel shit until this wonderful day — the day these Cabriolins descended on the mordanka.”

  “They are Seecoys, Parnasus.”

  “They are fast,” Parnasus replied. “You must teach me to drive one.”

  Buhippus inspected Detonto’s blundaboomer, the Taleenay resisting.

  “Let him see it, Detonto,” Harris intervened. “This man’s an old friend.”

  “But he is a Yunocker, my lord.”

  “He’s a friend. If there are Yunockers who show us half his compassion, I will call them friend also.”

  Detonto gave up the weapon, and nodded — still reluctantly.

  “What does it shoot?” Buhippus asked.

  “Do we have time for this, Captain?” Harris replied.

  “I suppose we do not, and I am no longer a captain, even though Parnasus chooses to call me so.”

  Suddenly, a growl came from beneath the archway. Detonto snapped his blundaboomer back, and Harris raised Hierarchus, one hand on his Columbincus. Three tludachi crept toward them, drool spilling down their saber teeth, their lavender fur raised.

  3

  Oustestee awoke and, upon seeing the tludachi, nearly passed out again. His squadron clustered about him. Harris backed away, taking care not to trip on zugginak carcasses. The tension was intensified by the continued sound of the klaxon and the pandemonium beyond the mordanka walls. Harris knew a battle raged through the clan houses and into the Banetuckle, but here he was, his back to a wall, threatened by three hungry cats. He had slain a noya tludachi — a sand tygger, but he was aloft in a Cabriolin then with the Pod at his back. Despite the current company’s firepower, it would take much to down three tludachi and still come through intact. The choice was clear. How many would die before the beasts fell? Who was the worthiest to survive?

  “Lord Belmundus,” Buhippus said. “We cannot fight these.”

  “I know.”

  “We could,” Parnasus said, “but we would regret it.”

  “Would they be satisfied with dog meat, my lord?” Detonto asked.

  Harris surveyed the carcasses. He remembered the gasuntsgi feast of the other night.

  “These tludachi have been bred to avoid zugginak meat,” Buhippus replied. “They will not touch it.”

  “They dine on Cetrone, my lord,” Parnasus added. “They know the difference and will not bypass an opportunity.”

  “However,” Buhippus said, “if we slowly back into the kennel, there is a way out on the other side.” He shook keys hanging from his belt. “For once I do not regret my new position.”

  “They will not follow?” Detonto asked.

  “Oh, they will,” Buhippus replied. “Once in the courtyard, we shall be running for our lives, but at least we will have a place to run.”

  Harris backed up until he reached the kennel gate. He stepped in dog shit and grimaced.

  “Lots of that in there,” Parnasus said. “It shall be your new perfume.”

  As the group funneled through the gate, the tludachi approached.

  “Just lock the gate, Buhippus,” Harris suggested.

  “That will slow them, but three can easily tear through it.”

  Once inside the kennel, Buhippus closed the gate and locked it. This was the signal for the tludachi to charge, ramming the gate, the fur flying. Paws poked between the bars. The hinges snapped. It would be a few minutes before they had the gate down.

  Harris turned and ran, the others following in the dim, foul kennel. The smell alone could have killed them. At the other end was another gate. Buhippus fumbled with the keys. Harris pushed the bars open and rushed into the open courtyard. The others fought their way through the narrow exit just as the beasts raced through the kennel. Buhippus locked the gate and fell backwards, crabbing away from the swiping paws. The bellowing beasts, pissed and frustrated, crashed into this new obstacle.

  “That won’t hold them,” Harris said. He looked about for a way out, but realized this courtyard was landlocked. “I thought you said we’d have a way out,” Harris asked. Buhippus pointed up. “How the fuck do we manage that?” Harris grumbled.

  Buhippus pointed to the walls — highly ornamental with plenty of foot and hand holds.

  “We best be about it, my lord,” Detonto said, heading for a ground-level mortise.

  “No time,” Parnasus said.

  “They are coming,” Oustestee muttered. “They are breaking through it.”

  The three marvelously vicious beasts — wonders of invention, had ripped the gate from its hinges and, using their teeth, pulled the bars into the kennel. Harris grasped Detonto, pulling him back.

  “If we’re going to die, let’s go down in a blaze of fire and fur.”

  “Who said anything about dying?” came a shout from above.

  The fugitives scattered as Lord Cosawta made his entrance in the Gananadana.

  “Brother-in-law,” Harris shouted, undisguised relief in his voice.

  “Sisterfucker,” the Seneschal said, and laughed.

  “Sisterfucker. Sisterfucker,” came the Tomatly echo.

  Lord Cosawta jumped from the gondola before it touched down. He stared at the three tludachi. He raised his hand, grinning like Oz of old.

  “Zano zano, kalatifa. Kalatifa. Jaygo moti optipoop. Kalatifa. Kalatifa.”

  “Kalatifa! Kalatifa!”

  The beasts sat, looking to each other, and then bowing to this lord of tyggers.

  “How did he do that?” Buhippus asked.

  “My father keeps them as pets,” Detonto replied.

  “And someday I will teach you to tame these fucking cats also,” Cosawta said to his son. “Shame I cannot take these with me for the collection.”

  “You speak their language?” Parnasus asked.

  “Nonsense, you Ayelli fool. Tludachi cannot speak. But there are many words to calm a host of wild things, and I have learned these well. There is no meaning in what I have spoken. They are mystified by it — fucking with their minds, I am. But it works every time.”

  “Kalatifa! Kalatifa!”

  The beasts yawned.

  “Where is Yustichisqua?” Cosawta asked Harris.

  “I don’t know. The main gate is down — the fighting tough. He might be . . .”

  “No, no. That piker will survive and is probably on his way here to wipe your ass even as we speak.” He glanced at Detonto. “How is this one behaving?”

  “I have no complaints.”

  Cosawta stared at his son.

  “You must try harder to piss off your lord. It is good for him. It will keep him humble, and he needs such pruning.” Cosawta stared from the tludachi to Harris. “And still you are here? Get your asses into my ferry and I shall take you to the battle.”

  “Yes,” Harris said, turning to the crew. “This campaign has just begun.” He turned to Buhippus and Parnasus. “Will you fight with us?”

  “Have we not been battling by your side?” Buhippus repl
ied.

  “I serve you in all things, my lord,” Parnasus said.

  Harris embraced them each, and then turned to Cosawta.

  “Brother,” Harris said. “You are full of surprises.”

  “As much as you are full of shit.” Cosawta grinned, and then embraced Harris, patting his back hard. “What is that smell?”

  “Dog shit.”

  “I might not want to pollute the Gananadana.”

  “You?” Harris replied. “You who live in a house smelling like a stable?”

  “A stable? I keep no horses inside. Here and there a gufo, but I assure you, I keep the horses outside.” He laughed, and then turned to the tludachi. He bowed. “Kabuma, sa zattipo. Fuyi, fuyi, oginali.”

  The beasts arose, bowed to Cosawta, and then turned, retreating into the kennel.

  “What did you tell them?” Harris asked.

  “I suggested they might find themselves a zugginak or two to whet their appetites. They will feast on Yunocker a little later.” He hopped into the gondola. “Tomatly, bring this thing to the Banetuckle.”

  “To the Banetuckle! To the Banetuckle!”

  So up they went.

  Chapter Six

  The Kanaguda

  1

  Harris surveyed the situation from above the Kalugu’s rooftops. The Gananadana wavered as the Yunockers tried to bring it down, but its skin was impervious to aniniya fire — jupsim coated and freshly so. Still, Cosawta maneuvered to avoid being boarded or losing one of his passengers, who were not shielded from the regulati’s Sticks. Harris used his gespocular to assess the progress. He saw distant smoke and fire arising from Montjoy’s gates. He also saw black specks approaching — the Yunocker army’s full force. Below sprawled the Banetuckle’s twisted streets and alleys. Much activity quaked there — Cheowie and his squadrons fighting one on one with Yunockers, who had turned out for a routine reaptide, now transformed into a bloodbath.

  Bing bong.

  Harris opened his sillifoon. The thing had been quiet for some time. He wondered if it ceased operating.

  “BeeDust here.”

  “TossMe1,” came the reply.

  Tosawa.

  Harris looked to the walls. He saw Tosawa’s squadrons buzzing about the main gate and the parapets, dodging sharp spirals of the Yuyenihi. Yunockers fired at them, but the Seecoys were too fast and the regulati too stupid to see the full picture.

  “I ken it, TossMe1.”

  “The geese are stealing the eggs, BeeDust.”

  “Get it in order and report back.”

  “I ken it. Over and . . .”

  Static.

  Harris turned to Cosawta.

  “These things aren’t worth a shit anymore.”

  “It is to be expected when not strolling in the selu fields,” Cosawta replied. “Mine works fine when I fly high, but there are many variables between here and Cetronia. The branchy-wanchie is a fucking stopgap.” He shrugged. “What did you expect, Sisterfucker?”

  Harris shook his head. He didn’t mind his brother-in-law’s coarse language, but this new nickname denigrated Littafulchee. Harris thought to take Cosawta to task, but then recalled more important things. Harris raised his sillifoon again.

  “2Gollies. 2Gollies. Do you ken it?”

  No answer. He shut his eyes.

  “2Gollies. Shit. Little Bird, come in.”

  No time now — no time for sorrow or regret. No time for mourning or worry. No time for speculation or remembrance. When war settles across the land, no time comes except the time to live or to die — considerations deferred to one or the other depending upon the outcome.

  Harris scanned the Kalugu, and then pointed to the ground.

  “Get us down, Cosawta,” he snapped. “Get us to where we can finish this thing.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Cosawta said, bowing. “Your death is my command.” He laughed, and then looked to his bastard. “Detonto will watch your ass when your foot fails you. But remember: you must resist the temptation to die. If you see it coming, duck and run, because your spark is still needed . . . beyond the one you have already kindled.”

  What was the man talking about? Harris didn’t have time for it. No time for idle chatter or Seneschal vanities or even death, when it came, if it came. No time to ponder the greater scheme. One step into the breach, and then another, and whatever flew here or there would be handled as it came — viscerally responding to the vagaries of war.

  2

  They landed with a thud, the warriors spilling out of the gondola and into the Banetuckle’s pandemonium. Cosawta immediately ordered the Gananadana to ascend, because dozens of Cetrone rushed him, looking for an escape route. Harris blocked several desperate refugees from boarding. In this he was helped by Oustestee, Detonto and Parnasus, while Buhippus growled his best growl at the otherwise docile downtrodden.

  “Stand aside,” Harris shouted, pushing, and then wielding Hierarchus, but taking care not to harm the people.

  Cries of terror and disappointment arose when the Gananadana cleared the jump zone, although some Cetrone tried to grasp the dangling ropes, but to no avail.

  “Detonto,” Harris said.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “See what we have here.”

  Detonto nodded, and then pushed through the crowd, catching buckskin after buckskin, looking into the eyes of the terrified and the sqwallen-addled alike. Oustestee formed a barrier with his squadron, preventing the crowd from fleeing. But beyond this stretch of the Banetuckle, Harris saw the shadow of souls peering from behind barrels and dung heaps. He witnessed an untold number of strewn bodies, piled in corners and tucked in nooks. Naked children with their ribs protruding and their bellies distended ran in aimless circles, seeking their mothers, who most likely were tossed in the gutters as waste. How foul the streets were. How detestable the crime of the regulati.

  “It is terrible,” Oustestee muttered.

  Harris grasped his shoulder.

  “Bear up,” he said. “This is but a small taste of the place. It’s the reason we’ve come.”

  Tears streamed down the Danuwa’s cheek.

  “I was told such tales,” Oustestee said, “but did not believe them, my lord. I heard, but did not listen. An excuse for war and no more. Little did I know. Little did I know.”

  “Bear up,” Harris snapped, although his own heart broke.

  He saw Cheowie approaching over wreckage, a dozen warriors zuluing behind him.

  “Cheowie.”

  “My lord,” the warrior replied, bowing.

  He had been weeping also, but swallowed his sorrow as best he could before his superior.

  “You too?”

  “It is disheartening, my lord, but we have no time to gather them up, because the Yunockers have attacked the Kanaguda. I fear they are rounding up the people.”

  “For the Porias, no doubt,” Harris said.

  “Prison would be an easy fate, my lord,” Cheowie replied. “They go to the Gonada Gigaha — the place of execution.”

  Harris turned to Buhippus.

  “Captain.”

  “I am no longer a captain.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’re the Princess of Mars,” Harris snapped. “Tell me about this Gonad Gogglehop.”

  “Gonada Gigaha,” Buhippus said. “It is a square near the western wall used to make examples of rebellious Cetrone.”

  “How far is it?”

  “I am afraid the regulati have secured the place.”

  Harris gazed up at the rooftops. He saw the Gananadana drifting, playing cat and mouse with Cabriolins. He whipped out his sillifoon.

  “Brother-in-law,” he shouted into the receiver.

  “Not using code, Sisterfucker?” came the reply.

  “Can you get your ferry-ass over to a place called the Gonada Gigashit?”

  “One might try.”

  “Might one be able to call the neighbors?”

  “You mean Tosawa?”

 
“He’s got the wall, doesn’t he?”

  “One might try.”

  Harris slammed the sillifoon shut.

  “If he weren’t the Goddamn Seneschal, I’d take aim at his waddly wazzoo and bring his ass down.” He turned to Detonto, who still assessed the crowd. He then tapped Parnasus’ shoulder. “Get Detonto’s attention.”