Legions of Antares [Dray Prescot #25] Read online

  And, as I flew in toward the flames and action, I could guess who was running some, at least, of the show down there.

  Through the windrush the noise bloomed ahead, hideous and clangorous with combat. A flight of fluttrells winged over toward me. And that brought me—belatedly—to my senses.

  If our allies down there were idiots, then I was an onker of onkers, a get onker, by Krun! Here was I, flying in with an empty voller marked as Hamalian—either way I was on the receiving end. Instantly I fled for the conning tower and bashing the controls free, sent Mathdi over in a wind-splitting swerve away from those inquisitive flutswods. By their streaming banners I knew they were from Arachosia, allies from the windy city in the mountains far to the south, here to bash in the heads of Hamalese. They wouldn't hesitate. Mathdi dived for the crags below.

  In a straight flight a voller would outpace a bird; but I needed to get down below and bash a few heads myself—friends’ heads, to knock some sense into them. What would my pallans of Vallia say to this debacle? What would Jaidur say, new King of Hyrklana and awaiting the signal? Had I been a wizard or magician with the power of invisibility or teleportation I'd have been in better case and would have thrown off those ferocious fellows from Arachosia. As it was, I had to twist and turn among the crags and gradually pull ahead, outdistancing the pursuit, and throwing myself miles off course.

  By the time I'd lost them the decision had to be made.

  If I hung around I'd be late reporting back. Under the strict laws of Hamal, which extended even more stringently into the armed forces, there would be an appropriate paragraph and sub-section dealing with my offense. Well, then, to hell with Hamalian rules and regulations. I had to see my friends here.

  The decision was made and acted on and Mathdi hurtled back, keeping low, fairly skipping over the mountains and sliding down into the narrow valleys. We came around in a wide circle and headed north again. Selecting a likely-looking clump of trees below and landing the voller was easy enough; then I had to inch her in gingerly under the trees. There was still plenty of daylight left. The leaves rustled overhead and as Mathdi settled the sounds of the forest dwellers reached me. That was heartening.

  Moving out of the trees I finished clasping up the short red cape. That had been stowed very secretly, for obvious reasons, and I just hoped it would be enough to stop some overzealous swod loosing into me at first sight. The path ahead led to an encampment of many tents and cooking fires and totrix lines. Not many zorcas, though. I strode on briskly, cursing this waste of time, and knowing that to land a Hamalian voller into the little lot ahead would be like leaping into the jaws of a shark. Even my flags would not have sufficed, I judged, for it was my guess the Air Service people here would know every airboat they owned. Any stranger would be an enemy.

  The camp was deserted of fighting men, properly so, as they were all besieging the city of Ingleslad. A few servants moved about and meals were being prepared. The most likely-looking mount was a freymul, the poor man's zorca, and I simply unhitched him from the post outside a tent,mounted up and galloped off. An angry shout floated after me. I did not look back.

  Despite that first appalled glance when the sky had seemed filled with aerial combat, the truth was that for a siege of this scale there were precious few flyers and even fewer fliers. I was not molested from the air as I rode on toward the lines. A steady trickle of wounded passed going back to the camp. The position of the commander was easy to ascertain and I guided the freymul toward the cluster of tents well out of catapult range. Beyond them the town burned and the dark frantic figures of soldiers were silhouetted against the blaze. Whatever the outcome, the city of Ingleslad was doomed.

  Sentries stopped me and I was polite to them, inquiring the name of the commander, dismounting with the crackle of the flames in our ears and the yells of men thin and screeching from the walls.

  “Dav Olmes, Vad of Bilsley commands here."

  “Oh,” I said. Then, “I might have known."

  “Have a care, dom, how you speak of the Vad."

  “I shall, I shall. Pray, tell Vad Dav Olmes that I am here and I would have a word or three with him. Tell him my name is Jak. Mention the king korf to him, and Kazz Jikaida. I think he will see me."

  The sentries, hard men in mail with spears and crossbows, stared at me. I glared at them and, Zair forgive me, that old devilish Dray Prescot look must have flashed into my face, for they turned away, shuffling, and their Deldar mumbled about at once, notor, at once. So I waited, and then instead of being conducted up the little stony path to the tent with the flags I saw a figure burst from the tent and come hurtling down on me. A great mop of fair hair blew, a round, pugnacious, cheerful face, the embrace of muscular arms, and I was being greeted as Dav Olmes greets people—overpoweringly.

  “Jak! Jak you crafty leem! Here! You are welcome, for we need all the swordsmen we can lay hands on! Tell me—"

  “Tsleetha-tsleethi,” I said, which is to say, softly, softly. “I am overjoyed to see you, Dav. But what in the name of a Herrelldrin Hell are you doing? Who gave the orders for this attack, who ordered the invasion begun?"

  He stepped back. He looked at me with a quick flush rising, his face expressing bewilderment at my tone. I had to get the protocol over, and fast, for Dav Olmes was a vad, and used to command, and a stouthearted fellow, and he knew me as just a wandering adventurer with whom he had shared some fraught moments.

  “The council—” he began. “By Spag the Junc! They told—"

  “I am glad to see they gave you a command, Dav. I did not know you were here. Tell me, when do you anticipate taking the city?"

  At this fresh line he brightened up. “Havandua the Green Wonder has smiled. Yes, the city burns, which is a damned pity. But we'll be in before nightfall. And then—"

  “And you and your army are not alone?"

  “Of course not.” Being Dav Olmes he was already looking around for a stoup of ale, and a servant hurried up with a tray loaded with best quality goblets and best quality ale. We drank, and Dav said, “Konec commands against Felsheim, and—"

  I interrupted. If Vad Dav Olmes grew prickly over a mere paktun—even a hyr-paktun—treating him so cavalierly I might be in for a ticklish moment or two. But Dav was a good-natured fellow and shrewd with it, so that he listened, for all his happy bellowings. I said, “So the general invasion has begun. The nations of the Dawn Lands have risen against Hamal. So be it. You are premature—"

  “I know! But we could not wait for signals from parts so distant as Vallia and Hyrklana and Pandahem! Jak, we waited and the men grew restless, so we marched.” He gestured with his goblet. “And we are damned short of air, too."

  “The Hamalese are short, also."

  “Bad cess to ‘em, by Spag the Junc!"

  We talked on, and I inquired after old friends, Fropo and Bevon the Brukaj and others. Some were dead. Well, that is a fact of life on Kregen, as anywhere else. The shortage of vollers was worrying, and the armies assembled for the invasion would mostly march on their feet all the livelong way to Ruathytu. The legions were on the move, the standards leading on.

  “Bevon,” I said. “I would like to have seen him; but I cannot tarry."

  “He'll be through the walls before the suns go down. You were always a mysterious fellow, Jak, damned mysterious. Will you tell me—?"

  “Yes—but not now. I am merely a part of all this.” This was true. “When the King of Hyrklana starts, he will sort out the Hamalese. I pray you are not overwhelmed first."

  “We understood the risks when the council ordered us to march."

  “I am keeping my temper, Dav, in a wonderful way.” I kept my face impassive, for I felt like bursting out with a really wild impassioned denunciation of the council of the Dawn Lands. “The risk to your forces you accept. All very good. But if you imperil the invasion plan, what of the risk to the other lives involved? Hyrklana? Vallia?"

  “We have heard there is a new king in Hyrklana. As for
Vallia, well, their emperor, this Dray Prescot, we hear is so wild and savage a leem he could chew a harness of armor and spit out the rivets."

  “He would,” I said. “And who could blame him?"

  After a pause, Dav said, “Will you stay with me and help?"

  “I would like to. But I have a duty that presses on me."

  “And you will not tell me what that is?"

  “As I have said, I will. Later.” I eyed him. He was a stout fighter, we had fought in Kazz-Jikaida, which is a bloody game on Kregen. “If I asked for Bevon the Brukaj, you could not spare him?"

  He looked taken aback. “Well, Jak—"

  “Very well, Dav. I understand. Then spare me six lusty fellows, and let Deldar Jorg the Fist command them."

  “I am not overly endowed with men; but six.” He laughed, that roaring laugh of Dav Olmes that echoes and fills the world wherever he happens to be. “Deldar Jorg and five of the best, then. But take care of ‘em, Jak, take care."

  “I will.” It was a promise. “And I give you thanks."

  At that point a Hikdar in the supply train came clattering up awkwardly riding a calsany, swearing and shaking his fists. He was the owner of the freymul I had borrowed. Well, in sorting him out and smoothing his ruffled feathers, for he was a Rapa, the tension was broken. There was a deal of jollity as I started back with my six men, and Deldar Jorg, giving me that wolfish smile, had expressed himself of the opinion that if I was involved he was in for some fun and games.

  “You are right, Jorg. And the quicker we set about them the better."

  So back to Mathdi I went with the first six of her crew. I anticipated a somewhat lively time as I explained just what was afoot. A somewhat lively time...

  * * *

  Chapter thirteen

  Signs

  The lively time began with: “Among the damned Hamalese! I'd as lief slit their throats as look at ‘em!” and ended with, “It's so cunning a scheme I'll be a better Hamalese than any of ‘em, as Havandua the Green Wonder bears witness!"

  I sighed. Deldar Jorg the Fist and his five men clustered about me, straining their harness, their faces inflamed, breathing hard. “Havandua is not of Hamal."

  “No, dom, no, that is right. I'll allow you that."

  “So it will be Havil, or Krun—Dernun?"

  The word dernun came out inquiringly and not insultingly, but it was hard enough, in its demand for their understanding, to make them snap up.

  “Understood,” said Jorg, and he winked, a fine raffish leering wink that made me turn away so that they should not see the foolish smile I could not contain. We sped for Ruathytu and the six swods rid themselves of insignia that would mark them as enemies of Hamal. Each man knew his business. I had the nucleus of a crew. That proved the straw to which I clung as the obnoxious ord-Jiktar Morthnin chewed me out. As an ord-Jiktar, eight steps up the Jiktar ladder of promotions, he stood six above me, a dwa-Jiktar. I listened to what he had to say, watching his face twitch with his own passionate anger, realizing that he was in a position which he, himself, did not think he could handle. You have to feel sorry for men in that situation, of course...

  “You will be severely reprimanded, Jiktar, most severely. I shall see to it myself—"

  “I have the beginnings of a crew, Jiktar Morthnin. If you wish to make any more of this, then run me up before the Chuktar. He'll chew you out for wasting his time. I have a full month of the Maiden with the Many Smiles. Only then will you have anything to say to me—now let me get on with seeing to my command."

  His face approached in color a plum left too long in the light of the suns. He gobbled.

  I marched off, giving him no time to spit out the retort he was frenziedly attempting to put into words.

  Not pretty. He was a Hamalese, so that made it a little more bearable for me...

  At the time, I must emphasize, at the time only. We had to get together with the people of Hamal to resist the damned Shanks raiding from over the curve of the world. But, first things first.

  The premature invasion of Hamal from the south created a whole new slew of problems, for the Hamalese no less than for the allies. The tempo of life increased and the feeling of being at the heart of world affairs broadened. Ruathytu became even more a city of contrasts, as the seriousness of the situation was brought home by the open comings and goings with the wind of fleets of famblehoys. The swift vollers plied their routes through the skies, and the famblehoys bumbled along as best they could. I took more than a few moments of amusement from the unhandiness of the Hamalese sky sailors.

  Many of the fresh troops were bundled off down south and the officers of the garrisons left and the training barracks were of the opinion that many of the regiments being sent to the front were not yet ready. I listened. During these days I learned a great deal. The Empress Thyllis kept herself closeted more and more, not seeing her pallans, going with her favorites to any of the secluded and secret villas she kept up in various parts of the country. The streets of Ruathytu resounded to the tramp of marching men as units were called in to be dispatched south.

  All the same, as I went about collecting a crew, I heard what Vad Homath had to say. He was bashing his Nineteenth Army into shape with a frenzy that reflected the urgency he, at least, saw in the situation.

  “I am going to Hyrklana and take them apart, the cramphs, even if the whole Dawn Lands rise against us."

  Someone in the crowded tavern where we talked and argued and drank was foolhardy enough to say, “Is that wise?"

  Homath's scar flamed. “Wise! Onker! They invade from the south to weaken us here and in the east.” He looked savage. “As for the north, the Hyr Notor will have to handle that. He has powers ordinary men know nothing of, by Krun!"

  He was talking of the great devil, Phu-Si-Yantong, and he was right, uncomfortably right. Our own Wizards of Loh would have to meet and front the deviltry of Phu-Si-Yantong.

  “Where do you intend to hit the Hyrklese, notor?” I spoke casually, lifting a goblet. “Neck, belly or groin?"

  He was filled with his own anger at what was going on and the stupidity of others, and so was a little off guard. He knew what he was going to do. “I shall go for the belly. A straight drop on Huringa. That will settle the whole issue in a day."

  “Excellent, notor,” I said, and sat back, and drank.

  The incautious fellow—he was an under-pallan at the treasury or something similar, I believe—piped up again. “There are other armies involved, Homath. Their Kapts will—"

  Homath left off stroking his scar. He bristled. “I have been given the mangy Nineteenth but I remain in command of the force! Don't forget that. Kapts Hindimun and Naghan and Lart will obey my orders or their armies will be commanded by fresh faces. Believe me."

  The foolhardy under-pallan drew a breath, and sat back, and took refuge in his wine. Homath, hard professional as he was, had clearly been severely shaken by what the Hamalese considered the treacherous attack from the Dawn Lands. Useless to rage, myself, thinking of the marvelous opportunity we had missed. Had Hyrklana and Vallia struck, and then the allies from the Dawn Lands ... But we had to work with the tools fates placed in our hands.

  “I shall clear the whole of Hyrklana in three months. I shall return with all the vollers they have. It will be up to the armies of the south to hold these yetches from the Dawn Lands.” Homath drank, fiercely, and banged his glass down. “Maintain the aim, that is what we must do and pin our hopes on Havil and the soundness of our military doctrine."

  The others gathered around the Kapt in the tavern agreed in their various styles. They were confident, and had every right to be, for the soundness of the Hamalian military thinking had been proved time and again on battlefields and in sieges where their organization, skill and courage had crowned their standards with victory.

  I stood up to make my excuses, for I intended to leave early on the morrow. “My felicitations for success in Hyrklana,” I said, which was, considering all things, s
neaky enough.

  Homath was talking to a Chulik Chuktar and he half turned to acknowledge my departure. He had no need to, of course. I saluted and threw a few respectful remberees to others in the company I had come to know. Now an interesting reversal, almost a revulsion, of feeling had possessed the people of Ruathytu when news came in of the invasion. Diffs were now, suddenly, welcomed again. My own view was that the apim nobles of Hamal had been growing restive at the increasing number of diff nobles; certainly the fighting men considered diff or apim or whatever only from the prowess, the skill and courage that a racial stock would confer. Whatever the reasons, diffs now moved about much more freely and were once more a splendid part of the magnificent spectacle of Kregan life.

  The Chulik Chuktar was saying, “Prisoners confirm that this evil cult of Spikatur Hunting Sword is behind the invasion."

  Homath grunted. Pausing, I waited a moment, standing at the end of the table and with the back of the incautious under-pallan off my starboard wing, listening.

  “You were unable to get any more, Chuktar Rarbonatch? No, these fellows of Spikatur chop themselves. I know."

  “By Likshu the Treacherous, notor! You are right. But we confirmed they have no leaders."

  “Or will not admit to them."

  The Chulik polished up his starboard tusk, the one with the ruby inset beneath the gold band. “Our security Jiktar believed it, notor. Although it is difficult to understand."

  Chuliks are trained from birth to handle weapons and serve as mercenaries, and know little of humanity; but they do understand chains of command. That warriors would fight without due heed of officers to command them puzzled the Chulik.

  He pulled a piece of paper from his wallet and passed it across to Homath, who looked, made a disgusted sound and threw the paper onto the table. It showed in simple black-ink lines the outline of a sword piercing a heart.

  “These signs appear everywhere, notor,” said Chuktar Rarbonatch. “Painted on doors, chalked on walls. We remove them; but they reappear."

  “Remove the sign-writers!” shouted Chuktar Thrend, and the company indicated they shared that opinion. It was time for me to leave. As I left the tavern the sign above the door creaked. The wooden slat was painted in vivid colors, greens and blues and yellows, showing a leem being shot by crossbow bolts. I had thought that Spikatur Hunting Sword would turn out to be a grand conspiracy directed against Hamal and of material assistance to our plans. Well, I was half right and half wrong. By Zair, yes!