Storm over Vallia Page 7

  “So I have heard.”

  “Yet, yet — Lyss — the thing’s hand was nearly off!”

  “It looked worse than it was.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “The Watch must have marched up to The Silver Lotus from the other direction, for we have not passed them. I trust they were in time.”

  “Clumsy, those Brokelsh. Nature has not cut them out to be thieves. Not like Crafty Kando.”

  “Crafty Kando?” A zephyr of impending delight passed across Silda’s mind.

  “Why, yes, Lyss. He’s the most cunning disciple of Diproo the Nimble-fingered I know. And I’ve known some in my time, I can tell you. Why, back when I was in the army there was—”

  “Yes, yes, Lon. But this Crafty Kando. You know him well? He is trustworthy in a thief? Can I meet him?”

  “Why, Lyss!” Lon was shocked.

  “Don’t be so po-faced, Lon! Can I meet your friend, Crafty Kando? I may have business with him.”

  “You won’t give him to the Watch? That’s not—”

  “No, no, that’s not it. There is something I must do, and I have been racking my brains to find a way to do it. Now, by Vox, you may have found the way!”

  Chapter seven

  Secrets around the campfire

  This time the battle was more prolonged, swaying to and fro, and finally ending in stalemate. Drak could feel the ache in his bones, the tiredness dragging him down. He could always remember in those long ago days when he was a child his father saying: “Tiredness is a sin, my lad. Brassud! Brace up! If you use your willpower and your spirit you can always find the extra strength to go on.”

  It was damned hard. But it was true. As a Krozair of Zy Drak had learned the Mystic Way. He could control himself. He was well aware of the way people regarded him.

  The upright one, they’d say, dedicated, solemn, filled with niceties and integrities, never willing to admit to defeat. He supposed this was true. As for himself, all he ever wanted was a happy life with his father and mother, at home in Valka. Oh, yes, he loved Delphond, and Desalia, his mother’s estates along with the Blue Mountains. He’d not had a lavish private province of his own, only Vellendur, of which he was Amak; but it was a tiny island, for when he was emperor he would come into all the imperial provinces.

  He could envision life there doing all the things he liked to do. And here he was, acting as the Captain of a Host, running a war, and not doing very well at it, either.

  This fight, which no doubt the scribes would call the Battle of Cowdenholm, ending in a draw, saw both armies haul off and make camp. The fires painted the clouds in lurid oranges and reds. There were no billets or barracks, and it was bivouacs for those lucky enough to find something with which to build them. Drak, Prince Majister of Vallia, sat hunched in his cold cloak before the fire, and felt sick.

  The First and Second Kerchuris of the First Phalanx, and the Fifth Kerchuri of the Third Phalanx had done splendidly, as ever. Their massed array of pikes had broken the wild leem-like charges of the foe and hurled them back. The heavy infantry, known as churgurs, had fought like leems themselves. The cavalry had foamed across the field like tidal waves. Yes, all in all everyone had done splendidly; but it had not been enough.

  Reinforcements had come in from Vondium, notably those madmen of his father’s bodyguards. Everyone had fought to the limits of their strength. And they had not broken the enemy forces commanded, as he now knew, by this evil cramph, Strom Rosil Yasi of Morcray. He was a damned Kataki, one of that low-browed and violent race of diffs who were slavemasters under any circumstances. The Kataki Strom’s twin brother, Stromich Ranjal Yasi, was not here. No doubt he was somewhere else stirring up trouble and enslaving innocent people.

  He stirred himself as Jiktar Endru Vintang walked up to the fire, shivering and holding his hands out to the blaze.

  “The prisoners, jis,” began Endru.

  “Yes, yes. We took that traitor Chuktar Unstabi, I believe. His damned archers caused us some grief before you charged them.”

  Endru was far too politic to remind the Prince Majister that when Vodun Alloran was being sent down to the southwest to regain his province, it had been Drak himself who hired on the Undurker archers. And this had been against the wishes of the emperor.

  “There are also some Katakis taken—”

  “Hang ’em all.”

  “Oh, yes, never fear, jis.”

  “If there’s one thing the country folk like to see it’s a damned Kataki swinging in the breeze by his neck.”

  “And Chuktar Unstabi?”

  About to order the same summary justice, Drak paused.

  “Send him to me under guard. I will question him.”

  “Quidang!”

  “We have not taken anyone of so high a rank as a Chuktar in this war. He might sing.”

  Everyone knew that Drak, like his father, would not tolerate torture as a means of gaining information.

  When Chuktar Unstabi wheeled up with a detail of Endru’s men, grim-faced, about him, Drak felt the sorrow.

  He glanced up, seeing the wreck of the archer’s uniform, the wound in his shoulder, the hangdog look of him.

  “When last we met, Unstabi, you swore allegiance to me and I hired you on. You went with Alloran to the southwest, and you turned traitor. Tell me why you should not be hanged.”

  Unstabi was not bound. He fingered the golden pakzhan at his throat.

  “What can I say, majister? Hang me, and have done.”

  The man’s long-nosed face, canine, held nothing of the usual supercilious look of an Undurker. He hailed from the Undurkor Islands, a group off southwest Segesthes, west of Balintol. He had sailed a long long way to find his death. But then, was not that the fate of many and many a fine paktun?

  “By Vox!” snapped Drak. “You mean that?”

  “Yes. I am not a Pachak who gives his nikobi, his gift of honor, and so foolishly fights to the death to earn his hire. I am a zhanpaktun. But, majister, I cannot explain why I left your service so willingly and fought for Kov Vodun Alloran.”

  “The emperor warned us of the dangers of mercenaries, and will not hire paktuns. He was right, at least in your case. What d’you mean, you can’t explain?”

  The long canine face turned, as it must have turned many times in battle to loose the Undurkor arrows.

  “Just that when the kov said he would take control, make himself king of south west Vallia, and then Emperor of Vallia, it was the most natural—”

  “Emperor of Vallia? Is the rast bereft of his senses?”

  “I think so, majister. Also, I think sorcery—”

  “Ah!”

  Endru felt the chill. His men remained fast about the prisoner; but Endru knew they, too, did not relish the way this conversation was going.

  “Well, Unstabi. Tell me.”

  Somewhere off in the night, hard-faced men were hanging Katakis and rejoicing that the opportunity had come their way. Chuktar Unstabi probably knew that, too. He said, “May I beg a sip of water, majister?”

  Crossly, Drak said, “Oh, give the Chuktar a mug of wine. Have you eaten, Unstabi?”

  “No, majister. But if I am to die—”

  “Sit down, you fambly, and eat something. I want to know all you know of this damned sorcery Alloran has. By the Blade of Kurin! Cold steel is one thing. But wizardry...”

  “Aye, majister,” said Unstabi, unsteadily sitting down. “That is indeed foulness from the Pit of Untlarken.”

  Drak didn’t agree entirely with that, not that he knew what the Pit of Untlarken might be, although it sounded unpleasant. His good friends and comrades, Khe-Hi-Bjanching and dear old Deb-Lu-Quienyin, were Wizards of Loh. They were the most famed and feared wizards in this part of Kregen called Paz. Now they were off somewhere on their own mysterious errands. But they did weave a net of thaumaturgy to protect the family of the emperor. That, Drak knew, was a fact.

  Food on a wooden dish was brought and although it was cold a
nd congealed, Unstabi wolfed it down, and then swigged back a jug of wine. He wiped those canine lips.

  “All I know, majister, and I give you thanks for the food and drink, is that Kov Vodun vowed vengeance on those who had ruined his province of Kaldi, one day. The next, he was friendly with the two Katakis, and was planning his career as king and emperor.”

  “Katakis are not renowned as sorcerers.”

  “Exactly so, majister.”

  “Well, then?”

  “It is said that Katakis, seeing only slaves in the world for their use, make good tools for those who lust after power.”

  “That is so, as Vallia knows to her cost.”

  “The kov once spoke to me of Arachna.”

  “Arachna?”

  “Aye, majister. What that might be I do not know.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “That he needed a fine strong man from the prisoners we had taken. Arachna, he said, was most demanding. Also, he said that the helpers were called Mantissae. I gathered they were slaves.”

  “Slaves and Katakis go together, to the shame of the world.”

  “Aye.”

  “And that is all you know?”

  Tiredly, the Undurker nodded his head.

  “If it has served to keep me alive for another bur, and give me food and drink, then it has served me, at least. But, majister, it is true, as I am a zhanpaktun.”

  Drak hunched his cloak about him.

  “And I suppose, Chuktar Unstabi, you imagine I am going to offer you fresh employment with me? As a hyrpaktun you can hire on as and when you please. Is that it?”

  “I had hoped so, majister. But after—”

  “Precisely!”

  “I can, at least, plead sorcery led me astray. And I can offer you information about the Kataki Strom’s forces.”

  Upright, filled with honor, a man of integrity, Drak the Prince Majister might be. He was also not a fool. This kind of information could be invaluable. He saw he would have to bargain for it. And, too, he knew that once he had given his word, Unstabi would know he would not break it.

  “Very well.” He made up his mind at once. “You have my word. Your information proving of value, you will not dance on air.”

  “Your word as a prince of Vallia?”

  “Yes.”

  The canine face allowed at last some expression of satisfaction.

  “When Kov Vodun set off to reclaim his province, the emperor gave him the Army of the Southwest. Apart from slingers and archers and churgurs, that army contained the Eighth Kerchuri of the Fourth Phalanx, and the Ninth Kerchuri of the Fifth Phalanx.”

  This was so. The Eighth and Ninth Kerchuris had straggled back to Vondium. Subsequently, the Ninth had been broken up to replace losses elsewhere.

  “Go on.”

  “They refused to join Kov Vodun. The other regiments of the Vallian army, likewise, refused to join, except a single regiment of slingers. They allied themselves to the body of the paktuns who went over to Alloran.”

  “I see. What caused that?”

  “The sorcery I spoke of, majister. But what I am saying is the kov was wroth at the loss of the phalanx. Such a body is unknown. To me, an experienced fighting man, it has been a revelation. So the kov sought to create his own phalanx.”

  Drak sat back. Someone brought more wood for the fire. Sparks blazed up like fireflies.

  “That takes great skill.”

  A Phalanx was an intricately built-up structure. Many months of training were needed to persuade that structure to perform as a single giant organism. A static Phalanx was of only partial use.

  Any body of pikemen in the field could be called a phalanx; a Phalanx was a particular number of men arranged in a particular way.

  The basic building block was the Relianch, consisting of 144 pikemen, called brumbytes, and 24 Hakkodin, the men armed with halberds, axes and two-handed swords. Six Relianches formed a Jodhri. Six Jodhris formed a Kerchuri. The Kerchuri was the wing of a Phalanx, one half, so that the total number of brumbytes was 10368 and the Hakkodin 1738. Also in the Phalanx were lads who ran with caltrops and chevaux de frise. The missile component consisted of two Lanchans of 432 bowmen forming a Chodku, attached to the Kerchuri.

  “Yes, majister,” said Unstabi. “Very great skill so to combine all the arms of the phalanx, the pikes and shields, the archers, to make the men obey the call of bugle and drum and whistle. But Kov Vodun suborned — and now I may use that word freely — enough men of the Vallian Phalanx Force to train up his own version of a phalanx.”

  A low rumble of anger traveled around the tight circle of men who had gathered as the prince questioned the prisoner. Kapt Enwood ground his sword into the mud. Two or three Chuktars showed their displeasure. Jiktar Naghan swore fiercely. Even Chuktar Leone Starhammer said a few words to express her horror. All knew the seriousness of this calamitous news.

  Drak summed it up.

  “So be it, then. If Opaz wills. One must accept the needle. No man or woman born of Opaz knows all the secrets of Imrien.” He heaved himself to his feet.

  Unstabi scrambled quickly up as was proper.

  “You promised to tell me of the composition of the Kataki Strom’s forces, Unstabi, well knowing we must have a shrewd idea ourselves. Yet I encouraged you to speak.”

  Unstabi stood still. “You are known as a stern and sober prince, majister. Also, as one able to salt a leem’s tail. I knew you would understand my information would go further. The bargain is good, majister?”

  “Yes, Unstabi. But I cannot hire you on again, as you must see. Give all the facts and figures you can to my stylors. Then you will be provided with a mount and gold enough to see you home to the Undurkor Islands.”

  Unstabi bowed.

  “I give you my thanks, majister. But I am a zhanpaktun and cannot go home quite yet. I accept your gifts and will travel somewhere where they need fighting men.”

  “So be it.”

  Not all the men and women gathered at the fire might grasp the significance of the lower case or upper case for the initial letter of the word phalanx; all understood the seriousness of this intelligence. Capital letters are strange beasts in the Kregish, and a slight inflection in the way the word is pronounced can indicate capitals, although in general Kregans are not too fussed over capital letters. What fussed Drak now was that Unstabi had religiously referred to Alloran’s forces as a phalanx, not a Phalanx.

  This could mean, at a simple level, that some component of a proper Phalanx had not been represented in the men who had deserted to Alloran.

  He could remember his mother’s telling him once that the word phalanx was not really Kregish, that his father had invented it out of the air, or out of space, from somewhere. The lower case phalanx sounded with an “f.” The upper case Phalanx sounded with a “v.” This had seemed to him perfectly proper, as it should be in an empire run on sensible lines.

  The Vallian Valanx sounded supremely apt.

  What the hell this bastard Kov Vodun Alloran was going to do about being crowned king and going on a rampage of conquest among the western islands remained a mystery.

  Unstabi, sensing he was dismissed, turned to depart, and then swung back. He hesitated.

  “We shall,” said Kerchurivax Mantig ti Fillan, “wish to know exact details, Chuktar. So far you speak, as I believe, with veiled words.”

  Hearing this, Drak checked himself. Mantig was a shrewd fellow. Had Unstabi been fooling the prince?

  “I swear—” began Unstabi.

  “It may be,” interrupted Drak, “that the Chuktar is not aware of the knowledge he possesses. After all, he has, as he acknowledges himself, no real comprehension of the Phalanx. If you question him, Kervax Mantig, I feel confident he will tell you a great deal of what you wish to know.”

  Mantig nodded at once. “My pleasure, jis.”

  Of the Kerchurivaxes commanding his three Kerchuris, Drak had, by reason of wounds, sickness, death or promotions, cont
rived to lose eight of them. That was a high loss rate. In these battles, commanders could fall just like the swods in the ranks. Chuktars Nath the Murais and Larghos the Oivon had been provisionally promoted from brigadiers to divisional generals. Drak valued his soldiers, both men and women, and felt the pangs of agony when they died. No. Far better, for all his stern devotion to duty and his desire to rid Vallia of the reiving human predators leaching her life blood away, far better to be at home in Valka, playing music, reading the ancient books, riding in zorca races, practicing the artistry of the sword, and dancing and singing the night away in the good old Vallian tradition. Far better, by Zair!

  So Kervax Mantig ti Fillan, as a new commander of his Kerchuri, was anxious to create a good impression. He would find out the truth concerning that rast Alloran’s newly created phalanx.

  Chuktar Unstabi tilted his long canine nose a trifle higher into the night air now. The relief in him must be enormous, and Drak felt genuine pleasure that there had been no need to hang him as high as the damned Katakis.

  “Yes, majister,” said the Undurker. “I will answer every question to the best of my ability.”

  Drak’s thoughts, when he dwelled on a sensible life in Valka or Delphond, did not encompass a vision of a woman at his side sharing that life. Queen Lushfymi was a remarkable woman, there could be no doubt of that. She had played a useful part at the very end of his adventure down in Faol when he’d rescued Melow and Kardo, his comrades who were Manhounds. Mother and son, jiklo and jikla, they were. He would value their presence now. He could remember that return to Vondium when all the city danced and sang, and he’d been swept up into the arms of his mother, the Empress Delia. That had been a homecoming! And — his father, the emperor? That man had been nowhere to be found, he’d just upped and disappeared as he so often did, without explanation.

  He had no proof, he just felt with odds of nine-to-one certainty, that his father and mother did not share the general view of Queen Lushfymi. Everyone regarded her with respect and awe, dazzled by her beauty and power, her charm of manner, her jewels and clothes, and more than a trifle apprehensive of her sorcerous powers. Yes, it was quite clear she would make a splendid wife. Her country of Lome, in the northwest of the island of Pandahem south of the island empire of Vallia, might be small. It was awash with wealth even after the wars. Yes, she would be a fine match.