Two to Conquer (29 page)

“As to that,” said Dom Rafael, “my people would never agree. I am no tyrant, to take away their

weapons, and leave them defenseless against those unscrupulous people who would always refuse to give up
their
weapons. Perhaps, when I am sure that all our enemies have already done this… but I do not think so.”

“Bard di Asturien,” Varzil said, surprisingly turned to him, “you are a soldier; most soldiers are men of reason. You are commander of your father’s armies. Would you not willingly see these atrocious

weapons outlawed? Have you not seen a village burned with clingfire, or little children dying of the bonewater sickness?”

Bard felt an inward wrench, remembering just such a village near Scaravel; the endless screaming and crying of children burned by clingfire. It seemed to go on for days, until one by one they had died, all of them, and then the silence seemed even more terrible, as if he could still hear their screams somewhere in his mind… He would not, himself, use clingfire; but why was Varzil asking
him
? He was only a soldier, his father’s loyal man who must follow orders.

He said, “Dom Varzil, I would gladly fight with swords and shields alone, if others could be brought to do likewise. But I am a soldier, and my business is to win battles. I cannot win battles when I lead men armed with swords against an army who bear clingfire, or set demons of sorcery and fear against my men, to raise wind and water and storms and earthquakes against me.”

“It would not be asked of you,” Varzil said. “But would you agree that if
laran
is not used against you, you will not be the first to use it, and especially not to use it against non-combatants?”

Bard began to say that it sounded reasonable, but Dom Rafael broke in angrily, “No! War is not a game!”

Varzil said in contempt, “If it is not a game, what is it? Surely it is for those who make war to set the rules as they wish!”

Dom Rafael said with a scornful twist of his mouth, “Why, then, why not carry your policy all the way?

Suggest that in future all our wars shall be settled by a game of football—or even leapfrog? Send our old gaffers to settle the war by a game of king’s-man on a squared board, or our little girls for a game of jump rope, to settle our disputes?”

Varzil said, “The subject of most wars is a matter which would be better settled by reasonable debate among reasonable men. When reason cannot bring about a settlement, it could be as well settled by a game of catch-ball among the children, as by these endless campaigns which prove only that the gods seem to love those who have the better trained soldiers!” He sounded immeasurably bitter.

“You speak like a coward,” Dom Rafael said. “War may be disturbing to the squeamish, but you can’t argue with facts, and since men aren’t reasonable—and why should they settle for reason instead of what they want?—all arguments are, in the long run, going to be settled in favor of the one who can enforce settlement with the strongest hand. You cannot change the nature of mankind, and that’s simply the knowledge we have from all the years of man. If a man isn’t satisfied by the answer he gets, no matter how reasonable and right it may seem to others, he is going to go out and fight for what he wants. Otherwise we would all be born without hands or arms or the brains to use weapons. None but a coward would say otherwise; though I would expect it of a sandal wearer, a
laranzu
.”

Varzil said, “Hard words break no bones, sir. I am not so much afraid of being called coward that I would fight a war to avoid it, like schoolboys blacking each other’s eyes over the cry of
whoreson
or
sixfathered
! Are you telling me that if soldiers come against you armed only with swords, you will burn them with clingfire?”

“Yes, of course, if I have the clingfire. I do not make the evil stuff, but if it is used against me, I must have it, and I must use it before it can be used against me. Do you really think anyone will keep this Compact, unless he is assured of victory already?”

“And you will fight this way, even when you know it means your own lands will be poisoned with

bonewater dust, or the new poison which brings out black sores on every man, woman and child who breathes it, so that they now call it the masking sickness? I had thought you a merciful and reasonable man!”

“Why, so I am,” Dom Rafael said, “but not so reasonable that I will lay down my arms and resign

myself to surrendering my country, and my people, to live in slavery to some other country! In my mind, anything which gives a quick and decisive victory is a merciful and reasonable weapon. A war fought with swords, like a tournament, may drag on for years—we have been fighting the Serrais for most of my life-time—while sensible men will think twice before carrying on a war against such

weapons as I can bring against them. No, Dom Varzil, your words sound reasonable on the surface, but under them lurks insanity; men would enjoy your kind of war too much, and prolong it like a game, knowing they could play at warfare without being seriously hurt. You may go back to Carolin and tell him that I despise his Compact and I will never honor it. If he comes against me, he will find me prepared with every weapon my
leroni
can devise, and on his own head be it if he chooses to arm his men with swords and shields alone; for all I care he may arm them with tennis balls, and make my work easier; or tell them to surrender at once. Is this nonsense of Compact all you were sent to tell me, Dom Varzil?”

“No,” said Varzil.

“What more is there? I do not want war with the Hasturs. I would prefer a truce.”

“And so would I,” Varzil said, “and so would King Carolin. I was sent and empowered to take your oath to abstain from war against us. You are a reasonable man, you say; why, then, should this land be torn apart with fighting?”

“I have no wish to fight,” said Dom Rafael, “but I will not surrender to the Hasturs where di Asturiens have reigned since time out of mind.”

“That is not true,” said Varzil. “Written records in Nevarsin and Hali—which are perhaps more reliable than the patriotic legends and folk tales you use to rally your men—would reassure you that less than two hundred years ago this land was all ruled by Hasturs; but after an invasion of catmen, Lord Hastur gave the di Asturiens the task of guarding it, no more. And now all these lands have split up into little kingdoms, each one claiming an immemorial right to be independent and sovereign over its own

people. This is chaos. Why not have peace again?”

“Peace? Tyranny, you mean,” Dom Rafael said. “Why should the free people of Asturias bow their

heads to the Hasturs?”

“Why, then, should they bow it to the di Asturiens, for that matter? Peace is bought at the cost of giving up some local autonomy. Suppose each of your farmsteaders insisted that he was a free man, and had a right to absolute individual self-rule, refusing any other man the right to cross his borders without paying tribute, and owing loyalty to nothing but his own whim?”

“That,” said Dom Rafael, “would be foolish.”

“Then why is it not foolish to say that El Haleine and Asturias and Marenji are all kingdoms, each with separate king and government and each cut off from others? Why not make peace under the sons of

Hastur, and have freedom to move about, and trade, without armed men everywhere? You will be free in your own realm, you simply pledge not to meddle with any other free and independent realm, but to cooperate with your fellow lords as friends and equals—”

Rafael di Asturien shook his head. “My ancestors won this land. Ardrin’s son Valentine forfeited his right to it when he fled to King Carolin with his traitor mother. But I shall keep it for my sons, and if Hasturs want it, they will have to come and take it if they can.” He spoke bravely, but Bard knew that his father was remembering their conversation the night of Geremy’s wedding.

Serrais to the east Aldaran and Scathfell to the north. Hasturs to the west and all their allies, and no doubt, someday people from the Plains of Valeron to the south.

“Then,” said Varzil, “you will not swear allegiance to Hastur, even though all he asks is a pledge that you will not take up arms against Hali or Carcosa or Castle Hastur or Neskaya which is under his protection?”

“The throne of Asturias,” Rafael said, “is not subject to Hastur. And that’s my last word on the subject.

I have no intention of attacking Hasturs, but they cannot seek to rule here.”

“Alaric,” Varzil said, “you are lord of Asturias. You are not of an age to make compacts, but I ask you nevertheless, out of kindness to kin, to ask your father to see reason in this matter.”

“My son is not your prisoner now, Dom Varzil,” Rafael said, his chin jutting hard. “I do not know how much treason you may have taught him against his own people, but now—”

“Father, that is unjust,” Alaric protested. “I ask you not to quarrel with my kinsman Varzil!”

“For your sake, my son, I hold my peace. Yet I beg of you, Dom Varzil, set aside this foolish talk of surrendering the throne of Asturias to the Hasturs!”

Varzil said, “Even now you are contemplating war against peaceful neighbors—not invaders! I know what you have done in Marenji. I am informed that in the spring you intend war against Serrais; and you intend to fortify the lands along the Kadarin—”

“And what is that to you?” Bard asked with cold hostility. “The lands along the Kadarin are not Hastur lands!”

“Neither are they the lands belonging to Asturias,” said Varzil, “and Carolin is sworn to make them safe against attack from land-greedy little kingdoms! Do what you will within your own realm; but I warn you, unless you are prepared to fight against all of those who give allegiance to Hastur and to the Compact, do not move outside them!”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I am,” Varzil said, “though I would rather not. I ask as envoy of Hastur, that you and your two sons take oath not to move against the Compact lands who have sworn to one another as equals, or we will have an army in the field within forty days, and we will take the Kingdom of Asturias and put it into the wardenship of someone who will hold it in peace among the
com’ii
under Hastur.”

Bard heard this with a dreadful sinking. They were not, in fact, prepared to make war against the Hasturs; not with the men rising past the Kadarin, not with Serrais on the east! And if the Hasturs came against them
now
, Asturias could not stand.

Dom Rafael clenched his fists with rage.

“What oath do you require of us?”

“I ask you to swear,” Varzil said, “not to me, but to Geremy Hastur for his kinsman Carolin, an oath of kinsmen, not to be broken without warning of half a year on either side; which pledges you not to move against any land under Hastur protection; and in return you will be a part of this peace which reigns under the Alliance.” He used the word
comyn
in a new way. “Will you swear?”

There was a long silence; but the di Asturiens were at the disadvantage and knew it. They had no choice but to swear. They were grateful when Alaric spoke, so that neither of them must lose face.

“Dom Varzil, I will swear the oath of kinsmen, although no oath to your Alliance. Will this suffice? I vow that I will not go to war against Carolin of Thendara unless half a year’s warning is given. But,” he added, and Bard saw the childish jaw clench, “this oath will endure only while my kinsman Carolin of Thendara leaves me in possession of the throne of Asturias; and on the day when he moves against the throne, on that same day I withdraw my oath and consider him my enemy!”

Geremy said, “I accept your oath, cousin. I swear to see it honored by Carolin. But how will you hold your father and your brother to this oath? For you are not yet of legal age, and they are the powers which hold your throne.”

Alaric said, “By the gods and by the honor of my family; Bard, my brother, will you abide my oath?”

Bard said, “In the form the oath was given, my brother, I will.” He gripped his sword. “Zandru seize this sword and this heart if I prove false to your honor.”

“And I,” said Dom Rafael, tight-lipped, closing his fingers on his dagger, “by the honor of Asturien, which no man can gainsay.”

No, Bard thought, as Geremy and Varzil, with endless formalities, took their leave, they had no choice, not with a crippled child on the throne, instead of the strong young warrior they had foreseen. They needed time, and this oath was only a way to give them time. His father maintained the façade of calm until the Hastur embassage had ridden away and Alaric, dreadfully pale from the strain of long

ceremonial, was taken away to his rooms, then Dom Rafael broke down.

“My son! He is my son, I love him, I honor him, but in hell’s name, Bard, is he fit to reign in times like these? Would to all the gods that
your
mother had been my lawful wife!”

“Father,” Bard entreated, “it is only his legs that are crippled; his mind and wit are sound. I am a soldier, not a statesman; Alaric will make a better king than I!”

“But they look up to you, they call you Wolf and Commander, will they ever look up to my poor little lame lad that way?”

“If I stand behind his throne,” Bard said, “they will.”

“Alaric is blessed, then, in his brother! True is the old saying,
bare is back without brother
… But you are only one man, and you are sworn to Hastur, which cripples you. If we had time, or if Alaric had been strong and fit—”

“If Queen Lorimel had worn trousers instead of skirts, she’d have been king and Thendara would never have fallen,” said Bard, curtly. “There is no point in talking about
if
, and
would to all the gods
, and such rubbish. We must cut our coat as we find the cloth laid! The gods know I love my brother, and I could have bawled like Geremy’s baby son to see him stand before us so bent and twisted, but what has come, has come; the world will go as it will. I am only one brother.”

“It is the good fortune of the Hasturs that you were not born twins,” said Dom Rafael with a despairing laugh, “for with two like you, dear son, I could conquer all the Hundred Kingdoms.”