The Redemption of Althalus (61 page)

“There’s something else going on, Althalus,” Leitha said with a slightly worried frown, “and I can’t quite get hold of it.”

“Oh?”

“Argan’s the one who recruits Ghend’s spies—usually by offering them bribes. At least that’s what he did in Wekti. He’s doing something different in Treborea. He’s still bribing various officials, but I kept catching the word ‘conversion’ from Smeugor and Tauri, and it terrifies them. They’re happy to take money from Argan, but he seems to be attaching a few strings to his bribes.”

“That’s
all
we need,” Althalus replied. “I
hate
it when religion gets involved in politics.”

“I just thought you should know, Althalus.”

“Thanks a lot.” Then he stopped. “How’s Bheid coming along? Gher said he looked a bit upset when you opened certain doors for him—you know what I mean.”

She giggled. “He wasn’t quite ready for some of the things that were involved. He didn’t mind passing
ideas
back and forth, but
feelings
bothered him quite a bit.”

“Would you mind a suggestion, Leitha?” Althalus said carefully as they approached the tower stairs.

“That depends on the suggestion.”

“Would you go a little easier on Bheid for a while?”

“How do you mean ‘easier’?”

“Quit trying to make him blush every time he turns around. Back away from the ‘vile thoughts’ business—at least until he gets more accustomed to having strangers inside his head.”

“But he’s so adorable when he blushes,” she protested.

“Find some other entertainment for the time being. I’ve got a strong suspicion that we’ll need him to have his wits about him before long, so give the swishing and innuendos a rest. He isn’t going to get away from you, Leitha, so behave yourself.”

“Yes, Papa,” she replied obediently.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were being paternal, Althalus. You do that all the time, you know—probably because you think of the rest of us as children. You aren’t really much of a father, but you’re the only one we’ve got—Daddy dear.”

“That will
do,
Leitha!”

“Are you going to spank me—with your own personal bare hand?” she asked enthusiastically, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“Quit that!”

“Yes, Daddy,” she replied obediently.

The guards at the gates of Kadon questioned Althalus, Eliar, and Sergeant Khalor at some length before allowing them to enter the city, and Althalus was fuming as the three of them walked through the narrow streets toward the palace of Duke Olkar.

“It
is
wartime, Althalus,” Sergeant Khalor explained. “Those men wouldn’t have been attending to business if
they’d just waved us through.”

“I had this pass with Andine’s signature on it,” Althalus objected, waving the sheet of paper.

“That’s very impressive, I’m sure, but you won’t find too many common soldiers who know how to read. The guards were doing what they’re supposed to do. Quit worrying about it.”

“The walls looked fairly good to me,” Eliar observed.

“Solid enough,” Khalor agreed. “A little pedestrian, maybe, but a few innovations should take care of that.”

“What kind of innovations?”

“Think, Eliar. What do you add to a wall to make life difficult for somebody who wants to get into your city?”

“An overhang, maybe?”

“It wouldn’t hurt. Flat walls make for easy climbing. Anything else?”

“Redoubts, maybe? Those turret things that stick out from the corners so that archers can shoot arrows at anybody climbing a scaling ladder?”

“Those might be useful, too.”

“Why do you do that, Khalor?” Althalus asked.

“Do what?”

“Give tests all the time.”

Khalor shrugged. “I’m supposed to be a teacher, Althalus. Teachers give tests. The enemy gives the final examination, though. If my pupil’s still alive when the battle’s over, he’s passed the test. You’d better keep that pass Andine gave you handy. There’s the palace of the Duke right over there, and we’re a little too busy to spend much time cooling our heels in some waiting room.”

Andine’s note gained them immediate entry into the opulent office of Duke Olkar. The Duke of Kadon was a somewhat stodgy man of middle years who wore conservative clothes and a somewhat pompous expression. “This is all very bad for business, Lord Althalus,” he complained after they’d been seated. “My entire city’s clogged with rural bumpkins who expect me to feed them.”

“The invaders are killing them out in the countryside, your Grace,” Althalus pointed out. “If all the peasants are dead next spring, who’s going to plant the crops?”

“There
is
that, I suppose,” Olkar conceded grudgingly. “This war won’t last
too
long, will it? I’ve got merchandise I
must
move, and the roads aren’t safe right now.”

“It’s likely to grow worse, your Grace,” Khalor told him bluntly. “You’ll probably be under siege within a week or ten days. Your walls are going to need strengthening, and you’d better lay in a goodly supply of food. I’ve got forces who’ll come in and lift the siege in a while, but you’d better have enough supplies on hand to carry you through until autumn.”

“Autumn?”
Olkar exclaimed. “That’d destroy any hope of profit for this entire year!”

“At least you’ll be alive when next year rolls around,” Althalus pointed out. “Everybody has a bad year now and then.”

“I’ll need to talk with your engineers, your Grace,” Khalor said then. “They’d better get to work on your city walls, and I want to make some suggestions. Oh, there’s another thing, too. There’s an army of Arum mercenaries on the way here to defend your city. They’ll need quarters.”

“Can’t they just set up camp outside the walls?” Olkar asked plaintively.

Khalor didn’t reply, but gave Olkar a long, hard look instead.

“No,” Olkar conceded, “I suppose they couldn’t at that, now that I think about it.” He sighed. “Arums are so
noisy
!” he complained. “And so rowdy. Do you think you might be able to persuade them to mind their manners while they’re here in Kadon? The citizens of Kadon are quite proper, and they take offense at rowdies.”

Khalor shrugged. “If you think the Arums are going to be
too
offensive, you can always defend your
own
city.”

“No, that’s quite all right, Sergeant,” Olkar replied quickly.

“I rather thought you might see it that way, your Grace,” Khalor said. “Now if you’ll send for your engineers, I’ll get down to business. I still have a lot of things to do today.”

“Which clan do you want to have defend Kadon?” Althalus asked Khalor as the three of them left the city.

“Laiwon, I think,” Khalor replied. “He’s almost as good as Twengor, and he’s got better sense. Laiwon’s clan’s been involved in a few sieges, so he knows what to do. I
don’t
want him to drive off the besiegers. This city and that stuffy Duke are going to lock a third of the invading army in place for as long as I want them to.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the city. “I don’t think they can see us now. Let’s go to Poma, Eliar.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Eliar replied.

They passed briefly through the House and emerged inside the city of Poma. “It’s a way to avoid the gate guards,” Eliar explained.

Sergeant Khalor was staring down the street at the city wall with a look of stunned incredulity. “What are they
thinking
of?” he exclaimed.

Althalus squinted at the wall. “Not very good, is it?” he
suggested.

“A good sneeze would knock that silly thing down!” Khalor burst out. “Who’s running this place, anyway?”

“I think Dhakan called him Bherdor,” Althalus replied.

“I’m likely to call him a few other names,” Khalor said. “Let’s go talk with this imbecile.”

The palace of Duke Bherdor of Poma had a decidedly shabby look about it. Several broken windows had been boarded up rather than reglazed, and the courtyard evidently hadn’t been swept—or shoveled—for a month or more.

Andine’s message once again gained them immediate entry into a distinctly unimpressive office, and into the equally unimpressive presence of the youthful Duke.

Bherdor was hardly more than a boy, and he had a weak chin—and a disposition to match. “I know that things aren’t quite up to standard, Lord Althalus,” he apologized tremulously when Althalus took him to task for the condition of his city walls, “but my poor, poor city’s teetering on the brink of total bankruptcy. I’d raise taxes to repair them, but the merchants have all warned me that a tax increase would send the local economy into total collapse.”

“What
is
your current rate, your Grace?” Althalus asked.

“Three and a half percent, Lord Althalus,” Bherdor replied tremulously. “Do you think that’s too high?” he added with some apprehension.

“Eighty percent is high, your Grace. Three and a half percent is a joke. No wonder you’re living in a pigsty.”

“It’s too late to do much about it now,” Khalor said. “Those walls won’t last for more than a couple of days. I think I’d better put Twengor here. There’s going to be fighting in the streets, I’m afraid, and Twengor’s the right man for that—if he’s sober.” He looked at the frightened Duke Bherdor. “Your stingy merchants are likely to get a quick lesson about the necessity for reasonable tax rates, your Grace. There won’t be very much left of Poma after a few weeks of house-to-house fighting—and all the incidental looting by both armies. Your merchants swindled you, my Lord, but they won’t have anything to show for it after the war.”

“Good God!” Khalor exclaimed when he saw the walls of Mawor. “Would you
look
at those?”

“They
are
just a bit intimidating, aren’t they?” Althalus agreed, staring at the massive and elaborate defenses of Mawor.

“Intimidating? There isn’t enough money in the world to persuade
me
to lay siege to that place! I’d really hate to be a taxpayer in that town, though. What’s that Duke’s name again?”

“Lord Dhakan called him Nitral, I think,” Eliar replied. “I think he said that Nitral’s an architect. From what I understand, he’s been rebuilding the entire city for the last twenty years.”

“Well, we certainly won’t have to do anything about the walls.” Khalor squinted at the city. “I’d say that Mawor comes close to being totally unassailable. I think I’ll want to put somebody here who’ll know how to take advantage of that.”

“What about Iron Jaw?” Eliar suggested.

“My very thought, Eliar,” Khalor agreed. “He’d be perfect for this place.”

“Who’s ‘Iron Jaw’?” Althalus asked.

“He’s the Chief with a lower jaw that sticks out past his nose,” Khalor replied. “He almost never talks, and he’s the most stubborn man in all of Arum. Once he grabs something, he never lets go of it. If we put Koleika Iron Jaw here in Mawor, Gelta might lay siege to the place, but she won’t get into the city, and she won’t be able to leave.”

“I don’t quite follow that,” Althalas admitted.

“As soon as she turns around to leave, Koleika’ll come blasting out through the gates and cut her army all to pieces. He’ll lock them in place right here.” Khalor squinted. “It sort of matches what Leitha told us about what Gelta was thinking in that dream. There was
something
that was preventing the invaders from marching on Osthos, and I think it might just have been the combination of
this
fortress and Iron Jaw. Put those two together, and this is a natural trap. The invasion stops right here. They won’t be able to get in, and they won’t be able to leave. It’s perfect.” Khalor actually began to laugh. “I almost feel sorry for them. Let’s go on inside and meet this architectural genius. We’ll let him know that Koleika’s coming and roughly what to expect. Then we can go back to Osthos, and I’ll have a chat with the Commanders of Andine’s army.”

It was late summer by now, and the heat in Osthos was oppressive. At Andine’s request, Lord Dhakan had summoned the Generals. They had gathered in her throne room, where they stood sweating and idly chatting as they awaited the appearance of their Arya.

“Give them a little time to get settled down, my Arya,” Lord Dhakan suggested, peering out through the doorway at the back of the throne room.

“Is the army of Osthos so big that you need
that
many Generals?” Khalor asked.

“Rank is hereditary here in Osthos, Sergeant,” Dhakan replied. “Over the centuries, our army’s gotten a little top-heavy. About the only advantage to having so many Generals is the remote possibility that at least one of them might know what he’s doing.”

“You’re a cynic, my Lord.”

“One of the advantages of a long life, Sergeant,” Dhakan said with a faint smile. “Would you be offended if I introduced you as a Field Marshal?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Sergeants don’t rank very high in our army, my friend. Our Colonels and Generals and exalted poo-bahs might not hold a mere Sergeant in very high regard.”

“I’ll cure them of that in a hurry,” Khalor promised with a bleak smile. He looked at Andine, who was sweating in her robes of state. “Would it bother you very much if I broke up some of the furniture, little girl?”

“Enjoy yourself, Sergeant,” she replied with an impish little smile. “Should we go in now, Dhakan?”

“We might as well. Please don’t kill
too
many of them, Sergeant. State funerals are terribly expensive.”

“I’ll try to control myself,” Khalor promised. Then he stepped over to one of the armored sentries at the door. “May I borrow your ax, soldier?” he asked politely.

The sentry looked quickly at Lord Dhakan for instructions.

Dhakan winced. “Go ahead and give him the ax,” he ordered.

“Yes, Lord Dhakan,” the soldier said, handing his long-handled battleax to the Sergeant.

Khalor hefted it. “Good weight,” he noted. Then he tested the edge with his thumb. “You take good care of it, too.” He patted the sentry’s arm. “You’re a good soldier,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” the sentry said, straightening proudly.

“I suppose we’d better get on with this before it gets too much hotter,” Khalor suggested. “Why don’t you all go on down front? Then Lord Dhakan can let the Generals know who I am, and I’ll take it from there.”