Armada of Antares [Dray Prescot #11] Page 4

  “Aye. Read on."

  “'Take the body and wash in the water taken from a maiden's first bath after the marriage night. Place the body undried in a brazen coffin above a fire heated seven times, and with bellows pumped by a dwarf. A dwarf with red hair ensures complete success; if a red-haired dwarf is not to be found then a black-haired dwarf will suffice, or a brown-haired dwarf; but then the fire must be pumped over twice. Into the coffin over the body pour the water used in the bathing. To this add the same weight of squishes. The fruits may be used entire, but they must be scrupulously clean. Add in double-handfuls so that the spirit may boil from them into the water and the cayferm enter the submerged body and so remove from it the ib. When all has boiled away the body may be taken up and given due burial; it is wise to place a tuffa wand at the head and feet until the first night of Notor Zan passes.’”

  He looked up, resting one hand on the open hyr-lif. His eyes wrinkled up, regarding me. I was aware of a flick-flick plant snaking out a six-foot tendril, taking a fly on the wing, and popping it into one of its orange cone-shaped flowers. The shadow of the plant in its pot on the windowsill, the sound of laughter from outside, high and shrill, meant nothing; the sight and sounds were as distant as the planet of my birth.

  “Cayferm,” I said.

  “Aye, Prince. I think after treatment like that any body would be willing to go down into burial, aye, and be glad to."

  “Yes, that would be the way of it. But, Evold, it must be! Don't you see? Steam! If you boil water you must get steam!"

  “Steam,” he said. We used the Kregish word, the most common word for steam, kish. “I can find no other mention of cayferm in all my library."

  “You have done well."

  “I remembered one horrific time in the Heavenly Mines where I had sweated, as number eight two eight one, to dig and tunnel for minerals. And how a little Och stylor, writing in his notebook, had jumped with alarm, deep in a tunnel through a seam, and called to the Rapa guard to prod the slaves out fast. We had not gone back to the seam. And now I recalled that over the smell of the cheap oil lamp I had sniffed the scent of squishes. I had thought of Inch, and then the little Och had near-panicked.

  Now I thought I knew why.

  “Steam made up with boiled squishes,” I said. “Cayferm."

  Evold sneezed. “Maybe, maybe. But we must test it first. We can only talk now, we must—"

  “Yes!” I bellowed. “Everyone must gather squishes! Every perishing soul, by Vox!"

  Evold Scavander nodded, the excitement getting to him.

  “Although...” I said. And I felt a chill. “Although this cannot be so. It is against nature."

  “Many things are against nature, my Prince. Every time you put on a hat to go out into the rain, it is against nature."

  “I grant that. But I mean that boiling will produce a purity; the steam cannot possibly contain any part of the squishes! This is a matter of common knowledge."

  He put a yellowish finger alongside his nose, which had a large brown lump on the larboard side.

  “Maybe nature winks, my Prince. For a man to fly through the air using boxes filled with dirt and air—surely that is so against nature as to make all the rest simple."

  “Oh, the vollers work. There is no doubt of that. Aye,” I added viciously, “and they crash, also."

  We looked at the pathetic pile of wreckage. Lish's voller had come down hard at the end. The two silver boxes had been taken from the smashed jumble of sturm-wood and bronze orbits. They lay on the table, separated from those we had made ourselves.

  They were also well separated from each other. I walked across and gently pushed one of the boxes toward the other, along the lenken tabletop. I could feel nothing at first. And then like a thrilling of rubbed amber, like a million warrior ants of the hostile territories marching over my skin, I felt the tremble, the vibration. When the two boxes came within that certain special distance from each other they both, together, sprang into the air. Up they went, glittering in the light of Antares. We stared upward, knowing what would happen.

  The boxes flew up together until wind pressure divided them. They curved out and away and so, separated, plummeted back to the floor. One hit so heavily that the corner split. I cursed.

  Evold Scavander scuttled for the box, lifted it, and stuck it under that lumpy nose of his. His mad old eyes snapped with intelligence, with baffled intelligence.

  “Ha, my Prince! Squishes! When I was a small boy, cleaning the retorts and collecting the frogs’ legs and sweeping the floor, aye, and being well beaten by the old San, I remember a piece of squish pie as a direct gift from Oolie Opaz himself."

  I sniffed. Squish, without a doubt.

  “It has gone, drifted into the air and gone."

  “True. But we will do as you command, and boil many squishes. The whole fortress will be perfumed with squishes."

  “But,” I said, fretful, seeing that first quick flash of hope utterly ruined, “if we boil squishes and put the steam in a silver box, why, then, the steam will condense and we will merely have a box of water."

  San Evold shook his head. What I said was true. But he had no other suggestion.

  “Let me first try, my Prince. Afterward, if it does not work, we must think again."

  “You see about the squishes and the boiling. Inform me and I shall come at the right time. Meanwhile, there are the other minerals to be found."

  “Ornol will be back by nightfall, my Prince."

  So, with a few cheerfully intended words which sounded dismal even to me, I took myself off. Seg met me in the long hall of the images where, in ivory and chemzite and bronze and marble, the ancient ones of Valka stared endlessly out upon the blue sky of Kregen. His face was reassuring and refreshing to me, but he said, “Dray! The Emperor has arrived and is in a foul temper!"

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  Standards for a regiment and answers for an Emperor

  “We are not well pleased with you, son-in-law."

  The Emperor looked just the same as when I had last seen him, big and powerful, standing with booted feet thrust firmly on the ground, his back erect, his hands on his hips. He wore a fine Vallian tunic-coat and breeches, and his hat glowed with feathers. He wore a rapier and left-hand dagger, and a cloth-of-gold cape glittered finely, slung from his left shoulder. But the creases at the inner corners of his eyes had grown more deeply etched, and his face showed a pallor that I saw, with a pang, distressed his daughter Delia.

  Across this end of Vorgar's Drinnik the First Regiment of Valkan Longbowmen stood in their long lines, braced, ready, waiting. They made a fine show. I admit I would far rather deal with them and their like than the gilded popinjays who surrounded the Emperor and his suite, the Pallans and the courtiers, the nobles and the high Koters. I made no direct challenge to the Emperor's annoyance. He had been feeling his way back to greater power than he had enjoyed for many a long season, and all because I had saved his neck, I and my comrades there in the immortal fight in The Dragon's Bones.

  So I placidly said, “It is right that the first regiment of this kind formed in Vallia should be honored by their Emperor's presence at the presentation of the standards."

  “As to that, Dray Prescot, I agree. But I talk of weightier matters."

  The zorcas moved gently in the lessening heat of the late afternoon. Soon Zim and Genodras would be gone. Then we could go up into the Great Hall of Esser Rarioch to see what kind of banquet my people could prepare for the Emperor.

  “You do not question my meaning?"

  “I know you have surrounded yourself with men who are not worthy of you."

  He felt some shock; but I also remembered that this man was the Emperor, the most powerful man in all Vallia, which made him the most powerful man for many dwaburs around in this northern hemisphere of Kregen. He could order me executed. He had already given that order once, and he had not been obeyed. If he tried to tell his men to take off my head now, they w
ould find an abrupt and unyielding wall of Valkan steel—not protecting me but threatening them.

  “You persuaded me to send a great host of men and fliers into Havilfar, son-in-law. A great battle was fought. But what has come of that? Where is the profit? You promised to bring me back vollers, Dray Prescot. Where are they?"

  “You do not speak as I hear the Presidio speaks."

  The flush in his face deepened. This was an old story: powerful as he was, the governing body held certain authorities that could check him. I knew I had slackened many of those strings—and all men understood the Emperor had been even more firmly seated on the throne—but the Presidio still counted in council. Also, I had to admit I had been rewarded. I was Prince Majister and Kov of this and Strom of that and Zair knew what else in the amazing glitter of titles and lands of Vallia. All this meant nothing. I think he understood me just a little better now and realized that titles meant as little to me as they did to him. Land, canals, corn, cattle, minerals—these were power. He would have added slaves to the list earlier, but he understood the views that Delia and I held on slaves. He did not grasp that being a Krozair of Zy was far more important to me than all the titles he could bestow.

  “There are those in the Presidio who have set their faces against this talk of Vallian fliers."

  “I have talked briefly with Kov Lykon. The man is a fool."

  “Not so, Dray Prescot. He is clever and cunning and wields certain powers. You would do well to be wary of him."

  My surprise was genuine. Was this puissant Emperor nurturing a spark of feeling for the hairy barbarian who had come bashing his way in to become son-in-law? Then I saw Delia trotting out with young Drak, and Lela on an exquisite pure white pony, and the moment dissolved. Delia greeted her father with warmth, although, as I say, she too saw the betraying tiredness in his eyes. I was pleased—I admit, by Zair, I was very pleased—that he seemed genuinely attached to his two grandchildren. He stood, blocky, square, the golden cape glinting in the suns, and he talked with Drak and Lela for a while. I let my bowmen stand and wait for that, for I believed they would understand. Delia met my eye and smiled. It was not too difficult to find a smile for her in return.

  The Emperor looked up quickly.

  “What is this of men in the garden—men you hit?"

  “Later,” I said. “It has been dealt with. The bowmen await their standards and I warrant their throats are drier than the Ocher Limits."

  He took the reference well enough. He was hardly likely to forget it.

  He mounted up, his zorca stiff with imperial trappings, his massive, handsome face still flushed and dark as we rode out to present the standards.

  I will not weary you with a full description, although you must guess the moment was important not only to me but to Valka and Vallia, and therefore to all this part of Kregen, these continents and islands called Paz. The parade was an emotional and moving occasion, filled with meaning; as the standards were presented I saw the ensigns stiffen up with fierce and dedicated pride in the symbols of Valka their regiment would carry into battle.

  There lives in Valka a small bird with white wings and back, and a rosy breast. We call it the valkavol. That small bird, normally eating fruits and nuts, will turn into a fighting fury when attacked by the gawky, clumsy brown birds called threngs when the threngs try to steal eggs from the high nests. These are the names we give these birds in Valka, at least, and it is this small bright bird, the valkavol, which crowns the standards of my regiments. This cheeky, loyal, intelligent bird with its peaceful, herbivorous way of life is well liked by farmers, for the valkavol eats those unpleasant gall-like fruits of the deep forests. So far it has not decided to come down to the orchards to sample gregarians, squishes, malsidges, and the many other kinds of luscious fruits we grow. It does eat palines, but no true believer would grudge another living soul the delights of palines. This peaceful bird, a bundle of incredible ferocity if its nest is threatened, was perched atop each standard pole. Oh, the carvings were of wood, but they were gilded so they gleamed and flashed bravely, and the claws were finely sculpted from balass. They presented a fair and heartening sight, slanting into the rays of the twin suns.

  The colors beneath each valkavol flared with symbol and number, for I had authorized an individual standard for each pastang and, as was proper, two standards for the regiment as a whole. There was reason in this open-handed distribution of standards. Each pastang numbered only fifty men, when in most of the regiments of Hamal the pastang numbered eighty. There were ten pastangs to this regiment, whereas the regiments of Havilfar were normally composed of six pastangs.

  Treating the first pastang like the first cohort of a legion, I had given the company its full complement of eighty, so that the regiment numbered five hundred and thirty, plus ancillaries. All this was done with an eye to the future.

  And, though I say it myself, who with Seg had wrought the work, they looked grand!

  Yes, there was reason for this panoply and this structure, as you shall hear.

  Young Drak conducted himself well. He sat astride his cub-zorca stiffly and, young as he was, he was already on his own. He carried the affair off superbly, at which I felt all the fond, fatuous, foolish pride of a parent. If I didn't know my Delia better I'd have thought a tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

  The banners flared in the suns, the zorcas behaved with perfect composure—always a good omen—and the men formed and marched in perfect alignment. The bands played cheerful rousing music, The Song of Tyr Nath, The Heart Heights of Valka, Paktun's Promenade, and a national Vallian song of some consequence to my family and to Valka, Drak na Vallia. This marching song is called by the swods in the ranks Old Drak Himself.

  Seg did not fuss as the men took rank to shoot the exhibition three shafts apiece. He looked at the flags fluttering from their staffs, and Jiktar Targhan ti Vulheim—a battle comrade, one of the old freedom fighters selected by Seg with the advice of Tom ti Vulheim—trotted his zorca over for a last-minute word. All the bows leaped into the correct position, all the bows spanned as one. The Jiktar's rapier slashed down and his bellow made Lela's pony jump. All the shafts loosed simultaneously.

  Next to me Seg grunted. “By the Veiled Froyvil! I swear a good twenty out of a hundred missed the mark!"

  To Seg that was so miserable an example of shooting as to be beneath contempt. So I said gently, “They will improve."

  “If they do not those rasts of Hamalese will riddle ‘em with their confounded crossbows."

  With bands playing and colors flying, the regiment marched back. The crowds who had come out to watch broke up and drifted back to the city. This night there would be many gallons of wine drunk and many boasts made and songs sung, aye, and a few broken heads to show for it in the morning. We are a rough old lot, in Valka, and we take our pleasures when they come.

  “So my grandson is Hyr-Jiktar of this new regiment, Dray Prescot."

  “He is, Emperor. And I tell you that in the days to come you will have to accustom yourself to using soldiers of Vallia, formed into regiments, rather than merely sending for mercenaries and paying them to fight for you."

  “We are a nation of the sea. Our galleons—"

  “Of course! I grant the galleons are the finest vessels afloat—vessels of Paz, that is—but you face new threats now, Emperor."

  He wanted to pursue the conversation, but I did not wish to talk about those shanks from over the curve of the world, those fishmen with their fast-sailing craft who would, I felt sure, one day pose so great a danger we must all band together to resist them. At the moment Hamal was the great threat.

  We rode back and I saw Delia with Lela in tow talking to Turko the Shield. He had not brought that massive shield; it still hung in my hall. Drak rode at the head of his regiment, a small and lonely figure, but proud, proud!

  I had not asked for him to be born, but I had been very happy with his and his sister's birth. Now he must face the never-ending threats of
life, and I could only help and guide. So we rode back through my capital city of Valkanium to the high fortress of Esser Rarioch. A Hyr-Jiktar is a purely honorary position, of course. Drak would not be leading this regiment into action for a good many seasons yet. I felt a pang. I would far prefer he never had to involve himself in the mad red obscenity of war at all.

  Tharu ti Valkanium, the leader of the high assembly of my island Stromnate of Valka, arrived as we were about to go in stately procession into the Great Hall for the feasting. Tharu, as always grim with purpose, his leonine head with its shock of brown Valkan hair proudly lifted, greeted me and then said, “I made all haste, Strom. But the flier failed us—"

  “You bring no news in that, Tharu."

  “Aye! I heard the terrible news of Lish. He was a good man. I vow there will not be a man of Valka who will not go willingly, aye, and gladly, when we deal with these cramphs of Hamalese."

  Tharu ran Valka for me, with the high assembly of Elders. I trusted him implicitly. He was reconciled to my absences. With Tom ti Vulheim, who had accepted the rank of Chuktar with his reckless laugh and a pledge to see that the men of Valka fought in the ways I directed, Tharu in his grim, thorough way kept Valka as an island paradise. Now he joined us as the feasting and drinking began. Well, I have spent many and many a roistering night in my high hall of Esser Rarioch, and Zair willing, will spend many more before I die. On this evening, as the moons of Kregen floated over the horizon to cast down their mingled pink and golden radiance, I felt restless. My plans were going very well where they touched Valka; they had gone disastrously astray over this business of the vollers we must build.

  Presently, with a song from Erithor of Valkanium, that preeminent skald, finishing on the last defiant notes of The Lament for Valinur Fallen, the Emperor motioned to me in a sign that meant he wished to retire.

  Valinur Fallen did not suit my mood. The lament begins with: “Glaive-bearing marched they in storm-light and thunder.” It finishes on a high note of apotheosis, of the ending of days, and the defiant expectancy that Valinur's sons and daughters will refresh the land. The last few words are: “The zhantil will rest in the dusty earth under; but the heart in the human breast never."