The Rebel of Rhada (5 page)

Landro returned and said to Mariana, “He’s been relieved.”

Torquas looked from his wife to the warleader. He
wished
that it didn’t always seem they were alone together when they were speaking to him. Perhaps it was that they were grown up and he was not. But he was, after all, King of the Universe. “Well,” he said with some irritation,
“is
it the Rhad?”

“All this is a precaution, King,” Landro said confidently. “Nothing more.”

“Kier of Rhada was my father’s friend,” Torquas said, rubbing at his nose and wondering how one could be dignified with a head cold.

“You haven’t seen the recent dispatches, loved one,” Mariana said. “His messages have gone from insolent to threatening. And now, suddenly, here he seems to be-- perhaps with a starship full of warmen. We must take care. He isn’t called The Rebel for nothing, husband.”

Torquas’s composure was beginning to break. He didn’t understand why he had been told nothing of all this. Yet Mariana and Landro never told him anything political. They said he was too young to be troubled. “Why be Galacton if you can’t rely on your loyal subjects?” she said. Somehow, Torquas doubted that his father would ever have let anyone do things in the Imperial name without telling him about it. But then, at twelve, Glamiss Magnifico had been leading armies in war on Vyka.

“Well,
is
it Kier or isn’t it?” he demanded.

“It
might be,”
Mariana said, brushing a fall of hair away from his forehead. “The ship is only just out of Earth orbit, loved one. But we simply cannot take any chances with the Rhad--
if
it is the Rhad.”

Torquas shook his head in confusion. He wondered why it was that Mariana could make things so very difficult to understand.

“Well, I want to see the starship land,” he said almost plaintively.

Mariana glanced once again at Landro and inclined her head quizzically. “I see no objection to that, do you, Warleader?”

“None, Queen,” Landro said.

“You shall see it, then, husband,” Mariana said. “From the Empire Tower.”

Torquas felt a sudden inner chill. “The tower?” The Empire Tower was the most ancient structure in the city. Its lower levels lay deep within the tel, five hundred feet or more. And its upper levels had been destroyed and rebuilt times beyond counting in the turbulent history of Nyor. Since Interregnal times it had been used to house political prisoners. It reeked of cybs and demons.

Mariana smiled and ran her hand gently through the boy’s hair. “The view is best from there. You can see far beyond the river. And you will be safer there than here if there should be any fighting.” She drew a folded parchment from her gown. “But first I need your name on this paper,” she said. “It is an Imperial warrant for the commander of that starship--whoever he may be.”

Torquas sighed and leaned against her. “Must he be arrested? If it is Kier, I mean?”

“No one may be permitted to land at Nyor with a vessel filled with troops, husband. You remember Father Glamiss made that the law.”

“But Kier of Rhada--”

“The law is the law, loved one. You must enforce it.”

Torquas nodded agreement. Mariana was right, of course. Grownups were always right. It made being King of the Universe difficult. He took the paper to an escritoire and wrote across the bottom: Torquas the First, G. He liked signing state documents that way. Of course, Mariana could have signed it herself, as regent. But he was pleased that she wanted him to put his royal name to this one, though he would be sorry if it got Kier into trouble. Still, he had no right to come dropping down on the Imperial capital with an army--

Mariana took the paper from him and said, “Now I’ll have the warmen take you to see the starship land.”

Landro was smiling strangely at the doorway. The courtiers, those old enough to understand what was happening, looked uncomfortable. Landro opened the door and signalled for an officer. The hard-faced Vegan had gone.

The officer presented himself before Landro and saluted. Torquas wondered why he had not come directly to him. Wasn’t he Galacton?

Landro said, “Conduct the Lord Torquas to the Empire Tower so that he may see the Rhadan vessel land. Guard him well. The engineer of the tower will know where the view is best.”

“The top, Mariana,” Torquas said excitedly. “The very top.”

Mariana looked at Landro and smiled. “The top, Warleader,” she agreed.

For some reason Torquas could not understand, Lady Constans began to weep. She put her arms about Torquas and held him, to his embarrassment. She looked at the Empress-Consort and said, “Oh, Queen--he’s not well, he’s ill--”

Torquas drew away from her and said, “I am perfectly fit.” He lifted his chin and said to the Vegan warman, “Hurry. I do not want to miss it.”

Mariana stood in silence as the boy and Landro’s war-men marched off down the gallery. She turned to look coldly at the courtiers, thinking contemptuously that not one of them except old Constans had raised a hand or even voiced a protest. “All of you,” she said, “leave us.”

When they had gone, leaving her alone with Landro, she took the Instrument of Abdication from her gown and read the formal words written in the ancient Vykan language.

Landro brushed the back of her neck with his knuckles gently, familiarly. “You have my admiration, Queen,” he said.

Mariana broke into laughter. “Queen of the Universe, Landro,” she said.

Landro giggled. The sound disturbed Mariana and irritated her. There was a streak of hysteria in the man, a tension that it seemed to her might one day bring him suddenly to disaster. Mariana mistrusted flawed tools, but for the moment there was only Landro at hand, and he must be steadied and used.

She walked to the gallery and stood by the high, narrow windows looking at the gray sky through which the Rhadan starship must descend to Nyor.

She thrust the document into her breast and turned. “I shall change into royal red,” she said, “the color of kings, to greet our warlike visitor, The Rebel of Rhada.”

--therefore the tactics of defense during landing operations of capital ships is dependent upon the expected response from enemy high-energy weapons. With meson screens fully extended, the deployment of infantry is limited by the metric-ton capacity of the standard Mark XVII Matter Transceiver: that is to say, units of battalion strength and 18.6 seconds. Starships equipped with the newer Mark XX Transceiver may deploy units of regimental size at inter--
Golden Age fragment found at Tel-Paris, Earth

(believed to be part of an Imperial military field manual)

On grounding after planetfall, the commander of warmen seeking to insure the safety of his holy vessel will order the portals opened only after his cavalry screen has been formed. The mounted warmen must then move with swiftness, establishing a perimeter and attacking any stone- or missile-throwing devices within range of the vessel. Meanwhile, the Navigator must be alert to danger, prepared instantly to lift the vessel to a height of no less than one hundred meters.

Simultaneously, the crew must make ready to support the cavalry screen with heavy stones and fire spears from the keel bays.

Prince Fernald,
On Tactics,
early Second Stellar Empire period

Against the gray sky, the Rhadan starship made a thousand-meter ovoid of darkness. Its descent toward the East Coast of the northern continent was cautious, with many hovering halts. The forces that drove the ship so swiftly through space were held in check now, and the air around it glowed with a pale blue radiance, ionizing the cloud layers so that the moisture froze into rime ice on the dark god-metal of the immense blind hull.

In the broad corridor leading to the port-side valve, a squadron of Rhadan cavalry was forming, the warmen tightening the harness on their nervously stepping mounts. The horses were of Rhadan stock, slender-limbed, with padded and clawed feet. These were said to be descendants of the horses of ancient Earth, brought to Rhada millennia ago in cold tubes and fitted to the rigors of Rhadan life by some warlock’s magic called
mutation.

The animals were accustomed to star travel, but they were partially telepathic and could sense from their masters the possibility of fighting soon. Their extended claws rasped on the metal of the deck plates, and they snorted the few words of their rudimentary language to one another: “Blood!” “Battle!” “Anger!” Occasionally, they would nip nervously at the mailed fighting men, their carnivorous teeth slipping harmlessly from the scales of iron. The men would cuff them back, curbing their eagerness and talking to them half in love, half in anger.

In the armory, Kier of Rhada’s weaponeers harnessed him for battle. His shirt of mail was washed with silver, and it gleamed in the torchlight. Before him, in a semicircle, stood Nevus, the Lieutenant-General, Kalin, and Cavour, the warlock. All were armed and armored.

Nevus, a heavy-set and battle-scarred veteran of the Rim wars, was scowling at his youthful leader. “I still don’t like the plan, Kier. It’s far too risky.”

“On the contrary,” the young man said, clasping the final buckle of his weapons harness, “it’s the least risky way of handling a bad situation. Cavour?”

The warlock’s bearded face was grave. “Yes. Though I still suggest a fast flight to Sarissa instead.”

Kier shook his head. “A last resort only.”

“You may be making your last choice right now,” Nevus growled. “At least take me with you.”

Kier said, “I’ll need you at the landing ground.”

Kalin, the priest-navigator, spoke for the first time. He did not want to presume to advise his cousin, who was much more experienced in war and intrigue than he, but he felt it his right as a Rhad to say, “What good will it do us to hold the starship and the landing ground if we lose you, Kier?”

“What the boy says is true,” Nevus said. “Listen to him, King.”

From the shadows, Gret spoke. “No man goes adrift on a dangerous sea without purpose--and a thin line to the land.”

“Thin line. Yes, I will agree to that,” Nevus said. “We’ve barely a squadron aboard.”

“All of Rhada couldn’t take the capital, Nevus,” the young star king said. “Nor would I want it so even if it were possible.”

“And they call you Rebel,” Nevus grumbled.

“It is decided,” Kier said, in a tone to end argument.

Nevus turned to Cavour. “Then remember your best spells, Warlock.”

Cavour showed his teeth in a smile. He liked Nevus, who was a brave soldier but a lifetime scoffer at the old knowledge. “Maybe one day I’ll produce something to impress you. An exploding missile or a ship to travel under the sea. But it won’t be today. Once they have us in the citadel, we’ll be in God’s hands.”

Kalin instinctively made the sign of the Star, but Nevus only pulled his beard and muttered, “In Landro’s hands, you mean.”

“Enough,” Kier said. “Now listen to me.”

The other fell silent.

“We shall land at the south end of the tel, where the slope is steep behind us. I shall take only Cavour with me. The rest you know. Nevus--hold the landing ground. Without fighting, if you can, but hold it. If we have not returned in eight hours, put the men aboard the ship.” He took his cousin’s shoulder. “Then we will be in your care, Kalin.”

“Can the thing be done, though?” Nevus asked.

“Kalin can do it,” Kier replied.

Kalin inclined his head and prayed that his skill be sufficient to succeed at what many said was impossible.

Kier, with his quick instinct, said, “There is no better ship handler among the Navigators. I have no fear.”

Kalin swallowed the dryness in his throat and said formally, “It shall be done, King.”

From the shadows came the thrumming of Gret’s music. “If Ariane is there, so will Erit be. I should like to meet with one of my own kind again. So shall I have to stay here without you, King, while you go adventuring?”

“What is your pleasure, Master Gret?” Kier asked with half a frown.

“I might be useful,” said the Vulk.

“So you might,” Kier said speculatively. “On a journey into the unknown, the unknowable may serve.”

“You do me honor, King,” Gret said with a secret smile.

One of the novice Navigators appeared with a position report. “We are through the cloud deck, sir.”

“Are we over the Eastern Sea?” Kalin asked.

“Yes, Brother Kalin.”

Kalin said to his cousin. “I will go now.” Kier watched him go, thinking that the lives of all might soon depend on the young priest’s skill and piety. He accepted his helmet from an armorer and smiled at his lieutenants. “Then, gentlemen, I think it is time.”

The Rhadan starship hovered for a time low over the southern tip of Manhat Island, above a section of the tel that covered much of the ancient city of Nyor. The ground was level here, dropping steeply to the shores of the confluence of the two rivers. To the north, no more than three kilometers from where the great ship would touch ground, two battalions of Vegan Imperials were issuing in battle order from the gate of the wall that cut across the island. The wall, useless now for defense, had been built in the last years of the Interregnum. It was falling into decay, but it served to divide the spaces left open for star-ship landings from the tangled streets and alleyways of Imperial Nyor.

Normally, starships landed closer to the walls. But Kalin allowed his huge hull to settle slowly to Earth at a point so near the steep talus of the tel that it would be virtually impossible to surround her. On the crumbling wall, he could see arbalests and catapults, but he was reasonably certain that even the huge and cleverly designed Imperial machines had not the range to reach his chosen landing site with missiles.

A rain was falling as the starship actually touched ground. The nicker of ionization in the air around her faded, and the god-metal keel sank deeply into the soil.

The port-side valve dilated, and from the dark opening galloped two wings of Rhadan cavalry, short lances set in holders, god-metal flails ready across the rider’s saddlebows. The horses wore no headgear, for they were guided by their sensing of their riders’ wills. They moved silently and with great precision and far more swiftly than the Vegan troops issuing from the city, who were mounted on scaly Vegan animals that had been mutated to grow armor and had thus sacrificed speed for virtual impervious-ness to attack.