Allies of Antares [Dray Prescot #26] Read online

  “He has swarth cavalry—"

  “Mileon's thomplods should stink them off."

  “If Erthyr wills it,” said Seg, quite calmly.

  Nedfar said, “I do not wish to sound petty or resentful but I find it exceedingly strange that of our few forces here the bulk are Vallians, with Hyrklese and Djangs, and my Hamalese conspicuous by their absence."

  “Oh, come on, Nedfar! Your lads are getting here just as fast as they can!"

  “Well, the quicker the better."

  “We're running rings around Garnath and we'll continue to do so.” I made no bones about my views. “I will not throw good men away. We attack when we are sure of beating him. Not before."

  So the days passed in the campaign; we marched long hours, camping and marching again, drawing a baffling web about Garnath. There were cavalry confrontations and contests, and occasionally the flyers clashed. The days stretched. The configuration of the country here in the southeast corner of Hamal was of importance to our maneuvers. Everything has a name, of course, but I will not weary you with too detailed a description. The River Os, He of the Commendable Countenance, ran eastward into the sea, dividing into two branches to enclose Ifilion. If there was magic in Ifilion, as was rumored, maybe that was the cause of their independence. To the south of the river, the Dawn Lands stretched and the countries on the line of the river were mostly cowed by memories of the iron legions of Hamal. To the north of Ifilion the land lifted enough so that good grasslands blew under the suns. Every time I thought of that land I thought of Chido, who was the Vad of Eurys there. He knew me only as Hamun ham Farthytu, the Amak of Paline Valley, and he and Rees represented a great deal of comradeship to me in dark days, and formed a void in my present life when I had not seen them again. Well, I would. That I promised myself.

  One thing was certain: Vad Garnath would raise no troops in Eurys, for Garnath was a deadly enemy to Rees, Trylon of the Golden Wind, and thence to Chido and to me.

  In what I made appear casual conversation I'd discovered that Chido, who had risen to the rank of Chuktar and command out in the west of Hamal, was known to Tyfar, who spoke well of him. “Although Chido ham Thafey retired from the army after—after our defeat. He secluded himself on his estates in Eurys."

  “I knew his father, the old vad,” said Nedfar. “An upright man. I could hope that the new Vad Chido will join me."

  Because we were near Eurys, Chido's name cropping up was a natural occurrence; we all felt he would have to declare his allegiance soon. I could feel for him, as for so many others. The choice was agonizingly difficult.

  By maneuvering and marching and counter marching we held off Garnath's two major attempts to launch attacks. We trended more to the east, to draw him away from the higher ground in the west. Tyfar looked concerned as we stood in a mud paddy watching the troops march past.

  “If we get our backs to He of the Commendable Countenance and our flank to the sea, Jak—and—"

  “Garnath will decide he has us trapped, yes."

  “And?"

  “Oh, Dray's got it all worked out, Tyfar,” said Seg.

  “I hope it is worked out. We draw Garnath on, as we have been doing, never allowing him to hit us. Every day our army marches closer. When it is in a position to strike, we stop and Garnath lunges, and—"

  “And we catch him between two horns!"

  “Well, we hope so. It will take cunning deployment."

  “We'll be the anvil, and the army with those thumping great thomplods will be the sledgehammer."

  “That is the theory. Had we attempted to draw him further to the west, he would never have followed. He must know an army marches. So we must dazzle him at the end, when we strike."

  “Dazzle him? We'll blind the cramph!"

  And then I nearly had a mutiny on my hands—a mutiny, moreover, in the crack regiment, the First Regiment of the Emperor's Sword Watch. The lads of 1ESW really threatened to cut up rough. Many of them have been introduced into my narrative and, sadly, many had died. New faces replaced the old. Now there was a spot of bother in Vallia—what that spot of bother was will become apparent later on in my narrative—and Drak had to return. I had told 1ESW that they should serve and guard Drak, as the future emperor. Now they threatened mutiny, saying, in effect, “We are your Juruk and we formed ourselves to guard you, much though we love your son Drak."

  I remonstrated with them, drawn up in their ranks outside the tent lines.

  They said, “There is a battle coming on. D'you think we will go tamely back and leave you?"

  Drak cut that knot by saying he would leave 1ESW. Then he said, “And, father, I shall have to have a bodyguard, I suppose, like Jaidur and most kings and emperors. Yes?"

  “Yes. Go and form one and choose good men. I own I shall be glad to have 1ESW back. There is no other unit quite like them."

  “I know!"

  Then I gave him the same advice I'd given his brother Jaidur when he'd married Lildra and become King of Hyrklana. “Do not form just one bodyguard. Have at least two and do not appoint a single Captain of the Guard. You are the personal commander over all the units of your Juruk."

  “I will do as you say."

  As we stood to wave the remberees, I said to Drak, sternly, “And accustom yourself to the idea of being the Emperor of Vallia."

  His protests I would not listen to. He flew off. And his face was as black as the cloak of Notor Zan.

  By Zair! If I was to go off adventuring over Kregen I wanted the weight of Vallia, at the least, off my mind. I had the shrewd suspicion that I would not be able thus easily to shuffle off being the King of Djanduin. Kytun and Ortyg, I felt sure, would make me see the error of my ways. As for being the Lord of Strombor—well, I was, and would remain so for as long as Zair and Opaz willed. Gloag saw to things for me in Strombor. And—my wild clansmen of Segesthes! Their loyalty could be severed only by death.

  Nath Karidge wheeled up, saluting, saying, “Scouts report that Garnath is following us up with forced marches. Two in the last three days."

  “Ha!” I said as we turned away from watching Drak's voller vanish into the clouds. “So he's had word from his scouts that our army approaches his rear! Good! Now we'll play the rast!"

  Nath said, “The Kataki Strom has had experience fighting us. We beat him in Vallia. He will know of the Phalanx."

  “He'll know. But will Garnath listen?"

  “I'd have thought all Hamalese would know what a Vallian Phalanx has done to their iron legions."

  “Only in the right circumstances. I look forward to seeing Nath Nazabhan—Nath na Kochwold, of course—and his brumbytes in the phalanxes."

  “They march well. The war ruined the Air Services, more's the pity—"

  “Not so, Nath, not so. For, don't forget, Hamal had the most powerful Air Service of Havilfar. No, we're better off marching on our own feet."

  “Better yet riding a zorca."

  “I won't argue that."

  They were gathering, gathering here in this corner of Hamal, the choicest fighting men of Vallia. And the Djangs were here, as well as not inconsiderable contingents from Hyrklana. Only token forces marched with us from the Dawn Lands. That wild patchwork quilt of a land demanded great labor for the future. And, in all this, we had to make it seem the Hamalese rid themselves of the mercenaries who fought under the banner of a king who sought to make himself emperor, aided by as miserable a bunch of cutthroat tapos as ever remained unhanged.

  Our little force maintained good order and discipline, and we had only two cases which ended with the culprits hanged. There were atrocity stories to be gathered from the huddled villages in the mud, stories of what King Telmont's army had done as they marched through. I thought of Homis Creek, and shook my head, and we did what we could to assist those in trouble.

  On the maps the forces drew together as we marched the pins across the colored outlines. Gradually the place where a suitable confrontation might take place became clearer, narrowing
down to a relatively mud-free area slightly higher than the rest of the country. It was near the coast, with Eurys to the north, and the river gratifyingly far enough away. Our provisions held out well, and logistics worked wonders. Also, two things operated to assist us here: the army coming down from the north and west carried plentiful supplies, and our flying services brought in fresh food and provender.

  There was a well near the place we selected as the site for the battle, known as Plasto's Well. Some of the men began to talk in terms of the great victory we would win at the Battle of Plasto's Well.

  Just how decisions reached in conference that should have been secret had circulated among the troops presented a problem I refused to worry about; this little force of picked men were to be trusted to fight and to know when to keep silent. Or so I believed, and by this time any newcomer spy would have stuck out like a neemu among a pack of werstings.

  Among the forces arrayed against us was, I discovered, Horgil Hunderd, Trylon of Deep Valley, who, having lost his first three regiments of paktuns had raised three more. We promised ourselves that that unpleasant character would lose the new three.

  Toward the end of that month of the Maiden with the Many Smiles we were plagued with thunderstorms. The rain fell down solidly. The very mud itself danced.

  In this filthy weather we were reluctant to send the Djang aerial cavalry off on patrol. Our small force of vollers, many of them converted civil craft, performed well. The Suns of Scorpio remained veiled in heavy cloud. And it was wet.

  Also, the flying sailing ships, Hamalian famblehoys and Vallian vorlcas alike, were grounded.

  For a time we had to pull in our belts. When the weather cleared and the suns shone and the land steamed, the first reports indicated that Garnath had proved a clever and capable commander. During the worst of the weather he had marched his army around us to reach northward, away from the river, and so slip out from between the jaws of our two forces.

  “The rast is a cramph and a kleesh,” said Seg. “But you have to admire that little maneuver."

  “We will still have him, Seg. If you look at the map—here—you will see how Chido's estates extend like a funnel into these low hills. And the sea is there. Garnath will be heavily slowed down if he crosses into Chido's land."

  Seg looked at me. He had never met Chido. “You talk as though—as though you know this Vad of Eurys."

  I had to ignore the offered opening and so went on to talk of our plans and the way we would turn Garnath's own cunning and expertise to our own advantage. We followed up and a few supplies came in. Feeding an army and bringing up enough provender for the animals are the keys to success in campaigns. The land over which Garnath marched lay stripped and barren, desolate, after he had passed. We found piles of bones, mostly vosk together with the notorious vosk skulls, for the folk hereabouts produced a variety of vosk which provided succulent sweet meat of first-class quality. As the swods said, it was all the damn mud.

  Very few people did not like crisp vosk rashers, or a prime side of vosk cooked in the Kregan way. Our own rations were on the frugal side and included vast amounts of mergem, that all-purpose nourishment, and capital though mergem is and invaluable to a quartermaster supplying an army on campaign, mergem is still mergem, and prime vosk is a world apart. We had plentiful supplies of palines, though, so that kept the swods happy.

  The promised Battle of Plasto's Well would now not take place.

  We maneuvered and marched and, one day when the earth showed more green growing things than sheets of shining mud, we gathered for an O group around Nedfar's tent. Our Kapts and Chuktars attended. Infantry, cavalry, artillery and air, we stood in all manner of gorgeous uniforms—mostly tattered now and many faded and bedraggled—and listened as Nedfar expounded the final plan. For, on the morrow, we had Garnath. On the morrow, in that finger of Chido's land between the hills, we would crunch Garnath and his army between our two forces. It was now inevitable and, I guessed, in the enemy camp they would see the inevitableness of it, and gird themselves for the fray.

  “Tomorrow we shall smash Vad Garnath and his puppet, King Telmont,” said Nedfar. “Through the guidance afforded us from Havil and Opaz, and also our Vallian and Djang and Hyrklese allies, Hamal will on the morrow once more lift up her head in pride. For we shall eradicate the blot upon our honor."

  There was more.

  It all boiled down to the simple and gratifying fact; on the morrow Garnath would get his come-uppance.

  On the morrow, then, our army marched out toward battle. Trapped in the finger of land, Garnath drew his forces up ready to face us, and drew up more to face to his rear where our other army, arrived and rested, deployed. This was going to be a day remembered in the annals of Hamal, and sung and storied until the Ice Floes of Sicce melted.

  In our Earth's Renaissance period when a mercenary army was trapped like Garnath's army, they often would not bother to fight. The outcome was certain. The chiefs would gather and talk terms. It was civilized. Maybe. Maybe nations in arms and the citizen levy, in changing all that, changed man's outlook on war for the good, despite the horrors it brought in train.

  Once again the Kapts and the Chuktars gathered around Nedfar for a few final words before we took up our positions with our forces. For battle, the uniforms that had been carefully preserved were brought out and donned, so that the fighting men blazed with gold, bullion and lace, sparkled with silver, and the colors patterned the field with fire. Very splendid they all looked. As for myself, I had elected to wear the brave old scarlet, with a sensible amount of armor, and I'd hung the essential armory of a Kregan warrior about me. No man relishes the idea of having his sword snap in the heat of battle—and not another instantly ready to hand. Our forces stood forth arrayed beneath their banners.[5]

  [5 Here Prescot lovingly details all the regiments of the armies, with their commanders and insignia and strengths and equipments. Vollers, saddle-flyers, cavalry and artillery are listed. Many men feature in the muster rolls. They make fascinating reading. A.B.A.]

  A voller flew in fast and low and she was not one of ours. I was not concerned that any last-minute attempt at assassination could succeed. Long before the voller reached shooting distance she was surrounded by flutduins bearing Djangs of exceeding toughness and escorted to earth. Very shortly thereafter the guards brought the occupants of the airboat in for our inspection.

  The sweet scent of blossoms drifted in the air, most refreshing after the eternal stink of mud. The sky smiled with air and suns shine. And we stood in a glittering group of power and magnificence, with our army ranked ready for battle.

  The guards marched up in two ranks, spears all slanted, and wheeled out flanking the newcomers. These two stood, staring at us and then at Nedfar, conspicuous in the center. These two stood hardly, firmly, not showing defiance but proudly as men in their own right, and, too, quite clearly men in the devil of a hurry. Some measure of their quality must be gained in that they had persuaded the guard to let them in and to see the emperor in these finals moments before we attacked.

  “I recognize you as Prince Nedfar, now the emperor,” said Rees, his glorious golden lion-man's face intense with his purpose. “We give you the Lahal. There is a matter of the utmost importance—"

  “Gently,” said Nedfar. “You presume—"

  “There's no time to be gentle,” said Chido, dear chinless Chido, now clad as a soldier, looking hardened and mature. But he still could not pronounce his R's and they all came out as W's. “The Twylon Wees and I must tell you—"

  “You are the Vad of Eurys,” said Tyfar. “You have come to fight at our side? To swear allegiance to the emperor?"

  “Listen, you fambly!” bellowed Rees in his old numim roar.

  “The Shanks! There's a whole damn army of the rasts landed on the coast and murdering and pillaging their way inland. This is no raid! They've invaded. And they're here to stay—unless we stop them right now!"

  * * *

  Chapter
nineteen

  "We must all wally wound!"

  Down in the fingerlike valley the dark masses of Garnath's troops sparkled with light as the suns struck sword and spear, reflected back from helmet and cuirass. In only a few murs the aerial cavalry would clash. Soon the rolling columns of our forces would deploy into line and go rushing down on Garnath and sweep him away to destruction.

  Nedfar's face resembled a face carved from marble to stand mute for ever above a silent tomb.

  “Shanks!” bellowed Rees. He looked just the same, hot, quick, enormously vital, a man among men, and a good comrade. Maybe his misfortunes had not weighed him down as much as I had feared. The idea that Rees and Chido would not recognize Hamun ham Farthytu was one I could not entertain seriously. Even after all this lapse of time. So I looked like Dray Prescot, with all the foolishness of Hamun's face fled, and my own craggy old beakhead serving me in the office of a face.

  Nedfar glanced at me, for I had—with an instinct I had failed to quell—drawn back a fraction. The instinct was not one of flight, I believe, as one of reluctance to jeopardize the character of Hamun. And, also, to let the world see that the Emperor of Hamal and not of Vallia commanded here.

  “Dray?"

  “There is only one thing we can do.” As I spoke I was aware of the eyes of Rees and Chido. Lion-man's eyes, and apim eyes, they sized me up. Yes, the thoughts behind those eyes seemed to be saying, yes, you may be the Emperor of Vallia; but we have spent a large part of our lives fighting your friends. Why should we trust you now?

  I spoke. I used the didactic, proclaiming style, forceful, rather pompously foolish to me.

  “As for Vallia, we will fight Shanks whenever and wherever they may be found."

  “Aye!” roared my officers, clustered to the side of the Hamalese.

  “And for Djanduin, likewise, I pledge ourselves."

  Now the Djangs bellowed.

  “And I speak for Hyrklana,” shouted Hardur Mortiljid, Trylon of Llanikar. That massive man in full armor and with his arsenal of weapons towered impressively. “We slay Shanks!"