Legions of Antares (8 page)

Eventually I could leave Nulty and the elders to handle this end of affairs — they’d been doing it and would continue to do it while I was away — and could saunter over to the famblehoys. The aerial ships were large, bulky, deep-keeled, cobbled together and ugly, deuced ugly. The pattern from which they had been copied, it was plain, had come from Vallia.

Good sound timber had been used in their construction, and iron, plenty of iron to act as knees and brackets and generally to hold things together. The masts were solid, somewhat on the short side, and the yards were mere stumps when compared with those gracing galleons or vorlcas of Vallia. This fitted with the Hamalese ideas of seamanship.

Putting on my inane face I puttered around, studying the ships, and drew a number of amused or contemptuous looks from the voswods on the decks, who, being aerial soldiers, would not sully their hands with shipwork or lading. There were precious few soldiers for a convoy of this size, some fifty famblehoys. The produce the fleet could fit into the holds would be enormous. In the name of the Invisible Twins! Where was it going? West against the wild men? Unlikely. South to that mysterious army forming in the sparse land there? Possibly. North — north to Vallia? This, in my frame of mind, seemed the most likely, and raging and cursing at myself, feeling the anxieties crowding on me, I thought how splendid it would be to burn this whole fleet.

By Zair! That would crimp mad Thyllis’s ambitions!

But, then — a single supply train of the air, fifty huge ships, well, they would carry a dismayingly small part of all the supplies Hamal had on the move. Still — it would be a start.

The tragedy was, I’d have to burn the supplies, also.

Maybe something might be arranged...

My fondness for Paline Valley was overcoming my sworn duty. Hateful though it would be, and no matter how onerous the task, this must be done.

Barging my way back to see Nulty, I recalled that he had said that Dray Prescot would handle things differently from Dray Prescot. Well, by the Black Chunkrah! now was his chance to see how Dray Prescot, Krozair of Zy, Emperor of Vallia, would handle it!

Chapter six

Of Freedom, Fires and Flyers

“The hospitality of Paline Valley is at your disposal, Jiktar,” I said to the officer commanding this Train of Supply. “Wine, food, music, all are yours to command. As to girls, you must pay in blood, if you wish, in that department.”

He took my meaning.

All the same, during the festivities in which Nulty raised his eyebrows at the lavishness of ale and wine and dopa I insisted be poured out, a couple of half-drunken voswods attempted young Pansi, who cared for the chickens in the smaller compound. The two were apprehended before much mischief had been done, although Pansi, bleeding from a bruised mouth and her dress ripped, continued to cry out of shock. I said to the Jiktar, a bulky man with a gut and a half, who squinted most dreadfully, “I am not minded to be merciful in this.”

“It is an army matter—”

“Not so. I am a noble of Hamal, and you are under my jurisdiction here. There will be a trial.”

The laws of Hamal, being tighter than those of the Medes and Persians, lay down observances in all likely situations. I brought the full weight to bear, the full weight carried by a noble, which weight has been used against me enough times, to be sure. A court was set up in the outer room of the Amak’s house, a defending counsel was appointed from the supply train’s officers, our young bokkerim, that is to say lawyer, Danghandi the Quill, prosecuted, and I presided. I wanted to make it fast.

There was no doubt as to the accuseds’ guilt, for they had been seen by dour Honglo the Surly, and Pansi swore through her tears they were the two. Defense pleaded in mitigation that the girl was unharmed. Danghandi made Pansi turn her face to the samphron oil lamps’ gleam.

“See the bruise! See the blood!” She had not washed it off. “Harm! Who can say what her ib has suffered?”

I said, “The case is proved. Sentence alone remains.”

And there was the rub.

The two voswods looked appalled, frightened, dejected. Damned fools. They deserved all they got. But, all the same, what punishment fitted this crime? The laws of Hamal had it all written out fair and square, and there was nothing I could do but endorse what the book said. The men were led off to be flogged.

Not nice, not nice at all. I bent my head to Nulty.

“This augurs ill.”

“Aye, master. The soldiers drink us dry.”

I did not say, “So much the better.” It was in my mind.

That nasty little business kept the soldiers steadfastly at their drinking instead of roving for other pleasures. So, in Opaz’s good time, it worked to my advantage.

I said, “In order to prevent further molestation, make sure a squad of your best young men stay alert and do not drink. They may be needed.”

“Yes, master.”

“I will retire now. See I am not disturbed on any pretext.”

“Yes, master.”

A little wind gusted the dust in the light of the torches. I entered the inner rooms and chased out the people who wanted to fuss. We were already manumitting the slaves and arranging for their future welfare as free men and women. I had taken the precaution of finding out Hardil’s secret escape hole, and, stripping off the white robe, I wound the scarlet cloth about me and took up a cheap mineral oil lamp. Only a dagger would be needed. I crept out through the secret hole and, running fleetly in the night, reached the far windward end of the ship lines. I looked about.

Each ship slumbered like a stricken behemoth. They might not in truth be stricken yet; very soon they would be. And when that happened I must be safely back in my chambers. The first ship caught at once, the dry wood crackling up in a flare and taking cordage and tarred wood and painted wood and all the gimcrack finery the Hamalians had spared to their despised flying sailers. The flames streamed in the wind. Three ships I fired, one after the other, and then the night watch started in yelling.

Scurries of wind bore the flames down on the next ships in line. That would have to do. The succeeding ships would burn as readily as the first, and the wind would roar the flames on. I hurtled back to the secret hole and ducked in. A hammering on the door indicated Nulty considered the emergency of sufficient importance to wake me despite my instructions. I’d counted on that, knowing Nulty of old.

The scarlet cloth went under the bed. The mineral oil lamp, out but still warm, went with it. I grabbed a simple green wraparound and opened the door. Lights and faces glared in.

“Fire, notor! The ships burn!”

I shouted. I shouted so that they would understand over the hubbub. “If the ships are doomed, then save the cargo! Unload our supplies and see they are safe!
Bratch!
”

At the command bratch, they bratched, jumping as though I had branded them with words.

Well, our people started in unloading the ships that were still unburned, hurling the bales and boxes out, ferrying the sacks, working like fiends. My orders had been to see the stuff was safe. I had said:
Our
supplies. See they are
safe.

You do not need two good eyes to guide a donkey.

Just how many supplies would be yielded up to the supply officers I could not judge. Precious little, I suspected. And every sack, every bale my folk spirited away was another item to add to the loss suffered by the Hamalian armed forces.

Capital!

Criminal, illegal, horrible — maybe. Gallant conduct in battle — no. But warfare — ah, yes!

If a general is the best tactician and strategist in two worlds and does not understand logistics, he is doomed.

Of the fifty ships the flames spared only five. The neatly mathematical mooring arrangements, inherent in Hamalian military techniques, simply provided the fires with fresh fuel, ship after ship. The five were successfully sailed off before the flames reached them. Afterwards there was a certain amount of difficulty over the supplies removed; but we straightened it all out. I walked down to the heaps of black refuse, shining and cindery, still smoking, smelling of charred hopes. These had once been ships. The memory of the way the fires leaped eagerly up, the crack and sizzle of the flames, the colors and the heat, burned in my brain. The whole episode had not been pleasant, except a blow had been struck against Hamal.

“At least, we won’t starve next season,” remarked Nulty. And then he kept his own counsel.

In a petty kind of revenge against his bad fortune, the Jiktar of the Supply Train had a shot at requisitioning our saddle flyers. The mirvols on the perching towers were a fine crop that season. I quickly disabused the man of that idea.

“We need the saddle flyers to withstand the raids of the wild men from over the mountains. When the soldiers provide us with protection, then, mayhap, you may take our mirvols.”

He tried to bluster and saw, by the laws, he was in the wrong. Oh, he threatened to return with a requisitioning warrant. If he did so, Nulty would know what to do with our mirvols. As though to underline the significance of this incident a patrol of Hamalian army flyers settled with a rush of wings. They had been descried by our lookouts at a distance and authenticated. They flew pale blue and white fluttlanns, smallish birds and a trifle slow, who are willing up to a point and do not eat overmuch. They can barely carry two riders. But they breed phenomenally and are cheap. The patrol leader, a Deldar who would never rise in rank to Hikdar now, walked up to me, saluting with gauntleted hand. He wore a full beard, the lines around his eyes were caked with grime pouching pits of tiredness. His blue uniform was ragged and faded; but his weapons were clean and sharp. The matoc was bellowing at the patrol, some twenty flyers, and keeping them in order while their Deldar sorted out lodgings and food. I gave orders that the Deldar and his men should be treated well.

“And, master, that is all the army can provide the Three Valleys, and Folding Mountain and High-Trail Forks, to give us protection.” Nulty spoke as much to the Jiktar of the supply service as to me.

“I suppose they fly from valley to valley on patrol,” I said. And, then, in a mean spirit, I added, “I would guess they pray each night that they do not meet wild men on a raid.”

Nulty put a hand to his mouth. The Jiktar’s brows drew down. But I waved a hand, very much your high and mighty Hamalian lord, acting the part of one of those hateful abusers of authority. “You will be leaving us soon, Jiktar? Good. We have the valley to make flourish again ready for your return. It is not for us to go around collecting food; we have to grow it.”

He spluttered.

I went on: “And the hides. Our hides are of the finest. Our people have to grow the animals, and skin the hides, and we tan with birch-bark and emboss a beautiful grain with cunning rollers, and then the hides are bundled ready for you to come and collect — and you burn them all up.”

“There is going to be an inquiry, notor.” He could hardly get the words out. His face was the color of bruised plum. “A strict inquiry—”

“And very proper, too. Someone was damned lax. As for me, I was asleep at the time. And my people were abed. By themselves.” The meaning about the two idiots and Pansi did not escape him. “The laws require me or my Crebent to make full reports of any trials held under our jurisdiction here.”

He didn’t like that.

As soon as he could he collected his swods and they trooped silently into the five remaining famblehoys. When they took off and spread their canvas into a tidy breeze, we all breathed easier.

The incident had given me hope. And the sight of tough flutswods of the Hamalian army flying brave but inferior little fluttlanns also gave me a lift. Thyllis was really scraping the barrel to continue her wars. And this reminded me that as the man responsible for Vallia I ought to be commanding armies and maneuvering fleets instead of fiddling about burning a few flying sailers. Ruathytu beckoned. I now knew I could move about Hamal freely using my name of Hamun ham Farthytu. There, in the capital city, I could do more good than here in Paline Valley, and, perhaps, if the gods smiled, more even than commanding those armies and maneuvering those fleets.

A last few duties had to be discharged.

Pansi had to be reassured and I made sure that all we could do was done for her. Lalli, too, had to receive the best attention. Sundry other folk were dealt with according to their desserts. The slaves were integrated. This was not easy, it never is; but Nulty and I showed what we intended and the people who had been slave responded. The valley was not overcrowded yet, and fresh settlers were still welcome. The sennight I had promised myself passed, six busy days, and then I selected a middling quality mirvol from the perching towers.

“But, master!” protested Nulty. “You should take the best.”

“No so, old friend. Where I am going he is likely to be stolen as quick as my purse. By the government if nobody else. He will fly me to Ruathytu, never fear.”

Amid a dust-blowing threshing of wings the mirvol took off, and the shouts of “Remberee!” shrilled into the morning air. Middling quality this mirvol might have been; he was a superb flying animal, strong and limber, hurling me on through the sky headlong to Ruathytu and perils I could not imagine.

Buckling up the straps of the clerketer tightly I leaned forward along his neck and we pelted into the windrush. A sack of provisions and a sack of coins balanced each other at his sides, for I had taken plenty of food and a share of gold. The fine thraxter snugged in the scabbard. I had a knife at my belt and a crossbow pouched by my knee. That had belonged to an Opaz-forsaken flutsman. The four fluttrells I had left with Nulty, for he had plans for them for the future.

So, whirling across the sky, I flew for Ruathytu, capital city of the empire at war with my own country.

There remained one adventure at least before I reached the brilliant and decadent city at the fork of the rivers, and it began unspectacularly enough as I slanted in to a landing in the square of a small town toward evening. This was Thalansen, two temples, a fortress, a scattering of industry, mostly cattle and mining, huddled houses of brick and enough taverns and inns to make it not worthwhile to count them. The lingering radiance of the twin suns of Antares flooded the town with jade and ruby and cast twinned shadows long and umber. I sent Bluenose, the mirvol, to the perching tower before the inn called The Fluttrell Feather and with my sacks over my shoulder pushed open the door.