A Life for Kregen (26 page)

As for armor, Filbarrka wanted a light quilted knee and elbow length coat with a steel bar sewn to the outside of the sleeve, steel right forearm guard and shoulder plates. These latter, being the trademark of the Vondium soldier, fitted in perfectly. In all probability what the arsenals produced would be high-quality iron; but we tended to call it steel, as one does. Steel is usually reserved for weapons.

For helmets of the force, it was proposed that a small, round helmet rather like an acorn in shape, be fitted with a mail hood fastening up to the nasal. Mail was not easily come by in Vallia, as you know. The mail of the Eye of the World was effective but crudely heavy in comparison with the superb mesh of the Dawn Lands of Havilfar. The arsenals in Vondium could produce a mesh link that would serve. I had the sneaky suspicion that many a man of Filbarrka’s zorca force would ride into action without this mail hood.

“And, in the rear ranks,” said Filbarrka with anticipatory satisfaction, “we substitute bows for the lance and darts. The shields must be different, too. Smaller round parrying shields fastened to the lower arm. They should serve capitally.”

So it was settled. Settled, that was, in conference. The hard slog of bringing theory into practice must begin now. One supreme advantage Filbarrka did have. He could call on the services of superb zorcamen. That gave him a flying start.

Although pressed to stay and see some more fun — they had a raid against a caravan, of whose route they had been apprised, planned for the next day — I expressed my regrets. Vondium and the raising of a great city to renewed effort called. Satisfied that the mercenaries and aragorn in this part of Vallia were paying dearly for their plunder, I bid the zorcamen of the plains of the Blue Mountains Remberee, and flew fast back to the capital city.

The news that met me, conveyed by Enevon Ob-Eye with an appearance of studied calm, was that Barty Vessler the Strom of Calimbrev, wounded though he was, had stolen an airboat and flown from Vondium in the devil of a hurry and the devil of a state. My chief stylor contrived to appear matter-of-fact, but he was enraged, amused, and downright admiring about the stir.

“Hardly stole, Enevon,” said Seg, stretching his arms, as he kept doing to explore the pains in his mending back. “It was his to start with, you know.”

“It is gone now, and the Lord Farris is shorter still of air for surveillance.”

No message had been left. I could only assume that Barty could contain himself no longer and had gone to carry on the overdue talk with Dayra interrupted by the storm and their escape from us. I did not know how long it had been since he had last seen her. I’d wager a king’s treasury against a copper ob that she was never the girl he remembered.

Nothing could be done about that situation. Every effort must be bent to building up the warlike capacity of the city. Seg said: “I have scoured around, Dray, in the taverns and dopa dens and stewpots. I’ve dug up three hundred men who claim to have been Bowmen of Loh. Some may never have been within a hundred dwaburs of Loh; but I have them sweating over their drills now, under command of Treg Tregutorio, a right old devil but a man with a bow, by Vox. You will find they will stand come the day.”

“Good,” I said, cheered in a way Seg could not hope to understand. “But, come the day, I shall need you to command the vanguard, as ever. I rely on you, you know.”

“That is where Treg will want his men if I know him.”

Despite his shortages, Farris kept up observations of the country and the day did come, sooner than we expected. Farris burst into my room without ceremony, looking wild-eyed, a most unusual state for him to be in.

“Majister! That cramph Kov Colun! He is found — aye, and an army with him. A great army of mercenaries from Pandahem and Hamal, marching from the south on Vondium. There is little time left.”

So, with what we had, we marched.

We marched to the south.

The host of clansmen mounted on their terrible and terrifying voves pressed in on us from the north. If we were to be the nut in the nutcracker, then we would make sure we broke off one of the jaws, broke and splintered, and sent it shattered back before we turned — with what we had — to strike at the other.

In those dark days for Vondium and for Vallia there were few, and fewer with every day that passed, who believed any more that we would win through. But, still, we would fight. We would fight on, although doomed, fight on without surrendering. For that was the way of it, in those days. Surrender would bring our utter annihilation. Everyone knew that from bitter example. So we would fight on and if we were doomed, why, then, we would go down before Fate and put as brave a set of faces on it as we could muster.

That was the way of the new Vallians.

Chapter Nineteen

Surprises in the Delphondian Campaign

I had been wrong about Delphond.

Delphond, the Garden of Vallia, a sweet, languorous, easy-going place where the fruit hung heavy on the tree and the fat kine filled lush pasturelands, where men and women laughed easily and ate well and quaffed good Delphondian ale, where life flowed in smooth mellow rhythms and it was good to be alive and rest awhile — Delphond, Delphond — the sword and fire and destruction came to Delphond. And the good people arose in their wrath. Calling on the name of Delia of Delphond, they rose and smote the invaders.

Always I had considered the Delphondi would be too lazy, too good-natured, too easy-going, to resist, even though I had seen evidence of a new awareness and a growing suspicion during that time I had sought news of the mystery of the Black Feathers of the Great Chyyan.
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The distance from Vondium to Delphond is not great. That was the paramount reason why the invasion army under command of Kov Colun Mogper of Mursham had chosen to land there, on the south coast. He might have sailed his fleet up the wide mouth of the Great River; but then he would have faced crippling odds as all the small craft we could muster would have assailed him. He was confident, I’ll give the cramph that. Straight across Delphond he marched, in a straight line, through the orchards and the cornfields, over the pastureland, and in his wake he left a broad swathe of destruction.

Also, he left many a man of his regiments hacked to pieces in a ditch where the enraged Delphondi had thrown him.

We marched southwest to get around that curve of the Great River, crossing the imperial province of Vond. We cut well south of the route of that earlier quick and improvised march against the mock army of Fat Lango. The comparative failure of that ruse had not deterred Kov Colun from setting forth on the balance of the ploy. If we did not stop him, he would be in Vondium, and Yantong would have won another round.

Although I had long ago come to the conclusion that bricks and mortar were not worth human lives, there were other considerations in the decision to defend Vondium. The arsenals being there constituted one obvious reason. But for that, by Zair, I’d have let Kov Colun and Zankov fight it out between them.

“By the Veiled Froyvil, my old dom,” exclaimed Seg, reining up and shading his eyes. We looked up into the high blue of a Kregen day. “That looks a trifle likely.”

Up there, swirling away from the advance guard of our little army, black dots pirouetted across the blue. They appeared to frolic between puffball clouds; but we knew they were not of the frolicsome kind, being aerial cavalry of the army we challenged.

“Mirvols,” I said. “So Colun has brought aerial forces with him.”

“We’ve seen them off before, Dray! D’you mind the times in the Hostile Territories — and that scheming woman, Queen Lilah of Hiclantung?”

“Aye, I mind me, Seg. But we have no air to speak of.”

“Your Djangs from Valka—”

“If they get here in time.”

“Erthyr the Bow will see to it that they do.”

Ahead of us stretched the open park-like landscape of Delphond. We had marched fast and light, having information from our spies that Colun tarried for his rearguard to come up. If all went as we planned, we would harass the invaders as far as we were able until we were all formed. That was a grim note — all. There were pitifully few of us left. And the new regiments were not ready.

Karidge’s regiment of zorcamen — the First — went cantering past. Because Nath Karidge had caught a small punitive excursion mounted by Farris against a fortress of the aragorn over our borders, he had missed that fight at Sicce’s Gates. At the time he had raved. Now he said that Opaz had saved him and the best zorca regiment in the army for greater things — for victory. I had agreed with him. His men were raging to get at the invaders and a deal of the gloom and doom so rampant elsewhere was missing in their ranks. Karidge’s wife had recently had twins, and Seg made some remark as to his good fortune, and mentioned Thelda.

Again and again I had struggled with myself, quite unable to decide the best course. In all mercy I ought to tell Seg that Thelda was still alive. That would lead to questions. I could simply say that I had had a report that she had been seen, alive and well. I knew what that would mean. Instantly, Seg would be off hot foot on the trail. And I knew he dared not go with that wound in his back. Now the wound was almost healed, and the doctors of Vondium had expressed their amazement at his recuperative powers. Now, if I spun him some cock and bull story, he would have no reason not to go off. The plight of Vondium ought not to move him. It wouldn’t me, if it had been Delia I was chasing. So...

Up until now I could with justice claim I had not told him Thelda was alive so as to save him from killing himself by searching for her with that damned great wound. Now that he was well again — could I in conscience keep the news from him? The half of the news? Sink me! I couldn’t tell him about Lol Polisto. And yet, for him to discover the story in some hole-in-the-corner way would be even more frightful.

By the disgusting diseased tripes of Makki-Grodno!

And then a trumpet pealed sweet and silver, hurling notes through the air and sending birds scurrying from the nearby wood as though the notes took wing. A zorca rider burst up over the ridge and bore on toward us, riding hard and low in the saddle.

He was from the forward advance guard and so I knew one of our patrols had come in with news. We might have no aerial scouts; but we kept our patrols probing well ahead. He brought the news for which I had hoped, scarcely thinking such good fortune would fall our way. But Five-Handed Eos-Bakchi had smiled and his knuckle-bones had turned dexter.

“Ha!” said Seg when the rider had finished speaking. “We have the cramph now.”

“We have the opportunity,” I said, mildly. “We have but to execute the design.”

“Execute! Aye, we’ll execute Colun and all his villains.”

Waiting for his rearguard to come up, Colun was separated from them by a good forty miles. If we could strike into the gap and turn on one force before they linked, we would stand a chance. The forces were ill-balanced. Which should it be?

“Hit Kov Colun,” counseled Nath Nazabhan, sturdily. He had left his devoted Phalanx, being infantry, to be with us in the vanguard. Our vanguard was all cavalry or mounted infantry.

“His main body outnumbers us five to one, Nath.”

“Maybe,” said Seg, screwing up his eyes and with all the shrewd practicality of his race showing through the fey recklessness in him in these matters of operational policy. “Maybe it would be better to chop his tail off first. They are two to one. I’d say he was waiting for stores and equipment. Then he’ll be isolated, and if your Phalanx gets here in time, Nath—”

“If? If!”

“Well — when. We will crush him sweetly, like a rotten gregarian.”

I said: “I would like to hit Colun immediately. He has at least fifty thousand or so with him, with twenty thousand in the rearguard. We have almost four of cavalry and six of mounted infantry. And, in the rearguard, I fancy as Seg says, will be artillery, stores, battering equipment.” I looked at these men with me, loyal, shrewd, experienced. “The rearguard it is!”

Nath sniffed and nodded. “Very well, by Vox. I am with you, majister. But when my Third come up — why, then we hit Colun—”

“We do, Nath. We hit him most severely.”

The orders being given, the vanguard stirred into motion again, ten thousand jutmen riding in a jingling, turf-thumping stream of zorcas and totrixes and nikvoves. To the regiments left after the debacle at Sicce’s Gates we had added a further regiment each of the three main saddle animals. Seg’s Bowmen of Loh rode zorcas and acted as mounted infantry. They wore dark crimson uniform with light bronze-studded leathers and I had great hopes for them, a mere three hundred though they might be. So we rode on through the mingled streaming lights of Antares. As Jiktar Nath Karidge said, breathing hard with his beard all a-tufting: “By the Spurs of Lasal the Vakka, majister! We will tweak this rast’s tail for him — aye, yank it out by the roots!”

He then went on to make some disparaging comments about our mounted infantry, typical jutman’s talk, and he made great play with his pelisse as he spoke. Some of the mounted men riding in the group of messengers and aides-de-camp with him started to wrangle at this, and a merry little professional ding-dong ensued as we trotted along in the suns shine. We had twelve regiments of infantry mounted up on an amazing assortment of saddle animals, preysanys, hirvels, totrixes, marlques and urvivels among them. We also had, would you believe, a regiment of spearmen mounted on sleeths. Sleeths!

This last regiment had been formed by Tarek Roper Ferdin, a passionate sleeth-racer who still, to the despair of us zorca men, refused to concede the superiority of the zorca. The regiment, being a private one, was clad in a bright bottle green outfit with a quantity of bronze studding. But, troops as green as their uniforms though they were, I had inspected them and fancied they would stand firm on the day of the battle. They were representative of what Vondium had put forth, again, and if they failed then all might fail.

By a series of forced marches we covered the ground and, choosing our time and place well, were able to strike at Colun’s rear guard just as they had begun preparations for pitching camp for the night. Give them their due, they were not like Fat Lango’s apology for an army. They were tough and hardened. But, all the same, caught with tents half-erected and men out collecting firewood and fetching water and leading the animals to the picket lines, they folded. Pockets fought madly and well; but the cavalry swamped them and the infantry raced in with a whoop and dismounted and finished the job.