Warlord of Antares (12 page)

“Majister!” he croaked out. The flagon shook. “Your pardon, majister, I did not know you and Jen Seg were here.”

“Evidently,” growled Seg. He glanced at me in so comical a way that I broke out laughing.

Nath shot up in the bed.

“Majister!” he bellowed. “What is this about majister?”

I said: “I crave your pardon, Jik Nath, for deceiving you. But it was, as you can see, essential that I be known as Jak the Bogandur. You do see that?”

His eyes popped. He tried to speak and gobbled for air. At that moment Delia and Milsi entered, bringing their gifts, and bringing a radiance and warmth into the sickroom.

“Dray!” called Milsi. “So this is the fearsome Impenitent!”

For a moment the confusion that followed left me a trifle breathless. Now Nath had said he’d never seen the emperor close up and that was why he’d not known me. He must have seen the empress, even though he may have denied it.

He scrabbled up in the bed, shedding sheets, trying to claw his way out and stand on his feet. He stood up all right, swaying, bursting sweat all over that scarlet face.

“Majestrix!” he roared out, and fell full flat on his face.

Seg and I hauled him back into the bed and then we all stood around looking down on him.

So, as you see, even a dedicated noble- and emperor-hater like old Hack ’n’ Slay cherished the divine Delia and would serve her past death.

The needleman was called. Nath was out to the world. We were shooed out and left, telling Perli and Sanchi, dumb with shock, that we would return.

“D’ye see the old Impenitent’s face?” demanded Seg. “When he remembered how pally he’d been treating the Bogandur!”

“He will,” said Delia in her most practical way, “get over it.”

“If this means he’ll be loyal to Drak—”

“I do not think, my heart, there will be any doubt of that.”

What young Ortyg Thingol said was correct; it was past the hour of mid and therefore, acting the part of respectable citizens, we could legitimately make our way back for a long and thirst-quenching drink of ale. Wine would come later.

Now these days in Vondium the Proud City, capital of Vallia, where I was no longer the emperor, I had fancied I could have a deal of time to myself and generally laze about. Some hope! There always seemed something to do.

Drak and Silda and the Presidio were busily carrying on the work of putting the country back together again after the Times of Troubles. We conferred with many people you have met in this narrative of my adventures, and many others who worked nobly for Vallia. The army was in good heart. The great galleons of Vallia were being built again. The Air Service was painstakingly increasing the aerial fleets; but that work was dependent on the good news out of Hamal and Hyrklana where vollers were constructed. Supplies of airboats and saddle animals were being bought from Balintol.

All in all, we had precious little time to spend to ourselves.

The terror of the Witch of Loh’s Nine Curses against Vallia had been removed, or so we believed. And, still, there was no news either of Csitra or the Shanks.

One evening we had gone through what I considered the tedious business of an enormous State Function. Drak and Silda looked the part of emperor and empress to perfection. When, at last, we could doff the ceremonial robes and remove the ornate mazillas, tall gem-encrusted collars that fair enclosed a person’s head, we felt we had earned a small portion of time for relaxation.

Many of our friends and comrades gathered in the newly-furbished Corbitzey Chambers, hung with ruby-drapes and lit by many samphron oil lamps. The air was scented sweetly with Moon-blooms, and the tables groaned under food and drink. The assembled company would start singing soon, in the well-established and hallowed traditions of Vallia.

The Lord Farris and Nath na Kochwold were talking quietly in a corner with Seg and me when a gong-note sounded and a messenger walked into the brilliantly-lit chamber. Roben ti Vindlesheim standing with us glanced across and then went on talking in his dark-browed intensive way, concentrating on his beloved canals to the exclusion, it seemed to his amused and affectionate friends, of everything else.

Mantig Roben had been appointed by me when I’d been emperor to put Vallia’s once-superb network of canals back into good condition. Many of the waterways had fallen into disuse. A bustling land full of commerce and travel needs canals, by Vox. Roben, quick-mannered, absorbed in his own work for Vallia, was just one more of the good comrades gathered about the throne during and after the Times of Troubles.

Seg said: “The messenger goes straight to Drak, Dray. They are learning.”

“And about time, too, by Bongolin.”

From the trim and clean appearance of the messenger we knew he had not flown here astride a saddle bird but had flown aboard a voller. Watching Drak’s hard, competent face, so like my own and yet so unlike, I saw the flashing expression there reveal not indecision but a weighing of different courses of action. Indecision and Drak did not often lie together.

The major indecision of Drak’s life so far had been his shilly-shallying about Silda.

Now he glanced across at my corner, saw me watching him among all the throngs of gaily-clothed folk between. He started across. As he approached I felt my old heart banging. Drak was every inch an emperor, by Zair, and I was proud of the lad.

I waited for him to speak. A hush fell about the group and more folk, curious as ever, formed a ring.

“It is Menaham.” Drak’s left fist rested on his rapier hilt. “The Bloody Menahem. We all wondered what would chance with this new king they have. Well, now we know.” He glanced around, and only a fool would see indecision on that powerful, dominating and — yes — handsome face. “The imbecile has invaded Iyam and carries fire and the sword across the land toward Lome and Yumapan.”

Halted in his passionate tirade about the canals, Mantig Roben ti Vindlesheim was the first to speak. It was, as it were, a continuation of his thoughts.

“Let them hack each other to pieces in Pandahem, jis. We have Vallia to heal and rebuild. It is no concern of ours.”

From the growl of assent, quite a number of the folk there shared that sentiment.

Drak’s head thrust forward obstinately. He stared full at me as he spoke, a lowering, brooding look of concentration. He knew my aims for Paz, all right, knew them damned well.

“This is evil news, yes. It destroys much we in Vallia have worked for. But it does concern us, for it concerns Paz.”

Chapter twelve

Of the Mystique of Paz

Mysticism forms a vital ingredient in the lives of some people who cannot exist without the thrills and terrors of supernatural experiences — or quasi-supernatural delusions — and the feeling they are communing with forces beyond those of nature. There are other folk who see no need for flummery of this kind to explain the disasters and successes of life. They are in touch with aspects of nature quite satisfactory to them.

When millions of people devote themselves to the service of an abstract ideal, surely, some will say, mysticism reaches an apex, no matter what the ideal. Others will say that practical self-interest and the well-being of their fellow humans motivate their actions.

The theory for the moment could be ignored; we needed the results. When my lad Drak spoke so intensely about Paz, I felt enormous relief. I had not been sure that he would put matters in the same order of priority that I had done. He had, I’d noticed, been furbishing up the palace at a faster rate than in my days as emperor. But in matters of importance he could see clearly enough that what we in Vallia were doing or trying to do — was really a matter of simple common sense.

Nowadays, when the word Paz was spoken, there clung around the sound an aura of mysticism, of grandeur, of yearning. Invisible trumpets pealed and carried the name Paz.

Most folk could feel that little shiver up the spine at the idea of Paz. The continents of Turismond to the west, Segesthes to the east, Loh between and Havilfar to the south, joined by the islands of Pandahem and Vallia formed the grouping of lands known as Paz.

“The news is certainly evil for the poor devils of Iyam,” said Nath na Kochwold.

Seg said: “Are there no more details?”

Some, a little, of the tenseness drained from Drak as he turned at once to answer Seg.

“Precious little, Seg. Only that this insufferable new king of theirs doesn’t understand mercy.”

“In that case he may be king for a very short time.”

One or two of the people smiled at this, and Naghan Strandar in his familiar way laughed, agreeing.

When I’d been putting smashed-up Vallia back together, and being lumbered with the job of being emperor along the way, people had gathered about to help. You know a few of them. It was diashum
[2]
to work and, if necessary, to die for Vallia.

When as emperor I’d run the Presidio and court, do not believe that the fighters, bankers, architects, artists, flyers, musicians — many and many splendid folk of diverse talents — were a chorus of approval. I was not surrounded by yes-men. Oh no, by Vox, very far from it.

We all shared the dream, we differed in the way of human nature in how that glittering dream might best be realized.

So, now, as the news of this maniacal King Posno’s invasion of his western neighbor was discussed, there were voices lifted passionately to say that we needed no further entanglements abroad. Money and work were needed in Vallia. Mantig Roben spluttered as he said: “With the money and manpower you will waste fighting in Pandahem I can rebuild many dwaburs of canal. There is our country’s wealth.”

Somebody ripped out: “If you live to sail the waters of your precious canals, Mantig.”

“This cretinous cramph King Posno is not invading Vallia, is he?”

“The Pandaheem recall what happened to them the last time they tried.”

“Well, then, my point is proved.”

Somebody else wouldn’t have that, and vehemently carried on the argument. I caught various eyes, and we sauntered away to find ourselves a quiet retiring room where the news might be discussed more fully and more logically.

I said: “If I were callous, as many emperors are callous, I would say this was not evil news, was good news, was most excellent news.”

“How can that be, when the alliance falls into ruin?” demanded Nath na Kochwold.

“Why, Nath,” I said, completely unable to refrain from teasing my splendid blade comrade. “I confess I am astonished. I thought you joyed in putting your Phalanxes in motion.”

“As to that, you know I do — oh. I see.” His face reflected a wry realization that, once again, he’d been taken for a gentle little ride. “Will you show any preference in your selection?”

“Now then, Nath,” I said. And again, I confess, I spoke only half in jest. “You are forgetting.”

“Your pardon. It is not easy.” Nath na Kochwold, who had won his name in that great battle, considered that all his Phalanxes were perfect. He knew, also, that over the seasons I had out of experience formed certain attachments to certain Phalanxes.

What was true was that in the Phalanx Vallia had a battle-winning weapon. Nath had taken this gentle jesting in good part, and now he turned to Drak and said: “Well, then. And which Phalanxes will you require. All are ready.”

“When we work out the forces to go, then you’ll know.”

“Quidang.”

“It is good news, father, in that sense.” Drak did not drink from his golden and jeweled goblet but nursed it between both hands, face intent. “We may impose our will upon Menaham after we have defeated them.”

“There is no doubt about that,” said the Lord Farris.

I opened my mouth, saw Seg glancing at me, and closed that fount of spouting babblement.

“The only fault in the logic is that the Bloody Menahem are so — so bloody.” Drak spoke with feeling.

“They may be forced to bow the neck, they may be bribed, they may be—”

Nath cut in: “They could all be exterminated.”

Farris, as tough now as ever despite his age, sucked in a breath. “Yes, Nath na Kochwold. If such a deed were required to be done, I would choose you for the task.”

“I stand corrected, Farris. You are right.” Nath spoke openly. Then his passionate and justice-demanding nature burst out. “But, all the same, that would settle the issue.”

Cutting in and alleviating some of the tension, Larghos the Sko-handed pointed out: “The realm of Tomboram to the east of Menaham is firmly allied to us. They will help.”

Mantig Roben said: “Yes, good, a sound point. Let Tomboram shoulder the task in its entirety.”

“We would have to support them with cash, Mantig,” said Drak in a mild voice. “So your canals would still not profit by that scheme. We must play our part.”

Seg said: “This business of Tomboram could be more tricky than we suppose. Menaham and Tomboram, traditional enemies for hundreds of seasons, do not take their eyes off each other. We have fought there before. So...”

No one was louche enough to say out loud what Seg meant: “What has happened to allow Menaham to attack westward without fear of attack from the east?”

I said more sharply than I intended: “Drak. Have you heard from your mother recently?”

“Three days ago, explaining that she could not attend today.”

“The same for me,” I said. “Seg?”

“Milsi sent at the same time, same reason.”

“That appears satisfactory, then. Seg?”

“Oh, I’m with you, my old dom. And I think Nath the Impenitent is well enough. He might enjoy a little exercise.”

“Capital.”

Both Seg and I knew well enough that our ladies would spit rivets when they discovered we’d gone off adventuring on our own. Still, they were tied up with the Sisters of the Rose, and they had adventures enough, by Vox!

Drak said in his serious voice: “Father. You will—”

“Oh, I will, all right. Don’t fret.”

Nath na Kochwold swelled up his chest and stared at me with great bitterness.

“Some people,” he said, grinding out the words. “Some people have all the fun. Rest assured that—”

“Look, Nath,” I said. “You have been offered an imperial province as Justicar from me, and I believe the Emperor Drak will honor that pledge. Yet you insist on remaining with your Phalanxes. If you want to come adventuring with Seg and me, you have to renounce certain things.”