Legions of Antares (20 page)

They split into teams, and my last words to them as they went off were: “And if questioned you are merely disaffected volswods. You have nothing to do with Vallia. Dernun?”

“Quidang!”

So we went off about our nefarious tasks.

A night breeze blew the scents of moon blooms, and clouds scuttered across the faces of the moons. Torchlights waved their golden glow from the corners of walls. At this late hour few sounds broke the stillness of the city; but occasionally a hubbub broke distantly from the Sacred Quarter. Over there the Bladesmen still able to live it up were trying to carry on the hell-for-leather traditions in such marked contrast to the rest of the country. The clouds layered thick shadows. The voller berths were closely guarded as a result of previous attempts on the part of fanatics of Spikatur Hunting Sword and spies and saboteurs. We crept on, muffled in cloaks, to all appearances a drunken party returning home clutching our pots and jugs to us. We staggered.

Chuktar Naghan ham Gorthnil’s wing of vollers, which had been selected to replace ours in the attack on Vallia, lay berthed at the Hlunub Yards. The walls reared tall and stark and anti-aerial precautions, although in our view slack, still presented problems to any onslaught from the sky. We threw ropes with grapnels and swarmed up onto the walls. Only two sentries were encountered during this phase of the proceedings, and both went to sleep peacefully enough.

In the shifting light of the moons the yards lay spread out before us. Gorthnil’s vollers, all twelve of them, lay ranked and neat, according to regulations. And, in truth, they were of superior quality to Thorfrann’s.

Norhan said in a slurred whisper, “They’ll do nicely.”

“And make it fast, O Man of the Flame!”

Like shadowy demons cloaked in a mummer’s play, the saboteurs disappeared between the ranked vessels. Saboteurs, yes; but this was an act of war, distasteful though it might be. When the first tongues of flame rose, I cursed, for they broke through a hatch in the nearest ship. That voller must have been loaded with combustible stores. Before anyone could realize, she was a torch, spouting to the sky.

“Run!” I bellowed down. Now it was a race, a race between our returning lads and the guards tumbling out of the guardroom.

All the eerie darkness of the opening moves was gone. No longer were we a band of secret saboteurs; now we were a handful of fighting men. The little group with me, increasing in size as each team rejoined, drew their swords and prepared to battle on against the onrushing Hamalese guards to give our men a chance of escape.

The whole business was nip and tuck. But for that voller crammed with materials that took the flame and roared into the night sky the plan would have been perfect. Now we had to scrabble to redeem what we could. This we did in swords.

No doubt believing us to be adherents of Spikatur and therefore unwilling to be taken alive, the guards simply bored straight in to slay us all. The fight blossomed along the wall as men cursed and shouted and struggled along the narrow walkway. Dark figures pitched out into thin air, screaming. The Twins suddenly poured down their refulgent pinkish light and the battle along the wall was revealed in rose-lit clarity. We fought. Steel clashed against steel. More and more guards climbed the narrow stone steps to get at us. I glanced back over the outer edge of the wall.

“Start going down!” I shouted to the men at my side. They wanted to protest; I was rude to them, and one by one they dropped down the ropes. The last party who had fired the farthest ship now appeared, panting, and were incontinently dispatched over the wall. Soon only Norhan and I were left.

“Over with you, Norhan.”

“But—”

“Go now, fambly — and—”

But he read my mind and hurled his last pot of combustibles into the mass of guards who stepped over the bodies of their comrades. In a smothering roar of flames they stumbled back. Norhan slid down his rope and, after a quick look around, I went down after him. I may say I went down smartish. Very.

We had the luck with us. By the time other guards opened the massive gates onto the Yards and ran out we had taken to our heels. All the Hamalese swods saw were disappearing shadows.

We carried our wounded with us. Two men — two good men — died of their wounds and we buried them with due honor, if secretly; but none of us had been left at the voller yards. We had put in our own preemptive strike. The men settled down as though nothing had happened. When the news of the night’s attacks came in, we were all as astounded and enraged as any other good Hamalese.

Disgust dripped from Chuktar Fydur ham Thorfrann. His apoplectic face in its ripeness betrayed scorn for Chuktar Gorthnil, delight in a rival’s discomfiture and desperate anger over a serious blow at the Hamalian Air Service. He stood in the little courtyard of the barrack block as I came out and he rocked back on his heels, fuming. “You’ve heard, Jak?”

“Aye.” Then I thought of what seemed to be a clever idea. “We fought off the cramphs who tried to set your wing alight, Chuk. Praise Havil we were alert.”

That furious color darkened even more. “What!”

I nodded, very serious, very dedicated. “Yes. Trouble is, they ran off and we couldn’t catch them. Is it serious?”

“Serious? Are you a fambly, Jak? Of course it’s serious — although, now maybe
we
will be sent to Vallia.”

And, believe it or not, that eventuality had not occurred to me, not found a single lodgment in my thick old vosk-skull.

Chapter sixteen

Fracas Under the Moons

The pace of life changed in Ruathytu when the invasions began and yet the impression I gained was at variance with what I — or any Vallian — would have expected of a capital city during these parlous times. The contrast between Ruathytu and Vondium when we had been besieged was most marked. Yet this was a perfectly natural and proper occurrence, for nations on Kregen no less than races react in different ways. Vallians had reacted with the joyfulness of a man coming through a painful illness and facing imminent death; death held no terrors and the task was to beat back death in the shape of the enemy and regain health and strength. That the Vallians had done that gave warning that, as a nation, they might be wrong-headed over many issues, but they possessed the spirit without which a nation is a mere collection of peoples.

In their very different way the Hamalese reacted with a stoic adherence to their purposes. It was openly acknowledged that the aggrandizement of Hamal into a continent and island-spanning empire was the dream of the Empress Thyllis and must therefore be upheld; privately more and more doubts were current. The pace quickened, yes; but fewer and fewer folk cared to lead on at the head of the columns. Those ardent spirits who did yearn to lead on found a ready acceptance within the mass of the people, for the prospects of empire brightened cupidity, and so much wealth had already stuffed the coffers that any cessation of the flow of booty could only be contemplated with horror. It remained to be seen in the contest of arms if that horror could be banished in the horrors of approaching conflict.

“When are we going to burn a few more vollers?” demanded Norhan the Flame.

“They’ll never catch us,” said Frandu the Franch, “for we can outsmart them with ease.”

“When I say so,” I said. “And your stations are filthy and you’d best get your lads on cleaning up. Hikdar Bonnu is not a man to cross in the matter of dirt and polish, believe me.”

From which it was clearly evident that we had not yet left for the west or Vallia. Thorfrann told me he now believed the high command were keeping his wing in reserve. “Just in case any of those damned invaders gets too close to Ruathytu.”

Being of the military, we had access to more information than civilians; but that information was sparse and unreliable. That forces had landed in Hamal everyone knew. What they were up to was obscure. The most worrying problem I now had was the lack of communication from Deb-Lu-Quienyin. Why hadn’t the Wizard of Loh contacted me?

There was little more I could tell him of the plans and dispositions of the Hamalese. Everyone in Ruathytu knew the high command had devised a plan that would utterly destroy the allies. Unable to decide in my own mind if such a plan existed or was merely a sop to public opinion, I hesitated. During this period Kov Thrangulf, bluff and unhappy and conscious of his own defects, arrived in the capital. But there was no word of Lobur the Dagger or Princess Thefi. Nedfar withdrew into his shell. Once, I’d saved Lobur from falling off a roof. At the time, I’d been wearing a gray mask, and told him my name was Drax; I fancied Nedfar and Thrangulf would far prefer me to have let Lobur fall to his death, had they known of that little incident. As for Tyfar, I thought I knew him well enough to know he would not wish for Lobur’s death. Tyfar was not released from command of the Twentieth Army and was battling against incursions of the wild men.

One evening I summoned ship-Hikdar Bonnu and said, “I shall be going out tonight, Bonnu. If anyone asks for me say I am sick in the guts and am not to be disturbed.”

“Alone?”

“Aye, alone.”

“But—”

“Alone.”

He killed his frown of displeasure. He was just like all the folk of Vallia and Valka; each one considered him or herself entirely responsible for my welfare. It was warming; it had in the past proved hampering. Now I would disregard it.

To Thorfrann I said: “Chuk. I have a pain in the guts—”

He laughed. “That’ll teach you to drink cheap wine, Jak! Go on, sleep it off.”

So, with these precautions tidily attended to, I put on a smart uniform, all bullion and silver lace, with plenty of greenery and feathery decorations, girded up a rapier and main gauche and went off to break into the castle of Hammabi el Lamma. I had done this before, pretending to be a messenger, and this time the ploy carried me past the first guardroom. Thereafter the scheme went wrong, for although the empress was absent the place was more tightly gripped in security than ever before. Well, to cut a period of cut and thrusting short I had to evacuate smartly and came roaring out onto the jetty by the Havilthytus with a pack of rascals trying to cut me down. There was a wild scene of flickering blades and twinkling steel before I got away. Of only one thing was I thankful; all during this stupid fracas I’d managed to hang onto a face that was not my own.

By Zair, though! It was frustrating. In there, in the palace, in the map room, hung the information I needed. Somehow, I had to look at the maps and learn what plots the Hamalese were hatching to discomfit our invasions.

The next morning Thorfrann told me I looked the worse for wear, and he laughed and went purple, and I gave him a smile that would have melted iron.

When I went along to
Mathdi
for morning rounds Bonnu reported that a messenger had arrived. He spoke quietly, and his eyebrows shot up and down, so I knew the messenger was no Hamalese. I was right. He turned out to be Nath Winharman, one of Seg’s young aides, flown in by a circuitous route from home. My people had hidden his fluttrell away. He looked tired, disheveled and yet full of fight.

“Majister—” he began.

“Shastum, Nath,” says I, and then, in a lighter tone: “In Hamal Jik will do. Your news?”

“Prince Drak leaves the southwest uneasily, maji — Jik. This King of Kaldi has gone back to his mountains again.” We went down to the cramped stateroom and I made Winharman sit down and take refreshment. His news was not all bad; but it was not all good. Of the many items he recited, the most important was that the Wizards of Loh were again in contention. Phu-Si-Yantong had brought great powers to bear. I sat there, feeling sick, seeing all our plans being brought to nothing. Deb-Lu struggled to overcome the enormous kharrna of Yantong, and he would do so, I was absolutely confident, in time. But time was now a commodity of which we were in short supply.

“Kov Seg is arranging a messenger system, but the journey is wearisome, and the seas—”

“I know. Seg will manage.” Clearly, Seg, in command of one of the Vallian columns pushing south into Hamal, was in contact back via ships and flyers with Vallia. It was a chancy business, flying out over the sea on a saddle bird and finding a ship at her designated spot. Damned chancy. While it was important that Nath Winharman should return as soon as possible with my messages, he had to have rest. Bonnu saw to that and I settled down to write.

What I could tell Seg and Drak and my chiefs was all useful material; what I could not tell them was vital. Here I was, at the heart of our enemy’s war preparations, and I could learn nothing of his plans. As a spy I might as well pack up shop and take up arms and fight at the head of our army. So I was not in a particularly agreeable mood as, the day’s routine over and Nath Winharman, fed and rested and his bird cared for, took off for the first stage of his night flight, I walked down into the Sacred Quarter. It was in my mind to seek out Kov Naghan and apply for a transfer. In my eyes I was accomplishing nothing.

The truth was, and is clearly apparent, that I was in a down mood. And, in the nature of these things, chance popped up like a Jack-in-the-box. Cronies told me Kov Naghan had gone to The Rokveil’s Ank. This select tavern had experienced its share of rowdy nights; but in general was quieter than most. The moment I pushed in through the low doorway and looked around the taproom I saw Prince Nedfar in close converse with Kov Thrangulf, who looked as hard and jumpy and put-upon as ever. Everyone wore casual evening clothes, loose and comfortable, and everyone wore weapons. Nedfar saw me.

“Jak! You have news?”

I shook my head. The news he wanted, hungered for, was news of his daughter Thefi. “I have heard nothing, prince.”

“No one has seen or heard of them since they disappeared.”

Now I have mentioned my high regard for Nedfar and yet I know I have given no proofs of great substance to support your belief in my view, as I did with Tyfar, for our adventures together with Jaezila had bound us together as comrades. Now Nedfar in these dark days bore up with a strength of character that, while not disdaining grief, held it at arm’s length while his country battled against invaders. He sank back into the old blackwood chair, shaking his head, and repeating, “No one has seen or heard of them.”