I smiled as I read this. The kovnate province of Durheim lay to the east and was separated by the River of Golden Sliptingers from the hyr-kovnate of Erstveheim to the west. My Eighth had sent a corps to the south west into the finger of land containing the vadvarate of Thothveheim, and the main body of the army was now pushing hard to the northeast through Erstveheim. Drak had to negotiate the trylonate of Tremi before bursting through into Durheim.
So, like the three flukes of a trident, and those three prongs would cooperate fully, we were poised to rip the fraudulent kingdom of North Vallia to shreds—and then to repair and reunite with the homeland.
Marion said to me one day as the wind blew over our shoulders, fluttering scarves and swelling the sails of the vorlcas: “Prince Drak will surely detach a force to march north?"
At her shoulder stood her husband, Strom Nango. I could not detect avarice in either of their faces; rather Marion looked sad, and Nango concerned.
“Cheer up, Marion. I expect Drak will do so; but I will send him a direct order to that effect. After all, I am still the emperor, am I not?"
She did not rally to my feeble humor.
“Thank you, majister. To think that at last I shall return to Huvadu. I never believed it, not in my heart."
Nango said nothing.
I was a trifle perplexed. “By Vox, Marion! I'd think you'd be overjoyed."
“Oh, I am happy that Huvadu is to be mine again. Yes, that is true. But when I go there to take command of the force Prince Drak sends, I shall leave you. And I shall leave my splendid regiment of Jikai Vuvushis.” She put the nail of her middle finger under her eye. “And I shall leave the Empress Delia."
There was nothing much I could say to that.
I did say: “You have our best wishes, Marion."
Then, with a flash of inspiration that came, I suppose, from cowardly cunning, I added: “Oh, and, of course, Marion, you must take your girls with you. I won't hear of anything else."
Before she could react—and I'd no idea how she would take this stroke—Delia turned up and I was able to slope off and see about a gros-varter that had been shooting crookedly.
* * *
Chapter six
A dagger in the night
The Battle of Gwalherm turned out to be a desperate affair.
This upstart King of North Vallia cleverly drew us onto a strongly fortified position which, in the normal way, we would have bypassed and possibly masked. As it was he'd sited the line of entrenchments across a convenient line of march. We were into the battle almost before we were aware.
In the end we managed to tumble him off, and a magnificent charge by a division of heavy cavalry finally threw him out.
I call this king an upstart. Well, by Krun, and so was I.
All the same, my upstartedness was the result of the people of Vallia calling me to be their emperor. We had heard stories of the cruelty of this North Vallian king, who apparently went by a number of names. The latest name he was using we gathered was Nath the Greatest Ever. Previously, he had been known as Naghan the Mighty, and Larghos the Magnificent. What his real name might be, no one knew. That, then, is the reason I have not given his name before in this narrative. But now we were closing in, and the time for names was either approaching or was past.
Northwest of Erstveheim in a kind of slice of the coast lies the vadvarate of Venga.
Well, now. Venga. The Vadnicha of the place, Ashti Melekhi, had long since taken her way to the Ice Floes of Sicce. I wondered how she fared there, and if the fates that draw their harp strings into the long moaning sounds of destiny had yet passed her through to the sunny uplands beyond.
We had to send a force into Venga, that was clear.
I had negated the idea of splitting the Eighth Army into a drive northward into Evir as well as our eastward push to link with Seg and Drak.
Still, Venga would lie at our backs as we pressed on east. In the end a Corps was formed and sent off under the command of Chuktar Modo Na-Du, a Pachak of immense competence from Zamra. We were by those divisions weaker; but now that Vallia had, all but these northern provinces, been re-united, we had reinforcements coming in gratifyingly often.
Later on as we sat around the campfire after we'd visited the wounded and sung a few songs with the swods, Delia said to me, “You were hard on poor Marion."
“You think so? I am not sure. She was mighty proud of her girls."
“Yes. She gloried that they were part of the emperor's jurukker jikai."
“You know how itchy I get when I see girls in battle—"
“I do know.” She put her hand on my hand, and I curled my fingers and held hers. “You're a funny old stick, particularly one who is an emperor. Y'know, Dray, we ought to have had Jilian form the guard Jikai Vuvushis."
“I would have liked that. Jilian Sweet Tooth. I wonder where she is now and what deviltry she's up to."
“She has her mission in life."
“Aye."
Jilian was an old comrade. You may spell her name Sweet Tooth or Sweetooth, I gathered, either being correct. I believe I preferred the former.
Over our heads the glittering majesty of the stars of Kregen flashed and twinkled in their massed glory. Up here in the north of Vallia the nights grew frosty. The fourth Moon of Kregen, She of the Veils, cast down her golden-roseate light. All about us rose the sounds of an army encampment at night. The sentries patrolled. I lay back.
“The quicker we meet up with Seg and Drak the better."
“We will, my heart, we will. And then?"
“So much to do—"
“There always is. Drak and Silda's wedding, for a start."
“Don't remind me."
For a space we were silent, relishing the night.
Then Delia said, “This Nath the Greatest Ever may form up to challenge us again on Losobrin's Edge, or he may throw himself into the town of Erdensmot and defy us there."
I made a face. “Neither prospect charms me. I have no desire to charge up against the entrenchments he can arrange on Losobrin's Edge. I'm told the place is formidable. But then, a siege of Erdensmot will not be pretty."
“If we march around him—"
I know I sounded fretful. “If only Farris could scrape up some more fliers for us!"
“One would have thought,” said Delia with some acerbity, “that now Hamal is safe they would be able to build as many vollers as were required."
“There is continual trouble over by the Mountains of the West, as we know. I suppose that's it. Anyway, we continue to build vorlcas; but wood is getting to be a problem now."
“The Singing Forests grow wood enough, for the sake of Opaz!"
“Aye. We will have to establish vorlca yards there. And, my heart, you will notice how cleverly I am leaving all the appointments of new nobility to Drak? There are many provinces at present ruled by our justicars. Once the wars are over, we must find good faithful folk to be made up to nobles."
Delia gave me a calculating look. “Old Nath Ulverswan was the Kov of the Singing Forests,” she said.
“Yes, he was a Racter, too, I suppose. He never said much, did he?"
“Old Clamped Jaws. The point is, the Singing Forests lie due south of the Mountains of the North, immediately to the west of Seg's Bakan."
I saw what she meant at once. Also I noticed she said “Bakan,” the old name, instead of the newer “Balkan."
“You think the Presidio will agree?"
“If you tell them, they will."
“I'm not so sure. I don't want to carry on ruling by fiat. The Presidio must be seen to rule fairly. I'm thinking of starting up elections—"
“Elections? But we are an empire, Dray!"
“I was elected to be emperor."
“Oh, yes, of course; but that was different."
“Well, I'm thinking of it. I'll speak to Drak about Seg and the Singing Forests. Mind you, Seg might refuse."
“He might. But there is Milsi. She is level-heade
d."
Because we were who we were and clearly wished to sit by the campfire and talk, we had been left alone. If anyone wished to speak to us they knew they had only to make themselves apparent. We were accessible in a way previous rulers had not been.
A slim figure approached the fire, and stopped, and stood waiting. Delia called out: “Yes, my dear? Step forward."
The girl walked into the light of the fire. She wore half armor and carried a rapier and main gauche and looked just such a Battle Maiden as existed in their thousands in most of the armies of Kregen. Her face, rosy from the reflected fireglow, did not smile. She looked indrawn and serious. I did not recognize her.
Neither did Delia. She was not, I judged, a member of the Sisters of the Rose.
“What is it?” said Delia, and her voice was not quite as gentle as before.
“A message,” said the Jikai Vuvushi.
Now I'm no stickler for protocol or for stupid and slavish kow-towing, as you know, by Krun. Yet this girl ought to speak with more civility to Delia on more than one count.
I started to stand up.
With a shriek chillingly demoniacal, a scream of utter madness, the girl hurled herself forward, and the long slender Vallian dagger in her fist glittered in the light of the moon.
That lethal blade struck viciously down at Delia.
Without drawing a weapon, so filled with terror for Delia and hate and loathing for this murdering girl, I hurled myself forward.
Now Delia of Delphond, Delia of the Blue Mountains, is expert with very many of the varied weapons of Kregen, but if there is just one weapon of which she is the consummate mistress, that is the long slender Vallian dagger.
My desperate lunge forward, highly dramatic and mock-heroic, was completely unnecessary.
The silly would-be murderess had no chance.
Delia twisted lithely aside, took the girl's wrist, twisted, pulled, there was a sharp cry of pain and a glitter of starlight on steel, and the girl stood laxly staring at the blade pressed against her throat.
“Well, now,” said Delia. She spoke evenly and her breast rose and fell smoothly with her breathing. What a wonderful girl is Delia; calm, compassionate, tempestuous and passionate, she is all things in all, and then I looked at the slender sliver of steel and I shuddered all the way down to my boots.
A girl in the russet leathers of the Sisters of the Rose ran up, her bow lifted and arrow nocked and half-drawn. Following her appeared a gang of my lads, and Delia's girls. They all looked extraordinarily fierce and yet apprehensive in the firelight.
“It is all right,” called Delia.
“Had the emperor not got in the way,” said the Sister of the Rose. “I'd have shafted the assassin, clean, the instant she whipped out her dagger."
“I'm sure you would, Zandi, and I thank you. Now perhaps you'd ask the girl a few questions."
Mind you, I was still shaking; but at the same time I knew I had an enormous smile wrapped all around inside my skull. This slip of a girl, this Zandi, a Sister of the Rose and a Hikdar in Delia's personal bodyguard, knew how to cut a fellow down to size—even if that fellow happened to be the husband of the woman she served with devoted loyalty and the emperor to boot. Maybe because I was Delia's husband, this Zandi didn't think much of me, didn't think I was good enough for her mistress.
Well, by Zair, and didn't I know I wasn't!
The would-be assassin was held firmly. She lifted her head and stared at Delia. Her eyes had a blank fey look, a glaze of uncaring madness that repelled.
“You need ask no questions, tikshim."
At this the guards holding her gasped at the insolence and the insult. They shook her and one rasped out: “Speak to the empress with civility."
“Empress!” The tones jeered. “Empress of nothing! Your Vallia is doomed and you with it."
I stepped forward. Now my anger had to be controlled or I could lose all I wanted on Kregen.
“Csitra,” I said. “If you harm Delia, the Empress of Vallia, you will earn my undying hatred and enmity."
“The woman can mean nothing to you, Dray Prescot! I am your chosen mate!"
“As to that, Csitra, fate may decide some things. But not all."
“You said you would visit me in the Coup Blag."
In the drugged voice of this poor duped girl before me, was there a hint of petulance? Could the demoniacal Witch of Loh far away in South Pandahem share weak human emotions to the extent of feeling sorry for herself?
Delia said in a metallic voice: “So that's it."
“Listen, Csitra. I shall visit you, believe me, as I promised. Maybe you will not enjoy that visit. But I repeat, and you will do well to heed my words."
“Yes, Dray Prescot?"
I ground the words out as though I were spitting granite chips.
“If you harm one hair of Delia the Empress of Vallia's head, I shall surely slay you."
As I finished speaking in that stupid puffed up way, but with absolute sincerity, I caught a movement in the corner of my eye. The girl's head snapped up and she turned to glare over my shoulder.
“Who is that standing there beside you?"
I half turned to look.
Drill the Eye, one of the commanders of the Yellow Jackets, stood there looking vacant, his mouth hanging half open.
I said, “A soldier. Now, Csitra, do you hear me?"
As I spoke I wondered what on Kregen Drill the Eye, a mighty kampeon, commanding the archers, was doing standing like a loon with the hay in his hair. Odd.
“I hear you. If I do not harm this woman, then you will come?"
“As I said before, Csitra, you have my word."
The girl slumped. The guards held her up. I turned around to speak to Drill the Eye, for I thought I had it, and he spoke up in a wheezy voice.
“She has a most powerful kharrna, Dray, most. She was not sure; but she suspected."
“Deb-Lu?"
“Aye, Dray, aye. And I must apologize to Drill the Eye for using his eyes to see through."
“He'll understand. He won't mind."
“I sincerely trust so. I have been Keeping an Observation upon Csitra and am coming to learn something of her ways. But this latest attack—"
“Has failed."
“Praise under the Seven Arcades is due."
Delia put out her hand to me and said: “I think I will go in now."
At once I put an arm about her waist and we turned for the tent. I spoke over my shoulder.
“Fanshos, the incident is closed. Deb-Lu, continue with your work, for little else stands between us and disaster."
So we went into the tent and took a little wine. Nothing can shake me like any threat to Delia. I would not care to account for my actions if ill befalls her.
Just before we went to sleep, I said softly: I shall have to make that trip very soon, my heart."
“There is still much to be done—"
“Oh, yes, there always is. But, right now, nothing is more important in all the world."
* * *
Chapter seven
The Battle of Bengarl's Blight
I said, “It's pointless to call for volunteers."
“Naturally,” agreed Delia.
“So I shall just have to choose a few likely lads."
“And lasses, of course."
“Oh, of course."
She eyed me. We were taking the first breakfast, of bosk rashers and fried eggs and enormous quantities of the superb Kregan tea, and dishes of palines to follow. Her look quite clearly summed me up.
“You need not try to slip away by yourself. And I shall bring my best girls. As Dee Sheon is my witness, Dray Prescot, I'm not having you run your fool head into that she-leem's lair without—"
“I know, I know,” I groaned.
“Well, I'm going,” said Targon the Tapster, “and that's settled."
The other commanders of ESW and EYJ all chimed in saying that of course they would go.
Nath na
Kochwold, Kapt of the Phalanx, just held up a paline in his fingers, stared at me, said, “I'm ready for the off right now,” and put the paline into his mouth with great enjoyment.
No one dreamed of not going to the horrendous terrors of the Coup Blag.
This situation was not quite the same as that confronting me when I'd shot off to Hyrklana to dig out Naghan the Gnat, Tilly and Oby from the Jikhorkdun. It was similar but not the same.
Korero the Shield simply said: “It's about time I went on an adventure with you again."
By this time in the campaign I had all the regiments of my guards corps with me in the Eighth Army, so there were so many kampeons about the glitter of gold and the glint of medals fairly blinded a fellow.
I said to Nath Karidge, a beau sabreur commanding Delia's EDLG: “It'll be on your feet, Nath, if you're lucky. There's no riding zorcas down there in the Coup Blag or through the Snarly Hills."
“One must make sacrifices from time to time."
I marveled.
Mazingle is the name the swods give to discipline. This crowd of people around me now were most mazarna. That is the absence of discipline, unruly, rowdy. They were that, right enough.
That afternoon, in absolute character, Nath Karidge was observed with an enormous pack stuffed with sand on his back, smothered in weapons, carrying a giant water bottle, and wearing stout marching boots, striding out across the bleak moorlands. As a rider he was getting into trim for a spot of walking. How like him!
When he came back he said to me: “By Lasal the Vakka! My legs are like putty."
I said, “You will be with the empress."
He stared at me as though I were bereft of my senses.
He managed to blurt out: “Where else?"
I shook my head. These fellows! Nath Karidge was happily married, and with new additions to his family. Yet he would cheerfully give his life for Delia. Of such mettle are the men of Vallia, who do not serve blindly.
Covell of the Golden Tongue had recently been fashioning a superior new poem cycle devoted to the heroes of Vallia. He thirsted for all the news of them available, going to extraordinary lengths to learn their stories. When he wrote, his verses carried the lilt and rhythms exactly suited to the personality and deeds of his subject. An invaluable master poet, San Covell of the Golden Tongue.
Omens of Kregen [Dray Prescot #36] Page 6