Legions of Antares (10 page)

He tried to speak, and I jerked, and he writhed like a hooked fish.

“Let me finish, offal of the fish stews in Lowest Ruathytu. You call yourself a noble of Hamal. You disgrace that claim. You are not fit to hold office. Now take the lady and leave this inn.” With a last sudden pressure that made him scream out, I let him go. I would not let him annoy me. I dug out three golden deldys. These I handed to the woman as her escort moaned and gripped his aching arm with his other hand.

“Here, my lady. For the dress and with our deepest apologies.”

She took the money, dazed and sobbing; but not too dazed to stow the gold away neatly, in one of those secret pockets women have sewn into their dresses. I bent and picked up the rapier. It felt a handy weapon. Extending it, hilt first, I said, “Here, take your rapier and go. Ruathytu can do without the likes of you.”

Here I ventured a long bow, at chance, and by the way he reacted to those words, through the ache in his arm, told me I had scored at least an inner. I guessed he was a country nobleman traveling to Ruathytu on business. Then, as he took the rapier, very gingerly, and thought about trying to use it again, I shook my head. “Not unless you wish to die this time.”

He managed to splutter out: “Who the devil are you?”

“Who are you?”

As we spoke, I marveled at his fine coarse way of making pappattu and exchanging the Llahals!

“I am a Trylon.” There is a way of talking that may be described as grinding out the words. This Trylon ground out what he had to say as though his jaws hurt. “You are no nobleman, I can see that. Be very sure I shall know you again—”

“Next time we meet, Trylon unknown, I hope your manners will have improved, as I trust nothing will occur to give you just cause for offense. Your stupidity was in carrying it too far.” I had, all the time, not once felt the need for that old devil Dray Prescot look to flame onto my features, and I was composed, wonderfully composed. “Now, Trylon unknown, you had better go.”

He went with bad grace, swishing his rapier as though decapitating flowers along a path through a field. The woman trotted along, trying to hold her dress away from her body, looking distastefully at herself. There was room in all this to feel sorry for her.

Black Sadrap drew a breath. “He will have retainers, slaves, possibly paktuns in his pay. It will not be healthy here.”

“I think not, Sadrap. I think he flew here with the woman illicitly, and that was probably a great cause for his foolish actions.”

“Not foolish,” said Rollo, shaking himself, abruptly returning to life. “Not foolish if you had not been here, Zaydo! He’d have sliced my hide, jikaidered it with his damned sword.”

“All the same,” I said, casually drifting to the doorway. “I will take a look at the perching towers.”

The Trylon was dealing with his saddle flyer himself, so that strengthened my supposition he was here alone with the girl. He flew a zhyan, and the superb white bird flicked his four wings and carried this unnamed Trylon and his lady away and high, flying fast toward the east, toward Ruathytu.

The twin suns, Zim and Genodras, were gone by the time I turned back to the cheery comfort of The Fluttrell Feather.

Chapter eight

In Ruathytu

The first person I bumped into in Ruathytu was Nath Tolfeyr, a Bladesman of exceptional skill, a roisterer and idler, habitué of all the riskiest spots in the Sacred Quarter, and the man who had inducted me into the evil and diabolical cult of Lem the Silver Leem.

He was not wearing a brown sash with silver threads; he was not wearing a single item of brown at all, except his own tanned skin. A silver buckle glittered in the afternoon lights of the suns. He looked at me, all his youthful indolence of manner returning, his long arms and legs most graceful as he strolled across toward the mirvol perching tower in fashionable Screetztyg Kyro. Being a Bladesman and a man of fashion, Nath Tolfeyr would not care to be seen to bustle, even to greet an old drinking friend.

“Now may Havil take it,” he observed, halting before me and tipping his hard round Spanish-style hat back. “Hamun! As I live and breathe, Hamun ham Farthytu! Lahal, old fellow.” He extended his hand in the Hamalian fashion.

As we shook I felt a passing impression that he did not look overly surprised, and put that down to his languid posing.

“I’ve just arrived, Nath, and am heartily glad to see a friendly face. You must tell me all the news.”

“It’s been a long time.” He sounded guarded.

I chanced my arm. “Not in the eyes of the Silver Wonder.”

“Ah!” he said. He perked up. “So you remember.”

I did not want to tell Nath Tolfeyr that if I had my way all the blasphemous temples to Lem the Silver Leem would be burned out, and all the devotees of that cult, who sacrificed babies in their rituals, should be purged in whatever way would best exorcise the evil. Any oblique reference to Silver, to my sorrow and annoyance, might carry undertones of Lem the Silver Abhorrence.

We walked along toward the nearest inn, for they stand cheek by jowl all over most parts of the Sacred Quarter, mingled with private practice rings and dopa dens, and dubious haunts where games never mentioned in polite society are played. The villas of the atrociously wealthy are also to be found in the Sacred Quarter. Paline Valley did not keep up a villa in the capital.

“You have a fine mirvol there, Hamun.”

“Bluenose. Aye, very strong and willing.”

Most often the different breeds of saddle flyers find their perching places where their masters direct; I had chosen to leave Bluenose in the care of an establishment dealing only in mirvols. I had a good idea the government would snap him up; but there was no way of keeping him out of sight. Not with his appetite.

I asked what I burned to hear.

“What of Rees and Chido? How do they fare?”

For a space as we pushed through the throngs toward the inn, Nath did not answer. We waited as a string of calsanys passed, each animal laden to the ground, it seemed, and then Nath said, “I could do with tea, at the moment. There’s the Urn and Spoon, strong henshall tea, if you care for that? Chido does well, very well. He has flowered since his father died and he is the Vad.”

“That is good.” We entered the tavern next to the inn and looked for a table where we could talk. “Is he here?”

“We expect him any day. He now holds the rank of Chuktar in the army, and has been commanding in the Dawn Lands.”

My wonderment at this item of news — burbling chinless Chido ham Thafey now a Vad, which is but one step below a kov, and a high-ranking officer in the army, to boot — changed to pleasure; it could not dissipate my immediate concern over Rees.

“Yes, Hamun. The news of Rees is not good.”

“Tell me.” We sat down and a curly-headed shishi came to take our order. There were no diffs that I could see in the tea place; everyone was apim like Nath and myself. “Is the trouble very bad?”

“Pretty bad. You know Rees. As proud as anyone you’ll ever meet. He refuses all offers of assistance.”

“Rees ham Harshur,” I said. “Trylon of the Golden Wind. And those damned golden winds have blown his estates away, blown away the topsoil, ruined his agriculture. Is he then so poor?”

“As an archer with one arm.”

I made a face. This ancient Kregan saying summed it all up.

Then I said, “But the army? Rees raised a regiment?” Now it was Nath’s turn to make a face. “The new laws, Hamun. They are logical and appear just and eminently practical.” He watched as the shishi placed the tea things on the table, her arms bare to the elbow rosy and rounded, her movements deft. When she had gone to fetch the pot itself, he went on: “The new laws require substantial levels of wealth to achieve command. Money is the key to everything. Also there is a new spirit abroad, subdued, half-spoken, understood. It makes life difficult for diffs.”

“But,” I said, shaking my head, “Hamal has no racial prejudice.”

“Had none.”

Well, I had long since gone through my xenophobic period when I called the array of splendid diffs of Kregen by names like beast-man, and man-beast, and halfling. They were diffs as we belonging to Homo sapiens were apims. Some races of diffs were so different from others that they could not be lumped together for a general judgment. The shishi came back with the tea, and when Nath had poured and we were drinking the first cup of that superb Kregan tea, he said, “They have closed the Jikhorkduns of the Ghat and Thoth. Money and supplies are tight. The army demands continual sacrifice. Hamal does not do well, in these latter days.”

I noticed Nath said Hamal and not we. I let that pass. This news was, to the Emperor of Vallia, exhilarating. To thefriend and blade comrade of Rees ham Harshur, it was distressing.

“Rees is a numim and therefore...”

Nath nodded and broke in: “He lost his estates, for the wind blew them away, golden and shining. He lost his regiment.”

“By Krun! No!”

“Yes. Relatives of his wife took his family in. Now, Rees trains up hordes of clums from the shanty towns. They’re taking anyone into the army now. They let him retain a rank of Jiktar, ob-Jiktar.”

I placed the teacup down carefully. I did not wish to spill the tea. I glared at Nath Tolfeyr. He would not meet my eyes.

“And this is how Hamal repays her loyal servants! You know when Empress Thyllis overthrew the old emperor, Rees played a great part, was a devoted adherent to her cause?”

“I know.”

“It seems to me Hamal has lost the spirit of greatness.”

Nath glanced around, casually. He lowered his voice.

“Best not prattle on so, old fellow. At least, not so loudly in a public place.”

“Yes, you are right. When do I get to see Rees? Where is he?”

“Over by the mountains of the west, somewhere. I hear they’re raising an army. Another army. It will go the same way all the rest went, swallowed up in the Dawn Lands, or Vallia.”

This prosaic view of military affairs added nothing to my concerns. Of course armies were being formed. Nath knew as much about them as any idler and gossip, and I still could not say outright to him: “Why is it, Nath Tolfeyr, you are not in the army?”

He could be a spy, a secret agent, working for Thyllis. Why not? She had agents everywhere. That was well known. And Nath Tolfeyr had the habit of turning up unexpectedly.

When we had finished the second cup, I said, “People talk of Prince Tyfar of Hamal. They say he has been on strange travels.” Then, cursing my runaway tongue, I said with what I hoped was a casual Sacred Quarter Bladesman’s languid poise, “And his father, Prince Nedfar, has been away. Together, I trust.”

Nath laughed. “Yes, they’ve been out of the city. But they are back now and busy with the Air Service.” He stared over the rim of his cup. “When you say that people are talking about Prince Tyfar, Hamun, what, precisely, do you have in mind?”

My runaway tongue had led to an interesting avenue, by Krun! Of course I was wrapped up in the fortunes of Tyfar, for he was a blade comrade, a fine companion, and he and my daughter Lela, whom he knew as Jaezila, were deeply in love and unable or unwilling to admit that, one to the other. And Tyfar thought we were Hamalese and labored for Thyllis and his country. Oh, yes, this was a pretty tangle. Tyfar had no idea Jaezila was my daughter, as I had not, by Vox, when we’d adventured and sang and fought our way together across the Dawn Lands. And, now, Nath Tolfeyr looked decidedly warm for a languid wastrel of the Sacred Quarter. Most interesting!

“Oh, the usual, Nath. He is always spoken of as a bookish lad, always with a scroll under his arm and a book to his nose. In these dark days we need fighters.”

“I recall he was a studious young prince as a youth. But I understand — I am told, for I do not move in the royal and imperial circles here — that he has some skill with an axe.”

“Really?” I said, drinking tea with a fine elegant twirl. “How amusing.”

By Krun! But Tyfar had skill with an axe! I’d seen him take two nasty Chuliks apart with two supple sweeps, and then turn to me with an academic quote that fitted the situation marvelously. Oh, yes, I had a very great deal of time for Tyfar, who would, if the gods and this infernally stupid war between our two countries allowed, become my son-in-law. So I passed on in the conversation, asking about Casmas the Deldy and other scamps.

“Casmas?” Nath shoved back in his chair, crumbling a miscil cake between his fingers. “An odd case. He married his widow and became a Rango and lent his money to the empress. But he is — shrunken, in these latter days.”

“Casmas? Shrunken? As soon believe that as the Ice Floes of Sicce have gone up in steam!”

He smiled. “I agree. It is true, scatheless.”

“There are more unpleasant people to inquire after.”

“I notice you did not ask about Strom Rosil Yasi—”

I put my cup down. Strom Rosil, that bastard Kataki, and his equally evil twin brother were raising hell in Vallia. Mywits must be wandering. Of course I should have inquired of them, when talking of Rees, against whom they had worked their devil-designs at the instigation of Vad Garnath, one of the biggest evil-doers unhanged. I said, “I trust that crew is all dead?”

“Unfortunately, no. Garnath is with the Air Service. The Rosil twins are in Vallia. Katakis are one race of diffs I am not sorry the new laws bear down on, not sorry at all.”

We talked more and I learned how old Nath the Crafty who had always detested diffs had been slain by a Chulik in a brawl, and how much this incident had contributed to the growing distrust of non-apims among the apim ruling classes. Those diffs who were nobles in Hamal, and there were many of them, had become more and more isolated. These were developments I had to ponder, for I had the uneasy conviction — not so much uneasy as panicky, and not so much a conviction as a doubting belief — that in this the Star Lords were interfering. Either them or the Savanti nal Aphrasöe. Times were changing with dramatic speed on Kregen. I felt like the proverbial leaf in a dust storm.

Nath Tolfeyr said he had an afternoon appointment at the Dancing Rostrum, for that riotous if circumspect establishment did better business than ever. People wanted to dance a few burs away and forget their cares. We said the remberees politely, engaging to meet later at a new tavern Nath had discovered, The Blue Zhyan, in Ohmlad’s Alley, off the Street of Thalanns. The pace and bustle of the city engulfed us as we emerged from the Urn and Spoon and went our separate ways. I had learned a great deal, painlessly — well, almost painlessly. There was a very great deal more I must learn to earn my hire as a spy for Vallia and the friends of Vallia against Hamal. The bonus of being able to move about freely in this enemy city as Hamun ham Farthytu had proved itself, and I knew I would have to push that bonus to squeaking point.