The Redemption of Althalus

by Eddings, Leigh;Eddings, David

  Andine’s note gained them immediate entry into the opulent office of Duke Olkar. The Duke of Kadon was a somewhat stodgy man of middle years who wore conservative clothes and a somewhat pompous expression. “This is all very bad for business, Lord Althalus,” he complained after they’d been seated. “My entire city’s clogged with rural bumpkins who expect me to feed them.”

  “The invaders are killing them out in the countryside, your Grace,” Althalus pointed out. “If all the peasants are dead next spring, who’s going to plant the crops?”

  “There is that, I suppose,” Olkar conceded grudgingly. “This war won’t last too long, will it? I’ve got merchandise I must move, and the roads aren’t safe right now.”

  “It’s likely to grow worse, your Grace,” Khalor told him bluntly. “You’ll probably be under siege within a week or ten days. Your walls are going to need strengthening, and you’d better lay in a goodly supply of food. I’ve got forces who’ll come in and lift the siege in a while, but you’d better have enough supplies on hand to carry you through until autumn.”

  “Autumn?” Olkar exclaimed. “That’d destroy any hope of profit for this entire year!”

  “At least you’ll be alive when next year rolls around,” Althalus pointed out. “Everybody has a bad year now and then.”

  “I’ll need to talk with your engineers, your Grace,” Khalor said then. “They’d better get to work on your city walls, and I want to make some suggestions. Oh, there’s another thing, too. There’s an army of Arum mercenaries on the way here to defend your city. They’ll need quarters.”

  “Can’t they just set up camp outside the walls?” Olkar asked plaintively.

  Khalor didn’t reply, but gave Olkar a long, hard look instead.

  “No,” Olkar conceded, “I suppose they couldn’t at that, now that I think about it.” He sighed. “Arums are so noisy!” he complained. “And so rowdy. Do you think you might be able to persuade them to mind their manners while they’re here in Kadon? The citizens of Kadon are quite proper, and they take offense at rowdies.”

  Khalor shrugged. “If you think the Arums are going to be too offensive, you can always defend your own city.”

  “No, that’s quite all right, Sergeant,” Olkar replied quickly.

  “I rather thought you might see it that way, your Grace,” Khalor said. “Now if you’ll send for your engineers, I’ll get down to business. I still have a lot of things to do today.”

  “Which clan do you want to have defend Kadon?” Althalus asked Khalor as the three of them left the city.

  “Laiwon, I think,” Khalor replied. “He’s almost as good as Twengor, and he’s got better sense. Laiwon’s clan’s been involved in a few sieges, so he knows what to do. I don’t want him to drive off the besiegers. This city and that stuffy Duke are going to lock a third of the invading army in place for as long as I want them to.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the city. “I don’t think they can see us now. Let’s go to Poma, Eliar.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Eliar replied.

  They passed briefly through the House and emerged inside the city of Poma. “It’s a way to avoid the gate guards,” Eliar explained.

  Sergeant Khalor was staring down the street at the city wall with a look of stunned incredulity. “What are they thinking of?” he exclaimed.

  Althalus squinted at the wall. “Not very good, is it?” he suggested.

  “A good sneeze would knock that silly thing down!” Khalor burst out. “Who’s running this place, anyway?”

  “I think Dhakan called him Bherdor,” Althalus replied.

  “I’m likely to call him a few other names,” Khalor said. “Let’s go talk with this imbecile.”

  The palace of Duke Bherdor of Poma had a decidedly shabby look about it. Several broken windows had been boarded up rather than reglazed, and the courtyard evidently hadn’t been swept—or shoveled—for a month or more.

  Andine’s message once again gained them immediate entry into a distinctly unimpressive office, and into the equally unimpressive presence of the youthful Duke.

  Bherdor was hardly more than a boy, and he had a weak chin—and a disposition to match. “I know that things aren’t quite up to standard, Lord Althalus,” he apologized tremulously when Althalus took him to task for the condition of his city walls, “but my poor, poor city’s teetering on the brink of total bankruptcy. I’d raise taxes to repair them, but the merchants have all warned me that a tax increase would send the local economy into total collapse.”

  “What is your current rate, your Grace?” Althalus asked.

  “Three and a half percent, Lord Althalus,” Bherdor replied tremulously. “Do you think that’s too high?” he added with some apprehension.

  “Eighty percent is high, your Grace. Three and a half percent is a joke. No wonder you’re living in a pigsty.”

  “It’s too late to do much about it now,” Khalor said. “Those walls won’t last for more than a couple of days. I think I’d better put Twengor here. There’s going to be fighting in the streets, I’m afraid, and Twengor’s the right man for that—if he’s sober.” He looked at the frightened Duke Bherdor. “Your stingy merchants are likely to get a quick lesson about the necessity for reasonable tax rates, your Grace. There won’t be very much left of Poma after a few weeks of house-to-house fighting—and all the incidental looting by both armies. Your merchants swindled you, my Lord, but they won’t have anything to show for it after the war.”

  “Good God!” Khalor exclaimed when he saw the walls of Mawor. “Would you look at those?”

  “They are just a bit intimidating, aren’t they?” Althalus agreed, staring at the massive and elaborate defenses of Mawor.

  “Intimidating? There isn’t enough money in the world to persuade me to lay siege to that place! I’d really hate to be a taxpayer in that town, though. What’s that Duke’s name again?”

  “Lord Dhakan called him Nitral, I think,” Eliar replied. “I think he said that Nitral’s an architect. From what I understand, he’s been rebuilding the entire city for the last twenty years.”

  “Well, we certainly won’t have to do anything about the walls.” Khalor squinted at the city. “I’d say that Mawor comes close to being totally unassailable. I think I’ll want to put somebody here who’ll know how to take advantage of that.”

  “What about Iron Jaw?” Eliar suggested.

  “My very thought, Eliar,” Khalor agreed. “He’d be perfect for this place.”

  “Who’s ‘Iron Jaw’?” Althalus asked.

  “He’s the Chief with a lower jaw that sticks out past his nose,” Khalor replied. “He almost never talks, and he’s the most stubborn man in all of Arum. Once he grabs something, he never lets go of it. If we put Koleika Iron Jaw here in Mawor, Gelta might lay siege to the place, but she won’t get into the city, and she won’t be able to leave.”

  “I don’t quite follow that,” Althalas admitted.

  “As soon as she turns around to leave, Koleika’ll come blasting out through the gates and cut her army all to pieces. He’ll lock them in place right here.” Khalor squinted. “It sort of matches what Leitha told us about what Gelta was thinking in that dream. There was something that was preventing the invaders from marching on Osthos, and I think it might just have been the combination of this fortress and Iron Jaw. Put those two together, and this is a natural trap. The invasion stops right here. They won’t be able to get in, and they won’t be able to leave. It’s perfect.” Khalor actually began to laugh. “I almost feel sorry for them. Let’s go on inside and meet this architectural genius. We’ll let him know that Koleika’s coming and roughly what to expect. Then we can go back to Osthos, and I’ll have a chat with the Commanders of Andine’s army.”

  It was late summer by now, and the heat in Osthos was oppressive. At Andine’s request, Lord Dhakan had summoned the Generals. They had gathered in her throne room, where they stood sweating and idly chatting as they awaited the appearance of their
Arya.

  “Give them a little time to get settled down, my Arya,” Lord Dhakan suggested, peering out through the doorway at the back of the throne room.

  “Is the army of Osthos so big that you need that many Generals?” Khalor asked.

  “Rank is hereditary here in Osthos, Sergeant,” Dhakan replied. “Over the centuries, our army’s gotten a little top-heavy. About the only advantage to having so many Generals is the remote possibility that at least one of them might know what he’s doing.”

  “You’re a cynic, my Lord.”

  “One of the advantages of a long life, Sergeant,” Dhakan said with a faint smile. “Would you be offended if I introduced you as a Field Marshal?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Sergeants don’t rank very high in our army, my friend. Our Colonels and Generals and exalted poo-bahs might not hold a mere Sergeant in very high regard.”

  “I’ll cure them of that in a hurry,” Khalor promised with a bleak smile. He looked at Andine, who was sweating in her robes of state. “Would it bother you very much if I broke up some of the furniture, little girl?”

  “Enjoy yourself, Sergeant,” she replied with an impish little smile. “Should we go in now, Dhakan?”

  “We might as well. Please don’t kill too many of them, Sergeant. State funerals are terribly expensive.”

  “I’ll try to control myself,” Khalor promised. Then he stepped over to one of the armored sentries at the door. “May I borrow your ax, soldier?” he asked politely.

  The sentry looked quickly at Lord Dhakan for instructions.

  Dhakan winced. “Go ahead and give him the ax,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Lord Dhakan,” the soldier said, handing his long-handled battleax to the Sergeant.

  Khalor hefted it. “Good weight,” he noted. Then he tested the edge with his thumb. “You take good care of it, too.” He patted the sentry’s arm. “You’re a good soldier,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir,” the sentry said, straightening proudly.

  “I suppose we’d better get on with this before it gets too much hotter,” Khalor suggested. “Why don’t you all go on down front? Then Lord Dhakan can let the Generals know who I am, and I’ll take it from there.”

  “Try not to get too much blood on the floor, Sergeant,” Andine said half seriously. “Marble stains so badly.”

  “I’ll try my best to be neat,” Khalor promised.

  Dhakan signaled the waiting trumpeters, and they blew a lengthy, somewhat involved fanfare.

  Then imperious Andine, with armored Eliar in close attendance, marched stately and slowly to her throne while the now-silent Generals bowed.

  “Keep yours ears open, Leitha,” Althalus murmured to the blond girl. “It’s almost certain that Argan’s recruited some of the Generals.”

  “I’ll locate them,” Leitha promised.

  Emmy the cat was sitting on Andine’s throne, carefully bathing her face. She meowed inquiringly as Andine approached.

  “There you are,” Andine said, gathering Emmy up in her arms. “Where have you been hiding, you naughty cat?” Then, with Emmy in her arms, she seated herself on the throne, even as the Generals went back to their conversations.

  There was a speaker’s lectern directly in front of the dais, and Lord Dhakan positioned himself behind it and rapped his knuckles on the slanted top of the lectern. “Your attention, please, gentlemen.”

  The Generals largely ignored him and continued their conversations.

  “Be silent!” Andine commanded in her soaring voice.

  The Generals stopped talking immediately.

  “Thank you, my Arya,” Dhakan murmured.

  “What’s this all about, Dhakan?” a bulky general in a gilded breastplate demanded.

  “We seem to have this little war going on, General Terkor,” Dhakan replied. “Had you noticed that?”

  The General smiled faintly. “I’m sure you’ll get to the point here eventually, Dhakan,” he said, “hopefully before it gets too much hotter in this room.”

  “You take so much of the fun out of my life when you do that, Terkor,” Dhakan complained. “Anyway, I’d like to introduce you all to a certain Sergeant Khalor. I’d strongly suggest that you all make every effort to be polite to him, since he’s a bit short-tempered, and you will be taking orders from him.”

  “I’m a General, Dhakan,” Terkor snapped. “I don’t take orders from Sergeants.”

  “We’ll miss you terribly, General Terkor,” Dhakan murmured. “We’ll give you a nice funeral, though.”

  Then Khalor stepped through the door and strolled almost casually toward the dais, negligently carrying the battle-ax. “If I may?” he said to Lord Dhakan, pointing at the lectern.

  “Of course, Sergeant Khalor,” Dhakan said politely, stepping aside.

  Khalor took his place behind the lectern, and he stood there silently listening to the outraged Generals babble to each other.

  The sound the ax made as it splintered the lectern immediately stopped all conversation.

  “There goes the furniture,” Andine murmured, rolling her eyes upward.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Khalor roared in a voice that could have been heard all the way across a parade ground. “We’ve got a lot to cover here, so shut up and pay attention.”

  “Who do you think you are?” General Terkor demanded, drawing himself up.

  “I’m the man who’s going to split you right down the middle if you open your mouth again,” Khalor barked. “Let’s get all this silly nonsense about rank and titles out of the way right now. I’m an Arum, and our titles of rank don’t mean the same things they mean down here in the low country. In my clan, ‘Sergeant’ means ‘Commander in Chief,’ but let’s lay that aside for now.” He held up the battle-ax. “Do you see this?” he said. “This is my rank, and it puts me in charge of this little get-together. If any of you wants to object, I’ll be more than happy to fight him—right here and now.”

  “He makes that same speech all the time,” Eliar said quietly to the others on the dais. “Nobody ever takes him up on it, for some reason.”

  The Generals were all staring at the ax Khalor was holding over his head.

  “Excellent, gentlemen,” Khalor said. “We’re getting along just fine, aren’t we? Now, then, you’ve recently been invaded by the hired army of the idiot in Kanthon, and your charming little Arya has hired me to tell them to go home. Our enemy—at least on the surface—is the Aryo of Kanthon. I know him very well, since I led his armies the last time he declared war on Osthos. His name’s Pelghat, and he hasn’t got a brain in his head. I hope this won’t offend you gentlemen, but this perpetual war here in Treborea’s beginning to bore me, so this time I’m going to finish it once and for all. Your concern will be the defense of this city, and nothing more. Don’t interfere with anything I’m doing in the other cities or out in the countryside, because I’ll climb all over you if you try. Arya Andine hired me to fight this war, and I’ll take care of it for her. The young fellow standing beside her throne is Corporal Eliar, and he works for me. When he tells you something, he’s speaking for me, so don’t argue with him. I’ve laid out this campaign in great detail, and I’m bringing in armies from places you’ve probably never even heard of. I know exactly what I’m doing, and I don’t need any advice—or interference—from amateurs. First, I’m going to annihilate the invading armies, and then I’m going to go destroy the city of Kanthon. This will be the last war in Treborea, gentlemen, so enjoy it while you can, and let’s concentrate on doing it right.”

  Then Khalor rubbed his thumb along the edge of the battle-ax. “Nicked it a little,” he noted. He looked at the sentry standing at the door to the throne room. “I’m sorry I dented your ax, soldier,” he apologized. “I thank you for the use of it, and use lots of water on the grindstone when you’re polishing the nick out of the blade.”

  “Yes, my Sergeant!” the soldier barked, snapping to attention.

/>   “You gentlemen are lucky to have people like that boy in your army,” he told the Generals. Then he shifted his grip on the ax handle. “Here, soldier, catch!” he called to the sentry. Then he swung his arm back and sent the ax spinning over the heads of the cringing Generals, and the sentry expertly snared the whirling weapon out of the air.

  “Nice catch,” Khalor called.

  The sentry grinned at him and resumed his post beside the door.

  C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - O N E

  After the shaken Generals had been dismissed, Andine led the way to her private quarters. “If you’ll all excuse me for a moment,” she said to them, “I’ve got to get out of this.” She plucked at the front of her royal robe. “I’m starting to melt all over the floor. Brocade’s attractive, I suppose, but it’s not meant for summer.”

  The rest of them sat down in comfortable chairs in the Arya’s sitting room. “Your approach to the Generals might have been a trifle abrupt, Sergeant Khalor,” Lord Dhakan observed, “but it definitely got your point across to them.”

  “I’m glad you liked it, my Lord,” Khalor replied with a broad grin.

  “You wouldn’t really have slaughtered them all, would you?”

  “Oh, probably not,” Khalor admitted, “but they didn’t know that, did they?”

  “Growing up in a warrior culture must be very exciting.”

  “It has its high points, my Lord. The difficult part is living long enough to grow up. A young fellow whose beard’s just starting to sprout tends to boast a lot, and sooner or later he’s going to have to back up his boasting. That usually involves fights, and it’s not a good idea to let little boys start fighting with all those swords and axes lying around.” Khalor squinted at Althalus. “I think I’d better talk with your wife, Althalus.”