Warlord of Antares (18 page)

He jumped at the offer.

With Seg using those marvelous fingers of his in creating a new bowstave at the table, and Al-Ar sitting across from me, the wine between us, I said: “Have you heard of a Witch of Loh called Csitra?”

“Csitra.” He rolled the name around his tongue. “Csitra what?”

“That I have not discovered. She was mated with Phu-Si-Yantong.”

“He is dead.”

“Aye.”

“I had heard of a Witch of Loh in connection with Yantong. That is all. The name means nothing to me.”

“Perhaps, at a time convenient to yourself, you could go into lupu and discover her whereabouts.”

“I will try.”

All this, as you may hear, was conducted on a most formal basis. We were like two dogs sniffing around each other, ready for mere acquaintanceship and alliance or for real friendship, as the Mensaguals decreed.

Mergondon took his wine and before he drank, he spoke and, I judged, with something of an effort.

“The Wizard of Loh, Phu-Si-Yantong is better off dead, the yukpam,
[3]
by the Seven Arcades yes.”

“Never was truer word spoken,” said Seg, in his most cheerful fashion, working on his bow.

I felt a little surprise that a person like a Wizard of Loh should use so coarse a word as yukpam, particularly after the nature of the preceding conversation. Still, it takes all kinds to make a world.

He had expressed his gratitude without effusiveness and in a dignified way. Now he went on to say: “When the Yantong calling himself the Hyr Notor ran Pandahem, they were remarkable days.”

“All Pandahem must work together now against the Shanks,” I told him. “And that means Menaham, as well.”

“King Morbihom has not had the privilege of my arts for very long. The man is a bloodthirsty simpleton.”

The gambit was accepted by Seg who said in his lazy way: “And you’d be the one to knock him down, right?”

“If the opportunity was vouchsafed me.”

So, as I say, I was not absolutely sure what to do with Al-Ar-Mergondon. There was, and understandably enough, a tenseness about him, a feeling of uncertainty and unease, despite our efforts to reassure him.

The political situation inside Lome had been a constant source of concern — well, by Krun, that applies to most countries, I suppose — and those forces sent across by my lad Drak acting with decision as the Prince Majister had performed well. They’d assisted the folk loyal to Queen Lush and the land was coming back to normalcy when this treacherous attack from Menaham set everything boiling again.

Kapt Nath Molim, the Trylon of Polnehm, very smart, still quite young, and devoted to Queen Lush, had stood up under the test well. He remained, as Drak had told me, still very much out for Number One. His experience with our armies in Vallia had convinced him that the future for both our countries lay in mutual help and alliance.

Drak had shifted the mercenaries out of Vallia to help Lome. They had put up as resolute a resistance to mad King Morbihom as they could contrive, but they’d have been done for if the fresh army with Nath na Kochwold had not arrived.

The Fifth Phalanx was with Nath consisting of the Ninth Kerchuri Dayra and the Tenth Kerchuri Jaidur. Brytevax
[4]
Orlon Sangar commanded. He had commanded the old Tenth Kerchuri in that traumatic Battle of Ovalia, where we had set the Thorn Ivy Trap. Now, a seasoned warrior and commander, he was well aware that in the Phalanx we had the battle-winning instrument to give us the final victory.

Seg and I had chosen to set up our quarters in the upper room of The Throstle and Swill which stood on the opposite side of the square from The Rokveil Crown’d where Nath na Kochwold and the other ranking officers lodged. There were ample taverns and inns in this town of Mompass to care for us.

A messenger brought a note from Milsi saying she was let off the hook and wanted Seg to go meet her in Vondium.

“So the Sisters of the Rose do grant leave, then!”

“Sometimes,” I said, remembering.

“Still, it is dratted inconvenient. I can’t leave you and the army with this campaign on our hands—”

“You,” I told my blade comrade with ferocity, “will take your voller and hightail it to Vondium right now. And give my love to Milsi. Dernun?”

“Quidang! And, my old dom — well, no matter, no matter...”

No need whatsoever for more words between Seg and me.

As a matter of policy, although both Seg and I detested all the flummery, I insisted that he be sent off with due ceremony. Guards turned out, bands played, banners flew. Seg Segutorio, King of Croxdrin and High Kov of Balkan, soared aloft on course for Vallia and Vondium. We called the remberees and the twin suns shone and the flags fluttered and trumpets pealed their high notes of departure. After that I took myself off to The Throstle and Swill to sink a flagon or two and shake off the black dog that descended, unwanted but not entirely unexpected.

Al-Ar-Mergondon came up and we settled to a game of Jikaida. He was good and the contest was close.

Nath the Impenitent had not returned from Linansmot, although the four days were past. I did not think for a single mur that he had taken the Lamnians’ money and run. There were great strokes and adventures in store for old Hack ’n’ Slay.

With a strange sigh and a flutter of all his features, Mergondon pushed back from the table. His eyes rolled up. The Chuktar he had been about to move slipped from his fingers and rolled across the table. A distinct sense of chill brushed across my skin. Mergondon went rigid.

“Dray,” he said. He spoke in his own normal voice, with an added breathlessness that echoed oddly in the upper chamber. “Dray. Forgive my speaking to you like this through San Mergondon. Pay him my respects. He will understand the urgency.”

“Deb-Lu!”

“It is Yumapan. The emperor has received intelligence that Morbihom intends to march onward after he has crushed Lome. An alliance is essential. He asks that you visit him.”

“Reply,” I said, standing up, “that I am on my way.”

Chapter nineteen

At the Eye of Imladiel

To hurtle on through the clean crisp air of Kregen! To stand in the prow of the voller and feel the wind in your hair and all the urgent vibrancy beneath your feet urging you on! Yes, to have flown headlong through the sweet air of Kregen is to have tasted life, my friends!

Below us the mountains whirled past, their peaks rising ahead of us, wreathed in snow, cloud mantled, superb. Mergondon knew the way through those granite masses, and we skimmed low over high passes where wild animals, shaggy and pelted, tossed their horns at us in defiance.

On through thin air we rushed. And yet on this journey I did not chase frantically onward to rescue a loved one, to snatch a sacrifice from evil priests of a vile cult or to plunge at once into scarlet action. Oh, no. Now I simply flew with this Wizard of Loh to talk alliances with Pelleham, the Emperor of Yumapan.

All the world could see that once King Morbihom had eaten up Iyam and Lome, he would attack Yumapan. The mountains had proved a barrier in the past. I had a shrewd suspicion that riding on his tide of success, Morbihom would have little difficulty in buying or hiring airboats for the coming campaign. There would be much booty.

Hitherto Pelleham’s greatest concerns had been the renders from the Hoboling Islands. These pirates festered in the chains of islands and raided coasts at will, in between taking up fat argosies and their treasures.

Yumapan had extended into the south of the island of Pandahem, conquering the small kingdoms in the south and west and eventually establishing a natural frontier line. The country could with reasonable justification, then, call itself an empire.

That particular specimen of conquest had taken place a good few seasons ago and the situation was now stabilized. Morbihom was out to stir the cesspit again.

So it was natural that Pelleham should seek allies and his first thought must have been Vallia. It was natural, too, that he would wish to discuss the situation with me in the first instance on a semiofficial level. When he and I had agreed the agenda, as it were, the fanfares could sound and the official deputations meet and consult. Speed, clearly, was of the essence. That had been eloquently evidenced by the occult means used to bring us together.

Mergondon had simply said: “I accept San Quienyin’s apologies to me. He must find using his kharrna debilitating and to speak through a fellow Wizard of Loh saved him much.”

I didn’t comment on that. I did feel a breeze of alarm. Good old Deb-Lu — surely he was not once again losing his powers?

The warmth of this area enfolded us once more as we descended from those high passes. The land spread below, lush and green and well-watered and filled with game. This was tremendous hunting country — for those who cared for it — and I recollected that Kov Loriman the Hunter hailed from Yumapan.

We were to meet Emperor Pelleham not at his capital city but privately at a noble’s hunting lodge. Here we could escape prying eyes and ears, owned by damned spies sent in by King Morbihom.

“I came through here on my way from Loh,” Mergondon told me. “Quite a few seasons ago, now. Not a very interesting place. The people seem able only to encompass one
idée fixe
in their lives.”

“Yes, so I believe.”

As though it was all a part of the same conversation, he added: “Just so I can see Morbihom squirm. By Hlo-Hli! The fellow is a worm!”

I did not reply. The distant glint of metal, high in the sky, caught my intrigued attention. Airboats are very few and far between in Pandahem. I stared closely, and Mergondon joined me at the rail to search between the clouds.

“There!”

“Aye.”

Instantly, I recognized what I was staring at.

The shapely black hulls showed up hard and etched against cloud banks. The brilliantly colored, squared-off upper works lost much of their color at this distance but remained unmistakable. Shanks. The Shank armada flew steadily on course toward the south. We skipped between cloud masses for a time, tracking them; but their course would take them out over the coast of the island, and if they continued long enough without changing direction they’d hit Loh at Chem.

Mergondon said: “They look — purposeful.”

“Extremely.”

We saw no other fliers as we finished our journey and dropped down to land at the hunting lodge known as The Eye of Imladiel. Forests and open country surrounded the buildings and a considerable amount of agriculture was in evidence. We were expected.

Seen from the air the main buildings were arranged in the form of a letter W. Off to the north side rambling stables and outbuildings no doubt housed the functional parts of the establishment. To the east a cleared area of gravel had, resting in grand isolation on the golden brown, a single voller. She was a smallish ten-place craft and by her lines had been built in Hamal. She flew no flags. I brought our flier in neatly to land alongside.

At the far end of the landing zone a large collection of carriages rested, poles up, and lines of zorcas, krahniks and other animals were being exercised. The smell of lavender hung pleasantly on the air.

We were met by a fussy rotund chamberlain, all in blue and gold, with an honor guard of Chuliks. Every Chulik tusk was banded in red gold and their pigtails hanging from their shaven yellow heads were all plaited with blue and gold threads. No carriage or conveyance was provided for us; but the distance was not far and we walked along proudly enough.

I noticed an odd puzzling little shimmer about the parked carriages and the animals and put it down to heat haze rising from the gravel. The surface had been well-cared for and recently raked for not a single wheel-rut showed and only a few small tenacious weeds grew here and there.

“This way, excellencies!” chirruped the chamberlain, waving his ivory wand like a bandmaster, and obediently we followed him along a tapestry-hung corridor to the black balass doors with golden risslaca handles at the far end.

A trumpet pealed and the doors swung open.

Now at this point I ought to mention that, as I deemed the occasion ceremonial and important, if only of a semi-official nature, I had outfitted myself with some thought as to the proper appearance of an ex-emperor on a delicate mission. It goes without saying that I wore the old scarlet breechclout. But, over that I had donned a fashionable white half-robe, and over that a glittering golden cape. The thing was remarkable, really, I suppose, with a tall Vallian mazilla, and this collar, too, was all of cloth of gold. The cape was the genuine article and was reputed to be at least two hundred seasons old. It was still in reasonably good repair, and although I knew I looked a jackanapes in my own eyes, in the eyes of foreign princes I would look a proper prince.

Al-Ar-Mergondon, of course, dressed as a Wizard of Loh dresses, so that all the world may tremble.

In its own architectural fashion this long arched chamber was as remarkable as my foolish cape. Both held magnificence integrally within themselves; both suggested oldness gone to seed and carefully repaired. An odd shimmer along the walls and pillars frazzled at the eyesight.

Down the right-hand side, ceiling-high windows were draped in deepest purple. Each window was closed by a heavy horizontal bar of balass wood. Before each window stood a man dressed in green and black livery, with a steel chain in his fists. At the end of each chain hunkered a wersting. The vicious black and white striped hunting dogs, each with only four legs, opened jaws to reveal fangs they’d be only too happy to sink deeply into your flesh. I guessed they came from the islands of Nycresand off the east coast of Loh.

The other side of the room contained a series of enormous mirrors of polished silver, and that strange little shimmer clung about their surfaces, distorting the images within.

At the far end beneath a golden canopy, a reception committee awaited us.

The Chulik guards’ iron-studded war boots did not ring upon the marble underfoot. They made dull thudding noises. My own ankle-high moccasins, soft and supple, made no sound at all.