A Life for Kregen (27 page)

It was all over as the last of Zim and Genodras flushed ruby and emerald fires over the land, painting everything in an eerie sea of flame and verdigris.

There were many prisoners and the local Delphondi promised not to slay them all but to keep them penned until they might be ransomed or exchanged. We counted the cost and felt the satisfaction of relief from dire foreboding that our casualties were so few. We were still an army in being, and, into the bargain, an army crowned with success.

“Now,” said Nath. “For the main body?”

“We must chivvy them a space, yet. Hit them here and run. Ambush there — and run. We run rings around them and no man will take shame that he runs. When we have them nicely molded to the certainty of their defeat — then we will deal with them.”

Certain information reached me that this Kov Colun had been badly shaken by the defeat of a part of his army. He continued his advance; but he advanced cautiously instead of, as we all felt would be the wiser course, making an all-out effort to race through to the capital. His air component, mainly mirvols although he had some fluttrells, would prove uncomfortable in the day of the battle. During this period as we prepared his army for destruction they were chiefly an irritant. They scouted us with insolent ease and at times we were forced to pretty shifts to deceive them.

Seg’s contingent of Bowmen set themselves the task of driving off the mirvols, and succeeded remarkably well at most times. But there were many pretty little skirmishes as Bowman and flyer clashed.

In the end Farris spared us a couple of small four-place airboats and these did sterling work. Colun’s air was almost all flyer-mounted; of fliers he had a few he kept close and I, with a cynicism born of being an emperor, had no need to be told what those particular vollers were intended to do.

As each day passed and Colun struggled nearer and nearer Vondium, we chipped away at his forces. And, each day, messengers reached me with the latest news. Much of it concerned the preparations we made. The most ominous told me that the clansmen led by Zankov were now moving steadily down toward the city. As a defensible city, Vondium stood in much the same league as a holiday camp. The walls and fortresses had suffered so severely in the Time of Troubles that, as even Yantong had seen when he had been in control there, it would take many seasons to rebuild them. Mind you, by Zair, Vondium would be defended at the end. There was no doubt on that in anybody’s mind. None whatsoever.

This discrepancy in the defensive power of the city between the time when we Vallian Freedom Fighters had taken it back, and now when we sought to defend it, lay in the nature of the forces involved. Now the attackers would be clansmen from the Great Plains of Segesthes. The very thought of them sent cold shivers down the backs of civilized men.

The determination to fight on to the end and, if it came to it, die well, carried the men on during this period. They just did not think too far ahead. When the day came to meet the clansmen in battle, well, they’d call on Opaz and go forward and fight. And when it was over and they lay in their windrows of death, what would it matter then?

Seg remained amazingly cheerful, fully occupied, a fiery spirit of defiance and resistance. I could guess at the hurt he thus hid, the agony in him, and still I could not allay that hurt or intensify it by a single word.

Every day the sense of pressure increased. We chivvied and chopped Kov Colun’s army, and ran. The clansmen drew nearer the city. The recruits drilled and sweated in Vondium and the adjoining areas. The arsenals worked all day and night producing the new arms and armor we required. Each day twisted another circle in the spiral of the press that closed on us. But we soldiered on.

The progress of Colun’s army slowed. It faltered to a stop, clustered about a bend in a tiny river, a mere stream, where once it would have boldly pushed on. Provender had been scarce for that invading army of late. We hemmed them in, and still they substantially outnumbered us.

Nath walked over to where I stood in the shade of a group of missals and his face bore a wide and beaming smile. Seg looked up, and said, “So your Third have come up, then, Nath?”

“Aye, Kov Seg. They have. And a magnificent sight they are, fined down, lean and hard. By Vox! Let me at this rast of a Colun and his cramphs.”

The Third with the accompanying churgurs and spearmen and archers had had to march. You could account the Third Phalanx a veteran body, now, after their victory at Yervismot where, thanks be to Opaz, we had found Seg Segutorio again. But most of the infantry were green troops, churgurs and spearmen. As for the archers, Seg pulled a face, and took himself off to make a most careful and intolerant inspection.

Now that the chance for bringing Colun’s invading army to battle had come, and the opportunity must be taken on the wing, I was plagued by all those old and hateful doubts. The idea of splendidly attired regiments hurling into the clamor and horror of battle is bad enough. But you must never forget that those bright blocks of moving color beneath the banners and the glitter of weapons are men. Living men. To hurl them into battle must, inevitably, mean that many will be dead men.

So, for the next few days as Colun sought to move his men away from the stream, we chipped away at him. Then, when he did move, it was a question of maneuver and counter-maneuver. The army appeared to have abandoned all ideas of marching on Vondium. They began to move south again, trying to keep in a single compact body and reaching strong places for each night. Patrols reported in regularly. I took a flier and went ahead and scouted the terrain most carefully, at last selecting a likely looking ridge bisecting the expected path of the enemy. The ground sloped just enough to make the Phalanx into a tiered and impregnable wall of steel. The level ground would give the cavalry a capital chance of putting in some real charges. With a heavy heart I gave my orders and the Army of Vondium moved out to secure the ridge and the surrounds.

Many deserters fled the ranks of Colun’s army. They were mercenaries, and told us much of conditions; but they were astonished that we refused to hire them. We rounded them up and let the locals escort them to the coast and their ships. The invaders had swept up most of the occupying forces in their march, and, now that our tactics had dragged them to a standstill and then a reversal, the country was just about clean. Once we had disposed of these invading cramphs we could claim this southern section of Vallia back.

A Rapa veteran, his beaked face filled with outrage, was brought to my tent. My men stood looking on. This Rapa wore hard-worn harness, and his weapons were bright.

“You are the emperor?”

“Aye.”

“I am told, majister, that you will not hire my men. We relinquished our allegiance to Kov Colun to join you. We are honorable men, paktuns, whose living is by the sword. Tell me, majister, why you do not hire us to fight for you?”

I told him. He either didn’t understand or didn’t want to understand. He could see that my new policy meant there would be no employment in Vallia for mercenaries in the future.

As he turned to leave, much cast down, he said: “Well majister, at least Colun will not be there to see the defeat of his army.”

I quivered alert. I looked at the Rapa, and his vulture-face twitched and he went on quickly: “Kov Colun left the army by voller when we were encamped by that muddy little stream.”

I sagged back, both elated and dejected. The army was doomed. Colun had seen that, despite its apparent strength. So, that meant — where had the rast gone to stir up more trouble?

The Rapa did not know. Diligent inquiries elicited no further information. Colun had flown away and left them to their destruction. The question now was: Would the new army commander, Kapt Hangreal, fight? Or would he agree to terms? You may imagine the tenterhooks we were dancing on as we awaited his reply to our message. The reply was short and brutal. Kapt Hangreal was confident that his army could whip us and make a clean escape to the coast. So, to my chagrin, we were committed to a fight.

That was the Battle of Irginian.

Kapt Hangreal completely misjudged the strength of the Phalanx, as the aragorn had done. Formed, compact, a solid mass of crimson and bronze, glittering with steel, the Third Phalanx took the foam-crested shocks of the cavalry charges. When Hangreal flung in his infantry our own churgurs swept in from the flanks. And, all the time, the deadly arrows crisscrossed. His aerial cavalry played a small part, until Seg’s Bowmen rode up, dismounted, and shot them out of the sky as they tried to attack in flank. Well, it was a battle. It was not a particularly bad battle. Long before it could develop into a slogging match the Phalanx moved. Surrounded by clouds of churgurs and archers, the Phalanx charged.

The Battle of Irginian was over.

The local people, many of whom were sending their strongest sons to join the new armies of Vallia, cleared up. There was no time to waste. With a single day for recuperation the Army of Vondium started in motion, heading back for the capital. Forces of observation were left to ensure no flare-up occurred as the lines of prisoners marched for the coast. I left Seg and Nath in command and took voller and flew for Vondium. Now it was Zankov’s turn. Now, perhaps, we would reach the beginning of the end.

Chapter Twenty

The Battle of Kochwold

Drak had not returned so far from Faol. Jaidur had not been released by the Sisters of the Rose from whatever deviltry they were egging him on to. And Zeg had not as yet responded to the call to leave Zandikar where he was king. As for the distaff side of the family, the babies, Velia, and Didi — the daughter of Gafard, the King’s Striker, and our daughter Velia — were growing apace but not yet old enough to cause us the kind of pangs their elders were so good at. Lela, presumably with Jaidur, was off adventuring. And Dayra — ah, well! No word had come from Barty telling me how he fared in his renewed search for Dayra, and I fancied that Ros the Claw would lead him a merry dance, by Zair, yes!

And, as you will instantly perceive, Delia had not returned home.

I mumped about the city, and in between brooding over the unkind cuts of Fate got on with rebuilding the army.

There were a few burs to spare for lighter moments and Jilian proved a tough and cunning opponent at Jikaida. She had a most devilish way of cutting in from a flank when you were sure everything on that side was battened down tight. Also, of course, her person was such as to distract the most hardened old misogynist from the board and the marching ranks of model men.

“By Vox, Jak! As Dee-Sheon is my witness something addles your brains. You’ve let my left-flank Chuktar in — and, see—” and here Jilian did the most diabolical things to my model men. “Do you bare the throat?”

“Aye. Aye, I bare the throat.”

We sat on a snug balcony bowered in moon-blooms and with a table handy loaded with silver flagons of wine. The night was cool and refreshing, and She of the Veils smiled down serenely, her fuzz of pink and golden light shedding a mellow roseate glow over the rooftops and battlements of the palace spread out below. Jilian yawned and covered her face with her hand, and then stretched.

“You had your girls hard at it today.”

“And every day. But I wish I had been able to lay that cramph Colun by the heels.”

“He’ll turn up again,” I said, comfortably. “That sort of villain always does. The only trouble is—”

“He’ll turn up when it’s most damned inconvenient, I know!”

Jilian wore one of Delia’s loose lounging robes all of white sensil and she shimmered like an ivory flame in the moonlight. During the day she strode about among her girls and although she did not crack and snap her whip, she carried the ugly thing looped up around her arm.

The Enevon walked onto the balcony from the room beyond, rubbing his eyes, bringing fresh problems to be sorted out.

The exact spot at which we would like to meet Zankov and his wild clansmen had been chosen. If Opaz smiled, then the enemy would choose that route. In order to encourage Opaz to make up his mind I’d sent high-speed forces out to cut the bridges of alternative routes and to harass Zankov enough to make him swing, like a bull, to face the fancied threats. If he was prepared to follow the guidelines I had set for him, he would — Opaz willing — pass across the stretch of land known as the Kochwold. If he did, as we prayed, we would be waiting for him. And this waiting came as a vast and unexpected reprieve. Mind you, as a wild and hairy clansman myself I should have anticipated what was occurring up there in Jevuldrin. Clansmen are clansmen, accustomed to the airy sweeps of the Great Plains. When they ride through hamlets and villages, seeing the spires of cities rising before them, they feel all the itchy-fingered avarice of your true reiver. Plunder was retarding the onward march of Zankov’s hired army. And, that very plunder was the hire money. I raged and fumed and could not, in all conscience, following the sad example of King Harold, allow the enemy to devastate the country. A policy of scorched earth would have served, perhaps; but the country up there was generally in the hands of that rast Ranjal Yasi, Stromich of Morcray, the twin brother to the strom, Rosil Yasi. Zankov was having either to fight or come to terms with his old ally.

So the Kochwold it was to be. Zankov was clearly aiming to march to the east around the mountains, known as the Mountains of Thirda to some folk, rather than the west of them. That way would force him to make too many river crossings. East about he would have fewer major rivers to bar him. Kochwold extended its sweep of moorland on the southern borders of Jevuldrin and the northern borders of Forli. The last I had heard of Lykon Crimahan, the Kov of Forli, was that he was fighting desperate guerilla actions, with the help of us Valkans as promised, and slowly, painfully slowly, regaining some of his province, the Blessed Forli. Now, all that was, if not irrelevant, then of far less importance than the rampaging invasion of ten thousand wild clansmen.

Oh, yes, ten thousand. A further four thousand had been disembarked. And, again, that explained the disembarkation point still further. The ships from Zenicce were engaged in ferrying men and voves across, and the passage between Zamra to the south and the islands below Vellin to the north afforded relatively sheltered waters. No doubt they were making a third trip even now. So that, starkly, was a most potent reason why our waiting, useful as it was, must be curtailed.