Omens of Kregen (8 page)

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.

The most serious aspect of the whole affair of Csitra’s attempt to assassinate Delia was simply the fact of the deed itself. The poor girl whose mind had been taken over by the witch, of course knew nothing of what had passed. She was a new arrival from Vondium, come up to join her regiment.

Delia said: “And how many more people are there from Vondium possessed by this she-vampire? She will have sent them all over Vallia looking for you!”

“Yes.”

“She knows where you are now. Are we then to expect another of her horrible curses?”

“She would have done so already, if she could. I suspect Deb-Lu has managed to achieve some mastery over her powers.”

“I sincerely trust so, by Vox!”

Shortly after that Khe-Hi-Bjanching and Ling-Li-Lwingling turned up, adamantly determined to go with the expedition to the Coup Blag. They were two people I really welcomed along.

With them actually with Delia, I felt a little easier in my mind about the witch.

With this — admittedly fragile — new development in affairs, I could make the decision I had trembled to make before.

To the assembled officers of the army I said: “News has just reached me that Prince Drak and Kov Seg have linked up and are approaching the River of Golden Sliptingers. Their opposition has suddenly materially weakened and they have made unexpectedly good progress.”

Kapt Erndor grumped up and said: “So we know what that portends.”

“Aye,” I said. I didn’t like the note of grimness in my voice. “We have recently been blessed with a considerable flow of reinforcements. You’d best reform your Ninth Army, Erndor and make sure you take some of the better regiments.”

“Thank you, jis, I will that. What are your orders for me?”

“Why, Erndor! To march shoulder to shoulder and bash this Nath the Greatest Ever.”

“If my guess is right, and I think it is, and he has denuded his front against Prince Drak and Kov Seg, he is likely to leave his entrenchments on Losobrin’s Edge and his billets in Erdensmot, and mount an attack.”

“Which is precisely what we want him to do, is it not?”

“Absolutely,” said Nath Famphreon. “Although he will now inevitably be in great strength. The reports of fresh mercenaries arriving daily are explicit.”

“So there’s no question of us flying off to the Coup Blag until we’ve blattered the fellow. When his paktuns have all run back home again and the land is peaceful — then.”

Well, I have said I am not intending to give a blow by blow account of the North Vallian Campaign. There were many battles, a few sieges, and a lot of marching, a damned lot of marching. But now we could brace ourselves for what we all hoped would be the last big encounter. The self-styled King of North Vallia had concentrated almost all his forces against us in the west hoping to knock us out before turning back to finish off Drak and Seg.

When I calculated out the odds I was fully and painfully aware that I was dealing in the lives of men and women. Still, for this last time — until the unholy Shanks arrived on our shores.

The two armies were in good heart. Some of the units were raw; many were hardened by this and previous campaigns into veterans, and there were the kampeons, the heroes of Vallia, men and women to be cherished.
[3]

One odd fact emerged from all this, to Kapt Erndor’s puzzlement. He had the 30th Infantry Division under command. As he said to me as we met for the last time before going out to our respective armies: “Odd, by Vox. The 11th Churgurs have Jiktar Nogad ti Vendleheim commanding. I was sure old Hack ’n’ Slay had them.”

Across the moorland we could see the opposing array. I nodded as Kapt Erndor said: “Well, may Opaz ride with you this day. I’m off.”

“Opaz go with you, Erndor.” Then I concentrated on what was to come, all preparations over and what was not done would never be done.

The place was simply a portion of the vast sweep of moorland up there in Erstveheim. A tiny village, of no more than a dozen or so tumbledown houses, a tavern and a posting house, and a temple to their obscure local god, stood out forlornly between the lines. The village’s name was Bengarl. Most unkindly, the swods dubbed the area Bengarl’s Blight, and so that was how the battle acquired its name.

The aerial duels were fought out savagely. Birds wheeled and fluttered against the radiance of the suns. Many fell. Ships burned. This phase of the proceedings lasted longer than usual, and our vaward was running into contact before the air was fully cleared.

There was no doubt in any of our minds that our Vallian Air Service, and our flutduin squadrons, would do the job. Against ferocious opposition it just took longer.

The skirmishers, called on Kregen ‘kreutzin’, darted in and flung their javelins, shot in their bows, then skipped away, evading with lithe skill. All the same, they did not escape entirely unscathed.

Our dustrectium
[4]
lashed out. The superbly trained Bowmen of Vallia, using the Lohvian longbow, ripped enemy formations to shreds. But they had Bowmen of Loh over there, too, paktuns earning their hire. The archery duel became bitter.

Not wishing to stand my lads still under this punishment, I gave ready assent to the vociferous requests for a general advance. The air smelled damp with that mingled aroma of wet grasses and gorses, of tiny purple flowers, of wet earth. The radiance of the suns strove to pierce through layers of mist. The lines advanced.

Our Phalanxes, battle-winning weapons, sent up their paeans. Their long pikes all slanted up as one, and on the command the front five ranks’ pikes went down, pointing those small deadly heads at the enemy. The banners fluttered. The bugles sounded. With their crimson shields raised, their bronze-fitted armor glinting and their helmets all bent grimly down, the brumbytes charged.