Omens of Kregen (2 page)

He continually badgered his new superiors for a transfer to an active regiment in the field. They regarded him as far too valuable for their purposes in training up fresh troops to part with him.

So Nath Javed, old Hack ’n’ Slay, soldiered on.

And the days passed.

Deldar Naghan the Abstemious took it upon himself to find an excuse to visit the depot where Javed labored.

The place was situated a few miles outside the capital, Vondium, and consisted mainly of huts, cooking lines, and mud. Also, the assault courses were fiendish in their difficulty.

After Naghan had watched a few coys being driven through their paces, he managed to have a few private words with Javed.

“Nath Javed!”

“Here, Deldar,” said Javed, standing at attention, hardly looking at the Deldar, who wore medals upon his chest as rewards for valor in battle. Naghan the Abstemious, long and hard and much experienced in the ways of swods, rapped out in exasperation what he felt deeply.

“Nath Javed! When you were a Deldar I was a swod, and then you were a Hikdar and then a Jiktar, and I became a Deldar. And now—”

“So it is you, Naghan. Well — and now it is as it is.”

“But it needn’t be!”

“You would have me appeal?”

“By Vox, I would. There must be an explanation for what you did—”

“There is; but I cannot give it. Let it be for now, Naghan. Come. For the sake of our old friendship, let us go for a wet.”

Naghan the Abstemious did not acquire his sobriquet because he did not drink. Like any soldier in the new armies of the emperor, he drank in quantities sufficient to make him happy and merry and never to make him drunk. Idiots got drunk. They did not last long in the new armies raised by the Emperor of Vallia.

Settled comfortably with their tankards on the scrubbed sturmwood table between them, Naghan persisted.

“If you appeal, Nath, you must be heard. That is the law. You can appeal direct to the emperor himself and he will—”

“He is up north fighting this King of North Vallia, who is an unhanged rogue if ever there was one.”

“Yes, my friend, like others closer to home I could name.”

“Oh, they have had it in for me, I know that. Why did I not receive the promotion that was my due? But for that, all would have been as happy as a sennight of the Lady Soothe herself.”

“You could explain to the emperor.”

“What? D’you think he knows about the tribulations of ordinary folk like us? He is far away and busy and far too high and mighty to concern himself over matters like this.”

“I have heard differently.”

“Oh, aye! There are stories put around. Have you ever seen the emperor?”

“Well, I was on a parade once where he—”

“You see! On a parade where he was merely a glittering figure seen through a haze. I mean close up, like you and me, to talk to. He has no time for unlucky folk like me.”

Naghan the Abstemious expressed himself as entirely dissatisfied with the whole affair. He tried and failed to persuade Nath Javed, old Hack ’n’ Slay, to lodge an appeal.

“I’ll soldier out my time trying to teach these youngsters the tricks of the trade. By Vox! They try my patience at times.”

“Well, my friend, I will not insult you by expressing my concern and my regret. Just that — well, by the cropped ears of Vikatu the Dodger, I shall miss you when we march north.”

Javed glanced up over the rim of his tankard.

“Aye, Naghan, and I you. I may have been a Jiktar; I hope I did not forget my friends.”

“Would I be here, else?”

They drank companionably for a space, then a few kreutzin, training up to be light infantry, skirmishers, started a fight, and Nath Javed and Naghan the Abstemious, as befitted old campaigners, kampeons both, quaffed their draughts and took themselves off out of a common tavern brawl.

Javed escorted Naghan the Abstemious back to where his hired preysany stood with drooping head awaiting the ride back to Vondium.

As Naghan swung up into the saddle, among good wishes and remembrances, he said: “And your sister, Nath, the lady Francine. She is well, I trust?”

A spasm crossed Javed’s fierce face.

“I pray you do not speak of her, Naghan, nor her husband, Fortro.”

“As you wish. They had a daughter, did they not—?”

“Please, Naghan. By Vox! I do not wish to talk about little Sassy. No, Never!”

The Abstemious was not entirely blind.

“If I have offended you, Nath Javed, then I apologize. I bear you only well. And — you stubborn onker — if you will not appeal to the emperor, what more can I do?”

“Remember, you are a Deldar and command ten men or more, and I am a swod in the ranks.”

“May the light of Opaz shine upon you, Nath Javed, and the keenness of sword and the cunning hand of Vox ever defend you from your foes.”

“Opaz go with you, Naghan. You have my gratitude.”

Riding his hired preysany under the light of the Moons of Kregen, Naghan the Abstemious, as he said afterward, felt strongly the mystery surrounding old Hack ’n’ Slay’s fall from grace. Whatever had caused him to steal the money, or borrow it, wrought significantly upon him.

Still, there seemed nothing to be done. The world would roll around and the twin suns, Zim and Genodras, would rise in the eastern sky on the morrow, and life would continue.

Perhaps there was no great mystery after all.

Poor old Hack ’n’ Slay, there did not seem much of life left to him. So Deldar Naghan the Abstemious rode soberly back to Vondium pondering the vicissitudes of fate and the wayward turns a fellow’s life took before they shipped him off to the Ice Floes of Sicce.

Chapter two

The Empress and Emperor of Vallia Dance

The marriage between Marion and Nango was celebrated with great pomp and magnificence in Falkerium, the capital city of the kovnate province of Falkerdrin. As promised, the emperor danced at Marion’s wedding.

Marion Frastel, the Stromni of Huvadu, found herself in a delicate situation. Huvadu was a province right up in the northeast corner of Vallia, and was currently in the hands of the usurping and self-titled King of North Vallia.

Because of this she was low on funds. Her brand new husband, Strom Nango ham Hofnar, owned estates in the Black Hills of Hamal. He was, it was generally believed, a wealthy man. Hamal, the most powerful empire in the southern continent of Havilfar, had for very many seasons been in bitter conflict not just with the Empire of Vallia but with just about every country the Hamalese airfleets could reach.

The two had met out there in adventurous circumstances by the Mountains of the West, and had fallen in love.

Strom Nango, it was also generally believed, was financing Marion. Certainly, the splendor of the wedding brought a sparkle to life, made folk realize there was more to living than fighting and wars and sudden death.

That thought must have been in Marion’s mind as she looked up at her husband. She was a short lady, and Nango overtopped her by a head and he was not one of your tall fellows.

“We do not have long, my heart. The army marches for the north so soon—” he began.

They stood by a silken-draped pillar in the dancing hall of the palace where the wedding guests laughed and chattered, danced and drank, indulging in themselves the joy they knew the happy couple were experiencing.

Marion stared up fiercely.

“And you do not think I will let you go off by yourself, Nango?”

“Your regiment of Jikai Vuvushis is committed to the emperor.”

“He will release me, I feel sure, in order to go up and reclaim my lands. Think of it, Nango! To have Huvadu back again!”

“Splendid, of course. You have never visited the Black Hills? No. They can be very lovely at certain seasons.”

“And we will visit them. After all, if we can find a good reliable airboat we can visit where we like when we like.”

“I shall buy the best voller in all Hamal, Marion.”

She stood on tiptoe in her golden high-heeled shoes to kiss him. Laughing, flushed, they kissed and then — after a pleasant period — parted. Nango picked up a crystal goblet from the side table and handed it to his bride.

She half-turned to take it, smiling, lifting it to her lips. Her gaze passed beyond her new husband’s shoulder.

“Oh!” she said. And, then: “Here is the emperor now, Nango, dear. I shall ask him directly.”

She and Nango stepped aside as they turned to face. She inclined her head just a trifle, as was proper in these surroundings, and Nango, who had the nonsense of slavish inclining and scraping knocked out of him in Vallia, gave a polite nod.

“Majister. Isn’t it all wonderful?”

“It is all wonderful, Marion. You and Strom Nango have put on a splendid affair. And now you are skulking in corners, kissing. I claim the dance you promised me.” At that moment Strom Nango bowed again.

A charming voice, by Vox! the most charming and delicious voice in two worlds, said: “And I, my dear Strom Nango, claim my dance with you.”

“Majestrix.”

The Empress of Vallia looked radiant. Well, of course, by Zair, whenever did the Empress Delia not look radiant? Superbly dressed in a sheer gown of a color tending to lavender, with just two small pieces of jewelry, her hair a shining marvel, she was simply gorgeous — aye, and cunningly devious with it, too. With very little exaggeration it is true to say that there are regiments and whole armies ready to fight and die for the empress Delia. And, because she is Delia, this distresses her.

Nango was dressed in a slight variation on his usual Hamalese kit, which here in Vallia looked exotically strange. He wore gray trousers and a white shirt, over which the green cape on its golden cords did not strike a jarring note. He wore nothing of blue.

He and Delia swung off onto the floor. The music soared up, a pleasant rhythmic tune, and Marion held out her arms.

Marion was an accomplished dancer, and glided smoothly along. But, being Marion, she could not refrain from saying: “I am glad that no unfortunate occurrences have taken place at my wedding. I did feel for poor Ling-Li.”

Two points were of note here: one, that that confounded and double-damned Witch of Loh, Csitra, and her ripe-for-hanging hermaphrodite child, Phunik, had indeed not sent through their sorcerous arts some vile plague upon us. They’d deluged thousands of rats upon the wedding of Khe-Hi-Bjanching and Ling-Li-Lwingling.

The second point of note was that those two were puissant Sorcerers themselves, a Wizard and a Witch of Loh, and ordinary folk always spoke very warily about
them
. They were good comrades and welcome in Vallia and Marion had grown a little used to them.

She went on in her way to make the casual and unthinking remarks that struck in cruelly. Csitra visited these plagues upon Vallia, and her Pronouncement of the Nine Unspeakable Curses against Vallia was directed against just one person’s willpower and resolve.

“We have seen some remarkable sorceries,” chattered on Marion, dancing along with the music. “I do hope that awful Csitra witch falls down and breaks her neck.”

“There is the King of North Vallia first—”

“The armies of Vallia gather against that one. He is doomed. Everyone knows that.”

“Oh yes, everyone knows that. They also know there will be hard fighting before he is finished. And, after that, there is Drak and Silda to be married and proclaimed Emperor and Empress of Vallia.”

She did not quite stop dancing; but her rhythm faltered.

“And you would really and truly, majister, do that?”

“Of course. I have sworn it.”

“It will be a marvel in the world. And I wonder what the dear empress has to say?”

This was impertinence on the grand scale. It didn’t matter. In the old days these remarks of Marion’s might well have caused the removal of her head from her shoulders. Still, she was a likable soul, and, much like another grand lady I had known, always meant well.

“The moment my lad Drak and his bride Silda are married and on the throne, I shall be off. I can promise you, Marion, that if the witch Csitra’s neck is not broken in a fall, then I shall most probably break it myself.”

“Yes,” she said, following around in a neat double-step of rhythmic grace, “yes, you will need all the armies to go up against Csitra.”

“Oh, yes,” I told her most solemnly. “All the armies.”

“And my regiment of Jikai Vuvushis, who serve you most loyally, majister, will go too.”

“As to that,” I said, whirling her around and depositing her safely on her feet and into the arms of Nango, “we shall see.”

Delia said: “A splendid wedding, Marion. And Nango dances almost as well as a Vallian.” She laughed as she spoke; but there was truth in the remark. Vallians are a happy lot, singing and dancing far more than the Hamalese.

Nango held his new bride, and laughed at the sally. I glanced at him and felt he was not affecting amusement. We’d make a good Vallian of him yet!

“All the same, Delia,” I said. “I am a Vallian by adoption, so that—”

She took my arm and whispered in my ear.

“Only one little yellow sun. Only one silver moon. And no diffs, only people like us!”

Without a word I seized her and whirled off into the next dance. What Marion and Nango thought I didn’t care. If they were a tenth as happy as Delia and I — when the damned Star Lords allowed us that freedom — they’d be more lucky than any ordinary humans beings could expect in two worlds.

As followed in any respectable function in Vallia, it was not long before the singing began.

As this was a wedding, we tended to sing more of the sentimental ballads; but as there were many soldiers and fliers here some of the old rip-roarers were bellowed out as well.

We sent the newly weds off in fine style, and managed to make Marion break down into a fit of the giggles, which was a good augury for the future.

After that a little group of us got into a corner around a table loaded with flagons and glasses and plates of palines and other fruits, and we sat, drinking and talking amicably long into the night.

These times of comradeship remain always warm and heartening memories. Zair knew, I welcomed and relished these moments among friends. They are, as anyone with an ounce of wisdom knows, precious in lives filled with the bustle and clamor of the day.