Legions of Antares (16 page)

Soon
Mathdi
would resound to the noise of her crew. And still I could not choose from all those splendid fighting men. A thought occurred to me. Of course! I could not simply take away men from their regiments, their ships, their aerial cavalry squadrons — of course not. I would say, firmly, that their duty demanded they continue the struggle there, and not go haring off with me. Well — it might work.

“By the revolting pestilential carcass of Makki Grodno exhumed!” I said. “Sink me! I’ll line ’em all up on paper and toss an arrow for each one. That’s what I’ll do, by Vox!”

Let chance decide among peers.

Just to give myself an edge, I could push the crew of
Mathdi
up to a hundred. She’d take that number without bending in half or having bits fall off.

So, alone in the ship, on we pressed,
Mathdi
and I, on to what of peril the Dawn Lands would afford us.

No difficulty presented itself in choosing a course to take us clear of any continuing fighting. With such a large area and so long a frontier, inevitably the gaps between actions, sieges and routs were immense. A sharp lookout had to be kept to spot the aerial patrols the contending forces would maintain between their major areas. With the River Os, He of the Commendable Countenance, left far to the north,
Mathdi
and I flew on over the Dawn Lands of Havilfar.

From staring overside I brought my gaze back to look forward along that sweet curve of
Mathdi’s
decks. Deb-Lu-Quienyin stood just beside the third starboard varter, a pale shimmer of ghost-shine about his robed figure. I climbed down and walked toward this apparition.

“Jak! You’ll have to go to Ingleslad — that’s the capital of Layerdrin — right away.”

“I know it’s the capital, Deb-Lu — and what’s the trouble this time—?”

I stopped speaking, for I was speaking to myself. The solid wood and iron of the varter showed through the Wizard of Loh, and as he vanished so the ballista exuded a breath of cold. Well, now. Deb-Lu was in the devil of a hurry. So, obediently, I went back to the conning tower and directed
Mathdi
on course for Ingleslad. Layerdrin was just one of the small countries of the Dawn Lands, long since overrun by the iron legions of Hamal. The distance was on the order of five hundred or so miles, and I’d make it in six hours or so. Locking the controls again I went off for a bite to eat.

The necessity of keeping up my cover as a dwa-Jiktar in the Hamalian Air Service, commanding a voller, made me wonder how long I could stretch this flight before reporting back. Truth to tell, the thought that I would not have to decide on the names in those confounded lists today cheered me up, coward that I am. As soon as I’d found out what Deb-Lu’s mysterious words meant, I’d have to high tail it for Ruathytu and the Air Service berths at Urnmayern where I was based.

The people of Layerdrin had lived under the Hamalese yoke for some time now and were thoroughly cowed. The chances of a revolt originating there seemed remote. Yet as I slanted in through a gap in the Mountains of Yallom fringing the eastern boundaries of the country, with a wide basin ahead threaded by rivers and patterned with agriculture, I saw the old and dreadful signs of combat ahead.

Swarms of flyers winged high above the city. Flames shot up and smoke rolled away downwind. The flyers were mostly fluttrells and, for a moment of horrid doubt, I thought they were flutsmen. Then, as I swung in nearer, I saw the picture and realized the truth, a truth so overwhelming I hammered a fist onto the lenken coaming before me and swore.

“By the putrescent putrid eyeballs of Makki Grodno! The idiots!”

But it was true. Here in this cleft between the mountains the first invasion of Hamal had begun.

Down there, and swinging high in the sky, the armies of our allies from the central and southern nations of the Dawn Lands fought the Hamalese garrison, seeking to batter their way through. This should have taken place when the armies from Hyrklana and Vallia invaded, so as to provide a pincer movement that prevented the Hamalese from reinforcing any one front. A combined offensive had every chance of succeeding. But these hotheads had struck ahead of time. They could be crushed, and the Hamalese turn, fresh from victory, to deal with the invasions from north and east.

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...